The maid's corpse was dragged away. Mathis Rowan looked anxious, while Mace Tyrell, sitting several seats away, was secretly delighted.
Is being Hand of the King really this difficult? Mace thought. If I were in his place, how would I handle such a tricky situation? He furrowed his brow in deep thought.
"There's no physical evidence, but we still have witnesses!" Mathis Rowan suddenly shouted.
Everyone in the hall turned to look at him.
"Your Grace, Lords of the Vale, Lord Jon Arryn would only be seventy-four this year. There are still many people of that age in the Seven Kingdoms! Even those slightly younger who worked with him or saw him in his youth—there must be plenty of them."
"That's exactly what I was thinking!" Mace Tyrell was the first to chime in support.
Mathis Rowan, recalling how the Vale lords had all pretended to be clueless earlier, turned to Robert again. "Your Grace, since this concerns the Vale's succession, we can summon the elder nobles of the Vale to testify in King's Landing."
"Objection! How do we know they won't lie for personal gain?"
"Yes! They have no right to serve as witnesses!"
Several Vale nobles shouted, and the rest followed suit.
Mathis Rowan didn't flinch. "Since the Vale's nobles must be excluded, we should seek testimony from respected elders elsewhere. Grand Maester Pycelle, how old is Lord Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands?"
Pycelle responded, "Lord Tywin is fifty-seven. He became Hand of the King at twenty and worked alongside a young Lord Jon Arryn."
Mathis Rowan turned to another noble. "Lord Mace, your mother, Lady Redwyne of House Tyrell—how old is she?"
Mace Tyrell answered, "My mother is seventy-one."
"Objection! The Vale's ducal inheritance cannot be interfered with by outsiders!" The Vale lords, sensing the tide turning against them, began rejecting every proposal outright.
Robert, watching his father-in-law maneuver so skillfully, was impressed. Mathis had just helped him out of a difficult situation, and it was clear he had more to say. Robert gave him a subtle nod to continue.
Unfazed by the Vale lords' continued refusals, Mathis Rowan remained expressionless. "If that's the case, then we shall turn to the Citadel. The maesters have all sworn vows—they do not marry, do not sire children, and renounce family allegiances. They are absolutely neutral. Grand Maester Pycelle, how many men in the Citadel are over seventy?"
Pycelle himself was quite old, but he had always played dumb to avoid involvement in political struggles. Now that the Hand was asking about the Citadel and not about him personally, he was more than willing to provide an answer.
"To my knowledge, the Citadel currently has six archmaesters over seventy and twelve maesters over sixty…"
Before he could finish, the Vale lords interrupted again.
"Objection! Maesters have sworn to forgo family names, meaning they should not meddle in matters of inheritance!"
Three consecutive objections. Instead of frustration, Mathis Rowan smiled. The Vale lords were pushing themselves into a corner. He looked them over and declared loudly:
"We need someone elderly, who has seen Lord Jon Arryn in his youth, who is uninvolved in personal interests, who has no family ties, who cannot lie, and who holds an authority that all would recognize. That leaves only one person—the High Septon!"
Mathis Rowan turned to Robert. "Your Grace, the current High Septon resides in the Great Sept of Baelor. We need only summon him."
Robert's grin widened. "Barristan! In my name, invite the High Septon to the Red Keep to bear witness!"
The Vale lords had no way to object now. Most of them were descendants of the Andals, devout followers of the Seven. Weddings, funerals, and all major ceremonies were presided over by septons or bishops. The High Septon already held immense authority—let alone the Most Devout, the Supreme Pontiff of the Faith of the Seven.
Originally, the High Septon resided at the Starry Sept in Oldtown. However, over a century ago, Baelor the Blessed Targaryen had the Great Sept of Baelor constructed in King's Landing, moving the High Septon's seat to the capital. Over time, the Great Sept became one of the two spiritual centers of the Faith across Westeros.
It didn't take long before a group of soldiers arrived at the Hand's meeting chamber, carrying the High Septon. Not because of his esteemed status—but because he was so fat that he could barely walk. If they had waited for him to arrive on foot, it would have been suppertime by then.
Mathis Rowan explained the situation to him. Everyone present held their breath, waiting for his words to determine the fate of those involved.
"Lord Jon Arryn, in his youth, was…"
The room fell into complete silence. The faint sound of a maid sweeping the corridor outside could even be heard.
"…blond!"
An uproar erupted. The hall instantly exploded into chaos, nobles shouting in outrage.
"We've been deceived by Lysa Tully!"
"A blond father and a red-haired mother—how in the Seven Hells does that produce a brown-haired son? A bastard!"
"She's disgraced the late Lord and insulted all of us in the Vale! Kill her and that illegitimate child!"
"Who was the father?"
Edmure Tully collapsed into his chair, utterly devastated. Lysa's unforgivable crime had dragged House Tully's honor through the mud. Catelyn had already buried her face in the table, weeping.
The Hand's duty was done—now it was the king's turn to deliver judgment. Robert stood up.
"Silence! Varys, whose bastard is Robert Arryn?"
Varys had already informed Robert in private, but now the king wanted him to reveal it openly.
Varys rose. "Your Grace, my lords, according to my investigations, the man in question is Petyr Baelish of House Baelish, from the Fingers. He had already gotten Lysa Tully pregnant once in their youth."
"Him?!"
"Yes! He's brown-haired!"
"Damn Littlefinger! He's destroyed my family!" Catelyn sobbed even harder. The traitor was someone she had known since childhood, someone she had trusted without doubt.
Robert's expression darkened. "Master of Laws, Renly! Find out who bribed the maid!"
Renly cursed inwardly. The only lead was a masked man, and the maid was dead. What did they expect—magic to solve the case? How the hell am I supposed to investigate this?
Robert continued, "Petyr Baelish seduced a Lord's wife and sired a bastard to usurp the rightful heir. His crimes are unforgivable. I strip him of his lands and titles and sentence him to death by beheading! He has fled, so send out a warrant across the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Kill him!" the Vale lords roared in agreement.
Robert went on, "Lysa Tully committed adultery, bore a bastard, deceived the Vale lords, and attempted to place her illegitimate son on the ducal seat. Her crimes are unforgivable. She is to be stripped of all rights in the Vale and executed by beheading, along with her bastard son."
This time, there was no chorus of agreement. House Tully was a warden house, and two of its members were present in the hall.
Robert raised his voice. "The rightful Lord of the Vale—Denys Arryn!"
"Denys Arryn!" the nobles echoed in support.
With the matter settled, the Vale lords departed King's Landing, and countless ravens took flight, carrying the news across the realm.
Mace Tyrell returned home and immediately instructed a servant to summon his daughter, the Little Rose, Margaery. He couldn't understand how Mathis Rowan, who had always kept a low profile, had suddenly shone so brilliantly today.
It wasn't long before Margaery arrived. News traveled fast within the Red Keep, and she was already well aware of what had transpired.
"Father, Mathis Rowan is not the dull man you imagine him to be. His family has deep roots—his ancestors have served as Hand of the King and even as Regents. Ever since his second daughter became queen, his ambitions have been laid bare."
Mace frowned. "But he is my bannerman! Shouldn't he support me?"
Margaery met his gaze. "Last night, he and four other Reach lords were seen entering the Red Keep. Did you notice? Every one of them belongs to houses that claim descent from Garth Greenhand."
Mace scoffed. "So do we! My mother was a Redwyne, descended from Gilbert of the Vines. My wife—your mother—comes from House Hightower, which carries the blood of Maris the Maid."
Margaery fell silent. It was clear to her now—her father was nowhere near ready to be Hand of the King. She quickly changed the subject.
"Father, the destruction of House Arryn's lineage records—most would suspect the Vale lords, but I believe Mathis Rowan was behind it."
"What?!" Mace gaped in shock.
Margaery continued, "As the newly appointed Hand of the King, he needed to establish his authority. This was a major event—enough to secure his place in history! Perhaps he wouldn't have conceived such a plan alone, but if those five houses worked together, it's entirely possible. The records were kept in Maegor's Holdfast, within the king's chambers, a difficult place to infiltrate. But don't forget—he is the queen's father. And the people closest to the queen? Her maids."
Mace still looked stunned. "Is this true?"
Margaery rolled her eyes in frustration. "No! It's just my theory."
Mace hesitated. "Then what should we do now?"
Margaery's tone turned decisive. "House Tarly also descends from Garth Greenhand. Randyll Tarly fell in battle not long ago, and his two sons have now gone their separate ways. Samwell Tarly is still young—you should have my brother find him a position in Highgarden. Win him over through business dealings as well. As for the other houses… ask Grandmother."