Uncle Littlefinger had long awaited Aegon's arrival, like parched land longing for rain. He had waited far, far too long.
It was said that the Spider commanded the largest intelligence network in Westeros, and that was not wrong.
Varys had the support of the royal court, vast financial backing from Illyrio, and a constant supply of "little birds"—children whose tongues had been cut out but who could read and write. With such resources, it would be difficult not to be powerful.
But Littlefinger's intelligence network was no weaker—and in some ways, even more advantageous.
His network was composed of three parts: brothels, customs officers, and spies planted in noble households.
He was the greatest brothel keeper in the Seven Kingdoms; most of King's Landing's brothels were his property. The top courtesans were trained personally by him, skilled in every art imaginable.
Littlefinger rose from the customs office of Gulltown. By the time he became Robert's Master of Coin, all the customs officers at the Seven Kingdoms' trade ports had quietly been replaced with his own men.
He even planted spies in noble houses he had his eyes on—such as the three Kettleblack brothers.
Those three had practically reached the pinnacle of espionage achievement. Compared to them, the likes of James Bond, Ethan Hunt, and Austin Powers were amateurs.
Entering King's Landing disguised as mercenaries, within six months one became the commander of the city watch, one a member of the Kingsguard, and one the Queen Mother's personal agent for dirty work—who even shared her bed.
So, when Aegon captured Storm's End, Littlefinger received the news almost immediately.
However, Tyrion's unexpected appearance caused some delay. After tidying up a few matters, Littlefinger finally sent a letter to Storm's End.
"Tyrion, look at this," Aegon said excitedly, waving a letter in front of him. "A letter from Duke Baelish! He invites me to the Eyrie to discuss matters of allegiance."
Tyrion took the letter with a grave expression and read it carefully, line by line.
Aegon paced the room, enthusiasm brimming as he muttered, "Seven bless us. Of the Four Kings' War, only the Vale and Dorne were spared. The Vale's knights are second only to those of the Reach—they're the strongest force in Westeros right now.
If I can gain the Vale's allegiance and unite with Dorne, we can strike from north and south. Even if the Lannisters and Tyrells reconcile, they won't be able to stop us."
"Your Grace," Tyrion said, frowning, "Littlefinger is the most untrustworthy man in all Seven Kingdoms. You should already know that."
Aegon replied earnestly, "You told me once that no one can be fully trusted—not even Uncle Doran, my foster father Clinton, or Aunt Daenerys. I've always remembered that."
Since no one in this world can be trusted completely, it's pointless to judge alliances by loyalty.
Interest—that is the strongest and most reliable bond.
Tyrion understood the hidden meaning behind Aegon's words. His smile turned bitter, a mix of pride and melancholy filling his chest.
"I didn't think you would remember, let alone put it to practice."
"I do remember," Aegon said, his earlier excitement fading into something more complex.
"You said many things I still recall. Before you, no one had ever taught me such truths. My foster father and Septa Lemore only sought to shape an ideal king. You taught me how to survive in reality."
"In that case," Tyrion said, shifting into the role of strategist, "wait a few days. Have the maester send a letter to Bronze Yohn, explaining Littlefinger's invitation and asking him to act as your guarantor."
"Bronze Yohn? Who is he? And why must I ask him?" Aegon asked, frowning.
Tyrion explained slowly, "Do you know of House Royce of the Vale? They are an ancient and powerful family—much like the Boltons in the North, the Hightowers in the Reach, or the Daynes of Starfall in Dorne.
Bronze Yohn is the head of House Royce, a man deserving the respect of any 'prince.'
He once led the lords of the Vale in forming the 'Lords Declarant,' nearly driving that widowed son-in-law, Littlefinger, out of the Vale altogether. But alas…"
Tyrion sighed, shaking his head with clear disappointment. "Bronze Yohn is an old-fashioned knight who values honor above all. If he agrees to act as your guarantor, Littlefinger won't be able to pull another Walder Frey."
"I see." Aegon rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then made his decision. "A letter won't properly convey my respect as a prince. I'll go to Runestone myself and meet Lord Royce in person."
Tyrion was stunned. He stared at Aegon in disbelief, shocked by the young man's resolve.
Aegon's boldness astonished not only Tyrion, but also Bronze Yohn, Littlefinger, and the lords of the Vale.
That very day, he rode his dragon to Runestone and, with utmost sincerity, shared his experiences and his intentions with Bronze Yohn.
Truth be told, Lord Yohn's emotions were complex. He was deeply moved by Prince Aegon's sincerity and respect for him, yet he also wished the prince had never come to him at all.
For he, too, doubted Aegon's identity—especially after Aegon honestly confessed that even Uncle Doran and Aunt Daenerys had been kept in the dark by Varys's schemes.
Looking into Aegon's earnest eyes, Bronze Yohn wanted to ask, Your Grace, do you truly think this makes sense?
If the Dragon Queen herself had landed on his doorstep astride "Brightflame," inviting him to act as guarantor for her talks, Bronze Yohn would have considered it the greatest honor of his life—and would have defended her guest's rights with his family's very lives.
Even if not the Dragon Queen, at least Prince Viserys could have sufficed—mad as he was, his Targaryen bloodline was unquestionable.
But to act as guarantor for a suspected false prince…
Fortunately, Prince Aegon wasn't asking him to vouch for his bloodline—only to guarantee his safety as a guest.
Protecting a guest's rights from harm was, in itself, a righteous and honorable duty.
So, though uneasy, Bronze Yohn reluctantly agreed.
When Littlefinger learned of this, he was momentarily surprised, then nodded his consent, assigning Bronze Yohn to oversee the safety of the Eyrie's Moon Door Hall.
"My dear," Littlefinger murmured that night, as he worked over the woman beneath him, "your betrothed is a brave, clever, and noble young man. A true knight."
He said this with great excitement.
And Sansa was excited too.
Since childhood, she had loved listening to tales of legendary knights and had always dreamed that one day she might marry one of those handsome, honorable knightly princes.
Once, she believed her prince on a white horse was Joffrey.
But the benevolent King Joffrey shattered Sansa's delicate, crystal heart with a single blow of his hammer.
Later, she met the tall, imposing, and dignified Tyrion, and what was left of her young heart was ground almost completely into dust.
A series of misfortunes in marriage left her somewhat disheartened and reckless. She learned how to seduce men and even became the secret lover of an old man who was neither legendary nor valiant—something the Sansa of Winterfell, before the age of thirteen, could never have imagined.
Perhaps, after enduring so much misery, the Mother finally took pity on her. Just as half of her soul was sinking into the mire, a tall, brave, and extraordinarily handsome prince descended before her—stepping through shimmering light and riding upon the legendary Black Dread, Balerion.
Sansa was utterly satisfied with Aegon.
There was no questioning his looks—his silver-gold hair gleamed beneath the sun, and his eyes changed color with the light, shifting between deep blue, black, and violet.
What moved Sansa even more was his aura. His radiant smile made him seem like the sun god himself, warming even the frozen depths of her heart, yet his long eyelashes gave him a touch of softness.Ah, the Maiden—this was the very vision from her girlhood dreams come to life.
And most importantly, he had a dragon!
A massive black dragon—the likes of which she had never seen, fierce and enormous beyond imagination.
Wait—why did the Black Dread's mouth look a bit like a bird's beak?Sansa was surprised; it was quite different from the dragon images Maester Luwin had described to her.
But then again, Maester Luwin had never seen a real dragon. Perhaps he was mistaken!
After all, seeing is believing.Under the name Alayne Stone, Sansa accompanied her "father," Lord Petyr Baelish, to the open-air garden of the Eyrie to receive Prince Aegon and his three attendants, who had arrived on dragonback.
Tyrion did not come.
The Black Dread, Balerion, was so massive that he occupied nearly the entire garden and had to remain outside. Aegon entered the Moon Door Hall—the main keep of the Eyrie, with a gaping hole in the floor opening to the sky below, the very spot where Lysa had fallen to her death—accompanied by his guards and Bronze Yohn.
"Your Highness," said Littlefinger warmly, his tone sincere and unforced, "seeing you here puts my heart at ease. The Seven Kingdoms are saved, and the people are blessed."
His pleasant smile and genuine tone gave Aegon a favorable impression.
"Lord Baelish," Aegon replied with a courteous smile and confident gaze, "I too wish to end the chaos and moral decay that plague the Seven Kingdoms. But my strength is not yet enough to fulfill my vision. I hope you will aid me in restoring order."
"Of course," Littlefinger's eyes glinted, regarding the young man before him with newfound respect. "That is precisely what we are here to discuss today."
This was Aegon VI, not Aerys IV the Mad King. (In the eyes of the Westerosi, Joffrey was Aerys II, and Cersei, Aerys III.)
A man as cunning as Littlefinger—why did he feel no concern about Aegon's identity when others doubted it?
Because he had spies.
Though his spies on Dragonstone failed to uncover the Dragon Queen's deepest secrets, they confirmed one crucial fact: the Dragon Queen had fully acknowledged this nephew.
That was enough.
If his own aunt didn't doubt him, what right had outsiders to?
After a few polite exchanges, Littlefinger introduced Aegon to "his daughter," Alayne Stone.
Sansa was breathtaking—her features delicate and refined, her cheekbones graceful, her skin smooth, her large blue eyes alluring, and her thick auburn hair cascading behind her shoulders.
She had dressed with special care for Aegon today: an ivory silk gown embroidered with silver thread, the hem trimmed with silver satin. When she lowered her arms, the long sleeves nearly touched the floor, giving her a pure and ethereal air of maidenly grace.
Yet the deep V-neck bodice and tightly bound waist created a striking contrast, highlighting her mature and seductive femininity.
Aegon was transfixed.
He had seen beauty before—he had seen his aunt Daenerys—but among the women who had ever hinted at desire toward him, none were as beautiful, as charming, as noble, or as elegant as Alayne.
She truly looked like a princess, Aegon thought.
But he had been well taught. Having been raised by noble mentors like Connington and Ashara, Aegon did not lose his composure.
His gaze held only admiration, not lust. With perfect courtesy, he performed a kiss upon her hand and said, "Lady Alayne, you are the moon shining above the Eyrie."
Sansa blushed like a maiden meeting a man for the first time, smiling shyly and sweetly.
Littlefinger smiled in satisfaction.
The hope for an alliance was great!
He felt no pang of jealousy or unease at the thought of "his" woman marrying another—in fact, he looked positively delighted.
Look at that, his smile couldn't have been more genuine.
(End of Chapter)
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