Petyr Baelish had laid out a perfect plan. Ned Stark would be dead, and the lovely Sansa Stark would be in his grasp. Only, something had gone wrong, and that something was a someone named Myrcella. All his planning had failed due to the most absurd set of chance events, Eddard had not died, and Sansa was not in his grasp.
He had been forced to draw up new plans, but the wildcard that was Lady Myrcella continued to add too much chaos for things to progress the way he had planned. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed that the Stormlands of all the kingdoms would betray Stannis. The oratory skills of the princess were impressive, maybe even greater than his own.
Previously an afterthought in most of his schemes, after those events, he had his extensive eyes and ears uncover more about her. She had a gift of befriending many, she was unflappable under pressure, she even had some skill with throwing weapons. Eddard Stark thought that she dabbled in poisons, and she was utterly ruthless. His own version of the little birds had heard the entire confrontation between Cersei and Myrcella and how the little princess had cared not one whit about the life of her handmaiden.
A remarkable individual. A dangerous individual. Her conquest of Harrenhal had been the final straw. Too many freak occurrences where she came out ahead. She was too brilliant to be left alive, not if Petyr wanted to remain on top. His plans were already in motion; the Lannisters now needed to lose. Lysa's sickly child had to marry Shireen, and then Stannis would have an unfortunate accident. That had not been his original plan, but when climbing the ladder, one needed to be flexible.
And now he was deeply curious as to why she wished to speak with him. It was not her stated reason, of course; was she looking for one last attempt to bargain for her life? If so, she would be disappointed. Her earlier performance in the High Hall was proof enough of the danger. Had he not stacked the deck with only the Vale nobility he controlled, directly or indirectly, her appeal would have been effective.
"Lady Myrcella, I hope I am not disturbing your prayers."
That was the other aspect of Myrcella that Petyr was cautious of. The outlandish rumors about her favor with the Gods were believed. Lords, knights, and smallfolk believed that she had the Seven's favor. That was a well of untapped potential that no one in quite some time had tried to tap. There would be no second guessing – Myrcella would die today.
"Not at all, Lord Baelish. Don't let Ser Bonifer hear it, but right now I care more about your opinion than that of the Seven."
Petyr laughed. "It will be our secret. Tell me, why did you wish to meet with me?"
"Because you hold the power here. It's plain to see, if one bothers to look. I want to know why you betrayed my family, how we can fix this mess, and come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
He smiled. "It is a little late for that; Lysa has already made her decision. She would look weak if she backtracked."
The Lady Paramount of the Stormlands shrugged, "It was only, what, a fifth of the nobility of the Vale here in the Eyrie? I'm sure a man of your talents could convince them that Lysa's proclamation was less than what it seemed. What do you want?"
The man known as Littlefinger merely shook his head. "I don't normally do this, but since you will be dead shortly, I don't mind sharing. I have gone as far as I could under the Lannisters, and now I have the opportunity to reach the very height of power. Robert Arryn needs a wife, and Stannis needs a husband for his heir and daughter. They are similar in age, both carry afflictions, and the Vale will have joined the war in time to rescue the Riverlands. I will whisper sweet words to Lady Catelyn, the Tullys will be happy to be saved, and I have made friends within the Reach who will also back the pairing."
Those blue eyes met his own, and she smiled, "Clever, and since you control Lysa, who controls Robert, should anything happen to my uncle, you could effectively rule through Shireen. Eddard Stark could prove troublesome, but he never liked being Hand anyway. It could work, though you risk much with your violations of honor and custom. Uncle Stannis is many things, but this will stick in his craw; he may spite such a marriage proposal for that reason alone."
"So quick, my lady, you should stand proud. You and Varys are the only two who I considered strong players in this Game of Thrones."
She inclined her head, Petyr saw that she was still seemingly unbothered, despite the death sentence over her head.
"There are other options, Lord Baelish. Side with Tommen and bring the Vale with you if you have that power. You could have lands, we can even arrange a betrothal between us, and you can rule the Stormlands. I don't seek power for the sake of power but to protect my life and the lives of my family. Control over the Vale and the Stormlands. Think about it – this path means that you don't have to depend on Stannis's inclination to accept such a pact. He may not like the idea of marrying his daughter to a sickly child. And, after the wars are over, he will have a Kingsguard, and an assassination has no guarantee of success. Your plan has multiple potential points of failure."
"Our young Lord Robert's health is up to a Maester to decide; if he writes that our Sweetrobin is well, who will gainsay until it is too late? Your proposal does not bode well for me. Your people would also never accept me as their overlord."
"They will if I tell them to. They will if you are the reason we win this war. The Vale will tip the scales; already, my uncle flounders despite his numerical superiority. His men mock him in their cups, and none wish for him to be King."
Petyr looked at her and saw the slight tremble in her hand. Ah, so she was scared. Her arguments were good, but no, it was too risky. Myrcella was also too much like him – someone skilled in the game would never play second fiddle to another. This was a desperate ploy that if he accepted would never lead to true power in the Stormlands. More likely, he would die the moment it was convenient, and Lysa would be unbearable at the very thought of a betrothal with someone else.
"An amusing offer, but I must decline. Since I have indulged you, tell me, how did you take Harrenhal? I am curious."
Myrcella narrowed her eyes, then looked away and took a deep breath.
"If I cannot save myself, then I want to save my people. Lord Fell, Ser Arys, Ser Bonnifer, and my Stormguard. Have it witnessed by Ser Vardis and Lady Waynwood; I will have it written in mine own hand. All of them for Edmure Tully, Lady Lysa's brother, and the remaining noble hostages from the Riverlands and the North. The exchange is to take place as soon as possible at the Bloody Gate."
Petry was a bit surprised. Perhaps Myrcella was not like him after all. Was her 'act' of personal loyalty and honor not just an act? Did she truly care about her subordinates? The thought was a queer one; someone so skilled and smart should not be so foolish.
She leaned forward, "Think about what this means, Lord Baelish. Your plan is even more likely to succeed if Lysa personally secured so many lives. There is a real possibility that Edmure is killed after they learn of my execution. You then have an ugly scenario unfold in the Riverlands instead of a familial bond with their next Lord."
A part of him wanted to spite her; she had ruined his chances of killing Eddard and taking Sansa, but he knew that he couldn't let his passions get in the way of his goals. This was a good deal, and it made his future plans even more likely to succeed. Having so many additional nobles push for the match between Shireen and Robert would guarantee its success.
"Very well, I will bring parchment and a quill as well as some witnesses. Lord Fell and Ser Arys can observe. I will tell you what to write; I don't need some secret cipher embedded as petty revenge."
Myrcella agreed, and soon the letters outlining the agreement were written. Lysa, the stupid cow, would even be grateful when she heard about how he'd convinced Lady Myrcella to free her brother. A very productive day all around, and several more steps taken toward his rise.
***
The underhanded actions of the Vale disgusted Brienne. The Vale was known as the part of the Seven Kingdoms that held the honor and virtue of knighthood in the highest regard. The Stormlands were more focused on fighting; yes, they were often honorable, but the focus was on winning glory in battle. The Reach was known for its fantastic tourney knights, but they were no better than any other kingdom in questions of honor. And yet, the Vale had proven themselves to be despicable, despite their reputation.
The absurd justification that Myrcella was the one to violate guest right by conspiring with Nestor Royce would surely anger the Gods. Brienne wanted to rant at her captors, but she knew that her liege was working to fix the situation, even now. Brienne had learned to trust Myrcella; while things looked grim, she knew that the Lady of Storm's End would find a way out of this.
They were not kept in the infamous Sky Cells of the Eyrie. Given the short time frame before reconvening, they were kept in rooms nearby. They had been stripped of the limited armor they'd had and been searched thoroughly for any weapons. Brienne felt naked without her arms and armor.
"Heathens, the lot of them! Blasphemers and heretics. They turn away from the Seven and deny trial by combat because they know the Gods favor us." Ser Bonifer was wroth and spoke loudly enough that the guards outside of their temporary rooms could hear him.
Ser Lyle grunted, "That little shit betrayed the Old Lion. Baelish was supposed to come to the Eyrie to get them to join us! If I ever get my hands on that weaselly little…"
"Perhaps it is best not to make threats toward the individual our lady is trying to bargain with," Ser Theo commented.
Ser Lyle subsided, and they waited in a disgruntled silence. Everyone was concerned over what was going to happen. The way Lord Royce had been so quickly executed did not bode well for them. Now, they did not even have their weapons and were truly helpless. After a time, Lord Fell and Ser Arys were escorted out, for reasons unknown.
The appointed time arrived, and they were escorted back to the High Hall. Myrcella appeared unharmed, as did Lord Fell and Ser Arys, though both Fell and Arys looked grim. Brienne and the others were each held by two guards. Ser Vardis made an announcement in a strong, clear voice.
"In exchange for Ser Arys of the Kingsguard, the Stormguard, Ser Bonnifer, and Lord Harwood Fell, the current Paramount Lady of the Stormlands agrees to release all noble hostages in Harrenhal, including Lord Edmure Tully…" the list went on for some time. Brienne was confused; there was no mention of Lady Myrcella being released.
When he finished, Myrcella spoke up as well. "I charge my Stormguard and my vassals to arrange the expeditious return of the hostages, and the exchange should be made outside of the Bloody Gate, to be overseen by Ser Barristan, the commander of my Stormguard."
A yawning pit grew in Brienne's stomach. Something was wrong. Lady Myrcella finished speaking, and it was Lady Arryn's turn.
"Myrcella Waters, you have been found guilty of conspiring with Lord Royce to commit treason against his sworn liege. In the name of Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Robert Arryn of the House Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, and true Warden of the East, I do sentence you to die."
"NO!" Brienne shouted and threw the two blue cloaked guards off with a burst of strength.
"STOP," Myrcella commanded, and Brienen froze, allowing the two guards to grab her again.
"There is nothing you can do here, Lady Brienne; though Lady Arryn and Lord Baelish have proven to be deceitful, I trust that the curse their houses will fall under for their violation of guest right will see justice done. Thank you for your service, Lady Brienne, and continue to serve the Stormlands."
Tears welled in Brienne's eyes and began to roll down her face as she saw two of the Eyrie guards grab Myrcella by the arms, while two others opened the Moon Door, letting in a blast of cold air. The sun had nearly set, making the cold bite even more harshly than when Lord Nestor had been thrown. This couldn't be happening, no, not Myrcella. Brienne sagged to her knees.
When Myrcella was just feet from the door, she looked back, a grin on her face that was far from the smile she normally wore. Through her blurry eyes, Brienne thought that it looked almost maniacal – a grotesque caricature.
"One final thing, Lady Arryn. My Stormguard, both here and elsewhere, will ensure that your brother is returned to you whole, for they know their duty and have honor. But make no mistake, Lysa, Lords of the Vale, servants of Arryn. There will be no meek surrender of my host. There will be war and blood, and you will know that OURS IS THE FURY!"
Myrcella's final four words came out in a roar that belied her size. The two guards holding her were momentarily taken aback by the volume. Myrcella ripped her arm free from one guard, used it to grab the other one holding her, and launched herself and the man in her grasp out the Moon Door. A clamor rose around the High Hall at the unexpected end to the execution. Lord Robert gleefully clapped and capered about, yelling at two people flying at once.
Meanwhile, Ser Jaspar, Lord Fell, and Ser Theo shouted out, "OURS IS THE FURY!"
The heavy doors were once again shut.
Bonnifer and Barlow were saying a prayer, asking the Seven to watch over their most faithful servant. Breinne closed her eyes and said her own quiet prayer to herself. When she opened them, she stared at Lady Arryn and then at Lord Baelish with all the hatred she could muster. She swore that, one day, she would see both dead.