"For now, the Stag still enjoys an undefeated reputation," Petyr thought. "Lord Tywin won a battle at the Crossing, but what did he win? A pyrrhic victory. The Northerners are sacrificing their cannon fodder without a care for their lives."
Others might not know the truth of the Battle of the Crossing, but Littlefinger Petyr Baelish was quite aware. The winter wolf's cannon fodder unit achieved a terrifying casualty ratio, and severely dampened the Lannister army's morale.
"That cunning The Boy Blacksmith has ruined all my plans. But what is The Boy Blacksmith thinking now? Not heading south quickly." Petyr slammed his palm onto the map, right on the location of Harrenhal.
The war was about to enter a state of furious entanglement, surprising Petyr. Because the Kingslayer was gravely wounded, Riverrun was relieved, and Harrenhal was broken. Now, the forces of the fish, wolf, and Stag combined were even stronger than Tywin's, and they had the added bonus of victory morale.
The Boy Blacksmith solved the Northern Army's problems of lacking a grand general and insufficient finances. Gendry, as a renowned general of his time, selected the Northern Army's elites and suicide squads at Harrenhal, leading the main force. Meanwhile, the Young Wolf and Brynden, as the Northern Army's western front, confidently reinforced the Riverlands, plundering Lannister supplies and cutting off grain, which they did. And the adjacent Claw Peninsula was also stirring. The current situation had turned Tywin into the target of a pincer attack.
"How long can King's Landing hold?" Littlefinger looked again at the location of King's Landing. The Crownlands were roughly a semi-circle resembling a tiger's mouth, with King's Landing at its center. Once the Northern Army moved south and the Claw Peninsula erupted completely, and Renly and Stannis's armies moved north, King's Landing would be completely locked down.
The army led by The Boy Blacksmith consisted of a small portion of his own Two Cities army, followed by the forces of Bronze Yohn of the Vale, and the House Redfort army. Oh, and those loyal crabfeeders men.
"Bronze Royce, this man is always arrogant, and he's a Stark in-law. Oh, and House Redfort, I think the dream of marrying a princess has addled Lord Redfort's brain, after all, this is real tangible self-interest, marrying into the royal family." Petyr naturally knew these proud and rigid Vale Lords. Yohn Royce was constantly gathering support, always dissatisfied with that idiot Lysa, and now he had brazenly sent troops to Harrenhal. And Earl Morko Grafson of Gulltown and others had informed him many times.
"Hmph, let you all be smug for now, Yohn, Redfort. Don't think I have no friends in Gulltown or the Vale. Grafton, golden eagle Arryn, these are all my people."
"grain, it's grain." Petyr's gaze shifted to the north of the Crownlands. He carefully looked at the location of the Claw Peninsula.
The crabfeeders men were semi-savages, always known for their ferocity and barbarism. If the crabfeeders men stormed out and plundered the grain-producing areas of the Crownlands along the way, King's Landing would have no troops to defend it, and Lord Tywin would certainly not be able to disperse his forces again. The grain crisis in King's Landing would erupt even more fiercely. (In the original work, riots broke out due to grain shortages, attacking the king, the High Septon was torn apart, and Sansa was almost taken away.)
Petyr had already realized the greatest crisis facing King's Landing. If the crabfeeders men were to replicate Tywin's burning, killing, and plundering in the Riverlands once more in the Crownlands, then King's Landing would not be far from complete collapse; it would be a powder keg. Because more than half of King's Landing's grain came from Rosby and that idiotic lady's castle, it would only take a little push.
"No wonder this Bastard isn't flustered at all. His malice and ruthlessness far surpass Robert's. He's waiting for the three storms to wear each other down. No matter which of these two brothers wins, they will attack King's Landing. Even if they don't wear each other down, they will starve King's Landing into collapse." The more Petyr thought about it, the more frightened he became. King's Landing had always been an angry city, and its people even more so.
Even if The Imp's intelligence was exceptional, and he had a bug-like weapon like wildfire, he still couldn't solve the grain crisis and riots. It seemed the greatest chaos in King's Landing was imminent. When that time came, King's Landing would be completely turned upside down. Moreover, The Imp himself had a retreat plan; he wasn't completely trapped in King's Landing.
"Tyrell, no, the Tyrell army can't wait. Now House Martell's attitude is also ambiguous. Targaryen is Targaryen after all. Prince Doran's army is stirring, and Tyrell has to guard the mountain pass. There's no attitude of a large army moving north now, let alone time. And those idiots in Lys and Volantis, what are they thinking? Storms are raging, and these idiots are still electing and fooling around. They're a useless bunch, missing such a good opportunity to attack the Two Cities and the Stone Islands." Petyr thought angrily, then concluded that a choice had to be made now.
Whether to temporarily hide in the Vale and return to King's Landing, or to take Sansa Stark and wait for the great chaos in King's Landing.
Lothor entered the room, looking at the thin, small man with a pointed beard, whose formerly grey-green eyes were now filled with more contemplation than laughter.
"My Lord, you guessed correctly. There is a Braavosi ship, the 'titan', in the harbor, currently loading cargo onto small boats, preparing to depart."
"Very good. I will speak with the captain myself. If the wind is right, and the tide is right." Petyr made up his mind. He would make a show of leaving King's Landing until a small riot in King's Landing erupted again, benefiting him.
"Let these idiots tear each other apart in King's Landing, we're getting ready to leave," Petyr said. "As long as we're in the Vale, everything is safe and sound. In an age without dragons, The Eyrie is impregnable. Countless highly skilled generals have suffered great defeats in the Mountains of the Moon or before The Bloody Gate, who else can challenge it?"
Petyr believed that the most chaotic situation in the future would be the Northern Army moving south, Renly or Stannis moving north, and a great war unfolding around King's Landing and Harrenhal. But because of King's Landing's wildfire and riots, it was likely that no one would fare well. The civil war of the three storms, the lion's persistence, the Rose and Martell's mutual resentment, and the decisive battle between Lys and the Two Cities—chaos, greater chaos was coming. War was the melody of this era. It was a pity the Sealord of Braavos was in poor health, otherwise the Sealord would surely join this chaotic game.
But what did any of that have to do with him? He was already hiding in the warm and safe high castle, with The Bloody Gate closed. Everyone would have to curry favor with the power of the Vale, how wonderful.
"Be careful of the autumn storms, My Lord," Lothor suggested. Storms had to be watched out for. Autumn (usually lasting about a year) was a season of heavy rainfall, with rivers overflowing and even causing floods. Autumn downpours were so frequent that the difficulty and danger of navigation greatly increased.
"You're very thoughtful, but I have no choice. In King's Landing, there will be an even greater storm." Petyr smiled. Autumn naturally had the most storms.
"Who do you think has the biggest mouth in King's Landing?" Petyr asked Lothor.
"I thought it was the brothers of the Beggars Guild," Lothor replied.
"Exactly, but not just them. Besides them, there are also the whores; these women also spread a lot of information." Petyr smiled. "As for the brothers of the Beggars Guild, they are both bold and foul-mouthed. When The Imp was born, the Beggars Guild said it was Tywin putting his authority above the king, and the gods punishing him."
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