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Chapter 68
[A.N: I know the latter part of the chapter is very similar to Jaime's confrontation with Robb prior to the trial. However, I think Robb's tricks here are the most effective ways to go by when it comes to interrogation/coercion.]
Robb Stark
"I demand an explanation." His words were polite, but the accusation behind them was clear. "Your Grace."
Lord Lyonel Corbray was in his forties, sturdy and broad-shouldered. Though not as famous a knight as his brother, he trained regularly, and his lands near the mountain clans gave him real combat experience.
"I have arrested Petyr Baelish on suspicion of treason," Robb said. "Since House Corbray is his liege lord, I thought it right that you oversee judgment."
Lyonel frowned. Robb could see the conflict in his eyes. Petyr Baelish was to marry Lady Lysa Arryn and become, by that union, the Lord Regent of the Vale. Even if the marriage was not yet complete, his influence made him a dangerous man to accuse. Yet, everyone despised him.
Before Jon Arryn's death, Baelish had been seen as a minor man of low birth—a moneylender and brothel keeper of no importance. But lately he had climbed far above his station. Many lords saw it as an insult that such a man held power in the Vale, and his close ties to the unstable Lady Lysa only deepened that resentment.
Robb knew Lyonel's hesitation could be turned to action.
"I have proof." He reached into his bag and drew out a bundle of letters. "Correspondence to and from Petyr Baelish. Here are names from Houses Melcolm of Old Anchor, Coldwater, Egen, Waxley, Grafton, and some allied merchants."
They were all minor houses—except for the Graftons, who had wealth but few soldiers. Lyonel, however, had the support of Royce, Templeton, Redfort, Waynwood, Hunter, and Belmore. Together, they could raise around eighteen thousand men. What they lacked was clear authority.
"And here," Robb added, "are letters from Lady Lysa Arryn herself." He paused, then held up one more. "And this one—from Ser Lyn Corbray, your brother and the Vale's High Steward."
Lyonel's face darkened. His feud with Lyn was well known. Lyn had taken the family sword, Lady Forlorn, from their father's body during the Battle of the Ruby Ford. Only his victory over Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard had spared him punishment for stealing Lyonel's rightful inheritance.
Ignoring propriety, Lyonel snatched the letter from Robb's hand. His eyes widened as he read.
"Baelish was bribing Lyn?" he muttered.
"Your brother serves Petyr completely," Robb said. "Baelish planned for him, as High Steward, to silence anyone who criticized Lady Lysa's inaction during the war."
The letter showed Lyn's gratitude toward Baelish, thanking him for "gifts"—meaning gold—and hinting at deeper favors.
"Littlefinger meant to use him," Robb continued. "Once he arrived, he would dismiss your brother and restore Nestor Royce as High Steward. In doing so, he'd win Nestor's loyalty by granting him lands and titles. Your brother would feign outrage and join your circle of allies. Through Nestor's favor and Lyn's betrayal, Baelish would draw every major house to his side. With the lesser ones already loyal, he'd soon control the entire Vale."
"That—uh—" Lyonel stammered. "What?!"
Robb's cold eyes met his, and he let out a quiet, controlled sigh.
"Petyr Baelish's good name in the Vale is an illusion," Robb said evenly. "Those who've dealt with him know better. He's stolen millions of gold dragons from King Robert's treasury and used the money to build a web of spies, blackmail, and deceit across Westeros."
"He punishes and manipulates for his own gain," Robb continued, his voice hardening. "My father's death was one of his schemes. And if he's working with Ser Lyn Corbray, then your house may already be his next target."
He paused, his gaze unflinching. "Baelish doesn't hesitate to kill, even unborn children."
Lyonel's face turned from pale to ashen. He had once lost a wife and infant son, both to sickness and grief. His current wife, the daughter of a wealthy merchant from Gulltown, was now with child.
Lyn, his brother, had long assumed himself heir since the loss of that first son. Lyonel knew his brother's nature—jealous, bitter, and ambitious—and deep down, he feared that Lyn would harm any child who threatened his claim. The thought of Baelish giving him the means to do so filled Lyonel with quiet horror.
Still, he wasn't ready to believe Robb's accusations outright.
"I… I want proof," he said sharply. "Your words could divide my house. You're trying to pull the Vale under your rule just as the Lannisters and Baelish would." His voice rose. "You come here, into my lands, with your abominable men, accuse my brother and Lady Arryn's betrothed of treason, and expect me to thank you for it? I won't accept that without evidence."
Robb's mouth twitched in a faint smile.
"What if Baelish confesses?"
*-*-*
Petyr Baelish
'It wasn't meant to go like this.'
Baelish twisted his shackled wrists. The iron dug into his skin.
He sat in the dim cell, thinking through every step that led him here. Robb Stark had somehow learned his route to the Vale. His men struck between the Fingers and the Mountains of the Moon, forcing his carriage off the road. He remembered the crash—the horses screaming, the brief moment of weightlessness before darkness took him.
When he woke, his wounds were gone. His torn clothes replaced with rough cloth. No maester, no healer, no word of where he was.
Days passed in silence. His stomach ached, his beard had grown thick, and his hair hung in knots. The smell of damp stone filled the air.
The door opened. Light spilled across the floor. Robb Stark entered, calm as ever, and sat across from him.
Baelish blinked, voice rough.
"Why am I here? I was on my way to the Vale—to join my betrothed, Lady Arryn. Soon to be your aunt by law." He gave a brittle laugh. "You've known my friendship with your lady mother. Is this how you treat her friends?"
He leaned forward. "Tell me what this is about. You've no right to hold me. Release me, and I'll forget this insult."
Robb didn't answer at first. He turned a small silver brooch in his hand—Baelish's mockingbird.
"The mockingbird copies the songs of others," Robb said quietly. "It uses their own calls to deceive them. Fitting, I thought."
Baelish raised an eyebrow. His chains clinked as he leaned back. He'd seen this type before—young lords who mistook silence for power. So, he said nothing and let Robb talk.
"I know about the gold."
Baelish's pulse quickened, though he kept his face still. He had expected his financial tricks might draw attention eventually, but Robb Stark had no informants in the capital. That made this dangerous—but still manageable.
"I've no idea what you're implying."
"But you do." Robb turned the brooch in his hand. "You used your control over the royal mint to issue coin with less gold than declared. Every new batch worth less than the last—but the difference didn't vanish. You kept it."
He paused, then continued, tone even.
"And while that gold was hidden, you also drew directly from the treasury. You used crown funds to pay for your ventures, your ships, your brothels. That part is visible in the ledgers, clever but traceable. But the gold from the mint—that doesn't appear anywhere, does it?"
Baelish said nothing. A drop of sweat ran down his temple.
"You silenced the men who helped you once their use was done," Robb said flatly. "You cheated the Lannisters, the Faith…" His voice hardened. "And the Iron Bank."
"I—"
"I'm not finished." Robb lifted a hand. "I must admit, there's a certain satisfaction in unmasking men like you. I had a similar talk with Jaime Lannister."
He studied the mockingbird brooch. "I've always hated sigils. Men start believing they are what they wear, beast of prey or predators, creatures of myth, great objects and majestic symbols. But we're not beasts or gods. We're just men—and men are flawed."
He looked up again. "I know you, Petyr Baelish. Even the parts you hide. After you dueled my uncle and lay delirious from milk of the poppy, it wasn't my mother who came to you—it was her sister."
"She fell pregnant," Robb said. "Her father forced her to drink moon tea. It scarred her for life."
Baelish's expression stiffened, he opened his mouth. A thousand and one excuse surged through his mind, but none made its way into speech.
"You did not know why, but that just made Lysa more pliable, so you took advantage."
"I could go over the rest, how you made her convince her husband to make you a minor sinecure in customs at Gulltown, where you eventually clawed your way into Master of Coin. You controlled the gold cloaks through bribes and blackmail, used your brothels as spies, and indebted nobles to you through coin. I also know that you betrayed my father in Kingslanding."
"But there is naught but one thing that matters, here and now."
Stark's gauntleted hand slowly inched forward, and for a second, as his hand circled his throat, Baelish almost saw another pair of eyes.
"I know you killed Jon Arryn."
Grey eyes of steel, condescending in their righteousness.