Chapter Text
“This is often the way crimes get solved- through a side door. The clue that led to New York’s “son of Sam” killings was a parking ticket David Berkowitz was issued for parking his Ford Galaxie too close to a fire hydrant near the site of his final murder”
― John Edward Douglas, The Killer Across the Table: Unlocking the Secrets of Serial Killers and Predators
Sansa mentally reviewed her to-do list while the shop was slow. Myranda had put on the same Pentoshi pop album again. Sansa had heard it plenty lately and had no regrets about letting her mind wander.
Finish your pattern design final project. Pick up Robin from school. Study for history. Take Robin to his doctor’s appointment. Clean up the kitchen and finish dinner. Ask father about going to Volantis with Mya.
She sighed. The last one was a no-go for sure. She knew that her father would never allow her to go as far away as Volantis without him and he couldn’t exactly leave Braavos this summer because his work would keep him busy. As it always did.
She hissed as the espresso machine she was cleaning burned her, turning towards the sink to run her stinging hand under cool water. When she looked up, she nearly yelped.
There was a man standing almost right in front of her, looking at her with an unnerving intensity and standing as close to the counter as was possible. She could have counted the lashes lining his eyes. Sansa hadn’t heard him approach at all- her thoughts had likely gotten too far away from her, as they usually did. She tried to keep from wrinkling her brow at the way his eyes followed her when she went to grab a towel to dry off her hands.
He was almost too intense, Sansa decided, trying to catalogue the emotional journey the man’s eyebrows appeared to be undergoing. Perhaps an artistic type- they got a lot of those around Ragman’s- photographers and university art students, mainly. Maybe he was some sort of modeling scout but he didn’t seem to be looking at her that way. Letting her lips quirk, she considered the absurd. Perhaps this man was some sort of secret agent- the way his eyes had surveyed and catalogued the shop layout certainly seemed to imply a sort of curiosity, if not wariness.
She did that, sometimes. Made up little stories about the customers who came in, to pass the time and to live a bit vicariously through them. Ragman’s Harbor had always had decently interesting characters, and it wasn’t as though she really got to have much adventure as Alayne Baelish, anyways.
After her mother’s death several years earlier, her father had grown overprotective of her and her brother to the point where Sansa, even as much as she loved her father, was feeling more than a little smothered. She hadn’t been allowed to move onto campus for school and she had gotten lucky that Braavos Central University had such a strong fashion program, as her father hadn’t wanted her to go as far away as King’s Landing or Oldtown. He had flat out refused the idea of White Harbor when she had brought it up.
A secret agent. She decided, because that was the most interesting of the identities she could imagine this man inhabiting. With lovers on every continent- his face was very handsome, Sansa could admit -and chasing a prolific crime lord across Essos. He’s ducked into my shop to avoid detection from one of the villain’s cronies, who spotted him in the square along the way.
Sansa smiled at him, voicing a greeting as she shook herself out of her imagination.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, observing his clothing. Handsome as he may have been, he didn’t look Braavosi at all. The burnt orange shirt he was wearing had a colorfully patterned border at the sleeves- it stood out against his weathered olive skin, adorned with various pale scars. Sansa would have bet every cent in her meager bank account that he was Dornish. Although his gaze wasn’t quite as intense as it had been a moment ago, his eyes still seemed to dance as he smiled at her. Sansa desperately hoped she wasn’t blushing.
“You wouldn’t happen to have Dornish coffee, would you?” the man asked in accented Valyrian, adopting a hopeful expression.
“Of course!” Sansa answered, punching in his order at the register. “This is Braavos, sir. If it exists, you can probably find it somewhere in this city.”
“Very true.” The man agreed, his face serious even as his eyes sparkled. There was something almost boyish and mischievous to his face, and Sansa wanted to like him almost immediately. “I figured I was more likely to find it here, rather than in the Purple Harbor.”
“You might still find it there-“ she laughed, as she rung up his order, “It’s just probably going to cost about three times what we’ll charge down here, and might have some sort of odd herbal infusion in it.”
The man looked about as disgusted as she had ever seen anyone look- it was really rather funny.
“That-“ he muttered, viciously shoving the change she handed him into their tip jar, “-is not how anyone in Dorne drinks their coffee.”
“That’s gentrification.” Sansa shrugged, giving him a wry grin. “Everyone thought it was gross until they stuck it in a tiny cup, added some overpriced flowers, and charged about six dragons for it.”
The man barked out a short laugh.
“Can I at least count on a decent cup here?”
“You’ll have to tell me.” Sansa shrugged. “My best friend loves it, but I’m more of a tea drinker myself.”
“Fair enough.” The man chuckled, taking the cup she handed him. “Thanks for the heads up-“ he squinted at the nametag around Sansa’s neck, “-Alayne.”
“Of course- enjoy!” she told him, watching him wave at her he walked away. His grin had seemed slightly strained as he left, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him with their conversation. Either way, she had about three more customers waiting and couldn’t spare more than a few minutes to worry about the Dornishman.
Oberyn’s hands were shaking as he dialed the number, impatiently pacing by the water and trying not to catch his shoes on the old cobblestones and trip. He hadn’t even made it a block away from the small coffee shop he’d just visited before he’d yanked his phone out of his pocket. He should have been dialing the Blackfish but excitement and habit and something like disbelief had him punching in a more familiar number.
“Pick up- pick up-“ he muttered, checking his watch.
“Hey Oberyn.” A slightly raspy voice answered at the other end. Oberyn bit back several swear words.
“Lya.” He greeted shortly. “Is your wife there?”
“Aren’t you in a mood?” She chuckled, and he could hear running water in the background. “Yeah, El’s just coming in from outside, so I grabbed her phone while she’s washing the dirt off her hands.” There was a muffled noise, like she had shifted the phone to hold between her ear and shoulder. “The vegetable garden‘s been a resounding success so far, and I’ve even managed to convince your sister that a bit of dirt under her nails won’t kill her.”
“Excellent.” Oberyn muttered, anxiety pooling in his stomach. “Sorry Lya- I really am glad to hear the garden is doing well, but it’s kind of urgent.”
The lack of the typical banter and sarcasm that he usually exchanged with her seemed to clue his sister-in-law into the gravity of the situation.
“Sure thing. No one wants our secret agent man kept waiting, I gotcha. Here she is.” “Beryn?”
Oberyn exhaled with relief. “Elia.” He breathed, bringing a hand to his brow as the enormity of the situation began to set in.
“What happened? I know that tone.”
Oberyn swallowed, his breathing heavy as he stammered. “El, I-I think I just caught a pretty major break in the case.”
“Which one?” his sister asked, casually. Oberyn could hear water running in the background, and assumed she was washing vegetables. “Gods, I can’t even specify ‘the kidnapping case’ when you’re working on two of them. Seems like the bureau owes you some vacation time.”
“Sansa’s.” Oberyn breathed, excitement beginning to set in. There was a pause on the other end of the line and the sound of running water cut off.
“What are you saying?” Elia asked, cautiously. “That you have a solid lead?”
“No, El- I think-“ he took a gulping breath, running his fingers through already mussed hair. “I think I just found Sansa.” There was a beat.
“You’re kidding me.” Elia breathed. “Oberyn, you can’t be-“
“Yes, yes- I know!” Oberyn exclaimed, attracting several raised eyebrows from passerby on the sidewalk before he deliberately lowered his voice. “But I’m absolutely serious.”
“How?” Elia asked, sounding flustered. It was a rare thing for his usually calm sister. “Where? Oberyn, have you called Ned and Cat? Have you called the director?”
“You can’t say anything to Ned and Catelyn until I can confirm it.” Oberyn told her firmly, still pacing to calm himself. “I shouldn’t even be saying anything to you, but I’m still shocked that it happened- El, I walked into a coffee shop in Ragman’s Harbor and she was just there.”
“How- how on earth could you know that it was her?”
“She looks just like Catelyn Stark.” Oberyn told her. “Same face, same eyes and hair, but her chin and height are all Ned Stark’s.”
“Oberyn I don’t want to doubt you-“ he heard Elia sigh, “-but a resemblance to Cat isn’t exactly ironclad evidence.”
“I know, Elia!” Oberyn exclaimed, nearly throwing his hands up. “Believe me, I know, but Gods I just have a feeling here.”
Elia was silent for a moment before Oberyn heard her chuckle, somewhat weakly.
“You and Lya and your hunches.” She told him, affection clear in her voice. “Just the other day, she came in ranting and raving about corrupt businessmen and a money trail she’s trying to follow on nothing more than a hunch. Although I think most people who encounter Roose Bolton assume he’s not exactly law abiding. At the very least, people probably leave meetings with him feeling slimy about the whole affair.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I trust Lya’s gut, and I trust you too. I won’t say anything to Ned and Cat, but Lya’s probably going to grill me about this the minute we get off the phone.”
“That’s fair.” Oberyn admitted, exhaling a shaky breath. “As long as she doesn’t say anything to the Starks yet- particularly not to Catelyn, who will demand my head if I make a mistake here.”
“What are you going do next?” Elia’s voice was shaky, as though she was starting to see the ramifications of Oberyn’s discovery. “This- if this theory turns out to be true-“ she paused, “Oberyn, you’re stirring up some potentially explosive stuff, here. How are you going to be sure it’s actually her?”
“She introduced herself by a different name-“ Oberyn frowned, “Which is unsurprising, all things considered. Whoever took her may have given it to her. Damon and I will dig into her records- see who she is, where she’s from and turn over every stone we can find. Once we have enough evidence to justify it, we can get a DNA sample from her.”
“You’re just going to compel one?” Elia asked, tone incredulous.
“No, that’s definitely too risky.” Oberyn shook his head. “We had a bit of a chat today about the inauthentic Dornish coffee that Braavosi hipsters are trying to sell for an obscene amount of money in a certain neighborhood, so there’s a bit of rapport there. I might just come in a few times this week to see if I can repeat that. Maybe I can catch her on a break and just make small talk with her once or twice.”
“Just be careful.” Elia reminded him, her voice sober. “I know you, and I know you’re good at what you do. But-“ her voice shook slightly, “If someone took the time to take Sansa and raise her all the way in Braavos, they may not take kindly to someone trying to bring her back.”
“I will, don’t worry El.”
“I always worry about you.” Elia chuckled, both of them ignoring the unease in her voice. “So does Doran. I know you’ve been really absorbed in casework lately, but call him sometime, will you?”
“I will.” Oberyn promised, feeling guilt curl in his stomach. “I talked to Ty and Nym just yesterday- I’m not completely cut off.”
“Is Bara still deployed?”
“She accepted that teaching post at the Military Academy in Kings Landing.” Oberyn told her. “She’s getting back to start it in two weeks, I think. While we’re on the subject of calling, she’d probably love to hear from you and Lya as soon as she’s within range of a cell tower.”
“We should be able to make that happen.” He heard the smile in Elia’s voice. “We’ve all missed her.”
“Excellent.” Oberyn muttered, glancing behind him. “El, I need to run. I have to go talk to Daemon about this before he leaves the police HQ for the day.”
“Alright. Be careful- and let them know as soon as you find anything Oberyn- you understand?” His sister’s voice was firm. “I can’t look Cat in the eye and lie to her. I won’t. Not about this.”
“I will. I promise.” Oberyn assured her. “Just give me a few days.”
Sansa was surprised to see the Dornishman back two days later in the shop with another, seemingly more reserved, Dornishman trailing behind him. Work acquaintances, maybe? They didn’t seem like a couple to her.
“I take it the coffee was authentic?” Sansa asked, smiling at him.
“More so than any other place we’ve tried in Braavos so far.” The man snorted, rolling up his sleeves. “My partner doesn’t believe me, so I dragged his grumpy ass here with me just so you could prove him wrong.”
“Sure.” Sansa laughed. “Two Dornish coffees then?” “That would be fantastic. For here if you would?”
“That, I can do.” Sansa smiled, quickly fixing their drinks. “Are you two here for work then?” The first man nodded his head, yes.
“We both work for the Westerosi Bureau of Intelligence- the WBI.” He told her, with a boyish grin. She blushed, smiling back.
“Sounds exciting.” She’d been closer the other day than she thought- Mya would certainly get a kick out of that.
“The footwork can be something of a slog.” The second man grumbled, gladly taking the coffee she handed him and throwing her a grateful smile. “Coffee helps, though, thank you.”
“Of course. Let me know if I can grab anything else for you two!” Sansa offered, before turning her attention towards the next customer.
Oberyn and his partner, a younger analyst-turned-agent named Daemon Sand, both significantly more awake now thanks to the coffee, sat down at a table farthest from the register and any other prying eyes and ears. Oberyn pulled out his phone, showing a picture to his partner while he sipped on his drink.
“You took a picture of the girl already?” Daemon asked, looking incredulous. Oberyn shook his head, trying not to smirk.
“It’s a picture I got from the Starks. It’s not the girl behind the counter- that’s Catelyn Stark when she had just started college.” Daemon’s eyes widened near comically, but he kept his composure, even as his eyes flicked subtly between the picture and the girl.
“Fuck, Oberyn- of all the tricks for fate to play-“
“Fate?” Oberyn looked offended. “I’ve been working this case since you were in grade school.”
“Fine.” Daemon muttered, taking a large gulp of his coffee and hunching his shoulders. “I’m gonna have to admit that you were right, aren’t I?”
“I was.” Oberyn flashed him a cheeky grin.
“Gloat all you want, jackass.” Daemon made a slightly rude hand gesture to his partner, who snorted. “We still need better proof than just a picture, though. What’s our next move?”
“Your favorite-“ Oberyn told him, flipping through his phone, “Grunt work. We need every record we can find on ‘Alayne’-“
“That’s the name she’s going by?”
“Apparently.” Oberyn said, texting someone. “It’s on her nametag, anyways. We need to know everything about her life that there is to know before I can even think about approaching her. Everything needs to be done by the book from here on out- and we keep this between the two of us until we have rock-solid proof that that girl over there is Sansa.”
Out of nowhere, Oberyn yelled several obscenities, nearly causing his partner to fall off the chair next to him.
“You want to explain what you’ve found and why you’re screeching?” Daemon asked, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “And no dancing around it, Oberyn. We’ve been at this records search for two days digging through Braavosi bureaucracy.” They had switched to speaking in Rhoynish as soon as they returned to the Police headquarters in Braavos where they’d set up. There weren’t too many Dornish immigrants in the city who spoke it and Oberyn wanted the details of the case kept quiet for as long as possible.
“Come look.” Oberyn pointed at his computer screen, his fingers trembling with excitement or anger or adrenaline- perhaps all three. Maybe it was simply the caffeine. Either way, Daemon needed to swipe the man’s coffee mug soon if he wanted to avoid Ellaria’s disappointed look later.
Daemon rolled his chair over, following Oberyn’s finger with his eyes, and promptly choked on his coffee, biting back several extremely nasty words as he coughed.
“That can’t be possible…” he breathed, staring at the name that had appeared on Oberyn’s computer screen. “Wasn’t he-“
“Alayne Baelish. Baelish!” Oberyn hissed. “All this time he was right under our fucking noses.” Oberyn growled. “Made sure he had an alibi that we couldn’t contest, and that- that bastard had the gall to help with the fucking search!”
“Motherfucker.” Daemon swore, thoughts racing. “Petyr Baelish. That’s- that-“ he broke off, shaking his head.
“That’s not all-“ Oberyn sighed, rubbing at his eyes, “Look at the files for her ‘family’.”
Daemon’s eyes widened as he read through the files that Oberyn had pulled up.
“She has a brother?” Daemon frowned. “Who’s his mother?”
“I’ll give you three guesses-“ Oberyn grimaced, pulling up a photo of the woman, “-and the first two don’t count.”
“Sonofa bitch-“ Daemon swore, grateful that they were the only two in the field office. Even speaking Rhoynish, it probably was fairly obvious that the two of them were agitated. “Is that-“
“That’s Lysa Arryn, yeah.” Oberyn told him, sighing. Daemon had expected him to be triumphant but his partner just sounded tired. “Or as she’s been going by here for the last fourteen or so years, Alys Ehrling.”
“So the kid- Robin-“
“He’s almost certainly Robert Arryn.” Oberyn sighed, pinching his forehead. “Those are Jon Arryn’s ears and nose if I ever saw them- hopefully the poor kid grows into them.”
“Where’s Lysa right now?” Daemon asked, heart starting to race as he began to grasp the ramifications of the information they’d uncovered.
“Dead.” Oberyn told him, bluntly, lips pursed. “According to her death certificate, it was ESRD. We’ll have to verify it at some point, but the paperwork to grant access to medical records here is horrific- it’ll take at least two weeks.”
Daemon was only half-paying attention to Oberyn as he scanned the open files.
“Did you see this?” he indicated. “Alayne- well, Sansa, I guess- apparently attends university at Braavos Central-“
“Fuck!” Oberyn swore, spinning around in his chair as he clutched fistfuls of his hair. “Son of a bitch- she’s probably walked past Arya on campus at some point! Catelyn is going to have kittens. The director-“
“We need confirmation of all of this first, though.” Daemon pointed out, yanking his partner back into the present- acting the sensible foil to Oberyn’s impulsivity. This case was a charged one for his partner and while Oberyn had been convinced that the two cases were somehow linked for years, they needed indisputable evidence to prove it. “And we have to be careful how we get it- if he gets even a hint that we’re on his trail-“
“He’ll run with Sansa and Robert.” Oberyn muttered, clutching the arms of his chair with a white knuckled grip. “I’d bet my entire salary that Baelish already knows we’re here looking- the Organized Crime unit back home called him one of the slipperiest bastards they ever had the misfortune of chasing.”
“We just have to compel DNA samples before he can run with the kids.”
“I’m not sure that compelling a DNA sample from either of them is going to do us much good.“ Oberyn pointed out, tapping his fingers on the desk as he stared at the ID photos on his computer screen. “We frighten them with a court order and he’ll have them out of here before we can blink. If Baelish is the same man today that he was in Westeros, he’s likely got contacts in every branch of law enforcement he can reach.” He shut his eyes. “When Organized Crime was investigating his businesses in Westeros, he always knew just enough to stay out of our reach, but never enough that we could link him to any inside sources.”
They were silent for a moment.
“He was on the original suspect list, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Oberyn scrubbed his face. “The previous criminal investigations, plus his close relationship to the family landed him there. He had a rock-solid alibi, though. He was on surveillance footage of some political fundraiser in Barrowton that night.” He swore. “He was in Westeros for at least two years after Sansa’s kidnapping, and there were numerous raids of his properties during that time- mostly by OC. They never reported anything about the presence of a child.”
“He probably had something off-books.” Daemon sighed. “And he fell off our radar when he moved here, I’m guessing.” He shook his head. “All these years looking on two separate cases and they converged right where we never expected them to.” He was staring at Sansa’s picture, still in disbelief. “Everyone but you. Gods- your theory was right.” He suddenly grinned at Oberyn, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. “I’m going to fucking clean up in the office betting pool.”
Oberyn scoffed and Daemon was relieved to see some of his previous bravado return.
“There were people who bet against me?”
“Not Rhaenys.” Daemon chuckled. “Your niece still believes in you- wants to be just like you for some godsdamned reason. The Blackfish is going to lose a bit of money though.”
“Tully should know better than to doubt me by now.”
“He’s close to the case.” Daemon shrugged, feeling a slight pit in his stomach at the thought of the director’s reaction to this discovery. “It is his family, after all.”
“A family that was apparently torn apart by the very parasite they invited in, years ago.” Oberyn gritted his teeth. “Catelyn mentioned a few times during the initial investigation that Lysa was obsessed with Baelish when they were younger. We looked into him again when Lysa disappeared with Robert but eliminated him as a suspect when we couldn’t find any indications that he’d assisted her. Catelyn was certain her sister would get in touch with Baelish if she could, though.” He shook his head, combing an agitated hand through his dark hair. “I don’t doubt that Lysa was complicit in Robert’s kidnapping, but we knew there was no way she would be able to hide so well, and for so many years on her own.” He took another swig of his coffee. “We have another problem, though. Sansa didn’t have a choice in how she was raised, but-“
“But we don’t know how devoted she is to him.” Daemon finished, feeling mildly nauseous at the thought. “Nothing about this is going to be clean, Oberyn.” He warned. “She’s probably attached, Robert’s probably attached-“
“-and it’s going to be difficult to separate them from him.” Oberyn sighed. “Gods- if I could go back in time and warn Brynden Tully-“
“You can’t.” Daemon shrugged, ever the realist. “All we can do now is catch the wily bastard and hope like hell the media doesn’t eat Sansa and Robert alive before we can get in front of the story.”
Oberyn swore again, glaring at the image of Petyr Baelish that had appeared in the WBI’s databases. Smug, intelligent, and utterly without conscience. Listed below his name it simply said:
‘Children: Alayne Baelish (20), Robin Baelish (14)’
Their pictures were clearly displayed on the screen, and Oberyn wondered how in the seven hells it had taken them this long to put it all together.
Catelyn was going to be a wreck when she found out that her childhood friend- the same friend who had assisted the Starks in the initial search for Sansa and the same man who had funded and coordinated local law enforcement efforts to find the girl- was responsible for the eighteen-year-long horror story that her family had been forced to endure.
Baelish’s alibi was rock-solid, that much was certain. He’d been alibied on the night of Sansa’s disappearance by two influential councilmen, a guild leader, and the gala’s security cameras. Oberyn suspected, though, that if they dug deep enough into the bastard’s murky financials, they would be able to find records of a payment from Baelish to a hired contractor. Someone, somewhere, had to know something. Either that, or there was a body trail they would have to follow. He hadn’t pinned Baelish as a murderer but he also had failed to predict his involvement in Sansa’s kidnapping. They couldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him again.
What turned Oberyn’s stomach most, though, were the Braavosi records. He had gotten in touch with the correct departments, and while it was certainly possible the Baelish had simply backdated the documents, Oberyn knew enough about him to know that he was a planner. He had produced a birth certificate for Alayne Baelish immediately after she was ‘born’, and Braavosi records clearly showed that he had married a woman named Alys Ehrling two years prior while he was still living in the Riverlands. They’d need to double check all of that information, but he had a feeling it would match the records in Westeros as well.
His lip curled as he clenched his teeth. Baelish had laid the groundwork- laid a paper trail so absolute- that without DNA samples, Oberyn would have a hard time proving anything. Had he planned this whole thing as soon as Sansa had been born? The thought of Baelish eyeing the infant made him feel sick, rage bubbling in his gut at the very idea. Had he watched and waited with the patience of an ambush predator- striking just as the Starks least expected it?
Oberyn would bring the sick fuck down if it was the last thing he ever did.