Apologies for the delay on this one. My grandmother died a week last Friday and then my wife was in a car crash on Tuesday evening. Fortunately she's fine, although she has whiplash, but it's meant for a nightmarish week. This piece has been rewritten twice. Hopefully it makes sense.
Jon Arryn
Bronn's eyes were like red coals in his face as he approached at the head of his men. The man looked as if he hadn't slept even a wink. Good. This was a valuable man, a reliable man. As long as he was paid that is. And perhaps, once he had land and a title, that could be built upon? He needed to find somewhere in the Vale for Bronn. Some old holdfast that would suit him. He had a few ideas.
Jon nodded at the sellsword, who looked at him intently and then nodded back. "My Lord Hand."
"Bronn. Please collect the prisoner and escort him to his trial."
A small amount of tension seemed to leave Bronn and then he bowed slightly and vanished into the tunnel. A door creaked open, footsteps diminished, another door – and then a rumble of voices, more footsteps and then finally two figures emerged.
If Bronn had looked exhausted after being up all night guarding the prisoner then Baelish looked far, far worse. His eyes were red and flickered around them all, as if he was watching small flying things that no-one else could see. And the look on his face was… interesting. The man looked stressed beyond belief, like a veteran warrior pushed to the very edge of his sanity in battle. Only this was of course a different kind of battle. A mental one. And a terrible one.
"Come." Jon snapped the word and then led them all down the corridor, along a passageway and then quickly across the courtyard. Dawn was breaking and he watched every shadow with care. He was getting paranoid. But then it could never hurt to be too careful.
When they got to the doorway he hurried everyone through and then nodded at Quill to close and lock the door. And then they all passed down the corridor to the main doors of the room that he had picked out for this moment. It was a room deep in the Red Keep, beneath the throne room. Small. Controllable. Perfect.
As they entered he saw that everything was ready. The table. The chairs. The evidence. And Stannis Baratheon. Bealish looked around in confusion for a moment and then Jon nodded to Bronn, who led him to the chair before the desk and then pulled him down onto it. He then nodded at Jon shortly and left, closing the heavy door behind him.
Baelish looked around the room again, before licking what looked like very dry lips. "So this is where we wait, ahead of my trial? How… cosy." He sounded as if he was starting to regain his balance. Jon smiled thinly.
"No. This is your trial."
Baelish stared at him. "What?"
"I am not in the habit of repeating myself."
"But… I am a noble of Westeros. I am entitled to a public trial. In the Red Keep!"
"You are in the Red Keep, but you are no longer a noble. You are just a traitor and a thief. Besides the other members of the Small Council are not here. Pycelle is investigating another matter at the Great Sept of Baelor, Varys is trying to get more intelligence about matters in Essos and the King and Lord Renley are not yet back. It is just myself and Lord Stannis Baratheon. I promised you a trial, Baelish. I just did not promise you a public trial."
Baelish went red. "Ah," he spat. "The much-vaunted honour of the Arryns. And the Baratheons. I wish to be tried in front of my peers."
"Sadly, weasels cannot speak and therefore cannot attend trials." Jon stared at Stannis. A joke? No, a witticism? From Stannis Baratheon? Would wonders never cease? Then he thought about the statues in the Sept and his eyes hardened as he looked at Baelish.
The wretched man was looking about him intently and when he finished staring into the shadows in the corners of the room he smirked for a fraction of a second. "Ah," he said with a smile. "Do you really think that we're alone here? The Spider has eyes and ears everywhere. And I would bet my last and most tarnished copper coin that he knows all about the King's Great Matter."
"I did tell you what would happen if you mentioned that," Jon scowled.
"I merely mentioned it. I didn't say what it was. Even though we all know the truth."
"Let us look at another truth," Stannis barked out as he placed a hand on the mound of documents in front of him. "You are a thief. You have been stealing from the Realm for years."
Baelish spread his hands expressively. "I have been managing its finances."
"By stealing. From the Realm, from the Vale, from the Iron Bank… and also from the Free Cities, or at least those that trade with us. You have diverted taxes, paid bribes, subverted agents of the Crown and undermined the defence of the Realm." Stannis was bellowing the words by the end, the veins standing out on his forehead and his neck. "The fleet is weaker because of you! The Realm is weaker because of you!"
"You spread your net very wide," Jon said as he stared at him. "Properties all over the Seven Kingdoms. Bribes as well. We are still pulling the threads that lead from your books. The Realm is still in debt, but by no means by as much as you had told us. Why?"
Baelish smiled broadly. "Why what?"
"Why did you do it? Why steal so much? Why lie so much?"
The accused man leant back in his seat and curled his lip. "Why? Because I could. Because it was easy. You highborn Lords with your disdain for anyone beneath you. You take coin from merchants, but you act as if merely talking about their trade dirties you. You rule over smallfolk but you don't understand their lives. Why should you? You're nobles. You rule! Or rather – you misrule. You so-called honourable fools, with your battles within battles, your feuds and your stupidities.
"Look at you, Baratheon. I can hear your teeth grinding from here! The brother of our fool of a king, who spends his time drinking and eating and whoring! He gave you Dragonstone, the seat of the Targaryen heirs, made you Master of Ships! And all you ever do is complain and obsess about imagined slights! You place your pride first, before anyone and everything else. What's worse – the fact that I stole from the Realm, or the fact that I bribed men in your fleet?"
And then he looked at Jon. "And you! The Hand of the King, who can't even control him! This Great Matter you're so worried about – it happened right under your nose. Doesn't that make you proud? The Hand of the King is supposed to ferret out problems before they grow into crises. You failed in that matter, Lord Arryn. You failed utterly. Three children, all blonde and green-eyed. And you never saw it. Never saw the threat."
Baelish smiled at them both. It was more of a rictus than a real smile and his eyes were cold and distant, like a man who knew that the Stranger was in the room. Stannis glared at him with a gaze that would have reduced lesser man to puddles, whilst Jon himself glared at the prisoner with contempt. Oh what a foul little man.
"Then you have admitted to stealing from the Realm," Jon forced himself to say. "And your guilt is proven. All of this – all of these documents – proclaim your guilt. It is undeniable. Not that you have even tried to deny it."
"Why would I?" Baelish sounded broken and bitter now. This was the true man now, this was the man that existed beneath that smooth and suave exterior. "You have my ledgers. You have my records. I am a dead man who still walks. Tell me, has a raven arrived yet from Casterly Rock, demanding my head? I stole from the gold lent by Tywin Lannister as well. Not even he suspects a thing." And as he spat that last sentence his eyes glittered maliciously again.
Jon looked at him. Time to bring this to an end. Baelish was dangerous. He did not care about what happened to him now and his ranks at Stannis and himself showed that he did not care about everything else. This was a man who would burn down the building around him if he could and then dance on the ashes.
He opened his mouth to proclaim sentence, but Baelish beat him to it. "You've been creeping about, trying to keep the King's Great Matter secret. You can't. It's impossible. The truth will out. How many people know it already do you think? Do you really trust Varys? The man is an enigma. And – do you really think that Pycelle is the doddering old fool you believe him to be? You both disappoint me."
Baelish flourished his hands in front of their faces. "Welcome to King's Landing, my high-born and foolish friends! No-one here is as they seem! Everyone has a price. Everyone. There's no such thing as a secret, not here. Truth will out. And plots are everywhere. Including things that are right under your noses! I took your wife's maidenhood, Lord Arryn, did you know that? And that of her sister! Is your son really yours? Are you sure?
"And you, the high and mighty Lord Stannis Baratheon. Did you know that your wife has been toying with foolish religions from Essos? Did you? Of course not. You sleep with her once a year and yet you wonder why it is that you only have the one child? Did your Maester really not tell you where babies come from? Such a shame about your daughter and her greyscale. I met a man once who told me that the fabric that infected her came via Dorne."
"ENOUGH!" Jon bellowed the word so loudly that the room rang with it, making Baelish rock back in his chair with a startled look. Gripping the pommel of his dagger in his right hand so hard that his fist hurt Jon stood and then peered at the former Master of Coin. "You are sentenced to trial by combat, as the law dictates in this circumstance. You will not be able to select a champion. You will fight a combatant of my choosing. And may the Seven be merciful on your shrivelled little soul."
Baelish glared at him for a moment and as he did Jon wondered if the fool was going to spring up from his chair and try and attack him. The same thought occurred to Stannis, who stood up grimly with a hand on his own dagger. From the way that his eyes were glittering he wanted to speak more about Baelish's words about his daughter.
His eyes still on Baelish, Jon walked to the door and then thumped three times with his fist. After a moment it opened to reveal Bronn. "Take him to his new cell. Gag him if he tries to say a word."
The sellsword looked at Jon with narrowed eyes and then nodded and went over to Baelish, who stood up as if he was in charge and had been interrogating them. "Farewell my Lord Hand. Lord Baratheon. And Varys's little birds of course." Then he bowed mockingly and allowed himself to be led away.
After the door closed Jon returned to the table and sat. He felt old and drained. He had an unpleasant feeling that things were starting to spiral out of his control. How long at Baelish known about the truth about Cersei's children? And who else knew?
"I'll fight him myself!" Stannis finally ground out from between gritted teeth. "I'll finish the job that Brandon Stark started so many years ago! I'll gut him like the filthy fish that he is!"
"No," said Jon wearily. "I have another in mind. A more… fitting opponent. Baelish must die though. He knows too much and he does not care who he tells. There are times when honour must give way to… expediency."
Stannis looked mulish at this before – eventually – nodding. "Very well. I like it not, but very well." He paused. "Do you believe what he said? About Shireen and the Dornish?"
Jon leant back. "I believe that Baelish can lie with every breath he takes. And that he mixes truth with lies, for maximum effect. He is a dangerous man, Stannis. He would set fire to the world, if it would advance him. And even for spite. I see that now. I should have seen it sooner. I wanted to believe otherwise."
"He implied that your son… is not yours." Stannis said the words heavily and reluctantly.
"He lied in that. Robert looks too much like an Arryn. He reminds me of Denys, when he was young. No, we must be careful with every word that Baelish says. We must sift what he says for truth and for lies."
There was a rap on the door and as they both looked over Quill hurried in. "My Lord Hand, Lord Baratheon – a message from the Vale."
Jon accepted the proffered piece of paper and then frowned. "Odd."
"What is?" Stannis asked.
"The Blackfish, Ser Brynden Tully, has resigned as Knight of the Gate. He says that he is pulled West. Peculiar."
Stannis snorted. "Peculiar indeed. Robert will be back in King's Landing on the morning tide, two days from now. When will Baelish go to meet the Stranger?"
Jon smiled grimly. "Tomorrow morning. At high tide."