GOT: A Transmigrator's Conquest

The small wooden house creaked in the cold night air. A single candle flickered on the table, casting shadows on the rough walls. Petyr Baelish sat in a plain wooden chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. In front of him sat a goblet of dark red wine. He rarely drank unless he had to at social events, as he hated feeling out of control.

But tonight was different.

He reached for the goblet and took a small sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, but it did nothing to calm his frustration.

For years, he had carefully planned everything, working toward one goal—controlling the kingdom's money. Gold was power, and he had been so close to becoming the Master of Coin. If he had succeeded, he would have had influence over the crown's wealth, making lords dependent on him.

But then Jon Arryn ruined it all.

Jon had always been suspicious of him, but suspicion alone was harmless. The real problem was the audit Jon conducted on House Arryn's finances. Petyr had hidden his tracks well, but audits had a way of uncovering things no matter how careful he had been.

And if not for Lysa and his spies, he would definitely have been arrested by now.

Petyr exhaled, his breath barely disturbing the wine in his goblet. He knew one thing—he couldn't stay here for long. His escape from King's Landing had been quiet, but people would notice his absence soon. His plan to take control of the treasury had failed, but not everything was lost. He could still work behind the scenes, though it would be much harder now.

Without direct access to the royal treasury, he would have to find new ways to gather money and influence. Every deal, every bribe, and every alliance would take more effort. He could no longer control nobles with the promise of wealth. He would have to rebuild his network from the shadows.

He stood up, goblet in hand, and walked to the window. The sea stretched out before him, dark and endless under the moonlight. A fisherman's boat rocked gently against the waves outside, the ropes creaking in the breeze.

How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

It had started with a simple trip—Jon Arryn's visit to Winterfell.

Petyr tightened his grip on the goblet. He had no idea who had tipped Jon off, no idea who had discovered the tampering with House Arryn's finances.

But he had two suspects.

Eddard Stark.

Or Varys.

Ned Stark wasn't the type to dig into financial records, but he was honest—too honest. If he had found out about the irregularities, he would have told Jon Arryn immediately. He followed his honor blindly, without thinking of the consequences.

Varys, however, was different. The Spider had informants everywhere, listening to things even Petyr didn't know. If Varys had found out, it wasn't because he cared about justice. He always had his own plans.

But why go after him now?

Petyr took another sip of wine, thinking through every possibility.

If Jon and Varys were working together, that meant something bigger was happening—something Petyr hadn't foreseen. That was dangerous. Varys never made a move without a reason, and if he had decided to strike, it meant he had already planned for every outcome.

If Ned was the one who had exposed him, then things were different. Ned was predictable, which meant he could be manipulated. If it was Ned, there was still a way to twist the situation and turn it in his favor.

The problem was, Petyr didn't know which one it was.

He sighed, swirling the last of his wine in his goblet. His mind raced, trying to figure out who had exposed him.

Then, a thought struck him—Stannon Baratheon.

Stannon, the heir to the throne, was young but powerful. His claim was as strong and his name carried weight. Petyr had always watched him, but Stannon was just a child. A skilled child, but a child nonetheless.

It didn't make sense for Stannon to be involved. He had no experience in politics, no allies in the right places. And why would the kid even go after him when he doesn't even know who he was. They hadn't met even once neither did they have any sort of enmity between them. It didn't make any sense for a kid to do this no matter how mature the kid was for his age.

His spies in the North reported that Stannon had been focused on his swordsmanship, showing no interest in anything else. There was no sign the boy had uncovered anything about Petyr's schemes.

No, it wasn't Stannon. Petyr quickly dismissed the idea.

But the thought of Stannon lingered. He wasn't a threat yet, but one day, he could be and with how talented this young guy was, he would definitely become a monster once he grows up.

Despite that, Petyr knew Stannon wasn't the cause of his downfall—not yet. The boy didn't have the means or knowledge to interfere in Petyr's plans. If Stannon had discovered something, Petyr would have seen it coming.

As Petyr stared out at the dark sea, he thought about his next move. His immediate future had changed, but his plans were far from over. Jon Arryn's suspicions, Varys's hidden actions, and Stannon's future rise were all part of the complex politics Petyr navigated.

But he wasn't defeated.

Not yet.

A slow smile spread across his face. The game wasn't over. The rules had just changed.

And if there was one thing Petyr Baelish was good at, it was adapting.

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A few months had passed since Stannon Baratheon returned to Winterfell, and he had spent this time focused solely on his training. His goal was clear: to upgrade his system and register the Warging ability.

Stannon trained every day—his swordsmanship, and other skills. He spent hours practicing in the wilderness, hunting, tracking, sparring against the men of Stark, all while accumulating the experience points needed for his upgrade. It was a slow process, but his efforts finally paid off. He had enough experience to upgrade his system.

Before starting the upgrade, Stannon decided to prepare by taking a cold bath. He had learned that the upgrade brought intense heat to his body, and the cold water would help ease the discomfort. He sank into the cold water of the large wooden tub, letting the chill numb his body and calm his mind. Once he felt ready, he chose to upgrade the system.

The upgrade process was painful. A wave of heat surged through him, and his muscles tightened. The burning sensation spread, but Stannon endured, focusing on the cold water to help him through the pain. The upgrade was completed in a few minutes, though it felt like much longer. His body still felt the remnants of the heat, but it slowly faded, leaving behind a sense of strength and clarity.

Stannon took a moment to regain his composure, then quickly added the ability to his ability slots.

Stannon stepped out of the tub, his body finally adjusted to the cold, and closed the system panel with a quiet sigh. He stood there for a moment, letting his thoughts wander. Three years. That was how long he had before he'd return to King's Landing and see Robert again, after all this time. He couldn't help but wonder how much he'd changed in these years—and if Robert had changed too.

'God, things are only going to get more complicated,' Stannon thought as he dried off and couldn't help but wonder how strong would he be in the coming three years.

And just like that, three years flew by.

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