The back garden of The Red Keep covers a vast area and is said to have a history of several hundred years. It can be traced back to the time of Aegon the Conqueror, the founding king of the Targaryen dynasty, and is filled with numerous craftsmen and handmaidens.
Legend has it that when Aegon the Conqueror collected the weapons of the defeated to forge the iron throne, he also conveniently rounded up craftsmen from all over the country.
As a result, the garden features sculptures and flowers with characteristics from various regions. The royal family must spend a significant amount of money every year just to maintain the garden's cleanliness and magnificence.
A series of footsteps approached from outside...
"Lord Eddard Stark, I think you should know your good brother well enough to know that once he makes a decision, it will not change. Back then, the old Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, could only try his best to restrain him, but even that restraint was very limited."
"His Majesty the King only cares about spending money, while the Master of Coin only cares about finding it. As for how much debt is incurred, that has nothing to do with me."
Speaking of his foster father, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark clearly became more talkative. He tentatively asked the Master of Coin before him, "Was there truly no sign before the Hand of the King's passing?"
"I am sorry, Lord Stark. The Hand's illness came too suddenly. Whether it was the royal physicians or the Grand Maester, they all did everything they could for him, but none could prevent his passing."
Petyr Baelish looked up at the clouds in the sky and sighed, appearing very sorrowful.
"As you know, I was personally promoted by the Hand. I am deeply saddened by his passing; he was a great man of integrity and honor."
"Was there anything particularly suspicious or unusual around the time of the old Hand Jon Arryn's passing?"
Eddard Stark had basically established trust in Petyr Baelish. As a childhood friend and former suitor of his wife, Eddard believed he would not deceive Catelyn.
"Since you ask, there is one thing that I found quite strange. Although I don't want to be suspicious, I do have some doubts."
Petyr Baelish put on a thoughtful expression. "The old Hand had a squire named Hugh. This squire used to be very close to that Lannister crowd."
"What is strange about that? Everyone has a few friends they get along with."
"The problem is that after Old Jon died, when his widow, Lady Lysa Tully, took everyone back to The Eyrie, this Hugh did not go. Furthermore, he seems to have been given a significant position under House Lannister."
Seeing the look of astonishment on Eddard Stark's face, Petyr Baelish did not continue the topic.
He suggested to Eddard, "If you want to know more details, you might as well go find Grand Maester Pycelle. He was one of those who treated the old Hand and should be the person who understands the Hand's condition best."
...
As they were about to round a corner, Petyr Baelish, walking in front, suddenly stopped and cautioned Eddard Stark with a smile:
"From now on, we must be careful with our words and actions. Anything said here is likely to be known by everyone. Lord Stark, do not let inadvertent words or deeds add to your troubles."
Eddard Stark nodded, not quite understanding. But once they turned the corner and saw the scene within, he began to understand what the other man meant.
Several white-haired gardeners were pruning greenery with various tools, brightly dressed young girls and old women sat on chairs arranging flowers, and children in rags played on the ground.
At first glance, nothing seemed wrong, but Eddard Stark could clearly feel the intermittent gazes of these people fixed upon him.
His feeling was not wrong.
"See that man over there? That is one of Cersei's men; he is monitoring you."
Petyr Baelish gestured with his chin toward the garden as he walked alongside Eddard Stark.
Hearing this, Eddard Stark looked over and saw a white-haired old man holding a hoe, tending to the plants while watching them out of the corner of his eye.
"See those two over there? Those are Varys's men; they are also monitoring you."
As the two walked down another path side by side, Petyr Baelish pointed to two ragged, playing children near a large tree.
Eddard Stark looked at those two ragged, emaciated children and felt a sense of irritation in his heart.
"And look at those two over there—those are my people."
Petyr Baelish pointed to two women arranging flowers near the entrance of the inner hall, his tone seemingly filled with a bit of pride.
In this manner, "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish smiled as he walked, introducing Eddard Stark to the various factions within The Red Keep.
He answered Eddard's questions fluently, acting very much like a host answering a guest.
"I am sorry. I should not have mistrusted you at the beginning."
Eddard Stark was thin-skinned after all. Seeing Petyr Baelish accompanying him all day and working so hard to teach him, he felt somewhat embarrassed about his rudeness when they first met.
Petyr Baelish slowly turned around, that faint smile still on his face, and said:
"Lord Eddard Stark, you are a very slow learner. Mistrusting me was the wisest decision you have made since arriving in King's Landing."
As soon as he finished speaking, he turned and walked away, leaving Eddard Stark standing there in silence for a long time.
(A quick side note: Petyr Baelish does not have his own POV in the original books, and readers cannot know his inner thoughts through others' POVs, so he has always been a very mysterious person.)
...
"Bran, this is a letter your brother Jon asked me to bring to you. He misses you very much."
Tyrion's heart was fragile; he always felt sympathy for those in a similar situation to himself. Looking at Bran's paralyzed legs, he felt a pang of pain in his heart.
Although his arrival had not been met with much hospitality, he was still happy to help this poor child, especially since he had promised Jon Snow he would.
"Oh, I almost forgot. This is a gift I brought this time. Can't have people thinking the Lannisters are so poor now that they come visiting empty-handed."
Tyrion took a special saddle design he had collected from his breast pocket.
"I am sorry to see you as you are now, but this special tool will be very useful. Even a cripple like you can ride a horse. Forgive my bluntness, but being a cripple in a noble house is always better than being a cripple in a poor one."
"Thank you, Tyrion," Bran thanked him politely. He was very grateful that the other man had come to see him and brought a letter from his brother.
He had already resigned himself to his fate, though he still yearned for that feeling of transcending the mundane world and soaring freely.
But that Old Crow hadn't told him that once he fell back into his own body, he would become a cripple confined to his bed for life, let alone fly in the sky.
"Alright, little brother. We should be going. Honestly, I never thought I'd spend my life wrapped up like a pig in this cold."
Tyrion smiled and patted Bran's head, mussing up the boy's brown hair.
Just as he stepped out the door, he found the heir to the North, Robb Stark, standing there waiting for him. Tyrion gave him a smile but said nothing more. If they didn't welcome him, he had no need to force his company on them.
"I am sorry, Tyrion. Thank you for everything you've done for Bran."
Robb Stark was as thin-skinned as his father, Eddard Stark. His face flushed, not knowing how to communicate with Tyrion.
He understood that he shouldn't have given Tyrion the cold shoulder because of the past conflicts between the Starks and the Lannisters. Moreover, he had even harbored prejudices against the dwarf; he now realized that such prejudices were unacceptable.
"Tyrion... um... why don't you stay the night at Winterfell? I have already prepared guest rooms for you."
"I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Robb. However, the girls here are just like the weather—cold and devoid of any charm. Compared to Winter Roses, I still prefer Summer Wildflowers."
Tyrion made a small joke to slightly ease the atmosphere, indicating he didn't mind, and then waved goodbye to Robb.
Tyrion Lannister was also somewhat saddened, but he still tried his best to appear optimistic.
Watching Tyrion's small figure recede into the distance, Robb Stark let out a long sigh.
As he sighed, Maester Luwin slowly walked up to Robb's side. He patted Robb's shoulder and said seriously, "Robb, a person's goodness or badness should not be limited by their family, nor should you shun others based on worldly prejudices."
"Robb, you must understand. You are not like Bran, Theon, or Jon. Although you are all children in my eyes, you are the one who will inherit the Lord's Sigil and lead the families of the North in the future. Do not let worldly prejudices become a veil that blinds you."
"I will remember that, Maester Luwin."
...
Tyrion left Winterfell and slept at an inn for a day. Then he bought the innkeeper's carriage and headed south.
At first, the innkeeper's attitude was very firm, claiming that the carriage was the accumulation of half a lifetime's savings, a loyal servant to his family, and the hope he had worked for all his life.
Hearing this, Tyrion's mouth twitched. Good grief, you can certainly talk. If I hadn't seen you pissing on the carriage wheels last night, I might have actually believed you.
Tired of the owner's nonsense, Tyrion pulled a gold dragon from his pocket and tossed it onto the owner's round face, then had his attendants drive the carriage away.
The owner bit the gold dragon to confirm its authenticity. After glancing around, he quickly hid it and stared blankly at the small dwarf surrounded by a group of attendants.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
"Those drunken mercenaries weren't lying; the shit House Lannister takes really is gold."
Tyrion Lannister lay in the old carriage, snacking on treats bought along the way, thinking to himself, 'I've long since grown accustomed to this prejudice; I don't care anymore.'
Yet, every time he thought of the mocking gazes of others, a wave of irritation would wash over him. He tossed and turned in the carriage, unable to fall asleep.
His agitation made him sit up and gulp down a large cup of wine, muttering incoherently—
"Fine, I do care a little."
It was unclear how many days had passed when he heard the guard outside the carriage calling softly to Tyrion, "Lord Tyrion, we have arrived."
Tyrion climbed out of the carriage, bleary-eyed. He opened his mouth in a yawn, but because he didn't see the ground clearly while disembarking, he nearly fell headfirst onto the dirt.
"Oh, hell! It's all Stark's fault! None of these people who believe in the old gods are any good!"
He frowned, curled his lip, and cursed under his breath; he felt as though he were cursed by Stark.
The inn at the crossroads had existed since before the Usurper's War, but its current prosperity was inseparable from that war.
Legend had it that Robert Baratheon had slept here for three days, cuddling a different girl each night. Whether it was the potent genes of House Baratheon or something else, Robert had hit the mark three times in a row, pulling off an Ice and Fire version of a hat trick.
Although people were highly skeptical of this, the children born to those three girls, regardless of gender, all had black hair and blue eyes.
Perhaps because he had finally left the annoying winter behind, Tyrion looked quite happy, his steps noticeably lighter.
He found a seat near the door, but the mere thought of Stark made him irritable again, and whenever he felt irritable, he wanted to spend money.
He walked with a swagger, head held high, to the inn's front counter. Standing on his tiptoes, he slammed several gold coins onto the table. The coins landed with a solid thud and glittered in the sunlight streaming in, nearly blinding the innkeeper.
When the innkeeper saw that it was the Imp of House Lannister, Tyrion, he was even more delighted and was about to offer some compliments when he heard Tyrion shout to everyone in the inn—
"Everyone! All expenses today are on House Lannister!"
Seeing someone so generous, the crowd in the inn happily began to cheer, raising their mugs and laughing at Tyrion—
"Lannister!"
"Lannister!"
"Lannister!"
"..."
Tyrion returned to his seat, feeling smug and satisfied. Hmm, spending money makes one happy.
However, just as he raised his glass to drink, he noticed a hooded woman to his left, and her figure felt vaguely familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before.
Tyrion never doubted his eye for women; even if the beauties of the Seven Kingdoms came one by one, day after day, he could accurately name every single one of them.
"My lady, have we met somewhere before?"
As the woman turned her head, Tyrion Lannister's eyes widened involuntarily.
"Lady Stark?!"
As soon as Tyrion shouted "Lady Stark," the entire room fell silent.
Ser Rodrik, who had just found a carriage and walked to the door, broke out in a cold sweat.
Damn! Why did the Imp have to come back at this time? This is trouble!
His gaze darted constantly to the guards of House Lannister behind Tyrion, mentally calculating whether his own men could take them all down.
Catelyn Tully watched Ser Rodrik's nervous expression and found herself in a difficult position. She knew it was strange to be here at this time and would certainly arouse suspicion, and she believed Tyrion must have realized something.
However, she knew that with only these few guards, she likely couldn't capture the Lannister. Her eyes flickered as she scanned the surroundings, and an idea formed in her mind.
At this moment, Tyrion was also stunned. This hooded woman was actually Catelyn Tully, the wife of Lord Eddard Stark! What was she doing here? Her son Bran was crippled; why wasn't she at home taking care of him instead of drinking at an inn so close to King's Landing?
Tyrion instinctively felt that something was wrong; he needed to make a run for it.
"Hello, goodbye!" As soon as he left his seat, a tall man suddenly appeared before him, firmly blocking his escape route.
"Ser Rodrik, stop him."
"Oh, by the Seven. Lady Stark, I think there might be some misunderstanding between us?"
"Imp, you've been exposed." Catelyn Tully said, holding Tyrion in place while searching for the right words.
"Which one?"
Tyrion paused, genuinely unable to recall what heinous act he could have committed in Winterfell that would make the Lady of the castle travel hundreds of miles to hunt him down!
"Oh, right, I confess! I shouldn't have pissed in the inn at Winterfell. But you can't blame me for that; I was drunk, and then that guy, he..."
"Not that one!"
"Oh, then... then I shouldn't have slept with the innkeeper's daughter. You know, she was very pretty. And she liked me too; I think even your son, Robb Stark, wouldn't have been able to keep his pants on if he saw her."
Catelyn Tully's "Great Memory Recovery Technique" made Tyrion spill every "good deed" he had done in Winterfell.
Tyrion backed down first; he still valued his own life quite a bit.
Although his side had a similar number of men as the opposition, he considered that he might get hurt or even lose his life, so he decided to hear what Catelyn Tully had to say first.
"Shut your mouth!"
Catelyn Tully was nearly driven to death by him; she covered her forehead, calming her anger. She shouldn't have let this guy speak; the Imp truly had a venomous tongue.
Seeing everyone in the inn turning to look their way, Catelyn Tully blinked and began her performance.
"That friend in black, may I ask if you are a member of the Nights Watch from the Wall?"
"Yes, Lady Stark. I am on orders from Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Nights Watch to purchase supplies for winter and to report the situation at the Wall to His Majesty the King." The man in black answered fluently; he was clearly a veteran of the Nights Watch.
Catelyn Tully smiled and nodded at him.
"And those friends wearing the red stallion crest, may I ask if you are from the house of Lord Jonos Bracken?"
"Yes, Lady Catelyn Tully. I remember meeting you many years ago in the solar of Lord Hoster Tully; it has been many years, and you are as radiant as ever."
The young men exchanged glances, and then one who appeared more mature and steady nodded and stepped forward to answer.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Ser. I have married the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, so you should address me as Lady Stark now."
Then, Catelyn Tully walked straight toward the group wearing the twin towers crest and dressed in grey-blue clothing. For her, this group was her primary target.
"I am also very familiar with the twin towers crest of House Frey. My Lords, may I ask how your master has been lately?"
"In reply to Lady Stark, our Lord Walder is very well. Moreover, he misses your father dearly and says your father is the best friend he has ever had in his life. He plans to take a new wife on his ninetieth name day, and we hope we might have the honor of inviting your father, Lord Tully, to attend."
The leader of the group was very eloquent; he was clearly someone from a great house who had seen the world, and his etiquette and social graces were impeccable.
"Certainly... certainly." Catelyn Tully's mouth curled up involuntarily, but she forced herself to keep a straight face.
She thought to herself: Walder Frey is truly vigorous for his age; he isn't afraid of suddenly dying in bed one day.
Standing to the side, Tyrion watched this scene, even more confused. What was going on? His mismatched black and green eyes darted around as he focused on thinking.
Catelyn Tully had come here when her son was crippled and needed her care most; there must be something more important at play. Since she was here, she must have met with her husband, Eddard Stark, and the two of them must have discussed some unknown secrets.
But what unspeakable secrets could a righteous man like Eddard Stark have? Could the coldness from Robb Stark in Winterfell a few days ago be related to this? Was there anything in common between the recent actions of Catelyn Tully and her son Robb Stark?
The image of Bran lying in bed flashed into his mind, and he felt as though he had grasped something.
Could it be!
Just as Tyrion was racking his brains and about to discover the key to the problem, the sound of dozens of longswords being unsheathed startled him.
"This man stayed in my home as a guest, yet he used a poisoned dagger to attempt to assassinate my young son. In the name of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, King Robert Baratheon, and all the noble lords present, I ask you to seize him for me and send him to the dungeons of Winterfell to face the judgment of the King's law! I would be most grateful."
Hearing Catelyn Tully's furious words and seeing countless sword tips pointed at him, Tyrion was completely dumbfounded.
"This joke has gone too far..."