Chapter Text
Her name was Violetta, a bastard of the Vale and daughter of a disgraced noblewoman. Her grandfather was Lord Eon Hunter of Longbow Hall, a retainer sworn to House Arryn. He had never been pleased about her existence, nor her sister’s. To him, they were permanent reminders of his daughter’s defiance and shame. He never forgave their mother for bearing illegitimate daughters, and he never let them forget what they were.
For a while, they had been safe. Hidden behind their mother’s skirts, they learned to sew and curtsy, to sing and speak with grace, all the while protected from their grandfather’s contempt. Their mother did what she could to give them something like peace.
Then she died, and peace died with her.
Sera, Violetta’s older sister, wasted no time. “We’re leaving,” she said the night after the funeral. Her voice was steady, her jaw set like stone. “Before he decides we’re more trouble than we’re worth.” She was nineteen, but when they reached King’s Landing she told anyone who asked that she was twenty-two. It felt safer somehow.
They had nothing. No kin to take them in, no friends to lean on. Only each other, and the name that marked their bastardy: Stone. Still, Sera had a plan. She led them straight to Silk Street and into the path of a man she called Littlefinger.
“I’ll speak with him,” she told Violetta as they stood outside his elegant establishment. “You’re only coming because I can’t leave you alone.”
Violetta didn’t argue. She never did when Sera used that voice. But inside, her thoughts buzzed with curiosity, nerves, and something dangerously close to excitement. Her life until then had been quiet, filled with books and music. She had spent her days reading in corners, singing to herself, picking out melodies on any instrument she could get her hands on. In secret, she sometimes dreamed of traveling from town to town as a performer. Sera always scoffed. “Nonsense,” she would say. “A fool’s fantasy. You think you’d last one night on the road alone?” Perhaps not. But Violetta had never stopped dreaming.
Inside the brothel’s parlor, the air was sweet with perfume, the furnishings soft and rich. A grand piano stood in the corner like a sleeping beast. While they waited for the elusive "Lord Baelish," Violetta sat and began playing to pass the time, letting her fingers drift over the keys in idle tunes.
Time passed, but Baelish did not appear. The delay was deliberate, she felt certain, a message about whose time mattered more. It irked her. She had seen enough of that smug superiority in the Vale. So, to amuse herself, she composed a mocking little song on the spot, a tune she titled The Late Lord Baelish. Sera hissed at her to stop, but Violetta only laughed and kept playing.
That was when he walked in.
Baelish entered with a slow, measured clap. His eyes sparkled with amusement, though it was impossible to tell whether he was genuinely entertained or simply calculating his next move. Violetta froze with her fingers still on the keys. Sera straightened instantly, her face coloring with embarrassment.
“Clever little thing,” he said. His lips curved into a boyish smile that somehow felt both charming and cold. “What’s your name?”
“Violetta,” she said, holdi f her head high despite the pounding of her heart.
“And how old are you, Violetta?” he asked, his gaze lingering longer than it should have, like he was studying something on display.
“I’ll be fourteen on my name day, my lord. In a fortnight.”
Sera stepped in quickly. “Lord Baelish, it is I who seek employment. My sister is only here because I must keep her close.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Sera, but it was Violetta he watched. “Clever and beautiful. A rare mix. I don’t need just looks, though. You have to be able to hold your own with all kinds of people.”
“We’ll do fine,” Sera said coolly. “We know how to take care of ourselves.”
Violetta studied him in turn. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. Sharp-eyed, clever, composed. There was something about the way he spoke and moved, like he was always in control of the room. He unsettled her, but in a way that made her lean in closer, not step back. Dangerous, yes. But fascinating.
When he asked what she wanted, she told him the truth. “I want to perform. Piano’s not the only thing I can play. Give me any instrument and I’ll learn it. I promise.”
His eyebrows lifted, interested. “Then let’s see a performance.”
“What would you like to hear?” she asked without hesitation.
“Something sad. And something happy. Show me both sides of your heart.”
She obeyed, beginning with a melody she had composed after her mother’s death. It was aching and slow, heavy with sorrow. But it didn’t stay there. The sadness shifted into something stormy and furious, before giving way to a light tune that danced like a bird at sunrise. When she finished, the silence in the parlor was thick. Baelish was still watching her, that same smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.
“Impressive,” he said. “Now something romantic. Can you manage that?”
She paused. Romance was unfamiliar territory. She had no experience with love, no suitors, no stories to draw from. But her mother had sung them lullabies of love once, and the notes had stayed with her. She played them softly, hesitantly, more innocent than passionate. Yet something about it seemed to please him.
“You really can play anything, can’t you?”
“I believe I can,” she said, pride swelling in her chest. To be praised by a man like him, so sharp, powerful, important….felt like the sun had found her for the first time. Then she launched into a cheeky tavern tune, full of bounce and mischief. She added flourishes just to make him laugh. And he did. The sound startled her with its warmth. It was a lovely laugh, real and rich. She wanted to make him laugh again, to make him smile like that because of her.
She had him. And he, already, had her.
But she was not the one who needed convincing.
Baelish turned to Sera. “The little one is special. Bold, perhaps too bold. She’ll need protection if she’s going to stay in this city.”
“I won’t leave her side,” Sera said. “I’m her guardian.”
“And I would never ask you to,” Baelish assured her. “She’s clever. Talented. But terribly naive.”
“I am not,” Violetta scoffed, bristling.
He gave a soft laugh. “You are, dear. There’s no shame in it.”
Sera didn’t argue. “She’s inexperienced. She doesn’t understand the dangers yet.”
“Exactly,” Baelish said, folding his hands in front of him. “But she is the right age to start building a name. Music. Entertainment. Nothing improper or dangerous. With my guidance, she could be safe. Left on her own, she might not be so lucky.”
Sera’s mouth tightened. “She is a child. You would have her working in your brothel?”
“I’m offering her the safest path she’s likely to find. I can keep her out of trouble. Make sure she’s never left alone. You stay with her. And if she chooses to leave, she may. No penalty.”
Sera hesitated. She was fiercely protective, but also practical. They needed shelter. Coin. Safety. And Violetta had something that might be valuable.
“I think it sounds fun,” Violetta said brightly. “If I can’t travel, at least I can play here.”
“You’re a child,” Sera snapped. “You have no idea—”
“I don’t have to stay with you,” Violetta replied quietly. “Someone else might want me. But here, we could stay together.”
Baelish smiled, slow and pleased. “She is right. Many would take notice of talent like hers. But here, she is under my roof. Under my rules. And my protection.”
Sera’s expression darkened, but she said nothing at first. Then, finally, “Very well. But I have conditions. She does not entertain private clients. She only performs in public, and never without supervision. If she chooses to leave, she leaves. No punishment. No coercion.”
Baelish nodded, unbothered. “Of course.”
“Then we accept. Thank you, Lord Baelish.”
He leaned back, looking entirely too satisfied. “Delighted. I look forward to seeing what your sister can do.”
As the adults discussed details, Violetta drifted back to the piano. A small smile crept across her lips. She didn’t know what King’s Landing would bring, only that it would be something more than the cold stone walls of Longbow Hall had ever given her. She was only a bastard girl with a gift in her fingers and a tune in her chest. But she was here now, in the capital, playing for a man who mattered, and she was ready for whatever came next.