His face struck Sansa as strangely familiar, but she couldn't say why.
"Not far," Ser Thorys took Sansa's hands and gently rubbed them; Sansa felt a little disgusted, after all, she found the clown's face truly unattractive.
"Your friend is waiting for you over there."
"Don't speak!" the boatman Oswell roared, "Voices create ripples, Ser Clown."
The small boat broke through the fog until it met a larger vessel.
At this moment, the first light of dawn appeared in the sky, signaling a new day.
"The big ship is here."
Thorys pointed the way for Sansa; it seemed to be a merchant ship, its sails furled, moving at a low speed solely by a row of oars.
As they approached, Sansa saw that the figurehead was a tall, armored titan giant holding a torch.
At a command from the fog, the merchant ship sailed towards the small boat.
Then the pot-bellied merchant ship threw down a rope ladder for Sansa to climb up herself.
The boatman cast aside his pole and helped Sansa.
But neither the boatman nor Ser Thorys seemed to have any intention of boarding.
Two crewmen helped her onto the deck; Sansa was trembling slightly.
"You've caught a chill, my lady," Petyr said.
"You rest well, everything is fine, you are safe."
Petyr placed his cloak over Sansa; Sansa was a little surprised, wasn't Littlefinger supposed to be in The Vale of Arryn already?
She was certainly familiar with his figure.
Lothor Brune stood nearby, holding a torch, watching the scene indifferently.
"Lord Petyr," Thorys called from the small boat, "I must hurry back to avoid suspicion."
Petyr Baelish leaned on the railing with one hand: "You want me to pay you, one thousand Gold Dragons, if I remember correctly?"
"Yes, one thousand Gold Dragons," Thorys wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "that's the amount you promised, my Lord."
"Oswell, give it to him," Petyr commanded.
The old boatman pulled a dagger from his bosom, then plunged it into Thorys's body with a series of thuds.
The first stab, the second, the third.
The dagger pierced Ser Thorys's chest, right through the leftmost crown on his coat.
The other two stabs entered his throat and abdomen respectively.
It happened in an instant, too quickly for anyone to react.
Moreover, Thorys was just a drunkard.
Afterward, Oswell bowed and headed back towards King's Landing.
The boat and the body would soon burn, and nothing would have happened.
"You killed him!" Sansa clutched the railing, turning to vomit wildly.
Had she escaped the Lannister's clutches only to fall into another trap?
"My lady," Littlefinger said softly, "such a man is not worth your grief.
He was a drunkard, a good-for-nothing."
"No, he betrayed you for one thousand Gold Dragons.
Think about it, people will surely link your disappearance with the riots, the Gold Cloaks will search everywhere, the eunuch will offer a reward, and this Thorys... you just heard what he said, he wants money, who knows if he'll betray you again when he's drunk?
A bag of gold coins buys temporary safety, a good arrow ensures lifelong peace," Petyr smiled with a touch of pity, "Actually, everything he did was just as I instructed, and this was the only way I could save you.
When I learned you saved him at Joffrey's tourney, I knew he was the best candidate."
Sansa felt nauseous: "He said he was my Florian."
So it was all a scam, she should have known this fool didn't have such capabilities.
The small boat disappeared into the fog, Oswell would never look back.
"My Lord, should we stop at Gulltown?" Lothor, holding a torch, suddenly asked, interrupting the triumphant Littlefinger.
"Gulltown, are you mad?" Petyr was somewhat taken aback; in his impression, Lothor never spoke much.
Lothor's words made Littlefinger's heart sink; the plan had been to go to Fingers Peninsula, and Lothor's eyes held a cold chill.
"I extend a warm greeting to you on behalf of Lord Gendry."
He pulled Littlefinger's sleeve and twisted it.
Storm, Petyr remembered that tall figure, he was still watching him.
"No!" Petyr wailed; if this was the case, he and Lysa had entered an even larger and more dangerous game.
Lothor landed a heavy punch on Petyr's face; blood flowed from Petyr's mouth.
Then came the abdomen; Petyr's stomach felt like it was churning.
Several others came forward, bound Littlefinger, and stuffed pieces of cloth into his mouth.
"You must be very curious, right?" Lothor asked Petyr.
"You truly deserve to die, my Lord.
Too many have died for your absurd games.
But, the Storm wants you to die clearly and plainly."
Lothor snorted.
"No, you're not my..." Littlefinger's pupils dilated, followed by pain in his face and chest, leaving him breathless.
"But I've been a Kingsguard member for a long time.
Mercenaries love money, but the camaraderie between men, you will never understand in your lifetime.
Right, you think copper and gold are invincible?"
Sansa looked at Petyr, who was like a dead dog; no one was willing to help him.
The sailors, his guards, ignored him; without the support of the master of coin and The Vale, power had already abandoned him.
"My lady, I am very sorry, you have been frightened."
Ser Lothor bowed.
"This man is guilty of heinous crimes, suspected of poisoning Lord Arryn with your aunt Lysa."
Littlefinger slumped to the ground, losing all courage to resist.
At this moment, Sansa's eyes filled with tears; whether for Ser Thorys, for Little Joff, for Petyr, or for herself, it was impossible to tell.
"Is everything false, from beginning to end, every person, every thing a lie?"
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