Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story! Thank you! Pat**on : CaveLeather
Iron Islands.
Daeron stood on the cliffs while the Ironborn hacked at the few scraggly trees, every log earmarked for rebuilding the Iron Fleet.
"Prince, letter from Maester Aemon," Brynden said, jogging up with the scroll.
Daeron cracked the seal and read. He actually raised an eyebrow at Hoster Tully.
"The old bastard grew a spine and joined the rebels."
And he'd even blindsided the Lannister army camped outside Riverrun.
Was the weakest of the Great Houses—the Trout—really the natural counter to the Lion of the West?
Daeron's mouth curved in a smirk. He could picture his teacher Tywin's face right now.
Yeah… Tywin's battlefield talent really was nothing special.
"Prince, should we head back?" Brynden asked. His gray eyes flashed with that familiar "my brother is an idiot" frustration. He was already volunteering to ride north and smash the rebellion himself.
Daeron nodded. "I'll sail from Seagard back to King's Landing. You and the others return to the Reach with Lord Paxter, then push north light and fast."
He'd been making the round trip to King's Landing every two weeks lately.
His Dragon Language Farm didn't have a Junimo hut, so crops didn't harvest themselves. He had to go back personally, reap everything, buy new seeds, and replant.
Besides, the War of the Usurper was only about thirty percent done—King's Landing was probably a madhouse by now. He needed to check in before the whole place exploded from the inside.
"Got it. I'll tell the lords," Brynden said. The Blackfish was an impatient man; he couldn't wait to get home and deal with his stubborn older brother.
Daeron understood.
After all, who didn't have a brother who needed a good beating?
"Screee—!"
Caraxes glided overhead, his sharp dragon jaws clamped around a huge chunk of jelly-like flesh, chewing with loud, satisfying crunches.
It was a kraken.
Daeron stood on the high ground, looking down at the rocky beach.
The blue and black young dragons were tearing into another kraken, occasionally blasting it with dragonfire to cook it, then snapping at each other over the best pieces.
This thing was massive.
They'd found it hidden in a secret sea cave, tucked away in a dark water channel. Just the body was twenty meters long; its six sucker-covered tentacles stretched fifty meters.
Caraxes had fought it inside the cave for a while, finally burning through its tough hide with dragonfire and crushing the tentacles to finish the hunt.
Daeron had checked it himself.
The kraken wasn't one of the special fish from his Stardew Valley system, but it counted as a native special creature of Westeros—packed with ridiculous vitality.
The three dragons had been gorging on it for days and still weren't done.
"From now on we can explore the special creatures across the continents," Daeron thought. "Dragons' growth depends on plenty of vitality."
As the three dragons kept getting bigger, their diet had shifted to occasional special fish plus regular livestock.
That wasn't bad at all.
He couldn't slaughter the cows and sheep on his farm—they were his carefully tended special animals that he petted every day.
Now that they had experience hunting krakens, he could train the dragons to hunt on their own.
In the original story, Drogon had left Daenerys and survived by hunting alone, growing far faster than Rhaegal and Viserion.
---
Meanwhile, at the Eyrie.
Petyr Baelish had already met Lord Jon Arryn.
The Lord of the Eyrie was buried in work and had tasked his nephew Elbert with hosting the guest.
Maiden Tower.
Elbert settled Baelish in the chamber and said, "When Lysa arrives, she'll stay here too."
"Thank you, Ser Elbert," Baelish replied with a warm smile.
Given the marriage ties between House Tully and House Arryn, the two men chatted pleasantly enough.
Baelish expressed regret that he hadn't been able to deliver Lysa Tully to the Eyrie for a swift wedding with Elbert.
The excuse: the long journey and the loyalist armies watching made it too risky to travel with a lady.
"I completely understand, Baelish," Elbert said, sounding uninterested and showing no real annoyance.
He was already over forty and had been married once before.
But his wife had died in childbirth—mother and child both lost—so he was single again.
Baelish offered condolences and assured him, "Lysa's a good girl. We grew up together. I swear on my life she'll give you a healthy heir."
Elbert just smiled faintly.
Baelish let it drop and shifted to the situation in the Riverlands, expressing concern for the rebel cause.
In truth, he was lying through his teeth and hiding a lot.
Lysa couldn't come to the Eyrie—not just because of the risk.
She was pregnant.
About six months earlier, "the Wild Wolf" Brandon had ridden to Riverrun to finally wed Catelyn.
Everyone knew Littlefinger was obsessed with Catelyn.
So Petyr had drawn his sword and challenged Brandon to a duel, hoping to win back the girl he loved.
The dream was sweet. Reality was brutal.
Against the powerless Baelish, Brandon sliced open his chest with one swing and nearly killed him.
If Catelyn hadn't begged for mercy, Baelish would've died on the spot.
Watching the girl he loved marry another man, losing the duel, and only surviving because she pleaded on his behalf… Baelish snapped.
One night at a feast, still recovering from his wounds, Baelish got blackout drunk. Catelyn had servants carry him back to his room.
Lysa had long lusted after Baelish's body and sneaked into the chamber.
While he was unconscious, the two had very real, very passionate sex.
When Lord Hoster ordered Baelish to escort Lysa to the Eyrie, Lysa dropped the bomb—she was pregnant.
Lord Hoster nearly had a stroke.
He'd thought Rhaegar and Lyanna were bad enough, but his foster son and younger daughter had gone even further.
Still, Hoster didn't cancel the marriage alliance.
He had the maester brew moon tea and forced an abortion.
Lysa nearly died.
That was why she couldn't travel to the Eyrie.
Hoster's original plan had been to quietly ship his foster son Baelish back to the Fingers and cut all ties.
But Baelish, with his keen understanding of people, had fought for—and won—the chance to go to the Eyrie instead.
In his words: As long as House Tully kept quiet, no one would know about him and Lysa.
In wartime, a few private scandals shouldn't jeopardize the stability of the Four-Power Alliance.
He offered to go to the Eyrie as an envoy to reassure Lord Arryn and serve House Arryn.
Once Lysa recovered and could marry Elbert, he'd disappear quietly.
But until then, please give him a chance to make amends.
That was how Baelish ended up at the Eyrie.
"All right, get familiar with the place. If you need anything, send for me," Elbert said curtly. He'd changed a lot in the last six months—far quieter.
Baelish's eyes flickered as Elbert reached the staircase landing. Suddenly he asked, "I heard Ser Denys has been named deputy commander of the Vale army and is heading to the Riverlands?"
"What do you want?!" Elbert snapped, voice rising sharply, like someone had stepped on his tail.
Since returning from King's Landing, he couldn't stand hearing Denys's name.
Baelish's lips twitched in a quick smile that vanished just as fast. He asked in a puzzled tone, "You're Lord Arryn's heir—why aren't you going to the front lines instead of giving Ser Denys the chance?"
"You think I don't want to?" Elbert walked back, clearly agitated. "It's because I was wounded. My uncle ordered me to stay at the Eyrie to ensure nothing goes wrong."
Baelish smiled. "Keeping one heir close and sending the other to the front—very prudent."
"But have you heard the story of the farmer and his two sons?"
Bang!
Before he could finish, Elbert grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
"Let—let me go—" Baelish's face turned purple; he couldn't breathe, toes lifting off the floor.
Elbert said coldly, "Littlefinger, who gave you the nerve to provoke me?"
Did he really think Elbert couldn't see the deliberate stirring?
House Arryn wasn't full of fools.
Baelish was genuinely terrified. He struggled and gasped, "Please—let go—"
Every schemer feared real-world consequences more than anything.
Elbert waited until Baelish's eyes rolled back before releasing him. Baelish crumpled to the floor, gasping like a drowning man who'd just broken the surface.
"I—I was only trying to help you!" Baelish snarled in fear-fueled anger, trying to prove his innocence.
Elbert's face stayed blank.
Baelish rubbed his bruised neck, voice hoarse with resentment. "You're Lord Arryn's nephew, while I come from the poorest corner of the Fingers. I only became Lord Hoster's foster son through luck."
"Once I come of age I'll have to make my own way, but you—as Lord Arryn's heir—have a rival you can't ignore."
"In a way, our situations are the same."
He used his lowly birth to create sympathy.
Elbert dropped the cold stare and hauled him to his feet.
"Cough, cough, cough—" Baelish hacked, a clear five-finger bruise blooming on his neck, his voice raspy and swollen.
"Sorry. I lost my temper," Elbert apologized.
Baelish waved it off and said urgently, "You're Lysa's betrothed, and we share similar fates. I'll do everything I can to help you become the next Lord of the Eyrie."
"You can't even help yourself—what makes you think you can help me?" Elbert didn't hide his contempt.
Baelish tapped his temple and delivered the line: "Knowledge! Knowledge is power."
He laid out a plan.
Lord Arryn had kept Elbert at the Eyrie and sent Denys to the front—clearly favoring his nephew and not wanting him in danger.
But the downside was that if the war ended in victory, Denys would return triumphant and win the loyalty of half the Vale lords.
Elbert's position would become shaky.
Baelish suggested, "Since you're stuck in the rear anyway, why not ask Lord Arryn to put you in charge of Gulltown and the rebel army's supply lines?"
In any era, the man guarding the grain was important.
Elbert looked tempted for a second, then shook his head. "No, I have to stay at the Eyrie to look after my uncle. I can't leave."
"You can send someone," Baelish said smoothly. "You're the heir to the Eyrie. Surely you have a few trusted men."
Elbert looked embarrassed.
The noble sons he was close with were either already at the front or staying home. He had followers, but none worth trusting with something this big.
Baelish cleared his throat, straightened his back, and offered himself: "If you don't have anyone reliable, how about me?"
"You?" Elbert sounded skeptical.
Baelish answered proudly, "For years I handled all the accounts at Riverrun. Send me to Gulltown and you'll never have to worry about supplies again."
Gulltown—perfect.
The Vale's biggest port, unmatched trade power.
He could skim plenty of coin there.
Elbert thought it over and decided to give him a chance.
But not supply lines. He appointed Baelish as Gulltown's tax collector instead.
Just like Baelish had said—he was good with accounts.
Elbert left without another word.
"Another brute," Baelish muttered once the footsteps faded. He flicked his sleeve, face turning cold.
Brutes had their uses, though—their brains weren't very sharp.
He'd already earned the man's trust and was about to become Gulltown's tax collector.
Even if Lord Hoster threw him out later, he'd still have a solid future.
And in Gulltown… if the war turned a certain way—
There would be plenty to gain.