All this time, we had been trying to understand what Petyr Baelish had been aiming for—and by now, no one doubted that all of this was his doing.
It seemed he had been betting on the Boltons, the Freys, the Greyjoys, and the Golden Company. In that, he had not been mistaken. But then something went wrong. I think he had seriously counted on bringing Riverrun to his side—that was why he had acted so boldly. The possible support of the river lords would have allowed him to radically shift the balance and achieve parity with us.
But human fate is fickle, and people are not eager to be mere puppets. Littlefinger should have remembered that not all of our plans come to fruition. Edmure Tully did not betray me, and in doing so dealt Littlefinger a severe blow. In fact, by remaining loyal to the king, Tully effectively put a decisive end to Petyr Baelish's ambitions, and from that point on, the outcome of the war was no longer in doubt.
The first to realize this was Ramsay Bolton. Yes-yes, that cunning, slippery bastard suddenly understood that things might end badly and began sending me secret letters…
All this time, Qyburn and Orm had been doing everything they could to find out why and how Lord Roose Bolton had betrayed us. And they managed to uncover quite a lot…
While in the Vale, Petyr Baelish had not been idle and had visited several places. In particular, he somehow managed to get close to Ramsay. Orm believed that Littlefinger had visited the North and the Dreadfort. He did not encounter Lord Roose—that had likely been part of the plan—since Roose had been finishing off Stannis Baratheon at the time. But he most likely met and became acquainted with Ramsay Bolton.
Naturally, my people did not learn the details of their conversation. But that hardly mattered—the details could be inferred, and we understood the result. Silver-tongued as a nightingale, Littlefinger had managed to wrap Ramsay around his finger and promise him mountains of glory. He likely played on Ramsay's resentment that the Lannisters had given him a false Arya, and instead promised him the real one. Promised in words, of course, since Arya herself was still in the Eyrie—as we believed with a high degree of certainty.
Then Roose Bolton defeated Stannis and led the full strength of the North to join us, bringing his son along. It seemed that Roose himself had not intended to betray us… We do not know—and likely never will—exactly when he died. Most likely it happened on the approach to the Twins, or a little earlier, before the moment when we drove the Blackfish from the Crossroads in our advance. In any case, Brynden Tully already knew by then where to retreat, and the trap had been set.
Thus, Ramsay Bolton murdered his own father, and part of the northern lords supported him. Not all, however—Manderly and the Glovers realized that the whole affair reeked of outright rot and turned their troops back, citing an ancient law according to which they became vassals only when oaths of fealty were sworn in Winterfell—the heart of the North. And since those oaths had been given to Roose, but not to Ramsay, he was forced to tolerate their defiance.
The Manderlys and Glovers turned back, while the Boltons, along with the Umbers, continued forward. For appearances, they had to leave part of their forces behind, maintaining the illusion of a blockade at the Twins. Still, their plan was not without merit. And they had nearly succeeded—had they won, had they captured me and Jaime, everything might have gone very differently.
But now Ramsay had grown uneasy and began writing. As Jaime put it, he began twisting the balls —claiming that the idea of betrayal had come from his father, and that he himself had been opposed from the start. He wrote that Lord Roose Bolton had died in the battle at the Hill—an outright lie, since, according to Jaime, he had seen their main banner and could swear that the Warden of the North himself had not taken part in the fighting.
"What will you answer him?" Jaime asked me.
"I'll tell him—why not? I'm willing to forgive him. Let him bring me the heads of the Blackfish, Black Walder, and Littlefinger. Let him relinquish the title of Warden of the North and crawl back to his damned Dreadfort."
"He won't agree to that."
"That's exactly the point. He'll see that I'm willing to negotiate and think he can bargain. Let him believe he's the cleverest bastard in Westeros."
"Littlefinger screwed him over."
"Now we'll try to pull off something similar."
But Littlefinger had no intention of sitting still. We believe the next two attempts were his doing.
The first time, they tried to poison me. They failed, but my cupbearer, Gunt Holy, died. Of course, a new cupbearer was found quickly, but the whole affair was unsettling—enough to put anyone on edge.
And then, one night, I was preparing for sleep in my tent. It was already late; the campfires had been extinguished, and the men were settling in for the night. I lingered a little, reading Incredible Tales by candlelight. At that moment, Jacob Liddon entered—he had been knighted, but remained in my retinue and showed no hurry to strike out on his own, which suited me just fine.
"Your Majesty," Lydden said with a smile, stepping toward me.
"Oh, hey, Jacob! What's new?" I yawned and rubbed my eyes.
"Look what I've got," he said, extending his hand—and in that very moment, Turquoise, who had seemed to be lying perfectly calm, suddenly exhaled a jet of flame straight into the knight's chest.
(End of Chapter)
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