Petyr Baelish smiled warmly and said softly, " Cat, it's windy in here, let's go sit down over there and talk."
He pointed to another part of the room, where there was an exquisite little round table and several comfortable-looking chairs.
Catelyn didn't refuse; as they walked, she said, "You really should experience the chill of Winterfell."
Petyr's eyes flickered slightly as he watched Catelyn's retreating figure, stroking his meticulously groomed mustache.
Is Eddard Stark really dead? Based on the information he's gathered, he can't confirm it yet... Since his body hasn't been found, Petyr thinks it's more accurate to say he's missing.
Petyr guessed... that "deeply loyal" "good friend" must know the answer, or rather, he secretly intervened to save the Direwolf... If he guessed right... ah, what an enviable favor.
But for now, everyone believes that the Direwolf has died in the riot in King's Landing, which is good!
Petyr picked up the jewel-encrusted gold jug and, as he poured wine, said, " Cat, I think your son's declaration of kingship is a good thing for you."
When Catelyn heard Petyr address her, her brow furrowed slightly involuntarily, but she didn't correct him; it was a trivial matter compared to what they were talking about.
Petyr poured the wine, gracefully gestured for him to continue, and said, "Given the current situation, your son needs his family's support more than ever..."
He gently swirled the golden goblet in his hand, then continued, " Lysa is the mistress of the Vale, but more importantly, she is your son's aunt."
As he spoke, Petyr shrugged and continued, "Family, responsibility, honor—family is definitely more reliable than outsiders."
Catelyn was intrigued, but her voice held a stubborn edge. " Petyr, tell me, did Lysa really do that? You know which one I'm referring to!"
Petyr's grey-green eyes stared directly at Catelyn. They stared at each other for a moment, then he chuckled.
Seeing that Catelyn was about to get angry, Petyr explained, "I feel more like Tully than you... you've become a stubborn Stark."
"What do you mean?"
Petyr sighed, his eyes gazing out the window, his expression filled with reluctance. " Cat, let's put aside Jon's murder for now... We all know Lysa's marriage was unhappy, we all remember what Lysa used to be like. Who do you think is the direct killer of Lysa in her current state?"
Petyr turned to Catelyn: "Didn't Jon Arryn cause all of this himself?"
He confessed! Lysa had indeed poisoned her husband! Catelyn's heart skipped a beat. Her hand trembled as she picked up her glass, trying to mask her panic with alcohol.
Petyr's eyes flickered slightly, and the corners of his mouth curled up almost imperceptibly.
He spoke slowly, "I will help you persuade Lysa to make the Vale submit to the King in the North."
Can Lysa still represent the entire Vale? No, the Vale's Declaration of Lords Declarant will not recognize her rule.
What was Petyr's purpose? His purpose was to use external forces to undermine the Declaration of Lords Declarant.
Petyr chuckled, his tone mocking. "Do you really want to send your own sister to the guillotine? For that dead Jon?"
Catelyn suddenly stared at Petyr and said, " Littlefinger, what do you want?"
Petyr answered Catelyn's question quickly, as if he had already prepared the answer.
"Peace in the Vale."
Catelyn took a sip of her drink, her gaze mocking. " Petyr, we know each other. I want you to tell me the truth."
Petyr's embarrassment at being seen through so easily was evident, and he scratched his head like he did when he was a child.
Catelyn gave a cold, smirking look and pressed, "Tell me the answer."
Catelyn could see that Petyr was trying to remain calm. He moved his lips, took a breath, and said, "I think... the Stark King will need a Hand of the King."
Having said that, Petyr had already resumed his usual elegant demeanor.
He muttered helplessly, "You really haven't changed; you're still as amazing as ever."
Catelyn scoffed and said, " Petyr, don't forget I'm the older sister who watched you grow up."
Catelyn believed she could see through Littlefinger's "scheme," but is Littlefinger still the same Littlefinger she thought he was?
In fact, Petyr had already given the real answer: what he wanted was "stability" in the Vale, not the Hand of the King. This was just an answer he wanted Catelyn to come to herself; his sincerity was evident.
Catelyn then asked, "Will you marry Lysa?"
" Cat, you know how I feel..." Petyr stopped speaking when he saw Catelyn's face turn cold.
After a moment of silence, under Catelyn's gaze, Petyr gave a bitter smile and said, "My fief is nothing more than the smallest rocky piece of land in the Fingers. Given my status... anyone can see that this is impossible."
He added, "We're childhood friends, and I'm helping as a friend. You could think of me as a Maester who can't forget his wonderful childhood memories... well, a Maester's helping Lysa get over her trauma."
Catelyn couldn't help but scoff, "Help the Maester on the bedside table?"
Some parts of the Eyrie are prone to creating loud echoes, Petyr chuckled and shrugged. "Perhaps you could try to pity me."
Catelyn had to admit... her younger sister was lacking a bit of feminine charm these days... She turned her head away and sipped her drink.
Catelyn put down her glass, cleared her throat, and asked, "What do you plan to do?"
"Although Lysa was rude to you, she needs her sister very much, and I believe she will get better..."
Petyr said solemnly, " Cat, I will do my best to persuade Lysa to allow me to present your personal letter to our King in the North."
Looking at the earnest Petyr, Catelyn said directly, " Petyr, I don't want to deceive you. The Hand of the King needs the King's trust, not the recommendation of a Queen Mother."
"I'll do my best, thank you, Cat."
Back in his study, Petyr stood quietly for a moment before walking to the bookshelf and pulling out an envelope he had hidden very well—a letter sealed with gold ink.
Crackclaw Point, Whispers, Lord's Dormitory.
" Gryn..."
" Gryn..."
" Gryn..."
Gryn, who was sleeping, suddenly opened his eyes, a cold glint in them. It was the same dream again!
Gryn sat on the bed and said, "Someone come here."
As Gryn spoke, the wooden door to the dormitory was quickly pushed open, and fully armed Mason Baker and his men strode in.
Gryn's gaze swept over them, and everyone straightened their backs.
"Any suspicious individuals who resist are to be killed on the spot."
To ensure the peaceful sleep of the honest and simple people of Crabb, Lord Gryn imposed a curfew shortly after assuming the title of Lord of Crabb, a curfew that has remained in effect ever since. Therefore, around Whispers, aside from the patrolling and sentry soldiers, everyone else is considered suspicious.
Mason Baker and the others replied in unison, "Yes, Lord Gryn!"
After everyone left the room, Gryn got off the bed, opened the narrow window of the dormitory, and the night breeze rushed into the room.
Outside the window, the full moon hung high in the sky. Gryn gazed at the hazy night sky, his mind replaying the scenes from his dream.
This is the third time... Gryn can only confirm that it's Daenerys's voice; the rest of the scene remains blurry.
Could it be Melisandre's magic? During his second dream, Gryn first suspected her, the Red Priestess priestess he had encountered at Dragonstone Castle.
Gryn would act on any suspicion he had, and he disliked magic because... he didn't know how.
Crabb's soldiers waited at their assigned locations for the campfire signal from Whispers.
Whether it's Shadow Magic or illusion magic, Gryn knows that the casters of these spells have certain distance limitations in this world (except for the Three-Eyed).
Tonight, Gryn had instructed his retainer, Knight Mason, to make preparations in secret. At his command, Crabb's soldiers would be mobilized to conduct a thorough search.
If it wasn't man-made magic, then what was it? Gryn wondered as he stepped forward and stood before the table covered with a map of Westeros.
Gryn could actually guess that the possibility of Melisandre being a spellcaster was very low, but he was cautious by nature and would not base everything on his own judgment. He would conduct a thorough investigation, eliminating suspects one by one until he found the final answer.
The question remains: if it wasn't man-made magic, then what was it? Why have I had the same dream for three consecutive days?
Unable to find an answer immediately, Gryn thought of other things... The Ice Greatsword was too big to carry around, so he needed a Valyrian Steel sword... Tob Mort, the Smith in King's Landing, knew how to reforge Valyrian weapons... Gryn pointed to the location of Claw Isle on the map.
As dawn broke, Sir Mason came to see Gryn.
"My lord, apart from a dozen or so poachers and smugglers, we haven't found anything else unusual."
Gryn hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly and said, "Thank you for your trouble, my loyal Mason."
Mason hesitated for a moment, then asked, "My lord, what should we do with these people?"
Let's handle this according to the laws of the territory.
After saying that, Gryn waved his hand.
After Mason left, Gryn leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes... Was it the call of the Targaryen dragons, or some kind of prophecy? Or perhaps...?
Flames raged 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 Gryn, her lips moving repeatedly—what was she trying to say?!
Finally, he heard it: Gryn... help me...
Gryn suddenly opened his eyes. It was already broad daylight, and the brilliant morning light streamed into the room through the narrow window.
The following day, the Mermaid, carrying Gryn and five Crabb warships, slowly departed Mermaid Harbor.
Essos, Viserys City-State.
Inside a room, Jon Snow, Little Gryphon., Rory sat together drinking, surrounded by empty jugs.
Rory and slurring his words, "On my sixteenth Name Day, my the Smith father... my father was famous for his weapons, and he forged a longsword for me. But a nobleman not only stole the sword my father had given me, but also insulted me... saying that my hands were unfit to wield a sword, only a hammer. I couldn't contain my anger, so I went home, grabbed a hammer, and broke both of that nobleman's arms and half his ribs."
Rory picked up his glass and took a big gulp, then said, "To escape the pursuit of the noble lord, I fled my hometown overnight, crossed the Narrow Sea, and came here to become a mercenary."
Finally, he added, "A mercenary with a sword in his hand."
Jon had drunk quite a bit, and the sight of Rory swaying in front of him made him dizzy. He knew it was his own fault; he had drunk too much.
Jon leaned against the wall, a pleased smile spreading across his face. " Rory, you're brave. You're a warrior."
Rory laughed for a while, then suddenly asked, " Little Gryphon, what about your story?"
Jon, his eyes still glazed, looked at Little Gryphon, whose face was flushed. His eyes seemed to have turned purple in the twilight, but he thought it was an illusion.
Little Gryn smiled and said, "My father also fled to Essos from the mainland across the strait. I grew up here, and my father doesn't like to talk to me about his youth."
He paused, then lowered his voice and continued, "Once, when my father was drunk, I learned that he had offended a family called the Lannister on the other side of the continent. It is said that the family is very powerful, and he had no choice but to flee."
Rory spoke up, "I know, the Lannister always pay their debts!"
Jon roared, "It's the Lannister again, damn them!"
Upon hearing this, Little Gryphon and Rory both looked at Jon was unusually angry.
Rory asked curiously, " Jon, it seems you harbor quite a grudge against the Lannister?"
After a moment of silence, Jon slowly nodded and said, "My family was almost harmed by the Lannister. I don't like them."
"Your family?"
Jon fell silent again. After a while, he finally spoke, "I misspoke. I am a bastard. How can a bastard have family?"
Rory patted Jon on the shoulder and said, "This isn't that damned Sunset Lands. Don't keep thinking about that. Once you become a mercenary, who cares about that? With your skills, you'll earn everyone's respect sooner or later."
Although Little Gryphon had also drunk quite a bit, his voice remained gentle. "This wasn't our own choice. If we could make our own choices, I don't think anyone would want to be born as an illegitimate child."
Rory nodded emphatically. "Yes, Little Gryphon is right. You should blame others, not yourself."
Jon's eyes were somewhat vacant, but he laughed heartily, "I understand."