Petyr Baelish's smile was warm. He softly said, "Cate, it's windy here. Let's sit over there and talk."
He pointed to another part of the room where a delicate round table and several comfortable-looking chairs were placed.
Catelyn didn't refuse. As she walked, she said, "You should really experience the cold wind of Winterfell."
Petyr's eyes flickered. Looking at Catelyn's back, he twirled his meticulously groomed mustache.
Was Eddard Stark truly dead? Based on the intelligence he had gathered, it couldn't be confirmed… Because his body hadn't been found, Petyr felt it was more accurate to say he was missing.
Petyr guessed… that "deeply affectionate" "good friend" would definitely know the answer, or rather, he had secretly intervened directly to save the Direwolf… If his guess was correct… Heh, what an enviable great favor.
But everyone temporarily believed the Direwolf had died in the riot in King's Landing, which was good!
Petyr picked up the golden wine pot inlaid with gems, and as he poured the wine, he said, "Cate, I actually think your son claiming to be King is a good thing for you."
Catelyn's brows unconsciously furrowed when she heard Petyr's address, but she didn't correct him again. Compared to the matter they were discussing, this was a trivial detail.
After filling the cup, Petyr elegantly gestured for her to drink, then added, "According to the current situation, your son needs his family's support more than ever…"
He gently swirled the golden wine cup in his hand, then continued, "Lysa is the Lady of the Vale, but more importantly, she is your son's aunt."
Saying this, Petyr spread his hands and continued, "Family, duty, honor. Family is definitely more reliable than outsiders."
Catelyn was very moved, but her voice held stubbornness: "Petyr, tell me, did Lysa really do that? You know what I'm talking about!"
Petyr's grey-green eyes met Catelyn's. They gazed at each other, and after a pause, he let out a scoff.
Seeing Catelyn about to get angry, Petyr explained, "How do I feel more like a Tully, and you… have become a stubborn Stark instead."
"What do you mean?"
Petyr sighed, his eyes looking out the window, his expression revealing reluctance: "Cate, let's put aside Jon's murder for now… We all know Lysa has had a very difficult marriage. We all remember how Lysa used to be. Who do you think is directly responsible for Lysa becoming like this now?"
Petyr turned his face to Catelyn: "Didn't Jon Arryn himself cause all this?"
He admitted it! It was Lysa who poisoned her husband with her own hands! Catelyn's heart sank. She picked up her wine glass with trembling hands, wanting to use drinking to hide her current panic.
Petyr's eyes flickered, and the corner of his mouth curved into an almost imperceptible smile.
He slowly began, "I will help you persuade Lysa to make the Vale submit to the King of the North."
Can Lysa still represent the entire Vale? No, the Alliance of the Righteous in the Vale will not recognize her rule.
What is Petyr's goal? His goal is to use external forces to dismantle the Alliance of the Righteous.
Petyr spoke with a laugh, his tone teasing: "Do you really want to personally send your own sister to the chopping block? For the sake of that dead Jon?"
Catelyn suddenly stared at Petyr and said, "Littlefinger, what do you want?"
To Catelyn's question, Petyr answered quickly, as if he had already prepared the answer.
"The peace of the Vale."
Catelyn took a sip of the wine in her cup, her gaze filled with mockery: "Petyr, we know each other. I hope you tell me the truth."
Petyr showed the awkwardness of having his thoughts seen through in an instant. He scratched his head like he used to as a child.
Catelyn coldly curved the corner of her mouth and pressed, "Tell me the answer."
In Catelyn's eyes, Petyr was feigning composure. He moved his lips, exhaled, and said, "I think… the Stark King will need a King's Hand."
After speaking, Petyr had already regained his usual elegant demeanor.
He murmured helplessly, "You really haven't changed, still as formidable as ever."
Catelyn snorted coldly and said, "Petyr, don't forget I'm the older sister who watched you grow up."
Catelyn believed she could see through Littlefinger's "schemes," but was the current Littlefinger still the Littlefinger she thought he was?
In fact, Petyr had already revealed the true answer. What he wanted was indeed the "stability" of the Vale, not some King's Hand. This was merely the answer he wanted Catelyn to deduce herself, showing his full sincerity.
Catelyn then said, "Will you marry Lysa?"
"Cate, you know my feelings…" Petyr stopped speaking when he saw Catelyn's expression turn cold.
After a moment of silence, under Catelyn's gaze, Petyr smiled bitterly and said, "My fiefdom is merely the smallest rocky land in the Fingers Peninsula. Given my status… everyone knows this is impossible."
He added, "We are childhood friends. I am helping as a friend. Perhaps you can think of me as a physician who can't forget beautiful childhood memories… Hmm, a physician helping Lysa overcome her pain."
Catelyn couldn't help but mock, "A physician who helps her into bed?"
Certain places in the Eyrie easily produced loud echoes. Petyr smiled and shrugged: "Perhaps you could try to pity me."
Catelyn had to admit… her sister now lacked a bit of a woman's charm… She turned her head and sipped her wine.
Catelyn put down her wine glass, cleared her throat, and said, "What do you plan to do?"
"Although Lysa was disrespectful to you, she truly needs her sister. I believe she will get better…"
Petyr said seriously, "Cate, I will do my best to persuade Lysa and let me take your personal letter to present to our King of the North."
Catelyn looked at the sincere Petyr and said directly, "Petyr, I don't want to deceive you. The King's Hand needs the King's trust, not a recommendation from the King's mother."
"I will perform well. Thank you, Cate."
Returning to his study, Petyr stood quietly for a moment, then walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a letter he had hidden very secretly, a letter sealed with golden wax.
Crab Claw Peninsula, Whispering City, Lord's Chamber.
"Green…"
"Green…"
"Green…"
Green, in his sleep, suddenly opened his eyes. A cold glint flashed in his eyes. It was the same dream again!
Green sat on the bed and said, "Someone."
Following Green's voice, the wooden door of the chamber was quickly pushed open, and fully armed Mason Baker and others strode in.
Green's gaze swept over them, and everyone straightened their backs.
"If suspicious individuals are found, kill them on sight if they resist."
Lord Green, to ensure the simple Kleber commoners could sleep peacefully at night, had initiated a curfew not long after inheriting the position of Lord of Kleber, which had never been interrupted since. Therefore, at this time, around Whispering City, apart from patrolling and standing guard soldiers, everyone else could be classified as suspicious individuals.
Mason Baker and the others said in unison, "Yes, Lord Green!"
After everyone left the room, Green got out of bed and opened the narrow window of the chamber. The night wind immediately rushed into the room.
Outside the window, a full moon hung high. Green gazed at the hazy night sky, but his mind was recalling the scenes from his dream.
It was the third time… Green could only confirm it was Daenerys's voice; other scenes remained blurry.
Could it be Melisandre's magic? Green first suspected her during the second dream, the red priestess he had encountered at Dragonstone.
The "Scroll King" Green would act whenever he had doubts, and he disliked magic very much, because… he couldn't do it.
The soldiers of Kleber waited at their assigned locations for the bonfire signal from Whispering City.
Whether it was shadow magic or illusion magic, Green knew that the spellcasters of these magics had a certain distance limitation in this world (except for the Three-Eyed Raven).
Tonight, Green had previously instructed his sworn sword Mason to make preparations in secret. With a single command, Kleber's soldiers would be dispatched for a carpet search.
If it wasn't man-made magic, what could it be? Green thought as he stepped forward, standing before the table covered with a map of Westeros.
Green could actually guess that the possibility of Melisandre being the spellcaster was very low, but his cautious nature meant he wouldn't base everything on his own judgment. He would meticulously investigate, eliminating one suspect after another until he found the final answer.
Still that question, if it wasn't man-made magic, what could it be? Why did he dream the same dream for three consecutive days?
Since Green couldn't find an answer for a while, he thought of other things… The Ice Greatsword was too large to carry around, and he still needed a Valyria steel longsword… The blacksmith Tobho Mott in King's Landing knew how to reforge Valyria weapons… Green's finger tapped the location of Crab Island on the map.
At dawn, Ser Mason came to see Green.
"My Lord, we did not find any other anomalies, except for a dozen poachers and smugglers."
Green pondered for a moment, nodded slightly, and said, "Thank you, my loyal Mason."
Mason hesitated, then said, "My Lord, how should these people be handled?"
"Deal with them according to the territory's law."
After speaking, Green waved his hand.
After Mason left, Green leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes… Could it be the call of the Targaryen dragons, or some kind of prophecy? Or…
Flames burned fiercely everywhere. Daenerys's silver hair and body were covered in black ash, and her violet eyes were filled with fear and helplessness.
She stretched out her hand with difficulty towards Green, her lips repeatedly closing and opening. What was she saying?!
Finally, he heard it: Green… save me…
Green suddenly opened his eyes. By now, it was already bright, and the brilliant morning light streamed into the room through the narrow window.
The next day, Green's the mermaid, accompanied by five Kleber warships, slowly departed from Mermaid Port.
Essos, Vaes Dothrak.
Inside a room, Jon Snow, Young Griff, and Rolly sat around drinking wine, surrounded by empty wine pots.
A drunken Rolly slurred, "On my sixteenth nameday, my blacksmith father… my father's weapons were famous. He forged a longsword for me, but a noble lord not only snatched the sword my father gave me, but also insulted me… saying my hands were not meant to wield a sword, only a hammer. I couldn't control my anger then. I went home, got a hammer, and broke both of that noble lord's arms and half his ribs."
Rolly picked up his wine cup and took a large gulp, then continued, "To escape the noble lord's pursuit, I fled my hometown overnight, crossed the Narrow Sea, and came here to become a Sellsword."
Finally, he added, "A Sellsword with a sword in his hand."
Jon had drunk a lot, and Rolly swayed back and forth in front of him, making him dizzy. He knew it was his own problem; he had drunk too much.
Jon leaned against the wall, a joyful smile on his face: "Rolly, you are very brave, you are a warrior."
Rolly laughed for a while, then suddenly said, "Young Griff, what's your story?"
Jon, with hazy eyes, looked at the flushed Young Griff. His eyes seemed to turn purple in the twilight, and he thought it was an illusion.
Young Griff smiled and said, "My father also fled from the continent across the strait to Essos. I grew up here, and my father doesn't like to talk about his younger days with me."
He paused, then pretended to lower his voice and continued, "One time my father drank too much, and I learned that he had offended a family named Lannister on that continent. It's said that family is very powerful, and he had no choice but to flee."
Rolly said, "I know, Lannister always pays his debts!"
Jon angrily said, "Lannister again, damn it!"
Hearing this, Young Griff and Rolly both looked at Jon, who was rarely angry.
Rolly asked curiously, "Jon, it seems your hatred for Lannister is not small?"
After a moment of silence, Jon slowly nodded and said, "My family was almost harmed by Lannister. I don't like them."
"Your family?"
Jon fell silent again. After a while, he finally said, "I misspoke. I am a bastard. How can a bastard have family?"
Rolly clapped Jon on the shoulder with his big hand and said, "This isn't that damn Sunset Land. You shouldn't always think about that. Once you're a Sellsword, who cares about that? With your skill, you'll earn everyone's recognition sooner or later."
Although Young Griff had also drunk a lot, his voice remained gentle: "This isn't a choice we made ourselves. If we could choose, I don't think anyone would want to come into this world as a bastard."
Rolly nodded heavily: "Yes, Young Griff is right. You should blame others, not yourself."
Jon's eyes were a little dazed, and he laughed happily: "I understand."
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