"Littlefinger is dead?" Tyrion was stunned.
Seeing his bewildered expression, clearly not feigned, Aegon frowned. "It really wasn't you?"
"Then who did it?"
Tyrion came back to himself and raised the chains on his wrists. "Unlock these. I just returned from Oldtown. Princess Arianne was with me the entire time."
Aegon glanced at their older cousin. When she nodded, he said, "Keep them on for now. The lords of the Vale are furious, all clamoring to put you on trial."
Soon after, the dwarf, Arianne, and Aegon flew to the Vale and landed in the training yard of the Gates of the Moon.
Just like a few days earlier, the great hall was crammed full of nobles and knights. What had once been a wedding feast venue had now become a courtroom.
Because of Tyrion's special relationship with Aegon, the king had to avoid suspicion. The judges were Queen Sansa and several prominent Vale lords, including Bronze Yohn.
When the dwarf entered the hall and glanced around, he found—both unexpectedly and unsurprisingly—that among the Vale folk, most wore easy smiles, some looked solemn, fewer glared at him with anger, and not a single person seemed heartbroken.
Oh, no—there was one who seemed utterly grief-stricken over Uncle Littlefinger's flight.
Queen Sansa wore mourning robes, her graceful waist and chest tightly bound. Her pink cheeks were filled with sorrow, her eyes red and swollen like peach blossoms, blue irises shimmering with tears, like a fragile white flower trembling in a spring shower.
She truly had something of a young widow's charm. No—she had lost her father, not her husband.
For some reason, in that moment, his "second self," exhausted from two days and nights of work, actually raised its head.
Tyrion quickly tore his gaze away from the queen's fullness and bowed deeply.
"Tell me first why you believe I killed Littlefinger." He spoke calmly, setting the tone.
In recent years he had gone through two deadly trials: Catelyn seizing him and Lysa trying him in the Eyrie for sending an assassin after Bran; and in King's Landing, Cersei and Tywin trying him for Joffrey's murder.
Both trials had been disasters. Both judges were madwomen intent on killing him. Both civil trials had turned into trials by combat.
This time, even if Sansa lost her wits, he wasn't afraid.
First, on the way here, he had already gauged Aegon's attitude toward Uncle Littlefinger's death: We all know what kind of man he was. It's a relief he's gone.
Second, he had an alibi.
No one could ignore the testimony of a Dornish princess.
Bronze Yohn looked at Sansa. When she gave a slight nod, he said, "First, you had motive. For King Joffrey's death, he seems to have framed you.
And on His Majesty Aegon's wedding night, you had a confrontation with Lord Baelish. You hit him and, when leaving, threatened him—telling him to 'fly once.'
In fact, Lord Baelish did fall from the Moon Door. He did fly once."
"Heh," Tyrion chuckled and shook his head. "That's not what I meant by flying. Throwing him from the Moon Door isn't satisfying.
I have a wyvern. I'd lift that bastard thousands of meters into the sky and drop him—drop him right onto my dear sister's balcony, splattering Littlefinger's filth across her pretty face. Now that would be satisfying."
The hall erupted. Some roared with laughter; some cursed him loudly.
Bronze Yohn neither confirmed nor denied, and continued, "Lord Baelish's guards were killed by crossbow bolts, and we all know you are a master of sneaking and crossbow assassination."
"When it comes to crossbow skill, my talents truly shine too brightly to hide. How many allied dragonriders died to my 'Tyrion Wyvern-Bolt'?
Her Majesty even rewarded me with tens of thousands of gold dragons in patent rights.
Even His Majesty Aegon praised it after using it."
"Ahem, so you admit it?" Yohn glanced awkwardly at King Aegon, who looked equally embarrassed.
"Admit what? I haven't even been in the Vale these past few days. Princess Arianne can testify for me." Tyrion pointed at the Dornish princess.
Under everyone's gaze, Arianne hesitated.
"Your Highness?" Tyrion asked nervously.
At a time like this, she absolutely could not fail him.
Arianne shot him a glare, her expression even more conflicted.
"What are you hesitating for?" Tyrion shouted.
And just as he shouted, realization struck: Arianne was the heir to Dorne, an unmarried maiden princess. If she publicly acknowledged a ménage à trois with a dwarf…
Dornish folk were indeed fond of indulgence, and they believed in the Seven as well. They might fool around and not fear gossip, but to openly label their behavior before so many nobles—that would stain her house's honor.
Realizing this, Tyrion immediately cried out, "Arianne, tell them—we went to Oldtown to find Ros—the real Ros from Ros's Dream.
On the sunlit beaches of the Arbor, the three of us spent two perfect days and nights. Tell them!"
"Ros? Seven above!"
"Ros? Dragons really do make life convenient. I've wanted to…"
"Sigh, forget Ros—Princess Arianne herself is a top-tier beauty, and she was with such an ugly, misshapen little monkey of a man, and in a threesome too!
Father Above, why is this world so unfair?"
"What's unfair? The dwarf has a wyvern! Same as how we nobles, no matter how old or ugly, are always more favored than handsome young commoners.
A wyvern rider is obviously a rank above us horse-riding knights. Sigh."
"I want to become a wyvern rider too," heir Harry thought silently.
"I was just thinking—aren't dwarfs supposed to be incapable of that? How did he handle two women? And the two of them are more exciting to any man than an aphrodisiac."
"Hey, you just don't get it. Dornishmen know these things very well! It must have been Princess Arianne and Rosy. Then the dwarf stood on the side, rubbing his manhood and cheering them on."
"So that's how it is!"
The hall erupted as if it had blown apart. The knights and nobles were all worked up, loudly discussing the matter without caring about the occasion.
Hearing their talk, Arianne's face went pale, then flushed red. She shot the guilty-looking dwarf a fierce glare, shrank her neck in shame, and lowered her head.
"Silence, silence!" Bronze Yohn shouted at the top of his lungs. There was no table and no gavel.
It took a long while before he managed to turn the noisy marketplace of a hall into something like a quiet library. Yohn said angrily, "You are all honorable gentlemen—so why are you speaking filth like street ruffians? King Aegon and Queen Sansa are right here!"
Everyone lowered their heads and accepted the rebuke.
Only then did Bronze Yohn nod in satisfaction. He looked at the dwarf and said, "Tyrion, recount the detailed events of the past two days."
Everyone—
"Yohn, you old bastard, how about I have Tysha haul you to Oldtown and let you try it yourself?" Tyrion cursed.
Old Yohn very nearly nodded and said yes.
"All right, just unlock these chains." Tyrion raised the shackles on his wrists and said impatiently, "This is nothing but a farce. Do any of you not know how things really are?
When Jon Arryn died, none of you did anything. As for Littlefinger, when he died, plenty of you cheered in your hearts.
Ask yourselves honestly, which one of you cares if he lives or dies?Who among you is willing to avenge some petty upstart from the Fingers?"
"Tyrion, you are insulting the nobility of the Vale!" Bronze Yohn roared, beard and mustache bristling.
"Yohn, are you Littlefinger's vassal?" Tyrion asked with mockery.
Bronze Yohn's face turned red as he muttered, "At the very least, he was the Lord Protector of the Vale."
Yohn was certainly not Littlefinger's vassal, and no one present was sworn to the man.
Robert Arryn was still alive; he was the actual Lord of the Vale.
Any noble who admitted to being Littlefinger's vassal would be declaring betrayal of Lord Robert.
The only people who could avenge Littlefinger would be his sworn men or his family and friends.
Unfortunately, he had neither.
This was the essence of noble heritage.
And this was why everyone looked down on Littlefinger: without him, everything he built would collapse instantly.
In this world, making an ordinary man disappear was not difficult.
Just like Littlefinger—he had been kidnapped by a band of mountain clansmen.
But if you killed Tywin or Kevan, House Lannister would still remain a great power.
"Tyrion, Duke Baelish was my foster father. Insulting him is the same as insulting me," Sansa said angrily.
Tears welled up in her eyes, yet she forced herself to maintain the dignity of a queen, refusing to cry out loud.
The nobles felt both sympathy and admiration. Even Tyrion was startled, thinking that the Seven Kingdoms' most dutiful daughter truly mourned the death of the most dutiful father.
He glared resentfully at Aegon: What kind of job are you doing? You've been married for days—why haven't you shown her Littlefinger's true nature?
Aegon could only shrug helplessly: My lovely little wife! She's very smart and she believes what I say, but she's also too kind and too softhearted. She remembers every kindness others have shown her but forgets their cruelty.
"What? Littlefinger is dead? Are you sure?" Daenerys was shocked beyond belief when she received the news.
"One hundred percent certain. The men of the Vale found his corpse at the foot of the mountains. It was a horrific sight—just a pile of mangled meat, and even his head had been carried off by wolves.
But from the Lord Protector's ring on his severed finger, we could tell it was him.
There were also his clothes and his mockingbird brooch," Marwyn said.
"Who was the killer?" Daenerys asked again.
"We originally suspected Tyrion, but…" Marwyn's eyes shifted as he recounted the story of Tyrion's threesome.
"Ah… the whole realm knows by now. Prince Doran will probably explode from anger," Daenerys said, her mouth twitching.
Then she thought of something and realized she bore some responsibility.
That Rosy…She was another little liar just like Sansa!
"Other than Sansa, no one cared for Littlefinger. After repeated investigations turned up nothing, we followed Tyrion's suggestion and pinned the murder on Cersei," Marwyn said.
"That is truly…"
"Your Grace, there is something you must pay attention to," Marwyn said, suddenly serious. "I discovered that Sansa Stark is no ordinary girl. Littlefinger had barely died when, on Bronze Yohn's proposal, she became the new Lady Protector of the Vale and the guardian of Robert Arryn.
She is far more beloved than Littlefinger ever was—the Vale is practically under her control."
"Perhaps…" A figure flashed through Daenerys' mind: Lady Stoneheart.
Because Brienne had transferred her oath of loyalty from Catelyn to Sansa, she had agreed to become the commander of Aegon's Kingsguard.
Brienne was the bridge between Sansa and Lady Stoneheart.
"So that's it!" Daenerys suddenly realized everything.
Lady Stoneheart's heart was cold and hard as stone, but her mind still worked perfectly.
Marrying Aegon—the alliance of wolf and dragon—was the best path for Sansa and for House Stark.
"Also, Prince Aegon's ambitions have changed," Marwyn added.
(End of chapter)
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