Prologue: Jon Arryn

Jon Arryn could only stare at the tiny, shrunken flame that was sitting in the remains of the torch. He'd watched it flicker, the wind swaying it back and forth, yet the fire refused to die, if from nothing else than a stubborn age. It had lasted far longer than he had thought when he'd first lit it just before the sun had set, it must be midnight by now. But it was only barely clinging to life, and a small breeze could finally snuff it out.

He let out a snort, before looking back down at the parchment. He truly was getting too old these days. EIghty years of life, and still he was up long after he should have laid himself to rest, trudging through the workings of these gods-forsaken kingdoms. There was always something, some raven coming in from some tower or hold with some urgent word that must reach the King.

The finger's on Jon's tightened, twisting the parchment held by a seal of green with a broken wheel.

'Or those meant for the Hand of the King,' he tossed the now bent letter into a small tin bowl, which he used to collect fire for his hearth, 'I forget that it is not only Kings Landing that is filled with snakes,' he stopped, and stared at the bucking Stag of the Baratheon's sitting on the side, the seal that Robert had entrusted him with for official business, 'Or what snakes men might turn into.'

He shook his head. There was much more to do, and he could deal with Robert later. He'd already dissuaded the king before, and with how much the Lannister's now ruled in the city, he doubted even Robert would try anything so rash.

'Gods,' Arryn felt the skin nearly slide of his skull, the years and the night conspiring against him, 'I'm grateful for the Lannisters,' he remembered walking into King's Landing those fifteen odd years ago, and seeing the piles of dead small folk lining the streets, 'oh, how this city and this throne blight the soul of those near it,' he shook his head, 'Truly, what I wish that it had never come to this.'

"Is there something amiss, Lord Hand?" Jon snapped up, and at the door was just another one of the men in this city he could not trust, no matter that Jon had to.

"No, Petyr," his clerk gave a short and understanding nod, "I am…merely tired," he looked around, "It is far too late for a man as old as I to be reading parchment," he then gave Petyr a snort, "Though, it is mayhaps a good use of this time," he then looked at the younger man, "After all, I had to do something while waiting for you to arrive."

"Oh yes, the hour is late," Petyr Baelish raised a finger, "But is a necessary guard against those that may attempt to follow us," he looked around, before reaching out, and grabbing the torch Jon had lit, "Certainly, the birds shall be asleep in their nests as we begin the investigation."

Birds. Petyr was not taking any chances. Or rather, he was making it seem as though he was not taking any chances. Jon Arryn knew that the Spider's agents could still be out at night, looking at all the goings on in the Red Keep. He'd never seen one of these birds, and while he would like to think he could see a spy when he set his eyes on one, he knew that was to expect too much from himself.

'I am too old for this,' he pushed himself from his chair, now standing next to the younger man. Baelish made a show of looking both up and down the stairs, providing some cover as Jon left his Solar, 'All of this.'

He never should have agreed to become Hand of the King. He had won the war for Robert, that should have been good enough to return to the Eyrie, and let Tywin Lannister damn himself with all these frustrations if he wanted the post so much. That would have allowed him to avoid all this. He could have spent his last years resting, calm in the Vale, high above the clouds.

Mayhaps that would have allowed him more time to spend on his wife.

'No,' Jon Arryn shut his mind from the red headed girl, for even after her thirtieth name day she was still a girl to him, 'no, best not go down a road long past. No time to double back now,' he sighed.

Still, it had been his wife who had brought Petyr Baelish up to the Solar. The man had fostered at Riverrun with Catelyn back when they had been children. He'd gained a boyish infatuation with his wife, and had received a vicious beating from Brandon Stark. Jon had learned the whole sorry affair from his time during the war. A deeply foolish thing, yet many boys do deeply foolish things. He had done many foolish things when he was a boy, and seen the boys he loved as sons do many foolish things themselves.

That did not mean he lacked talent. That was why he now had the enviable station as The Hand of the King's scribe. The old Maester who had previously served him had grown too old to continue. Pycelle had recommended a handful of younger men from the Citadel, but Jon knew the Grand Maester was Tywin Lannister's creature, and he had no doubt that everyone of his letters would have a copy on the desk of the Lord of Casterly Rock before it ever arrived at the hold Jon had meant to send it to. Cat, in one of her moments of calm between the loss of her fifth child and her sixth, had recommended Petyr as a young man who could fill that role. Jon had considered it for a while. Petyr was a man who had reached beyond his station, yet it was quite clear that role as a scribe was something that he showed both skill and breeding for. And Jon had never had any cause to think his scribe was failing in his role.

'Then why?' Jon thought, as they slowly descended the stairway of the Tower of the Hand, 'Do I fear this man,' and he meant fear, 'Every time I walk with him, it is though I am walking with the eunuch. Yet this man is no Spider. Yet he terrifies me more.'

"Do you know if the Spider is watching?" he asked, attempting to get something.

"I have no doubt that he is currently awake," Petyr said, opening the door to the courtyard, "I would not think he is looking at us himself, he has his birds to do that," Baelish's eyes hovered over the side of one of the Red Keep's high walls, though Jon doubted there were any actual birds looking out for them, "We should be deliberate, and that should be enough for us to reach the rookery," he paused, "There…there is a letter that you must read."

"A letter?" Jon felt a sudden turn in his mood, anger now growing in place of his tired bones, "A letter? I had a hundred lette-"

"A hundred letters that have already been copied and sent to Tywin Lannister," Petyr explained, "As your Scribe, you gave me the task of guarding the most important words of the Hand from those proud enough to think they no longer even need the title," Jon felt some of his anger fall, "You have given me that task, and if what the King's Brother says is true, then there are many dark things on the way for the Iron Throne."

'Stannis is sending a warning,' Jon thought to himself, 'That is concerning,' Stannis Baratheon was not a man who Jon found himself liking, as he once liked Robert and did still like their convivial youngest brother. That said, the man was without any doubt the one he trusted most on the Small Council. He was the only member who was capable of doing his duty and doing that duty for the general good of the realm rather than playing politics. Some could not do the first, some could not be trusted for the second, and then there was Pycelle, who Jon was fairly certain could not be trusted in either. If Stannis had sent some urgent, secret message, 'Then it is best that I read it in confidence.'

Jon began to do his best to quicken his step. Yet he couldn't help but seethe to himself when he saw that Petyr barely had to speed up to maintain his place well ahead of him. Once again, he cursed his years, and the horrible strain life as Hand of the King gave him.

"I hid the message up in the Rookery," Petyr admitted, "In a small crevice in one of the walls," they crossed the courtyard, Jon stopped, before looking around.

"Where are the guards?" he whispered to Petyr, his breath somewhat caught in his throat, "Where are the gold cloaks?"
"Back in the barracks beneath your Tower, My Hand," Petyr whispered back, "I gave them three casks of Arbor Gold, so they might not be a bother for us tonight," before Jon could bring something up, he continued, "I only gave it after the guards for the Barbican and the Hook had taken their posts," he then bowed his shoulders in a frivolous way, beginning to step down the serpentine steps, "Besides, half the room is being paid by Kevan Lannister to keep an eye on you," he then paused, "And the other half is paid by Tywin for much the same purpose."

Jon sighed as he took his own first steps down that winding staircase to the lower courtyard. Were Kevan not a Lannister, he might have been able to be friends with the man. He was a solid sort of man. Took his duties seriously, and he did not see those duties as a way to show his own reputation. The problem was that he instead was doing those duties for the reputation of his brother. Tywin was the exact sort of man who looked at every single decision and made how it aggrandized his family or, more accurately, himself.

"I must see about dealing with the guard then," he groaned, his chest and legs throbbing in pain in equal measure, "Perhaps, I could begin to take the men of the Mudgate, and they would be more amenable to following command from the Iron Throne instead," he took in a breath, taking a turn to the next level of steps down, "Instead of to the solar of Casterly Rock."

"My dear Hand," his scribe was a bit louder now, likely sure that his words could no longer be heard in the barracks beneath the Tower of the Hand, "The moment you would change the guard, those new men would find a half a dozen extra gold dragons beneath their pillows," Jon felt himself scowl further as he desperately took in another breath, "If you want to have men who will follow your lead, I suggest you find some for yourself for your personal matters."

"Sellswords?" Jon's question was almost a yelp, but the strain on his voice kept it as a mere wheeze, "I am hand of the king," he placed his hand on the side of the wall, though he was unable to take a rest as he continued to race behind the younger man, "I am the Lord of the Eyrie. If I need men I can trust, I will find some men of the Vale."

Baelish just kept moving, arriving at the bottom of the stairs, "I suppose you are right my Hand," he then looked back, with a smile that showed the arrogance of a young man at the foolishness of an old man. He could tell that even as the sting of sweat down his forehead caused his eyes to twinge near closing, "After all, you have me."

'Yes,' the hand thought, as his scribe turned his back to Jon, and began rushing once more across the lower courtyard and toward the Rookery Tower. Jon turned his eye over to his right, taking in a breath to try and regain his control, and looked over at the innermost keep of Red Keep, Maegor's mighty holdfast. And he thought of how this horrible place had been birthed in the blood of betrayal, 'Yes, I certainly have you.'

As he hurried behind the younger man, he continued to think on who was in the Holdfast. He knew that all three of the King and Queen's children were there. Delicate Myrcella. Sweet Tommen. Prince Joffrey. The three golden children, who Tywin Lannister saw as his reward for a lifetime of cutting other people's throats. He seemed to have gotten the best of his gamble, he was almost certain to have a grandson sit on the Iron Throne, as even if something should happen to Joffrey, there was a second boy to go to.

'Mayhaps the realm would be so fortu-no, no,' Jon had to shake his head, as he was nearly halfway through the courtyard, 'Enough princes have died in these halls. He is young still and with enough time and,' he took in another deep breath, 'care,' he was not sure whether he was speaking for the boy's father or his mother, 'then he shall be able to be a good king.'

Jon had learned to lie to himself a great deal these past fifteen years.

'Will not get that sort of thing from his father,' he thought to himself as he began to catch up with Baelish, who was waiting at the door to the tower up to the Ravens, 'His father is not even here,' he remembered how Robert had left only yesterday to go on a small hunting trip to the Kingswood, 'Leaving the throne for me to try and hold up on my old shoulders,' he then groaned, 'Gods, what a mess this all has been for me,' finally reaching the outside of the door, giving one final thought to his King, 'Gods, what have you taken from me.'

"We should be able to slow our pace now," Petyr may have been less than half his age, but he himself seemed just a bit winded. He kept his eyes around, looking around, all the while holding the torch from the Hand's Tower, "I do not think that any of the Spider's little birds managed to catch us."

"Hopefully," Jon nodded.

Petyr swiftly pulled the door behind Jon, though he slowed at the end, so that there was no sound when it closed behind him. A moment later, the scribe turned on his heel, and waved his hand. Jon sighed, before he began to follow Baelish up the stairs. It was to be a long climb.

"Do you have any idea what Stannis's message may be about?" he managed to get out, taking the few seconds rest to try and get some kind of information on what he had been forced to move like this for, "Is it something more from the Sealord?"

"Which Sealord?" Petyr laughed, and Jon sighed. He knew something had been such a disaster that there was news that the old Sealord, Lord Antaryon, had been forced to step aside. There was more to the story, though it was clear that the cause had something to do with the pirate fleet that had been based in Braavos. That had been why Stannis Baratheon, brother of the King and Master of Ships, had been sent. A demonstration of just how seriously the Iron Throne was taking the piracy sponsored by Braavos. Robert had wanted to declare war, bu-, "I would imagine so. Last we heard from Stannis, he was saying he'd managed to get some concessions, and was well on his way to delivering us from the pirates," he looked back, "Though, if I remember correctly, there was some anger from the Master of Coin on that."

"Yes," Jon admitted, "Kevan Lannister nearly fell over when we told him to be prepared to pause the mint for a decade."

It had seemed strange to Jon as well, but he had been willing to go along with it. Robert hadn't, at least not until he had a treaty all wrapped up and signed, so the mint was still open. Yet it had seemed to Jon Arryn that soon they would have the problem dealt with.

"Well, you never know what those Braavosi will demand," Petyr continued, "But Stannis's message was marked as a necessity, and only for your eyes, so I hid it before Pycelle's creatures could get their hands on it," he pointed up the stairs, "We must hurry our step, you never know when those creatures may return."
"I already have hurried my step," Jon Arryn hissed, but he did his best to quicken his pace. After all, the sooner he read this, the sooner he could return to his chamber and to his bed. Part of his problem was that he wished that Petyr had told him the specifics more, though he also understood that Stannis was the type to send his messages so they would only be read in the presence of who he wanted them to be read to.

The climb was hard. On a normal day it would be something that Jon would dread, as they tower stairs were steep and the air thin and his bones were old. But here, at night, it was worse than that.

'If only we hadn't run,' Jon cursed to himself, 'I'd have more life in me if only I hadn't spent my time running to these damned stairs.'

"The King should still be out for a time, shouldn't he?" he heard Petyr, over a dozen stairs up above him, ask, "He and the King's Guard and the rest of his merry band of drunkards?"

"Robert is your King," Jon wheezed, barely keeping his feet. They passed the first landing, where he could see a small candle light into one of the small rooms along the tower. There were five between the bottom of the tower and the Rookery up at the top, and each held different things to maintain a rookery, from writing supplies to food for the ravens to even a few rooms where someone might be able to spend time composing a letter.

"I only seek to treat him as a king of his caliber should be, my lord hand," Petyr said. Jon bit at the side of his cheek. He then watched as for but a moment the younger man slowed down, looking out the window toward Maegor's Holdfast, "He has not shown the deference owed to you, so I wonder why you would care," he then returned to his pace up the stairs, "He has hurt us both with his disregard."

"Aye."

"You can see the White Sword Tower," Petyr was looking out one of the Windows to the tower adjacent along the outer wall. The home of the Kingsguard, it stood tall among the many spires, "The Lord Commander is clearly with the King," he then looked back, "How many other knights does the Demon of the Trident need."

"Only two others now," Jon admitted, a bit of shame coming to him, "Robert has said he only needs two on constant guard now that the last Targaryen Prince is no longer a living threat," Viserys death had been such a shock, but had almost immediately sent Robert into a better mood. The boy had been the most legitimate threat to the Baratheon Dynasty alive, so when the Raven came declaring he'd been burnt alive in the manse he'd been holde up in for half a year, it had been treated as the greatest triumph for Robert's reigns since the Island of Pyke had fallen. True, his sister had disappeared, but the threat she possessed was seens as far lesser than before, so it only made since that he only had, "Ser Meryn and Ser Mandon are there, but only to ensure the safety of the party alongside the king."

"Suppose that is Arys Oakheart over there then," Petyr said as they passed by another window showing the tower to the side, with one light coming from one of its windows, "The new ones are always so eager to prove their way. Work far later than the rest, to prove that they might be worthy of their place among the finest knights in the realm."

"That could certainly be the case," Jon admitted, though he thought it was more likely that Arys Oakheart was the only one that would be there, with Sers Barristen and Mandon out with the King, "No, Jaime Lannister could be up this late," he said, "though it is not him. The Queen demands he in Maegor's Holdfast," it had certainly come to Robert's notice, though thoughts on that were quickly forced from his mind, "No, no, he would not be in that tower"

"He most certainly is not," Petyr agreed, before finally becoming quiet. Jon was happy for it. The climb already was difficult enough without having to speak the whole way up.

Finally, after another ten minutes of climbing, they made it to the top. They had been more quiet on the way up, as the third landing had a light underneath it, and Jon knew better than to make noise when discretion was needed. Jon had lost sight of Petyr as they had made their way up the tall, tall tower, but he saw the door to the Rookery open when he arrived. He first stuck his head through, and saw the small torch lit against the wall of the rookery. He took a moment to take in his breath as he arrived, leaning his hand against the doorframe, as he watched Petyr rummaging against one of the walls. Dozens of Ravens were letting out their cries, and Jon had to admit it was necessary to keep the Rookery this far up and this far away from Maegor's Holdfast.

'Any place closer and no one would ever be able to sleep,' he thought as the birds danced around. Finally, Petyr turned, and held up a letter, and Jon could just see an opening in one of the walls, 'I suppose having Petyr does have its uses,' he admitted, 'No matter the concerns he may give me.'

"Here you go, Lord Hand," Petyr Baelish held the letter to Jon, who took it quickly in his hand. He looked it over, and nodded at the stag bucking in the waves that sealed the message from the world. He placed his finger on the seal, attempting to push it off, but his finger slid off of it at the first push. He was about to make a second, when a knife entered his vision, "To cut the seal, Lord Hand," Petyr said.

'And to cut any throat should they need to be cut,' Jon thought. He groaned to himself, shaking his head, 'There is nothing to worry about Jon,' he took the knife, and placed the edge of the blade under the seal, cleanly slicing into it, 'I am his only patron, and should I be found with a knife like this in my back, most surely they will turn to him first as the murderer,' Baelish was from a low enough family that there would be no danger for investigating him, after all, 'And Petyr Baelish knows that too. He knows better than to kill me with a knife to my back.'

"Well," Petyr said, as Jon finally opened the parchment.

"It is from Stannis," Jon's eyes went through the formalities, one thing he both appreciated and found so frustrating from the younger Baratheon was his need to keep decorum. Finally, he saw some of what Stannis was suggesting, and stopped. He then brought his eyes over, and read it again, "He says…that he has gained recognition of the Iron Throne's right to the Disputed Lands."

"What?" Jon looked over, and felt some relief that Petyr actually did seem surprised. That meant at least the man hadn't already read the damn thing, "But, how?"

"I have a feeling that those rumors of something terrible in Braavos are more right than even we thought," it must be if one of the Free Cities was willing to recognize Westerosi claims on land in Essos, "They are clearly feeling the need for the Iron Throne's Support," he then sighed as he read further, "Though Stannis still claims that the mint must be shut down for ten years, and says that it might need to be even longer," Stannis had only given the vaguest outline of the problem, something about inflation, and while Jon knew the dangers of inflation, he was not fully sure why that meant the loss of the ability to print more money, "I wish he was here, so I might speak to him on the difficulties he is placing on my plate with this."

"The Old Lion will not like to hear of that," Petyr said, though Jon noticed he did not seem to disagree with the plan. Mayhaps he saw what Stannis saw, but before Jon could ask, Petyr shook his head, "Best we head back and get to your tower," Jon could only nod at that, "I would rather not have anyone watching know that we were here."

"Yes," Jon could imagine that it would be better to let the king know as soon as he arrived. Petyr had likely helped to keep Tywin from forming a planned attack when this part of the treaty came through. Jon could guess that Robert would be so elated with the prospect of more glory in war that Tywin could offer him nothing to dissuade the agreement to shut the mint, but he'd rather not give the Lord of Casterly Rock the chance to even try. He gave one final look over at the younger man, and waved his hand toward the torch. Petyr nodded, and grabbed at it.

They began to descend the staircase. Jon cursed at how slow they went, though there was not much else he could do, tired from everything that had already happened. He had been awake since the previous dawn, and this adventure had been more trying than he was happy with. Yet despite the strain, it had been a worthwhile trip. He held his grip around the letter tightly, if only to attempt to help balance himself out from the descent. It was lucky Petyr was here, as he held the light out enough to show each step below him. He did not wish to think what would happen if he attempted to go down these stairs in the dark.

'I do at times look too harshly on this one,' Jon gave a quick glance over to the man at his side, 'We all make follies in our youth, and those can leave scars,' Petyr seemed to not have a care in the world, 'He merely hides his pain with japes…'

As around halfway down the tower, Jon once again could see a small light coming from the door on the third landing from the bottom. It was still completely closed, but Jon, letter still in hand, slowed his descent further. It would be no good to step on an old board and alert whichever of Pycelle's toadies that they were there. They just had to move calmly and gently.

And then Petyr held his hand out in front of Jon.

Jon stopped, and turned to glare at Petyr, but Petyr held up his free hand to shush Jon, and then cupped the hand to his ear. Jon stopped, and did his best to try and listen as well. And he could…he could hear voices, from the other side.

But that was all he could hear. The vague muffled sound of voices that were going back and forth. Jon stopped to look back at Petyr, about to tell him to push forward before whoever was talking decided to leave this room, and see what they were doing. Instead, Petyr reached for the door, and grabbed the handle.

'What are you doing!?' Jon nearly shrieked, only barely keeping his voice in his throat, as Petyr opened the door. However, he only opened it a crack, and that kept Jon from being able to look in.

That didn't mean he couldn't hear inside the room, however.

"Can you believe it?" came the voice of Cersei Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and mother to the heir of the Iron Throne. Her voice was tired, as it should be, it was very late after all.

"Yes," came the perhaps even more exhausted voice of Jaime Lannister, knight of the Kingsguard, came from away from her, "There are many unbelievable things in this world, but I can fully believe that Tyrion spent ten gold dragons in one day."

'What are they doing here?' Jon wondered. It had been so late, the Queen should be in Maegor's Holdfast, and her brother should either be there or in the White Tower with his fellows. He thought for a moment, 'If they were looking for a letter, they could have come up without any questi-'

"At a brothel, Jaime," there was a shrillness in her voice, though Jon could barely blame her, "A brothel," she shook her head, "After all that father has given him, he goes off and sticks his cock in dozens of whores in one knight, having the Rains play on the whole street while he hops from one of them to another."

There was a snort from inside the room, and Jon could only sigh. Jaime had many, many faults. Beyond the whole killing of the king he had sworn to protect, he was also overwhelmed by what seemed to be a deep sense of dolour. He had betrayed his oath, after all, and ever since that day, he would mostly be seen with a nearly constant paleness and despair upon his face. He had loyally done his duty, especially in constant protection of the queen, but Jon doubted that he had even a whisper of mirth in him.

"That's just Tyrion though," Jaime Lannister let out a small laugh.

Except, of course, for his younger brother. Tyrion Lannister, Tywin's Imp son, was something of a wastrel. A witty little creature, he was well read, and could quote numerous famous sayings directly to Jon's face. Which he tended to do when insulting Jon for trying to get him from tempting the king with a visit to the brothel. The man drank and whored like almost none Jon had ever met, which made him a good companion to the king, thou-

"Come now," the Kingslayer continued, "There is no reason to continue to worry on Tyrion," Jon could hear the attempt to calm the queen. Jaime would use it from time to time when Cersei lost her ease, "You know he won't let it tarnish the Lannister name too greatly," there was a pause, and the vaguest sound of Cersei speaking up once more, "Or that you would need to care now. You are a Baratheon."

"I do not see why not," the Queen had no love for the Imp, not that Jon could exactly blame her, "I am Lannister," and despite her marriage to Robert, that was still as true as the day they had been wed, "You are Lannister," which was also true, as they looked so alike despite being of different sex, "We are all Lannister," Jon heard rustling of fabric, "No name can hide what we are. Our veins are filled with all Lannister blood," and then her voice take a lower, more inviting tone, "Our flesh is sculpted from the Rock-"

'What,' Jon could scarcely believe what he was hearing, 'What are they?' he felt the need to open the door, just to put out of his mind this insanity he was suspecting.

"When we speak, we roar," Cersei was continuing, "Yet the imp's pathetic mewling makes a mockery of all of our roars," there was the sound of flesh meeting flesh, "Father's Roar, Your Roar, my roar," Jon could see almost no distance between them in his mind's eye, "our son's roar."

'Son?' Jon took a step back, slamming his teeth together, killing the shout of horror, 'No, no,' he shook his head with horror, 'This must be a dream,' but it was not, for in no dream could he feel so exhausted, 'They…they have committed incest!' he took another step back, 'They have cuckholded the King!" He felt horror deep in his sould, 'Gods Robert was right!'

And then, he felt it, a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, and saw Petyr, staring at him barely illuminated from the flame. Jon let out a sigh. This…Petyr must have also seen this as well. Mayhaps he had found that these…these things had been sallying out at night to this tower to engage in this debauchery. Yes, and that was why he was so coy. It made even more sense now why he was working so hard to keep a secret. Jon would have denied the possibility had the queen not just confirmed it herself.

'But now I know,' he could see the confidence in Petyr's eyes, 'Thank you Petyr,' they would head to the tower, 'In the morning, we will send word to the Vale,' he would need men he could trust, men like Petyr had proven to be, 'and we will also call for Stannis…and Eddard,' fill King's Landing with enough men of loyalty to the king, 'and then we shall bring justi-'

He then felt a jerk, and saw a second later, that Petyr's arms were outstretched, while he was falling, backward, down the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the torch tumbling right behind him.

"Trai!" he called out, as he watched the darkness swallow Petyr whole, the only light around him the torch sputtering down the stairs alongside him. Before he could finish his shout, he felt his head slam into the edge of a stair, snapping his mouth shut. He then rolled over, his head and shoulder, and fell onto his knees. Still, unable to stop himself, he crashed into the side of the wall with his shoulder, and bounced further downward.

Jon would continue to roll down the stairs, every so often being knocked off the wall, continuing to roll. His head was bashed about, on the top and each side. He could no longer tell how far he had fallen, from how badly his head had been knocked about. He could only barely see in the disappearing dark, his breathing was moving far too fast, and he could taste blood. The pain, already there from his many years, had exploded all across his body, and it only spread further and further with each time he hit one of the stone steps.

And then it stopped. The stone was far wider now, as he lay there, his eyes now staring at the remains of the torch, sparks all that provided any more light. He had stopped on the second landing, where he now laid with his arms and legs spread like a spit duck. He could not feel anything below his waist, he could see his the fingers of his left hand cracked and spiraling out from the middle of his palm. He opened his mouth, and with all the air in his throat he spat, blood splattering out in front of his face.

'Gods,' he tried to speak, but he couldn't get his mouth to do anything but spit to keep himself from drowning in his own blood, 'Gods, what have I seen,' he just…he just couldn't understand it all. He tried to move any part of himself, but could not manage it, 'Someone, please someone help me.'

He then heard the sound of footsteps on stone. At first, for just a moment, he hoped. He hoped that some Maester had noticed the torch and come to see what was happening at this hour in the Rookery. But as the steps continued, he recognized that it was a pair of feet, and that they were coming not from below him, but from above. Then, he saw the two pair of feet, one in armor, and the other in the finest shoes that the Gold of Casterly Rock could buy.

"It really is Jon Arryn," it was Jaime's voice. Horror, shame, guilt. All earned, but not nearly enough for the crimes he had committed, "He really did see us."

"What is a wretched old man doing up here?" he could hear the queen's voice behind the Kingsguard. Jon spat again, though this time it was only partially to clear out his mouth and throat, "Gods, how could he have known?"

"I think I see," Jon couldn't bring his head up to look at the knight, "Look right next to him, it's a letter," there was a sound of understanding, "He must have been coming up for a late night Raven, and heard us."

"How could he?" Cersei asked, "We were so careful." Jon desperately tried to look up in the shadows, to see if the traitor Petyr Baelish was standing there gloating. But no, Petyr would never have risked himself like that. He would be hiding, likely a full landing above where they had seen the incest. All to hide, and wait and see for the confrontation to come to an end without him entering any sort of danger. His scribe had betrayed him, had thrown him from the stairs, and now he was here, at the mercy of these two incestrous twins.

"Matters not now," Jaime seemed to prepare to step over him, "The man's dead now," there was a pause, as again Jon spat out more blood, "Best get you back to your chamber," he sighed, "Watch where you step, we can't give a hint that we were here for this."

"We are just going to leave him here?" Cersei nearly shrieked, only barely keeping her voice under control. A second later, she was lifted into the air, and brought over Jon, "He could tell anyone what he saw tonight!?"

"No need to worry," Jaime said, "He is bleeding from the mouth, from his hands and mostly from the leg," there was a pause in his voice, "Were it not from him still spitting, I would say he was already dead, but a man cannot afford to lose blood the way he is now and remain among the living," he could hear the caution, "He will be dead before anyone else might come here, and anything I would do would only take a chance that they would see that his death was anything other than an old man tumbling down some stairs in the dark."

He didn't hear anything else. The two lovers must have been hurrying now, returning to Maegor's Holdfast where they would remain for as long as they needed to. Leaving here for Jon to bleed and die. And for some Maester to wait and find him.

'Cannot move anything,' Jon could only hold his mouth open to allow the blood and spit to ooze out the opening, doing what he could to protect his lungs, 'Could not probably speak,' every time he blinked, it took more and more for him to open his eyes once more. And even as he was able to open his eyes, he could also see that the world was growing darker, as the last few embers of the torch continued to snuff out one by one.

"So that was quite enlightening, was it not," he could only really hear Petyr now, his eyes only able to see darkness cut through by the last bits of flame, "The great Demon of the Trident, nothing but a cuckold," there was a cruel mirth in his words, that Jon knew was aimed at him as well, "And here lies Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, leader of Robert's Rebellion, Lord of the Vale," Petyr stopped, saving his words for a final stab, "An old man who has fallen, and cannot stand up."

Petyr said nothing more. Instead, he seemed to disappear. Jon wondered if he had gone past him, or whether he was still speaking, and Jon could simply no longer hear. Mayhaps Petyr coming to gloat was simply a trick of his mind, one brought by blood rushing away from his brain. It did not much matter, Jon had now chance to survive this.

All Jon Arryn could do was watch the torch's final few sparks begin to disappear. As the last ember finally gave up its fight, disappearing into the darkness of burnt wood, Jon's whole world went dark.