"Petyr Baelish?!"
An irrepressible cry of shock sent the entire Moon Door Gardens into an uproar.
"Impossible!"
"I saw his head with my own eyes!"
"It's a ghost! Seven above, it's a spirit!"
Panic spread through the crowd like a plague.
The Vale nobles and soldiers who had just been trembling beneath the dragon's oppressive presence now looked at "Littlefinger" with even greater terror than they had felt at the sight of Winter.
To them, a dragon was a magical creature from legend, a distant and mighty power.
But Petyr Baelish was someone they had known in the flesh.
A dead man was now standing before them, very much alive.
That sight was far stranger, far more horrifying, than any magic!
Ser Marq Arryn's already pale face had lost every trace of color.
He stared fixedly at that faintly amused face, feeling his reason being torn apart piece by piece.
Lynn ignored the commotion around him.
He merely walked leisurely up to the masked White Walker and patted his shoulder affectionately, as though greeting an old friend he had not seen in years.
"Petyr, my friend."
"It seems these lords of the Vale have all but forgotten you."
"They've also forgotten just how much you and Lady Lysa sacrificed for the 'glory' of House Arryn."
The White Walker-or rather, "Petyr Baelish"-slowly turned around.
His gray-green eyes swept over every horrified face present, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a perfectly measured smile, one that seemed friendly yet chilled everyone to the bone.
"How could they forget?"
His voice was Littlefinger's own, with its slightly husky, resonant tone.
"I did so much for the Vale, for my dear Lysa. How could they possibly forget?"
"It was I..."
He raised a finger and lightly tapped his chest, the gesture elegant