A sweltering afternoon.
In the Hand of the King's bedchamber, seven septons held the Seven-Pointed Star and prayed to the Seven for the beloved Hand Jon.
The Seven, originating from the Mountains of the Moon, had long become the mainstream faith in Westeros.
The Seven are one with seven faces, manifesting as the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger, guiding people to live their lives correctly.
"O righteous Father, a man who has lived a good life should not suffer such hardship."
"Mother, merciful one, protect the people in peace, free from disaster and illness."
"Warrior, grant him the courage and strength to overcome this illness."
"..."
"Wise Crone, please guide us to a way to save him from his pain."
"Stranger, come later, not today, not today..."
Jon Arryn could not hear any of this.
Tormented by illness, he had fallen into a deep dream.
Sometimes, he seemed to turn back into the child at the Eyrie, running and jumping happily within the castle, letting the servants chase after him.
Sometimes, he suddenly grew into a steady youth, learning knowledge and swordsmanship, meeting nobles, merchants, and knights.
He married and watched his wife pass away. He designated heir after heir, and watched them meet with accidents.
He had two foster sons. Robert's lively and hearty laughter echoed through the entire Eyrie every day, and even the silent and serious Eddard gained some vitality.
Robert and Eddard gradually grew up.
He received a stern order from the Mad King, but how could he bear to push his foster sons into the hell of death?
High as Honor. He followed the honor in his heart.
The War of the Usurper began.
The rebel army was not weak, with four liege lords from the Vale, Stormlands, Riverlands, and The North raising the banner of rebellion together.
But there were still many royalists or neutral parties among his vassals, and these had to be dealt with first.
Robert and Eddard both performed well, winning battle after battle.
They captured Gulltown, fought the Battle of Summerhall, and eliminated and subdued the disobedient forces under their command.
The Battle of the Bells crushed the royal army, greatly boosting the rebel army's prestige.
On the banks of the Trident River, Robert's heavy hammer strike shattered the ruby three-headed Dragon on Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's chest into countless pieces, and the death knell for the Targaryen Dynasty was sounded.
What exciting times those were.
Afterward, Robert became King, growing fatter and fatter, spending his days in revelry, while he himself became the one who sat on the Iron Throne most often.
Then, he had his only son from his wife Lysa.
My son, Robert, my little Robin, grow up quickly, grow strong quickly.
Robert...
Pycelle heard the Hand's voice again.
It wasn't meaningless, vague moans, but repeated calls.
Robert, Robert, Robert...
The King finally arrived. "Pycelle, how is the old man? How did he suddenly..."
King Robert was both shocked and grief-stricken, besides Lyanna's fate, this was almost the worst thing he could imagine.
The Grand Maester stood up respectfully, his expression full of pity.
"Your Majesty, I have done my best, but given Duke Arryn's age and the long-term burden of state affairs, he is physically and mentally exhausted. A sudden illness is truly unavoidable."
The King's expression was practically cannibalistic.
Pycelle trembled all over, forcing himself to suppress his fear and stammered, "The condition shows no signs of improvement. Perhaps, we could give Duke Arryn some Milk of the Poppy. At least it will alleviate his suffering."
Milk of the Poppy, used for pain relief and anesthesia, was hardly a good method for treating illness.
The King's anger erupted instantly, his massive right fist heading straight for Pycelle's face, "What nonsense! Pycelle, get out! Get out! My fist doesn't recognize a useless fellow like you!"
Pycelle scrambled out in a hurry.
The room fell silent. King Robert looked around, finally deflated, and sat down by the bed.
For a long time, he held his foster father's hand and recounted the good times of the past. But the Hand's spirit remained low, only occasionally shouting "Robert" loudly.
Lady Lysa still refused to let little Robin get close.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
The King also sadly gave up hope, "Call Pycelle over."
After drinking the Milk of the Poppy, Jon Arryn had a moment of clarity, like a dying flame flaring up. Seeing his foster son Robert and his wife Lysa, he opened his mouth.
In an instant, countless thoughts and images flashed through his mind.
But in the end, Jon only said "Seed is Strong" before murmuring and closing his eyes, returning to his hazy dreams.
After that, he calmed down and didn't speak again.
...
In the shadows.
The Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, was waiting for the final news.
Lord Jon, you are too hasty. How can things proceed without giving people time to prepare?
Although he had orchestrated this murder, he considered it a necessary evil, far from perfect.
The Lannisters' secret was not entirely unknown.
The reason it had remained hidden for so many years was simply that those who knew felt the risk was too great or the benefit too small to be motivated.
Before Duke Stannis and Hand Jon "alone" discovered the truth and decided to send Lysa back to the Eyrie, Littlefinger was actually one of these secret keepers.
Damn Varys, cunning Renly.
He could have created a more perfect chaos, but now he had to act hastily and ahead of schedule.
There was no other way. Lysa was a perfect pawn, and Petyr had other important plans for her. How could he let her simply return to the Vale?
Even so, he was confident he could still succeed in turning the lion, wolf, stag, and falcon against each other.
The so-called Five Kingdoms Alliance would collapse overnight.
War would be unavoidable, the Riverlands would bleed incessantly, and the Reach and Dorne would not remain indifferent.
Wonderful chaos was about to arrive.
The days of the tourney were the best time.
Hand Jon was close to the final evidence. As soon as that book was in hand, he would have Lysa act. Old Jon, in his illness, would tell the truth to his foster son, the King, before he died.
By then, Old Lion Tywin's large force would be in King's Landing, and a bloody battle would be inevitable.
But unexpected factors appeared one after another.
The Imp actually instigated Joffrey to demand some Dragon Eggs. The Queen's deterrent power had not yet disappeared, and Petyr had to spend an entire day making arrangements.
Then there was Jon Arryn. He had expected things to move more quickly, but the old man had only just found that book last night.
Finally, and most fatally, Duke Tywin actually set off to return on the third day after the tourney—yesterday morning—and Cersei and the three children, even the Kingslayer, were accompanying him!
Idiotic Cersei! Arrogant Tywin!
With the Lannisters gone, the chaos created by the Hand's death would be greatly reduced.
The strength of the stag, falcon, fish, and wolf, bound by King Robert, was not something the Lannisters alone could match. By then, the cold and rational Duke Tywin would not care about appearances. Although the Westerlands would pay a price, the war would end quickly.
This was not Petyr Baelish's goal.
But he did not lose heart.
He had endured for so many years; he had enough patience to wait for the next opportunity.
While the Lannisters withdrawing from King's Landing was not the best outcome, at least without the Five Kingdoms Alliance, the contradictions and divisions among the Seven Kingdoms would grow larger.
The next opportunity was not far off.
He stroked the mockingbird sigil on his chest, smiling mysteriously.
Without the destruction of a few ducal houses, how could House Baelish be reborn?
Petyr's ambition was great: Count, Duke, the Iron Throne. For ultimate power, there must be chaos sufficient to overturn the Seven Kingdoms, to break the shackles of this rigid and outdated order.
Only then could he, a descendant of a fallen minor noble house, climb higher, climb above thousands and tens of thousands of people.
When Aegon forged the Iron Throne, he did not rely on bloodline or claims!
At this moment, an inconspicuous servant walked up and whispered a few words in his ear.
Petyr's face showed an astonishment he had never displayed before.
How could this be?!
Jon Arryn!
Littlefinger had never hated the old man as much as he did now. He had considered all sorts of unexpected factors, but he had never thought there would be a problem here.
Seed is Strong! That was your dying wish?
You only said that?!
Who could have imagined that the Hand, before his death, did not accuse the Lannister siblings, but took the secret to his grave!
He felt like a clown.
After all this planning, he ended up with only this result.
The Hand was dead, the Lannisters were safe and sound, the King knew nothing. What would happen next?
Petyr was in no mood to think about it at this moment.
Seed is Strong!
Jon Arryn, you old stubborn fool! You deserve to go to the seventh hell!
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