Chapter 542

What goes around, comes around. The heavens spare no one.

Aegor never thought there would come a day when he’d have to clean up the fallout from rumors he himself had once spread.

Back in King’s Landing, when he forged those so-called last words under the name of the late Ser Hugh, the method had been deception, but the content? At least eighty to ninety percent of it was true. Losing a bride’s virginity on her wedding night was hardly a scandal. Maintaining a mistress for years was, at worst, a moral failing. But ordering a wife to poison her own husband—that was a crime so monstrous that even the wildlings beyond the Wall, who lived by the law of the jungle, found it horrifying.

Trying to forcibly suppress discussion of something this vile was like damming a flood without draining the water. It wouldn’t just be ineffective—it would make him look like a complicit protector of the guilty, turning him into a target of condemnation himself.

But while silencing civilians was near impossible, Aegor wasn’t dealing with civilians. He was dealing with soldiers—a professional army, trained for obedience and discipline. He wasn’t demanding that they forget or forgive Petyr Baelish. He simply wanted them to stop openly discussing it in public, and not to do something idiotic like slap the Hand of the Queen across the face or spit at him in the streets. If they could manage that, then Petyr—who, as Hand, had bigger concerns—wouldn’t waste his time worrying about whether the commoners liked him or not.

Thanks to Aegor’s reputation and authority, the order was swiftly enforced. The second wave of scandal, stirred up by the same sheet of paper, was just as quickly suppressed—at least, on the surface.

Now came the matter of tracing its origin.

The first report from the investigation exceeded Aegor’s expectations: Harvey and Malen had scoured the army and seized over a dozen more copies of the so-called “final words of Ser Hugh.” And that was just what had been confiscated—there were undoubtedly more that soldiers had hidden away as keepsakes.

It was impossible for all of them to be authentic, but when Aegor examined them closely, even he, the original forger, struggled to tell the difference. The craftsmanship, the details—someone had replicated his work with unsettling precision.

But authenticity wasn’t the issue. What mattered was how they had spread.

The common claim among the soldiers was that they had simply found them. Varys had been clever, ensuring that the method of transmission was non-direct, minimizing the risk of exposure. But just because it was difficult to trace didn’t mean it was impossible. Unlike Aegor, who had operated in total secrecy back in King’s Landing, Varys was too high-profile to act alone—he had to rely on subordinates. And the moment multiple people were involved in any operation, the potential for leaks grew exponentially.

Through extensive questioning and investigation, the soldiers’ testimonies pointed to a surprising—yet entirely logical—culprit.

On the very day these notes suddenly began appearing all over Winterfell, the Lord of the Dreadfort had paid a visit to the castle. His entourage had been seen wandering the very areas where the notes were found. One of them had even been recognized—Collie Snow.

Just a month ago, this very same bastard had been sent by Roose Bolton to leak intelligence to Aegor, claiming the North was preparing to move against the Night’s Watch, attempting to recruit him into overthrowing House Stark.

At the time, to prevent word of the Gifted Lands army’s march south from leaking, Aegor had ordered Collie and his men detained. They were released three days after the march began.

And now, here he was again—back in Winterfell, at precisely the right moment.

It wasn’t hard to reconstruct what had happened.

Varys, lacking military power and short on reliable subordinates, had wanted to hamper Aegor and Petyr’s efforts to court the Northern lords and prepare for the southern campaign. He couldn’t use the Unsullied—so he turned to his newest ally, Roose Bolton.

But the Dreadfort was also short on manpower. Which meant Roose had, in turn, delegated the task to Collie Snow.

It made sense.

But even if Aegor’s guess was correct, he couldn’t do anything about it. This was just a propaganda attack. And the so-called evidence wasn’t even fabricated—it was just recycled. Even if they dragged the culprit before Daenerys, she would likely do little more than frown and order Varys and Roose Bolton to stop bickering for the sake of the realm.

That outcome was pointless.

So instead, Aegor simply relayed his findings to Littlefinger—then sat back and waited to see how he would respond.
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Petyr’s counterstrike was swift.

Soon, within the tightly controlled channels of the Gifted Lands army, a new rumor began circulating—one that was less horrifying than the accusations against Baelish, but far more sensational:

**“Did you know? The Queen’s Master of Whispers, Lord Varys, was once a man in love. He had a wife. Though their marriage was never consummated, their bond was deep—so deep that they defied even the most insurmountable obstacles.

But alas, love alone could not overcome the cruel reality of… certain missing parts. Unable to have children, they sought a solution—turning to the Golden Company’s commander, who donated his seed. A son was born… but the mother died in childbirth.

And so, this motherless boy was raised by his ‘fathers’—one by blood, one by name—until, upon reaching adulthood, he took the name Aegon Targaryen and sailed to Westeros, hoping to claim the Iron Throne for himself.”**

Aegor was dumbstruck when he first heard it.

Petyr Baelish was a master at this game. This rumor seemed like crude gutter gossip—but in truth, it was brilliantly constructed.

It not only distracted from the earlier scandal, but it simultaneously smeared everyone involved:Aegon Targaryen—an impostor.Varys—a eunuch, yet still somehow the husband of Aegon’s mother.The Golden Company’s commander—a fool shedding blood for a son who didn’t bear his name.

It combined scandalous intrigue with political consequences. It ridiculed Varys’ manhood, mocked the Golden Company’s loyalty, and cast doubt upon Aegon’s claim.

Just as the wildlings had never heard of Petyr Baelish’s past, neither had they known that Varys was a eunuch. Now, Aegor could already picture the kinds of conversations this would spark among his troops:

“Why couldn’t Varys have kids?”
“Because he doesn’t have any balls.”
“Huh? How?”
“Got cut off.”

The sheer venom in the attack was one thing—but the real danger was in its implications.

If people accepted this narrative, then suddenly, everything made sense. Why was Varys pushing Daenerys to marry Aegon? Why was the Golden Company supporting his claim?

Simple.

It was just two fathers trying to secure a throne for their ‘son’.

Of course, Daenerys and Aegon could easily disprove it—but that wasn’t the point.

A rumor’s power wasn’t in its truth.

The moment it spread, it had already won.

No amount of fact-checking could erase the stain once it had settled.

Aegor realized then—Aegon Targaryen would never be able to look Varys in the eye the same way again.
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Baelish had turned the tide of the first skirmish in this war of rumors.

But this wasn’t a turn-based game.

Even as Winterfell buzzed with talk of Varys’ missing parts, Petyr was already launching his next move—this time, outside the city walls.

And his target?

The Bolton soldiers.