Orys remembered the time when Jon Arryn was Hand of the King, the kind of place the Tower of the Hand used to be. He would come every day to visit Jon, to watch as the man would do his duty. He would always run into Lysa Arryn, Jon's wife. She would always greet him coldly but break into a warm smile whenever Orys would ask how little Robert was doing. Jon had named his only living child after Orys' father and Orys felt an obligation to at least get to know the boy. It wasn't easy to do that, with an overprotective mother and a spoiled brat of a boy. So Orys resorted to just asking how he was doing and being content with that answer.
The chaos of the Tower had not changed much after Eddard Stark took over, yet it was different all the same. There was no Lysa Arryn walking down the hall with a look of displeasure and worry, no warm smiles when the topic of Robert Arryn was brought up. Now there was Arya Stark and chasing cats.
"Come on" the girl whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you."
The cat hissed at the girl viciously, looking at her intently. It was an old black male cat, with one chewed and torn ear.
Arya stepped forward slowly and then jumped at the cat. The cat gracefully jumped aside and ran. Arya gave it chase until she saw the cat stop. She looked up and saw the Prince looking at her and then the cat curiously.
"So this is where you've gone to" he whispered and then to Arya's surprise picked the cat up. And even more surprising, the ill-tempered cat simply purred.
"How did you do that?" Arya blurted out.
"Do what?"
"Catch the cat!"
"With my hands?"
Arya gave him a dirty look as Orys chuckled. He let the cat down, but the animal stuck around. "Why are you going around catching cats?"
"Syrio says that the animals best at sneaking and attacking are cats, that I must learn from them and catch them. Only then will I be able to get better."
"And this Syrio is?"
"My dance master."
"Quite an odd dance master," Orys thought.
"You don't spend much time with Sansa" Arya added before Orys could ask about this Syrio, "shouldn't you be trying to woo your betrothed?"
"I think Lady Sansa is wooed enough already" Orys shook his head. "I have just been busy."
Arya was happy with that answer. She crouched and the black cat hissed at her. Orys watched the two rush off with a shake of his head. Lord Stark's daughters could not be different enough.
The Prince made his way to the Hand's chambers, walking down the familiar path and humming a tune under his breath. He had heard it being played at the feasts and it had stuck around in his head ever since. When he arrived, he found Lord Stark signing documents and Lord Varys closing the windows. The Master of Whispers was the first one to notice him.
"My Prince" the eunuch bowed deeply. Lord Stark stood as well and did a half bow. His eyes were bloodshot and Orys was certain he saw tear tracks down his cheeks. The man had been crying.
"My Lords," the Prince smiled, closing the door behind him. He motioned to Varys, and the man walked over to the fireplace. Lord Stark watched in confusion, which turned to shock when a small compartment in the wall opened up. It was a door, but not big enough for any of the three in the room to pass through.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Lord Stark exclaimed aggressively.
"Gifts from Maegor the Cruel" Lord Varys answered in an airy tone. "Nobody seems to be there, my Prince."
"Good" Orys turned to Lord Stark, "we've wasted too much time, my Lord. I think it is time we spring our plan to action."
Lord Stark looked unsure, which made Orys roll his eyes. "You never answered where you got these books."
"I have. I don't know. I woke up one night with them on my desk. I had thought Varys was the one to bring them to me, but he hadn't."
"And you're not the least bit curious as to how they got there?"
"Of course I am! But right now I have better things to deal with than sating my curiosities. After we bring this man to justice, I will look into how those books got to me. You've seen the books yourself, matched them with the royal records."
"I have," the Hand of the King said gravely.
"Especially that one-"
"Yes" Lord Stark cut the Prince off. "Let's finish this and be done with this business."
"Very well" the Prince walked to the doors and stopped. "I saw Arya on my way here. She looked happy. You haven't told her yet have you."
"I haven't told either of my children" the Hand of the King muttered, the fight in his tone all but gone.
"I am sorry for your loss" the Prince stated before leaving the chambers.
It had become a tradition of sorts for King Robert to be absent from all sorts of courtly duties for a few days after the end of a tournament. He couldn't take part in them, so he would expend the energy on hunts and whatnot. So when the King summoned his council, it was surprising for everyone, especially since the man had summoned them all to the Throne Room. The King did not like sitting on that blasted chair one bit.
One by one the Small Council members came in, the royal family not too far behind them. Orys was the last to enter, looking serious and stoic. The doors shut once everyone was inside, the doors were barred shut, with two soldiers on each door.
"Petyr Baelish" the King roared, his voice trembling with rage. The Master of Coins was stunned at being called, but with a cool expression, he moved forward.
"Your Grace" the man bowed deeply.
"You are being charged with fraud against the Crown and the murder of Jon Arryn. How do you plead?"
Only three people looked as if they expected this turnout, the rest staring in dumbfounded shock. Petyr Baelish himself was shocked, but not too shocked that he was silenced.
"Your Grace, that is a disgusting accusation thrown at me. I plead innocent of course."
The man's tone rubbed the King, his heir, and his Hand the wrong way. Baelish spoke as if he was speaking to a child who was too stupid to understand anything.
"Bring him the books" the King barked. Lord Varys moved forward and handed Baelish a small red book. "Is this the book you write the budgets and expenses of the Crown?"
Baelish looked through the book, his face pinched with concentration. "This is indeed the book. The very book I show to the King and his Hand should they need to see it."
The Master of Whispers ducked his head. He took the book back and from his sleeves procured another book, a little bigger and the cover faded. When Baelish saw it the colour drained from his face and his hand fell from his beard.
"Interesting" Varys opened the book and held it out to Baelish, "the handwriting seems to be the same, as are the things the crown's money was spent on, the loans taken and for what purpose. Yet the amounts do not match. In this book, the amounts are preposterously greater. How do you explain this, Lord Baelish?"
"A lie! That book is fake. Surely someone had traced my handwriting and is now trying to frame me" The Master of Coin turned to his King. "Your Grace, I have served you well and brought you profits no one before me has been able to."
"You have, and now we know how" Prince Orys spoke. "I corresponded with my grandfather about the loans the Crown's taken from House Lannister. He's sent me a copy of the documentation where the amount seems to match the numbers of that faded book."
"My Prince, I-"
"Think before you frame my grandfather as a liar and anything else. He is not a man who takes a slight against him lightly. If you do not believe me, you ask Houses Reyne and Tarbeck" the Prince cut in, effectively shutting down Baelish from speaking.
"And then there's this as well" Varys procured another book, smaller than the first, black as coal. Petyr went to swipe at it but Varys pulled back easily. The plump eunuch opened the book and stopped at a page.
"The Tears of Lys" the Master of Whispers read, "a rare and costly thing, as clear and tasteless as water. It leaves no trace. The poison eats away at the stomach and bowels of the poisoned and ends in a fever. It appears as a chill on the stomach. Odd how the symptoms seem to match that of the Late Lord Jon Arryn, and curious that you bought a vial of it at a dastardly price."
"Enough of this dancing around" the King roared, spit spraying everywhere, "off with his head!"
"Your Grace, please! I am innocent!" begged Petyr Baelish.
The men moved forward to seize him.
"A trial! I demand a trial by combat!" the man added.
"Very well" Prince Orys moved forward. "Give him a sword and step back" he drew his sword, "the man is mine."
One of the guards threw his sword at Baelish's feet and the man picked it up and drew it. He charged at Orys, clumsy and slow. Petyr Baelish was not a fighter and it showed.
"I always suspected that Jon's death was not natural" Orys parried his weak strike with a stronger one that had Baelish stumbling back. "So I put Varys to look into it while my family went on the royal progress" he kicked the man back when he went to charge again. "To think you'd bite the hand that fed you" the Prince spat, "Jon Arry raised you from nothing, brought you to court and stationed you in a position of power and this is how you replay him?! By murdering him in cold blood and impregnating his wife?!"
"What?" the King asked, stunned by the revelation.
"Robert Arryn is not Jon's son" the Prince laughed a hollow laugh. "I had Varys look into Baelish's past, and the things they found!" Orys declared.
Baelish was going whiter and whiter the more Orys talked, and his footwork was getting sloppier. He moved forward to attack, tripped and fell face-first onto the stone floor.
"In his youth, he was in love with Catelyn Tully, but it was her younger who was in love with him. She gave him her maidenhead and was with his child. Her father destroyed the child in the womb and married her to Jon during the rebellion. She never grew out of the love she had for him. Robert Arryn is an exact copy of Baelish from his youth, as attested by his neighbours in the fingers. That boy is not Jon's it's Baelish's! Do you admit?"
"Is it any different if I don't?" the man laughed, blood streaming from his nose. "Yes I'm the boy's father, and yes I bought the poison. But I did not administer it. No, it was his wife! His own wife killed him just so we could marry! Because that wretched woman loved me" the man laughed, bordering on insanity.
Orys' face darkened and he swung his sword. It came down on Baelish, from his shoulder to his hip. Blood squirted out of the gaping mound, the two halves of Baelish barely holding on to each other. Orys wiped the blood off his face as watched the life drain from Baelish's eyes.
The day was far from over, Orys learned this when his Father called for his Small Council to follow him to the Council Chamber. He looked agitated, angry beyond words. Orys chalked it up to the events from not long ago, but he was rudely corrected when the meeting began.
"The whore is pregnant" the King announced. Confusion clouded Orys' mind for a moment before his head shot up to Varys, who had his head lowered. "I warned you this would happen, Ned. I warned you, but you didn't care to hear."
"You spoke of murdering a child" the Hand of the King stated stubbornly.
"Hear it now" the King pushed on, "I want 'em dead, mother and child both. And that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead."
"You will dishonour yourself forever if you do this" Lord Stark warned.
"Honor?!" roared the King, "I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line? That honour is keeping the peace?! It's fear- fear and blood!"
"Then we're no better than the Mad King" Lord Stark ground out.
"Careful, Ned. Careful now" the King warned.
"You want to assassinate a girl because the spider heard a rumour?"
"No rumour, my lord" the Master of Whispers looked insulted, "the Princess is with child."
"Based on whose information?"
"Ser Jorah Mormont. He is serving as an advisor to the Targaryens."
"Mormont? You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?"
"A slaver, Lord Stark" Orys spoke, his tone even and controlled, "he is a slaver who sold poachers for his wife. His wife has left him and he has nothing more to live for. Until Lord Varys here promised him a pardon for his crimes. A man who years for home he is."
The Prince then turned to his Father, "Viserys Targaryen can die for all I care, not Daenerys Targaryen. She is innocent in this, as is the child inside her."
"And what would you do when the Dothraki follow her and cross over to here?" the King asked, anger simpering in his eyes.
"We fight" Orys ground out.
"Only a fool would meet the Dothraki in open battle!"
"Only a fool would meet the Dothraki in open battle wearing the same shit they wear. We have armour, they have nothing. Rain arrows on them and they won't survive. Drench them in wildfire and they will burn like pigs. And should we clash swords, their Arakhs will bounce off our armour because they can only slice with those. The Dothraki do not have the training we do. They do not wear armour or fight like a knight does. We outnumber them easily. Kill the head of the snake and the body will die. Kill Viserys Targaryen and there is no army. Nobody would back Daenerys Targaryen. The realm will burn before they do."
"And what if she has a son? What then?"
"If the Dothraki way does not influence him then we still have the Narrow Sea between us. Sink him if he dares cross. He is a Targaryen, but he rides no Dragon for us to tremble in our boots and shit in our pants!"
The King glared, as did the Prince. The Hand of the King stood, silent and observing. The rest of the council did not speak either, none of them comfortable.
"Kill the boy then. Should the girl garner support-"
"I'll kill her myself."
The King rose from his seat and stomped out of the room.
"Meeting adjourned then" Lord Stark left right after.
"You were supposed to come to me with news of Daenerys Targaryen before my Father! I thought we were clear on this matter."
"I apologise, my Prince. But it seems Baelish had a hand in this as well. One of my birds sang for him, and he was the one to light this fire. Probably hoped to earn more favour from the King."
"People are doing your job for you it seems, Lord Varys. What use are you then?"
"I apologize, my Prince. I will rout every traitor in my menagerie and be rid of them."
"And the men that Baelish installed. I want them all looked into immediately."
"Yes, my Prince."
The doors to the Prince's chambers opened and Lancel Lannister, the King's Squire, rushed in. The Prince's ire turned to him.
"Have you not learned to knock, you blubbering oaf?!" the Prince snapped.
"I apologize my Prince, but this is an urgent matter" the boy panted hard, he looked like he ran the whole way here. "Ser Jaime attacked Lord Stark outside Baelish's brothel in retaliation for Lady Stark abducting Tyrion Lannister. He has escaped the city with a small retinue of Lannister soldiers."
"Fucking Baelish" the Princer swore and rushed out of his chambers. He was too late to stop a conflict from breaking out.