Game of Thrones White Wolf

Chapter 217 219: Crippled but Unbroken Littlefinger

Rust the color of dried blood clung between the spikes of the Iron Throne, like the stains of every king who'd ever sat there had never quite washed away.

Every now and then a cold glint of steel flashed through that rust—exactly like the icy, furious stare Stannis Baratheon leveled at the people below him right now.

He sat high on the throne, hands gripping the armrests, looking down into the empty throne room. The silence was so thick the guards barely breathed. Queen Selyse kept her head bowed, taking the full weight of her husband's anger. Beside her, Petyr Baelish knelt, sweat pouring down his face.

Stannis had every right to be furious. His own queen had gone behind his back and tried to smuggle a Targaryen-blooded old maester down from the Wall for a blood sacrifice. The Citadel had found out and was now "deeply concerned"—which everyone knew was code for a very public threat.

Stannis needed to give them an answer, fast, or his new dynasty would look like a joke before it even got started.

The leak had been weird as hell. The news broke in Oldtown first. King's Landing heard nothing until the raven landed. He'd suspected Varys at first, but the Spider had been glued to his side the whole time, feeding him nonstop reports about Daenerys. Even Barristan Selmy—the one Joffrey had kicked out—was apparently back in the Targaryen camp now.

The only thing that gave Stannis any comfort was the distance. Slaver's Bay was half a world away.

Still, he was only in his prime, not immortal. He needed a proper heir, loyal lords who actually obeyed, and control over Dragonstone, the Stormlands, and the Crownlands all at once. Plus Melisandre kept dropping warnings about the Long Night like it was tomorrow. He slept maybe three hours a night and felt like a spinning top that never stopped.

Robert had Jon Arryn. When Arryn died he had Ned. Stannis had… himself.

Every problem piled on top of the last one until he could hardly breathe. So when it came to Selyse's screw-up, he had zero mercy left.

But he had to start with Littlefinger.

Stannis's voice cut through the hall like freezing rain before a storm.

"Petyr Baelish. You swore to me you'd shut down that damned brothel of yours. You told me you turned it into a laundry. So explain—why do the customers who come to wash clothes end up bathing with the washerwomen? Hmm?"

Littlefinger pressed his forehead even lower to the stone floor. Any excuse now would just make it worse. The only reason his punishment wasn't harsher was because he'd been working for the queen.

"Guards!" Stannis's voice cracked like thunder. Selyse flinched hard beside him.

"You lied to your king and defied a direct royal order. Break one of his legs, strip him of his robes, and throw him out of the Red Keep!"

Petyr's body went slack. Before he could even open his mouth, a guard stuffed a rag in it. The scene felt sickeningly familiar—like that day on Dragonstone when everything had gone to hell.

His gray-green eyes swept the hall, burning with pure venom as he stared at every face: Stannis, Selyse, Pycelle, the guards, Davos Seaworth, Varys—

Varys.

The name exploded in his skull. The leak had to be the Spider. No one else could have pulled it off so cleanly.

The guards dragged him out. Now the real show was about to start. Everyone in the room waited to see what Stannis would do to his own queen.

The second Petyr was gone, Selyse felt the pressure slam down on her like the king himself was sailing a warship straight at her chest.

Her body went ice-cold. She couldn't even feel her legs anymore. All she felt was her heartbeat hammering in her ears.

"Who gave you permission to make decisions on your own?" Stannis demanded. "Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

"Your Grace… it was me. I was reckless."

"Reckless!" Stannis's voice rose to a roar. Every person in the hall swallowed hard. "Do you understand what this means for House Baratheon, you foolish woman?!"

He didn't hold back, not even in front of the court. No one was surprised. Everyone remembered the time Selyse had tried to take his arm in public and he'd barked "Distance, woman!" right in front of half the small council.

Their marriage had been arranged. Stannis had never liked Selyse any more than he liked Dragonstone.

Maybe it was the year she'd spent as queen that finally gave her spine. Selyse snapped.

"Why?!" Her voice lashed out like a whip. "You ask me why? I did it for my daughter!"

Stannis actually blinked. His usual emotional punching bag had just hit back.

"Your Grace, how long have we been in King's Landing? Why is Shireen still stuck on Dragonstone?"

Stannis opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Is it because my daughter is crippled and it embarrasses you as king?!"

"What nonsense are you spouting!" His denial sounded weak. "Shireen is my heir!"

"Yes, and I hoped the Florents would take the Iron Islands. You think I did it for House Florent? I did it for my daughter! I know you hate me—just like you hate the stones on Dragonstone!"

"Enough! Guards, take the queen away. She is not to leave Maegor's Holdfast without my leave!"

Davos could see the king was losing control.

"Since the day Shireen was born, have you touched me even once?" Selyse kept going, all the years of hurt pouring out. "You want a son—do you think I can do that alone?!"

Stannis's lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He had no answer.

"Take the queen away!" he finally growled.

Davos felt a chill. He remembered what had happened the last time a king locked his queen in Maegor's Holdfast. He didn't want Stannis walking the same road as the Mad King.

A long, heavy silence followed.

Later, when the worst of it had passed, Davos turned to Grand Maester Pycelle. "You saw it yourself, Grand Maester. This was all a misunderstanding. The queen was led astray."

"Of course," Pycelle replied smoothly. "I'm sure His Grace understands that."

He wasn't shocked. Robert and Cersei used to scream and throw things. This was tame by comparison. Three kings in a row had terrible marriages: the Mad King tormented his queen, Robert traded punches with his, and Stannis simply despised his.

The storm passed, but Stannis's standing with the Citadel had taken a real hit.

Maester Aemon was already in King's Landing. Sending the frail old man back north in winter would probably kill him, so Stannis ordered him delivered straight to the Citadel instead. The crown would cover every cost of his care.

A few days later, Petyr Baelish signed over all his holdings in King's Landing and prepared to return to the Vale—to his own lands.

Even the toughest man needs time to lick his wounds after a beating like that. He'd already lost a hand once and managed to hide it. Now they'd shattered one of his legs. From now on he'd walk with a cane for the rest of his life.

For some reason, every time he leaned on that cane he felt like every eye in the Red Keep was on him. The feeling crawled under his skin.

Before he left, he met Varys one last time. Petyr looked the Spider up and down in his plain clothes and asked quietly, "Exactly how did I get in your way that you'd do this to me?"

By his own timing he knew only Varys could have pulled off a leak that perfect. He had no proof and no idea what the motive was, but his gut screamed the Spider had driven the knife in.

"We all have things we want," Varys answered vaguely. "And I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"What do you want, then?" Petyr pressed.

"Peace and prosperity for the realm, my lord. Someone has to look out for the smallfolk."

Petyr gave a bitter laugh. He knew it was Varys. He just couldn't prove it—and after this, his credit with Stannis was completely gone.

Varys had Jon Snow's backing and the best overseas intelligence network Stannis cared about. The Master of Whisperers was rock-solid. Petyr's position was dust.

He felt the fresh throb in his broken leg, took a slow breath, and forced his most normal smile.

"Lord Varys, I know a small man like me could never matter to someone of your stature. You became famous long before I did. Stannis is the third king you've served, and I doubt he'll be the last. You know me—I only want power. If there ever comes a day when our interests align, please remember me."

Varys looked genuinely surprised.

"I'll do my best to make myself useful to you as well," Petyr added, deadly serious.