AEMON THE DRAGONWOLF
Part 1 - A Rose and A Mockingbird
Jon I
The next morning, the King in the North woke to see a light snowfall outside his window. Jon had slept well enough to not need Sansa's offer, meaning he had slept half the night instead of none of it. He dressed in his warmest clothes, and of course, the Stark cloak Sansa had made for him. It still shocked him when he used a looking-glass; he was alive, despite the ugly stab wounds on his chest and back, and he was a king! Not to mention, he saw his father in the mirror, a grown man rather than the boy the Night's Watch had killed.
Kill the boy, Jon Snow, someone had told him once. Let the man be born.
Sansa met him in outside her bedchamber, the one he'd insisted she take, wearing a lovely dress and cloak of Tully blue wool and white fur. Her hair was styled in a way Lady Catelyn had favored in her youth; she had left it mostly loose, but with some thin plaits pinned into a shining crown. Jon knew it was a deliberate effort, so Littlefinger would see Catelyn Tully and not her daughter. Even he saw Catelyn Stark, and it made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.
Breakfast was quiet at the high table. Ser Davos, usually cheerful, had received a letter from his wife via White Harbor, and was brooding more than usual. Even the boisterous Tormund was silent, though that was not so rare in the mornings.
When Jon had eaten as much as he wished, he left the high table and took Davos with him. Petyr Baelish sat at the same table, and his shrewd eyes were always watching Jon with an expression he couldn't read. This was not the place to speak to the former smuggler, who had been serving as Jon's unofficial Hand since the Northmen had made him king. Sansa had urged him to make the appointment official for a month, and that would serve well enough as a pretext for speaking privately.
"Ser Davos," said Jon once they'd reached his solar. "You've been a faithful counselor to us, and I would see you rewarded, though I understand if you would rather return home. If you're willing to stay, however, I would name you Hand of the King."
"I'm just an old smuggler, King Jon," Davos protested halfheartedly.
"And I'm just a motherless bastard crow returned from the dead," Jon replied in the same tone. "Even Stannis Baratheon saw your worth and made you his Hand; did you think I wouldn't? I spent the past few years in the Watch, with thieves, smugglers, whores, and disgraced lords for brothers, Ser Davos."
The Onion Knight sighed. "I do wish to return home, your grace," he admitted, "but I know how important the battle in the North will be to the whole kingdom. I'll not abandon you now, and Marya and my youngest sons have made their peace with that."
Jon clapped the older man's shoulder in gratitude. "I can offer you lands and a title here in the North, though with the Long Night coming, you may wish to keep your family as far to the south as you can. Whatever is in my power to do for them, just name it, and it will be done, ser."
The former smuggler's brown eyes met his own, and finally, Davos Seaworth smiled. "I would be honored to serve as Hand, your grace."
"Good," Jon sighed in relief. "Then I must tell you, Ser Davos, that there is a threat to our kingdom living in this castle, and Sansa and I mean to get rid of him. We will need your help."
Davos Seaworth looked at Jon in alarm. "What sort of threat, your grace?"
Jon told Davos what the Hound and Sansa had shared with him about Petyr Baelish. He barely noticed how he was squeezing his hands into fists until his scarred hand twinged in pain. Forcing himself to breathe and relax his tight muscles, he told his new Lord Hand what the three of them had planned.
"The man Clegane is not known for his honor," Ser Davos said at last, "but neither is Baelish. I don't doubt Lady Sansa's story, however. That man seems just the type to use poison and trickery. And I'm glad you talked her out of her original plan; Lord Glover might have called for her head if he'd caught a whiff of treachery from her."
Jon scoffed at this. "It's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? Where was Glover when the Boltons had us surrounded?"
"I know, your grace," Ser Davos replied in his honest way. "By the man's own standards, Lord Glover's head should be the first on a pike. But if you take one head, you must take them all, and then you have no kingdom."
He straightened, and placed a fatherly hand on the young king's shoulder. "I'll round up the lords we need, your grace. They'll be armed, and in position in the godswood."
"Thank you," Jon answered. "Let's get to it."
An hour later, Sansa and Ghost stood by the black pool beneath the heart tree, apparently alone. The icy wind plucked at her blue dress and auburn hair, and ruffled Ghost's fur. The woman and the wolf made a lovely picture of winter beauty in the North.
Jon kept an eye on her from behind an enormous ironwood. Lord Royce, Lord Glover, Lady Mormont, and a few others of his council were scattered around the small clearing, each covered with a hunter's snow-white hooded cloak, and hidden behind a tree. From his post behind the nearest sentinel, Ser Davos nodded to Jon, informing him silently that all of their men were in place. The Brotherhood and the Free Folk, under Tormund's command, would seal off all of the entrances to the godswood once Baelish had entered, blocking his escape.
Petyr Baelish entered at last, whistling carelessly. He smiled at the sight of Sansa, dressed in her mother's colors and her mother's hairstyle. The enormous wolf made him pause, but he summoned his courage and pressed on, reaching the pool in no time at all.
"Dearest Sansa," he murmured, and Jon scowled at his tone. "After our last conversation here, I did not think you would send for me. Yet here you are, a vision of loveliness; and I am your humble servant," he said with a bow and flourish.
"I was angry," Sansa replied. "You played a dangerous game with my life, Petyr, and it almost cost me everything. I may have been too hasty, especially considering your help with the battle, but I am still suffering the effects of my second marriage." She shuddered dramatically, and Ghost nuzzled into her dress. "I can't even sleep at night, did you know that? And I have scars that will never go away."
"I am so, very truly sorry," the weasel replied, stepping closer to Jon's half-sister. "What shall I do to prove my regret, my love? Name it, and I will fulfill your wish or die in the attempt."
That was the opening they had been hoping for.
"Sandor Clegane spoke to me earlier," she replied, lowering her gaze to his. "He insisted I ought not to trust you, and he had a few tales to tell that explained why. Would you set my mind at ease, my lord? I don't trust easily these days, but after all we've been through together, I thought you deserved a chance to explain."
The Lord Protector of the Vale snorted. "The Hound!" he said derisively. "What does Sandor Clegane know of anything beyond killing and eating and fucking? What does he know of the game of thrones, and what it takes to play it? But I meant what I said," he added hastily, catching himself. "And I will be happy to set your mind at ease. What has the dog said to make you uneasy, sweetling? I am sure it is just a simple misunderstanding, or a truth twisted into falsehood by a coward and a traitor."
"He said Cersei gave you my friend, Jeyne Poole, to do with as you wished."
Baelish, clever as he was, had not been expecting that. His confident smile froze in place.
"He said you took her to one of your brothels, and beat her until she did what you asked of her, no matter how degrading. He said she's there still, a broken shell of a girl who lives to be the sport of men like my dearly departed second husband."
"He lies," the man replied swiftly, though Jon heard an uncertain tone he'd never heard in that man's voice before. "Queen Cersei did ask it of me, but I could never be so cruel to an innocent girl! She came home to Winterfell on the ship meant for you; whatever became of her afterward, you may blame on the Ironborn and the Boltons."
Jeyne Poole, a clueless little girl, crossed Westeros and returned home alone? He can't even come up with a decent story, Jon thought, incensed.
He was not surprised, but mildly disappointed. After the Red God had shown his powers by returning Jon to the living, he'd wondered if the old gods of his father might have tricks of their own; perhaps a bolt of lightning to strike the man dead? As far as he could tell, the weirwood had not prevented Baelish from lying as usual.
Then a whispering voice emerged from the heart tree.
Liar! the wind breathed, and its boyish voice was oddly familiar. Liar, liar, liar!
One of the hidden Northmen—probably Lord Cerwyn, judging by the distance—cursed in surprise, too quietly for Littlefinger to hear. Jon was closer, however, and fought back a smile. He hadn't been king for long, but he knew a sign of divine favor could be just the thing they needed right now.
"What was that?" Littlefinger said sharply, looking around the clearing in alarm.
Sansa gave him her politest look of mild concern. "It's just the wind, my lord. Northmen say that's how the old gods speak. The Hound had another accusation, if you would be so kind."
Rattled, the Vale lord made a visible effort to calm himself, and faced Sansa again.
"Let's hear it, sweetling," he said at last. "What else does the Hound say to accuse me?"
"He said that you knew Cersei's children were bastards from the beginning," Sansa began.
"Of course I knew! Everyone knew in the end," Baelish said immediately. "Stannis and Renly knew, Jon Arryn knew, the old fool Pycelle certainly knew. Everyone but Robert, and Ser Barristan, I suppose. Your father took his time figuring it out, but even Ned Stark got there eventually, with my help."
"He said that my father asked you to secure the City Watch," Jon's sister went on, watching the man's face carefully. "He said you promised to bring the Watch to his side, but that in the throne room, you and the Watch betrayed him. You held a dagger to his throat and told my father he shouldn't have trusted you."
The former Master of Coin scoffed. "And you believed this?"
"I've known you both for some time now, Lord Baelish. Sandor Clegane has told me many things I didn't wish to hear, but he does not lie. Did you betray my father or not?"
"Do you truly believe I would do such a thing?" he replied, giving her a small, disbelieving smile. Jon wasn't sure what he'd done to join with Ghost, but he could smell the man's fear through the direwolf's nose suddenly. He didn't usually warg while awake! It was very distracting; Ghost's instincts were screaming to bite, to kill this intruder who threatened their den.
"You forget, Petyr, that I saw you push Aunt Lysa out of the Moon Door. I know you're capable of things honorable men wouldn't do, and I heard her admit she poisoned Jon Arryn for you. If there is the slightest chance I will forgive you for what you did to me, I will have the truth, now."
"Very well," he said, no longer smiling. "I did turn the Watch against your father's men. I knew if we did things his way, it would be a disaster, and I acted quickly to safeguard the kingdom."
Liar, liar, LIAR! whispered the old gods. Littlefinger was definitely rattled now. His eyes darted frantically around the godswood.
"My father's way would have made Stannis Baratheon king," Sansa argued, pretending she'd heard nothing. "How was that bad for the kingdom?"
"Your idiot father warned Cersei that he knew about her treason," Petyr Baelish said angrily, losing his patience. "I told him he could have kept quiet, stayed as Joffrey's Hand, and kept the peace in the kingdom for a few years longer. But he told Cersei Lannister to flee, because he would inform Robert of what she had done as soon as he returned from his hunt, and he didn't want the deaths of her bastards on his precious, honorable conscience! You may thank your imbecilic father for King Robert's untimely death; because he warned the queen, she had Robert poisoned, and Lannister men slaughtered every Stark man in King's Landing."
Sansa stepped back. Her mouth had fallen open in shock, and her blue eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Beside her, Ghost bared his teeth menacingly at Littlefinger, though the direwolf made no sound. The Hound had warned them that Baelish had done what he'd done to make Catelyn Stark a widow, but even Jon was surprised at the depths of Littlefinger's vitriol for Ned Stark.
The old gods were silent. Either they too, were shocked, or Petyr Baelish had told the truth for once.
"It was necessary, Sansa," he said, quieter now. He made to reach for her, but Ghost got in the way, blocking his path. Baelish didn't dare step closer to the direwolf.
"It made my mother a widow, you mean" she accused, staring at Littlefinger accusingly. "I heard what you said to Aunt Lysa. Will you kill me, when you remember that I am Sansa, and not Catelyn?"
"No, never!" Baelish cried. He had never sounded so sincere to Jon's ears. "I did love Catelyn once, but it was a foolish, boyish fancy. It is you I love, Sansa; that is why I took you from King's Landing, and why I pushed Lysa—to save you from her madness! She would have killed you, remember?"
Sansa looked deep in thought. "Sandor Clegane was not in King's Landing for this, but tell me true, Petyr; when I foolishly told Dontos Hollard that the Tyrells planned to spirit me away to Highgarden, I'm sure he ran and told you. What did you do?"
"I told the Lannisters," he replied, hesitating. "I wished to marry you myself, and they knew it; but Tywin and Cersei would not allow a minor lord from the Fingers to marry the Key to the North. That is how your marriage to the Imp came about."
Sansa closed her eyes. She had confessed to Jon, in one of those rare moments when she spoke of King's Landing, that the silly girl-child she'd been had finally died on her first wedding day.
"I am sorry!" Baelish pleaded. "I never thought they'd sink so low as to marry you to Tyrion, or that they'd do it so quickly! I thought Lancel, or Martyn, perhaps—"
"Then you really are a fool. Tyrion treated me miles better than Ramsay," Sansa said coldly. "And if you loved me so much, why did you marry me to yet another man, when I was finally free of Tyrion Lannister?"
"If you were in the North," Baelish explained, "I would have the crown's blessing to ride here with the Knights of the Vale, and take Winterfell from the Boltons for rebelling against King Tommen. You would have vengeance on the family that slaughtered yours, you would have your home, and you'd be a widow once more, free to marry your rescuer."
Once again, no sound came from the weirwood.
"Am I forgiven, dearest?" Littlefinger asked, finally able to walk to Sansa's side now that Ghost had moved. "I did what I did to make you my queen; I thought you knew that. If you wish it, I will make you queen yet. Winterfell, the Iron Throne—they could all be yours and mine."
"How?" asked Jon's sister.
"Come, Sansa," Littlefinger said gently. "I can't tell you all of my plans. Even the trees have ears."
Sansa's face turned ice-cold. Jon remembered seeing the same expression on Catelyn Stark's face, and shivered.
"I am through being anyone's plaything," Sansa said fiercely, taking a step back. "If you mean to use me in your plans, I will know of them first, my lord. I am no longer a terrified hostage, or a helpless runaway. I am a princess."
Petyr Baelish looked taken aback, but then he smiled, as though Sansa's show of backbone were his doing. "You are indeed, and the finest I have seen." He tried to step closer once again, but Ghost blocked him. Jon, still behind his tree, smiled at the frustration on the brothel-keeper's face. But the weasel was good, very good. He hid his annoyance quickly, and continued as though the wolf did not exist.
"Very well, your grace. I mean to make you queen here in the North, while I conquer the South. Every major house owes me greatly, except for the Lannisters, and I mean to collect. And a few well-placed secrets here and there will send the Lannister dynasty crashing down, leaving the Iron Throne free for the taking."
"And what of Jon?" Sansa asked, betraying nothing.
Petyr Baelish shrugged. "A bastard will never command as much respect as a trueborn, even if he is Ned Stark's. A well-timed political blunder will have the Northmen clamoring for a true Stark, one who doesn't blather on about wildling children's tales. And if your brother proves wiser than his sire or his predecessor, a bit of sweetsleep in his cup will send him back to his nameless mother. He'll feel no pain, and you will be Queen in the North, as you should have been from the start."
Jon heard a small, girlish gasp from a tree further back. He hoped the rest of his council would remain quiet a moment longer.
"You would kill the only brother I have left?" Sansa cried, loud for the benefit of the silent watchers.
"If you truly wish to spare him, he could take the black again, I suppose," Littlefinger said dubiously, "but what king would willingly step down in favor of his sister? And considering his history with the Watch, he'll not return in a hurry. It's best for us all if he dies in his sleep one night. Really, Sansa; after all the grief that boy caused your mother, I'm surprised you care so much for him."
"Would it not cause suspicion, to use the same poison on Jon that you're using on Sweetrobin?"
"Nonsense," replied Baelish, frowning at this direct attack. "You know Robert has always been sickly, and no one suspects a thing when the boy has his fits. There would be different maesters tending to each patient. And your brother supposedly returned from the dead; would it be so strange if he went back to that state one night, now that Stannis' Red Witch is not here to work her sorcery?"
Baelish paused for a moment, then smirked.
"And let us not forget that Cersei Lannister hates both of you, sweetling," he added. "I know she sent men to kill your bastard brother at the Wall; it would not surprise me if she did so again, and even if she doesn't, she would be a much more likely culprit than the Lord of Harrenhal, don't you agree?"
Jon watched his sister shiver. He wasn't sure if it was disgust at the man's callousness, or excellent acting. Then she reached behind her head, and pulled up her fur-lined hood. It was the signal.
"Cold, my dear?" Baelish asked.
"I am a Princess in the North," Sansa replied coolly. "Cold is in my blood, Petyr. Seize him!"
Immediately, Jon's men stepped into view, surrounding Sansa, Littlefinger, and Ghost. Even the tiny Lady Mormont stepped forward, dagger in hand, and glaring at Littlefinger with pure disgust. Lord Royce looked sick, but the sword he pointed at Petyr Baelish held steady just above his heart. Next to him stood Lord Glover and Ser Davos, also pointing their steel at the man's chest and groin. Lord Cerwyn's and Lord Norrey's swords were inches from Littlefinger's back, surrounding him with steel.
Jon joined them. He knew from prior experience that his face was as cold as his father's when he'd executed criminals. Perhaps criminals deserved some compassion, but Jon could not muster any for this weasel of a man. The sooner his ashes were swept out of Winterfell, the better.
"We heard your confession, Petyr Baelish, and so have the old gods of the North," Jon said gravely. "You conspired to murder Lord Jon Arryn. You killed Lady Lysa Arryn, and Dontos Hollard. You are poisoning the current Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn. You lied to the Lords Declarant of the Vale. You betrayed my father, and abetted the treason of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. You took an innocent girl of Winterfell and sold her into slavery at one of your brothels. You kidnapped Princess Sansa Stark. You pledge your men to our cause, and plot to murder me in the same breath."
"Your crimes are so numerous that I could never list them all, and you befoul our godswood by your very presence. Is there anyone who will speak for you, or should I take your head now?" Jon finished, slowly removing Longclaw from its scabbard. The godswood was utterly silent but for the ringing of Valyrian steel.
Petyr Baelish had grown paler with every sentence. He looked ready to faint, and Jon caught the sharp scent of urine as Littlefinger pissed himself. The condemned man turned to Sansa, but he found no mercy in her face.
"Please, your grace," Lord Royce spoke up. "I am as appalled as you. This man's crimes against House Stark, House Arryn, and the kingdom at large are beyond count. Even the gods broke their silence to condemn him," he added, shooting a wary glance at the heart tree. "It is your right to take his head, but let the Knights of the Vale hear his crimes first, especially his poisoning of our liege lord. Most of the men have no idea how depraved this man truly is, and I would avoid strife between your men and ours if I can. I'm sure he has bought the loyalty of some, and I would rather do this where all can see and hear what he has done."
"Very well," Jon agreed, sheathing Longclaw. The last thing he wanted was for the Vale men to accuse him of murder, and slaughter the Northmen and Free Folk in Winterfell in revenge. Above all else, he had to protect Sansa. "We will lock him up for now, and Lord Royce will assemble his men. Once everyone understands what has happened, Baelish dies."
He offered Sansa his arm, and squeezed hers lightly when she took it. Behind them, Lords Royce and Glover had taken Littlefinger, who had not said a word, and marched him unceremoniously towards the dungeons. Lady Mormont and Ser Davos followed, still holding their weapons within easy reach. Ghost walked behind them, his red eyes fixed on the mockingbird.
When they exited the godswood, Sandor Clegane roared with laughter at the sight of Petyr Baelish, pale and surrounded by the steel of enemies who wished him dead.
"About time someone caught this snake and cut off its head," he said with relish. "When's the hanging?"
"Hanging?" Harwin cried. "No, Clegane, we Northmen dispense justice with a sword."