Littlefinger's voice carried exactly the right note of panic.
Robert narrowed his eyes, irritation flashing across his wine-flushed face.
"What the hell does this have to do with you? Is the treasury empty again?"
"Worse than that, Your Grace." Littlefinger pressed his forehead to the floor. "I am guilty of withholding information."
He lifted his head and looked straight at Eddard, eyes brimming with sorrow.
"I also deceived Lord Eddard to keep him from discovering a terrible truth."
His next words hit the chamber like a rock dropped into a still pond.
"Lord Jon Arryn was murdered by his wife, Lady Lysa Tully."
Robert shot to his feet.
"What did you just say?!" he roared. "Do you realize you're accusing a lord's widow?"
Littlefinger stayed on his knees, trembling.
"Your Grace, I speak no lies."
"If you doubt me, ask Lord Eddard. He has been investigating this very matter."
Robert wheeled on Eddard. "Ned, is this true?"
Eddard gave a heavy nod.
Even now he couldn't read what game Littlefinger was playing.
"Seven gods," Robert muttered. "A wife murdering her own husband…"
He glared down at Littlefinger. "Explain. Now."
Littlefinger began in a low, careful tone.
"It all began with an old, unfortunate affection."
"Lady Lysa and I knew each other as children, and she… she developed feelings for me that were not proper."
"It started at Riverrun. Everyone knew I loved—"
His gaze flicked cautiously toward Eddard.
The rest of the council followed that look. Eddard's face had gone iron-gray. A few heads nodded with knowing, awkward expressions.
The old gossip about Littlefinger and Catelyn was common knowledge in every corner of the Red Keep.
"After I lost the duel to Eddard's brother, I never saw her again."
"Not until she recommended me for the customs post at Gulltown, and later for Master of Coin here at court."
"I have always been grateful to her, but I never realized how deep her obsession had grown."
Robert, for once, listened without interrupting.
"Then what? Why do you say Lysa killed Jon?"
"Because she told me herself!" Littlefinger's voice cracked. "After Lord Jon died she wrote to me: 'He is finally gone. Now we can be together.'"
"I was horrified when I read it. Those are not the words of a grieving widow."
Littlefinger lowered his eyes.
"But I had no proof. It was only a letter full of mad ramblings, and I was merely a man she had loved as a girl."
"What could I say? Accuse her of murdering her husband to keep her son from being fostered away? Accuse a lord's widow of killing over a childhood crush?"
"So I burned the letter and told myself it was nothing but a woman's fevered grief."
"When Lord Eddard asked me about it, my private feelings for Lysa made me lie to him."
Varys dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve.
"Oh… what a tragic tale."
Eddard stared at Littlefinger like a blade.
"And the dagger? Why did you tell Catelyn it belonged to Tyrion?"
Littlefinger's body stiffened for the briefest moment.
"My lord, on that I told you the truth."
"His Grace won a Valyrian steel dagger from me in a wager. That is true."
"Later I acquired another. As I mentioned at the tourney, Lord Tyrion won it from me shortly afterward. That is also true."
Eddard took half a step forward.
"So the dagger used on my son…"
"I have no idea how it reached the assassin," Littlefinger said, looking up with red-rimmed eyes. "But I knew exactly who owned each blade."
"I dared not accuse the king, so I only said it belonged to the Imp."
Robert's face flushed darker.
"You're not suggesting the assassin used my dagger on the Stark boy?"
Littlefinger bowed lower.
"Of course not. That is why I was so shocked when Your Grace mentioned the dagger had gone missing at the tourney."
The chamber fell quiet.
Eddard turned to Robert. "Your Grace, the dagger is still in my chambers. If you wish, you may examine it yourself."
Robert grunted. "Fine… fine."
He probably couldn't remember what the damn thing looked like anyway.
From the observers' gallery Tywin's cold voice cut through.
"So because of your careless words my son was framed and kidnapped and is now held prisoner by a madwoman in the Eyrie?"
Littlefinger turned and bowed again.
"Lord Tywin, I swear I had no part in that."
"I merely told Lady Catelyn the truth—that the dagger belonged to Tyrion. Beyond that I—"
"You are nothing," Tywin snapped. "I did not ask for your defense."
"The only fact that matters is that because of your stupid tongue my son was falsely accused, seized, and is now locked inside a lunatic's castle."
Eddard glared at Tywin. "She was still the widow of the previous Hand."
"And your wife's own sister," Tywin shot back.
He turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Robert scratched at his beard, looking from the kneeling Littlefinger to the door Tywin had just stormed through, then to Eddard's stony face.
"Seven hells, what a mess," he muttered. "All I wanted was a damn tourney."
He waved a hand like he was shooing a fly.
"Someone find him a room. He stays there until I say otherwise."
"His duties as Master of Coin are suspended for now."
Littlefinger rose slowly and bowed.
At the door he paused and looked back.
"Your Grace, the matter of the assassin is still unresolved." His voice was quiet. "Who sent the man to kill the Stark boy?"
"Why would anyone want a crippled child dead?"
"And who could have used my mistake so perfectly to drive two great houses toward war?"
"I beg Your Grace to investigate this crime to the end."
With that he allowed the gold cloaks to lead him away.
Varys let out a soft giggle.
"Our former Master of Coin truly cares for the realm. Even while being relieved of office he still worries about justice."
"Your Grace!" Eddard turned urgently to Robert. "You're just letting him walk away?"
Robert waved him off. "Quiet. It's all his word against the wind. Nothing's proven yet."
"Besides… it's not that serious. Everyone knows he lies. He just lied again."
Eddard's voice rose. "Just lied again?"
"Stark!" Robert snapped. "Remember your place."
"What right do you have to bark orders in my council?"
He fished the carved silver Hand's badge from his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Eddard.
Eddard stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked it up and pinned it back on his chest.
Robert laughed.
He turned to Pycelle.
"Send a raven to the Eyrie."
"Tell that woman to get her arse to King's Landing right now so we can sort this nonsense out!"
…
At the same time, in the Tower of the Hand.
Joffrey lounged in the warm sunlight, listening with half an ear while two men with foreign accents argued loudly over who should teach Arya.
"Syrio is the girl's teacher. Strange man should go away."
"Little cat is learning to dance, and it is fun. But a cat must know not only how to move, but why she moves. A man can teach her that."
Joffrey scratched his ear lazily.
Another peaceful day.