POV: Cersei Lannister, King's Landing.
I'm having this feeling something is wrong.
Jon Arryn's household guards stood at their posts with an unusual stillness. Their eyes did not wander. Their hands rested near their sword hilts with the ease of men who expected to use them. When I passed, their gazes followed me for just a moment too long before returning forward.
These were not the lazy, half-drunk men who usually slouched in the Red Keep's halls.
I felt the first curl of unease in my stomach but buried it beneath a pleasant smile. Whatever this was, I would face it as a Lannister, as Lioness.
Inside the Small Council chamber, I find Robert already sprawled in his chair at the head of the table. Jon Arryn sat to his right. Grand Maester Pycelle had already claimed his seat and was wheezing softly. Varys stood near the window.
And Petyr Baelish leaned against the far wall, that knowing smile playing at his lips.
I took my seat across from Jon Arryn and folded my hands on the table. "Good morning, my lords."
Robert grunted. Jon Arryn inclined his head. Varys offered me a small, secretive smile that I wanted to claw off his face.
The meeting began as usual. Taxes. Grain shipments. Petty disputes between minor lords.
Then Varys spoke.
"If I may, Your Grace, there is a matter concerning the Targaryen girl across the Narrow Sea.…"
"Enough." Jon Arryn's voice cut through the room like a blade.
Varys fell silent immediately. His expression did not change, but I saw the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"We will discuss that matter later," Jon Arryn said. His tone allowed no argument. "First, there is something more pressing."
Robert sat up straighter, suddenly interested. "What is it, Jon?"
Jon Arryn did not answer. Instead, he gestured to one of his guards standing by the door. "Bring it."
The guard opened the door. Two more guards wheeled in a small cart covered with cloth.
The guard who had opened the door stepped inside and locked it behind him.
The cloth was pulled away. Beneath it sat a massive book, bound in leather and metal, its pages thick and worn. It looked like an account ledger, the kind kept by merchants.
Jon Arryn stood. He placed one hand on the book and looked directly at Petyr Baelish.
"Lord Baelish," he said quietly. "You are under arrest for high treason and theft from the Crown."
Petyr straightened, his smile vanishing. "My lord, surely you jest…"
"Guards," Jon Arryn said. "Arrest him. Gag him. Now."
Two Arryn guards moved toward Petyr with brutal efficiency. Ser Boros stepped forward with his hand on his sword.
"You have no authority to arrest a member of the Small Council, until his grace orders," he said.
The Arryn guard didn't stop; his sword was out and through Ser Boros's throat before Ser Boros could draw his own blade.
Ser Boros fell to the ground, and in just a few moments, he stopped moving.
I stared at the body. The blood pooled around it, creeping toward my chair. I felt a spike of disgust, and fear.
Could my own guards be killed so easily?
The Arryn guards reached Petyr. He tried to speak, but one of them forced a leather gag into his mouth and tied it tight. Chains were locked around his wrists.
"What the fuck is happening, Jon?" Robert slammed his fist on the table.
Jon Arryn opened the massive book. "This, Your Grace, is a complete accounting of every coin Petyr Baelish has stolen from the Crown over the past fifteen years."
He turned the pages, his finger tracing columns of numbers. "Loans that were never made. Expenses that were never paid. Gold that disappeared into his own coffers or was used to purchase influence and silence."
Robert leaned forward, his face darkening as he scanned the pages. "How much?"
"Millions of gold dragons," Jon Arryn said. "Perhaps more. The records are extensive."
Pycelle made a strangled sound. Varys had gone very still, his eyes darting between Jon Arryn and Petyr.
I forced myself to remain calm, but my mind was racing. Petyr had stolen from the Crown. That was damning enough. But if he spoke, if he was allowed to speak, he would not stop at theft.
He knew about Jaime. He knew about the children.
He would burn me to save himself.
I had to ensure his death before he could speak a single word.
"Your Grace," I said, my voice steady and cold. "This man has stolen from your treasury. He should be executed immediately."
"he was also behind my death, with the help of my wife, he poisoned me." Jon Arryn said.
Robert's face turned red. "That sniveling little shit was behind it?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Then he dies. Now."
I felt a surge of relief so powerful it nearly made me dizzy. Good. Let Robert's rage carry this forward. Let Petyr die before he could speak.
Jon Arryn nodded. "It will be done, Your Grace."
Petyr was dragged from the chamber, still gagged, still chained. His eyes found mine as he passed. There was no plea for mercy in them. Only cold calculation, even now.
He knew. He knew what I feared.
But he would not live long enough to use it.
….
In just two hours word had spread quickly. A member of the Small Council was to be executed for treason. The people of King's Landing loved spectacle, and they had gathered here at The Sept of Baelor
I stood on a raised platform with Robert, Jon Arryn, and a handful of guards. Below, Petyr knelt on the execution block, still gagged, still chained. The executioner, Ser Ilyn Payne stood beside him with a greatsword resting on his shoulder.
Robert leaned on the railing, his face still red with fury. "Thieving little weasel. Should have gutted him years ago."
Jon Arryn stood quietly, he looked tired.
I kept my eyes on Petyr. His head was bowed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He was waiting. Planning. Even now, he thought he could find a way out.
He could not.
Robert straightened. "Wait. Remove the gag."
My blood went cold. "Your Grace…"
"I want to know why he did it," Robert said.
"Your Grace, I do not think…" Jon Arryn began.
"I said remove it!" Robert roared.
One of the guards moved forward and untied the gag. Petyr gasped for air, his mouth working.
Then he screamed.
"Your children are all bastards! Every one of them!"
The crowd went silent even Robert froze.
"Born of incest!" Petyr shouted, his voice cracking. "Cersei and Jaime! The lions' rutting—"
"AND YOUR MOTHER IS A WHORE!"
I turned sharply. The shout had come from the edge of the platform. I saw Tyrion standing there, his mismatched eyes wide with shock.
A strange bird sat on his shoulder. Blue and gold feathers, far too bright for King's Landing.
Tyrion looked at the bird as if he had never seen it before.
The crowd murmured. Some laughed nervously some looked confused.
Tyrion shook himself after he gained his composure, he said with his annoying smirk.
"He lies, Your Grace!" His voice was loud, desperate. "The man is dying! His words are meaningless! He will say anything to cause chaos before death takes him!"
Robert looked at Tyrion, then at Petyr, then back at me.
I met his eyes and saw the war happening behind them. Belief and doubt. Rage and confusion.
"He speaks out of spite," I said quietly. "He knows he is about to die, so he tries to wound you with lies. Do not give him that satisfaction, my love."
Robert's jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists.
Then he turned to the executioner. "Gag him again. And Ser Ilyn use a blunt sword."
….