Littlefinger's Ruin

The Vale's Small Council was shrouded in a tense atmosphere. The long table was filled with lords and knights dressed in various heraldic garments, while Petyr Baelish, standing at the head of the table, was fiercely refuting Jon's accusations.

"My lords, hear me out! This entire thing, from beginning to end, is slander! It is a vicious rumor spread by that bastard who calls himself Jon Targaryen!"

Petyr's fingers tapped lightly on the smooth oak tabletop, producing a soft, rapid sound, as if keeping time for his own words.

His gaze swept across every face present, trying to glean a glimmer of support from those expressions that were solemn, doubtful, or indifferent.

Although Jon's army has not yet set foot in the Vale and the Blood Gate remains as formidable as ever, Jon's offensive is not one of swords and spears, but rather a plague-like infiltration of public opinion into every hall and tavern.

Aemon, the old maester of the Citadel, publicly acknowledged Jon's identity.

"Maester Aemon— " Petyr's lips curled into a mocking smile as he mentioned the name, "... a respectable elder, yes. But the elderly are prone to clouding their judgment and are more easily—coerced." He paused deliberately, letting the word "coerced" echo in the silent hall. "A vague feeling of blood ties," taken as irrefutable evidence? Gentlemen, when did we Vale people become so gullible?"

However, this was merely the prelude to Jon's propaganda offensive. Petyr knew perfectly well that Aemon's endorsement was just an appetizer; Jon's real target was Petyr Baelish himself, his reputation, his position, and his seemingly secure foothold in the Vale.

"The most absurd accusation," Petyr raised his voice, a mixture of anger and grievance flashing across his face at just the right moment, "Is that I seduced ' Lady Lysa '!" He turned around, his gaze instantly softening as he looked at Lysa Arryn, who sat a little behind him on his right. The former Tully lady, now the widow of the Duke of the Vale, was gazing at him intently, her eyes filled with dependence and adoration.

"Lysa and I," Petyr's voice deepened, filled with emotion, "our bond is genuine and has stood the test of time. How could that bastard raised in the North possibly understand? He has smeared our pure feelings as seduction," his heart is despicable! This is clearly a divisive tactic. Even a mighty army cannot shake the Blood Gate, so they resort to such vile means to undermine the unity of our Vale from within!"

Two blushes rose on Lysa's pale face. She nodded vigorously, her voice weak but firm. "Petyr is right—we truly love each other." Her eyes held a naive pleading as she looked at the crowd, hoping they would understand this "love."

But Jon Snow's rumors went far beyond that.

News kept coming from Riverrun, from the North, and from the Riverlands: Petyr had been immoral since his time as an adopted son of Hoster Tully; he had not only seduced Lysa, but had also boasted that he had taken Catelyn Tully's virginity; he was even accused of instigating Lysa to poison her husband, former Hand of the King Jon Arryn.

As for his seduction of Selyse, that was common knowledge; otherwise, how did he lose his leg?

Each accusation was enough to ruin a nobleman's reputation. Petyr knew this all too well. Edmure Tully had publicly declared his separation from Lysa; the young King in the North, Robb Stark, had even threatened to cut off Littlefinger's tongue himself. Pressure was mounting from all sides.

"About Lady Catelyn— " Petyr sighed, his expression a mixture of reminiscence and deep regret, "Yes, I admired her in my youth, a pure and beautiful feeling that every young man has. But I swear on my honor, I have never, and could never, utter such vulgar and blasphemous words!" His gaze sharpened, sweeping over the Vale Catelyn present. "This is utter fabrication!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Varys standing silently in the shadows. A barely perceptible, ironic smile seemed to be playing on the corners of his mouth.

Varys's soft, smooth voice rang out at just the right moment, breaking the brief silence.

"My lords," he bowed slightly, a professional yet enigmatic smile on his face, "Please allow me, a humble man who served four kings and was in charge of intelligence, to say a few words. As far as I know, during my years in King's King's Landing, I have never heard Petyr utter such—disrespectful remarks, and he has always maintained due respect for Lady Catelyn."

Petyr felt somewhat relieved and gave Varys a grateful look, even though he knew that behind this "gratitude" lay a naked bond of interests. Varys needed him to maintain order in the Vale, to restrain or even utilize Lysa's influence, and to help Young Griff's court establish itself there.

"As for the plot to murder Lord Jon Arryn— " Petyr steered the conversation toward a more dangerous territory, his voice growing even more somber, "It was the greatest insult to Lysa! Lysa was kind-hearted, she wouldn't even harm a little bird, how could she plot against her own husband? The traitor— Arryn was already old, even a cold could have been fatal. He betrayed the Targaryen, his sudden death is a punishment from the gods!"

He spoke passionately, attempting to move Young Griff with his emotions.

He subtly flattered her.

"And those accusations that I instigated the Usurper King to murder Eddard Stark and that I intended to assassinate Bran Stark to incite war—" Petyr spread his hands, making a gesture of utter injustice and helplessness, "Are utter nonsense! What grudge do I hold against the House Stark? I grew up in Riverrun, and I'm like siblings to Catelyn and Lysa. Eddard Stark is Catelyn's husband; I respect him above all else! All these atrocities were committed by the Mad King Joffrey and his mother Cersei. What do they have to do with me? My only love is Lysa; otherwise, I wouldn't have proposed to her the moment I became regent, vowing to spend the rest of my life protecting her and her son Robin!"

He then turned his gaze to Lysa, Lysa immediately returned his gaze with a moved, tearful look. This "deeply affectionate" performance somewhat mitigated the negative impression brought about by the accusations.

Varys was once again in the spotlight. Many knew of his power in King's Landing. Varys inwardly cursed Petyr for his cunning, tossing this hot potato back to him once more. His face remained calm as he added softly, "Decisions made during the reign of the Usurper King Joffrey —often stemmed from his own cruel nature, or were instigated by Queen Cersei. Petyr, as Master of Coin, is primarily responsible for the treasury; his influence over the Red Keep Guard and the executioners is limited." It was another vague statement, but generally oriented in Petyr's favor.

As Varys spoke, he observed coldly to himself. He knew better than anyone how much excrement and urine Petyr had under his buttocks.

He seduced Lysa, plotted to murder Arryn, boasted about Catelyn, stirred up trouble in front of Joffrey, and even had a shadowy presence behind Bran's assassination attempt—this lowly reptile would stop at nothing for power.

But now, Young Griff's court is new and its foundation is not yet solid. It needs Petyr's network and influence in the Vale, and it needs him to keep Lysa and the Vale lords who still recognize House Arryn as their lords in check. This is a cancer, but it must be kept for now.

Petyr felt somewhat relieved upon hearing Varys's support. His previous schemes—quickly pledging allegiance to Young Griff, exploiting Lysa's infatuation to marry her swiftly, and firmly securing custody of Robin Arryn as her "stepfather" and "regent"—were all on his mind.

He proclaimed himself "Guardian of the Vale"—all of this was to accumulate enough leverage in the chaos of the world, making himself an indispensable pawn. He was betting that Young Griff. and Connington needed him, at least for now.

The long defense was finally drawing to a close. Petyr concluded, "So, gentlemen, see through Jon's sinister intentions. Unable to defeat us militarily, he tries to corrupt us with lies and slander, to make us distrust one another, and to cause our collapse from within. We Vale people have always been known for our honor and unity; we must not fall for his tricks!"

The hall fell silent. Petyr's speech was undeniably brilliant, full of emotion, logically clear, and corroborated by Varys's indirect testimony.

But once the seeds of doubt are sown, they are difficult to eradicate completely.

Many nobles looked on with mixed feelings. They might not believe all the accusations, but Jon's large-scale and targeted propaganda campaign was certainly not without reason. Who in the Seven Kingdoms didn't know Littlefinger's reputation? He was shrewd, cunning, ambitious, and would stop at nothing to rise to power.

Seated in the main seat was Young Griff, with silver-gold hair and purple eyes, his handsome face radiating composure. He listened quietly to Petyr's statement and Varys's additions, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the carved armrests of his chair.

After a long silence, Young Griff spoke, his voice clear and resonant. "Petyr."

Petyr immediately turned around, faced the "true king" he had bet on, and bowed slightly.

"You were one of the first lords of Westeros to swear allegiance to me," said Young Griff Younger, his purple eyes fixed on Petyr. "Your abilities and—your loyalty—I have seen them. Jon's accusations, at this moment, seem to lack any conclusive, irrefutable evidence. Therefore, I, as your king, will not punish a meritorious subject based solely on rumors."

Petyr felt a sense of relief, almost letting out a long breath. He had gambled correctly; Young Griff would at least outwardly maintain the image of a "just and wise" monarch and wouldn't easily harm him.

"Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty!" Petyr's voice was filled with gratitude. "I will do my utmost to help Your Majesty restore the Targaryen Dynasty— "

"However," Young Griff changed the subject, interrupting Petyr's pledge of loyalty, "You are surely aware of the current situation."

Although we have established ourselves in the Vale, we are surrounded by powerful enemies. Jon holds the North and the Riverlands, threatening the Crownlands; the Lannister in the Westerlands have an ambiguous stance; and the Stormlands are also hostile. The military pressure is increasing daily.

Petyr's heart pounded again, a vague sense of foreboding creeping in.

"We need the best generals to lead the army and prepare for a potential major battle." Young Griff's gaze swept over Earl Jon Connington, sitting to his left, tall and resolute-faced. "Earl Connington is a veteran of countless battles, loyal and valiant, and was a close friend and trusted advisor to my father, Prince Rhaegar. His military talent is beyond question."

Connington straightened up, his expression solemn.

Young Griff continued, "Therefore, I have decided that, in order to better integrate the military forces of the Vale and meet the challenges ahead, the duty of 'Guardian of the Vale ' will temporarily be assumed by Earl Connington."

These words caused a slight commotion in the hall. Petyr's face turned pale instantly, and although he tried his best to control himself, his fingers still trembled slightly.

Guardian of the Vale! This title, which he had painstakingly crafted and even self-proclaimed, a title representing supreme command of the Vale's military forces, was simply taken away so easily?

"Of course," Young Griff. added, seemingly oblivious to Petyr's momentary lapse in composure, "Petyr, you remain the guardian of the Duke of the the Eyrie, and the the Eyrie's direct army and affairs are still under your command. You remain an important member of the Small Council, and your wisdom and experience are indispensable to me."

This was a consolation prize. The Eyrie's army was indeed elite, but its numbers were limited. How could it compare to the "Guardians of the Vale," who were about to integrate the entire Vale's forces? Petyr felt a strong sense of frustration and anger churning in his chest. He had painstakingly planned everything, only to have Young Griff arrive with his Golden Company and the aura of the "True King," and easily take it all away.

He glanced at Connington, whose face was expressionless but whose eyes were resolute, though he was past his prime.

Petyr glanced at the other high-ranking officials around Young Griff: Varys's gaze was lowered, as if nothing concerned him; while Governor Illyrio's plump face carried a subtle, almost imperceptible, shrewd calculation typical of a merchant.

Petyr understood that this was a collective decision, or rather, a decision made by Young Griff under the influence of Connington and others.

They need a reliable general, not a treasurer known for his cunning, to command the army.

Moreover, Petyr sadly realized that he was powerless to resist.

Young Griff's appointment as "Guardian of the Vale" is more convincing than his initial self-appointment; the Golden Company's tens of thousands of elite troops are a real military backing.

Young Aegon Targaryen's lineage and charisma attracted many Vale Knights to pledge their allegiance directly.

As one side gains while the other loses, his own influence is being slowly and steadily eroded.

Taking a deep breath, Petyr forced himself to offer a polite, even subservient, smile. He bowed again, his voice steady. "Your Majesty has considered this carefully, prioritizing the greater good. I have long heard of the Earl of Connington's abilities; with him leading the army, victory is assured. Whatever helps Your Majesty eliminate the rebels and restore the land, I, Petyr Baelish, will fully cooperate without hesitation."

"Very good." Young Griff nodded in satisfaction, a slight smile appearing on his face. "Petyr's loyalty and consideration for the greater good are gratifying. Rest assured, when I reclaim the Iron Throne and pacify the Seven Kingdoms, the position of Warden of the Vale will be returned to its rightful owner."

An empty promise. Petyr sneered inwardly. What then? Who knows how the situation will turn out then?

As for the Dragon Queen, "He knew he had definitely been tricked."

Moreover, "returning the item to its rightful owner"?

Petyr's keen intuition told him that he was beginning to teeter on the edge of danger.

It felt like a net was closing in on me from all directions.

Now that Young Griff is suspicious of him and Jon wants his head, he has no choice but to choose the lesser of two evils and slowly plot his revenge.

The situation shouldn't have been like this; he had thought that Young Griff would bring Daenerys and her dragons, and that they would achieve a crushing victory.

I was tricked from the very beginning.

Should I not have killed Stannis?

The meeting also discussed some other matters, but Petyr was already preoccupied.

Jon —the source of it all. His propaganda campaign was precise and ruthless, striking almost every vulnerability he encountered. How did he know so many details?

Petyr carefully recalled his limited encounters with Jon.

The first time was in King's Landing, not long after Jon had conquered the Red Keep. That young man had the appearance of House Stark, but his cunning far surpassed that of Eddard.

At the time, he thought Jon was just a lucky bastard warlord and tried to test, win him over, or even use him. Jon seemed very interested in him and asked him many questions. He even thought Jon was just a warrior.

"I like killing in my dreams—" Petyr muttered to himself, recalling some strange remarks Jon had made in King's Landing. At the time, he had thought it was just a young man being mysterious, but now he realized that chilling killing intent might have always been there. It was just that he was still useful then, and could be used to deal with House Tyrell, so he hadn't made a move.

He still had the the Eyrie, Lysa —that foolish woman—who remained devoted to him, and Robin, the nominal Duke of the Vale. He still had a chance—

Shortly after the meeting ended, Patchface arrived at the Vale after a long journey.

Shireen, now a lady-in-waiting in Young Griff's court, was startled when Patchface was led into the hall. Shireen Young Griff nearly dropped the silver jug. Her blue eyes, which appeared even larger due to her thinness, widened as she stared incredulously at the familiar figure.

Patchface also saw Shireen. His little princess, once the jewel of Dragonstone, was now dressed in a simple maid's dress, thin and pale, only her clear blue eyes remained unchanged.

His Patchface and dim eyes instantly filled with heartache and sorrow, but he forced himself not to lose his composure. This was not the place for reminiscing.

He nodded very slightly, almost imperceptibly, to Shireen, his cloudy eyes conveying comfort and the joy of reunion. Then, facing the seated Young Griff, he knelt down solemnly and with some difficulty to pay his respects.

"Your Majesty," Patchface's voice was somewhat hoarse, but no longer carried the feigned madness of his past, "I have come from Dragonstone on Jon's orders to bring you a letter and a message."

Young Griff leaned forward slightly, looking at the old man with great interest. "Jon has something to say to me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Patchface took a letter sealed with three-headed dragon wax from his bosom and presented it with both hands. Shireen immediately stepped forward, took the letter, and her fingers trembled slightly the moment they touched the parchment.

She carefully removed the sealing wax, unfolded the letter, and then handed it to Young Griff.

Throughout the entire process, her gaze remained lowered, but everyone could sense the turmoil within her.

Young Griff unfolded the letter and quickly scanned it. Illyrio, standing beside him, eagerly asked, "Old man, what message did Jon ask you to deliver?"

Ignoring the arrogance in Illyrio's tone, Patchface kept his eyes down and calmly replied, "Jon proposes that Your Majesty temporarily set aside the dispute over the ownership of the Iron Throne."

He assured us that if we intended to take over the Crownlands territory, he would not send troops to stop us.

"What?" Illyrio's fat face contorted into an exaggerated sneer. "Take over the Crownlands? Everyone knows the Crownlands is a mess right now! Dragonstone is in his hands, Harrenhal is occupied by his people, and the Stormlands are just to the south! Do they think we're fools?"

He turned to Young Griff, excitedly plucking a yellow beard hair from his brow. "Your Majesty, these conditions are utterly insincere! Unless he withdraws from Harrenhal and returns Dragonstone to us, there is no point in even discussing this!"

Patchface waited until Illyrio finished speaking before calmly replying, "Your Excellency, I am merely a messenger courtier, not a courtier or advisor to Jon. My other personal reason for this trip is simply to implore His Majesty to allow this old man to continue to stay by Miss Shireen's side and care for her." His gaze earnestly fell upon Young Griff, then quickly swept over Shireen, whose eyes were already moist.

Although there were no slaves in Westeros, Patchface believed that since he had been bought by the Duke of Stephen, Shireen's grandfather, he should serve him.

These candid words left Illyrio speechless, who had originally wanted to continue applying pressure and probing for more information. It was like punching cotton; talking to him about negotiation terms would be like casting pearls before swine.

Moreover, he addressed Jon without any title, which didn't offend them.

Young Griff had finished reading the letter. He looked up, but instead of responding to Illyrio immediately, he glanced at Patchface and then looked back at Celine, who was standing to the side, nervously clutching the Shireen of her dress.

The natural and deep bond between Shireen and Patchface is evident. Young Griff had heard Shireen briefly recount her past and knew that this old jester was one of the few sources of warmth and companionship she had during her lonely years on Dragonstone.

"Patchface," Young Griff said calmly, "If you're willing to stay and keep Shireen, I grant your request."

Shireen and Patchface looked up almost simultaneously, their faces beaming with barely suppressed surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Your Majesty!" they said in unison, Shireen's voice choked with emotion, while Patchface bowed his head deeply once more.

"Your Majesty," Varys, who had been observing silently, suddenly spoke softly, "That letter—may I have the honor of seeing it?"

Perhaps we can glean some of His Majesty Jon's true intentions from this.

Young Griff gestured for Shireen to hand the letter to Varys, Varys took it and read it quickly and carefully.

Aside from the message being relayed, the letter mainly describes the strange occurrences in the North —the increasingly long winters, the eerie news coming from beyond the Wall, and the recent large-scale southward migration of the Free Folk.

In his letter, Jon reiterated that "the Long Night is coming, and the White Walkers are the common threat to all mankind," and made it clear that after handling some necessary matters, he would personally travel north to the Wall.

As Varys read, his smooth face remained expressionless, but deep within his pale purple eyes gleamed thoughtfulness. He recalled how Jon had used him to send a large amount of supplies to the Wall during King's Landing, and at that time he felt that Jon Snow seemed to have an extraordinary concern for the Wall.

In retrospect, this was by no means a spur-of-the-moment decision. A clever man who could sweep across much of Westeros in such a short time, and who had the old maester Aemon publicly endorse him, was so fixated on the legends of the Wall and the North, even willing to propose a truce for them—

What does this mean? Varys doesn't believe Jon is acting solely out of morality or a sense of honor.

Therefore, there is only one possibility: the situation on the other side of the Wall may be far more serious than the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms imagine, so serious that even Jon, a potential contender for the Iron Throne, believes it is necessary to temporarily set aside the conflict to deal with it.

Varys handed the letter to Earl Connington beside him, then turned to Young Griff and said in his characteristically soothing, gentle voice, "Your Majesty, Jon mentioned the Wall and the White Walkers in his letter—though it sounds like ancient legend, the tension in the North seems genuine; there may indeed be pressure from the North. Most of the Northern Army at the the Neck has already withdrawn."

He paused slightly, gathering his thoughts. "In my opinion, perhaps we could agree to his offer first. Even if, as Crownlands Illyrio says, the royal domains are a burden, we have no choice but to accept them. Your Majesty, consider this: Jon now holds five of the Seven Kingdoms and has the open support of Maester Aemon. If we dare not even take over the Crownlands that are nominally Targaryen and now appear to be 'ownerless,' what will the Vale knights who have just pledged allegiance to us, and the lords who are still observing, think? They will doubt our strength and resolve. Taking over the Crownlands, even if it's only nominal and partial control, is crucial to consolidating the legitimacy of your reign."

Illyrio opened his mouth to retort, but upon hearing "legitimacy" and "the observing princes," he swallowed his words.

Earl Connington had also finished reading the letter. His brow furrowed, he said in a deep voice, "The letter mentions intelligence about the Wall, the veracity of which is unknown. Jon is a cunning military strategist, and we must be wary. His proposal for a truce might be to free up resources to address issues at home, or it could be a trap. However, Lord Varys is also right; we must take the Crownlands, for they are the foundation of the Targaryen Dynasty. While he offers no resistance, we should first establish a foothold, consolidate our forces, and simultaneously strengthen our reconnaissance to ascertain his true intentions and the situation in the North."

Varys added, "Furthermore, Your Majesty, this truce is also a valuable opportunity for us. We can use this time to send envoys to the Free Cities Essos to seek more support. The Golden Company is our cornerstone, but to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms, we need more ships, more troops, and more Gold Dragon."

He and Illyrio had originally planned to set out to seek allies, but were interrupted by Jon's sudden media offensive. Now that Jon intended to go to the Wall, they could go to the Free Cities with relative peace of mind.

After listening to the analysis of the two senior ministers, Young Griff's young face showed a thoughtful expression.

He understood that accepting the Crownlands or not, and responding to Jon's offer, were both matters of conflicting interests. But as a king aspiring to the Iron Throne, he could not show cowardice or back down.