WARNING FOR A GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF DEATH
Four days after the demise of King Joffrey Baratheon, Arya Stark cloaked herself in Littlefinger's finest black silks and assumed his grieving face for his grace's funeral. Crowds of smallfolk gathered near the Sept of Baelor, held at bay while those of nobility or significance, like Littlefinger himself, were ushered in by litter.
Had Joffrey been a benevolent ruler, the lamentations of the smallfolk might have echoed through the air. But there was no such display. A smattering of jeers, perhaps, but a solemn hush out of deference for the grieving. As a precaution, the city watch stood vigilant beside the red and gold armoured, Lannister soldiers, forming a barrier between the throng and the Sept, though it would have offered little resistance if the populace were inclined to assail the highborn. Five hundred armed guards would prove scant defence against a multitude of starving commoners.
Seated on a bench in the third row of the Sept, Arya found herself amidst a congregation of lords and ladies from across the realm, those who had attended the ill-fated wedding. At the dais, the High Septon presided, the crystals adorning his headdress casting prismatic reflections throughout the chamber as they caught the sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Father Above, judge King Joffrey Baratheon justly..." intoned the High Septon.
Under ordinary circumstances, the scent of burning incense and the monotone cadence of the High Septon's voice might have induced drowsiness in Arya from sheer tedium. However, she had a more pressing task at hand—observing subtle cues in body language. She needed to discern falsehoods from truths, to detect the telltale signs that betrayed a person's inner thoughts when faced with dissent.
Throughout Margaery and Joffrey's wedding, Arya observed the body language of the key players. Margaery wielded the art of seduction with the finesse of a seasoned mummer. Olenna's abrupt manner made it challenging to discern her falsehoods, yet Arya detected a subtle twitch of her head whenever she lied. It occurred during Arya and Jon's conversation with Olenna and Margaery at Littlefinger's brothel. These were the telltale signs Arya sought.
The funeral was proving more of a challenge, especially from Arya's seating position. Cersei's grief rendered her posture unreadable. Jaime, fulfilling his role as a Kingsguard, displayed no emotion. Tywin maintained his customary solemn countenance. The sole point of interest for Arya was Margaery's repeated glances towards Tommen. Arya couldn't fathom why she would flirt with her deceased husband's brother at his funeral unless she was already trying to manipulate the poor boy.
Following the funeral rites, the assembly convened in the throne room of the Red Keep. Arya kept a watchful eye on Margaery, who continued to steal glances at Tommen, though the young King remained oblivious to her attempts at seduction. Not that it was of much a surprise, the boy was of a similar age to Bran, who was innocent in matters of the heart. She suspected Tommen was of the same mind. Arya realised she needed to maintain closer surveillance on the former queen, and the only means to do so was through the guise of Jack.
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Arya excused herself from the funeral early, citing an incense-induced headache, which bore an element of truth. To which she was not alone. The herbs and odd-smelling perfume used, to mask the scent of death, was almost as unpleasant as what it hid.
Upon her return, she found paperwork left by Ros on her desk, detailing the precise address of Littlefinger's business establishment in Gulltown. Ros had also left the key on Littlefinger's desk. Arya and Jon had been searching for this information since their arrival, eager to uncover the extent of Littlefinger's business interests.
One of the motivations for leaving Melisandre in Gulltown was for this specific purpose. Arya hoped to uncover any pertinent information between Jon's departure from King's Landing and her own. She calculated Jon would arrive in Gulltown in three days at the earliest. If she acted with haste, her message should reach him before he got there.
Seated at the desk, quill in hand, Arya penned two letters. One detailed her findings and provided the address, while the other, written in Littlefinger's handwriting, granted Jon permission to clear out Littlefinger's offices, to prepare for a move northward. Arya couldn't be certain if anyone would monitor Littlefinger's property, but she hoped that with the keys and a letter of authorisation in Jon's possession, their actions would go unnoticed.
Tying the messages to a raven Bran hadn't been warging into, Arya dispatched it to Melisandre's lodgings in Gulltown. Once she had completed her task, she lay down, closed her eyes, and refocused on the original reason for her premature return—to observe Margaery Tyrell.
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Concealed within the labyrinthine corridors of Maegor's Holdfast, Arya, warged into her cat, Jack. She found Margaery already ensconced in her quarters. The post-funeral gathering must have dispersed after Arya's departure, explaining why her exit hadn't drawn undue attention. With dusk descending upon King's Landing, many denizens of the Red Keep had retired for the night.
Outside Margaery's chambers hung a tapestry concealing a secret passageway, a route Arya had already explored. It seemed Margaery was privy to this covert path as well, as she entered with a mere solitary candle to light her way. Though Arya, in her feline form, could have opted for an alternative route, she shadowed Margaery from a safe distance, ensuring she remained unseen.
As Margaery emerged from the concealed passage, Arya pondered how she would navigate past the Kingsguard. It was only upon hearing Ser Loras' voice that Arya realised he was granting her entry, likely at Lady Olenna's behest.
Unable to follow Margaery any further, Arya remained undeterred. Unbeknownst to Margaery, there was a listening hole concealed within one of the walls of Tommen's chamber, positioned on the floor behind his bedside table. It provided an ideal vantage point for eavesdropping on conversations—an invaluable asset for Arya's purposes. She made her way to the listening hole, poised to intercept any pertinent dialogue.
Arya expected the creak of the door as Margaery slipped inside Tommen's room. She wasn't expecting to hear Tommen's voice sound so alert.
"Ser Pounce?" he called out, prompting Arya to remember Tommen's cat. Now she not only had to evade humans but also contend with the feline, a creature she, in the form of Jack, was far from friendly with. Holding her breath, Arya hoped Ser Pounce was elsewhere, far from her hiding spot.
Though Arya's view was limited to the floor, the distinctive silhouette of Margaery, illuminated by the candle she carried, confirmed her presence as she entered the room.
"How did you slip past the Kingsguard?" Tommen inquired.
"Kingsguard," Margaery responded in a whisper, feigning ignorance of the term.
"I don't think visitors are allowed at this hour. Mother has forbidden it," Tommen remarked, prompting Arya to scuttle beneath the bedside table for a better vantage point.
"I'm not just a visitor, Your Grace. Rumour has it, I am to be your bride," Margaery declared, placing the candle on the table above Arya's head before seating herself on Tommen's bed.
From her concealed perch, Arya had a clearer view. Margaery wore a nightdress with a modest neckline, draped in a dark dressing robe that left her shoulders bare. Though nothing revealing was on display, Arya couldn't shake the unease caused by Margaery's demeanour. The way she clutched her robe to her chest suggested an impending revelation of her bare form. Arya couldn't help but feel sympathy for Tommen, unsuspecting of the whirlwind about to engulf him.
"Did you know that in arranged marriages, people often meet for the first time on their wedding day? Before we commit to spending our lives together, shouldn't we take the time to get to know each other?" Margaery proposed.
"Yes, but if my mother were to find out..." Tommen hesitated.
"It can be our little secret, hmm?" Margaery suggested. "If we're to be husband and wife, surely we're entitled to keep a few secrets from her. So, Your Grace..."
"Yes? Share a secret with me," Tommen implored, his voice betraying his nerves.
Arya retreated into the hiding hole upon spotting her feline adversary, Ser Pounce, entered the room. Thankfully, the cat leapt onto the bed, allowing Arya to emerge from her hiding spot and observe as Margaery extended a hand to pet him.
"Hello there. You're quite the handsome fellow," Margaery remarked to Ser Pounce.
"That's Ser Pounce," Tommen introduced his evil pet to Margaery.
"Very handsome indeed," Margaery purred.
"Joffrey despised him," Tommen informed Margaery, prompting Arya, for once, to find herself in agreement with Joffrey. "He once threatened to skin him alive and feed him to me disguised in my food," Tommen added, eliciting a shudder from Arya. While she wouldn't go to such extremes, she couldn't help but entertain the idea of subjecting the feline to a diet of nothing but cabbage.
"That's very cruel. You don't strike me as cruel." Margaery said sweetly.
"No. I don't think I am." Tommen agreed, a sentiment Arya shared, recognizing it as a potential weakness. Yet, if their schemes unfolded as planned, perhaps Tommen could still emerge unscathed, Arya pondered.
"That's a relief. Because you know what happens when we marry?" Margaery inquired, prompting Arya to regret eavesdropping on this conversation. The prospect of what would transpire between Margaery and Tommen upon their marriage turned Arya's stomach, compelling her to wish for a dose of liquid wildfire to cleanse her mind of such repulsive thoughts.
"We exchange vows before the High Septon, and afterwards, there's a feast," Tommen offered, evoking Arya's pity. Margaery would devour him whole, she thought.
"When we marry, I am yours. Forever," Margaery affirmed. "It's getting late. I should leave. May I visit you again?" she inquired.
"Of course," Tommen replied.
"Remember, our little secret," Margaery whispered before planting a kiss on Tommen's forehead, taking the candle, and departing, leaving poor Tommen with the malevolent Ser Pounce. Arya couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy; in her estimation, if anyone desperately needed rescue, it was Tommen Baratheon.
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Arya was engrossed in preparations for the impending executions when she caught wind of the chaos unfolding outside her chambers. She donned her coat, and she descended the stairs to investigate the source of the commotion.
The scene that greeted her was one of pandemonium. Lannister soldiers and city watchmen were ransacking the rooms, causing the girls to shriek and shield themselves while the clients were roughly handled. This disruption was not conducive to business, and Arya knew Littlefinger would not be pleased with the disturbance, and as Arya was Littlefinger, she needed to act pissed off.
"What's the meaning of this?" Arya demanded, her voice cutting through the tumult.
"They are orders from the Hand of the King," one of the city watchmen explained, handing her a piece of parchment.
Arya read the missive, her expression darkening.
I hereby order every premise within the city gates of King's Landing to be searched. Refusal will result in imprisonment and businesses being confiscated.
Tywin Lannister,
Hand of the King,
Lord of Casterly Rock."
Handing the parchment back to the gold cloak, Arya issued a stern warning. "Keep your hands to yourselves, and I will oversee the search to ensure the security and privacy of my clients. But let me be clear: if so much as a single silver stag goes missing, or any furniture is damaged, you will answer for it out of your own pockets."
"Did you bother to read it, dickhead?" the gold cloak retorted.
"I did. Did you?" Arya shot back. "Nowhere does it instruct you to damage property, terrify clients, or destroy businesses. It says to search. There's no need to overturn tables just to search. It's far more efficient to bend down and look."
"I don't think you understand, there's a dangerous criminal on the loose," the gold cloak insisted.
Arya fought back a smirk. Shireen's disappearance had been discovered; searching through King's Landing was futile. She was likely nearing Gulltown by now.
"Describe the criminal, and I'll alert you if I spot them," she offered.
"Can't, I'm afraid. It's confidential," the gold cloak replied.
"Do you know who I am?" Arya inquired.
"Of course, Lord Baelish. But if you're not aware of who we're looking for, then you're not important enough to know," he responded, addressing the other men searching the brothel. "Found her?" The men shook their heads.
"Are you quite finished?" Arya pressed. "I have an execution to oversee."
"Aye, we're done," the gold cloak conceded, turning to the other men. "Let's get out of here," he ordered his men, leaving Arya and the women to clean up the mess they had caused.
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The tolling of bells echoed throughout the city, reminiscent of the day Arya's father met his demise at the Sept of Baelor. She recalled standing by the statue of Baelor, watching helplessly as her father was led to his execution, surrounded by smug onlookers as he lost his life, leaving behind orphaned children and bearing the false label of a traitor.
Now it was Arya's turn to preside over the execution at the Sept of Baelor, her expression mirroring the smugness she once despised. She oversaw the sentencing of two individuals branded as traitors, knowing they would leave behind a daughter orphaned by their actions. But were they traitors, Arya pondered? Stannis had a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than any Lannister, including the one seated upon it. Yet, at the time of the Battle of the Blackwater, Joffrey held the title of anointed king.
Arya sought solace in the notion that Stannis's actions had led to the deaths of hundreds, and in another life had been willing to sacrifice his daughter for power. He would not have made a good King.
This led her to consider what Jon was trying to achieve. While Jon's decisions might cause the deaths of thousands, his purpose wasn't for personal gain. Jon's intentions were noble, driven by the need to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the impending threat of the army of the dead.
Jon would struggle to ascend the Iron Throne as long as Stannis remained alive. More deaths would ensue, as there would be a war of three kings. Thus, Arya rationalised, that these executions were a necessary sacrifice.
Stannis and Selyse Baratheon were escorted to the High Septon's pulpit by two gold cloaks. The accused figures were draped in black velvet adorned with flaming hearts stitched onto the front. Both appeared gaunt, though Arya, having never encountered Stannis before this moment, couldn't discern if this was their typical appearance.
The High Septon loomed behind them, a solemn figure presiding over the proceedings. Clustered near the Sept doors, before the elevated marble pulpit, stood a group of knights and high lords. Absent were any Lannisters, their conspicuous absence an attempt to absolve themselves of blame for the impending executions. Instead, the burden of guilt was shifted to the will of the late King Joffrey. One which still had to be obeyed.
As the tolling of the bell ceased, a hush fell over the crowded plaza. While Arya's father had pleaded his case, both Baratheons remained silent, a silence that did not sit well with the restless mob. Taunts and obscenities erupted from the crowd, directed at the man and woman standing atop the steps.
Before long, stones rained down from the enraged throng. Arya retreated as one struck Lord Stannis, drawing blood from a gash on his cheek. Despite the onslaught, none of the projectiles found their mark.
The High Septon knelt before Arya, his voice solemn as he spoke. "As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned. "This man and woman have refused to confess their crimes of treachery against the late King Joffrey, despite witness testimony confirming their guilt. However, they have admitted to the crime of following the false god, R'hllor, in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us they are also merciful. What punishment was decreed by his grace, King Joffrey Baratheon?"
"King Joffrey found them guilty of treason. He declared treason should never go unpunished," Arya's throat felt parched as she uttered the words. She couldn't believe she was about to go through with this. "Ser Ilyn, do your duty!"
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as Ser Ilyn Payne ascended the steps. With a gesture, a knight in red and gold issued a command. Gold cloaks positioned Lord Stannis onto the marble, his head dangling over the edge.
Ser Ilyn drew his executioner's greatsword from its sheath on his back, hoisting it above his head before bringing it down with a resounding thud. Stannis Baratheon's severed head rolled to the ground, blood seeping from his neck. Amidst the chaos, Selyse's screams pierced the air as she was led to the executioner's block. She squirmed, trying to break free.
"Where's Shireen?" she cried out. "I want to see my daughter."
"You cannot," Arya responded, turning to the guard overseeing the execution and giving a silent nod.
The guard restrained Selyse on the block, overpowering her until she fell still. Once more, Ser Ilyn raised his greatsword, blood already staining its blade. As he swung downward, Selyse squirmed, causing the blade to slice into her neck without severing it completely. She attempted to scream in pain, blood gushing from her wound, but no sound emerged from her lips.
Ser Ilyn lifted his blade once more and delivered the final blow with a thud. Selyse Baratheon's head joined her husband's rolling on the floor. Blood splattered over Arya's shoes. Ser Ilyn lifted both heads to prove to the crowds they were dead, and a cheer erupted from the massive throng before they dispersed.
Except for Shireen, the Baratheons were now all dead. Despite being no stranger to causing death, Arya felt a wave of nausea wash over her. This had been too similar to witnessing the death of her father. She turned around and left, wanting to return to the brothel, to clean her shoes and vomit.