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The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 12
🕑 Added 2025-06-14 20:25:37 +0000 UTCEddard Stark
“You are a fool if you thought I would let your words stand, Lord Baelish.” Ned could already hear the footfalls of armored gold cloaks rushing into the Throne Room, all while the crowd became increasingly restless all around them.
Slandering not only him, but even going as far as to drag his nephew and even Robert into his taunts… Baelish had gone too far, and Ned had let enough slide.
The city watch that guarded the Red Keep arrived then, barreling through the crown and nearly knocking Lords over in their haste, and Ned was only too happy to notice they were strong northmen who replaced the previous gold cloaks. A quick nod, along with some guidance from his nephew, and suddenly the guardsmen were at Littlefinger’s sides.
They grabbed the man’s arms, restraining him, while another guardsman walked over and placed a gag in his mouth. The thoughtfulness of such an action impressed even him, and Ned was only too happy to see Littlefinger’s eyes widen in realization. Clearly his nephew ordered the man to be gagged.
He was grateful that Harry thought of such an action, as Ned did not want the Master of Coin to spout any more nonsense that would provoke the surrounding crowds. Already, the guards around him were palming the hilts of their swords in preparation, all while eyeing the shouting and jeering Lords who were clearly Baelish’s supporters.
The only problem was that the situation would become more intense, and he could only hope things wouldn’t spiral out of control further with his next proclamation.
Ned inhaled deeply, preparing to use that same authoritative voice he hadn’t used since the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was the same tone he used to shout marching orders and command men at the Trident, the kind that no one would expect to hear the Red Keep’s throne room of all places.
“Lord Baelish, for your slander against the Crown, and mismanagement of the treasury, I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King, hereby strip you of all lands and titles! I revoke your position as Master of Coin, and sentence you to the Black Cells until your trial is held!”
For a long moment, the entire hall seemed to go still. The nearly gold cloaks, court ladies, servants, overweight and lecherous Lords, and even Harry stared at him in absolute awe. Everyone was slack-jawed, in shock, staring at his as if they didn’t believe their own eyes and ears. That was when Ned gestured for the city watchmen to drag Littlefinger out of the room.
He enjoyed the look of abject fury mixed with horrid realization on Baelish’s face, just before the group of gold cloaks forcefully dragged him through the angry mob of a crowd and out of the throne room.
The surrounding nobles certainly didn’t seem happy, but Ned didn’t care. His leniency and mercy had reached its limit for that man, and not even some good words from his Tully wife would persuade him otherwise.
“M-My Lord, p-please reconsider!” A fat courtier cried from nearby. “Lord Baelish is a good man! Surely he meant no harm!”
Harry snorted at his side in amusement, while Ned just gave the man a dismissive glance. But that didn’t prevent the rest of the Lords in the hall from shouting themselves hoarse in outrage.
“That northern barbarian dare!”
“He’s too scared to face Lord Baelish’s words head-on!”
“Will Stark not participate in the tourney?”
“Craven!”
Lords and courtiers shouted over one another, each one increasingly red in the face as they yelled at him. Insults and accusations against House Stark sailed through the air, and for a moment Ned was tempted to have them all arrested for their slander.
He came to a horrid realization then, being that they were all bribed by Baelish in some way. One man mismanaging the treasury could not bankrupt the crown after all, as it wasn’t possible for one man to hide all that gold away in his own accounts. Instead, Littlefinger had likely distributed the gold out to his allies in court as a way to gain favor, or even to control them.
It meant that most of the court was in Littlefinger’s pocket, likely having received generous sums from him over the years as a way to ensure their allegiance. And as such, they were most likely to side with him no matter what misdeeds he committed, meaning the man would always win in the court of public opinion.
Baelish’s trial would be a fiasco. Ned resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to have a fair trial with so many influential Lords biased in his favor. Maybe I’ll just have Harry take care of him then.
Now that he turned to look at him, he saw that his bastard nephew looked tense. Brandon’s baseborn son looked the closest Ned had ever seen him to being outright visibly angry.
“Are you alright, Harry?” He asked.
The boy grimaced, nodding his head tightly. “I think I’m going to compete in the tourney.”
Ned blinked, and realized just what his nephew was planning. Baelish wanted us Starks to participate in the tourney, and it just so happens to be the only expedient way to increase our reputation after such a mess.
“It’s likely a trap.” He concluded rather easily. Baelish’s overall scheme was still unknown to him, but the least he could deduce was that Littlefinger wanted them participating in the tourney. “You understand what you would be getting into?”
Harry nodded tersely. “It would be the quickest way to regain support in court. The way I see it, that man’s goal was to turn everyone here against House Stark, and something drastic needs to be done to turn things around.”
And winning the upcoming tourney would be quite drastic. The winners of large tournaments were always showered with gold and praise, receiving quite a lot of ass-kissing from court. And if Harry won in the tournament, Baelish’s lies would be overshadowed by his victory.
The only question is if Harry can win. He doubted his nephew would participate in the archery or jousting, meaning the melee was the likely option. That said, the last time he witnessed Harry in the yard, both Jon and Robb had been throughly trounced by his skill.
/////
If Ned thought that the day’s drama would end in the throne room, then he was sorely mistaken. Even Robert was upset over Littlefinger’s imprisonment. Or rather… his newfound lack of whores.
“Surely you can be more lenient with Littlefinger?” Robert asked him. “He’s the one who gives me such fine whores, and it’s not as if anyone can find women like he does.”
Ned pinched his brow, doing his best not to let his exasperation with the King show. “The man is a thief, a liar, and the worst sort of conman. He slandered not only my name, but also yours, your Grace.”
Robert had finally decided to attend a meeting of the small council, and it just so happened to be after Baelish was arrested publicly in front of the court. It signaled just how much of a ruckus Ned had caused with his actions, as not only was Robert present for the first time, yet Ser Barristan was present as well.
“B-Baelish may have overstepped, your Grace, b-but I am sure the man is apologetic for his words.” Pycelle stuttered. “I’m sure that all of us have lost our tempers a few times in the heat of the moment?”
“I’d hardly call Baelish’s looting of the treasury something that happened in the heat of the moment.” Wendel Manderly frowned. “I, for one, will be happy to see the tourney begin and have all of this behind us!”
“Ah, I had almost forgotten about Ned’s tourney!” Robert laughed boisterously, while Ned’s eye twitched at the suggestion the tourney was something he wanted. “What do you say, Ned, how about you and I put on some armor and join?”
Ser Barristan’s eyes widened in alarm. “You wish to join the tourney, your Grace?”
“Of course!” Robert said easily, not at all jesting. “I’m looking forward to swinging my war hammer around after all these years!”
The next two hours were spent trying to convince the overweight Robert Baratheon that it wasn’t a good idea to have the King participating in a tourney.
/////
Petyr Baelish
He made his way to the outskirts of the city, donning a cloak and avoiding main roads in favor of seedy and unknown back alleys. His destination was one of the few buildings he owned that the gold cloaks hadn’t raided, one of the few properties he still had in his name.
It used to be a safe house, but now acted as his secret brothel in order to serve the kind of men that were the worst of the worst. Killers, rapers, and looters disguised as knights didn’t hold back as they fucked women he had hired and kept on for years in his other brothels.
Littlefinger simply ignored it all, even though he knew those women would never work for him again after this. Instead he made his way through the makeshift whore house and entered the Lord’s bedroom, finding the doors wide open and the person he was looking for waiting for him.
The sight of Gregor Clegane with such a smaller girl made even his gut twist in discomfort. The huge, 8 foot tall man made even the bed he knelt on look tiny, and that was without saying what the whore beneath him looked like in comparison.
“Baelish!” The Mountain boomed with a gruesome smile, dismounting the tiny whore between his large form.
“Ser Gregor.” He nodded. “I have an offer for you.”
“I predicted as much.” The man said, not sounding at all surprised. “No one would give me and my men a whore house all to ourselves without wanting anything in return.”
“Indeed.” Littlefinger couldn’t help but note that Gregor Clegane had some brains to go with his brawn. “I want you and your men to participate in the upcoming melee during the Hand’s Tourney. And while there, I want you to kill Ned Stark’s bastard.”
“Heh, you’re not the only one who has asked me to kill someone during a tourney.” Ser Gregor replied. “The only question is what I get out of it?”
A sly, arrogant smirk found its way onto Petyr’s face. This was the part of his plan that would ensure Stark’s bastard would die. “A hundred-thousand gold dragons.”
The Mountain froze, the sight looking quite comical on the giant, as he looked at Baelish with wide eyes. Suddenly, he gained a ruthless grin, and let out another laugh. “I’ll spread the word. That bastard’s as good as dead.”
His eyes snapped open then, and he shook his head to ward away the strange memory from the other night. Petyr Baelish instead focused on his current location, deep within the dungeons under the Red Keep.
His cell was narrow and dark, the smell of it more akin to blood and rusted steel mixed with vomit. The doors in this part of the keep would groan when opened, like some wounded beast being roused from slumber.
His wrists were chained and suspended just enough to make his feet strain for purchase on the dirt floor. The manacles dug into his skin enough to cause bruises, and he knew that soon blood would flow from them.
Even now, with his hair was messy, his beard unshaven, his silk tunic matted with dirt and grime, Baelish let himself smile as he looked at the man before him. It was just the person he wanted to talk to.
“I saw this pin before.” Stark’s bastard noted, grasping his collar to get a better look at the silver pin which represented his revitalized House. “A shame that I disregarded it and didn’t look further. Otherwise I would have killed you earlier, Mockingbird.”
The bastard had come to pay him a visit, and Petyr didn’t know whether it was to kill him, interrogate him, or just to try and frighten him. Either way, he was glad to have a visitor, especially when it was the son of the man he hated most.
“Sometimes, the things we are searching for are right in front of us the whole time.” Petyr smirked at his own jest.
“Indeed. I spent a lot of time looking for you, and you just so happened to be right in front of me the entire time. Either way, it will be much easier to get you convicted since you were the one who had Lyanna Stark’s grave desecrated.”
He laughed, a rasping thing that scratched at the walls. “And who will sit in judgment, I wonder? The King, who gets all his wine and whores from me? Varys, a eunuch who deals only in lies? Pycelle, who can’t piss without asking which way the wind is blowing? The court is mine, Snow. They’ll sing me clean before the first raven leaves the rookery.”
Suddenly a dagger was at his throat. “I’ll just kill you then.”
Baelish acted as if he could care less. “Kill me without trial, and they’ll say the wolf has welcomed treachery. All the Lords will say Ned Stark has grown hungry and is feasting on the Lords of the realm. They’ll whisper of Jon Arryn, and then Petyr Baelish, and then ask who will come after them? The Starks will be suspected first should I die, and they will be forever tarnished should you kill me.”
He felt quite good about his argument, but that was when the Stark bastard glared at him. Those terrifying green eyes that stared into his very soul, almost glowing in the dim dungeon that held the black cells. Even Petyr Baelish couldn’t help but shutter, feeling as if he had widely overstepped in his actions.
Suddenly, the bastard’s hands were on his face, and he wondered if Hadrian Snow really would kill him.
“Legilimens.”
Images, memories, flashed through his mind’s eye like before. He could see his plans, the upcoming tourney, the Mountain, and those men of the city watch he had bribed and freed from Stark’s grasp.
He could see them coming for him, preparing to leave the city as the tourney neared. It was all part of the plan, his grand scheme to sow chaos throughout the realm. And that chaos would be a ladder-
Suddenly, he was ripped away, and Baelish was back in his dusty dark cell as he panted desperately for breath. And yet, the Stark bastard was nowhere to be found.
/////
Hadrian Snow
Organized rows of steel armor laid before him as he sat in his bedroom within the Hand’s tower. He looked over the armor with an inquisitive frown, all while holding a makeshift piece of wood that he used in place of a wand. Behind Harry, his bed was a mess of sheets and pillows on which a familiar blonde wildling was resting from their rough nightly rutting.
He was preparing for the upcoming melee in the Hand’s tourney, getting all of his arms and armor set so that he would be ready for anything. He had partaken in many small skirmishes and fights over the years, and that was without counting those from his previous life. The heft of a heavy blade was hardly new to him, nor was the chaotic nature of fighting with medieval weaponry at that point in his life.
But to be placed in a pen with dozens, even hundreds, of other knights was something he hadn’t experienced before. He knew it would be like fighting in a cage, no way out other than to yield and choose dishonor. Even then, Harry knew that many would die from accidents in the melee, despite the order for everyone to use blunted weapons.
People could still be trampled and killed by horses after all, and that was without counting how easy it was to kill a human with a simple blow to the head or neck. It meant that he needed new armor, as Harry could hardly count on his old lightweight traveling armor for protection in such a situation. Instead, he went down to the street of steel and purchased the strongest, yet still maneuverable, set of plate he could find.
After that came the tedious process of preparing it, and that didn’t only include fitting it to his person. Instead, he was currently going through the extra step of enchanting all of it, using featherlight and unbreakable charms to give him that much more of an advantage.
Charms, runes, and enchantments was never his strong suit, being something that was more Hermione’s specialty, yet Harry made do nonetheless.
In the end, he wore enough steel to take blows head-on with ease, and yet he wasn’t made immobile by it all. In fact, he couple do sprints with his armor if he wanted to, and he would no doubt be the quickest knight on the tourney field.
He reached down to pick up his greatsword, being the item he had spent the most time enchanting. It was the same weapon he had used throughout the years, having slain and killed hundreds of bandits and wildlings all over the North. It was heavy and made made to wield with two hands, and yet in his strong grasp it felt as light as a feather.
It was time for the Hand’s Tourney to begin.
A/N:
I apologize if it feels like I’m dragging out Littlefinger’s plot-line, and I know that some of you are concerned because of it.
Do not worry, there is nothing to fear.
I’ve always considered Littlefinger one of the top 3 villains in GOT/ASOIAF, and I didn’t want to remove him as quickly as I did Ramsey. Harry needs some annoyances to deal with in King’s Landing, and soon Littlefinger will be but a memory.
Comments
Ivy
He should’ve enchanted his armor and Helmet with a cushioning charm on the inside to protect against blunt force trauma aswell.
OmegonFlair
I don’t want to spoil my plans for the next chapter too much, but Harry is going into the tourney knowing people are going to try and kill him, and that’s why he’s bringing a real blade
travis btmb
Tftc but at the end you say that they only use blunted tourny weapons and then you say he plans on useing his greatsword which is not a blunt weapon so either he has to dull the edge alot which he cant do with an indestructible rune or he is gonna have to change the enchantments for the tourny then change it back it would be way easier if he simply got a tourny sword or in this case a hammer or mace those are alot more effective against armor and he could easily claim it was an accident if he kills someone with such a weapon and please do not make the mistake of putting the sword on a pedastal swords are great against lightly armored opponents not heavily armored ones he should have a hammer or mace and a sword switching to whatever is best for the task at hand
