My idea of what would happen if Lysa Arryn was as much of a bumbling idiot as the show and books describe, and poisoned the wrong person. This is heavily inspired by DisobedienceWriters The Wizard of Harrenhal AU 2 or chapter 6, and what would have happened after. I am also setting it three years before cannon starts. For those that haven't read Wizard of Harrenhal go read it. This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I dont own Game of Thrones, and though I probably won't add Harry Potter into this just in case I do, I dont own him either.
A small change makes a big difference.
A stupid wife and failed poisoner.
Jon Arryn
Jon Arryn likes to think he was a simple man with simple wants but he knew that neither of those things were true. As Hand of the King, Lord Paramount of the Vale, and Lord of the Eyrie none of those titles were for simple men. His simple wants were not simple either. Jon wanted the seven kingdoms to run smoothly, no more conflict, and for them to manage to dig themselves out of the piles of debt that King Robert Baratheon has managed to get the kingdoms into. At this present moment Jon Arryn is waiting on Petyr Baelish to come to his solar. He has received a letter from the Iron Bank, a most distressing letter. A letter stating that the Iron bank would no longer be lending to the Iron Throne until such a time as the debt owed to the Iron Bank was mostly paid back. So when the knock finally came to his door he got up to answer it himself. Even if most other lords believe that was the job of a servant Jon believed that it was not the place of a servant to be in the Tower of the Hand while the Hand was doing work for the realm. On the other side of the door stands the Master of Coin Petyr Baelish.
"Come in, Petyr." Jon says beckoning Petyr into his solar.
"Good evening, Lord Arryn." Petyr Baelish says with a nod. Jon had forgotten how much he hated Petyr's new voice. Jon thinks that Petyr has been spending far too much time with the spider Varys. He didn't frown but had to prevent himself from scowling at the younger man. Jon remembered a time when Petyr was new to Kings Landing when his voice wasn't low and mysterious. That was a time before Petyr spent too much time around the spider. Jon closes the door seeing both his guards and Petyr's outside the door. With a nod to their Lord the guards started to move not just themselves but the other set of guards to further down the hallway, this was a conversation not meant for others ears. Jon closes the door and goes to his desk to get the letter, while Petyr goes to the couches set out for meetings.
"How are you this evening Petyr?" Jon asks, trying to get the pleasantries out of the way.
"I am well, Lord Hand." Petyr says with a smirk. The man constantly has a smirk on his face these days. Jon knows you can't trust a man whose expression never changes, but his wife Lysa has convinced him that her childhood friend is a man to be trusted. Jon allowed Lysa to brow beat him into appointing Baelish to the small council. At first Jon though that it would be good to have one of his Vale lords, one trained by his Goodfather to take up the position. Now he wasn't sure that it had been a good idea, while Petyr Baelish was good at finding coin to fill King Roberts apatite, it seems he wasn't so good at finding the coin to pay off the debts the crown was amassing. Baelish says all the right things. He is bright and helpful, but there was something wrong with him. That smirk with those dead eyes and his well-studied voice, like he performs a well staged mummery. It is the small things that Jon notices, but they did not come near the top of the list of the things that concern Jon. He would have to watch Baelish, that was all he could do without proof of wrongdoing. In the beginning of his time as Hand, Jon Arryn looked with care over the accounts. Now he let Baelish do as he needed, find the coin that Robert loved to spend. He didn't care to know the details now, which were assuredly bloody and horrible. He'd let the details slip a little too much, though.
He had so little attention to spare. Jon Arryn knows that he has a few years left to him, but he wants to finish the many projects he has started. Not least of which was settling who was the heir to House Baratheon. Those children of Robert's weren't his but those of the Queen and Jon presumes that smirking idiot of a brother she had. Jon couldn't quite figure out how to tell his foster son King Robert what he knew as Jon knew that King Robert would not take it well. At the very least the Queen and her brother would lose their heads, Varys might also lose his head for not telling the King, because there was no way that the spider didn't know.
Jon knows and King Robert's brother Stannis did, somewhat. Jon still had not told Stannis who he thought was the father. Now the next part was telling Robert. Perhaps Robert would believe Jon, then the Queen might be thrown from the highest tower of the Red Keep, while hopefully the children would be shipped off to the old lion of Casterly Rock. Or Robert wouldn't believe Jon, then Jon's years among the living would end slightly earlier then they would have naturally. He'd think out his plan another night. He returned his mind to tonight's topic, the missive from the Iron Bank of Braavos that was a study in subtleties and insinuations. He needed all his wits to handle Baelish and this matter. Baelish looks around Jon's solar.
"A drink?" Jon asks, walking towards the couches.
Baelish nodded. "Please." Jon walks to the table where the gaudy decanter of Arbor Gold and several glasses sit, the plainest glasses in the Red Keep or so Jon thinks.
The interior door that leads into the apartment of the Hand opens. Lysa, Jon's wife comes in. "Is that Petyr I heard?" she asks Jon, her eyes sweeping around the room.
How she hears Baelish's low voice in their apartment, Jon wonders. "He's always prompt," Jon says, gesturing to the couches where Baelish sits. Lysa smiles brightly when she sees Baelish.
Jon places the letter into a pocket for now. With Lysa in the room, they would chat lightly. The Iron Bank could wait until she excused herself. Knowing Lysa as he did she would make any excuse to stay in the room with her childhood friend. This is a common sight over the last few years. If Baelish shows up, Lysa would be there in moments, if she were in King's Landing. He wasn't jealous of the affection Lysa had for her friends, the few that she did have. Jon may love his wife but that love has grown slowly and has only fully shown itself after she had birthed Jons only living child. What Jon had started with was a transaction between House Arryn and House Tully. Hoster Tully had supplied armed soldiers for a war and Arryn had supplied a groom at a wedding. Tully made sure that his daughters married well for his support, but now that support is one of the pillars that held up the seven kingdoms. Lysa has always been fond of her only childhood friend, hasn't she? He heard from her uncle the Black fish while on the march that she only had the one friend growing up, the other children her age were her brother and sister, and her sister, Catwlyn's betrothed sister Lyanna Stark for a year. Lysa didn't get along with any of them according to the blackfish. Her cold demeanour towards the letters she receives from Catelyn shows her dislike towards her sister.
Petyr has done rather well from his friendship with Jon's wife. As a boy he'd been the heir of a small holding, one of the smallest holdings in the Vale, the smallest of the fingers. His father's saving of Hoster Tully in nine penny kings rebellion, as a reward Hoster had taken him to foster in Riverrun, had that not happened, Lysa could not have introduced Baelish to Jon. Sure, Baelish was a small lord of the Vale, but Jon had many, many small lords in the Vale. Lysa had helped to push Jon and Baelish together. Without that, Petyr Baelish might not now be Master of coin. Funny how little things don't always stay little. Where one was fostered turns out to have momentous import. Jon had helped to bring up Robert Baratheon and now he lives in this horrid tower as reward or punishment, it depends on the day. In Jon's mind he still hasn't stopped fostering Robert, stilling cleaning up the mess that Robert makes
"Do you want a drink, Petyr?" Lysa asks, smiling at her friend.
"I was about to pour him one," Jon says, holding his scowl from showing.
"Well, you sit down with Petyr. I'll get drinks for all of us.," Lysa says, guiding her husband to the couch. Jon nods and takes his seat.
"Has our Robert had his supper?" Jon asked. He didn't understand his son very well. He is of a great age and Robert was so small, so young, so sickly. He left the rearing to Lysa.
"He's being fussy, our sweet Robin is. But Petyr doesn't want to hear about that."
"No hurry," Baelish says. The words annoy Jon as there is something very important that Lysa was keeping them from. There was something so strange about Baelish, even desperate. Jon had met most kinds of men during his life. He didn't know if he'd ever met another like Baelish. He certainly hopes to meet no others, and that there are no others like him. Lysa provides glasses for all of them, smiling at Jon as she hands him his. Though the one she had for Petyr was even brighter. She sat down, sipping from her glass and keeping them amused for a good while, gossiping about this or that other unimportant thing about court life. Jon hardly listens as the backstabbing in court life grates on his nerves. Then Petyr stares at her for a moment, indicating to the door into the hands apartment with his head. This greatly relieves Jon as it means they can get onto the more important work they have for that evening.
Lysa flushes. "I should let you get to your work."
"It was a pleasure," Jon says. Petyr stands while Lysa collects the glasses and leaves the room.
"A charming woman, your wife is." If anyone knew women, it would be Baelish. He is the Master of Coin, but also the unofficial Master of Women for King's Landing with the amount of whore houses the man owned. Jon waved away the compliment. Lysa was Lysa, when it was just them she was sometimes hardly charming.
"Why did you want to see me, Lord Arryn?" Baelish asks, affecting an inquisitive air about him. Jon pulls the letter from the Iron bank out of his pocket.
"This." handing it over to the master of coin he waits. Baelish didn't read quickly. When he finished, he nodded once and looked up.
"I see."
"Are the allegations true?" Jon asks, leaning forward in his chair.
"Well, if anything, they're understated." Petyr says with a shrug. Surprisingly unaffected by the message.
Jon suppressed a groan. "We owe more than they indicate? Tell me we don't. It can't have gotten that bad shorely." slumping back into his chair.
"If you include our debts to the Lannisters and the Tyrells, undoubtedly. There's also the Faith." at this Jon starts getting more worried, he's unaware that they owed the Tyrells anything. Getting into bed with Olenna Tyrell was almost as bad as getting into bed with the faith of the seven.
"We'll get no new extensions from the Iron Bank unless we get current. Perhaps not even after we manage that." this time Jon does sigh.
"Borrowing from foreigners is always a tricky business." Petyr says as if his family wasn't originally from Braavos
"Borrowing from Tywin Lannister is safer?" Jon asks, almost completely fed up with the situation.
"Well, no. Not really." another smirk from Petyr that's starting to grate on Jons nerves.
"Exactly."
They were up until the early hours figuring how to fill the holes in the Kingdoms' finances. Jon vetoed several of Baelish's suggestions, such as raiding this or that fund to get them past the hard times, all the while holding himself back from smacking the smirk off his face. Baelish seems to be trying his hardest to get on Jon's nerves. The coin paid to the poorest of those in King's Landing was very informal, but it was real. That money couldn't be redirected, not without causing more food riots. King's Landing had burned often enough in recent decades. Jon wasn't going to cause the next riot. Nor could they raid the fund set aside for the upkeep of the harbour, if sailors and their captains didn't feel safe in the harbour they wouldn't dock there and they need the trade those people brought in. He thought of Baelish after the man left. The Master of Coin was good with tactics, but his strategy was quite poor.
Meeting with King Robert wore down what little patience Jon could muster on this particular day. It was never enough for King Robert, never enough wine, never enough whores, but always too many meetings about things Robert didn't care about. King Robert never wants to listen to the good advice that Jon tried to give him.
"Counting coppers," Jon says to himself softly, parroting a line he'd heard more than once.
If Jon heard that term again, he might strangle King Robert himself. He left with the King's reluctant permission to do as he needed, just as long as Robert didn't notice what was happening, which wasn't hard to do. Jon could isolate the king easily enough, it was the Queen he had to work around. Cheaper wine poured into expensive decanters they already owned, done. Robert could no longer tell the difference, the Queen on the other hand had to be fooled that she was drinking the best, a few silver stags to her hand maids and that would be easy enough. Instead of burning the Queen's old clothes, getting them restyled without her noticing would also cut down on their expenses. Closing down portions of Red Keep that weren't used, done. It should save from heating them somewhat, and having servants attend to them. Using the dragon bone they had hidden in the catacombs and rendering them down for bows to sell. Selling whatever Robert hunted instead of letting it go to waste on some grand show of vanity. Sending out more hunting parties into the king's wood should also help. So long as they sell off everything from the carcass, the meat and the hyde they should get more silver stags then they spent on the hunting parties. Robert would notice none of it, too deep into his cups as he normally is. Jon, so deep into his own options that he doesn't notice that Varys is skulking in the Tower of the Hand.
"Come from the King, have you?" Varys asks with an annoying titter to his speech.
Startled, Jon stops and looks around. "He was quite decisive today." A polite fiction. A fiction that Varys lets him keep.
Now Varys might say nothing or he might just say something not cryptic for once. Jon has worked near the man for one and ten years and still couldn't discern his moods and whims.
"Undoubtedly. Have you heard that Petyr Baelish is sick?" a devilish smirk on the bald mans face
"Sick? With what?" Jon asks, worrying about his own health and that of his wife. As she had dinned with the man recently.
"A fever, Lord Hand."
"He was fine when last I saw him. Fever? I had a drink with him three nights ago." even more worried now.
Varys shrugs. "Pycelle does not know the cause of the fever."
"Pycelle knows many things, but medicine isn't one of them," Jon scoffs. Pycelle only had the one ring on his chain for medicine. In fact he had more rings for poisons than healing "Thank you."
"As always, I live to serve," Varys says. He then moves away, slowly, silently as is his way. Varys must be gloating. He and Baelish had quite the rivalry, one could say it was close to two tigers fighting over the same kill. Still, there could be truth to what Varys had said. Jon went to where grand maester Pycelle was treating Baelish. Jon could get nothing out of Baelish. The man could barely speak, and what came out of his mouth was nothing but gibberish. He tried many different questions, all got the same results. So Jon took his concerns to Pycelle.
"He was found like this, not more than two hours ago" Pycelle says. "None of my treatments have changed his condition, I'm afraid."
Jon wanting not to tarry here for a moment longer. Disease, sickness none of which he wanted to bring back to his family "Let us speak away from the sick room." Pycelle leads Jon into his solar, which is rather gloomy and filled with books, candles and other things Jon couldn't identify.
"Is this a fever? An epidemic? Something he contracted from one of his girls?" Jon asks. As Hand of the King, he has to be concerned about King's Landing. There is very little worse for the population than a fever that spreads from house to house, especially if this came from one of the brothels where it could lead to a sailor getting sick and end up spreading that to other ports in the seven kingdoms. Baelish has it. Where had he gotten it from? Jon fears it comes from the city or worse he port. After all, who knows where Baelish goes in the city, the brothels, the gambling dens, other haunts of sin and vice.
"This is the first report I've had," Pycelle said. Jon nods knowing that meant nothing. There could be many more that are dying in flea bottom and being turned into bowls of brown.
"But much of what happens outside doesn't make its presence known to us, not in a timely fashion." Jon states with a pointed look. An acolyte knocks on the door.
"Grand Maester, Lord Hand, Lord Baelish has passed." he says, before scampering back to wherever the acolytes go when not needed. Petyr Baelish had died. That fast, he went from being well three days ago to dead with nothing to show where it came from. What a horrible fever. Jon went to look at the man one last time with his mouth and nose covered by a rag. Baelish's eyes were filled with blood. He looks like an unnatural creature in death with his red eyes. Nothing Jon had seen in any battle in the past has prepared him for this. What an unhealthy place King's Landing is. Jon knew that he needed to do something about the conditions in the city, but King Robert would never allow the coin to be spent on anything but his own vices. Perhaps it was time to take a tour of the different Kingdoms and get out of this cesspit of a city. Jon could do with a few weeks in the Eyrie, he knew he had his own work for the Vale to do there, preparations for winter being one of those. He could even suffer through a few nights in Highgarden with that oaf, Mace Tyrell. Olenna had him painted right. Olenna would also like a visit so long as it was the royal court so she could try to push her golden rose on the supposed royal prince. Jon scratched out a note for Lysa. She had best know about her friend's death. Jon did this without thought about how bad it would hit his wife.
Later in the evening as Jon was writing a message to the Iron bank. As Robert never cares who was on the small council, never appointing anyone to it. It fell on Jon and Stannis to appoint people, Jon knows Stannis would not mind overly his thoughts on who should replace Baelish. Jon was hoping that the Iron Bank would send one of their own men to be the new master of coin. Hoping that by doing that they would cut the Iron Throne some slack, if they saw just how much of a mess the finances were in, as well as just how bad the seven kingdoms is after having some many wars in such a short period of time. Ser Boros of the Kingsguard hands Jon a message. Jon had tried many times to tell King Robert that he could do with other guards, namely his own guards from the Vale. He didn't need one or two of the Kingsguard to protect him. Especially the likes of the kingslayer, a man he had tried on many occasions to get out of the kingsguard, as a man who killed one king could kill another. Especially a king that is as bad a husband to the kingslayers sister, a sister that the kingslayer was fucking. A sister that Jon presumed the kingslayer fathered three bastards on. Tywin would also be pleased to have his heir back as well. With the amount of debt they have to the old lion, giving him something would be better than nothing.
"Thank you, Ser Boros," Jon says, holding back a frown at the man's presents.
It wasn't a true gift, Jon knew, because nothing King Robert did was ever a generosity, the king was a glutton in all senses of the word. King Robert shifts those who fell into his disfavour to Jon's service, then recalls them as others angered him. It wasn't easy to keep track of what the feuds were about, even when there were but seven in the Kingsguard. It was always easy to tell who was in the outs at any moment in time just find out who King Robert shoves on Jon and one would know. Jon opens the message. He has to read it more than once, as his first read through made little sense. The short of it was this, Jon's wife, Lysa, had collapsed.
Jon's first thought was fever as she had dinned with Baelish not two nights before his death. Jon's second thought was for his son not wanting to lose yet another heir, not again, not in King's Landing. Panic ran through him as his former heir died in this very keep, at the hands of the mad king. He rushes from his solar to the nursery where his son should be at this time of the day. Young Robert is playing destructively under the care of his ever present nursemaid. Jon feels his forehead and Robert complains. His boy is fine, if whiny. His nursemaid looked at Jon with a concerned look on her face, so he motions her to the side away from young Robert.
"Lysa has collapsed, I'm worried she has what Baelish had, as they had a meal together not long before the man passed." Jon whispered to her. She nods to him
"I'll keep an eye on the young lord, milord." Jon nods to her.
Then Jon stormed through the Holdfast to where Lysa was being treated by Pycelle. As he did so he thought about bringing in his own maester from the Vale.
"How is she?" Jon demands.
Pycelle blinked many times not expecting the man to come rushing in. "It's not a fever."
"What happened to her?" Jon demands hoping against hope that the man wasn't lying to him. If Pycelle was lying Jon would have him strung up by his own chain.
Pycelle took his time answering. "I don't know. My acolyte thinks it could be a simple case of histrionics."
"What are the symptoms?" Jon asks, trying to remain calm.
"She's muttering a great deal, truly raving at points, but I haven't been able to learn anything substantive," Pycelle says with a shifty look on his face. Jon knows Pycelle is Tywin's man through and through. Jon thought he was lying.
"Leave us."
Jon went into the next room where his wife lay. It was a small room a few doors down from where Baelish had died. The thought of her being so close to where the man had died brought a sense of dread to him. Lysa is weeping, inconsolable. She was also babbling streams of words, truly a torrent of words that Jon could make no sense of. Never being one to be able to console a crying woman, Jon tries his best.
"What happened, Lysa?" Jon says in his kindest voice, one reserved for his family.
She looks at Jon. "Is it true? Is he dead?" All this for a friend? Jon frowns, unable to help himself this time.
"Petyr? I'm afraid so." She burst into a fresh round of tears. "I shouldn't have sent you that note. I'm sorry Lysa, I should have come to tell you."
"You should have drunk the wine I served you," Lysa says, with sudden spite and a look of pure hatred sent to Jon.
"What?" Jon says with a confused look on his face.
"Nothing." Lysa mutters. Jon pulls up a chair and sits beside Lysa's bed. She cried and slept. She woke up and cried more. It was some hours into Jon's vigil when something different happened.
"I must have given him your glass, Jon..."
Jon says nothing, still not sure what she meant until he starts thinking. He just thinks back to the last time Lysa, Baelish and himself had been in a room. Baelish had been in Jon's solar. Lysa had prepared the drinks.
"Why did he smile and drink it?" she asks and weeps more. Jon had a horrible moment of intuition about what she might say next. He still needs to know.
So Jon adopts a low, soft voice, not dissimilar from Baelish's, at least that's what he's aiming for. "I don't blame you Lysa, it's not your fault."
"You should, it is." Lysa croaks out. A pained look on her face. Jon feels bad for all of a moment.
"I don't," Jon-as-Baelish says. The mummery making him hate himself slightly.
"How did I get it wrong?" Lysa asks herself. She cries some more, but seems unaware that there was anyone else in the room with her. "It was so simple. You gave me the poison. It has no taste, no smell. Then you drank from the wrong glass."
Jon looks down at his clenched hands trying to get them to relax before he ends up making himself bleed. He untensed or at least he tries to.
"You wanted to be there. Be there to see my hated husband drink the poison. Why Petyr, why? I could have poured Jon a glass without you. As I do everytime I go see him in his solar, but you wanted to be there. You said you had to be there. You pushed and pushed. Just had to have your own way just like when we were children." She still had yet to run out of tears. "So we agreed, it would be the next time Jon summoned you to his solar. Even with my protests you said we had to do it this way. Why, Petyr? Why did you drink the wrong glass?"
Jon didn't know how to answer her. He was still grasping that Lysa was a murderer and a bungler. She had planned, with Baelish, to kill him. Worse, Lysa hates him, he loves her and she hates him, how did he not see this. Jon listened until Lysa fell asleep again, but she kept repeating the same things over and over. He got up and exited the room. Pycelle waiting on the other side of the door. No doubt listening, as well. He would have to do something about that. Do something to keep him silent.
"Is she well, my Lord?"
"She is quite mad, insane even, Grand Maester. Her only childhood friend dying has left her quite insensate. Unable to tell the truth from fantasy. Your acolyte may be right, this could be histrionics." Jon says, trying to play it off as madness. Not wanting to threaten the man, nor wanting to kill the man.
"I see." Pycelle was trying to determine how this would benefit him, Jon knows he will have to do something more about this. Baelish had been like that. Varys still was. Though both of them were more gifted at not looking like opportunists, unlike the not so Grand Maester. Jon knows that a message to Tywin would be winging its way within moments of him leaving the man presents.
"I will have her sent up to the pure air of the Eyrie to recover," Jon says. "Also have her moved to the Tower of the Hand. I'll have my own people watch her."
"Yes, perhaps a recovery up in very pure air will be healthful." Pycelle looks sceptical at this.
"Thank you for your assistance," Jon Arryn says before leaving. As he was leaving he could hear Pycelle ordering his acolyte to make Lysa ready for the move back to their apartment.
"Good bye, my love," Jon says without any emotion. Knowing that his wife never loved him has soured his own feelings toward her. Then nodding at his men, the procession to the Eyrie began. It had taken two days to organise and Lysa fought not at all because of the milk of the poppy Jon kept feeding her. Keeping her high on the milk of the poppy kept her out of the way and unable to object to what Jon wants to happen. Robert Arryn would remain in King's Landing with his father. Jon was hoping that away from his codling mother he would finally come out of his shell. Some of Jon's most loyal men were to escort her to the Eyrie and keep whatever secrets they would learn, as Lysa was likely to say things she should while in the state she was in. Jon has instructed his guard to keep her under the influence of the poppy until she is in the Eyrie. What would Lysa do once she realised what she had revealed is a different matter and one Jon hopes would sort itself out, maybe she would throw herself out the moon door. Jon could only hope. Jon thought her the biggest, dumbest monster he'd ever met, well maybe not monster but he thought the term fitting. There was a secondary problem, of course. Jon had spent many hours over the last two days looking at his son, his heir, Robert. Jon has found bastardy when he'd looked at King Robert's children. Should he find it in his own progeny? Was Robert Arryn actually Robert Stone, Robert Waters, Robert Rivers? He isn't sure as to if young Robert was his, since Lysa has admitted while under the poppy that Baelish the scum was a regular bed partner of hers. Jon doubts everything about Lysa now. He doubts himself for being such a blind fool. An old husband and a much younger wife, and he'd never once wondered about her friendship with Petyr Baelish. He doubted all those around him who likely knew and had said nothing. Surely Varys had known, just like the man surely knows about the Queen's children. Maybe others know, in a place like Kings landing where there are more spies then there are rats more had to know. A solemn Jon watches as the wheelhouse departs with his company of soldiers. He wouldn't see them again for some months. He intends never to see Lysa again.
He has work to do. He was Master of Coin as well as Hand for the time being. Jon was hoping that the iron bank would get back to him soon, if not just send a representative to be master of coin. That was the story he put about, which is true, but it also gives him reason to dig deeply into Petyr Baelish's dealings. That man deserves to be thrown to carrion eaters, but Jon would see about a small, respectful burial. Not in Kings landing no that scum would be sent back to the smallest of the Fingers. He rides to Baelish's primary whore house and nods to his guards, whom he'd ordered to keep the place secure.
"Anyone find the papers or books we need?" Jon asks hopefully.
"Lord Hand, his solar seems covered with parchments and books, and none of us are overly confident in our letters" the guard says with a sheepish look on his face. Jon nods knowing that it's not common for guards to be literate.
"You expelled all the patrons and workers of this place."
"An unhappy lot they were, but yes, Lord Hand. One of them we had to take into custody. He was the man running all of the brothels with Lord Baelish dead. He didn't want to give up the place. We have had to send men into the other ahum whore houses to make sure nothing goes walking while we look here."
"Good man. Make the man you have as uncomfortable as you can. I want him to sing when I come to see him. No torture though at least not yet." Jon nods and walks inside the garish structure. It still smelled of perfumes and sex. Baelish was dead and still his scent lingers.
Jon found the solar and began assessing the paperwork running his hand over his balding head. He has his scribe sent for, along with more learned men from the Tower of the Hand, making sure his guard knows that it was only to be Vale men coming. There was a vast amount of writing to be examined, too much for just one man to go through.
Jon started putting the papers into stacks, some private though not many, many matters of the Crown including the Crowns ledgers which should have been left in the man's office in the Red Keep. The far stack, and the smallest so far, dealt with his procuring business. Others dealt with matters of the Kingdoms or other nastiness Baelish was doing. He was far wealthier than Jon had known. Far wealthier than he should have been. He paused and flipped through the ledgers on Baelish's holdings, as well as the ledgers of what he was earning, then went over the ledgers from the Red Keep, smelling a rat he keeps digging. He was going to confiscate every golden dragon. Most, if not all, had come from the treasury, the scum was worse than a thieving magpie. It should return to the treasury, as soon as Jon found the evidence of how Baelish enriched himself so rapidly. It shouldn't be all that hard to locate with both sets of ledges in front of him. He paused to eat. He paused to give orders. He ordered candles lit when dusk fell. He was deep into the papers and ledgers, worryingly so.
The situation was far worse than Jon ever thought they could be. Now a fuming Jon could see why he had received that letter from the Iron Bank. As far as Jon could tell, Baelish had stopped paying the debts owed to the Iron Bank some time ago and not just the iron bank, Jon just did know why the Faith of the Seven hadn't come asking yet, unless Baelish got to them before they came to him. Thankfully the man wasn't stupid enough to not pay Ollena Tyrell or Tywin Lannister, he only reduced the amount he was sending to them. Why? That was unclear, but Baelish had, had some scheme in mind. He was enriching himself for some reason. Jon hadn't found anything written concerning his full intentions yet, however he was only one whore house into this current mess.
The third day he was there, in the afternoon, Jon found the first secret room. He'd been walking the former whore house and discovered some oddities. The rooms weren't the right sizes, which meant to Jon that there were more spaces than what he could perceive.
He couldn't ask for assistance from his scribe, squire or his men, he could only trust his men so far. Having not found where Baelish had been squirrelling the money away to, he didn't want to tempt his men. He spent a good deal of time finding the well obscured entry. The secret space was just larger than Jon's marital bed. It was filled with shelves, the shelves were stacked with gold. The space where he could walk could only just fit him, King Robert wouldn't be able to fit his large baulk into the room. Something else happened as night descended upon the city, he had finally received a response from the Iron bank, in the form of a representative. A man named Tycho Nestoris came to see him in the whore house as he still hasn't left. Even going so far as to sleep in the place. King Robert would never even notice that he wasn't in the Red Keep until the man needed something. Jon is currently still looking for more rooms.
"Lord Hand. The Iron Bank is very confused about your current want of a member to be your master of coin. I have also heard that you have been here for days. I'm curious as to what is keeping a man as honourable as you here." Tycho says without any greeting. Jon is very taken aback by this as he wasn't expecting anyone.
"Lord Nestoris, welcome to King's Landing. There are many things that we must speak on first come with me into the solar here." Jon says and starts to lead the man out of the room.
"It's just Tycho, Lord Hand. There are no lords in the Iron Bank, only gold, always gold." Jon thought to himself that he might just grow to like a man who was that honest.
"Very well Tycho. Have a seat." Jon says as they reach the solar. "Have a look at these ledgers and tell me what you think.'' It took Tycho less than half an hour to put together what had taken Jon more than three hours to start to understand.
"What a thieving magpie of a man. How is it that you didn't catch on earlier?" Tycho said appalled at what had happened.
"Does the Iron Bank still hold to its discretion and upholding the contracts that are signed on its behalf?"
"Of course it does. I was sent here to negotiate in good faith." Tycho says, affronted by the suggestion that they wouldn't.
"Then the Iron Throne would like to propose a contract where the iron back is always the master of coin. That the representative always works in the best interest of the Seven Kingdoms, not just the Iron Throne."
"What would the terms be, precisely I can't see the bank agreeing to something that doesn't favour us." Tycho says with a raised eyebrow.
"One of them would have to be that the representative would act in the best interests of the Seven Kingdoms. If it was ever proved that an action the representative proposed from the start of the action was against the best interests of the Seven Kingdoms the Iron Bank would be responsible for the fall out be that economic or not. That the representative would argue for favourable terms with any party that they sought loans from including the Iron Bank. In saying that if the Iron Bank was offering the best terms on anything that representative would be well within their rights to go to them first before any other." The look on Tycho's face was stone hard as he thought over what Jan has said.
"I do believe that those terms are acceptable, however we would want at least most of the debt paid off before we continue our discussion. I assume that you are looking for where Baelish has stored his stolen riches? And since he stole from the Iron Bank his family vault will be seized to pay off what it can of the debt that he has accrued on the Iron Thrones behalf. May I have a parchment so I can write out this request. I shall be staying in the city until our negotiations have concluded." Tycho says with a straight face. At least with him on the small council he could rely on one honest man there. Jon handed over the parchment, he also wrote out his own note to the bank asking if they would send an up to date accounting of what they owed after what Baelish's family vault was put toward it. Waiting until Tycho had written out his note, he handed over his own to Tycho. To his credit Tycho didn't even glance at it. Tycho got up and left after a brief goodbye.
The next day Jon found a room filled with precious stones, and jewellery, a larger collection than still resided in the King's Treasury. Some of the jewellery Jon notices is in a distinct style, the style of the Targaryen dragon. Many crowns and coronets. Necklaces that he had seen on the former queen, and one medallion with a sun and spear. The very one that the Martell family have been looking for. The one that belonged to the late Princess Elia. That one Jon pockets immediately so he can return it to the Martells. Jon leaves the room and continues his search for more secret rooms. How the man had managed to gain these items was beyond Jon.
An hour later Jon found the most unsettling room of all. It was a room of stoppered bottles, a room full of labelled bottles with sheets on paper under the bottles, Jon picked up one and saw that it was dosage and use information. This must have been the room where he kept the poison that was meant to be used on Jon but ended up being used on himself. Baelish wasn't just a thief and a sometime conspirator. He had committed who knew how many murders. Jon was tired of being in this miserable setting. It now made sense the amount of people that sometimes disappeared in the city. While Jon knows that it isn't just Baelish most of the missing cases that come before the courts state the last place the person was seen alive was in one of the city's brothels.
"Hugh," Jon calls as he's leaving the hidden room.
"Lord Arryn?" his squire asks as he comes up besides his lord.
"We'll need covered carts and several of them and as many lock boxes as you can find in the Red Keep. We'll need more men. Bring all the Vale men from the tower, I can use them now." Jon says with a grim expression.
"How many carts, my Lord?"
"Let's start with six."
"Six?"
"Order up six in my name. No doubt we will need more."
Before the first cart has arrived, the news is about in the vicinity, from Hugh to the guards to the locals who have been trying to figure out what was happening since all the patrons had been removed. Of course, the locals have been curious about the activity in the space. Soldiers kicking the patrons of a whorehouse out was good gossip and almost never happened before, to Jons knowledge the only time that has happened in the past was when Baelor the Blessed had been building the sept here in King's landing. So the locals all tried to eavesdrop on those leaving the whore house. The carts were something new, something they hadn't expected. Cart after cart enters the former Master of Coin's main whorehouse. The general gossip about the dead man, he'd been a thief and a traitor to not just Kings landing but the whole Seven Kingdoms. Jon was not unhappy as that story spread and got worse. Six carts wasn't even the beginning. Every time one cart left another was needed.
Jon had needed five just for the records. packing up all the records took the rest of the day. As he was packing up the records with his scribe some of his other men were packing up everything else that could be moved, except the gold, jewels and poisons. Those would be left for last. Once everyone barring the night guard who stayed outside had left for the night Jon secretly packed the poisons into another locked box sealing it with the mark of his office. Using sheets to keep the bottles from clinking together he also made sure that the papers that belonged to each bottle stayed with the bottle. Poison was a woman's tool for killing, stockpiled by a man who had far too many women to do his killing for him. Jon normally wouldnt countenance using such a repulsive weapon, he would much rather coat his blade in rancid meat like his father taught him. Lysa Arryn, no, Lysa Tully, who was eager to act under Baelish's order, but thankfully incompetent in her actions.