"Should I go see Brienne? She's still at the Gates of the Moon and refuses to leave," Sansa asked.
"You can, but not now. The Queen's sworn Kingsguard without cloaks are certainly trustworthy, but that 'Knight of Light'..."
Littlefinger tapped his temple a few times and gave a twitchy smile. "If she learns who you really are, it won't be long before all the people of the Seven Kingdoms know you're in the Vale.
And the Iron Throne still has a Lannister on it. What do you think they'll do, or how they'll respond?
Don't worry, the Vale's nobles are treating the uncloaked Kingsguard with the highest honors. She's doing very well right now."
"Mhm." Sansa nodded, reassured.
Littlefinger gently held a strand of the girl's auburn hair to his nose and inhaled deeply, sighing in satisfaction. "Now you see, don't you?
Though the Dragon Queen's time in Westeros has been brief, every one of her actions so far has won her the favor of the remaining honorable lords."
"Are there still honorable lords in the Seven Kingdoms?" Sansa sneered.
If they had any honor, they wouldn't have let her father die unjustly. If they had any honor, they wouldn't have turned a blind eye to the Freys' violation of guest rights.
"If none of them had honor, how would I have kept the title 'Defender of the Vale'?" Littlefinger said smugly.
His words seemed cryptic, but Sansa fell silent again.
After being caught kissing Sansa and then pushing Lysa Tully through the Moon Door, Littlefinger's control over the Vale had become shaky.
The six most powerful lords of the Vale even summoned their bannermen and formed the "League of the Just" to expel Littlefinger and reclaim custody of Robert Arryn.
Littlefinger first bribed a member of the League—Ser Lyn Corbray (who wasn't one of the six great lords)—and then invited the League to the Eyrie for negotiations.
Littlefinger was Lysa's husband, so technically the Eyrie was his home. That made it eligible for guest rights: one party hosting the other in their own house.
Ser Lyn Corbray pretended to be Littlefinger's fiercest opponent and, during the negotiations, acted enraged, drew his Valyrian steel ancestral blade Lady Forlorn, and feigned an attempt to kill Littlefinger.
This was a violation of guest rights—guests receiving hospitality cannot threaten or harm their host.
And Ser Lyn Corbray was one of the League's official representatives.
Thus, the entire League of the Just became guilty of violating guest rights.
How could they still claim to be the "Just"?
In this way, by exploiting the Vale's six lords' respect for honor, Littlefinger resolved the crisis with ease.
If the six lords had been replaced with Walder Frey, they would've turned the staged drama into a real slaughter and hacked Littlefinger to pieces on the spot.
As an extra note, the price of bribing Ser Lyn was a mix of gold dragons and a charming young boy—Lyn was gay, and Littlefinger owned the largest brothel chain in the Seven Kingdoms.
"The Targaryens won't spare the Starks."
Sansa clung tightly to Littlefinger's waist, her tears dampening his abdomen.
"Don't worry, my dear."
Littlefinger lovingly stroked her smooth back and smiled gently. "I already have a grand plan.
From the very beginning, I've been watching every move the Dragon Queen makes, yet I still can't see through her.
Either she's as deep and calculating as Tywin and the Queen of Thorns, or she's truly as upright, noble, and fearless as she appears—like Barristan or your father.
I never liked Tywin or Barristan."
"My father—"
"Your father was very upright. I truly wanted to help him. I advised him many times, but he wouldn't listen at all. Men with rigid principles and no flexibility are hard to deal with," Littlefinger sighed.
"What are you planning to do?" Sansa asked dully.
"Did you know that Rhaegar's son Aegon is still alive?" Littlefinger said with a wicked smile.
Sansa's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible. Tywin smashed him against the wall. Everyone knows that."
Littlefinger explained Aegon's situation in rough detail, then sighed. "Varys kept the secret well."
"How do you know something so classified?"
Sansa was first shocked, then remembered the three Cattblack brothers around Cersei (yes, the three brothers were Littlefinger's spies), and exclaimed, "Gods, you even have spies beside Daenerys?"
Littlefinger gave a calm smile. "I couldn't not pay attention to her. Unfortunately, she's not Cersei. The people I planted are only mid-ranking officers on Dragonstone. They can't get close enough to learn anything too sensitive.
Luckily, the Dragon Queen doesn't seem to want to keep Aegon's existence a secret. It makes sense—not something she could hide. The allied forces are watching Astapor closely. Aegon must have resumed his true identity in Slaver's Bay."
"But what does Aegon have to do with us?" Sansa asked again.
"Daenerys refuses to marry him or even break her vow for him. Yes, the vow that declared the 'one who ends the Long Night shall be king.'"
As he said this, Littlefinger wore a strange expression—part mocking, part confused. "I really wonder what's going on in her head. She actually believes there will be a Long Night?"
"Jon said there are White Walkers beyond the Wall. Old Nan used to tell us terrifying stories about the Long Night when we were kids," Sansa said.
Yes, even the Wall had sent a letter to the Eyrie.
To show proper respect to the Seven Great Dukes, it was written personally by Jon Snow, the Lord Commander himself.
Upon seeing that familiar handwriting, Sansa wept for her bastard brother for the first time.
"Heh... my sweet girl, you should really read more history books. The maesters have long seen through the tricks of the ancients."
Littlefinger's laugh was full of contempt and satisfaction.
"The most authoritative historical text in Westeros, The Truth of History (ps), thoroughly reconstructs the origins of the White Walkers and the Long Night.
The so-called White Walkers were merely an oddly-featured tribe of Free Folk from beyond the Wall—Sansa, if you've seen enough foreigners, you'd understand just how reasonable the maesters' theory is.
Take me, for example. I've worked in customs for years.
I've seen Ibbenese, covered in hair with short legs and long arms; Zebrani, with pointed heads and monkey-like builds; dark-skinned, shiny-haired people from the Summer Isles;
and the tall, pale-skinned Lorathi.
Even the Valyrians look different from ordinary folk—they're unusually refined in appearance."
The White Walkers are the same. Maybe they know magic, maybe they're cruel and bloodthirsty, but in the end, they are just humans—wildlings from beyond the Wall.
Thousands of years ago, they crossed the Wall, just like Mance Rayder did later, intending to raid the North during the winter.
That time, the North must have suffered greatly. The Northerners endured a brutal winter, and many people died.
Thus, the "Long Night" came to be spoken of among the survivors.
That winter had simply been too hard to survive.
And their descendants, in order to glorify the deeds of their ancestors, kept exaggerating the horrors of the White Walkers and the Long Night.
Eventually, the stories turned into the legends we have today."
"But there are also tales of the Long Night in foreign lands, like Azor Ahai," Sansa said hesitantly.
"If you think carefully about the legends from various regions, it seems that every people has a savior. In Hyrkoon, he's called Hyrkoon; in Yi Ti, he's Yi-Tar; in Nefer, he's Nefarion. All the names are different—because they were never the same person to begin with!
It's just like Daenerys, the so-called 'Dragon Queen.' Right now, she's famous throughout the world and has many titles: 'Mother of Dragons,' 'Khaleesi,' 'Dragon Witch,' 'Queen of Slaver's Bay,' and so on.
But no nation ever gets her name wrong.
The maesters have explained this clearly: when disasters strike, people start calling out for heroes. And every nation has experienced its own hardships—so, heroes arose in all those places.
Later, the Red Priests compiled all those stories together, creating the tale of the prophesied hero, as if it were a real piece of history.
To put it bluntly, the Church of R'hllor used the name of the 'Prince That Was Promised' to spread their faith. Right now, the High Sparrow in King's Landing is doing the exact same thing."
Littlefinger wore a confident expression, as if he saw through it all, and Sansa couldn't help but admire him.
He gently tapped Sansa's forehead and earnestly instructed, "Remember, read more books. We don't have dragons. We aren't unmatched in martial skill. We can only rely on wisdom.
And reading is the most effective way to broaden one's knowledge and enhance one's wisdom. The maesters—maybe they violated the guest right, but morality has nothing to do with intelligence."
"Just like me. I'm such a villain, yet I'm also the smartest," he said with a wicked grin, reaching out his hand.
"You're awful!" Sansa blushed, but didn't pull away.
Littlefinger let out a satisfied sigh and continued, "The knowledge of the maesters has been tested for a thousand years—it's reliable. The classics they've left behind are even more worthy of our serious study."
"I've heard Daenerys was always on the run since childhood. She never went to school or read any books," Sansa said with a smile.
"Exactly. She's illiterate!" Littlefinger said with a sudden realization.
Then he added, "But Aegon isn't. He had Maesters Clinton, Asshara, and Halton to teach him.
If I were him, knowing I couldn't count on my aunt for support, I would've returned to Westeros as soon as I tamed my dragon.
If I couldn't be the queen's husband, I'd become king myself.
First, I'd launch a surprise attack on the undefended Storm's End, gather the remaining loyalists of House Targaryen—Daenerys actually refused their allegiance outright. I really don't know what she was thinking."
With a sigh, Littlefinger continued his speculation: "With Jon Connington's network and abilities, Aegon should be able to take control of the Stormlands and make it his stronghold.
Then, he could fly to Dorne on dragonback and seek support from his uncle. After that, he could use the dragon to intimidate the Eyrie and force me to take sides."
Littlefinger shrugged, feigning helplessness but clearly pleased with himself. "What could I do? Against a dragon, the Eyrie would be nothing more than a target!
I'd have no choice but to join his royal cause and marry off my precious daughter to him. With the North, the Vale, the Stormlands, and Dorne—surely that would be enough to defeat the weakened lions and the wilting roses, wouldn't it?"
"Marriage…"
Sansa didn't react at first. But when she heard "the North," she realized that the one Littlefinger meant to marry off… was herself.
At this time, she was using the alias "Alayne Stone," Littlefinger's illegitimate daughter.
"You want me to marry Aegon?" she asked in disbelief.
"You don't want to?" Littlefinger replied.
"Would you?"
"Oh!"
"You have no idea how much I want to marry you. But I've already married Lysa. The power of the Vale concerns our future. Even though she's dead now, I still have to maintain appearances," Littlefinger said tenderly.
He had indeed once proposed to Tywin, asking him to let him marry Sansa.
It hadn't worked.
Now, he was confident that, just as he'd once controlled Lysa—who married Lord Jon Arryn—he could do the same with Sansa, who would marry Aegon.
He had made Lysa poison her husband.
And maybe he could…
(PS: The explanation by the maesters about the White Walkers and the Long Night isn't a fan theory—it comes straight from the original books.)
I forget if it's from The Truth of History or not, but the maesters did write a book explaining the truth behind the legends. It's very well-known and authoritative in Westeros because their explanations are scientific and follow the logic of the maesters.
—That the White Walkers are simply a tribe of uniquely-featured, magic-wielding wildlings.
Damn, and they actually came up with that.
(End of Chapter)
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