Chapter 539

Petyr didn’t wait for Aegor to finish his thoughts. He revealed the answer himself.

“What concerns me is the marriage proposal.” His voice was as cold as the northern winds. “What connection does Braavos have with that little Aegon? Why are they willing to offer two million gold dragons and the recognition of the Free Cities just to pressure the Queen into this union?”

His eyes narrowed. “My first instinct was that the Iron Bank had already struck a deal with him. That little ‘prince’ has no chance of winning by himself, so he did what every weak claimant does—he sold Westeros.”

Petyr’s voice darkened. “Everything the Queen won’t agree to—he’s already promised it. In exchange for financial and military support, Aegon has pledged the entire kingdom’s resources to the Free Cities. He is selling out Westeros to foreigners just to sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aegor nodded silently. A simple deduction. Any intelligent man could reach the same conclusion. He waited for the real point.

“But then,” Petyr continued, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I had another thought—one that truly disturbed me.”

Aegor remained silent, but something in Petyr’s tone made the hairs on his arms stand up.

“At first, I assumed this was simply a case of Braavos backing a convenient puppet. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made.” Petyr’s fingers tapped lightly against his arm. “Only a father would be willing to bleed so much gold just to secure a marriage for his son.”

His voice turned razor-sharp.

“So what if the Iron Bank hasn’t just recently allied with Aegon? What if they were his father all along?”

Aegor’s pupils contracted slightly.

“What if,” Petyr whispered, “Aegon isn’t some secret Targaryen heir—but simply a boy Braavos chose? Some child with Valyrian features, raised as a puppet? Or worse—what if he’s the actual son of a Braavosi power-broker? What if Varys and his shadowed allies never truly intended to ‘restore the Targaryens’—but have, from the very beginning, planned to swallow Westeros whole?”

Aegor exhaled slowly.

The idea wasn’t new to him. He had long suspected something similar.

But what shook him was the fact that Petyr Baelish—a man without knowledge of any “original story” or outside perspective—had pieced it together himself.

All from the smallest of clues.

How sharp was this man’s mind?
----


Aegor didn’t know that even Petyr himself didn’t fully believe in this extreme hypothesis.

He had brought it up not just to warn Aegor—but to strengthen their alliance.

By making their common enemy seem larger and more terrifying, he ensured their cooperation would grow tighter.

Still, seeing Aegor briefly stunned, Littlefinger misinterpreted his reaction.

He thought the Lord Commander had been frightened by the possibility.

And so, in an effort to calm him, he added lightly, “Of course, there’s no need to overreact. That was merely my worst possible assumption. Reality is likely less severe.”

He smirked. “Besides—whether true or not, the important thing to remember is this: As long as you and I work together, there is no problem we cannot solve.”
----


Aegor snapped out of his thoughts, nodding slightly in agreement. He had been about to respond when a group of angry men passed by, their grumbling loud enough to be clearly heard from several feet away.

He closed his mouth, keeping silent for secrecy’s sake, but two details immediately struck him:

First—he had distinctly heard insulting remarks about the Queen.

Second—he didn’t recognize these men.

His eyes narrowed.

“Who are they?”

Winterfell was currently occupied by either his own black-cloaked forces or the Queen’s Unsullied. The remaining Starks were all accounted for. There shouldn’t be strangers here—especially not ones openly cursing Daenerys.

Petyr, who had also caught some of their words, let out a quiet scoff. “A bunch of filthy pirates. Not worth mentioning.”

Pirates.

Aegor immediately remembered.

Winterfell had recently received two groups of visitors—one from the east (Braavos), and one from the west (the Iron Islands).

He had already dealt with the Braavosi.

Which meant these men must be ironborn.

They had claimed to have come under a banner of peace, requesting a direct audience with the Queen—rather than dealing with her councilors.

Suspicious.

But not unmanageable.

So he asked, “What do they want with the Queen?”

“You would have asked even if you hadn’t,” Petyr said, his smirk returning. “So I’ll tell you.”

He crossed his arms. “They are here on behalf of Euron Greyjoy.”

Aegor raised an eyebrow.

“They brought gifts, but I do not know what they were,” Petyr continued. “The Queen initially believed they had come to swear fealty—she was pleased.”

“Until,” he added, voice turning dry, “they revealed their real purpose.”

Aegor’s curiosity deepened. “Which was?”

“They declared,” Petyr said, mocking emphasis in his voice, “that if the Queen would marry the ‘King of the Iron Islands,’ then the Ironborn would withdraw their support for Stannis and pledge their entire fleet to her.”

Aegor blinked.

Then he laughed.

“Oh? And how did that go?”

“Well.” Petyr smirked. “The Queen politely declined. The lead envoy—an idiot, by the way—told her to ‘think it over.’ He even hinted at a threat.”

Aegor’s laughter grew.

“Her response?”

Petyr chuckled. “She told them: If you’re still in Winterfell by morning, you won’t be leaving at all.”

Aegor laughed even harder.

It was no small thing for a diplomatic envoy to be kicked out before nightfall. That explained why they had been grumbling as they passed by.

“Serves them right,” Aegor said, smirking.

If all enemies were this stupid, life would be much easier.
----


Compared to the Iron Bank, the Ironborn were a joke.

The Braavosi had wealth, power, and influence across the world. They threatened indirectly, using subtlety and pressure.

The Ironborn?

They had Euron Greyjoy—a lunatic.

Yes, the Iron Fleet was formidable. But its strength came from numbers and brute force, not technology.

And against a real navy? Against a kingdom fully focused on naval warfare?

They would be crushed.

Worse, they didn’t even realize how little leverage they had.

And that was why Daenerys had no patience for them.
----


But Aegor’s amusement quickly faded as he considered something else.

Euron was still alive.

Which meant Asha’s mission—whatever it had been—had failed.

Had she been captured? Killed? Or had she simply lost her nerve?

Petyr, of course, knew nothing about Aegor’s private dealings. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment.

“We can deal with the Ironborn later,” he said, handing it over. “For now, there is something far more urgent.”

Aegor frowned, taking the paper.

He hadn’t even opened it yet, but something about it felt… familiar.

He unfolded it.

And as he read the very first line, his heart nearly stopped.

"My name is Hugh. I was Jon Arryn’s squire for many years. If you are reading this letter, I am already dead..."

His grip tightened.

He knew this letter.

Because he had written it himself.