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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,743Chapter 51
Please don't ask me where all this came from today.
Jon Arryn
The figures were cold and bleak and they told a terrible story. And there were so many of them. He sighed at the thought of what they entailed and then rubbed at his forehead. He could feel a headache start to build. Ah well, he'd live. There was far, far too much to do.
Fingers drummed for a moment on the desk and he looked over to see that Stannis had finished his own perusal of the latest book that had emerged from the secret stash of such books in the possession of the late and thoroughly unlamented Petyr Baelish.
"Drowning was too good for him," Stannis said in a voice that was tight with fury. "He deserved more than that."
"I know," Jon said with a sigh. "But he is dead enough. Now we must clear the rubble and build anew." He stood with a slight wince as various bones protested and then walked to the nearest window and stared out at the morning sun.
A tap at the door and Quill poked his head in. "Your pardon my lords, but Janos Slynt is here as you ordered. And I have the forms that you also asked for."
Excellent. "Thank you Quill. Please keep an ear out in case we need those forms." Hopefully they wouldn't. Slynt was a fool and a coward.
The man himself stamped in, looking as always like a plump fool who knew everything. Heh. Not today.
"Ah, Slynt," Jon said as he returned to his desk and then looked at the commander of the Goldcloaks. "Are you well?"
Slynt, who looked rather more like a frog of late than before, blinked at him. He seemed a little nervous. "Ah, yes my Lord Hand."
"You have seemed unsettled these past few days."
Slynt swallowed convulsively. "I have? I mean – no, my Lord Hand."
Jon leant back in his seat and looked at the commander of the City Watch again. He seemed to be sweating a little. Good. "A shame that your men were unable to find Baelish when I asked them to. As you know, I had to rely on my own man."
"I am sure that we would have caught him, my Lord Hand," Slynt mumbled as the sheen of sweat grew a little. "We searched most diligently."
"Yes," said Stannis darkly, "I am sure that you did."
Slynt made a ghastly attempt at a smile and then, as a silence fell, he twitched a little. "Um – why did you summon me my Lord Hand?
Jon looked about the room as if he had forgotten – and then he leant forwards a little and pointed at the book in front of him, with all its damning numbers. "Do you know what this is, Slynt?"
"Um – no my Lord Hand."
"It is one of the many secret account books owned by the thief and traitor Baelish. It is the one in which he recorded… certain payments."
Slynt looked even sweatier than he had before. "Payments for what my Lord Hand?"
"Bribes." Jon said the word in a voice as cold as he could make it. "Bribes to merchants. Bribes to officials. And bribes to members of the City Watch. Bribes to Goldcloaks."
Slynt paled but then swallowed and objected. "Lies! Everything that Littlefinger wrote there is naught but lies! The man was notorious for his attempts to bribe my brave men and I but I took not a penny from him!" The words sounded brave but the sweat dripping off him told of fear.
Stannis gazed at him scornfully. "Have we mentioned you? Odd that the moment we mention bribes to Goldcloaks you immediately protest that you are innocent. Most odd that. Unless of course you have a guilty conscience." He looked the man up and down and then sneered. "Or indeed that you even know what a conscience is."
The commander of the Goldcloaks licked his lips nervously and then his eyes flickered from Jon to Stannis and then back to Jon. The words 'I am trying to think of a plausible lie' might have been written across his face. "I-"
But Jon cut him off. "Be silent! Your guilt is written here, plain to see for all! Bribe after bribe after bribe. Small ones at first, but then larger and larger as the years went by! And not just you – there is evidence here of a spreading web of corruption. The officers under you – how much did Baelish pay you to look the other way whilst you bribed them as well? And the others under them? How much coin have you been raking in from all over the place?"
His finger jabbed down. "Did you know that Baelish left notes about what he paid you for? No? How about this – '50 dragons for Slynt on the matter of the son of Lord Tywald'. I remember that. The wretched little piece of filth raped three women here in Kings Landing and yet somehow none of them lived long enough to identify the boy in front of me. They all had their throats cut and I had to dismiss the matter, much to my anger. And now I find that you had a hand in it! I care not a jot that the boy later died when he was stabbed in the groin by another woman and in fact I would reward that woman if I knew who she was! You conspired with Baelish and Tywald to hide the truth!"
Slynt was as white as a sheet now, his fingers opening and closing convulsively at his sides. He was also shaking a little and there was a suspicion of something in the air that made Jon suspect that bladder control was becoming an issue for him.
"And the list continues! Not merely bribes, but crimes as well! Perjury! Murder in places!"
Slynt made a noise of protest but Jon again cut him off. "Yes, murder! Did you think that it can be seen in any other way? Men bribed to look the other way whilst innocent people were 'disposed of' by guilty men! Other men paid to lie to cover up the crimes of others! And all of this resulting in a steady stream of coin flowing in your direction, until it became a river!"
"Lies!" Squealed Slynt, very pale now. "All falsehoods and lies!"
"Liar!" Jon roared. "You didn't even bother hiding the gold. And more than the gold! Baelish paid you in property as well! Three businesses that you had long coveted and which he was obliging enough to help drive out of business so you could 'appropriate' them! And you were too stupid to pass them on to anyone else, but instead you kept them for yourself!
"Thanks to you and Baelish the Goldcloaks are little more than another gang in this city. Goldcloaks? Middencloaks morelike! You've dragged your cloak through the filth and enough of it has finally stuck to you."
He leant back and stared at Slynt. The wretched man had one hand on the pommel of his sword now and he looked as if he was a hairbreadth away from drawing it.
"If you draw that sword," Stannis grunted, "You'll be dead before the tips clears the scabbard. I promise you that, Slynt. I've killed a lot of men. Reachmen. Targaryen loyalists. Ironborn. Pirates. I'm not like the scum you confront. Whenever someone like you can be bothered to confront actual criminals. I can gut you like a fish where you stand. I promise it."
Slynt eyed him like a cornered animal and then Stannis did something that unnerved the Goldcloak almost as much as it unnerved Jon. He smiled slightly at him. It looked a bit like a death-rictus, but it was a smile.
The Goldcloak made a whimpering noise and Jon made a note to get someone scrub the spot where he was standing. Yes, there was a small puddle there. And then Slynt lifted a shaking hand off the pommel and tried to say something. All that emerged was another whimper.
"Quill!" Jon shouted and the door flew open to reveal Quill and two other men in full armour and holding drawn swords.
"My Lord Hand?"
"This… man is under arrest, on charges of corruption. Strip of his weapons, his armour and above all the cloak that he has disgraced."
"Aye my Lord Hand," Quill said tersely as he removed Slynt's sword and dagger, grimacing a little at the puddle. "And then?"
"The Black Cells. The King will work out what to do with him."
Slynt made another noise of distress, but allowed himself to be led away by the grim faced guards. Jon watched them all go and then nodded as a servant darted in with a bucket to scrub the puddle away, before leaving, closing the door as he went.
"What will you do with the Goldcloaks now?" Stannis asked.
"I know not. Their upper ranks are as corrupt as Slynt. Takers of bribes – and that might be the least of their crimes." He ran a hand over his face. "I think that the worst of them will have to go to the Wall. I can't send them all though, that will leave the City in a parlous state."
Stannis thought about this, looking about as grim as he could ever remember seeing him. "I see your point. Much as I would dismiss every guilty man, that would gut the City Watch almost completely. Winnow out the worst and then make the lower ones redeem themselves. Review them regularly. Who will you appoint in their place?"
"I know not that either. We need a man who can lead and not be corrupted. If he was not so vital to you I would suggest Ser Davos Seaworth as a temporary replacement. Or can you spare him?"
Stannis ground his teeth a little and then nodded. "He would do at a pinch. It would be a bad blow to lose him even for a month, but I could just spare him for a while."
Jon sighed and then stepped closer to Stannis and lowered his voice down to a whisper. "We need more reliable men than we have. Especially as this business of the King's Great Matter must be resolved and soon. The Queen has already sent me a list of men that she thinks would be suitable to be the new Master of Coin. Not one of them is acceptable to me."
"Lannisters or men close to her father?"
"Both – and a number who would merely bind themselves closer to her in the hope of a future reward. I have no doubt that once she hears that the Goldcloaks need to be placed in order she will volunteer the services of a large number of Lannister guards – and then suggest some replacements for Slynt."
"Then we shall have to pre-empt her. I can bring in men from Dragonstone, just as you can from The Vale. Reliable men. When we finally move, we need to control the City and the Goldcloaks are the key to it." He looked annoyed. "This makes things… complicated."
"Aye. We cannot move until the ground beneath our feet is certain again. And at the moment, what with Baelish and now Slynt… well, things are in flux." He stared out of the window. "More in flux perhaps than I first thought. This business with the Great Sept and the tales of people looking to the North… Well, I need to send a raven to Winterfell to meet with Ned Stark as soon as possible." He saw Stannis pull a face and he nodded. "I know, more delay. But something that I cannot explain is happening. In the meantime we must do what we can with the tools that we have. Send me Seaworth when you can spare him today. He'll need to clean out the headquarters of the Goldcloaks with some reliable men as well."
"I'll send him when I can. Do you really mean to leave the decision of what to do with Slynt to Robert? I thought that you would send him to the Wall."
Jon pulled a face of his own. "I do not think that my Goodbrother would thank me for sending the most corrupt man still remaining in King's Landing to the Wall. For one thing he might try and sell it to the Wildlings. For another he might leave a trail of piss and slime all over it. I jest, but he's a bad bargain even for the Wall."
"True enough."
There was a formal knock at the door and they both turned to face. "Enter."
Quill entered. "My Lords, a signal from the harbour, from Ser Davos Seaworth. The King's ship is in sight."
Jaime
He was in a dark mood as he rode down to the docks behind the Hand and Old Stoneface. The encounter with Dawn the other day had stirred a lot of memories that he'd worked very hard to try and repress. Memories of his youth. Memories of his first days in the Kingsguard.
He'd worshipped some of those men at first. Arthur Dayne had been his ideal as a knight. What could be said about Barristan the Bold, except high praise? Jonothor Darry. Lewyn Martell. Names that had made him tongue-tied and nervous. And then of course old Gerold Hightower, the White Bull himself.
That admiration had died on the same day that the Starks had. Died in fire and blood and screaming, in a throne room filled with deathly silent men and woman, watching white-faced as a terrible crime was committed that eventually destroyed the Targaryen Dynasty.
"You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him." Hightower's words. Words he must have known were hollow and worthless. They had both known that Aerys was then far beyond mad. His cackling glee at the agonies of both Starks was more than proof of that.
But he was in the Kingsguard now. And effectively a hostage.
So he had turned his pride in his white cloak into something else. Duty. And then again into a careful watchfulness. Especially after the death of Elia and the children, after all he had done to save them.
And now here he was, Kingsguard to the Fat King, a man who had let himself go at such a pace that it still astonished him at times. He sometimes wondered why Robert Baratheon had wasted himself in the way that he had, before shrugging and deciding that he didn't care anymore.
He shook himself slightly as they arrived at the docks and he repressed a more recent memory. The feel of Dawn twisting in his grip like a snake trying to get away. What had that been about? He had thought about approaching young Lord Dayne and asking him, before he and Dondarrion left for the North in a day or so, but for once in his life his nerve had failed him.
The sound of a growing crowd brought him back to where he was. Ah, the ship was approaching, slowly creeping next to the docks. It looked like all ships did to him, although if Seaworth was here he could probably tell him where it had come from.
He put on his best beaming smile for the crowd and dismounted. He filtered out what they were saying about him. He didn't care.
And then he saw the king – and frowned. Robert Baratheon was prowling around the deck like a caged wolf, waiting for the ship to dock. When it did he stood by a stanchion and drummed his fingers on it as the gangplank was manoeuvred into place. And when it was, he at last stormed down it, with Barristan Selmy behind him and Renly Baratheon behind him in turn.
He did his best not to blink in surprise. The Fat King had… changed. He was still fat, but he was thinner than he had been when he had left. And there were other differences. He was clean-shaven now, with his hair also cut to half its length. And he blazed with energy, as if he had finally rediscovered some vital wellspring within himself. Oh and then there was the massive sword that was strapped to his back. It looked old and ancient – and dangerous in a way that he couldn't put his finger on.
"Jon!" Baratheon shouted as he strode rapidly forwards, before clasping hands with a clearly startled Jon Arryn. "Good to see you again. Where's my horse? That one? Right! The Red Keep and bloody fast. We have a lot to do." And then he leapt on the proffered horse and spurred it into a fast trot up the hill, accelerating to a gallop in places as Selmy and Renly Baratheon took their places at his side.
Jaime and the other mounted as fast as they could and as Jaime galloped up the hill he wondered what in the name of the Seven Hells was going on.
In the end he did catch up with them. Sadly not through great horsemanship, but rather because they had stopped to stare at the head of the late Petyr Baelish. "Jon?" Robert Baratheon called out.
"Yes Your Grace?" Arryn panted as he reined in.
"Why is the head of my Master of Coin looking down at me from a spike?"
"He was stealing from you, Your Grace."
A dark flush stole over the back of the big man's neck and then he spurred his horse again, trotting quickly into the Red Keep. When they reached the main courtyard he dismounted. As Jaime also dismounted he got a better look at the sword. It was very old indeed. "I see that you have a new sword, Your Grace," he called out. "Well, so to speak."
Robert Baratheon turned on his heel and in doing so loomed over Jaime slightly and for a moment, just a moment, Jaime seemed to see the Demon of the Trident in front of him. And then Baratheon smiled and the spell was broken. He reached back and slapped the hilt of the sword.
"Found this at Storm's End! The sword of my ancestors, the sword of the Durrandons! It was waiting for me in the Durrandon tombs there."
There was a scoffing noise. "Durrandon Tombs? At Storm's End? What nonsense is this?" Stannis Baratheon did not look as if he believed a word of what his brother had just said.
Oddly enough, instead of being angry at the scathing tone used by his younger brother, Robert just looked steadily at him. "It was at the end of the Long Passage brother, under where the Godswood used to be. It was young Edric who spotted that the stones at the end of the passage were mortared together, but the walls laid stone on stone. We took down the mortared stones and discovered that the passage led to the tombs."
Stannis listened to this with a scowl and then what Jaime thought might have been the beginning a facial tic. "Truly?"
"Truly, Lord Stannis," Barristan Selmy said gravely as he approached from one side. "I was there, along with Lord Renly. And within…" he seemed to shake his head in bewilderment.
"There was a statue," the Fat King said solemnly. "And it was holding this sword here. I approached it and... the eyes opened. Magic, Stannis, it was magic! The eyes burned with red fire. 'Storm King', it called me and then it gave me the sword and told me to go North. Next bit's a bit hazy as I think I fell over, but when I came to I was holding the sword. Jurne looked into the records and the inscriptions. Do you know what this is, Stannis, Jon? Stormbreaker!"
There was a long silence. It was broken by Robert Baratheon clapping his two hands together. "Right! Littlefinger's dead, after stealing from me you say? So what else has happened?" And then they passed into the Red Keep as Arryn talked quietly to Baratheon. Jaime watched everyone go silently. He had the oddest feeling that the world was changing before his very eyes.
Robert
Much to his surprise Jon and Stannis did not take him to any room that he had seen before. Instead they seemed to wander until they found a smallish room without window and with a chimney that received a great deal of attention from the other two. Renly had wandered off somewhere and Selmy stood guard outside.
"I take it that I'm about to hear bad news for my ears only?" He saw Jon nod and he sighed. "Right then. If you're both satisfied with this room, would you mind telling me why you're so worried about eavesdroppers and then what the bloody hell happened with Baelish?"
"This place is a warren, Your Grace," Jon admitted. "And there are far too many places for people to overhear things. I think that we never realised how paranoid the Dragons were. As for Baelish – he was indeed stealing from you. Stealing on a scale that still beggars belief. As Master of Coin he had every chance to divert coin. He even stole from loans made by Tywin Lannister. And also the Iron Bank."
This rocked him back on his heels. "Oho! Ambitious of the bastard." He thought about and then flushed a little. "Damn it! I always scorned counting coppers. I should have listened to you Jon. So – how bad is it?"
"Not as bad as I first feared. Ironically he was using the coin he stole to buy buildings and set up legal businesses. Because he often used further stolen coin to make improvements to those places, he increased their value. And because we found all of Baelish's accounts and records we now own those properties and businesses."
Robert stared at the man – and then threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Oh, very nice! Ironic! I take it we can sell them?"
"Aye, if need be. And we also found all the money he'd squirrelled away in Essos. The Iron Bank is happier with us now and Tywin Lannister is being sent the details of what Baelish owned in the Westerlands. 'Tis a goodly amount."
That was good. But then Robert stared at the other two. "There's something else, isn't there? What else was Baelish up to?"
Stannis stepped forwards. "Ser Davos Seaworth was taking young Robert Arryn North to White Harbour, so that he could travel to Winterfell and foster with Ned."
"Aye, I remember talk of that. It's a good idea – I've sent Edric there myself."
"Well, one of the crew was a neer-do-well, hired by Baelish. His instructions were to kill Ned's man Cassel, set a fire on the ship, and then flee with Robert Arryn."
"What? Kidnap your son? Why?"
"We do not yet know, not truly," Jon broke in. "Some scheme of Baelish, from his twisted mind. And… there was another plot. It seems that someone has been poisoning young Robert. He is free of it now. But… there is some reason to belief that Baelish gave my wife the poison by pretending that it was some kind of medicine."
Various tendons crackled as Robert clenched his fists. "Baelish was poisoning my young namesake!? It's a good thing you killed him before I arrived – I would have used Stormbreaker to chop his fucking head off!" He glared at them both. "Right. Now – what else?"
"The Mountain Clans of the Vale have vanished."
He stared at Jon as if he was raving mad. "What?"
"I'm afraid you heard me, Your Grace. They appeared before the Bloody Gate and told the Blackfish that they were going to fight the Others in the North. And then they vanished. No-one's seen them since."
"The Others. In the North?"
"Aye. And then the Blackwoods and the Brackens called a truce and have sworn a great oath to keep that truce as they need to… erm, fight the Others."
He knew it. Something had indeed changed, war was indeed in the air. But – the Others? They were a legend! Weren't they? Then a further thought struck him. Stormbreaker was a supposed to be a legend too, yet it was now at his back.
"What else?"
"The statues of the Seven in the Great Sept have all changed and are now pointing North. The Septons are in an uproar over this… apparent miracle. And things are… unsettled as a result. Different interpretations are flying around."
He sat down at this. "Gods, but I hate religion," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "Right. We need to see Ned as soon as possible and we also need to lance this religious boil."
"For the first part I was going to call him South to Riverrun, or even Moat Cailin, to talk about all of this business about mention of the Others. For the second part, I do not know. There is a final thing Your Grace."
"Go on."
"Baelish was bribing the Goldcloaks. Janos Slynt was far more corrupt than we had ever feared. In fact the entire higher ranks of the Goldcloaks must be sent to the Wall. They have all failed spectacularly."
He scowled. "Gods, I knew the man was bad – but truly that bad?"
"Worse if anything. We have all of Baelish's secret account books. It's all in black and white. Slynt was paid to look the other way in cases of assault, rape and even murder."
Rage filled him. "He was, was he? Very well. Ned always says that the man who sets the punishment must also swing the sword. I shall damn well do so. Stormbreaker will taste blood again." He paused. "And I need to spar, before and perhaps even after that. Got too much damn fat on me. If a war is coming, I'll greet it as close as I can get to how I was at the Trident."
The other two gaped at him a little and then they nodded. "Brother," Stannis said after a long moment, "What happened to you?"
This was a good question and he paused at the door. "I have a purpose again." And then he swept out down the corridor, Selmy at his side. He needed to spar. War was coming.
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