Chapter 80

"The rumor is already the talk of the town?" Aegor raised an eyebrow, carefully keeping his tone from betraying his excitement. He hadn't expected the scandal involving the Master of Coin and the late Hand's widow to spread so effectively—it seemed he'd underestimated how explosive high-level gossip could be. But idle whispers weren’t his goal. He needed to know: had the rumor disrupted Littlefinger's plans enough? Or could it still?

"And how has the man himself responded?" he asked, feigning casual curiosity.

"Why should I care?" Tyrion snorted dismissively. "Littlefinger’s just a cunning servant of the Crown. Those notes? Probably not the steward’s dying confession. Still, whoever wrote them was clever. The contents—whether outright lies or exaggerations—leave no loose ends. Nothing concrete to disprove, yet damning enough to stick. Of course, Petyr Baelish isn’t so easily undone. He’s the realm’s treasurer, after all. A single rumor won’t destroy him. That said..." Tyrion smirked slyly. "It’s been a while since anyone’s seen him. His brothels, though, remain quite lively."

"Is that so..." Aegor masked his frustration. Tyrion’s lack of interest in the political fallout wasn’t surprising—it fit his personality to a tee. Still, with the rumors spreading so widely, Aegor wouldn’t draw suspicion for asking questions. The trick was finding the right source to determine whether his scheme had achieved its intended effect.
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He weighed his options and decided to start with the Stark guard who escorted Arya to her lessons daily. After all, his main objective was to sever Littlefinger’s influence over Eddard Stark, and who better to ask than someone close to the man himself?

Or so he thought.

"The rumor..." Arya piped up suddenly, sniffing in triumph. Finally, the adults were discussing something she actually knew about. Eager to join in, she practically burst with pride. "Father says the king has written to my aunt in the Eyrie, asking her to come to King’s Landing and prove her innocence!"

Aegor nearly laughed at his own foolishness. Why bother questioning the guard when Eddard Stark’s own daughter—his apprentice—was right here? He had always underestimated Arya, treating her as an ignorant child. But ten years old wasn’t too young to understand courtly intrigues, especially for someone as clever as Arya. She might not fully grasp the significance of what she heard, but she listened closely to everything. And as her "master," Aegor could make excellent use of that.
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Tyrion, ever quick-witted, grinned at Arya. "The lady of the Eyrie? Isn’t she your aunt?"

"Yeah, she is," Arya admitted sheepishly. "But I’ve never met her. And to think she’s that kind of person..."

"Careful, girl." Tyrion’s tone shifted, more serious now. "Rumors are just that—rumors. Believing everything you hear without question? That’s the mark of fools and mobs. Remember that."

"As for the king’s letter," Tyrion continued, smirking, "it’s a wasted effort. Your aunt won’t come. If the rumors are true, why would she leave her safe perch to face the music? If they’re false, it only means someone wants her gone—and she’d be a fool to walk into a trap."

"Exactly," Aegor agreed. "In the Eyrie, Lady Arryn reigns supreme. In King’s Landing, she’d be just another widow—barely relevant. I wouldn’t come either."

"And what’s your father been up to?" Aegor added casually, directing the question at Arya. "What does the Hand of the King think of all this? Is he still running around the city with Lord Baelish?"

Arya didn’t hesitate. "Not really. Jory said Littlefinger’s been ordered to stay in the Red Keep, and my father..." She paused, thinking. "I think he’s trying to find out where the rumors came from."
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Ordered to stay in the Red Keep? Aegor’s heart skipped a beat. That was effectively house arrest—a clear sign of distrust. And Eddard investigating the rumors’ origins? Aegor replayed every step of his plan in his mind. The ink, the parchment, the method of distribution—all commonplace materials procured through legitimate means. Tyrion’s servants had handled the purchases, and none of them had reason to suspect anything. Unless the Hand could identify him by fingerprints—a technology far beyond this world’s capabilities—Aegor was safe.

Still, I should’ve worn gloves. He chuckled at the thought. Paranoia aside, the plan had worked far better than expected. Was it possible he’d already toppled Littlefinger with nothing more than a carefully planted rumor?
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The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed. Littlefinger’s power came from secrets, schemes, and the trust of those in power. He thrived in the shadows, where no one questioned his motives. But under scrutiny? His influence melted away like snow under the sun.

If Eddard Stark no longer trusted him, and the king saw him as a liability, then Baelish’s ambitions were as good as dead. Even if the rumors didn’t directly lead to his downfall, they had forced him into a defensive position, unable to act freely. The balance of power in King’s Landing had shifted—and for the better.
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But Aegor knew better than to celebrate prematurely. Petyr Baelish might be cornered, but he wasn’t dead. And even if he were, the greater threat remained: war. The Seven Kingdoms were a fragile union, held together by inertia rather than genuine unity. Without the dragons to enforce order, Westeros was already teetering on the brink of disintegration. War wasn’t a question of if—only when, why, and how destructive it would be.

Littlefinger’s schemes might have been derailed, but Varys was still working behind the scenes. And unless Aegor acted swiftly to solidify his position, the chaos of war would sweep away everything he’d built.
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"Arya performed admirably today," Aegor said suddenly, ruffling her hair. He had noticed how much she enjoyed such gestures—it was a small but effective way to earn her favor. "It’s my fault we started late. I owe you for that."

The girl brightened immediately, her earlier frustration forgotten. "Really? What kind of reward?"

"How about this," Aegor offered. "Tomorrow, I’ll spend the whole day with you. We can train, I’ll tell you more adventure stories, or even take you to see the paper mill. Whatever you want."

Arya’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? You mean it?"

"I do. So think about what you’d like most—and we’ll do it."

For the first time that day, Aegor felt a glimmer of relief. Despite everything—despite the chaos brewing on the horizon—he had bought himself a little time. Tomorrow could wait. For now, the wolf cub’s smile was enough.