Jon Arryn POV
He picked up and read the final paper in the pile. A request from Lord Boggs to lower their taxes on the account of heavy rainfall, flooding and ruined crops these past few moons.
He jogged his memories and tried to recall if House Boggs had really suffered that much during that flood, or if it was just a clever ploy to get away with paying less taxes to the crown.
His memory wasn't what it once used to be and he wasn't able to ascertain if House Boggs had really suffered as they claim to have suffered.
"Waymar," he called out to his page, who was occupied with arranging some scrolls. The boy glanced up at him. "Please retrieve for me the documents concerning the flood that occurred recently in the northern region of Crackclaw Point."
Acknowledging the request, the boy swiftly scurried away to obtain the reports, as he placed an ink pot atop the letter and reclined back in his chair.
His chair creaked at the slight movement and he grimaced at how sore his back, neck and shoulders felt. He gave himself a brief massage to alleviate the pain but he was aware that it was temporary relief.
He was old. And the duties of the Hand were tiring him out more and more these days.
A part of him longed to return to the Eyrie. To spend his remaining years in his ancestral home along with his wife and recovered son. But he just couldn't bring himself to abandon his foster son in this den of vipers.
Robert was once a great warrior and a charismatic leader. But the heavy weight of ruling Westeros has crushed his spirit over the years. And he feared what will happen to the realm if he were to step down from his role as Robert's Hand.
He got up from his chair and rolled his neck for some relief before he walked over to the balcony and gazed down at the large city sprawling under the shadow of the Red Keep.
The stink of shit and piss carried by the evening breeze took away some of the majesty of what was by all rights, the largest and most prosperous city in the entirety of Westeros.
Although the view from above was breathtaking, he was aware that the city was plagued with corruption, decadence, and stagnation, much like a chamber pot full of excrement left to ferment and worsen over time.
The condition of the city was a telling reflection of the state of the entire Westeros. Though the realm appeared vast and mighty from afar, upon closer inspection, one would discern the dire state of affairs beneath the surface.
As things currently stood, he knew that as soon as Robert died, the Kingdoms would break down into a civil war.
He didn't know who exactly will fight whom, but he was certain that a civil war was inevitable, regardless of his actions in the remaining years of his life.
The Lannisters were too greedy. The Tyrells too grasping. Martells too bitter and resentful. Renly too gullible. Stannis' son too ambitious. And Riverlands too fractious.
He could see the cracks in this regime as clear as day. And he knew that the realm would shatter as soon as Robert died.
'Is this even worth it?' He wondered to himself once again, longing to go back home and spend the rest of his days in peace, with his son and wife.
But once again, he couldn't bring himself to abandon his foster son amongst these vipers.
Without someone to look after Robert and care for the interests of the realm, they'll eat him alive in no time.
'Could I have saved this realm if I were a better Hand?' He wondered but knew in his heart that it was unlikely. Tywin had been a good Hand. A great Hand, really. And look at how that turned out.
No, as long as you do not have a good King leading the realm, you could have the greatest Hand in your service and it'll still not be enough.
And Robert… Robert was not a good King. He was not even a decent King.
In fact, the best thing he could say about the King was that at least Robert wasn't cruel and prone to burning people in his bouts of anger.
'If I had been a better foster father... if I had raised Robert better, then would he have grown to be a better King?' He wondered but then shook his head.
No point in thinking about 'what ifs' at this point. Otherwise, he would spend the entire day ruminating over past regrets. Of which he had too many.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Waymar entered with a report on the recent flooding in the northern region of Crackclaw Point.
'Bless you, my boy.' he thought gratefully as Waymar returned to his tasks. Taking on Waymar Royce as his page had been one of his better decisions.
All of this was thanks to his wife, who had recently taken a greater interest in matters related to the Vale. She had been gathering ladies-in-waiting, supporting the Vale knights, and now this...
'That's not the only thing she has started to show these past few moons.' He thought with mild amusement as he recalled how beautiful and voluptuous his wife has grown to be.
A pity that he was too old to perform his duties with her anymore.
They had tried an aphrodisiac a few nights ago but the hangover from the medicine the next morning had made him sworn off of it for the rest of his life.
Though… he wondered if anything would come of their union from that night. He was too drunk to even recall their coupling. But they were both naked the next morning so he must have done something.
He realized that expecting his wife to get pregnant after sleeping with her only once was hoping for too much, but stranger things had happened in the history of Westeros. And he couldn't help but wish for yet another son from his lovely wife.
Thinking about his wife reminded him that he still needed to check up on his son's recent progress, and he turned to Waymar once again.
"Waymar." He called out and the boy looked up at him.
"Could you do an old man a kindness and fetch the Septa who teaches my son, Robyn?"
The boy nodded and quickly ran off once again.
'Ah… to be so young and energetic.' He thought as he read over the report, and upon finding that House Boggs indeed fell under the area of the flooding, he agreed to lower their taxes for this year.
After finishing his task, he reclined back on his chair and shut his eyes, planning to take a short rest before the Septa arrived.
It didn't take long before Waymar came back with the Septa.
"Lord Hand." The Septa said respectfully with a bow and he nodded at her before gesturing for her to take a seat.
"I assume that you want to know about Lord Robyn's recent progress in his studies?" The Septa inquired, and upon receiving a nod from him, she proceeded to share all the details about his son.
As she recounted a specific incident of his son's recent mischievous behaviour, a sudden and frantic knock on the door interrupted them."
"Enter," he said, shedding his old, fatherly demeanour and adopting the firm and no-nonsense persona of the Hand that had served him well in this den of snakes.
The door swung open and one of gold clocks stumbled into the room, shadowed closely by his Arryn guards.
He examined the man's face and recollected that he was one of the Commanders of the Gold Cloaks, but he couldn't recall his name, nor could he comprehend why the man had come to him with such urgency. Had something occurred in the city?
"My lord," the Gold Cloak spoke up before he could even ask any questions. "Lord Baelish... he's been apprehended by Prince Stephen."
"What?" he asked, his heart filling with mild apprehension as he concealed his emotions. "What do you mean by 'apprehended'?"
"Just that my Lord. Prince Stephen and his men barged into Lord Baelish's establishment in broad daylight, captured him and a few other people, and took them back to the Red Keep."
Frowning, he turned to his guards. "Are you aware of any of this?"
His guards shook their heads, prompting him to give orders. "Go and verify if this man is telling the truth."
One of his guards nodded and left while he turned back to look at the Gold Cloak once again. "Do you know why Lord Baelish was captured by Ser Stephen?" He asked.
The Gold Cloak shook his head. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, his eyes completely focused on the man as he said, "Tell me everything from the beginning."
—
He strode down the corridors, with his Knights trailing closely behind him. He halted in his tracks upon seeing half a dozen Baratheon guards dragging a frightened and resisting man toward the dungeons of the Red Keep.
He frowned and gestured for the Baratheon guards to stop.
"My lord," the Baratheon guard at the lead said, and he scrutinised the man being dragged along. He vaguely recognised seeing the man a few times in the Red Keep but couldn't recall where exactly he had seen him or who he was.
Yet another sign that he was getting too old for his job.
"Who is this man?" He asked.
"He is the Harbourmaster, my lord." One of the guards replied.
Ah… he remembered who this man was now. But that still didn't explain why they were taking him like this, although he had his own suspicions.
"Where are you taking him?"
"To the black cells, my lord."
"Why?"
"He has been charged with taking bribes and colluding with the Master of Coin in embezzling from the crown, my lord."
"Under who's authority are he taking him?" He asked and the man paused and looked uncertainly at the other guards before one of them spoke up,
"Under the authority of Prince Stephen."
He arched an eyebrow in response. "As far as I recall, 'Ser Stephen' is Lord Stannis' son and the heir to Dragonstone. He does not have the authority to detain men in the service of the crown, particularly not in the Black Cells. That authority rests with the Master of Laws, or in this case, even with the Master of Ships."
The men looked even more hesitant now before one of them spoke up. "Um… Prince Ste- I mean, Ser Stephen told us that he had permission from the King."
"Did he?" he inquired, narrowing his eyes, and the man nodded in response. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before posing the question, "Do you happen to know where Ser Stephen is?"
"He was in the Black Cells, interrogating the Master of Coins, last we saw him."
He pursed his lips, pondering for a moment, before gesturing for them to proceed. The men quickly hauled the pleading Harbourmaster toward the dungeon, and he trailed behind them as they entered.
Prior to this occasion, he had only ventured into the dungeons of the Red Keep on a handful of occasions. However, he had never witnessed it being so crowded before.
The dungeon's various cells were packed to capacity with people, and numerous guards sporting the Baratheon colours kept a close eye on the prisoners.
'When did Stephen apprehend such a large number of men?' He thought with slight unease, wondering if the boy had a set criteria on who he brought here or if he simply arresting every single man associated with the Master of Coin.
Faint screams could be heard coming from the depths of the dungeons, prompting him to descend the stairs and venture further into the lower levels.
The Red Keep's dungeon had a total of four levels, with the third and fourth levels containing small windowless cells that had solid wooden doors, leaving the inmates engulfed in complete darkness.
Hence why they were called the 'black cells', reserved for the most vile and dangerous prisoners.
He didn't like the fact that Stephen had brought Baelish to this place. No, he didn't like that at all.
He met the gaoler of the black cells at the entrance of the 3rd level Dungeon and the man led him to the cell in the 4th level where Petyr was currently being interrogated by Stephen.
As they reached closer to their destination, the screams became louder and louder until they stopped at the front of the cell where the screams were emanating from.
A cell that was guarded by a dozen Baratheon men.
The gaoler gestured at the cell in front of them, raising his torch high to get him a better look at its door. "That's where Lord Baelish is."
In agreement with the gaoler's statement, another piercing scream reverberated from the other side of the door, causing him to furrow his brow.
The truth was... he wasn't entirely certain how to feel about the fact that Baelish was currently being subjected to torture behind that very door.
He had harbored suspicions for some time that the man had been siphoning funds from the Crown. However, as Baelish was a close childhood friend of his wife, taking action against the man would effectively ruin his own marriage with Lysa. Thus, he chose to ignore Petyr's actions as long as he kept providing the necessary funds to keep the Kingdoms operating.
Although he had no genuine desire to shield the cunning man, he felt compelled to do so on account of Petyr being a cherished friend of his wife and a bannerman under his command.
It would look bad on him, if someone else came and tortured his Bannerman while under his own nose.
He nodded and turned to look at the Baratheon men. "Move aside. I wish to meet with Ser Stephen and Lord Baelish."
But instead of following his orders, then men remained standing in front of the door. "Apologies, my lord. But Prince Stephen has ordered us to not let anyone in, unless it is the King."
"Aye. And I am the Hand of the King, giving me the same authority in matters such as this. So move aside." He said once again and then scowled when the Baratheon men refused to move.
"Forgive me, my lord, but Prince Stephen's orders were clear. No one is to be granted entry unless it is the King," the man stated. And although he respected the individual's devotion to his lord, it was beginning to grate on his nerves.
"You think you can refuse the command of the Hand of the King in the Red Keep?" One of his knights asked harshly as he put his hand on the pommel of his sword.
The Baratheon guards closed rank quickly and put a hand on the pommel of their sword as well, glaring back at his knights without any fear. "All I know, is to follow my Prince's orders with my life." The guard replied and the situation grew tense before he gestured for his men to calm down, hoping to defuse the situation.
Given that he had only brought eight men along with him, and there were twelve Baratheon guards stationed at the door, engaging in a fight would decidedly not work in their favour.
"What is your name?" He asked the Knight instead, intent on cowing the man into getting out of his way.
"Ser Brus Buckler, my lord."
He nodded. "Tell me, Ser Brus Buckler, do you know the consequence of refusing a direct order from the Hand of the King?"
The man shook his head.
"The Hand of the King, speaks with the King's voice. And do you know what it is called, when man refuses to follow the direct command of the King."
The man shook his head once again.
"It's called treason. Punishable with death." He said softly. "Now, I'll ask one last time. Move aside, and let me meet 'Ser Stephen'. Or else…"
Tension filled the air as the man maintained his unwavering gaze upon him for a prolonged moment before finally breaking the silence. "I will follow the command of my Prince, even if it means going up against the King."
He pursed his lips and pondered where Stephen managed to find such fiercely loyal men to serve him.
On one hand, loyalty like this should be rewarded. But on the other hand…
"Are you absolutely certain about that?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of menace, and the guard nodded in response.
Before he could say anything more, the door to the cell unexpectedly creaked open, and Stephen strode out of the room, devoid of any bloodstains on his hands or garments, indicating that he hadn't personally engaged in 'interrogating' Petyr.
"What's happening here?" Stephen inquired before surveying the surroundings and meeting his gaze. "Ah... Lord Arryn. It's unexpected to find you here in the dungeons. How may I be of assistance?"
"You can allow me to see Lord Baelish. Although he is accused of embezzling from the Crown, he is still a member of the Small Council and should be treated better than a common criminal," he said, although the truth was he just didn't want to deal with the tantrums that would arise from his wife once she learned about her childhood friend's fate."
"Lord Baelish has been charged with far more crimes than mere embezzlement from the crown, Lord Arryn," Stephen said, producing a parchment and handing it to him. "And even if he had not been, his Grace has given me his express permission to deal with him as I see fit."
He frowned as he took the parchment and read it under the light of the torch. It was written by Stephen himself, but it was definitely signed by Robert. And as the boy had claimed, the parchment granted him full authority to handle this case of treachery as he saw fit.
…annoying.
"Would you at least let me see him?" He asked. "I was the one who gave him the post of the Master of Coin in the first place. I would like to hear what he has to say in his defence."
Stephen smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that Lord Arryn. The man is your Bannerman, and a dear friend of your wife. I can hardly expect you to act without bias in this situation."
He frowned. "Can you at least tell me about all the crimes that Petyr has been charged with. And why you've resorted to direct torture instead of basic interrogation?"
"You mean, aside from the fact that Baelish has stolen over 2 million gold dragons from the Crown?"
"2 millions?" He asked, his eyes flying wide open in shock.
"That's the initial rough estimate at least." Stephen said with a smile. "I expect the number to go up once Baelish starts singing."
"No, that can't be right." He said and Stephen shrugged.
"If you're not inclined to believe my words, then I can offer you the proof in the form of Lord Baelish's ledgers and account books."
He thought on it for a moment before he nodded. "Very well. Show them to me."
"If I may trouble you, my lord, then I would suggest holding a small council meeting. I assume that the other members of your council would also be curious about why one of their colleague has been arrested. And this way, I will be able to explain the situation to everyone at once, saving time and effort."
He took another look at the prison door and gave a reluctant nod. "Very well then. I'll summon the other council members. But I expect you to arrive at the council chambers within an hour."
The boy nodded and he took one last look at the door before he turned and left.
Lysa was undoubtedly going to be upset with this news but he could at least tell her that he tried his best.