What was Jon Arryn's true cause of death?
Robert's ecstatic expression froze.
Cersei's momentary daze was replaced by shock.
Everyone's gaze shifted from Lynn to Petyr Baelish, who sat in a wheelchair, his face ashen.
"Lord Lynn, what are you saying?"
Varys's soft voice echoed, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Grand Maester Pycelle already diagnosed Lord Jon Arryn's death as a sudden illness..."
"Illness?"
Lynn sneered, cutting him off.
"Yes, an illness called ambition."
His gaze pierced directly at Petyr Baelish.
"Your Majesty, Lord Ned."
Lynn turned to the throne and the Hand.
"Aren't you curious?"
"Why did Lord Jon Arryn die so suddenly?"
"Why, after his death, did the entire Seven Kingdoms fall into endless chaos and suspicion?"
"Because an invisible hand has been secretly manipulating everyone's fate!"
Lynn's voice suddenly rose, and he stretched out his hand, pointing directly at the master of coin, who was now sweating profusely.
"And that person is you! Petyr Baelish!"
"Nonsense!"
Petyr finally reacted from his shock.
He retorted sharply, trying to maintain his last shred of composure.
"Lord Lynn, I know you don't like me, but you can't use such despicable means to slander a King's important minister!"
"What evidence do you have?"
"Evidence?"
Lynn smiled, his face full of mockery.
"Then let's start from the beginning."
"First, Bran Stark's fall from the tower; a seven-year-old child fell from a high tower."
"And while he was unconscious, an assassin, armed with a valyrian steel dagger, tried to end his life completely!"
Lynn's gaze swept over Ned's face, which was etched with pain.
"That dagger, many here recognize it."
"It once belonged to you, Petyr Baelish!"
"Yet you claimed to have lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a tourney!"
"It was you who tried to single-handedly incite hatred between House Stark and House Lannister!"
"I didn't!"
Petyr's voice suddenly rose.
He didn't orchestrate the assassination; it was Joffrey's foolish act, eager to prove himself to his father after hearing Robert drunkenly say that the child would suffer more alive than dead.
He merely went with the flow, handing the dagger, whose nominal owner was Tyrion, to the assassin, thereby solidifying House Lannister's guilt.
"Of course you'll deny it."
Lynn continued, giving him no chance to explain.
"Then, there was Prince Joffrey's assassination attempt!"
"Right on the streets of King's Landing, a poisoned crossbow bolt, aimed directly at the Prince's back!"
"It was I who personally blocked that arrow for Joffrey!"
"Afterward, the Gold Cloaks searched that small building but found nothing."
"The assassin seemed to have vanished into thin air."
"Your Majesty, aren't you curious?"
"In King's Landing, who could possess such immense power to make an assassin disappear without a trace?"
Lynn's gaze once again locked onto Petyr.
"It was you! Petyr! You orchestrated this assassination!"
"Regardless of success, the wrath would fall upon the two daughters of House Stark who accompanied the Prince!"
"Your goal was to make House Lannister and House Stark completely irreconcilable!"
"You're spouting nonsense!"
Petyr's body trembled violently in the wheelchair.
He realized that everything Lynn said was accurate!
It was a trap he had personally set!
How did this fellow know?
"I'm spouting nonsense?"
Lynn's mockery grew stronger.
"Then let's talk about your most brilliant masterpiece!"
"An assassin, in broad daylight, stormed into the Throne Room, attempting to assassinate His Majesty the King!"
"After being captured, the assassin adamantly claimed that Queen Cersei had ordered it!"
"What a clumsy and malicious frame-up!"
Cersei's body trembled violently; she looked at Lynn in disbelief.
He... he was actually defending her?
Moreover, Lynn had deliberately chosen to conceal the matter of Bran witnessing her and Jaime.
He could have revealed it today.
But Lynn didn't.
This made Cersei breathe a sigh of relief.
A hint of gratitude towards Lynn inexplicably arose in her heart.
"Why would a Queen assassinate her own husband and son?"
"It makes no logical sense!"
"But what if the person who orchestrated all of this intended to completely sever the relationship between House Baratheon and House Lannister?"
"Each of these seemingly unrelated incidents points to the same outcome."
"To make the strongest Houses of the Seven Kingdoms slaughter each other and plunge into war!"
"And you, Petyr Baelish, you have no army, no horses, so you can only resort to such despicable methods."
"You, a mere master of coin, can reap the benefits in this storm of chaos, climbing your ladder of power built with blood and bones!"
"And the beginning of all this was Jon Arryn's death!"
"It was you! You manipulated Lysa, a woman blinded by love, to use a colorless, tasteless poison called Tears of Lys to murder her husband!"
"It was you who not only coveted Lady Catelyn but also toyed with Lysa's affections, promising to marry her once your plans succeeded."
"That foolish Lysa actually believed you."
"Moreover, isn't it strange to everyone present that old Lord Arryn, at his age, fathered a child?"
"Lord Arryn had women before, but neither his wife nor his mistresses could bear children. Why did Lysa immediately become pregnant after marrying him?"
"Setting aside whether it was Lord Arryn's problem."
"Consider the entirety of Westeros, even the whole world, who at Lord Arryn's age could impregnate a woman?"
"Perhaps that child of Lysa's, who has never been weaned, is yours, Lord Baelish?"
The way others looked at Petyr also changed.
This guy probably just likes other people's wives.
Who could endure that?
Petyr's face turned green.
Was this something that could be said in public?
Playing with another man's wife, causing her to become pregnant, and then seducing her to poison her husband—is that something a human being would do?
But then again, Littlefinger was someone who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
Lynn had said it all correctly!
Even his private moments with Lysa, Lynn seemed to have witnessed firsthand.
How did he know such precise details?
Could it be that Lynn could see into the past?
Before he could even open his mouth to defend himself, Lynn spoke again.
He gave Petyr no chance to speak at all.
"Then, you wrote a letter to Lady Catelyn Stark, falsely claiming that House Lannister was behind the poisoning, and tricked Lord Ned into coming to King's Landing!"
Every word from Lynn perfectly connected the mysteries that everyone knew but couldn't understand, like a single thread.
This story was so logical, so shocking.
"No... it wasn't me..."
Petyr completely panicked.
He realized that what Lynn said contained both truth and falsehood.
The assassination of Joffrey was true, but the assassination of Bran was genuinely not orchestrated by him!
The poisoning of Jon Arryn was true, and he framed House Lannister, intending for Ned to come to King's Landing to investigate the truth, thereby clashing with House Lannister!
If Ned succeeded, Robert's reputation would be damaged, and House Baratheon would surely become enemies with House Lannister.
If Ned failed, the King would be killed, and Ned, who knew Joffrey was a bastard, would certainly not be spared by House Lannister. Robb would also try to rescue Ned, leading to a war between House Stark and House Lannister.
At worst, Ned would be exiled to the Wall to become a Night's Watchman, losing all influence.
As for the assassin who attacked Robert and implicated Cersei... that was absolutely not his doing!
God knows why that assassin suddenly went mad and attacked Robert?
But now.
Under Lynn's narration, all the blame, all the conspiracies, had formed a complete closed loop, becoming a huge pile of dung firmly placed on his head, impossible to remove!
He was truly speechless!
Because he couldn't explain why he would plan the assassination of Joffrey!
He couldn't explain even more why he would poison Jon Arryn.
Because these were all facts.
"Petyr---!!!"
A roar like that of a wounded beast interrupted Petyr's attempt to offer a feeble defense.
Robert Baratheon's bloodshot eyes glared fixedly at Petyr in the wheelchair.
His corpulent body trembled violently from extreme rage, as if he might pounce at any moment and tear this man, who had played him like a puppet, to shreds.
"It was you!"
"It was always you!"
"You sewer rat!"
"You made a fool of me!"
Robert's spittle sprayed all over Petyr's face.
He suddenly drew the ornate longsword from his waist, its tip pointing directly at Petyr's throat.
"I'll kill you now!"
"Your Majesty! Calm down!"
Ned and Renly stepped forward simultaneously, desperately restraining the enraged King.
"Let go of me! I'll chop off his head with my own hands!"
"No one will stop me!"
Robert struggled madly.
"No! Your Majesty!"
Petyr, looking at the gleaming sword tip, finally squeezed out the last shred of reason from his utterly shattered terror.
He let out a desperate shriek.
"These are all lies! Lynn has no evidence! This is all his speculation!"
"I deny all accusations!"
Petyr struggled with all his might from the wheelchair.
Half of his body leaned out, his face distorted by fear and bearing a gambler's madness.
"I am a high-ranking minister on the Small Council!"
"You cannot convict me based solely on one person's one-sided testimony!"
"I demand a trial!"
"Before the Gods and men, I demand a trial by combat!"
Trial by combat!
These four words instantly silenced the furious Robert, the angry Ned, and everyone in the Throne Room.
This was the oldest tradition in the Seven Kingdoms.
When evidence was insufficient and both sides held their ground, the judgment could be entrusted to the Gods.
A duel would decide who was right and who was wrong.
Anyone had the right to call for a trial by combat, and no one could defy the will of the Gods.
Not even the King.
Petyr Baelish, the schemer paralyzed in a wheelchair, used his last and only right to entrust his fate to the Gods.
Or rather, to swords.
Robert's chest heaved violently.
He looked at Petyr's face, filled with madness, then at the terrifyingly calm Lynn.
After a long moment, he squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth.
"Good!"
"I grant it!"
"I will let the Gods see what color the blood of a worm like you truly is!"
Robert violently plunged his longsword back into its scabbard, then slumped back onto the Iron Throne, as if the recent outburst of rage had drained all his strength.
"You, Petyr Baelish."
Robert pointed at him.
"Since you demand a trial by combat, choose your champion."
Everyone's gaze fell on Petyr.
He was merely a political schemer, a cripple in a wheelchair; what could he use to fight?
Who would be willing to stake their life for a disgraced schemer burdened with so many malicious accusations?
Petyr's gaze frantically swept across the Throne Room.
Duke Renly?
Renly turned his head away in disgust.
Jaime Lannister?
He was looking at him with the eyes of a dead man.
The nobles he had once bribed with money and favors?
They now avoided his gaze from afar, as if he were a plague.
When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter.
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