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The Eyrie, in the High Hall.
The wind howled through the open Moon Door.
It whipped the tapestries on the walls, chilling everyone to the bone.
Lysa Arryn, once the Lady of the Vale, had vanished from sight, plummeting into the endless blue abyss.
"MOMMY—!!!"
Robert Arryn's scream, shrill and broken, finally shattered the frozen silence.
He broke free from "Petyr's" grasp and scrambled toward the Moon Door, only to be caught around the waist by Bronze Yohn Royce.
"Let me go! I want my Mommy! I want my Mommy!"
The boy struggled wildly in the old knight's arms, screaming and kicking.
His small body possessed surprising strength in its desperation.
Yohn Royce said nothing. He simply held the boy tight with arms like iron clamps, keeping him away from the door to death.
His weathered face was a complex map of emotions.
Hatred, sorrow, and an indescribable relief were woven together.
The eyes of every Vale bannerman turned in unison to the black-robed man standing motionless.
"Petyr Baelish."
Lysa's dying words still echoed in their ears.
"The real Petyr Baelish died long ago, didn't he?"
The feigned anxiety and grief on "Petyr's" face were gone, replaced by utter indifference.
"My Lords, it is time to move."
"Lord Lynn awaits you at Riverrun."
"Petyr" bowed slightly.
...
Half a month later, at Riverrun.
The castle, fresh from its baptism of blood and fire, now radiated an unprecedented solemnity and authority.
The silver trout banner of House Tully and the direwolf banner of the North flew side by side on the battlements, snapping in the wind.
Inside the Great Hall, the top lords of Westeros were gathered.
Lynn sat uncontested at the high seat.
To his left were the newly confirmed Lord of Riverrun, Edmure Tully, and his uncle, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully.
Behind them stood the core bannermen of the Riverlands.
To Lynn's right was the Lord of Runestone, Bronze Yohn Royce, fresh from the Vale.
He represented the entire Vale.
Behind him stood Lord Waynwood, Ser Templeton, and other Vale nobles.
Behind Lynn stood Robb, Jon, the Greatjon, and the Northern commanders.
Three distinct factions.
But everyone's eyes, consciously or not, drifted to the young man sitting in the center.
Lynn.
They had all heard his story.
In the beginning, he was just a man of the Night's Watch who received a revelation from the Old Gods.
Yet, in less than a year, he had miraculously forged the fractured North, the chaotic Riverlands, and the leaderless Vale into a single entity.
The atmosphere in the hall was somewhat oppressive.
Especially for the Vale nobles. Their eyes were full of awe, curiosity, and poorly hidden wariness as they looked at Lynn.
They had learned the truth about the Red Wedding from Yohn Royce.
They knew how Lynn had uprooted House Frey with thunderous force.
They also knew that under Lynn's command marched a legion of giants capable of crushing any wall.
And, of course, that invincible dragon!
This was an existence they couldn't comprehend and dared not oppose!
"Lord Royce, it was a hard journey."
Lynn's voice broke the silence.
He raised his goblet in a toast to Yohn Royce.
"I am sorry about Lady Lysa."
His tone was calm, devoid of any emotion.
Yohn Royce drained his cup in one gulp, a rough gesture of acknowledgment.
"That poisonous woman deserved her fate."
"I just didn't expect that Baelish, that treacherous little man, was pulling the strings behind it all."
As he spoke, he looked sharply at Lynn.
"Lord Lynn, you knew all of this long ago, didn't you?"
"Was even Lysa's death part of your plan?"
This question made every lord in the hall perk up their ears.
Lynn smiled.
"Lord Royce, you can eat the wrong food, but you can't say the wrong words."
He put down his goblet and leaned forward slightly, an invisible pressure instantly filling the hall.
"I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and did a few right things."
"As for the rest, let's just look at the result."
"So far, the Vale is free of war, and the outcome is good, isn't it?"
Lynn's answer was watertight, leaving Yohn Royce no opening.
The old knight fell silent.
He knew there was no point in pressing further.
This young man's mind was as deep as an abyss.
"Alright, let the past stay in the past."
Lynn changed the subject, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"I invited you all here today to discuss a matter of life and death for all of us—for the future of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale."
Life and death?
Everyone's expression turned serious.
"Winter has come."
Lynn's voice became low and grave.
"The Long Night is approaching."
"The North is facing a severe food shortage this year."
"According to my stewards, even with extreme rationing, our current stocks can at best keep half the North alive through this winter."
"The other half will starve or freeze to death."
This statement was like a boulder crashing into a calm lake.
The faces of Edmure and Yohn Royce changed.
They knew winter in the North was hard, but they didn't expect it to be this dire!
"This..."
Edmure opened his mouth, unsure what to say.
"Lord Lynn, do you mean... you hope the Riverlands and the Vale can provide food aid to the North?"
Yohn Royce frowned, cutting straight to the point.
The Riverlands and the Vale were traditionally the breadbaskets of Westeros (after the Reach).
But even so, giving enough food to feed half the North would be a massive blow to their own reserves.
Moreover, winter was here. No one knew how long it would last.
Even the rich didn't have unlimited surplus grain.
"No."
Lynn shook his head, denying their guess.
"I am not here to beg for your charity."
His gaze became burning and powerful.
"Today, I am here to offer you all a massive fortune!"
"I have a method that can increase grain yields by at least thirty percent over current levels!"
"Maybe even more!"
"And I have a method to store harvested grain for years, even decades, after simple processing, without it spoiling!"
BOOM—!!!
The hall exploded into chaos!
"What?!"
"Increase yield by thirty percent? That's impossible!"
"Store for ten years?!"
"Even the driest cellars in the Red Keep can't do that!"
The lords looked like they were listening to fairy tales, disbelief written all over their faces!
This was beyond their comprehension!
If Lynn was telling the truth, what did this mean?
It meant they would no longer be at the mercy of the weather!
It meant they would have the capital to sustain any long-term war!
It meant they would possess the power to change the landscape of the entire continent of Westeros!
"Lord Lynn... you... you aren't joking, are you?" a Riverlands count asked, his voice trembling.
"I never joke."
Lynn wore the confident smile of someone in total control.
"I am willing to share these two methods freely with everyone in the Riverlands and the Vale."
"And I ask for only one condition."
He stood up, looking at the lords who were breathing heavily, greed shining in their eyes.
"Use your surplus harvest from this year to fill the granaries of the North."
"Let my people, my soldiers, survive this winter."
"When the 'new technology' bears fruit on your lands, the grain you lose today will return a hundredfold, a thousandfold!"
"This is a trade."
"A trade that determines the future for all of us."
Silence.
Pin-drop silence.
Everyone was stunned by Lynn's words.
They looked at him.
This man possessed god-like skills that could overturn the world, yet he was willing to trade them for basic grain.
For what?
For his people.
An indescribable emotion rose in the hearts of all the lords.
Admiration, awe, and perhaps... a hint of jealousy.
How fortunate the Free Folk were to have such a lord!
"I agree!"
Bronze Yohn Royce was the first to stand up, his booming voice echoing in the hall.
"The Vale is willing to give one-third of all stored grain to support the North!"
"House Tully agrees as well!"
Edmure Tully stood up immediately after.
His eyes shone with excitement.
With two heavyweights leading the way, the other lords hesitated no longer, rising one after another to respond.
"House Waynwood agrees!"
"House Piper is willing to serve the North!"
Looking at the fervent crowd, a satisfied smile appeared on Lynn's face.
The hearts of the people were won.