The Mountain of Ice and Fire

As soon as Pollyver entered, he stood in front of Sweetmouth Raff.

He was tall, and Gregor could see him standing there.

Gregor was even taller, and in the hall, with so few people, everyone could see him.

But Pollyver clearly wanted this assignment: to go to King's Landing and capture Littlefinger Petyr Baelish.

Sweetmouth Raff had a smiling face, appearing indifferent, but his heart was full of anticipation.

Who wouldn't want to perform meritorious service?

Littlefinger Petyr Baelish was just a Master of Coin, without guards, unskilled in martial arts, and his family's territory was the Fingers peninsula in the Vale, a barren island covered only in moss, with only a few fishermen as its people, able to support only moss-eating goats. The Goat-Shit Earl was unmarried, single, and taking him away would be simple, clean, and not troublesome.

Executioner Dunsen looked at Ser Gregor with burning eyes, eager to get this task, which was both an honor and a merit. Sweetmouth Raff had already made a great contribution: helping the Duke train the 'Military Whistle Army Control' method for the Westerlands generals, and this time he thought it should be his turn.

Mark the Scribe stood at the back of the four, knowing he had no chance, which made him very depressed. That's how it was being a steward; there was no chance to be at the front in battle, and the opportunities to make contributions were all for Sweetmouth and the others. He oversaw the affairs of Clegane Village, managing the armory, stables, granary, land, miners, people, and it was always difficult to get any opportunities. These things were very miscellaneous, and if you personally intervened without delegating to subordinate officials, you would have to deal with many things every day, but it seemed like you were an idle person.

Laborious and unrewarding, that's what a steward's job was like.

Gregor looked at his four loyal fans, knowing that everyone wanted this task.

"Scribe!" Ser Gregor said.

"Yes, my lord!" the Scribe replied weakly. He knew the knight would ask him to go out and look at the stables, buildings, crops, or something. Nowadays, even the temple's lamp oil, servant management, cleaning, and diet were things he had to ask about and check.

"This time you are responsible for going to King's Landing to capture Littlefinger," Gregor said.

The Scribe was stunned.

"See how many people you need to go with you, and pick them from the cavalry yourself," the knight added.

The Scribe's head exploded with a bang.

He felt like he was floating.

He still couldn't believe it.

"...My lord...if I go to King's Landing...there are so many...miscellaneous affairs in the village..."

"Lady Janei is watching," Gregor said, "There's Steward Thomasman in the stables, Lady Ellen in the kitchen, Steward Ebbert in the armory, Delia in the village, Witch in the temple, Halys Scholar for the ravens, Pollyver for the miners, Sweetmouth Raff and Dunsen for the cavalry, what are you worried about?"

"My lord, I want to go with the Scribe, he needs help," Pollyver stammered. He made awkward gestures to increase the momentum of his speech.

"He does need help, but not from you three. The Scribe needs an opportunity to prove himself," Gregor said.

"My lord, when do I leave?"

"The sooner the better. See how many people you need, whether to ride horses or take a carriage, I don't care about these. I want you to understand one thing: when you catch Littlefinger Petyr Baelish, don't let the Spider know. His little birds are all over the city, especially at the major city gates. Although the little birds are said to be children, the soldiers at the city gates and the shoemakers on the streets may be Varys's little birds."

"Yes, I know what to do." The Scribe smiled, his expression relaxed. He was sure that this good thing was his, and his confidence suddenly returned. A joyful event makes one feel refreshed, and the Scribe's face was radiant!

"Tell me how you will do it?"

"Littlefinger is the Master of Coin, which is easy to handle. I'll go to his brothel and say there's a problem at the mint and he needs to take a look, then we'll wait for him outside the city," the Scribe said.

"Good!"

"My lord, if there is an emergency, I can handle it," Dunsen said.

"None of you three are going. The Scribe is a fresh face, the Spider doesn't know him, and Littlefinger doesn't know him either. He's also young, only a teenager, and no one will be wary of a child who looks very friendly," Gregor said.

Pollyver, Dunsen, and Sweetmouth were all disappointed.

Sweetmouth's disappointment was in his heart. Pollyver's disappointment was on his face. Dunsen's disappointment was in his breathing; his chest heaved and his breathing was rapid.

*

From the Clegane lands in the Westerlands to Winterfell in the North, it was thousands of miles, and a large force would take two months, and a small force would take one month. But ravens fly a straight line in the air, shortening the journey by more than half, without having to first leave Golden Tooth, cross the Red Fork River, and enter the Riverlands for thousands of miles, directly north, flying straight over the Westerlands mountains, passing over the Iron Islands, and entering the First Men's barrows in the North, and not far in front of the First Men's barrows is Winterfell, the seat of the Lord of the North—the Stark family.

Maester Botley released the raven day and night, and it arrived in Winterfell in one day and one night. Through the hands of Maester Luwin of the Citadel Tower, the Duke's letter reached the hands of Earl Tygett Swyft. After reading the letter, the Earl immediately replied, not daring to delay, and before dawn, the Earl released his own raven. The Clegane's messenger raven rested at the Earl's, eating corn and minced meat.

Another day and night, and at dawn, Maester Botley was awakened by Halys Scholar, holding Earl Tygett Swyft's reply sealed with wax.

Lord Tywin has ordered that upon receiving Earl Tygett's letter, he must be given it to him immediately.

Witch's prophecy that the Westerlands would go to war with the North made Earl Tywin's heart unable to calm down, so he simply stayed in Clegane Village, waiting for the raven's reply with all his attention.

This matter was extraordinary.

For a Duke, the biggest thing was the outbreak of war.

Maester Botley did not dare to neglect and immediately came to the third floor and knocked on the Duke's door.

The sky was slightly bright, the Duke got up, holding a candle, and broke the wax seal of Earl Tygett's letter.

The scholar hurriedly took the candle, and the Duke unfolded the parchment, which read short words: My Lord Duke, Lord Eddard's fourth son, Bran Stark, fell from the broken tower, breaking both legs, and has been in a coma for half a month. No one saw what happened when Bran fell, so Tygett doesn't know if Bran slipped or was pushed down.

When the Duke read the letter a second time, Maester Botley was already stunned.

The witch's prophecy was at least mostly true: the little wolf broke his leg; he was in a coma and has not woken up.

How did the witch know what happened in Winterfell in the North while she was in the Clegane Village's temple?

However, this was truly the ability of wizards, prophets, and skinchangers.

The scholar remembered the story of Brynden Rivers, the 'Thousand and One Eyes' sung throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Since the witch had foreseen that the little wolf would fall from the broken tower and break his leg, was he slipping, or did someone push him down?

The witch's prophecy said that a lion pushed down a little wolf.

Tywin slowly rolled up the parchment, placed it on the candle, the flame burned the parchment, and the parchment began to burn and curl.

"Scholar, how many gold dragons did Steward Yarman take with him?"

Thank you to book friend 'Likes Early Rising Birds' for the reward, thank you!