Chapter 35: chapter 35 blood for gold
Back in my chamber, Petyr Baelish kneels in a pool of his own blood, gasping, his arrogance finally shattered. I've peeled away his secrets, his schemes, and every hidden gold piece he's stashed. He's bared his soul to me, confessed his thefts from the realm and his pathetic ambitions.
"Please…" he rasps, the words almost lost in a bloody cough. "Please… I'll do anything. Anything."
I chuckle, low and slow, savoring the way his shoulders twitch, the helpless flinch of his eyes. "The only thing I want is something only your death can give."
His eyes widen in terror just before I place my hands on either side of his head. His lips start to tremble, his mouth forming silent pleas as I squeeze. Blood trickles from his nose, his ears, as he begins to squirm, his fingers clawing weakly at my wrists. The thrill of his powerlessness—the silence he's earned—sinks in with each twist of my hands until—
POP.
His skull gives way. The stench is instant, thick and metallic. I glance down at my hands, slick with what remains of his deceit. This place reeks of him. I grab the bedcovers, wiping my fingers clean of his filth, a hint of satisfaction in my chest. He won't soil King's Landing any longer.
"Hound!" I shout.
The door opens, and the Hound strides in, followed by Khal Drogo, both of them pausing just a moment to take in the carnage.
I hand them a parchment listing Baelish's hidden caches and business fronts. "Take a few men, go quietly, and strip every coin. Load it onto one of the ships and send it home."
Drogo nods, unflinching. "It will be done."
The Hound chuckles. "There's more. The king sent his men to summon you. They're lucky we only sent them off with broken hands."
I raise an eyebrow. "I did say I wasn't to be disturbed."
Drogo shrugs. "They insisted."
"Baratheon men?"
The Hound nods. "Aye."
I roll my eyes, grabbing the scroll I'd had Baelish sign before he died—a final confession—then sweep toward the door. The Hound, Drogo, and my men follow, a silent, grim line at my back as we make our way toward the throne room.
---
Throne Room – Robert Baratheon's POV
The throne room is tense as I sit slumped on the Iron Throne, a sour taste in my mouth. Lysa Arryn's shrill voice cuts the air, and I grit my teeth, wishing she'd shriek herself hoarse.
"Your Grace, you must do something! That Lannister brute has Petyr. He's torturing him, for gods' sake! You cannot let this stand!" Her face is blotchy with tears, her eyes red and pleading as she clutches Jon's arm.
Jon's mouth is a thin line, but he nods grimly. "My lord, Petyr's a councilman. Caesar Lannister's gone too far."
Renly, ever eager, joins in. "He's right, Robert. This Caesar's a threat to the crown, to all of us."
I glance at Stannis, hoping for a voice of reason, but he merely scowls. He doesn't trust Caesar any more than the rest of them, but at least he's not shrieking like the rest of these fools.
Beside me, Cersei sits quiet, her hands folded, her face impassive. It's almost unnerving. No sarcastic smile, no glimmer of triumph. She's just… silent, watching. That alone is enough to make me wary.
"Enough," I snap, my voice rumbling through the hall. "When Caesar arrives, I'll hear him out. Until then, we wait."
Lysa's voice rises, strident as ever. "He could be dead by now! Your own councilman, tortured to death under your nose!"
"Enough!" I shout, finally on my feet, glaring down at her. "If you can't hold your tongue, I'll see you silenced myself!"
She shrinks back, eyes wide, clutching Jon's arm as if it might save her from my wrath. The door slams open, and the room falls silent.
Caesar strides in, tall and broad, his face splattered with blood and worse. My stomach clenches, but I force myself to stay steady, to keep my grip firm on the Iron Throne as he approaches, head held high, every inch the predator who's come to claim his kill.
"Guards! Arrest that man!" Lysa screeches, desperate, as a group of Arryn gaurds surge forward, swords drawn.
"Stop!" I command, voice thunderous. "Stand down!"
They hesitate, but their obedience doesn't last. The closest guards advance, blades glinting in the torchlight. Caesar watches them approach, eyes cold. He shifts, fast as lightning, his hand a blur, and in seconds, heads roll. Blood pools around his feet, and the men who dared cross him lie still, their swords slipping from lifeless hands.
"Apprehend him!" Renly's voice rings out, but his call is met with nothing but silence. The guards are frozen, too afraid to meet Caesar's eyes.
I stand, rage pulsing in my veins. "All of you, stand down, or I'll have your heads myself!"
The men back away, clearing a path between me and Caesar, their gazes darting from me to the towering Lannister in their midst.
"Explain yourself," I demand.
---
Caesar's POV
Robert's voice carries the weight of a king, but I meet his gaze with a smile that I know will make him uneasy. The power in this room is shifting, and everyone here knows it. I glance over to Renly, letting my gaze linger until his face flushes, his shoulders hunched in on themselves.
"What's wrong, flower knight?" I sneer. "Can't look a real man in the eyes? Or did you leave your courage in your lover's bed?"
His mouth opens, his face a deep red, but he finds no retort. He looks away, his voice failing him. Pathetic.
I turn back to Robert, giving a respectful incline of my head. "Your Grace, I seek justice. Petyr Baelish has committed treason."
At the word "treason," Lysa practically howls, her voice shrill and frantic. "You lie! You're a murderer! He's done nothing wrong!"
I meet her gaze, my smile fading to something hard and unyielding. "Arrest her. Lysa Arryn has broken her marriage vows and borne a bastard with Baelish. She sought to place her son as Jon Arryn's heir through deceit and adultery."
The council stirs, a ripple of disbelief and murmurs. I watch Jon's face, his shoulders tense, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He won't look at her; his eyes are fixed on me in disbelief.
"Not only did Baelish have designs on the Arryn title, but he's been draining the realm's coffers dry. That's why the kingdom is drowning in debt."
Robert's face turns red, his anger growing. "That slimy little bastard…"
It's dawning on him—the kingdom's decay, his growing debts, the ease with which he's been played. For years, he's squandered the Targaryen wealth without question. Now, he realizes just how deeply Baelish's schemes have run.
"Lies!" Lysa shrieks. "Baseless lies!"
"Another word from you, and I'll sever your bastard's head myself." My voice cuts through the hall, and she shrinks back, falling silent.
I extend my hand, a blood-stained scroll in my grip. "Here's his confession, in his own writing." Robert's eyes harden as he takes the scroll, his fingers shaking slightly as he reads. He hands it to Jon, who scans the document, his face ashen, as he reads of his wife's betrayal.
Stannis clears his throat. "And your witness?"
I turn, and my men lead in a hooded figure dressed in maids garb, a dagger at his side. I cast a quick smirk at Renly. "He's not for you, sword swallower."
The man speaks with cold precision. "I was paid by Petyr Baelish to murder Caesar Lannister in his sleep."
To drive the point home, I pull down my collar, revealing the fresh scar across my neck.
Renly's voice wavers, desperate. "How are you even alive?"
"That's none of your business," I snap. "But had I died, your own lives wouldn't have lasted a single night."
The council falls silent, their eyes wide. Even Cersei's face shows a flicker of fear.
Robert's gaze shifts, wary. "Where is Baelish?"
I meet his eyes without flinching. "Dead. I crushed his skull for insulting my father."
Robert's shoulders slump with exhaustion. "You've done the crown a favor, Caesar Lannister."
I nod, a slight incline of my head. "No thanks necessary."
He glances toward Lysa. "What should I do with her?"
"Death—for her and her bastard. If her father objects, I'll answer
The room goes quiet
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