No one could have guessed that the bastard once viewed as Eddard Stark's moral stain would not only rise through war after war but now, simply by fathering a child, throw the entire realm into chaos.
From the farthest borders to the heart of every town, people were talking. Ambitious men who had been lying low took notice.
Petyr Baelish, back in the Vale and keeping to the Eyrie, was one of them. Though he looked ragged with a missing hand and leg, emotions rarely needed reason. Lysa Arryn still obeyed him without question—the man who had taken her maidenhead and urged her to murder her husband. With Petyr crippled, she felt she could control him better, even that she was more worthy of him.
"My love, who should we support now?"
In the Eyrie's courtyard stood the statue called Alyssa's Tears. Legend said Alyssa shed not a single tear when she lost her son and husband, so the gods cursed her to weep forever, her tears forming a river.
A little over a year ago, when Eddard Stark and Robert were still alive, Catelyn had seized Tyrion Lannister and demanded a trial. Tyrion had called for trial by combat. Everyone expected no one would fight for the dwarf, yet Bronn the sellsword stepped forward. As Tyrion's champion he proved the Imp's innocence and even toppled Alyssa's Tears during the fight, crushing his opponent with the statue. Lysa had it repaired afterward.
Now Lysa sat in Petyr's lap on the steps beside the statue. Sunlight warmed her like a mother's touch, and she smiled with contentment. Petyr ran his fingers through her red hair—the same shade as Catelyn's—and let his mind drift. He no longer craved Catelyn. Sansa was the prize now.
"Stannis deserves this," Lysa said. "He took my son from me. We should declare for Jon and give you your revenge."
Petyr kept his mind clear. He wanted revenge, but not through crude alliances.
"No. Bronze Yohn Royce holds the Vale's armies now. We can't rashly declare for Jon. Besides, even with a Targaryen-looking child, Jon's parentage is still uncertain." His hand moved over her like a snake.
In his mind, the Lannisters should have won. Then he could have claimed credit for the Lion-Rose alliance, earned a higher title, and perhaps married Lysa to become Warden of the Vale. Everything had turned because of Jon's sudden appearance in King's Landing. Even now Petyr thought the timing was too perfect. The Harrenhal mutiny had shown Jon's decisiveness.
Petyr blamed Jon for his current state—especially the lost hand. He chose to stay loyal to Stannis rather than Jon for another reason: Varys and the power behind him. Petyr suspected Varys served a hidden force that also hated Stannis, given how they had used Maester Aemon's situation against the king. He could ride Varys's coattails for revenge and more power.
"We should answer Stannis's summons. The Eyrie controls the most land; we can raise seven or eight thousand men. I might secure the post of quartermaster."
"All right," Lysa said, gripping his little finger. She didn't care about the details. She only knew she had him now. "We'll do whatever you say."
"When can we be together openly?" she asked, looking up at him with blue eyes, fingers brushing his small beard. "I want to give you a child. We almost had one once."
When Petyr had been a ward at Riverrun, he had gotten Lysa pregnant. Hoster Tully had forced her to end it. Petyr looked down at her and smiled without answering. Without the Arryns, without the title of Warden, without Robin Arryn, Lysa's value had dropped. He needed a stronger, more influential ally. Only Queen Selyse could give him what he wanted.
Highgarden was the first to accept Jon's claim as a Targaryen and react quickly. They helped spread his message through the Citadel and sent troops to deal with the Florent threat in Casterly Rock. The Florents had little strength left anyway—most of their men were in King's Landing, leaving only an empty castle.
The Tyrells stood firmly with Jon. They had once hoped to make Margaery queen by marrying her to Renly. After Renly died, Joffrey had seemed possible despite the age gap. Then Jon's stunning victory at King's Landing changed everything and turned the unknown bastard into a great lord. The Tyrells had married their prized daughter to a bastard and briefly became a laughingstock. But Jon proved himself—convincing Robb to yield, taking Casterly Rock, swallowing the Iron Islands. Those who mocked the match soon saw the Tyrells had gained a powerful ally.
No one expected Jon to bring them another huge surprise.
"Your father used to complain we planted our rose beside a doghouse," Olenna said lightly. "Who knew the doghouse held dragonseed?"
"Even if Jon weren't dragonseed, the wolf alone is fierce enough," Willas replied, still marveling at how Jon had saved his mother.
He raised a practical concern. During Robert's Rebellion the Tyrells had been held at Storm's End and failed to reach the Trident in time. Now the first and possibly decisive battle between Jon and Stannis would likely be fought in the Riverlands. The southern armies faced the same goal—march north to help—but also the same obstacle, only bigger: Dorne.
"When the Martells supported the Targaryens it was because Elia was Rhaegar's wife and the Mad King held her hostage. Young Aegon carried Martell blood. Our little Aegon has no tie to Dorne. They won't help us. Jon will fight Stannis at a disadvantage."
Olenna was skilled at politics and reading people but knew nothing of war.
"Perhaps this time Storm's End won't be held by Stannis. What if we take it? And your father is at Casterly Rock—we won't let him lead again. Send Randyll Tarly."
Olenna spoke slowly, but she still overlooked Dorne. The friendship bought with Willas's leg meant little against real interests. Stannis might offer the Martells a royal marriage—or two. That would be enough.
Jon needed help, but if the Tyrell army marched north, Highgarden would be vulnerable. It was a dilemma.
Just then Maester Lomys hurried in with a letter.
"My lady, ser—word from Casterly Rock."
Willas sat up straight.
"It must be Jon with a plan," Olenna said.
Willas read the letter twice without speaking. Olenna waited, teacup poised.
Finally he said, "Grandmother, Jon says we needn't worry about Dorne. Just march north as fast as possible."
They stared at each other. Helping Jon was one thing, but Highgarden's safety mattered too. What if the Dornish came?
Olenna considered for a moment. "Trust him. Trust Jon."