A/N: Two things to note. One, the Moon Door in this story is the TV Show version where it's in the floor instead of the wall because I just like it better that way. Two, this chapter is over 4400 words. Lock in.
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Petyr does so love it when a plan comes together. Standing in the back of the Eyrie's main audience chamber known as the High Hall, he keeps himself somewhat unobtrusive and out of the way for the time being. All the while, Lysa is holding court as Lady Regent, sat upon her dearly departed husband's weirwood throne with her son sitting in her lap.
Things are going swimmingly, really. The voyage to Gulltown had been thoroughly uneventful and so had the quick trip from Gulltown up to the Eyrie. By the time they'd arrived in heart of the Vale, news of the wildfire explosion in King's Landing had reached their ears as well, giving Lysa all the reason in the world to seize control and lock down the Vale as Lady Regent until her son came of age.
Between his resources and her claim, they would make swift headway in making sure that every Lord in the Vale was loyal to them and them alone. And with Lysa's son being so young, they would have free run of the place, just so long as they kept things under control.
On top of that, Euron had come through as well, thankfully. His declaration of war upon the Seven Kingdoms had added to the flames of chaos spreading across the continent in a big way. Everyone would be looking towards the West and the Ironborn now, and nobody would question Petyr taking control in the East. It was all just so… perfect.
Well, as perfect as one could hope for, at least.
"Mama! I wanna see people fly some more!"
"Not now my Sweet Robin. Right now we're enjoying the jugglers."
"No! I want them to fly!"
As Lysa handles her fussy son, Petyr rolls his eyes from where he's off to the side of the throne and out of sight. Fortunately, most of the court doesn't hear the interaction between the Lady Regent and her son. Those that do look distinctly discomfited… as well as they should.
Robert Arryn, the only offspring and thus Heir of Jon and Lysa Arryn… is a halfwit. His intelligence truly leaves something to be desired, and it seems he's developed a taste for sadism as well after they had to send a few disloyal undesirables through the Moon Door these past few days.
It's fine though. Lysa should be able to control Robert for the time being at least. And in another week or so it won't seem so unnatural or strange when she names Petyr as Lord Regent of the Vale until her son comes of age. At which point, 'Sweet Robin' can be put out of sight and out of mind and Petyr will be able to rule the Vale as he sees fit. All while Stannis Baratheon and the rest of Westeros are too busy dealing with Euron Greyjoy's insurrection to do anything about it.
Of course, from what Petyr knows, they won't have nearly as easy a time putting down the Ironborn Rebellion this go around. Not when the new 'King of the Iron Islands' commanded a massive kraken bigger than several galleys put together.
Fortunately, Petyr didn't have to worry about that sort of thing. Krakens couldn't exactly get up here to the Mountains of the Moon, and even if Euron succeeded at conquering the rest of Westeros, the Bloody Gate would hold against any army that the Ironborn could muster up, as it had for thousands of years.
Not that Petyr though the one-eyed Ironborn would get that far. He might conquer the Westerlands and Riverlands though, and wouldn't that just be wonderful? The chaos of a fractured Seven Kingdoms combined with the inflexibility of a King like Stannis Baratheon sitting upon the Iron Throne promised to be absolutely delightful. It would also give Petyr all the room he needed to maneuver his way to greater and greater heights.
… There were some strange rumors out of King's Landing claiming that Axel Baratheon had survived, but Petyr had ruled them out as little more than tall tales likely generated by the Faith to try to cover up the loss of two Kings in such a short amount of time. There was simply no way that Axel Baratheon could possibly have survived that wildfire explosion, after all. Petry had planned everything perfectly.
The doors to the High Hall open up all of the sudden and Petyr blinks as a voice echoes out.
"Announcing Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish, Knight of the Gate… and guest!"
What? Petyr's brow furrows as the herald looks slightly confused by his own words at the end there. The entire court goes silent as Ser Brynden strides in with his hand on his sword pommel. The jugglers who had been putting on a show mere moments before immediately stop and move to the side, sensing the change in atmosphere that comes over the room.
Petyr's confusion mounts as he wonders what could possibly make the Blackfish leave his post as Commander of the Bloody Gate. His eyes fall upon the man coming up behind him, wearing a hooded cloak and holding his own sword sheathed at his side.
Lysa sets a fussy Robert aside and rises from her dead husband's weirwood throne, her own face twisted in baffled shock that slowly morphs into a growing scowl.
"Uncle? What are you doing here? For what reason have you abandoned your duty at the Bloody Gate?"
Coming to a stop on the other side of the Moon Door, opposite of Lysa, Brynden's face is set in a deep, deep frown… his eyes dark and stormy.
"Treason, niece. I am here because of treason most foul."
Something ugly begins to form in Petyr's chest. Perhaps because his first instinct is to fear that Brynden Tully has somehow found out about their schemes. The Blackfish is honorable to a fault… if he knew everything that they'd done, or even half of the things Petyr had convinced Lysa to do… then he would be very, very unhappy.
But surely that wasn't it, right? There was no way. He'd covered his tracks. He'd made certain that-
The hooded man next to Ser Brynden Tully chooses that moment to throw back his hood and reveal his features. Shock ripples through the room as most of the Eyrie's court immediately recognizes the face of Axel Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms. After all, many of them had watched him grow up right here in the Eyrie as Axel Stone, Bastard of the Vale.
Lysa's face goes deathly white as the blood drains from her features. Her eyes widen and she raises a shaky hand to point at Axel.
"N-No… no t-that's not possible… y-you're supposed to be dead!"
Oh no. Petyr resists the urge to cover his face with his hand, even as he steps further away from the dais upon which the weirwood throne sits. He needed to get out of here. This wasn't going to go well. Not at all. Axel proves it as he steps forward, eyes narrowed and head held high.
"Is that so, Lysa Arryn? Am I supposed to be dead? Perhaps by your hand… or perhaps by the hand of your accomplice, Petyr Baelish?"
Petyr freezes as the mere mention of his name causes eyes to search him out and lock on once they find him. Among them are Lysa's eyes as the foolish, dimwitted bitch actually has the audacity to seek him out and look to him for help and advice in this moment.
Forcing a smile onto his face even as his mind races with a million plans, Petyr Baelish steps forward into full view and bows low at the waist.
"Your Grace, I don't know what you're talking about, but I remain your ever loyal, ever faithful servant. I am so very glad to see the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated. Just as I was deeply saddened to hear about the loss of my peers and Lord Arryn."
As he's speaking, his eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help him escape a truly ignoble fate. Then… his gaze lands upon a certain man who had wound up stuck in the Eyrie when Petyr and Lysa had shut down the Bloody Gate. That… that might be a possibility if nothing else worked.
Meanwhile, Axel Baratheon scoffs.
"Oh? Are you now? And I'm sure you have a litany of excuses for why you weren't in the Small Council Chambers that day when the explosion happened."
The judgment in the room is quickly growing as every word the young King speaks turns the Vale's court against him and Lysa. Of course… Lysa isn't exactly helping, the dumb bitch.
"Petyr had nothing to do with the blast! He had permission from my husband to escort my son and I to the Vale! It was all perfectly legal and we have the documents to prove it!"
No, Lysa, you fool…
"Ah yes. Documents that were found in the Tower of the Hand as well."
For a moment, Lysa's eyes blaze with vindication. Until the King continues on, of course.
"Documents that were deemed fraudulent with my Hand's signature and seal forged by another."
Blinking rapidly, Lysa shakes her head.
"N-No! That's not true, you're lying!"
Murmurs immediately break out as the foolish woman calls the King of the Seven Kingdoms a liar. Even if Axel WAS lying (he's not), the man is the fucking King! Petyr lets out a short sigh, even as Axel Baratheon ignores Lysa for a moment to look around the room.
"… Where is High Steward Nestor Royce?"
Unfortunately, Lysa is too eager to answer that as well.
"He's in the Sky Cells! He dared to question my rule! He's lucky that he was not sent through the Moon Door for his treason!"
Silence falls over the High Hall. Nobody says a word as the temperature in the audience chamber seems to drop by several degrees. An errant shiver runs down Petyr's spine, even as Axel Baratheon stares at Lysa for several long moments before finally turning to Ser Brynden.
"Retrieve Lord Royce from the Sky Cells immediately."
"… As you say, Your Grace."
Lysa, of course, squawks indignantly at this.
"W-What?! Don't be ridiculous! Uncle, stay right where you are! I am the Lady Regent of the Vale! This man is clearly a pretender! He can't be the King! The King is dead, killed by wildfire! My Uncle has taken leave of his senses! Guards, take them both into custody!"
Petyr is starting to realize he's made a mistake. He's starting to fully comprehend the stupidity inherent in coming here to the Vale after departing from King's Landing. It really had seemed like the best option at the time. If all went to plan, it would have been.
But things had not gone to plan. And now he found himself not in the heart of HIS power, as it could have been with a year or two and a million golden dragons… but rather, surrounded by men and women that Axel Baratheon had grown up with. Men and women who would never in a million years believe he was a 'pretender'.
In fact, this was the one place in the entire world where declaring Axel Baratheon a pretender was never going to work. Everyone in this room knew who he was. Enough recognized him by sight that trying to claim he was anything except for who he was… was utter foolishness.
None of the guards or knights in the room move at Lysa's commands. Not a single one of them does a thing as she shouts in a panic, horror writ large across her face. Meanwhile, Ser Brynden departs and mere minutes later comes back with a somewhat haggard Nestor Royce in tow.
The King immediately goes to him, one hand on the back of the High Steward's neck, their foreheads touching. Petyr can't quite make out the words they say to one another, even as they speak in quiet tones. Finally, Axel pulls away and looks back to Lysa… no, not to Lysa, to Robert Arryn, sat upon the Weirwood Throne.
"Is he truly Jon's son?"
The words are directed towards Lord Royce, obviously. But Lysa has never been very good at picking up on things like that. Unfortunately, she's just good enough at reading a room to realize when she's lost apparently. Because…
"Of course he's his son! Weak, sickly, pathetic! He embodies my old, decrepit husband's worst qualities to a tee! If only he had been Petyr's! If only he had come from the loins of a stronger, better man!"
The temperature of the audience chamber drops even lower as Axel Baratheon stalks around the circumference of the Moon Door, his eyes never once leaving Lysa.
"Jon Arryn was the best of us. Are you admitting to making a cuckold of him?"
Smiling vindictively, Lysa sneers at him.
"I did! And I'd do it again! He was old and impotent even when my father married me off to him! All I ever was to him was a trophy, something pretty to look at! Petyr saw me as something more! He saw my true value! He was ten times the man that my pathetic 'lord husband' ever was!"
And with that, she's sealed both of their fates. Petyr watches as Axel Baratheon seems on the verge of lunging at Lysa for a moment… before mastering his rage.
"Ser Blackfish. Remove Jon's son from the room. Take Robert Arryn to his chambers."
Oh no. Even Lysa understands what that means, though only after Brynden Tully starts moving, of course. Her eyes widen in shock and then fear as she looks around the room and begins to realize just how deep the shit that they're in truly is. When her Uncle comes up the dais to grab a whiny Robert Arryn, Lysa reaches for them both.
"N-No! Wait! M-My son… mama didn't mean what she said… uncle! Don't leave me! D-Don't let them have me!"
But Ser Brynden will not look his niece in the eye. Even her son turns his face away from her and into his uncle's shoulder, apparently having just enough awareness to have understood what she'd said about him was an insult. The Blackfish carries young Robert out of the room and doesn't look back a single time, even as Lysa wails.
The moment they're gone, the King moves. His face is stone as he grabs Lysa Arryn by the hair, making her cry out in pain. Nobody tries to stop him, not even Petyr, as he drags her to the center of the room. The Moon Door cycles open as Lysa screams.
"No! Y-You can't! I'm the Lady of the Vale! I'm Lady Regent until my son comes of age! You can't do this to me! Petyr! Petyr tell him he can't do this to me!"
But Petyr stays silent. And Axel… Axel Baratheon doesn't so much as say another word. He just… does it, thrusting Lysa Arryn out over the six hundred foot drop. She's gone in an instant, her screams disappearing into the distance and cutting off almost immediately.
The High Hall falls silent as Axel Baratheon turns to face Petyr next. And Petyr… plays his last card, smiling thinly.
"I would ask for a Trial by Combat, Your Grace."
That causes the King to pause. He stills for a moment before tilting his head to the side.
"Oh?"
Still smiling, Petyr Baelish nods.
"The late Lady Arryn's claims were untrue. I am innocent of the crimes she would lay at my feet. I demand a Trial by Combat so that the Seven Who Are One might reveal the truth of these matters to all assembled here."
Time stretches on as Axel considers him like one might consider a bug. Petyr resists the urge to shiver, doing his best to project the façade of an innocent man to everyone around them. Even if not a single one of them believes him to be blameless… it doesn't matter. In the end, the young King cannot deny his request, not when he's tied so much of his influence and reputation to the Faith of the Seven.
"… Very well. Will you need a blade? Or do you hope to name a Champion?"
Turning his smile apologetic, Petyr spreads his hands wide.
"Ah… I'm afraid I've never been much of a swordsman. I would ask any man in this chamber who carries a blade to step forward and proclaim themselves my Champion. I can guarantee whoever does so will have an eternal and valuable friend in me if they can prove my innocence."
He puts as much emphasis on the words 'eternal' and 'valuable' as he can. He can't exactly come out and say something like he'd pay a million dragons for a Champion… though he definitely would at this point. Still, speaking such words in public would damage his cause massively. In the end, he just has to hope that this is enough to-
"Alright. I'll be your Champion."
And there it is. Petyr lets his smile widen a fair bit as the sellsword Bronn steps out of the crowd, causing a great deal of whispers to break out from those watching. Gloved hand on the pommel of his sword, the mercenary looks between Petyr and Axel briefly, working his jaw for a moment.
Axel, meanwhile, simply turns to Bronn with a strange smile on his face.
"Are you sure about that? There are better ways to die."
Bronn snorts derisively and sketches a quick bow.
"But not better ways to make some coin, Your Grace. Unless you want to offer me gold to side with you instead."
Petyr winces as his Champion makes his reasons for stepping forward far too clear. But then, what could he expect? Indiscretion was paid for, and Bronn hadn't been put on his payroll just yet.
Petyr had always intended to bring the skilled man over to his side with a generous helping of gold eventually, of course. However, he'd been holding off until Bronn was a bit more desperate due to the lockdown Lysa had instituted. He'd thought he had more time…
Nestor Royce bristles at Bronn's irreverent tone, but Axel holds up a hand to keep the older man back.
"No. No gold. All I can offer you is your life. Only your life, sellsword."
Bronn straightens up, a glint entering his eyes as he regards Axel in silence. For a moment Petyr thinks that the man might actually back down and leave him to his fate. But in the end, he shakes his head and draws his sword.
"Ready when you are, Your Grace."
Axel doesn't hesitate. He draws the Valyrian Steel Sword he won from the Trial by the Seven, the one he'd named Stonehart, and begins to advance right then and there. Bronn immediately backs away to put more room between them, holding his sword in one hand and pulling a long dagger from his side with the other.
The King runs Bronn down like a charging bull, and Bronn takes advantage, half-deflecting, half-dodging the first blow with his longsword, while stabbing forward into Axel's side with the dirk. In that instant, Petyr dares to hope that it's over and Bronn has won. Not that it will solve everything, but it would certainly give Petyr a chance to escape the proverbial noose currently around his neck.
Only… Axel doesn't go down. Bronn must have missed or… or something And the next thing Petyr knows, that blasted Valyrian Steel flashes out quicker than he can follow and Bronn's head rolls from his shoulders.
As the decapitated mercenary's body drops to its knees and then slumps to the floor dead, Axel spits on his corpse and sheathes his sword, before turning to Baelish, nothing but righteous fury in his eyes.
"W-Wait… Your Grace, surely w-we can talk about this. I am much more useful to you alive than dead!"
As Axel advances on him, he adopts a mirthless smirk and tilts his head to the side.
"Are you? You've done quite a lot of damage to my Realm alive, Littlefinger. I can't imagine things will get any worse once you're dead and gone."
Panic seizes upon his throat as Petyr swallows hard, scrambling for anything he can use to save his own skin.
"O-Oh but they will! I can tell you things! I can tell you all about Euron Greyjoy! Did you know he was the one who gave Renly Baratheon that sword you wield now? All those moons ago, it was that man who tried to put his finger on the scale of your Trial!"
Stopping right in front of him, Axel raises a single brow.
"And?"
"A-And he's been planning to fight you all this time! He's ready for you, Your Grace! I can tell you his plans! I can tell you everything he might do!"
For a long moment, the young King seems to consider Petyr's offer. Then, he shakes his head.
"No."
With that, he grabs Petyr by the front of his tunic and begins dragging him towards the Moon Door. Petyr struggles, of course, but Axel's grip is like iron. He can't escape.
"Wait! Wait, what about the gold! All of the gold!"
Stopping at the edge of the Moon Door, holding them both so close that Petyr's foot scrapes against the edge, Axel smiles grimly.
"The gold you stole from the Royal Coffers, you mean? The gold you pilfered over the years as my father distracted Jon with his ridiculous antics and terrible ruling? That gold?"
Nodding emphatically, Petyr licks his lips as he shakes in Axel's grasp.
"Y-Yes! Yes, I have MILLIONS of golden dragons squirreled away! Kill me and they'll be lost forever! Let me live and I can g-get them for you! I can return everything in exchange f-for a modest sum and exile to Essos! You just have to let me live!"
He's lying of course. He's not nearly that liquid. But he just needs a chance. Petyr's eyes flick to the side and he immediately regrets it, looking down out the Moon Door to the empty air beneath the High Hall. Six hundred feet. That was how far Lysa had just fallen. It was how far he would fall too, if he couldn't convince Axel to spare him.
But the gold… the gold would get him right? Petyr was sure of it. That was Axel Baratheon's main drive these past few months, aside from picking a Queen. He'd had Jon and Petyr working themselves to the bone to try and figure out how to get the Royal Debt squared away so that it wouldn't burden Axel's eventual children.
"… I will always love the man, but Jon was a fool for trusting you."
Forcing a smile onto his face, Petyr shakes his head.
"N-No Your Grace. Jon Arryn was a very smart man… I'm just smarter. I've always been clever. Always been good with numbers. Let me turn my talents towards helping you settle the Realm's debts. I'll show you just how useful I can be!"
He's sure he's getting somewhere now! Axel must be feeling conflicted! He can't just kill Petyr, or all his knowledge will die with-!
"No."
What?
"But don't worry. I'll come with you. To make sure."
WHAT?!
And then, before Petyr can say anything else, Axel Baratheon jumps… and he takes Petyr with him.
Petyr Baelish screams all the way down as the wind rips at his clothes and shreds his flesh. All the while, Axel stares at him with a stone-like face, silent as the grave until they finally hit and everything becomes so much more painful before it all goes black.
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Nestor Royce finds himself in a state of shock along with everyone else in the High Hall as they all stare open-mouthed at the open Moon Door that their King just jumped through. The High Steward's hand is outstretched, an aborted 'No!' on his lips that turns into a choked whimper instead.
Why? Why would Axel jump too? Did he blame himself for Lord Arryn's death that much? Did he have nothing to live for anymore? Did he-
And then, to the shock of everyone… a set of fingers suddenly grasps the edge of the Moon Door. And a moment later, Axel Baratheon pulls himself back up out of the hole, rising to his feet. He's covered in blood and viscera, but Nestor can tell it's not his own. There's not a hint of injury anywhere on the young King's person.
Closing the Moon Door, Axel looks over at Nestor and smiles both apologetically and grimly.
"Sorry. But I had to make sure."
Had to make sure? Nestor blinks rapidly, trying and failing to truly understand what just happened. Finally, Axel turns to the rest of the room, his eyes moving over them all in silent judgment for a moment.
"High Steward Nestor Royce is hereby named Lord Regent of the Vale until Robert Arryn, Son and Heir of Lord Jon Arryn, either comes of age or expires from his sickly nature. You will all treat the Lord Regent's words as if they were my own. Do not make me come back here any time soon."
Nestor just stares, not entirely sure what to make of everything that just happened. Around that time, Ser Brynden returns to the room, his face a little pale from the sight of Axel covered in blood, the dead sellsword on the floor and the complete absence of his niece or Lord Baelish.
If Axel feels any pity for the Blackfish though, he doesn't show it as he nods sharply to both of them.
"Lord Regent. Ser Blackfish. Walk with me."
And so they do… for what other choice do they have? He is the King, after all.
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A/N: I know some of you wanted Petyr to die much slower and more painfully, but the moment that he and Lysa fled to the Eyrie, the only way for them to go out HAD to be the Moon Door. Meanwhile Axel is starting to become a bit of a cryptid, isn't he?
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