"Petyr Baelish?!"
A startled cry that couldn't be suppressed instantly detonated the silence in the Moon Garden.
"Impossible!"
"I saw his head with my own eyes!"
"It's a ghost! Seven save us, it's a restless spirit!"
Panic spread through the crowd like a plague.
The Vale nobles and soldiers, who had just been trembling under the dragon's pressure, now looked at "Littlefinger" with even more terror than they did Winter.
To them, a dragon was a creature of legend, a distant and powerful force.
But Petyr Baelish? He was a "friend" who had walked among them.
A dead man, now standing alive right in front of their faces.
This visual shock was far more bizarre, far more horrifying than any magic!
Ser Marq Arryn's already pale face was now completely bloodless.
He stared fixedly at that face, which wore a playful smile, feeling his sanity being shredded piece by piece.
Lynn ignored the commotion around him.
He leisurely walked up to the masked White Walker and patted his shoulder affectionately, as if greeting an old friend he hadn't seen in years.
"Petyr, my friend."
"It seems these high lords of the Vale have almost forgotten you."
"They've forgotten just how much you and Lady Lysa sacrificed for the 'honor' of House Arryn."
The White Walker—or rather, "Petyr Baelish"—slowly turned around.
His grey-green eyes swept over the horrified faces. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile that was perfectly measured—intimate, yet enough to make your skin crawl.
"How could they forget?"
His voice was unmistakably Littlefinger's—husky, magnetic, laced with sarcasm.
"After all I did for the Vale, for my dear Lysa... how could they forget?"
"It was I," he extended a finger and tapped his chest lightly, a gesture both elegant and sickeningly boastful. "Who suggested to Lysa that she add a few drops of the Tears of Lys to her husband's wine. To our respected former Hand, Jon Arryn's wine."
"He was old. His health was failing. I only wanted to help him find peace a little sooner."
BOOM!
The words exploded like a thunderclap in the minds of every Vale noble present!
Ser Marq Arryn swayed, almost collapsing to the ground.
"You... what did you say?!"
"The Hand... you murdered him?!"
"Of course."
"Littlefinger" wore an expression that said it was obvious.
"What else? Did you really think those golden lions of House Lannister had the guts to poison a Hand of the King in King's Landing?"
"And that letter," he continued, his eyes glazing over as if lost in sweet memories. "The letter my dear Lysa wrote to Catelyn... every word was dictated by me."
"'The Lannisters did it.' Hahaha... such a simple, effective sentence."
"Just one sentence, one lie, was enough to make everyone tear at each other's throats. Enough to plunge all of Westeros into war."
"And my dear Lysa could justify seizing all power in the Vale under the guise of 'protection'."
"Littlefinger" spread his hands, his face wearing a look of disgusting innocence and sincerity.
The Moon Garden was dead silent.
Only the occasional rumble of Winter's purr broke the quiet.
Every noble present stood frozen, as if turned to stone.
Lysa's obsession with Littlefinger wasn't exactly a secret; none of them were fools.
If Lysa held power, she would pave the way for Littlefinger. The entire Vale would become Petyr's personal playground.
Their minds were now a chaotic mess.
But everyone had a gut feeling.
This... this is the truth!
The truth.
This was the truth behind the war!
They had always believed they were answering Lady Lysa's call to defend the Vale's independence and honor.
But now, this man who had crawled back from hell was telling them, in the most casual tone imaginable...
It was all a lie!
From start to finish, it was a vicious, dirty scheme concocted by their respected Lady Lysa and her lowborn lover!
Their war, their sacrifices, their sons, brothers, and fathers who were about to die...
It was all a joke!
"No... you're lying!"
A young knight finally cracked under the pressure, screaming hysterically.
"You demon from the Seven Hells! You're twisting words to confuse us!"
The smile on "Littlefinger's" face only grew wider.
"I am not lying."
He turned and bowed respectfully to Lynn.
"My Lord, you see? I have told them everything."
Lynn nodded with satisfaction.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
He wanted to personally tear apart the legitimacy of Lysa Arryn's rule.
He wanted the entire Vale to see clearly just what kind of mad, foolish woman they were following.
"Now," Lynn's gaze fell on Ser Marq Arryn.
"I assume there are no misunderstandings between us."
"I came here for only one thing."
Lynn's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority.
"I need to borrow your Lord, Robert Arryn, for a while."
"Hand him over to me."
"I didn't come here to conquer, nor to slaughter."
"I only need to take him back to Winterfell, let him be tutored by Ned Stark. Let him learn how to be a true Warden, not a spoiled man-baby coddled by his mother."
"Give him to me, and I leave immediately."
"The Eyrie will remain unharmed."
This was Lynn's ultimate goal.
Use overwhelming force to achieve victory without fighting.
Pinning down the main armies of the Vale and Riverlands was just to keep them behaving during the war, to stop them from raping and pillaging the innocent people of the North.
Lynn didn't want the tragedies of the other timeline to repeat themselves here.
Lynn's words were like a pardon, reigniting a spark of hope in the eyes of many despairing nobles.
Just hand over Robert Arryn?
But... that was the only blood of House Arryn!
The future of the entire Vale!
Just as everyone hesitated, grappling with the choice...
"Dream on!"
An old, firm voice rang out from the back of the crowd.
An old knight clad in heavy plate, with a white beard, stepped forward, leaning on a massive greatsword.
His armor bore the anchor sigil of House Grafton.
The Lord of Gulltown, Gerold Grafton.
An old general known throughout the Vale for his stubbornness and bravery.
"Lord Lynn," the old knight's gaze held no fear.
He looked straight into Lynn's eyes, then glanced at the terrifying dragon behind him.
"You may be strong. Your dragon is indeed unmatched."
"But the honor of the Vale will not be stained!"
"You used a dragon to break our will."
"But you cannot break our knightly spirit!"
The old knight slammed his greatsword into the ground with a loud CLANG.
"You want to take our Lord? Fine!"
"But you must earn our respect the way a knight does!"
His voice boomed like a bell, resonating in the hearts of every Vale knight.
"I, Gerold Grafton, challenge you!"
"A fair duel!"
"No dragon. No magic!"
"Just you and me. Sword and shield!"
"If you win, Robert Arryn is yours to take!"
"But if you lose, take your monster and leave the Eyrie immediately! Never step foot in the Vale again!"
The old knight's words instantly reignited the dying flame in the hearts of the Vale knights.
Yes!
They were knights!
The proudest falcons of Westeros!
They might not be able to fight a monster that breathed fire and ice, but their swords were still sharp!
Without his dragon, without his strange magic, what was Lynn?
Just a "Wildling savage" who was a bit taller than average!
"Duel! Duel!"
"Show him the steel of the Vale!"
The crowd roared with excitement.
They had found an outlet for all their humiliation and anger. They desperately needed a victory to prove they weren't fools duped by lies, to wash away the bone-deep terror they had just felt.
Lynn looked at these suddenly "brave" knights, seeing the fighting spirit rekindled in their eyes, and a playful smile appeared on his face.
Interesting.
They won't let me use the dragon?
Why wouldn't I use the dragon if I have one?
Trying to attack my weakness with your strength?
Shameless.
But Lynn laughed.
He laughed loudly.
"Haha... HAHAHAHA!"
His laughter echoed in the empty garden, stunning the shouting knights into silence.
"A fair duel?"
Lynn stopped laughing and looked at the old knight as if he were an idiot.
"Do you think that would be fair to me?"
"What?"
Ser Gerold froze. He naturally knew it wasn't fair to Lynn.
"Since you asked, I'll let you lose so thoroughly you'll have nothing left to say."
"I accept the duel."
"But... me alone against one old man?"
Lynn shook his head, his face full of "reluctance."
"Winning that wouldn't bring me any glory."
The Vale knights were dumbfounded.
Is this guy right in the head?
He thinks it's unfair to him?
He thinks he has the advantage?
He has no idea how strong this old knight really is!
"How about this," Lynn stepped forward, as if he had made a decision.
"One duel is too petty. It proves nothing."
"I have a better proposal."
His gaze swept over every armored knight present.
It was the look of a butcher inspecting pigs at a market.
"Let's raise the stakes."
"You can choose the strongest one hundred men in the entire Vale."
"The bravest, most skilled swordsmen you have."
"I'll give you three days. You can go gather them from all over the Vale right now."
"If this group can last against my ten men until a single candle burns out..."
"Then I lose. I will leave immediately."
"And I swear by the Old Gods and the New, Lynn's army will never step foot in the Vale again!"
Silence.
Dead silence.
Everyone thought they had heard wrong.
Ten... against a hundred?
The hundred strongest knights they could handpick?
And they only had to last until a candle burned out?
This... isn't this a free victory?!
Ser Gerold's lips trembled.
He looked at Lynn, his eyes filled with extreme confusion and suspicion.
He didn't believe in gifts like this.
This had to be a trap!
"Of course," Lynn added, a deeply meaningful smile on his face, as if seeing through their doubts.
"If the Vale lacks talent, I allow you to bring in outside help."
"Call the Lannisters, call the Baratheons, call whoever you want. Suit yourselves."
"But..."
Lynn paused, and everyone's hearts jumped into their throats.
"What if I win?"
"If, before that candle burns out, all one hundred of your men are down."
"Then..."
Lynn finally bared his fangs.
"I won't just take Robert Arryn."
"The entire Vale of Arryn—from the Bloody Gate to Gulltown, every castle, every acre of land, every noble..."
"Must swear allegiance to me. And immediately cease hostilities and march with me to attack the Riverlands."
"My Lords... are you satisfied with this proposal?"