Chapter 63

"Hmm." Eddard Stark nodded steadily, his way of acknowledging greetings. He stayed seated on his horse, reins in hand, as he observed the fledgling Night’s Watch office with mild interest. A faint smile appeared on his usually serious face. “It looks decent enough. When will recruitment begin?”

“In two or three days, at most,” Aegor replied. “This office isn’t just for recruitment. It will also handle the collection, cataloging, and forwarding of donations—supplies, funds, and equipment—from nobles and common folk alike to the Wall.”

“Hmm.” Eddard fell silent, pondering for a moment. “Where did you get the money for all this?”

“Tyrion Lannister’s funding,” Aegor answered without hesitation. “He even assigned one of his attendants to assist me.” Turning to introduce him, Aegor added, “This is Jack.”

Caught off guard and with no way to avoid the introduction, the young attendant stepped forward to greet the Hand of the King. Unlike Aegor’s composed demeanor, Jack was visibly nervous—a reaction that was understandable given the strained relations between House Stark and House Lannister.

Eddard, initially puzzled by the presence of a red-cloaked figure, seemed satisfied with the explanation. Without lowering his status to show hostility toward a mere attendant, he nodded briefly at Jack before turning to a shorter man in his retinue. “The wildlings beyond the Wall grow restless, and the Night’s Watch is in dire straits. Even if the royal treasury is stretched thin, we must allocate some funds for them. Treat it as part of the kingdom’s defense budget.”

“Milord?” The short man, startled at being called out so suddenly, wore a look of innocent confusion. “The royal finances…”

“There’s no room for debate,” Eddard interrupted firmly. “This is a matter of defending the realm. You managed to scrape together funding for a tourney prize; surely this isn’t beyond you. You’re the Master of Coin—that’s your job.”

“I see no choice but to find a way, then,” the man replied with a tone of mock helplessness, clearly unimpressed by Eddard’s reasoning. “Very well, a few dozen—maybe a hundred—gold dragons. Enough to help the Night’s Watch get on its feet here. Beyond that, it’ll depend on his own abilities.”

Eddard ignored the jab and turned to another member of his party. “Jory, stay here with Arya and wait for us. I’m heading out with Lord Baelish to handle some matters.”

“Yes, milord.”

“But you promised to take me shopping!” protested a clear, young voice. “Why does something always come up? Wherever you’re going, I’m coming too!”

Hearing the protest, Aegor noticed for the first time a young girl among the group. It wasn’t hard to guess—this was Arya Stark, Eddard’s second daughter. And as for the short man tasked with allocating funds, there was little doubt that he was Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger, one of the most dangerous schemers in the realm.

With his clean-shaven face differing slightly from his appearance in the television series, Aegor hadn’t immediately recognized him until Eddard called him by name. Realizing who he was, Aegor’s gaze lingered on Littlefinger for a moment. First, he understood how the man earned his nickname. Then, a cold realization struck him: he had been so preoccupied with Melisandre’s warnings and his own plans that he had almost forgotten the original story’s events were still rolling forward like an unstoppable wheel.
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“I’m accompanying Lord Stark to a place not suitable for children,” Littlefinger said with a sly grin, winking at Arya. “Especially not young girls.”

“I’m not a child!” Arya retorted fiercely.

“Behave yourself. I’ll take you out again later,” Eddard reassured her with a smile before turning to Aegor. “And you—do your job well and stay out of trouble.”

Eddard’s words carried a subtle undertone. With that, he, Littlefinger, and a portion of the guard rode away, leaving Arya behind with Jory and the rest of the escort.
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The Hand of the King came and went quickly, his presence fleeting. Arya fumed over her father’s broken promise while Jory struggled to placate the fiery young Stark. Meanwhile, Aegor stared at the direction Eddard had ridden off, lost in thought.

“Stay out of trouble.” Was that a warning for him to keep quiet about Joffrey’s supposed “assassination” of Bran? Or was the funding Littlefinger was ordered to allocate a veiled bribe to keep him silent?

No, those speculations didn’t matter. Knowing Eddard Stark’s principled nature, Aegor wasn’t worried. Even if Eddard discovered that the story about Joffrey was fabricated, the honorable Stark would never quietly have him killed. What mattered was where Littlefinger was taking Eddard and why.

Piecing things together, Aegor hypothesized: Arya, bored and restless, had pestered Eddard to take her out. Eddard, ever the doting father, had agreed, but the plan had changed when Littlefinger appeared, convincing him to handle more pressing matters first.
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This wasn’t part of the original story. In the canon timeline, Bran’s fall and subsequent assassination attempt had been pinned on the Lannisters, prompting Catelyn to travel secretly to King’s Landing, leading to Tyrion’s arrest and sparking conflict between the Starks and Lannisters. Without those events, Jaime hadn’t dueled Eddard, and the fifty Stark guards remained alive and well. While Eddard might have argued with Robert over Daenerys Targaryen, their friendship remained intact, leaving Eddard to dutifully serve as Hand of the King.

Under these circumstances, Eddard, as a father, might find time to indulge his daughter with a stroll through the streets. But what could prompt him to abandon that promise? Whatever it was, it had to be important. What was Littlefinger up to?
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“They’re heading toward the direction of our inn,” Jack remarked, interrupting Aegor’s thoughts. His words, combined with Littlefinger’s comment to Arya, triggered a memory in Aegor.

A place unsuitable for children, especially girls? Aegor recalled his first day in King’s Landing when Tyrion insisted on staying at the Albatross Inn, citing its proximity to his favorite brothel. A realization hit him: “They’re probably heading to Silk Street.”

“What?” Jack, who had accompanied Tyrion to Silk Street before, knew exactly what it was. While he seemed startled by the suggestion, he hesitated. “But Lord Stark doesn’t look like someone who’d visit a brothel.”

“Visiting a brothel doesn’t necessarily mean seeking company,” Aegor said, his pupils dilating as another detail surfaced in his mind. He suddenly understood.
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Littlefinger’s ultimate goal was to provoke chaos across the Seven Kingdoms for his own gain. As a master manipulator, he could exploit any situation, adapting even if Catelyn’s absence derailed parts of his original scheme. Without her rash promises, Eddard’s initial trust in Littlefinger would undoubtedly be diminished. But for a player of Littlefinger’s caliber, even the faintest conversation was enough to weave his web of lies.

Now, Littlefinger was leading Eddard to Silk Street, steering him toward one of Robert’s bastards. By feigning assistance in uncovering Jon Arryn’s death, Littlefinger would guide Eddard to “discover” the truth about Cersei’s children.

From there, Eddard’s honor would destroy both himself and Robert. Renly would flee to rally support, Stannis would claim the throne as the rightful heir, and Robb Stark would rise as the King in the North, plunging Westeros into the War of the Five Kings.
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Aegor was confident in the Night’s Watch bonds, thanks to Tyrion’s involvement and the timeless nature of human greed. But war would ruin everything. Chaos would obliterate the foundation upon which finance—and even scams—relied. No one would invest when their homes and lives were at risk.

Within King’s Landing, Aegor could avoid fools like Robert, Joffrey, and Cersei. But Littlefinger’s chaos? No one could escape its reach.

Peace was essential for Aegor’s plans. Littlefinger’s ambitions were a direct and irreconcilable threat to his goals. He had to stop Littlefinger’s schemes.