Petyr Baelish hurried up the spiraling stone stairs, his soft steps barely echoing through the richly adorned corridor. He entered a lavishly decorated chamber lit by shafts of golden light. Within, Cersei and Jaime Lannister stood waiting—tense, silent.
Cersei held her chin high, radiating her usual blend of majesty and pride. But beneath her cold exterior flickered the embers of unease. She knew full well that if her plan unraveled, ruin would follow. Yet her hatred for Robert and hunger for power dulled her fear.
As soon as Petyr entered, Cersei's gaze sharpened."Littlefinger, is everything in place?" she asked coolly, watching his face for even the faintest crack in loyalty.
Petyr bowed slightly, the ever-graceful schemer. His voice, smooth and measured, carried a note of careful confidence."Your Grace, all is prepared. The items have arrived, and I've secured Janos Slynt's cooperation. The City Watch stands ready. We can begin at your command."
From the folds of his cloak, he drew a small glass vial."The strangler," he said, presenting it. "Unlike the slow poison used on Lord Arryn, this kills instantly. One sip, and the heart ceases. With Pycelle to confirm 'natural causes'—a bit too much wine, perhaps—there'll be no questions."
Cersei took the vial with delicate fingers, clutching it like it contained her very fate. A gleam of ruthless purpose lit her eyes.
"Then do it swiftly," she snapped. "I've just learned that Ned Stark is already probing Jon's death. If we delay, he'll find the truth before Gavin delivers his report to Robert."
Jaime, arms crossed, frowned deeply."Poison? Who's delivering it?" he asked, his voice low with concern. Despite his bravado, the risk was clear—if they were discovered, the Lannisters would be undone.
Petyr gave a slow, deliberate smile."That, Ser Jaime, may fall to family. The king's cupbearer is your cousin—Lancel."
Cersei's eyes narrowed. After a pause, she nodded."I'll handle Lancel. But you'd best ensure those gold cloaks remain loyal, Littlefinger. Fail me, and you'll never see the Eyrie or the East."
Petyr bowed again."You have my word. Joffrey's succession will be smooth. With Slynt's men, we control the capital. Ned Stark will have no grounds to object—so long as we act before he does."
His tone carried an assuredness that bordered on arrogance. Everything, to him, was another move in the game.
Jaime scoffed."Gold cloaks? They're rabble in armor. If Janos Slynt can be bought, he can be bought again. They're not loyal—they're opportunists." He glanced sharply at Petyr. "I don't trust them. Or you."
Then his tone darkened, wary."Lanni's off at sea. What about Stannis? Most of the royal fleet is in the harbor. If he returns and senses something is wrong, he won't hesitate."
Cersei's expression remained resolute."Father will be in King's Landing within three days. Once he arrives, we control the navy. We only need to remove Stannis before then."
Jaime's eyes narrowed."So we poison him, too? First Jon, then Robert, and now Stannis? That's not politics. That's butchery."
Petyr interjected, lips curling into a sly smile."No need for more poison, Ser Jaime. Once Joffrey sits the throne, we brand Stannis a traitor. Claim he seeks to usurp his nephew's crown. Let the lords believe he's rebelling. They'll side with the king—the one they see crowned."
Jaime's laugh was dry and bitter."You think Ned Stark will believe that nonsense?"
Cersei's voice turned to ice."He has no army. He brought only a few guards. If he wants to live, he'll have no choice but to submit. It's settled. We act in three days—when Father arrives."
The tension in the room deepened, like a storm gathering beyond the Red Keep's walls. Jaime stared at his sister, conflicted but silent. At last, he gave a resigned nod.
Littlefinger, ever the predator in silk, watched them both, the corners of his mouth tugged upward.
Tower of the Hand – Later That Morning
Sunlight crept through the tall window slits of the chamber, but it did little to stir Ned Stark from restless sleep. His body ached from a night spent poring over the ancient tome in his lap: A History of the Great Houses of Westeros.
So many names. So many bloodlines. But no clear answers.
By the time the sun reached its peak, he awoke groggily. He washed in silence, then made his way down to the solar, still lost in thought.
From the dining room, a quarrel echoed up the stairs.
"He invited us both! But you always ruin it!" Sansa's voice was sharp, wounded.
"I don't want to see Joffrey! He's a prancing idiot with a sword!" Arya shot back, fierce as ever.
Ned entered quietly. The two girls froze, both red-faced. He gave them a weary look, then forced a faint smile.
"Enough, both of you. What's this about now?"
Sansa immediately pointed toward her sister."Prince Joffrey asked us to go riding this afternoon. Arya said no—and insulted him!"
Arya crossed her arms."He is arrogant. And stupid. Why should we pretend otherwise?"
Ned's face hardened slightly."Arya, mind your tongue. Even if you dislike him, speaking ill of the prince is dangerous."
He turned to Sansa."You may go, but only with a guard. I'll send two of my men with you. No arguments."
Sansa nodded, visibly relieved. Arya muttered under her breath,"Only she'd fall for that golden-haired fool."
Ned heard her but let it pass. He had bigger worries. The clock was ticking. Poison whispered through the palace, and every smile hid a knife.