( Sansa POV )
"Hush, now!" Lady Waynwood said with a scowl. "This girl is young and gently bred, and has suffered horrors enough. Best take us quick to your father, Alayne. The sooner we are done with this the better we will be."
...
Sansa turned and released a quiet sigh of relief as she fled Lord Yohn's lingering gaze. "The Lord Protector awaits you in the solar, my lords." And together they left the Crescent chamber, climbing up a fight of steps that left some of the older lords huffing and puffing. Once they had arrived the guardsman opened a portcullis that allowed Sansa to lead the men deeper into the Eyrie, round several corners and then through a passage lined with royal tapestries.
At the end of passage was the door to the solar, and as she approached the guards opened it for them. Petyr was sat on the inside at the end of a long table, sipping from a glass of wine and looking intently over some piece of creased parchment. He swiftly abandoned this activity as the Lord Declarant filed in and each began claiming their seats. The lords all sat beside each other, save Lord Nestor who dithered for a second and then chose a seat one away from Petyr, halfway between his fellow Lords Declarant and the Lord Protector. The knights all stood at the edges of the room, leaning against the walls as they watched, helms hiding many of their unfamiliar faces.
"My lords, be welcome," Petyr said as he studied the crowd, the slightest trace of a frown gracing his features before it was gone again, replaced with a calmer, more placid face. "The ascent is wearisome, I know. So I will not waste any more of your precious time. I have been reading this remarkable declaration of yours. Splendid! Whatever maester wrote it must surely have a way with words that eludes me. I only wish you had also invited me to sign."
That seemed throw them. "You?" asked Lord Belmore, still puffing. "Sign?"
"Certainly," Petyr said, leaving the lords and knights at a loss for words. "No one loves Lord Robert nearly as well as I do. And so all these false friends and conniving counsellors that this declaration speaks of must be rooted out."
Bronze Yohn broke the silence. "We do not mean to bandy words with you, Baelish," he said. "Nor did we come for your signature."
Petyr's placid smile soured slightly. "As you wish," he said. "But if we will not bandy then we will be blunt. What would you have me do, my lords and lady?"
"The crown has made you Lord of Harrenhall," Symond Templeton said. "That seems sufficient for any man."
Lord Redfort nodded his agreement. "The Riverlands have need of a lord," he said. "The Tullys remain besieged at Riverrun, Bracken and Blackwood batter each other in all but open war, Frey fingers creep across the land, and all the same brigands and murderers and thieves run unchecked. Unlike here, I should think your presence and influence there would be welcomed."
"A possibility, to be sure, yet I have pressing duties here," Petyr answered. "And then there is Lord Robert to consider. He is so sickly I do not think he would survive the journey."
"His lordship will remain in the Vale," Yohn declared. "He will go to Runestone with me, and learn how to fight under the best swords the Vale has. We will make of him a knight that even Jon Arryn would have been proud of."
Petyr nodded and tapped the table with the tips of his fingers. "Why Runestone?" he asked after a second, his tone hinting at doubts. "Why not Redfort or Longbow Hall?"
"He will visit each in time," Lord Belmore said, his eyes narrowing to show just a hint of anger.
Anya Waynwood sighed. "Petyr, you must think twice if you mean to turn us against one another. Runestone meets all our requirements, and we are all in agreement about it's suitability as the location of Lord Robert's fosterage. There he will meet many a boy his age, certainly more suitable companions for him than the old ladies and sellswords he has at present."
"The need for company I do not disagree with," Petyr said. "Yet I hardly think one could call my Alayne an old woman. Lord Robert loves her dearly. You can ask him of that yourself, if you should choose. And, as it happens, I have asked Lords Grafton and Lynderly to send me a son each, both Robert's age, to serve in this capacity. I think Robert should have an older boy with him as well, to set an example," Petyr said with a glint in his eye. "I hear you have such a boy at Ironoaks, Lady Waynwood. Harrold Hardyng? Perhaps you might agree to send him?"
"Enough," Lord Yohn said, and the table fell silent. "Lord Robert should befriend Harrold, and he will do so... at Runestone."
"Aye," Lord Belmore agreed. "Give us the boy and we'll let you leave the Vale for Harrenhall unmolested."
Petyr gave an exaggerated frown and shot Lord Belmore a reproachful look. "Are you suggesting elsewise I might come to harm, my lord? I cannot think why. My late lady wife seemed to think this was my proper seat."
"You mean the wife that you saw fit to murder?" Lord Yohn said. Sansa felt panic seize her throat, and her skin turn pale as the blood drained from her face. One of the knights shot her a knowing look, and when Sansa saw him she did her best to hide her shock. Perhaps I should just confess, she thought, wringing her hands in her lap. Yet what can I say? I have already lied to Lord Nestor. Petyr was right. They will think me complicit.
Petyr's eyes flashed with confusion. "Now, whatever would bring you to say that, my lord?" he asked innocently, acting hurt, though Sansa knew he was really playing for time whilst his mind toiled furiously to come up with a plan.
"Lysa Tully was the widow of Jon Arryn," Lady Waynwood began, "and the mother of his child. No more. She ruled only as regent. You... let us be frank, you are no Arryn, and Lord Robert is no blood of yours. By what right do you mean to rule us?"
"By what right do you mean to accuse me of murdering my wife?" Petyr asked, his tone rich with an incisive anger. "And if I recall correctly, Lady Lysa named me Lord Protector, not Lord Royce here."
"An awfully convenient occurrence, wouldn't you say?" Lady Waynwood retorted. "We all know how Lady Lysa's mind was damaged by so many stillbirths. I can't imagine it would have been too difficult for a man as capable as you to convince her."
Symond Templeton cleared his throat loudly, and said: "Each of us has a thousand men at the foot of this mountain, Littlefinger."
"Why, are you threatening me with war?" Petyr asked in a flat, unimpressed tone.
"We shall have Lord Robert," Bronze Yohn insisted, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Petyr rose suddenly from his seat and slapped the table so hard that the resulting sound made many of the lords jump in their seats. "By what right?" he hissed. "You come here, to the home of my dead wife, and demand from me my beloved stepson, and slander me before my daughter! You write of defending Lord Robert even as you deny him food. You claim I killed Lysa Arryn, yet you offer no proof of the crime!" Petyr shook his head in feigned fury. "No, my lords, this has gone too far. I am no warrior, but I will fight you if you do not end this siege. There are other lords in the Vale besides yourself, and the crown will support me if needed. If it is war you want, my lords, you must say so now, and I will make the Vale bleed."
"A war we can win well enough," Bronze Yohn simply said, unaffected by Petyr's threats. "And as for proof, we will have the testimony of the singer Marillion."
Petyr stopped himself just he was about into launch his reply, turned to look at Lord Yohn, and then began laughing. His sour look became a smile again. "You mean the word of that scoundrel?" he said. "Very well, then. If you will come to the Eyrie and lay such accusations before me, then instead of a war I will demand a trial. Not just before you, my lords and lady, but before all the rest of the lords of the Vale as well." He thinks to humiliate Lord Yohn, Sansa realised.
Lady Waynwood nodded and looked around the table to a chorus of ayes and other expressions of assent. "I think we can all agree to that, Lord Baelish." She turned back to Petyr, quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "Oh, but there is one other thing we mustn't forget to mention, my lord."
"Oh?" Petyr said, eyes sharpening with surprise. "Pray tell, what is it?"
"You say you can count on the crown," Lord Yohn continued for Lady Anya, "but I wouldn't be so certain of that." He then lifted a large hand in Alayne's direction, leaving his statement shrouded in uncertainty, and extended a calloused finger to point. "And so long as she is here, my lord, Marillion's word hardly matters. Because that girl is not your baseborn daughter, Lord Baelish, and Alayne is not her name. She, as you well know, is Sansa Stark."
...
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