JOE DEMPSIE SAVES WESTEROS

Part 2 – THE MOCKINGBIRD

Upon entering the chamber, the absence of the King did not surprise Petyr in the least. However, something twitched inside his head at the missing Lord Commander and Grand Maester. "Is this not a full meeting of the Small Council?" he asked amiably.

"No," croaked out the easily fooled Hand. "A matter of law," and he nodded his head once towards where the readily distracted Renly sat.

The movement of that head caught Petyr's attention. "Lord Arryn, you appear ill," he said with a start overlaid by a sheen of concern, for the old man in fact did so; ashen faced and perspiring heavily. "Shall we call for Pycelle or your maester Colemon?"

"I begged the same, Lord Petyr; but, alas, the news our dear Hand and Master of Ships brings is apparently more important than his health," the eunuch replied before any other.

While both despising and fearing somewhat Varys, Petyr silently thanked him for the slight clue. Clearly the pair had been out below again in the city searching for more of profligate Robert's bastards. Had they at last realized what so clearly stared in the face of anyone with half a brain these many years? He hid the smirk threatening to gather at the expense of House Lannister; instantly anticipating many of the benefits that could, with careful, clever play, accrue his direction from the fall of the Lions.

"Then pray speak it, and quickly, my lord. The sooner we may see to the restoration of your vigor."

But it was not old Arryn who spoke.

"Lord Baelish. Lord Varys," Stannis rasped out their titles with even more loathing than the norm. "Which ever of you tells us the greater truths now shall be allowed to take the Black. The other shall not live past sunset."

"Lord Stannis?" he near stuttered while maintaining a pleasing calm to his voice even as his belly suddenly lurched.

"My lords?" the eunuch tittered in that practiced girlish voice.

While an evidently confused Master of Laws asked with wounded pride, "Stannis, what in SevenHells is this all about? You can't go about …"

"Quiet, Renly," the old man snapped as if to a child. Renly pouted but stopped speaking.

"I serve the realm and have nothing to hide," Varys said with an agreeable smile on his powdered and perfumed face; instantly switching voice and demeanor like the vile Spider he was. "What truths do you wish to know?"

Arryn and Baratheon looked a moment at each other and then Stannis opened his mouth full of ground down teeth. "Lord Varys, has the Lady Lysa Arryn committed adultery with Lord Baelish?"

Fuck. Had Varys set him up? Damn him and his little birds? How had they discovered his periodic and very secret, very discreet dalliances with Lysa? Were they truly that good? But then why threaten both himself and Varys with death or the Wall? There was more to this game than just this question. There had to be; but first, Petyr must hear what the eunuch would claim.

A sad expression descended on that hairless head. "Yes. Starting not more than a month after arriving from Gulltown."

Bastard. Though not unexpected.

"Cersei's sprogs are bastards," Petyr blurted out desperately.

"Worse, their sire is Ser Jaime," Varys concurred, again the epitome of sorrowful.

"Yes. The Kingslayer's," he immediately agreed despite being not entirely sure of it; just a deep suspicion, which were almost always accurate.

"By Baelor's Blue Balls," Renly oathed and then immediately started cackling with glee.

"What proof do you have of the Queen's infidelities," Stannis demanded over the mirth at House Lannister's looming destruction.

"You've been looking for the King's bastards. Do any of them look like Joffery, Tommen, or Marcella?" He accused the former blind men.

"Lord Varys?"

"As poor Lord Petyr says. And you have the book of Lineages that Grand Maester Pycelle gave you. No known pairing of a Baratheon with a Lannister ever birthed a blonde haired child … before Cersei," the eunuch stated with the hint of a sly smile.

"Did your little birds witness any of their couplings" the joyless cock continued.

"Perhaps."

"We will need them to testify before the court." The under torture was unspoken but understood by all. A Queen and a Lannister would not be undone by the simple claims of smallfolks; even given under oath to the Seven.

"They are such delicate creatures, my little birds. Sometimes they fly away on their own. Others just expire for no reason. I am not sure whether any who saw the twins' unnatural unions yet remain to me. I shall gladly confirm this with you Lord Stannis before I go to the Wall."

"Liar," Petyr accused. "They demanded truth. How did you know the Lord Hand was using a book of the Grand Maester's? More of your little birds you speak mysteriously of so often. Show them to us!"

"Sweet, doomed, Lord Petyr, I did not hear you deny your intimate relations with the Lady Lysa," the Spider stabbed back.

"I took Lysa's maidenhood and the Lady Catelyn's too. I deny it not," he bragged. "But since my exile from Riverrun my cock has not entered either Tully sister's cunny. Let us hear what your little birds say about that. Or did you try to watch us in secret yourself to remember what a cock was for, eunuch?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Petyr," the Spider repudiated him softly.

"Are you claiming no carnal knowledge of Lady Lysa here in the Red Keep?" Stannis asked with an angry yet muddled look on his hard face.

"Stannis, you buffoon," Renly laughed. "He is saying he didn't fuck her, but there are other … games they could play for their mutual … liking."

"Sodomite," he snarled.

"He might have had her arse, but I was thinking more hands and mouth if you must know, brother," Renly said with vast amusement, followed by gesticulations with closed fist and lips to demonstrate his meaning.

"Lord Varys?" the stiff as one of his ships Stannis queried.

"Perhaps …" the Spider drawled.

"Is young Robert mine," clueless Arryn choked out, finally joining the odd and deadly interrogation.

"Yes. As Lysa hasn't fucked me since before marriage; as much as she begs me at last once a month to put another baby in her belly, I sincerely doubt she is interested in any other's seed." If Petyr was to die, at least he hoped he could shock the sick old fool into proceeding him.

"Varys," the breaking Hand desperately sought the treacherous Whisperer's confirmation.

Another irritating, vague, "Perhaps …."

"Lord Varys, why did you not tell Lord Arryn of his banner lord's perfidy as soon as you … it was discovered," Stannis leapt back in to try and control the direction of the unofficial trial.

"The realm was in the midst of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Money was needed to pay the expenses of war and Lord Petyr was proving himself a magician in finding gold for the Iron Throne's coffers. And the dishonor from a revelation would have caused him resign as Hand while the King was sailing about the Sunset Sea. As they were being discreet, I judged it unwise to create unnecessary chaos and prayed their infatuation would burn out quickly."

"It didn't," Renly snorted.

"No," the eunuch agreed.

"But after," Stannis growled.

"King Robert still needed Lord Arryn's steady Hand by his side; a might warrior, but a less than diligent ruler our noble monarch."

"Liar, you wished to keep me around until the time you could blackmail me to help you," Petyr declared, matching the Master of Whisperer's likely intent to what he himself would do if he were in the eunuch's silk slippers.

"For ten years? And to help me with what? How? Tsk tsk tsk. Though I will admit to an unhealthy fascination watching clever Petyr place lordlings and merchants and sellswords loyal to him and his coin into positions in the Exchequer, the Gold Cloaks, and within court itself. But I could never figure out to what end. Sadly, now, I will never learn."

"Do not be so sure it will be you going to the Wall, eunuch. You have known about Cersei's bastards longer than I have. Why did you say nothing. Surely you could have dropped a clue. You are the Master of Whisperers with his little birds. You would have been believed. I am a mere lordling. The Master of the Coins. Who would have believed my accusation? I had only a guess as to the truth. You had proof. I may have betrayed my liege lord, but you betrayed the King and the entire realm you so peacock proudly claim to serve."

"Enough. I've heard enough," the near dead Hand of the King stated. "I've reached my judgement."

"Lord Arryn, the eunuch has barely begun to spill all the secrets he knows," Petyr protested respectfully. He and Varys most likely had the same hope. A banishment decree to the Wall and then slip away when the opportunity presented itself. He had friends in many places, high and low. And plenty of gold hidden in various places.

"Petyr Baelish. I find you guilty of treason against the crown and sentence you to die by the executioner's sword at dusk."

"As a lord, I demand a trial by combat," he surprisingly found himself gushing out. Maybe he could get Lothor to fight for him. Probably against Barristan. Certainly not against Jaime, not now. The man was old and no longer what he once was.

"You confessed. You have no right to challenge …" Stannis declared in outrage.

"I accept," old Arryn rasped. "I will face you."

"No," both Baratheon brothers uttered in rare agreement.

"And Lysa shall watch us and see what her evil ways have made come to pass."

'As if she ever had a choice,' Petyr thought with amusement about the valuable piece of string he'd kept wrapped around his finger the last decade.


"No," Petyr said in disbelief as the cold foot of steel pierced the boiled leather at his back and then the skin over a kidney. The stupid, old fuck had tricked him. Tired and weak, just shy of eighty name days, the cuckold had fought exactly as Petyr had anticipated. Slow and halting.

Like Brandon had with him all those years ago, Petyr toyed with the weaker foe in front of a courtyard full of eager watchers. Batting aside pathetic blows. Moving the other about. Forcing him to defend. Cutting him here and there at almost will.

And then exhausted, the heavy shield had slid off the devious fucker's arm; and Petyr had stepped in to give the kill, grabbing ahold of the other's blade with mail gloved hand in order to keep it safely way and then stabbing the bastard straight in his soft belly.

And the dying man had fallen forward on the sword, purposefully. To get close enough to grapple with Petyr. Poor, sweet, doomed, Petyr. And a dagger had appeared unseen in the old fool's shield hand.

The pain was … immense. Exquisitely so.

"Unfair," he burbled, blood coming frothy to his lips. The scent of salt and iron replacing his usual minty breath.

The joined pair toppled over to the packed earth together. Falcon on top. Mockingbird beneath. His glassing over eyes gazed upward. Towards where Lysa stood watching the horror. But Petyr Baelish did not see her.

"Cat," he breathed.

Then breathed no more.