Littlefinger nonchalantly strolled into the study, as if nothing had happened that morning.
Littlefinger wore a cream and silver velvet doublet and a grey silk cape trimmed with black fox fur, a mocking smile perpetually on his face.
Eddard greeted him coolly: "Lord Baelish, what is the purpose of your visit?"
Their conversation was trivial and uninteresting; Eddard had no desire to entertain this man, especially today.
What Littlefinger spoke of were things Eddard did not want to hear, the final discussions of the Small Council.
Regarding the king's outburst after Eddard left, the Small Council ultimately canceled the idea of hiring Faceless Men. "It's a good thing we rescinded that order," Littlefinger continued happily. "We'll just have Varys quietly spread the word that whoever kills that Targaryen girl will be ennobled."
Eddard felt utterly disgusted. "So we're going to make assassins into nobles."
Littlefinger shrugged. "A title is cheap, but Faceless Men are not affordable. Honestly, compared to your high-minded morality, didn't I help that Targaryen girl more? Let that Mercenaries with noble dreams get drunk and try to kill her; they'll probably fail, and then the Myr will be more vigilant. If we had sent Faceless Men, they would only be collecting a corpse."
"Look at what you're saying. I haven't forgotten that you agreed to the assassination at the meeting, and now you say you're protecting that girl. Do you take me for an idiot?"
"Well, in fact, you are a complete idiot," Littlefinger chuckled.
Eddard looked at Littlefinger, pondering why he had come, seemingly to steal his information.
"I've had enough," Eddard said. In King's Landing, he indeed felt somewhat isolated.
"Lord, when do you plan to return to Winterfell?" Littlefinger asked with a smile.
"That's none of your business." Eddard looked at Littlefinger, his hatred and suspicion of this man deepening.
"None of my business... but if you happen to still be in the city tomorrow evening, I'd be happy to take you to that Brothel your men couldn't find." Littlefinger smiled, "I won't even tell Catelyn about this."
"You shouldn't mention Catelyn. And I'm completely uninterested in your nonsense Brothel now, so put away your tricks." Eddard looked coldly at Littlefinger. "Guards!"
"Bang!" Eddard's door was pushed open, and an enraged young man rushed in first.
The smile on Littlefinger's face slowly faded as he saw the young man who had burst in.
A lean young man, with a long face, brown hair, and grey eyes, and a knife scar on his face.
The young man looked very gloomy and wasn't exactly handsome, but his appearance was very Stark. The House Stark's distinctive hair color, eyes, and long face.
"Are you mad? Lord Stark!" Littlefinger shouted; the enraged young man made him feel uneasy.
"Calm down, Jon," Eddard frowned and called out. "I didn't tell you to come in."
Jon Snow, however, rushed forward, "Apologize for your past disrespectful words, Lord Baelish, I challenge you for the honor of Winterfell."
Jon did not draw his longsword, but instead swung his scabbard fiercely at Littlefinger.
Jon's movements were swift, like a fierce storm. Littlefinger had no time to prepare, and besides, Littlefinger's martial arts were mediocre.
Eddard had no time to intervene, only seeing Jon's fists, scabbard, and figure moving.
It wasn't until Eddard's guards finally intervened, separating the two struggling men.
"Lord Stark, is this your hospitality?" Littlefinger struggled to shout. Although he wasn't bruised and battered, he had been thoroughly beaten by Jon; his beautiful velvet clothes were stained with dust, and there was a burning pain in his abdomen and back from the blows of the scabbard and fists.
"I'm sorry..."
"Lord, are you all right?" Rosso Brenn and several men also rushed up the Tower of the Hand; they were Littlefinger's guard.
"It seems we are not welcome here, let's go." Littlefinger said sullenly, looking at Stark and the suddenly agitated bastard.
"You're not leaving, Lord Baelish." Eddard said to Littlefinger. "Guards, keep an eye on them."
The Winterfell guards, wearing direwolf emblems, drew their longswords and glared angrily; their numbers were clearly greater than Littlefinger's. Rosso wanted to draw his longsword, but Littlefinger stopped him.
"Lord Baelish, calm down. The Red Keep guards will be here soon."
"Then I'll wait." Littlefinger looked at Eddard. "Lord Stark, what exactly do you intend to do?"
"I'm going to accuse you, I'm going to accuse you before the king." Eddard pointed at Littlefinger.
Littlefinger showed a hint of panic, this mad Stark.
Was he no longer pursuing the death of Old Jon, but merely wishing to vent his anger? This was not Eddard's style, but the blood of the direwolf style of Brandon.
"You..." Littlefinger clearly showed a trace of panic, but still hadn't stabilized his emotions. "Very well, this is how you treat your friends, Lord."
"You did very well, Lord Stark. I told you long ago not to trust anyone, especially me. But I still want to tell you a secret." Littlefinger smiled, then walked directly in front of Eddard.
"Shataya's Brothel, Lord Stark. Haven't you always been loyal to the king? Now I'm still telling you the secret you want to know." Littlefinger whispered, even in this situation, he wanted to give Eddard a choice.
Eddard's face became very ugly, damned Littlefinger, understanding his heart. Was he to choose to leave, or to thoroughly clarify Lord Arryn's mystery?
Three White Knights quickly arrived with Red Keep guards. The White Knights wore milky white cloaks and milky scale armor, standing ready. But they saw the angry young man, the beaten master of coin, and the silent Hand.
Ser Barristan, Ser Meryn, Ser Boros.
"Alright, Jon, I'll speak." Eddard began.
"This man ruined my reputation, and I ask you, in the name of King Robert, to bring him to justice."
"Reputation?" Ser Barristan was stunned for a moment, his blue eyes wide, not expecting to see such an abrupt scene today.
But Ser Barristan looked at Eddard's face, and it didn't seem like a joke. Even if Eddard himself asked to resign as Hand, he was still the Hand at the moment. The feud between the Hand and the master of coin needed the king's judgment.
"Because of his feud with Littlefinger, this man ruined my reputation."
Ser Meryn and Ser Boros looked at the two suspiciously; Lord Eddard had finally done something earth-shattering.
"Lord Eddard, Lord Petyr, this matter is very tricky, I think I need to report to the king." Barristan looked around, seeing the young man who had acted, who seemed to be the House Stark's bastard.
The drunken king, accompanied by Lord Renly, the master of laws, soon arrived at the scene and saw the situation before him.
Littlefinger and the angry young man stood opposite each other, clearly indicating a fierce conflict.
"Your Majesty, because this man ruined my reputation, I request justice and severe punishment."
"There was no such thing; I only came to visit Lord Eddard, and I didn't expect Lord Eddard's Child to attack me as if he were mad." Littlefinger said, lowering his head.
Lord Renly looked at the pitiful Littlefinger, "Reputation, if it were ordinary, we would clearly remember all those scandalous things Littlefinger said. But Lord Eddard, what do you want us to do?"
"I think it would be best to cut out his tongue," Jon said fiercely.
"Enough, Stark, I am the king! What exactly is going on?" The king looked at the chaotic scene, which was really a headache. Argument after argument... Catelyn rode with her uncle until they passed through the shadow of The Bloody Gate.
Beyond the stone fortifications, the mountains suddenly opened up, revealing green fields, blue skies, and snow-capped peaks, so beautiful it took her breath away. At this moment, The Vale of Arryn was bathed in the morning light.
The Vale is blocked by the Mountains of the Moon, but the land within the Vale is fertile and rich.
The valley stretched out before Catelyn, reaching towards the misty east, a peaceful and tranquil realm, protected on all sides by mountains, with fertile black soil, wide and gentle rivers, and hundreds of lakes of all sizes, bright as mirrors in the sunlight. The fields were laden with barley, wheat, and corn, and even the pumpkins produced in The Reach were no larger than those here, nor were the fruits as sweet.
"I cannot do without Lysa's help, and those handsome Vale cavalry," Catelyn decided.
Catelyn entered the western end of the valley, and after passing through the last mountain pass, the road began to wind downwards, to the foot of the mountain, a full two miles high. The valley here was very narrow, taking less than half a day to traverse, and the mountains to the north were so close that Catelyn felt she could reach out and touch them.
The highest mountain here was called the Giant's Lance, towering over all the other peaks. Its summit was three and a half miles above the ground, disappearing into the cold mist. The ghostly torrent of "Alyssa's Tears" cascaded down its towering western slopes, and even from such a distance, Catelyn could discern that shining silver ribbon, starkly contrasted against the dark bedrock.
"It's right there, next to Alyssa's Tears," Ser Brynden said.
Catelyn rarely came here, but she had heard Eddard speak of it, a place that held Eddard's and the king's youth. Seven tall towers, like pure white daggers piercing the high heavens, stood there, with the clouds at their feet.
"How long will it take?" Catelyn asked.
"We can reach the foot of the mountain by this evening," Ser Brynden said, "but it will take another day to climb it."
"I have no choice, I want to get to The Eyrie quickly." But that was the usual way. Catelyn heard the sound of war horns and now only wished to transform into an eagle and fly to The Eyrie.
Accompanying Catelyn now were only the injured and feverish Ser Rodrik, Ser Varys Ward, and the singer Marillion.
Catelyn left the old knight at The Bloody Gate, and Ser Donnel would ensure he was well cared for.
Catelyn rested for less than an hour before setting off again. Ser Donnel promised to send a bird ahead to inform The Eyrie and The Gate of the Moon of their arrival. Energetic, shaggy-maned horses familiar with mountain paths were brought from the stables to replace Catelyn's weary mounts.
On the distant mountain road, after ensuring their conversation was private, Ser Brynden finally asked Catelyn what had happened. "Well, Child, tell me what this storm is all about."
"Uncle, I haven't been a Child for a long time." Catelyn slowly recounted everything: Lysa's letter, Bran's fall, the assassin's dagger, Littlefinger, all the way to Catelyn's encounter with Tyrion Lannister at the Crossroads Inn, and how The Imp was abducted.
Ser Brynden's eyebrows furrowed more and more as he listened; the amount of information was somewhat beyond Ser Brynden's capacity to process.
"You said you kidnapped The Imp, but you failed," Brynden couldn't help but ask.
"Yes, Uncle. Everything was perfect, but I didn't expect a group of Mercenaries calling themselves wildlings to take him."
"Have you considered that if Sansa and the prince marry, The Imp is also Sansa's uncle, and The Imp is Lord Tywin's son?"
"I know, but he is the murderer who harmed my son. If I bring him to The Eyrie, then everything will come to light."
"Who said that?"
"Petyr."
Brynden looked at his niece, and a bell seemed to hum in his mind. Such foolishness and recklessness, this kind of behavior.
The game of power is not fun, especially when it requires carefulness. Tywin is such a proud man; he will surely act ruthlessly.
"Your father must know about this. If Lannister sends troops, Winterfell is too far, The Eyrie is across mountains, and Riverrun will bear the brunt." Brynden remained silent for a long time before speaking slowly.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Catelyn admitted. "As soon as we reach The Eyrie, I'll immediately ask Maester Colemon to send a bird with a message." She also had other messages to send; Eddard had instructed her to inform the Lords, ordering them to prepare defenses for the North. "What is the situation like in The Vale of Arryn?"
"Everyone is indignant," Ser Brynden said, mainly about the matter of the warden of the east. This position was given to Lannister, and the vale men felt deeply insulted, believing it insulted their beloved Old Jon. As for Lord Arryn's cause of death, everyone suspected it, but no one dared to speak out.
There were also issues with the heir and Lysa's marriage. The current Lord Arryn was only six years old, constantly sick, and would cry if his doll was taken away. Lady Lysa also had a substantial dowry, and now The Eyrie was crowded with suitors, as numerous as crows on a battlefield.
Catelyn felt that she already knew all these things her uncle was talking about; it was just the caution of an elderly person.
"I should have known," Catelyn said. This information was not surprising; Lysa was still young, and The Vale of Arryn was the most substantial dowry. "Will Lysa remarry?"
"She agrees, as long as the right person is found," Ser Brynden said, "but she has refused Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitors. She has sworn publicly that this time she will choose her own husband."
"Others might, but you, at least, shouldn't blame her."
Ser Brynden snorted. "I don't blame her either, but... in my opinion, Lysa is just putting on an act. Although she enjoys the game of being courted, I believe your sister intends to govern herself until her son grows up and becomes the true Lord of The Eyrie."
Regarding matters in the Vale, Ser Brynden knew far more than Catelyn, who was an outsider. Human nature has always been fickle.
"Women can rule as wisely as men," Catelyn said.
"Only the right women can," Ser Brynden glanced at her, but in his heart, he disagreed. Why was his niece still so naive?
From Lysa's youth, she was not a suitable ruler. "Catelyn, don't be mistaken, Lysa is not you."
Ser Brynden hesitated for a moment. "To be honest, I'm afraid you'll find that your sister's help... is not as much as you imagine."
Catelyn was stunned. "What do you mean?"
Ser Brynden couldn't help but talk about the past; the different marriages of the two sisters also put them in very different situations.
Although both their marriages were politically motivated, Lysa, having lost her virginity and suffered a miscarriage, could only be given to Old Arryn, who had lost two wives.
"Your marriages started from the same point, but your fortune was much better than hers. She had two Children who didn't survive birth, went through four miscarriages, plus Lord Arryn's death... Catelyn, the Gods only gave Lysa one Child, and now she lives only for him. Poor Child.
No wonder she preferred to flee rather than see her son raised by House Lannister. Child, your sister is very afraid now, and what she fears most is Lannister. She snuck out of The Red Keep like a night thief and ran back to The Vale of Arryn, all to rescue her son from the lion's mouth... and now you've brought the lion to her doorstep," Ser Brynden said.
Catelyn shifted uneasily. Even if she were dumber, she would feel things slowly changing. But, but she had acted because of Lysa's letter.
"Although the dwarf ran away. But House Lannister murdered no one else but her husband, and she was the one who wrote to warn us."
"The Blackfish" Ser Brynden smiled tiredly at Catelyn. "Child, I hope you are right." He sighed, his tone implying strong disagreement.
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