"Yara Greyjoy", mused Baelish. He whipped out his smartphone, and typed into it.

"She's got quite the record."

"Of violence, towards suspects?" asked Sam, hopefully.

"She was brought up by an abusive father on the Iron Islands. Left home as soon as she could, and joined the Police Training Academy, here in Kings Landing. She graduated second, in her year, and two years later was named Officer of the Year. A year later, she was awarded the Life Saving Medal. Do you remember when that tower block burned down in Flea Bottom? " Sam did, vaguely. "She went into that inferno, and brought out a pair of children, alive. Sadly, their parents didn't make it. Last year, she got the Medal for Valor, when she rescued a family taken hostage by their father, a drug addict, who was armed with a machine pistol. This is probably the single most distinguished police officer in the capital we're talking about, here. And, you want me to make allegations of brutality against her? Tell me, Sam, who do you think the Courts, the Press, and the public will side with here? Yara Greyjoy, or a frat boy with a filthy mind?"

"It's just not fair!" exploded Sam. "I've got my rights, as a citizen of Westeros, and that fucking muff diver thinks she can trample all over them, like they don't exist. What the fuck does the Constitution stand for, if not to protect people like me, from people like her?" He saw Baelish go white with anger, before mastering himself.

"Not fair? Not fair? Let me tell you what's not fair. Listen to me hard, and listen to me good, you piece of shit, and I'll tell you! It's not fair that people like your father can pay people like me 1,200 dragons an hour, to keep a cockroach like you from getting what he deserves. It's not fair that two thirds of the people who were arrested, the same day as you, can't afford a lawyer to defend themselves at all. They're relying on some public defender, straight out of law school, or one of a handful of attorneys who works pro bono, on the side. You know, and I know, you're guilty as hell. If our society was fair, you'd be getting sent straight to the chair!" The thought of it made Sam's stomach churn. "Luckily for you, we live in a world that's very unfair. The police fucked up, in this case, and your father can afford a lawyer who can establish that. Eight years in gaol is far less than you deserve, Tarly, and you know it!"

"You're meant to be on my side" cried Sam, indignant.

"What you will get from me, Tarly, is a professional job. That's all you're entitled to. I don't have to like you, nor any of your ilk. You went to the Citadel, didn't you? Sam nodded. "The top university in Westeros. Anyone who goes there is set up for life." Baelish gave a bitter smile. "Of course, it was out of the question for a lad from a dirt farm in The Fingers to even contemplate such a thing. I got a job as a legal clerk in Gulltown, and I was grateful for it. I worked nights, and weekends, doing a correspondence course with Wintertown University, and got my law degree after four years. I got a First as it happens. That got me a scholarship for Law School in the capital, and I passed with a Merit. Step, by step, I've clawed my way to the top of the profession, meeting dozens of people like you on the way, handed success on the plate, and still they manage to fuck it up. Don't speak to me about fairness ever again!" Sam decided it was best to keep silent.

"Now", continued Baelish, "I've applied for you to be placed in isolation. I imagine you've been given quite a hard time, on remand. Am I right?" Sam nodded.

"Other prisoners have attacked me. And ... they've threatened to use me as a woman. I daren't use the showers. They say the guards turn a blind eye to what goes on in there. There's this guy named Gregor, seven feet tall. He's offered me protection from the rest ... but, he says I've got to ... give him favours in return."

"Suck him off, you mean?" Sam nodded. So far, he'd managed to avoid giving an answer to Gregor, but he knew he couldn't avoid it for ever.

"Okay, I can't get you bail, given the charges against you, but isolation's the next best thing. I'll prepare an affidavit for you to sign, and I'll go before the judge, in a couple of days. He'll understand that you're in danger from the other prisoners. Frankly, I'd be worried about a lot more than giving blow jobs, in your shoes."

Sam couldn't help it, but his bladder voided itself at this point. "Wha... What do you mean, Mr. Baelish?" he whimpered.

"Some of the guys here, they know they're going down for the rest of their lives, without a chance of parole. Some of them, they'll end up on Death Row. But, they've got families on the outside, they want looking after. I don't know what this Jon Snow is like, but if someone had planned to kidnap, rape, and murder my wife ... well, if I wasn't a lawyer, I'd be sorely tempted to pay a couple of good ol' boys, or hard, pipe-hitting n***ers, to take a tyre iron to his chubby legs."

Baelish left and the guards came into the cell, to take Sam back to the pen. Two days? Oh Gods, he could only hope Mr. Baelish could get him into isolation before his world fell in.

Notes:

Thanks to Sploot to the reference to Good Ol' Boys and the tyre iron. The reference to hard pipe-hitting n***ers comes from Quentyn Tarantino's Pulp Fiction.