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Chapter 69
Robb Stark
Baelish's hands scratched and gripped at Robb's while they tightened around his neck like a noose.
Yet, as soon as that split second of panic settled, a calculating gleam came to Petyr's eyes.
"You.. Have… No… Proof." He managed to let out between labored breaths, and Robb swiftly dopped him down for that.
"No, I do not." He watched lidlessly as Baelish made an effort to gather himself. "But tell me, what would happen if I were to send, discreetly, an envoy to your wife to be?"
Any illusion of pleasantry has long been discarded, and all of Littlefinger's masks have been uncovered, leaving him with a scowl of hate and disdain. "What do you mean?" His words were accusatory, as if it was he who held power in this situation.
"'Petyr Baelish is to be tried for orchestrating the muder of Lord Jon Arryn, the late Hand of the King', those will be the contents of my letter." Baelish flinched ever so slightly as Robb's hand inched upward once again, yet this time, all they did was tap the dust off his shoulders. "Shall we wager?"
"What will my precious aunt Lysa do once she reads those words, the woman broken and reshaped at your own hands to be paranoid of all but you, dependent on you, obsessed with you."
There it is. A wave of glee washed over Robb. The realisation.
It is undoubted that Lysa, when faced with such an accusation, will swiftly think of the worst case scenario. That not only was her crime uncovered, but also that Robb has proof of said crime. Her reaction afterwards does not matter, whatever it is, it will be foolish and self-sabotaging.
To someone as ambitious as Baelish, and in his current situation, Lysa was his fulcrum, the core of his strategy and the method by wich he'll secure his ascension. For such a man, that situation is utterly unacceptable.
At the same time, Robb is not willing to keep things to chance, and is entirely too eager to end matters in the Vale as fast as possible, as he had other more pressing matters to attend to.
And to that end, Petyr Baelish will be his tool.
"Knowledge is power, and secrets the most precious of all knowledge. Those are the rules of your own creation, after all." Robb alows himself a smile, ever so slight. "I know all your secrets, Petyr Baelish. Now, you know what comes next."
All Littlefinger could do was snarl.
*-*-*
"Did you get it?!" Those were the first words Lyonel spoke at Robb's entrance.
Robb didn't mind the tone, and simply stepped aside, allowing Baelish to enter.
Lyonel's face twisted like curdled milk. "So, he confessed, did he?"
It was Baelish who stepped forward, however.
"Lord Corbray." Traces of anger and fear remained within his expressions, but Petyr was a good enough player that he was able to swiftly act on his role. "I do, indeed, confess."
"I was privy to your brother's ill-moods, but I never thought they'd reach such levels of depravity!' Lyonel blinked, somewhat shocked at Baelish's earnest tone when he expected a more negative reaction. "When I was first approached by Ser Lyn, I begrudgingly offered him my services, and though it sickens me, as both a man of faith and your vassal, I found I had no choice but to oblige to his requests."
"Ignoble he might be, he was still the younger brother of my liege lord, and fearsome knight besides." Baelish shook his head, any traces of anger already replaced by fake sympathy. "And I did attempt to allay his depravity, taking care to arrange for the young looking instead of the young, using lowborn chidren with no house nor family to their name, even bribing him with gold and trinkets. But… Young Robin?" He shakes his head. "That is utter madness! So, I shall not take a step into the Eyrie until Lyn Corbray is exposed as the monster he is, and I assure you, I will do everything in my power to make you principal judge of his case."
Heat made its way to Corbray's neck, and he snarled in preparation for an outburst.
Robb grunted, belaying his wrath.
He pulled a chair next to the desk, tapping it. "Sit down." He told Baelish.
Petyr, somewhat boldened by his monologue, quickly found his humours changing. His smirk trembled as he stepped forward, and gingerly held the quill handed to him.
"I'm sure you know what you must write, but please, in your words, do repeat it for Lord Lyonel's sake."
"Uhh, yes… I will inform the lords of the realm of the situation—"
"What situation?!" Lyonel burst out.
Robb holds a hand out. "That was unnecessary, Lord Corbray. I'm sure Baelish will elaborate."
Littlefinger coughs. "Well, as I said, I will remind the lords of the realm of the situation, which is that Lyn Corbray is a criminal and deviant, that he has… unsavory thoughts toward Lord Robin Arryn. I will inform said lords that I have ample evidence of said crimes, and that I will not take a single step into the Eyrie until Lyn Corbray is arrested, Nestor Royce is reinstated, and Yohn Royce freed from captivity."
"What about the confession?!" Lord Corbray cried, turning toward Robb. "You told me that you will make Baelish confess to his crimes, for stealing from the crown. This… this must come after that." He says. "My ravens will carry letters so long as I get what was agreed upon!"
"I understand, you need insurance. There is no trust to be had here, after all." Robb says, his hand landing on Petyr's shoulder. "And a confession you shall have. If you would, Baelish?"
Littlefinger looked up at Robb in askance, but as he saw his stony face, he simply let out a dry chuckle and sighed.
"Very well, I will sign a confession."
Lyonel—looking much calmer as Petyr began writing, pulled a chair and took a seat.
"What about Lady Arryn?" He asked. "I have a difficult time believing that she'll simply dismiss and arrest my brother, prompted simply by a letter. And even if she tried, Lyn is High Steward, he controls the household guard."
"You underestimate my aunt's paranoia." Robb snatched the letter from Baelish's hands, his eyes searching through it for trickery. "The High Steward only controls her retinue nominally, but ever since Lord Jon's death she has granted Ser Vardis Egen that honor."
Robb wordlessly handed Baelish his parchement back, and Baelish begrudgingly took another to copy its contents.
"The new Captain of the guard? I know that man." Lyonel scratched at his chin. "Hard headed man, I hear he received his knighthood for valor against the mountain clans…"
"The only person Lysa seems to trust unconditionally is Ser Brynden Tully, my grand-uncle, despite his own misgivings over the matter." The fact that Baelish probably ranked even higher in her mind went unsaid. "Ser Templeton is a distant cousin of little renown, who also served on the Gates of the Moon under Ser Brynden and took the post at his recommendation."
"And Lyn has no leverage over the man?"
"None."
Lyonel sighs, staring quizzically at the compliant Petyr.
He could see the gears shift on Corbray's mind, he'd already gained more than he expected, with Petyr's confessions, some of his own debts to the man should be relieved, and he'd be able to leverage his joint advantage with Robb to seize influence and power within the Vale.
'I could halt things here and be done with this debacle, no witnesses apart from Stark and his freakish Green Men were privy to this plot, apart from Baelish, that is.' He thought. 'Yet, again, I already holds leverage over the latter and his grace does not benefit from it going out.'
But to act from this point on would be a different matter, as it would bring a risk to himself and his house. However, the temptation to finally bring his hateful brother down and rise to even greater heights was not something he could resist. And as he began to hear more and more of this plot's details the more it began to sound feasible.
"Very well." He begrudgingly nods, finally gulping down an errant cup of wine in a single shot. "To the seven hells with us, then."