Jon
He did his best not to shift in his chair. Even with the padding that had been placed on it the damn thing was uncomfortable, though he seemed to be the only one to not be able to get into a position where their back wasn't aching.
'Of course that might be because they are all used to being in the center of attention,' Jon thought to himself. Back at Winterfell while he had been allowed some small honors like sitting at the family table during breakfast for feasts and the like Jon had been sent down below by order of Lady Stark; the King and Queen's visit and that final feast hadn't been the first time that Jon had been told that his presence would offend the noble guests. When he had gone to things where he was allowed to stand with the family he knew he was always the afterthought or the thing to be whispered about. Eddard Stark's shame or Robb's base-born brother. He was always looked upon based on his connection with others and never himself.
It had even been that way at Iron Pointe. He was Antony's Heir. First it had been the people wondering just who their lord had brought back from the North to take over rule when he eventually passed, then it was them wondering how Jon and Tony could be so utterly different.
But now? While everyone knew who his father was (or at least they all THOUGHT they knew) and knew that he was Antony's Heir the reason he was the focal point was that he was sitting next to the most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms after having sat in judgment of the first Kingslayer actually brought to trial in generations.
Natasha sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap, while after Tywin there was Cersei. Tommen had been ruled to be far too young to watch the Trial By Combat, something that oddly all of the Small Council had agreed upon, and thus Sam had taken him to train in the yard while Tywin spoke with the Command of the King. The rest of the Council sat in judgment, with all but two of the Kignsguard in attendance. The Tyrells were also there, Margaery sitting primly though for some odd reason she had her lips jutted out like she was a duck; something she tended to do a lot, Jon had noticed. Her brother Ser Loras was standing next to her, having been selected to serve as her sword and shield much as Jaime Lannister had done for the queen. Namor looked utterly bored, not bothering to hide the fact that he wanted to be anywhere else, while Oberyn lounged bonelessly in his seat, sipping wine and chomping on an apple he had found.
Beyond the covered viewing area that had been set up for them was the court, the hangers-on and gossips of the Red Keep who spent their days trying to gain favor with the crown while eating their food and drinking their wine and doing little else to help the realms. They were eager for blood, he could tell that, and he had little doubt they would be getting just that.
While he wasn't as good as Natasha at spotting such things Jon just knew that in the crowd was at least one catspaw that would be ready to end Baelish's life if he, somehow, managed to win the Trial By Combat. Tywin Lannister wasn't a man who left things to chance. He didn't gamble, he didn't take needless risks, and he didn't leave things in the hands of the Gods. Someone that was promised to be able to take the Black and their family seen to if they did the deed.
Finally Lord Tywin rose up from his chair and a hush fell over the crowd that had, only seconds earlier, been talking rather loudly to themselves. Despite his hatred for the man that had caused so many problems for him and his family Jon had to admit it was utterly impressive how the Old Lion was able to take control of an entire open courtyard filled with hundreds of people without saying a word or even needing to raise his hand.
"My Lords and Ladies," he said, his voice hard and firm. He didn't shout the words but all could clearly hear him all the same, the Hand of the King having clearly mastered the ability to project his voice. "We are gathered here to see justice done. Three days ago Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm, was killed on his wedding day. The accused, Petyr Baelish, was seen by over three hundred and twenty guests plunging a dagger into His Grace's chest."
The Queen winced at that and Jon, much to his own disgust, felt a twinge of sympathy for her. For how vile and cruel she was, how all of this could be laid at her feet for her giving into her disgusting need to fuck her own brother and birth his spawn, how she had failed as a mother to Joffrey and made him into the maniac little monster he was… she had loved her son. Jon wouldn't deny that. It didn't excuse anything she had done and he still looked forward to the day that her head would be on a spike for what she had done to Sansa but… she had loved her son and every day she was forced to remember that he was gone.
"While the evidence is as strong as Valyrian Steel it is his right to demand the Gods decide his fate. As such Petyr Baelish will battle in Trial by Combat, to determine his fate." Tywin turned his head to one of the soldiers that wore the red and gold of House Lannister. "Bring forth the prisoner."
They only had to wait seconds to see Littlefinger emerge. He had clearly taken the time to groom himself, having washed his hair and shaved so that unlike at his trial there wasn't full stubble on his cheeks and all that he sported was his mustache and beard. Both weren't as neat as they had been when Jon had seen him at Council meetings, lacking the creams that he used to make them stiff and shiny, but they were better than they had been at the trial. Baelish wore simple armor but Jon could tell it was of high quality. There were no dings or scrapes, no dents or chips. He had no weapon on him but instead one of the soldiers brought his arms to him, though not out of respect like many knights would receive. No, Baelish wasn't trusted not to try and rush someone with his weapon until the fight began and thus would not receive his arms until it was time for him to battle.
"Petyr Baelish, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Littlefinger smirked at the Hand of the King. "I would think that you, of all people, my lord, would follow proper decorum. I am Lord Petyr Baelish and should be addressed as such."
"It is you who is in the wrong on that count," Cersei said, cutting off her father before he could speak. She had the same little arrogant smile on her lips, the one he was sure she thought made her look at once superior and cunning but instead just made who had spent a bit of time with her wince because they knew that she was about to indulge in her own self worth. "You are Lord no more, Petyr Baelish. While it was the King's right to place you on the Small Council you have been now removed."
"Yes, because removing the best Master of Coin the Realm has ever known during a time of War is a brilliant move," Baelish said.
Cersei leaned back, struck by his comment but honestly Jon wondered why she was surprised. If he lived Baelish knew he was done in Westeros so he had nothing else to lose. And he most likely suspected that Tywin would try something so his odds of escaping death that morning were slim. So why not say what all had wished to snap at a lord or lady when they had thought themselves just a touch too important?
"Tell me," Baelish continued, "will you be taking the position? You seem determined to take everything else. Robert died and you swiftly placed yourself on the Small Council. You constantly felt the need to tell the other members how to do their jobs when it was clear to all of us you needed twenty women just to help you figure out how to put a slipper on."
"You dare-" Cersei said, finding her voice, only for Baelish to speak right over her, causing her to go silent once more.
"And those you didn't interfere with you had already made your puppets. I speak of course of our dear Grand Maester. Thank you, by the way, Grand Maester… if it weren't for your rather frequent requests for the whores in my employ I wouldn't have been able to afford the armor and weapons I needed for this battle."
Pycelle, from his seat off to the side of the Small Council and the Royal Family, looked up from the scroll he had been using to document the trial and began to sputter.
"I wonder how he'll record that?" Natasha whispered and Jon covered his mouth to hide his smile.
"And now you, your grace, will be taking over my duties? Good people of Westeros, know that your hard earned coin will be well spent as our Queen attempts to once more show up King Robert… though this time by managing to become an even bigger and sloppier drunkard than he was!"
Cersei fumed at that before jabbing a finger at a guard. "Arrest him at once!"
The guard blinked. "But… he's already arrested."
Jon saw Tywin shut his eyes and swore the man muttered a prayer to the gods fro strength. But it might have just been his imagination. "A replacement will be found for you, Baelish," he said even as the Queen moved to rise; whether to lash out at Baelish herself or to grab a guard and make them somehow arrest Baelish twice he wasn't for sure, "and one that will be far better than you when it comes to the management of the crown's coins." And the barely concealed tittering of the crowd over Baelish's comments disappeared as Tywin narrowed his eyes. "I have been the one looking into your books."
Baelish, for his part, merely smiled right back. "Ah… discovered my secrets?"
"You did not invest the Crown's coin as you claimed. Nor did you find new and ingenious ways to bring in wealth through taxation. You borrowed from the Iron Bank."
"Many borrow from the Iron Bank. Aegon the Unlikely did to fund his projects to help the small folk. I never hid that I did so."
"Aegon borrowed wisely. You borrowed with wild abandon. Far more than you claimed."
"And the blame for that can be placed at your family's feet, Lord Tywin," Baelish said with a mocking sneer. "Your goodson was a drunk who attempted to fill the hole left in his chest from being married to a cold shrill woman with feasts and whores. Your daughter was like the little girl the bards sing of who is never satisfied no matter what her parents give her. And your grandson, Joffrey, tore the Seven Kingdoms apart because he could not keep his word and murdered Sansa Stark when he didn't get his way. Wars cost money; you know that. The only thing that seems to burn through stags and dragons even more is having the blood of a Lannister."
Baelish then turned and looked right at Margaery Tyrell. "And when that wasn't enough to cover for our King's foolishness the Lannisters accepted your father's gold to wed you to Joffrey. A poor deal considering you didn't even get to lay with him but considering your last husband was too busy lying with Ser Loras-"
"Enough of this!" Mace Tyrell blustered. "We did not come here to hear more of this murderer's prattle."
"Well put, Lord Mace," Tywin said, that probably being the first time in his life that the Fat Flower had heard that in public. "But to return to the matter of your title you are no longer a member of the Small Council. Harrenhal has been taken from you-"
"That was given to me for my services to the crown," he said but there was no pleading in his voice; he wasn't whining about Harrenhal. If it had been Jon he would have been thrilled to be rid of the damn thing. They said that dragons were gone from the world but Jon knew differently. One dragon remained. Harrenhal, the stone dragon that consumed not cattle but riches. A great bloated beast who lived on despite rotting from within.
'And that has nothing to do with the fact that Harrenhal is where your father first met your mother?' a voice that sounded rather like Natasha's whispered in his mind.
"Then you should not have killed the king that wore that crown," Tywin said simply.
"Joffrey would not have been king had it not been for me." He looked at the crowd once more. "Did you know that our dear queen, while Robert's body was still warm, attempted to seduce Eddard Stark to keep him from revealing the truth of Joffrey's lineage? She told him that they could rule together… she and him would guide Joffrey in the day and warm each other's beds at night."
Jon screwed up his face in disgust. "He deserves to die for putting that image in my head," he murmured and he saw Cersei turn and shoot him a look… it wasn't out of anger but rather seemed to be… agreement at the disgusting notion of the Lord of Winterfell and her engaging in such acts. Jon had a feeling though they were disgusted for different reasons.
"Perhaps they would have eliminated Joffrey after Cersei produced child for her new dog… a pup they could put on the throne, claiming that it's what Robert would have wanted-"
"I think we should remove his tongue!" Cersei snarled. "Ser Illyne!"
"Fool," Natasha hissed softly under her breath; Ser Illyne had lost his own tongue to Aerys and now Cersei wanted him to do the same to another.
It was Namor though who spoke. "I thought it was established that every word you say is dripping with lies." He leaned forward. "Lord Tywin, I have wars to win. Finish this so we can return to the true matter at hand. No one cares about the prattle of little men."
The crowd murmured at that, startled by someone speaking that way to Tywin Lannister… but Jon saw the Old Lion nod ever so slightly. While Tywin demanded respect he also was willing to bend, just a little, to common sense and proper focus. And Namor was delivering both in ample supply.
Thus he looked down at Baelish and continued, acting as if the man hadn't said anything to interrupt him."And your holdings in the Fingers has been taken as well."
THAT made Baelish fume. "That belongs to me."
"And now it will belong to another. The lands were given as a gift… they were not won through conquest. Your great grandfather was a foreign sellsword from Braavos and your grandfather finished the building of your lands that were given to him for services done. Such things are given through the kindness of lords but a king rules over a lord. More than one Noble House has overstepped itself, giving away that which it had no right to or giving too much to the wrong sort and the Crown has corrected the errors. That is all that has been done here: a correction."
Cersei nodded, a smirk on her lips. "I think I will give it to the first pig farmer I can find… they can use your family's keep as a sty for their animals. At least more noble beasts will sleep in its walls than did during your stays there."
Baelish glowered at that before forcing a smile on his lips. "And more noble beasts will sleep there than have warmed your bed in recent months."
Cersei's eyes flared with rage and Jon swore he could hear stone grinding as she set her jaw and rubbed her false hand with her flesh one.
"And so the pettiness of Lord Tywin Lannister is revealed again," Baelish continued. "I wonder how long you will serve as Hand of the King to your grandson before you throw another fit and flee back to Casterly Rock."
But while Cersei looked ready to scratch Baelish's eyes out Tywin merely stood like a statue, unmoved by Baelish's comments.
"It is normally the right of the condemned to say their final words before their opponent comes forth. However you have said more than enough, I believe, and thus we will move to the crown's champion. Come forth Sandor Clegane."
The Hound emerged from the shadows of one of the entryways and swallowed at the sight of him. Somehow the memories of the giant man with his horrifically scarred face had dulled with the passage of time, making Jon unprepared for how striking the man was in all the wrong ways. He wasn't as tall as his brother, the Mountain, but he was still a massive man. Better proportioned in Jon's opinion… the Mountain had been a chunk of marble pulled from a quarry while Sandor had been carved by an artist into something sleeker. The Mountain had battled through raw brutal strength but Jon knew just staring at the man and watching him walk that for what he might have lacked in strength (not to say he wasn't clearly very strong) he would make up for in speed.
Of course Jon figured most people didn't realize that considering their attention would be drawn to the man's face.
Jon remembered from Winterfell that the Hound had tried to use his hair to hide his features, letting it hang down so to try and hide some of the damage. Other times he'd chosen to wear his Dog-Headed Helm, which hid much of his face entirely. But as he walked into the ring where he would face Baelish that helm was tucked under his arm and his long greasy hair had been tied back, letting all the world see the horror that was his face. The melted skin, the holes in his cheek, the long dried up muscles that had been left exposed to the air. All was seen as he walked forward.
And the Hound didn't react in the slightest to the gasps of startled surprise by the court.
"Sandor Clegane. You stand as the champion of Tommen Baratheon, serving as his sword and shield to determine the guilt of the man accused of murdering his brother, Joffrey Baratheon. Are you prepared?"
"Let's get this fucking over with," the Hound said gruffly.
"Do you have any final words before the battle?" Tywin asked only for the Hound to stare him down, his silence being his answer. "Very well." With that he waved to a Septon and settled into his seat.
It wasn't the High Septon, as it should have been per all that Jon had read about concerning Trials by Combat (he had wanted to study up on the practice, just to make sure there was no chance he would get roped into the mess) and knew that the blessing was supposed to be done by the highest religious authority in whatever city, town, or village one was in. That meant, for King's Landing, it should be the High Septon but the Faithful were still arguing and voting on who should take on the crystal crown and gold rod. In fact it had taken quite a bit of Lord Tywin's forceful nature to get the Septons to send even one of their number for the trial; they had demanded it wait till the High Septon was selected, with some whispering that Joffrey had died because he'd refused to wait for them to select the High Septon and thus his marriage had been cursed.
Jon didn't know exactly WHAT Lord Tywin had said to that… he just knew that when the Septon had arrived that morning he had been pale, shaking, and kept looking at Lord Tywin like he expected himself to be named the champion of the Crown.
"We are here to determine the guilt or innocence of one Petyr Baelish, before the sight of the Seven. To do this the accused shall battle a champion of the crown, letting the Gods to decide his fate. May the Mother provide both mercy."
Baelish walked over and held out his hands, finally handed a sword, a spear, and a shield. Clegane, having been allowed to bring his own weapons, inspected them carefully.
"May the Father give them justice as they both deserve."
"This isn't a trial," Jon whispered to Natasha, "it's a farce. The Gods will determine nothing here. I could kill a baby in front of all King's Landing and so long as I was a skilled swordsman I would be allowed to walk free." He shook his head. "Madness."
"Madness that we must allow," Tywin said softly, startling Jon as he hadn't realized the Hand of the King could hear him. "But you are right, it is a farce. It always has been. A way for the rich and powerful to weasel out of true punishment and the poor and weak to be put in their place."
"May the Warrior lend his strength to both their arms, so that they might be able to fight with honor."
"Then why allow it to happen at all?" Jon asked. "You clearly do not believe that the Gods are watching and stepping in to ensure one man lives. Why waste our time?"
"Because we are all slaves, Jon Stark," Tywin said simply. "Even the mightiest of us must bow to the masses. It is a good ruler who knows when to bend to their whims and when to try and change their minds." He paused. "And what do I care if there is a bit of pageantry so long as I get what I desire."
The Septon wrapped up his blessings and a horn echoed out, the people cheering as they sensed the blood that was about to come.
Natasha shook her head as she watched Baelish walk over and drain a goblet of wine. "And it allows the demented fools a chance to leer and cheer and feed their darker impulses."
Jon nodded at that, looking around and seeing how everyone in attendance was hungry for violence.
And at once… they got it.
There was no call to begin. One moment Baelish was setting down his goblet while the Hound put on his helm… the next Littlefinger was lunging forward, sword still sheathed at his side while he swung his spear right at the Hound's throat. Clegance though slid to the side and moved to slice Baelish's back as he darted forward and Jon thought for a moment that the battle was going to be done as quickly as it had begun.
But Littlefinger's momentum shifted and he was able to use it to spin around and bring his shield up, catching the blow and deflecting it away. Had he allowed himself to take on the full hit he would have been dropped to his knees but like a boulder in a riverbed he made the strike flow around him, allowing him to dart back.
"People always love to talk about my duel with Brandon Stark," Littlefinger said as he and Clegane began to circle one another. The crowd had grown quiet and Jon didn't blame them as he too was startled by the fact that Littlefinger was still alive. "About how the foolish little boy from the Fingers tried to defeat the Heir of the Warden of the North who had from the time he was 3 been trained out to fight. How outmatched I was, taking on such a giant of a foe and it was only the pleading of Catelyn Tully that saw me spared."
"Another thing the Starks are failures for," Cersei said with a slight smirk. "If only they had finished him off we would have been spared his mouth."
"They speak of the scar he left me and see it as a badge of shame that I must carry forever. A reminder of how foolish I was. And they are-" Baelish had to leap out of the way of a swing by Clegane and Jon was struck by just how nimble the man was. He was easily weaving around the blows and strikes that the Hound was trying to deliver; while he hadn't scored any damage himself he hadn't taken any either which was far better than anyone had expected of him. "And they are right," Baelish said once he'd put a bit of distance between him and Sandor. "But everyone just assumed that with my loss that was it. That I saw it as proof that I had to use my mind rather than my skill at arms. But that is where they are wrong!"
Suddenly Littlefinger rushed forward, moving for a lunge only to suddenly halt, spin, and bring the butt of his spear up right into the snout of Sandor's helm. It clanged hard and caused the taller man to take a step back and Baelish lashed out with his shield, striking him in the side before he once more leapt away.
Jon looked about the crowd and saw the murmurs growing on the lips of the court. A Trial By Combat… the Seven lending their strength to the innocent. And Jon realized that if Littlefinger somehow did the impossible and managed to win he would become a legend spoke of for a century to come. And a man like Littlefinger, having that kind of fame? That… would be a dangerous thing indeed.
"You all love to throw my lineage back at me as proof that I am a lesser!" Baelish called out. "But you forget that very same lineage! My great-grandfather, the 'sellsword from Braavos'! He was the First Sword of Braavos and they STILL speak of his name with awe and dread! My grandfather the 'hedge knight' slayed 20 men that attempted to overthrow Lord Corbray in an ambush without receiving a scratch! My father, the 'smallest of lords' who only got what he had because he 'tricked' Hoster Tully into friendship! One of the most cunning military minds of his era, forgotten only because the only true war was against the Ninepenny Kings! And even then it was he who created the final trap! Do you deny that, Tywin Lannister? Do you deny that it was MY FATHER who told you where to go so you and your brother Kevan could claim your glory?"
The crowd's murmurs became a dull roar and Jon saw Tywin shifting in his seat, though if it was because of discomfort or something else entirely he couldn't say.
"The blood of warriors flows through my veins and you think I would give up the ways of the sword after one failed duel?" Baelish let out a laugh, easily spinning his spear about him in a grand show of dexterity and control. "I let each of you think that… Little Petyr who let puppy love blind him to reality and retreated to his books when he failed. The boy who never was a true man for he preferred barbed insults and games of strategy over mindlessly swinging a hammer around! Robert swung a hammer around and he drove the kingdom into war barely halfway through his reign! Joffrey couldn't even manage a sword and he did the same! What good is martial prowess?"
Cersei's jaw was tight, no longer smirking at the battle she thought had already been won in her name. Namor was watching intently, his face cold but eyes alight with interest. Mace Tyrell wasn't even bothering with a befuddled look on his face as would be expected, instead sitting there with absolute focus.
"He's been trained," Natasha whispered. "By very skilled teachers."
"In secret I prepared!" Baelish called out. "I learned from my mistakes. Originally my plan was to challenge Brandon again, when he was fat and slow and dulled by wine. He would have been the Robert of the North, bringing them to ruin, and I would come in as the savior, claiming his wife and his kingdom!" He paused. "But then fate had other plans. Poor little Lyanna… she thought her note to Brandon would get him to understand that she went willingly with Rhaegar."
Jon froze in his chair.
"I was the one that told him that the Prince forced her to write it. I was the one that convinced him to take the heirs of the North, the ones that mocked me as a skinny pathetic child, and march to King's Landing and demand Rhaegar be brought to justice. I only wish I had been there to see that Northern dog and his father die as Aerys destroyed his own dynasty!"
"End this," Jon whispered to Tywin. "Damn honor, end this now before he rips the Kingdoms even more apart." The knowledge that the Rebellion was built on a lie… it would give the hidden Targaryen Sympathizers a banner to rally behind while turning those that had supported it against one another with questions and accusations. The Starks had doomed the Seven Kingdoms. Robert had been given horns twice. How much had Jon Arryn known? Jon hated the Lannisters but he also understood that unless there was a strong hand to keep everyone in check the War would burst into flames once more and would stretch out farther and with greater heat than before.
Tywin though shook his head. "Let his bray. We can deal with it afterwards."
Littlefinger though wasn't done. "And then there is the secret none of you know," he taunted. "The one you were all too stupid to realize! Why did the Kingsguard go with Lyanna Stark to the Tower of Joy? Why did they guard her?" He shook his head and threw his arms out wide. "She was with child! The true King of the Seven Kingdoms! The Citadel has the proof but kept it hidden! Rhaegar and Lyanna were wed and their child is the true King!"
Natasha began to rise from her chair.
"Lyanna and Rhaegar's son-"
The Hound leapt forward and drove his sword into Littlefinger's chest.
"You fucking talk too much," he growled before ripping the blade out of Baelish's body; not straight out but rather slicing through Baelish's left side, sending a spray of blood and guts onto the stone. Littlefinger stood there for a moment, mouth flapping about uselessly, unable to get any words out. He couldn't even gurgle, not with his lung pierced and half ripped from his body. His weapons dropped from his hands and he slowly reached up to touch the wound only for the Hound to swing his sword again, hacking off Baelish's head before spearing with the tip and flinging it over the castle wall and into the sea below. Only then did Littlefinger's body collapse to the ground, the Hound letting out a huff before walking away even as the crowd roared and cheered their approval.
"Well, it took longer than expected but it's done," Cersei said finally, holding out her goblet to get it refilled only for Tywin to snatch it from her hand. "Father-"
"Small Council meeting, now."
"Whatever for? Joffrey's killer is dead."
Tywin glared at Cersei. "And he just revealed that somewhere out there is Rhaegar's son. A threat to Tommen's throne. We are going to find them and we are going to snuff them out." He rose from his chair. "Lord Tyrell, you will assist myself and Pycelle. We will demand the records from the Citadel that Baelish spoke of or we will burn Oldtown to the ground."
Mace sputtered. "I… I am sure my goodfather will-"
"This child is a threat to Margaery as well," Tywin reminded him. "If they make their claim your daughter will be seen as the wife of a pretender."
At once Mace's mood changed. "I will assist however I can."
"Good. Jon, I will need you as well. You and Oberyn must learn what you can about the Tower of Joy. Who got there before Eddard Stark and stole the child away? We will plan for your trip in a month's time."
Jon nodded, rising with Natasha, his fingers finding her own and giving them a squeeze. "Of course." He turned to Natasha and gave her a hug. "Return to our rooms."
She nodded before whispering, "We have to run. The moment they let us go… we run."
"I know."
He only hoped they'd be able to do so before someone learned the truth.
