While Aegor was lost in thought, Petyr didn’t wait for him to finish and revealed the answer himself.

“What made me suspicious was the ‘marriage alliance’ clause. What connection does Braavos have with that Aegon, that they would go so far as to use two million golden dragons and the ‘recognition of the Free Cities’ as leverage to pressure the Queen and push for this union?” Littlefinger’s tone was as cold as the wind. “My first reaction was that the Iron Bank must have already made a deal with Aegon, one that the Queen would never accept, but that ‘Prince’ had agreed to completely. All that remained was for him to fulfill those terms after taking the throne. He exchanged the support of the Free Cities by selling out the national interests of Westeros.”

A very normal line of reasoning. Anyone with some sense could think of that. Aegor nodded silently, waiting for him to go on.

“If it were only that, then at most we could say the moneylenders are too cunning, and that little Prince was merely shameless. After all, given his position, he had no other way out. But another thought followed immediately, one that made my hair stand on end.” He leaned in toward Aegor, lowering his voice. “I thought about it again and suddenly realized—only a father would be willing to bleed so much for his son’s marriage. Is it possible… that the Iron Bank didn’t ‘just make a deal with Aegon,’ but that they were his ‘father’ from the very beginning? Is this so-called ‘Prince’ just a boy with Valyrian looks, randomly selected by Braavos as a puppet, or perhaps even the child of some powerful figure? Are Varys and his associates plotting from the shadows to swallow all of Westeros, turning the Seven Kingdoms into the Free Cities’ backyard, a place for resource extraction and wealth accumulation? Could that be the real reason Aegon stayed hidden for more than a decade, and yet, the moment he appeared, he was welcomed everywhere… backed by gold, supported by a strong army like the Golden Company, and easily acknowledged by the Free Cities?”

“There seems to be some truth in that…”

A barrage of rhetorical questions followed, and Aegor’s pupils widened slightly. Goosebumps rose on his skin. Not because of Petyr’s wild and terrifying theory—he had already entertained similar suspicions long ago—but because he himself had only reached such conclusions through the advantage of being a transmigrator, a reader with an omniscient perspective. Yet Littlefinger, a native of this world and deeply entangled in the situation, had managed to deduce most of it from subtle clues alone.

What kind of terrifying intuition did that take?

…

What Aegor didn’t know was that even Petyr himself didn’t entirely believe this extreme theory. His purpose in bringing it up wasn’t just to warn or remind. It was more about exaggerating the strength of the enemy, to tighten the bond of their “anti-Varys alliance.”

But after he spoke, seeing Aegor lost in thought, Littlefinger believed the Lord Commander had been shaken by the speculation, so he quickly offered some reassurance. “You don’t need to be too nervous. That was just my most extreme conjecture. Things may not be as bad as that. Even if they are, remember this—so long as the two of us work together, there’s no enemy in this world we can’t handle.”

Aegor set aside his astonishment and nodded in agreement. He was about to speak when several angry men passed nearby, their curses loud enough to be heard from several yards away. For the sake of secrecy, the Night’s Watch could only keep silent, but as that group moved on, Aegor realized two things: first, he had heard them cursing Daenerys, and second, he hadn’t been able to identify them based on their clothes.

“Who were those men?”

He immediately grew alert. Right now in Winterfell, there were only his black-cloaked troops and the Queen’s Unsullied. He knew every member of House Stark, so there shouldn’t be any strangers, especially not ones like those.

Littlefinger had clearly overheard some of it too. He snorted coldly. “Just a few lowborn pirates. Not worth mentioning.”

So, Ironborn. Aegor remembered now. Recently, Winterfell had received two batches of unwelcome guests. One came from the east—the Iron Bank of Braavos—whom he had already met. The other came from the west—the Iron Islands. They claimed to come in peace for negotiations, but their real target was the Queen herself, not her council. What they were plotting remained unclear.

If there were questions, he would ask. The man beside him was the Queen’s Hand.

“What did they want from Her Grace, Lord Hand? Have you heard anything?”

“I was going to tell you, even if you hadn’t asked.” Littlefinger shed the serious expression he’d worn when discussing the Iron Bank and Varys. A look of mockery and contempt appeared on his face. “They were envoys sent by Euron, who brought some unknown ‘gift’ for the Queen. At first, Her Grace believed they had come to swear fealty and was rather pleased, until they revealed their terms.”

“Terms?” Aegor asked, intrigued.

“They declared that as long as Her Grace agreed to marry the ‘King of the Iron Islands,’ Euron Greyjoy, the Ironborn would stop recognizing Stannis as their liege and, with the strongest navy in Westeros, switch allegiance to the Queen.” Littlefinger shrugged. “After Her Grace politely declined, their idiot of a leader even told her to consider it carefully. There was a trace of a threat in his words. The Queen was enraged and ordered them to leave Winterfell immediately. ‘If you’re still here tomorrow morning, you won’t need to leave at all.’ Those were Her Grace’s exact words.”

“Hah? You’re kidding, haha…” Although he didn’t laugh loudly, Aegor was genuinely amused this time. No wonder those men had been cursing. They had traveled a long distance to deliver a message, weren’t even given guest rooms, and were told to leave in the freezing night. It was miserable, but they had brought it on themselves.

If only every enemy were this stupid.

Both had “Iron” in their names, but the Iron Bank and the Iron Islands could not have behaved more differently.

The Iron Bank’s demands were certainly difficult to stomach, but even someone as clever as Petyr or a transmigrator with future knowledge like Aegor had to take them seriously. Why? Because they had the leverage. Braavos itself was not weak, and through diplomacy and finance, it had influence over much of the known world. You could even say, over all of Westeros’s external affairs.

But what did Crow’s Eye Euron have?

The infamous reputation of a madman, and Westeros’s so-called strongest navy?

Yes, the Ironborn did have the Seven Kingdoms’ largest navy, but it was built with lives, not quality. The reason they kept winning battles and harassing the great Houses was simply because those Houses were busy with civil wars and had no time to respond. Forget Aegor’s future plans to install cannons on ships. Even if any single region—the Riverlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, or even the North—focused solely on naval development, given their size, they could counter the Ironborn ship for ship, weapon for weapon.

A tiny region with nothing to offer, yet instead of choosing a side and pledging allegiance, they wanted to act like toads lusting after swans. They actually thought they could sway Westeros’s politics and devour the Seven Kingdoms. Daenerys was not Cersei, trapped in King’s Landing with enemies on all sides. She held excellent cards, and after being guided by him, she had lofty ambitions. Of course she would not tolerate such a stunt.

Still, regardless of how unwelcome the Ironborn were, they were still a faction. Even if the so-called “King of the Iron Islands” was not acknowledged by anyone else, he was still a Lord of the Isles. If he had sent a well-spoken, well-dressed diplomat who knew how to flatter and show submission, even if Daenerys didn’t take them seriously, she wouldn’t have outright thrown them out. But judging by what Aegor had seen of them just now, he could imagine how this band of crude pirates had offended the Dragon Queen.

The Iron Bank had immense backing. When they wanted to influence and pressure the Queen, they sent professionals and used indirect methods, targeting important advisors like Petyr and Aegor himself. Their threats were hidden in layers of polite wording. These fools, on the other hand, didn’t even bring a Maester and marched straight up to the Queen. To die like this was only to be expected. It was remarkable that Daenerys had restrained herself from having them roasted by Dragonflame.

Still smiling, Aegor’s amusement faded quickly as another thought crossed his mind.

If Euron could still send men to propose marriage, that meant he was still alive. So what had happened to Asha, who had taken two men and a pile of equipment, vowing to kill him?

Did something go wrong on the road home? Was she captured during the operation? Or did she back out and decide not to be a kinslayer after all…

Littlefinger didn’t know that his ally had quietly “sent” an assassin. As Aegor was pondering this, Petyr rustled through his things and pulled something out, interrupting the thought. “Whether it’s the Iron Bank or the Iron Islands, they’re threats we can deal with later. But right now, there’s a problem that must be resolved immediately.” As he spoke, Petyr handed over the item in his hand. “This matter is delicate, and it’s not convenient for me to handle it personally. I’m afraid I must trouble the Lord Commander.”

Aegor took it. It was a wrinkled piece of paper. Unfolding it, he found dense lines of text. Even before he read a single word, an eerie sense of familiarity washed over him.

He fully opened the note and brought it closer to his face, motioning for a guard to bring the oil lamp nearer. By the flickering yellow light, he began reading carefully.

My name is Ser Hugh. I served the late Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, as his squire for many years. By the time someone reads this note, I will surely be dead…

After the very first line, Aegor’s heart gave a jolt, as if it had stopped beating for a moment.

He didn’t need to read any further. He could recite the entire thing by heart—because every line, every word, had been written by him. This was the note he had created long ago to protect the fledgling Night’s Watch Industry, to prevent its early destruction in the chaos of war. A move he had made half-blindly, that had unexpectedly succeeded. He had used the power of rumor to force Littlefinger—then still Master of Coin on the King’s Small Council—to flee Westeros, all while Aegor had been just a common soldier.

So many years had passed, and he had been through so much. How did Petyr still have this note in his hands? What had he discovered by suddenly showing it to him today? Or did he have another motive?

(To be continued.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep