Natasha

Olena Tyrell settled down on the bench next to Natasha, folding her hands in her lap and looking about with disgust she didn't even bother to try and hide. "I do believe that the Targeryens made a grave mistake when they declared that the Crownlands would live under the banner of the three headed dragon. That should have remained for just their loyal hosts. Robert should have changed it too… though I think he probably got erect seeing all those Baratheon flags fluttering about. The Seven know my oaf of a son does when he sees all those Tyrell roses fluttering about, as if cloth actually means something."

"What would you have had them fly?" Natasha asked.

"A vulture."

"I can agree with that." Natasha let out a tiny huffed laugh at that, sweeping her eyes across the room though keeping her head utterly still. One of her favorite lessons growing up had been learning how to observer without it being made clear you were observing. People thought you had to twist your head about or slink to different viewpoints to get a read of a room but Natasha had learned there were other ways to get the information you needed. Reflective surfaces, for one. There was enough glass and armor in the throneroom to allow her good views of everyone and what they were doing. The other was looking at the other lookers. If one understood the players around them they could use them as their own unknowing lookouts. The way one would stiffen or would relax while they gawked would tell a person much about the room.

"Or perhaps sharks would be better," Olenna stated. "Have you ever seen a shark, my dear? I saw them often in my youth. We would take large pleasure boats out onto the Sunset Sea and for entertainment the sailors would bring great hunks of bloody meat and toss them into the water. The ladies would all gasp in horror and disgust but they never demanded they stop. Or if they did it was so light that the foolish boys with us wouldn't pay any heed. But they'd toss those great chunks into the water and after only a few moments a shark would suddenly come and gobble it up. Once they decided to make it more interesting and they brought on board a whole pig. Dead, of course, they weren't that cruel. And they attached a great hook to it and threw the entire thing into the water, I am frankly surprised that it was able to float with how big it was, but there it bobbed, up and down like a child's wooden boat. And when the sharks would come they would pull on the rope and drag the pig about. It was a merry chase, truly."

She paused.

"Until something very big suddenly burst from the water. As long as this bench and it went fully airborne, snatching up the entire pig and nearly sending a sailor toppling overboard when it ripped the rope and hook with it. A monster if I've ever seen one."

"A White Shark," Natasha said. "The Northmen know of them… the men of the Night's Watch who man Eastwatch-By-The-Sea say that during certain times one can't even take a boat out onto the Bay of Seals because the White Sharks will leap from the water, smashing anything they find."

"How interesting," Olenna said. She glanced about the room again. "Yes… a shark would have been the better sigil for the people of the Crownland. They so do love to swarm when there is blood in the water."

That was an understatement to be sure.

When Tywin had announced the trial of Lord Petyr Baelish (and Natasha wondered how long he would be able to keep that title, as she was sure it would be one of the first things stripped from him) would happen 2 days after Joffrey's death King's Landing had been thrown into another storm of chaos. All wanted to know what would happen for the tales of how Baelish had so brazenly killed Joffrey had made many believe that he would simply admit his guilt and that the trial would be him attempting to earn a position in the Night's Watch to escape the headsman's blade. Yet Littlefinger had declared that no… he wished for a full trial, as was his right as a lord.

And all of King's Landing wanted to see the spectacle.

Jon had been utterly disgusted by all of it, hissing as they'd laid in their rooms the night before (after a rather serious bout of lovemaking which she was sure any spies watching them would have been rendered speechless over) about how many people had approached him asking if he could get them into the throne room for the trial. Natasha had been approached too and she'd only promised to try, knowing that she wouldn't but sometimes an empty promise could be used later when she needed JUST the right amount of pressure to get information or a favor.

Natasha only had a seat because Jon's position allowed her such respect; even with her father on the Small Council as well that wouldn't have been enough, as she had heard that several of the Tyrells and Lannisters had been denied a seat and been forced to stand with the crowd that gathered around the edges of the room. The only open spots were the doors, both to allow people to easily move in and out and for the criers. Tywin, understanding that there was an interest in the trial and not wanting riots to occur from those demanding they knew what had happened to the king, had selected eight young lads to stand at the door and listen to the trial. After a few minutes half would run out and spread amongst the four courtyards that had been opened for all that hadn't been allowed into the throne room and tell them what was happening before they'd run back, taking over for the other four who had listened while they were gone. Thus creating a constant messenger system to feed the hunger of the smallfolk who wanted to know everything.

"A few of my guards tell me that the smallfolk have reopened their stalls that they had set up for the wedding," Olenna said, not looking at Natasha yet making it clear her attention was on her and only her.

"I've heard the same," Natasha stated. In actuality she had gone down herself the day before in disguise with Varys; Jon had found it rather… enticing… that she had been able to use powders and wigs to make herself look like a pale skinned Westlander with honey brown locks. Natasha had seen no problem with keeping the disguise on while they made love, finding it rather nice that they were getting back to the more playful aspects of their relationship. Her lies had cost her several months and she needed to make up for that!

What also went unsaid, when it came to her knowledge, was the fact that Olenna's contacts had actually made her Westland persona a spy for them. Natasha had been able to fill her purse up with Tyrell coin rather easily the day before. Varys had gotten far more, of course, though it did amuse her how he'd been able to make himself appear to be her sister. One that managed to get more lustful stares than her. The man was a bloody master of disguise.

"The smallfolk seem to be taking advantage of the chaos quite well," Natasha continued.

"Oh, very much so," Olenna commented. "Most are just peddling their wares, what was left over from the wedding day. The more ingenious are getting… creative?"

"Oh?"

Olenna reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a little toy man. It was only a few inches tall and had been carved with a long face and a painted little beard added to it. While quickly made it was clear that it was supposed to be Littlefinger.

"A whore was apparently selling these out of one of Lord Baelish's brothels that she has now claimed as her own. You can choose how to kill him." She popped the head off before putting it back on and Natasha could see the arms and legs were designed to easily pop off as well. Olenna produced a tiny little wooden sword, more a toothpick than anything, and stabbed it into the doll.

"Cute," Natasha muttered to herself; she already had a few purchased that she planned to send to Lord Eddard; her good-father (for even if he was Jon's uncle he was her husband's father) might actually crack a smile at it, considering the rumors of his recent development of savage desires that were leaking out of the North.

Olenna tucked the toy away. "There are others as well. Death masks of Joffrey-"

"Look nothing like him?"

"I swear one was of a Summer Isle boy," Olenna huffed. "Candles that are supposed to be lit for my granddaughter to help warm her spirit as she cries for her lost love. Plenty of preserved food they claim was from the wedding itself. All that rubbish. Oh, I don't blame the sellers… if others are dumb enough to purchase such things then good on them. Hopefully the coin will end up in wiser pockets."

"Very true," Natasha said as she shifted in her seat. The time was getting close and she took out a small fan and began to wave it in front of her face. She wasn't truly hot… growing up in Dorne made this crush of people feel like a cool summer breeze… but it gave her something to do and made any watchers think she was weaker than she truly was.

"I dare say the sailors are going to see their coin coming in a month and the ports will be making quite a bit off of refilling the warehouses." She paused. "Perhaps your husband should recommend a tax? Help the crown regain some lost coin?"

"I think he will suggest it to your son, instead," Natasha purred back. "King's Land is unkind to men who raise taxes."

Olenna huffed. "And my fool of a son will be quicker to accept that idea than you have been."

"My father raised me well."

A hush fell over the gathered audience as Maester Pycelle shuffled in, followed by Lord Kevan Lannister, Varys, Queen Cersei, Natasha's father, and finally Lord Tywin. All were dressed in black and in fact nearly all in attendance that day were in blacks as well, with only the City Watch in their golden cloaks and Ser Loras in his white cloak being the major exceptions. None wanted to be accused of disrespecting the memory of Joffrey. Cersei was on edge and not a single person wanted to be declared a traitor to the crown due to the woman's fickle nature.

Lord Tywin remained standing while the Grand Maester moved to the desk were he would record the events of the Trial. For the rest, they seated themselves on the first bench that had been left reserved for them. Varys was rather understated in his dress, unusual for him, and Natasha wondered if he actually liked getting the chance to not have to take on the silk garments and scented powders that came in playing his role. Natasha's father sat in his chair; not lounging in it but rather sitting forward, elbows on his thighs. Ready for battle. Lord Kevan was solemn and quiet and Cersei… well, Natasha actually found herself pitying the poor woman. She had done her best to hide it with a demeanor as cold and firm as steel forged for the Watch but Natasha could see the red in her eyes. She had been crying and recently too.

Anger could only keep you going so much.

Lord Tywin stepped forward and made sure no one thought to say a word (no one was that stupid) before he finally spoke.

"We are gathered here for the trial of Lord Petyr Baelish, so he might answer for the accusations of kingslaying."

The crowd murmured at that, many wondering why they were bothering with a trial when all knew that Littlefinger was guilty.

"As he is far too young to sit judgment on his brother's kill King Tommen, First of His Name, shall not be attending. It has been decided that I will pass judgment in his stead, in my role as Hand of the King. To determine Lord Baelish's fate will be our three judges." With that he turned and waved towards a side door. "The honorable Lord Mace Tyrell, lord of High Garden."

Natasha knew there had been no doubt that Mace would sit judgment on the trial. For the Tyrell side it was another honor. News had quickly spread that Tommen, "to help aid in her grief and ensure that her hopes weren't dashed", would be taking Margaery as his bride. But he was still a little boy which meant the Tyrells would have to wait years before an heir with Tyrell blood was born and the line of kings that had sat the Iron Throne showed how fickle a king could be. Not a single Targeryen had managed to have a clean succession save for the Conqueror and even then his heir had caused so much chaos it had nearly ripped the new dynasty apart. The Tyrells, rightfully so, feared that something might happen that would leave them having provided so much to the crown and not gotten anything in return. As such for the next few years every chance there was to give an honor to them they would receive it.

"Look at him," Olenna muttered to herself as her son moved to the first chair that had been set up in front of the Iron Throne. "He thinks he looks all solemn and stern but that is the same face he wears when he's holding in a fart. If his eyes suddenly go wide know that he just shat himself. That happens with my oaf of a son."

Natasha didn't say a word. Honestly at this point she couldn't tell if the Queen of Thorns was playing the Game of Thrones or just felt the need to yammer because she liked the attention. Possibly both.

The Tyrells, Natasha had come to determine, survived by taking on different roles. Ones that were almost one-dimensional, like a quick mummur's play that would be put on to make the smallfolk giggle but could only last an hour at most. The dim witted bumbling lord. The quiet and meek lady. The dashing knight like out of a storybook. The beautiful daughter who loved to dance and sing. The snark-filled matron who delivered the quick joking insults that would have the crowd roaring with amusement. But… Natasha saw behind the masks. Mace Tyrell had positioned himself time and again to survive shifts in war. His wife gathered allies like a flower did bees. Loras knew every dirty trick there was to win. Margaery made herself appear to be like Jon's sister (naïve and sweet and too trusting) while being much like Nat herself. And Olenna was always careful that her insults merely deflected attention away from her son but never harmed him.

'I wonder if they sit in her room, coming up with what she should mock him about this time, and laughing at all the fools that believe her to actually be disgusted with him.'

"Lord Jon Stark, future Lord of Iron Pointe."

Jon came out next, Nat able to read his body language to know this was the last place he wanted to be. Jon liked fading into the woodwork, to hide in the crowd and observe. He'd been like that before he'd come to Iron Pointe due to his bastard status and afterwards he had continued as Natasha had begun to teach him the art of spying.

'But he is suited to command crowds,' she thought to herself as she took him in. Jon was doing his best not to stare at her, as he didn't want to look weak like a boy who needed to constantly gaze at family to feel brave. Instead he looked out at the entire crowd, eyes slowly studying them… as they studied him. 'Remove dagger from boot. Kill guard to the right. Call to Varys… he kills gold cloaks to left and right. Race up, take Tywin alive. Dagger to throat. Reveal Jon's parentage. Crowned King and ravens sent to Lord Eddard to get him to take title of Prince and return his kingdom to Jon. While waiting fuck at the base of the Iron Throne till we have enough heirs-'

Natasha blinked as her plotting somehow got mixed with her need to ride her husband until she drained every last drop of cum from his cock.

By the Gods Old, New, and Interested in Trying New Things in the Bedroom she needed to get him alone soon. How was she supposed to plot if all she could focus on was his muscles… which were just the right size… much like his-

She closed her eyes even as she raised her eyebrows and extended her jaw, stretching her face out in an attempt t get control of herself. When she finally opened her eyes she saw her father flashing her the most aggravating little smirk.

'You are my daughter,' he said to her through the Language of the Eyebrows. 'I want to fuck Jon too.'

'That hole belongs to me as well.'

'…I am so very proud right now.'

Natasha looked back to Jon. He had been selected because there honestly wasn't anyone else to pick from the Small Council. No one would respect Varys' judgment and his rivalry with Baelish was well known so it would make and decision tainted. Tywin could have put Kevan as a judge but with the Old Lion already directing the trial he would not risk accusations that he was trying to hurry things along. And Pycelle could not record and sit in judgment. So it was Jon, much to his annoyance.

"And Lord Namor Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark."

The new Master of Ships had only arrived the day before and Natasha had been told that rumors of his sour mood were if anything downplaying his actual temperament. While he hadn't said a word it was clear he was annoyed that his arrival had been met with little fanfare. Natasha was still trying to determine if it was true but her sources said that Namor, when informed of Joffrey's death, had merely asked if the new king he was to serve would be smart enough not to get himself killed so soon into his reign, as he 'so did hate having to learn new names over and over'.

If there was any question how any man could make such a comment in the den of lions and live to tell the tale it was revealed when Namor finally stepped into the throne room.

He had half a foot on Jon and nearly rivaled Tywin, who was the tallest in the room, but he walked as if he were a titan who expecting all the small folk to leap out of the way of his graceful footfalls. He had slicked back black hair and while it was said he had purple eyes like many of his house they were so dark they appeared to be black as well. His skin was tanned from sailing but not leathery and cracked like so many sailors; no, it was like polished bronze, beaten and sculpted by a master. The only thing that marred his looks was the deformity of his ears: the tops of them were pointed rather than round.

His garb was utterly exotic, for his jacket was open to show off his chest and stomach, with a high collar and armor along his arms and shoulders that looked like ebony seashells. His trousers were a dark green and had the same shell armor running along their sides. Yet oddly enough he did not wear boots but instead had on two thick leather soles that were attached to his body thanks to black straps that crisscrossed his feet and ankles. Finally, to complete the outfit, there was a trident upon his back, his favored weapon according to the stories told of the 'Submariner' as he was known to his crews.

Namor moved to stand on Mace's right, Jon to the left. The structure of the court was thus set: Tywin would direct the case, calling forth witnesses. The judges would ask questions of them and in the end would deliver a verdict of guilty or innocent and then Tywin, acting in place of Tommen, would render judgment.

All very complex. Needlessly so in Natasha's opinion. But that was Westeros in a nutshell.

"Bring forth the prisoner," Tywin declared.

It was clear as the jailers marched into the throne room that Littlefinger had done all he could to appear lordly. He had scrubbed himself clean and as was his right had been given new clothing to replace the ones he'd worn while in the Black Cells. He walked with a straight back and with his eyes forward, holding his head high and refusing to look meek.

But Natasha could see the cracks in the façade. While Baelish had been allowed to clean himself he hadn't been given the rights to a blade and thus he sported a few days growth of stubble on his lean cheeks. And those cheeks were leaner; not as bad as if he had spent weeks in the Black Cells but Natasha knew that he wouldn't have been given much to eat down there and most likely would have refused even a bite, fearful it would be poisoned. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy and there was a slight limp to his walk from having not been able to move about in his cell for several days, his body getting used to motion again.

He walked to the docket and stepped inside, the chains around his wrists clearly heavy but he did his best not to show weakness as he looked at the Small Council and smiled.

"I apologize for not being able to attend the last meeting. A terrible mix-up, I assure you, but I will be back soon so we might deal with the great loss our kingdom has suffered."

Mace puffed up a bit at that mockery but Jon and Namor remained stone-faced.

Tywin moved to sit the Iron Throne. "Lord Petyr Baelish. You are accused of regicide; by your hand King Joffrey, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, was slain on his wedding day. You may now enter your plea." Tywin paused. "I would suggest you think carefully about your innocence and your guilt."

"Oh, I assure you Lord Tywin, I have thought very carefully on both. But first I feel we must correct a few falsehoods… we wouldn't want Grand Maester Pycelle to be accused of submitting false documents, would we? Such a good and upstanding Grand Maester, our Pycelle. Always holding to the tenets of the Maesters. Why… I remember one of my whores, Trysha, mentioning that you always made sure to pay her a silver stag to suckle your cock as you set down your records of the Small Council meetings. You demanded that she be as diligent in how she cradled your wrinkled ball sack as you were in writing down what happened." He turned to Jon. "You asked about his records… we're lucky he didn't bring them as I hear more than one had… stains."

The crowd had begun to murmur at those comments and Pycelle's eyes went wide before his mask as a doddering old fool shattered and he glared at Littlefinger with utter rage. "How… how dare you slander me like that! I am not the one on trial here!"

"Which is a good thing because I'd say you'd be in a world of embarrassment. Did you all know that the Grand Maester loves to wear laced undergarments under his robes? One of the merchants he employs to import them from Lys is in my employ and while I never would tell such tales out of spite-"

"The Grand Maester is not the one on trial here," Tywin Lannister declared.

"Everyone is on trial, Lord TYwin," Baelish said in a snide tone. "All of us, from the moment we are born, are on trial. We face the judgment of everyone, for every sin we commit… and every one that is imagined and forced upon us." He turned, looking at those in attendance. "I have been on trial since I took my first breath. The son of a house founded by a Braavosi sellsword, on the smallest scrap of land there is. All of you have sat in judgment of me, delivering punishments for all my crimes real and imagined." He gave a casual shrug. "But that is fine… I have sat in judgment of all of you. Oh… the evil little secrets you all have."

"No one cares about your lies, Lord Baelish," Mace declared, leaning forward and jabbing his finger down empathetically. "It is you, who killed your king in cold blood, who is on trial."

Baelish pressed a hand to his chest, adopting a look of feigned shock. "Why, it sounds as if you've already decided my guilt, Lord Tyrell! So much for the fabled nobility of your house; it seems that you make my trial into a farce."

"You did that the moment you began to spread lies about the Grand Maester."

"Come now, my lord," Baelish said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, "you are not as naïve as that, despite what your mother might claim. No one in innocent in this world, my lord… everyone has secrets." He tapped a finger against his pointed chin. "Why… the stories I could tell about you and your family…"

"Enough of this," Lord Tywin declared only for Namor to hold up his hand.

"Let the mockingbird speak. I would be interested to hear what he has to say." He leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him. "I have found that sometimes it is the lies one speaks that tell just as much as truth… one merely needs to determine which is which."

Baelish clapped his hands. "Ah! A treat! Someone with some senses in their heads. Let us try with our three judges, shall we?"

'Kill him,' Natasha's brain screamed and she began to reach for the dagger she had hidden in the folds of her dress. 'Slit his throat before he can declare the truth about Jon… or rather wait till he does so, kill him, seize the throne, declare Jon king-'

"Lord Tyrell… I wonder how your new allies the Lannisters would feel if they knew that you had been in communication with supporters of the beggar king, Viserys Targeryen?"

Mace blustered and reddened at that. "Merely to keep sight upon them. I know that Lord Varys did the same… do you accuse him of treason?"

"Who mentioned treason?" Littlefinger said with an arched eyebrow.

"You empty headed fool," Olenna muttered.

Natasha frowned at that. It was a foolish mistake to make but one that was rather common. Someone with a secret always had it on their mind… it was like armor, strapped to one's chest, a familiar weight. Except this armor had a bad strap, one that if exposed would make it a target. So one did all they could to hide this flaw, this weakness. Wore clothing that hid the bad strap. Decorated their armor to draw their eye from it. And most importantly of all they kept their mind focused on the flaw, ready to defend it. But that was always their mistake, for if someone pointed only in the general direction of the flaw it would cause them to flinch, to try and misdirect… and reveal to the trained fighter that they were hiding something. Something important.

Mace had just revealed he had a broken strap.

'It shouldn't be surprising that the Tyrells were playing both sides. They only became the lords of Highgarden because they were willing to be nice to the man that had killed their cousins and liege lords. During the Rebellion they had remained loyal while doing all they could to not offend Robert and create slights against him.' Natasha had always wondered just HOW Ser Davos had found out about the siege… it was known but seemed an odd thing to discuss at the ports. She had always wondered if the man that had dropped that tidbit into the conversation had loved roses. 'And now, after they sided with Renly while being open to talking with the Starks and made sure to delay him in attacking the Lannisters, they side with them. Seeking out Viserys… that is right in line with their efforts to remain in control.'

Littlefinger looked at Namor. "And then there is the newest member of our Small Council. Are you rethinking your decision to join, seeing what they have done to me?" Baelish rattled his chains.

"I have been rethinking my choice since I received the blond little priss who came onto my ship and emptied his stomach upon my bowsman's boots because the water rocked a bit too much for him," Namor replied dryly. "Now I assume this is where you reveal some great secret of mine? Perhaps how many men I have killed? Ones who may very well have family in this throne room?" He narrowed his eyes. "I will admit them easily. And explain why each one saw their lives end at the end of my trident. Unlike so many in this city I do not hide my deeds… I accept them, embrace them, and declare them. Because when I do something it is with purpose and pride… I am no coward."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at that while the crowd began to call out, demanding to know just who Namor had killed while Baelish, with a pleased little smile, soaked in the pandemonium he'd caused. It was rather like watching Zephyranthes pop up during a soft rain.

"Well, that will certainly be something to consider for the future," Olenna stated dryly though Natasha could tell the old woman seemed rather pleased with the current development. "Someone who is actually direct is always so entertaining to have play the Game."

"Even when he doesn't believe in games and decides a swift punch to the throat is in order?"

Olenna considered that before tsking. "I'll have Mace feel him out first. If he can't swallow from a punch then maybe he'll lose some weight. I am tired of people calling him the Fat Flower. He deserves a better name."

"Other than Oaf?" Natasha asked.

The Queen of Thorns smiled at that. "Have you ever noticed that those, other than me, that call him that to his face tend not to do so a second time?"

Before Natasha could respond, to try and get more info on THAT little reveal, Lord Tywin rose and glared at the audience, getting them to instantly quiet down. "You will not reduce this trial to hysterics for your own twisted games again, Lord Baelish."

"Ah, but you really can't threaten me… not when I have so very little to lose." Baelish turned to look at the crowd once more. "That is the problem with all of you… you believe yourselves safe because you have so much but you don't realize that is what makes you so weak. Because when you hold everything… there is so much for you to lose." He smirked as he began to dart his eyes to particular people in the crowd. "And you also forget that those without much will cling to what little they have… such as secrets they have learned. Secrets about those with so much. Maybe whispered to a whore who you thought actually loved you despite needing your coin in order to see you? Or a servant you pay to be your friend? All so eager to take those secrets and use them to get something more."

Natasha could feel people shifting in their seats, wondering just what Littlefinger might know that he could now turn into a weapon against them. And she knew that at least one was now thinking, "How much must I pay in order to get him to delay whispering my misdeeds?"

Baelish turned towards Jon. "But I should finish with our three judges. The traitor, the murderer, and of course the-"

"When did you take Catelyn Stark's maidenhead?"

Jon's simple question made Baelish stop short.

It made NATASHA stop short.

"I've heard that you have bragged about it many times in King's Landing, Lord Baelish," Jon said simply. There was no smile on his face, no taunting smirk that let people know that he was trying to mock the man. Merely the stony features of the North that so many southerners had broken against when they tried to play their mind games with the men of House Stark.

'Where in the Seven Hells is he going with this?' she thought to herself, trying to understand just what had caused her husband to begin discussing, of all things, his father's wife and her maidenhead.

"It's actually quite a common story amongst the whores of King's Landing… how you brag about taking by Lysa Arryn and Catelyn Stark's maidenhead on the same day. That you were the first one to do so." Jon paused. "I believe you were going to bring up that I was dishonoring my wife by visiting the whore houses, making that my grand secret you wished to reveal. That of course ignores the fact that my goodfather is a well known lover of whores."

"It is very true," Natasha's father declares from where he was seated at the Small Council table, raising a goblet and taking a look sip. "And they so do love me."

"They told me, as I waited for him to finish so I might bring him to a Small Council meeting, about how you bragged about it, Lord Baelish, so I was curious exactly when you did such a deed. It is rather impressive. I have heard tell that our late King Robert bragged of 'Making the Eight', where one needed to sleep with a woman from every one of the old Kingdoms and the Riverlands. Now, I will never achieve such a thing as I have both the love of my wife and I do not repel women so much that I must find a new one to sleep with-" That earned a shocked titter of laughter from the crowd, startled by his comment but also seeing the insult for what it was.

"Oh, now I really like your husband," Olenna whispered.

"So it seems that you are probably well on your way to achieving it, if you haven't already. And to claim both of Lord Hoster Tully's daughters… that truly is interesting. Especially when one considers all the facts." Jon leaned forward and rolled his hand about. "You must have done it while a ward of Lord Hoster. Some might argue that means you dishonored the man, breaking his trust and proving yourself false. Others would point to the fact that you must not have promoted much… respect… from Lady Catelyn, seeing as she refused you even a favor after you were sliced from neck to navel by Brandon Stark. Which seems odd considering how much weight Lady Stark places on honor… after all, we know how she treated her husband's bastard." Jon allowed a slight smile to slip along his lips. "For her to give up the most precious of gifts a woman can give her husband all in the name of spending time with a minor lord's son she would never marry? And to discover he was so horrible in bed that she renounced all interest in him?"

Baelish face was red, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing with a fury. Natasha could practically see him trembling in outrage at the body blows Jon was laying into him. It was such a verbal flaying Natasha wondered if she'd gotten it wrong and Jon wasn't secretly a Bolton.

"So… I ask Lord Baelish… when did this amazing moment happen? When did you convince Lady Catelyn Tully to give up her maidenhead to you?"

Jon didn't smile.

Not once.

And that made the question all the worse.

Had he smiled it would have been clear that he was trying to insult Baelish. Get a rise out of him. But by being utterly serious, calling upon the sternness of the Starks that flowed through his veins, he made the question not a wildly slashing knife but a dagger pressed against one's throat, begging for the fool to twitch and kill themselves.

People began to murmur to themselves but it was clear no one was actually going to speak up. They didn't want to risk raising their voices and preventing Baelish from speaking. Because they were so very, very interested in what he had to say.

Everyone at court had heard of Baelish's claim. Even if he hadn't spoken it aloud to a person they had at least heard it second or third hand. How he had taken Catelyn and Lysa Tully's maidenheads on the same day. Baelish loved to boast about it and he loved to remind people of it like one would mention the weather. "It rained last night and I took both of the Tully girls' maidenheads".

And yet Natasha could see from the way the crowd was looking about at each other that despite the claim Lord Petyr Baelish had never actually told the full story. Had never given the details. Much like a fisherman who would claim he caught a great sea bass, so large it dwarfed his boat, but then would wave away why he hadn't kept the trophy, so too had Littlefinger been strong with comments but weak in details.

Baelish remained quiet and Natasha took a moment to study those around her. Olenna, she could see from the corner of her eye, had at once realized what Jon was doing and was fighting to hide a smirk of pride; Natasha made a note to keep an eye on the Queen of Thorns lest she think it was her right to steal Jon away to become her apprentice or the like. Her father for once wasn't smirking but rather had the same look on his face as when he discovered a rare book and was pondering over the secrets it was revealing to him. Varys was staring intently as Baelish, clearly wishing he was a judge so he might speak up and help Jon destroy his rival. Pycelle did nothing to hide his glee at the man that had revealed his secrets getting caught in Jon's trap of words, the mask of the doddering old man shattered as he stared at Baelish with cruel delight.

Cersei of course had missed the entire point and was smirking as she drank from her wine glass; most likely she actually wanted Baelish to answer with the details because it would be another weapon to use against the Starks. Mace had been silent, looking at Jon and then back to Baelish. For someone that everyone thought was a fool he was oddly quiet when faced with the unorthodox questioning.

Namor just looked bored.

And Tywin… Tywin had his eyes narrowed and his jaw set but there was something utterly unreadable in his eyes. Natasha didn't know what he was feeling she just knew she didn't like it. It spoke of wheels within wheels, turning each other as they created plans.

"I…" Baelish began only to pause, "I do not see what this has to do with my trial."

Namor was the one that spoke up, surprisingly. "It has everything to do with your trial, Lord Baelish. The one you've been, how did you put it?" His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "We are on trial the moment we are born?"

Baelish glowered for a moment at that before adopting once more his casual air. "I don't recall, to be honest. That was a chaotic time."

"You don't recall?" Jon asked. "I would think you would remember such an important moment, Lord Baelish. You were… 14 years old I believe?" Natasha forced herself not to chew on her lower lip; her husband had PREPARED for this and by all the Hells did it make her wet when he was fucking cunning. "I suppose there is a chance you laid with another but for most lads that is when they have their first woman if they are not saving themselves for their marital beds. A man should remember his first time, should he not? I dare say every man in this room who has laid with a woman remembers that first time. I remember mine." Only then did he look at Natasha and she rubbed her thighs together; Gods the man was going to make her ruin the bench! "And with the two daughters of a lord… and not just any lord but the Lord of Riverrun? To not remember that…"

"We were together often-" Baelish claimed only for Jon to hold up his hand.

"And yet you don't remember that first time? You loved Lady Catelyn Stark, though I admit I do not understand why for even before she was a traitor to the crown she was a shrill and vile woman who judged everyone."

That earned a murmur and delight from Cersei. And for everyone with a brain it reminded them that Baelish's lost love was now on the opposite side of the war.

"You requested to go to her, did you not? To try and convince her to get her husband to see reason. I believe Lord Varys told me it was… 'out of love for her' that you did so?"

Natasha on one hand was annoyed that Varys hadn't told her he was plotting with Jon.

On the other hand she hoped they'd call a break soon, despite the trial having just begun, because seeing Jon being so ruthless and conniving had left her undergarments a damp mess.

"You challenged Brandon Stark for her hand… and you would have us believe you would not remember when she returned your show of love? That you would refuse to take a bride, despite being on the Small Council and being rather wealthy, even after all these years?" Jon shook his head. "I know you think us fools, Lord Baelish, but we are not so dim as to believe that a man could love a woman that much and not remember when he'd first laid with her. There are men in Flea Bottom who have slept with lice-ridden whores who remember more details than you.

"Which stands to reason then that you never were with Catelyn Stark. That all your boasts are merely lies you used to make yourself look grand while slandering the woman that spurned your affections. One who would not lie with you, the boy she knew, but would open her legs for the man that was meant to be her goodbrother."

"Don't you speak of her," Baelish warned.

"She never loved you. You were Little Petyr, the silly boy with delusions of grandeur."

"You dare-"

"And if she showed any affection for you it was out of pity or her own amusement and she tossed you away the moment something better came along but she certainly would never waste her time being with the likes of you!" Jon rose from his chair, the voice of a king filling the throne room.

"You bastard, I'll-"

"Kill me like you did Joffrey?"

"Yes!" Baelish exclaimed only to catch himself. "No… I didn't kill the king-"

"You were seen, Lord Baelish," Jon said, once more taking his seat. "And you have admitted it here. Just as you have revealed that you are a liar… so used to falsehoods dripping from your lips you forget they aren't true. I believe you have even convinced yourself that all the foul things you claim about the Grand Maester and the people in this room and all those outside are true. But the word of a liar is mud; they should never be believed."

"Well said," Lord Tywin stated. "Judges, by his own words Lord Baelish has admitted his guilt. What say you?"

But before Jon, Mace, and Namor could say a word and bring the trial to a surprisingly quite resolution Baelish rallied. "You… all of you… conspiring against me. To hide your crimes. Well…I will not allow you to do so. I would think by now you'd have realized that I do not crumple and fall… I always rise despite what chaos may come. As such… thank you, Lord Jon-" he said the title with such mockery and scorn it set Natasha's teeth on edge, "-for giving me the idea. I will do as I did with Brandon: I demand a trial by combat."

He stared right at Jon and Natasha knew exactly what he was hoping for: that Jon would declare himself the crown's champion. And while she knew he could win she didn't trust Baelish not to-

Tywin rose. "And the crown names Sandor Clegane as its champion."

The air seemed to be sucked from the room.

"Well," Olenna muttered, "I didn't see that coming."