Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 88

Jon Targaryen sat in his war tent, the letter from Lady Lysa Arryn spread before him on the table. His gray eyes scanned the words carefully, his expression unreadable. Around him, the northern and Riverlands lords waited, their faces a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Edmure Tully stood at Jon’s side, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. “Neutral,” he said, spitting the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “After everything we’ve done to secure their support, they choose to sit on the sidelines?”

Jon remained calm, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “It’s not unexpected,” he said. “Lady Lysa Arryn is... cautious.”

Brynden “Blackfish” Tully leaned forward, his grizzled features hard with anger. “Cautious? Cowardly, more like. The Vale has the men, the resources, and the position to tip the scales in this war. Instead, they choose to hide behind their mountains and gates.”

Val stepped into the tent, her eyes sharp. “What does she say exactly?”

Jon passed her the letter.

“She claims neutrality,” Jon explained. “Says the Vale will not take sides in the conflict between Starks and Lannisters. She writes that the Vale will defend itself if threatened but will not march for either crown.”

Catelyn raised an eyebrow as she read. “And she couches it in flowery language about protecting her son’s inheritance and avoiding unnecessary bloodshed. Typical.”

Catelyn Tully’s name was mentioned in the letter, a thin thread of hope that Lysa tried to extend. She wrote that her sister’s presence had helped heal old wounds, and there was now no bad blood between the Starks and the Eyrie.

Jon set his jaw, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. “Lady Stark’s influence has softened her stance, but not enough. Neutrality doesn’t help us. It only helps the Lannisters.”

Edmure spoke, his voice tight with frustration. “Catelyn’s patched things up with her, yes. But what good is that if the Vale still sits idle? We don’t need neutrality; we need swords.”

Jon nodded. “And swords we will have. If not from the Vale, then from elsewhere.”

Jon had heard rumors of Lady Lysa long before the war began. Whispers of her instability, her paranoia, and her inability to rule had spread even to the far reaches of the North. It was said that she was ill-suited to lead even in peace, and now, in the throes of war, her weaknesses were glaring.

Her neutrality wasn’t just a disappointment—it was a liability. The Vale was one of the most strategically valuable regions in Westeros, its mountainous terrain and knights making it a formidable force. Yet, under Lady Lysa’s rule, it was an isolated kingdom, its potential squandered by indecision and fear.

Jon understood that the time for sentiment had passed. If he was to be king, every region needed strong and loyal leadership. The Vale could not remain in the hands of someone who wavered when the realm needed action.

Still, he kept these thoughts to himself.

Lord Karstark leaned forward, his voice sharp. “The Vale’s neutrality only emboldens the Lannisters. While we fight for the future of the realm, Lady Lysa hides behind her mountains, pretending the war won’t reach her gates.”

Brynden Tully frowned. “She has her reasons. Her son is young, and she believes she’s acting in his best interest.”

Karstark scoffed. “Best interest? The best interest of the Vale lies with us, not with sitting on the sidelines. Neutrality is nothing more than cowardice dressed up as wisdom.”

Jon raised a hand, silencing the room. His voice was calm but firm. “Enough. Lady Lysa has made her decision. We may not agree with it, but we will not insult her. She is still family, and the Vale remains an important part of this realm.”

The room fell silent. The lords exchanged glances, but none dared to challenge Jon’s words.

Jon picked up a piece of parchment and began drafting his reply to Lady Lysa.

“Lady Arryn,

"I respect your decision to prioritize the safety of your son and your people. Neutrality, however, does not shield one from the consequences of war. The Vale’s strength and honor are unmatched, and its role in the realm is too important to be overlooked.

While I had hoped for your support, I understand the burden of leadership you bear. Should you reconsider, know that the North and Riverlands will welcome the Vale as allies and family. Until then, I trust you will keep the Eyrie secure, for the safety of your people and the legacy of House Arryn."

Jon Targaryen, King of Westeros

He sealed the letter with black wax and handed it to a messenger. “Send this immediately.”

As the council dispersed, Jon stood alone, gazing out over the campfires that dotted the horizon. His mind was still on the Vale, the mountains and knights that could tip the balance of the war.

Domeric approached quietly, his eyes studying Jon. “You said nothing against her,” he noted.

Jon didn’t look at Dom. “There’s no need to speak ill of Lady Lysa. Others will do that for me. My words must remain measured—calm. The Vale may yet come to our side.”

Dom tilted his head. “And if they don’t?”

Jon’s voice hardened, though his face remained neutral. “Then we find someone who will lead the Vale as it should be led.”

Later that evening, in the privacy of his tent, Jon sat at his desk with a fresh piece of parchment before him. He reached for his quill, dipping it into ink, and began drafting a letter.

Lord Harrold Hardyng,

I write to you not only as a king but as one who values the strength and honor of the Vale. Your uncle, Lord Jon Arryn, was a man of great wisdom and loyalty, and it is my belief that such qualities run deep in your blood.

The realm is at a crossroads, and the Vale must decide its place in the future of Westeros. Should I appoint you as the rightful Lord of the Vale, I ask only this: Will you pledge your support to me in this fight and in the peace that follows? Together, we can ensure that the Vale thrives, not as a neutral bystander, but as a cornerstone of a united and prosperous Westeros.

Jon Targaryen, King of Westeros

He sealed the letter with black wax, using a plain stamp to avoid drawing attention. Turning to Domeric, he said, “Deliver this discreetly. No one is to know of it, not even my closest allies.”

Domeric nodded. “It will be done, Your Grace.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering candlelight. Harrold Hardyng, the heir to the Vale after Lady Lysa’s son, Robin Arryn, was young but ambitious. Jon knew he would have to tread carefully. If Harrold pledged loyalty, the Vale could be brought under his control without a single drop of bloodshed.

Bran Stark entered the tent, his sharp gaze taking in the letter and Jon’s thoughtful expression. “More letters?” he asked.

Jon smirked slightly. “Just ensuring that the pieces are in place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if the wrong piece moves?”

Jon’s expression darkened slightly. “Then we adjust accordingly.”

The reply from Harrold Hardyng arrived under the cover of night, delivered by one of Jon’s most trusted messengers. Jon read the letter by the flickering candlelight in his tent, his gray eyes scanning the words carefully. Harrold had pledged his loyalty—on one condition: he be appointed the Lord of the Vale.

Jon set the letter down, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The pieces were falling into place, and the Vale’s neutrality was beginning to crack.

Jon’s confidence in his plans was bolstered by the vast network of spies he had cultivated across Westeros. While his northern and Riverland allies provided him with raw strength, his web of informants kept him one step ahead of his enemies.

Many of his spies were old Targaryen loyalists, remnants of a time when dragons ruled the skies and the Seven Kingdoms bent the knee to House Targaryen. They provided him with crucial information about the movements of his enemies, the whispers in the courts, and the secrets hidden in the shadows.

Even Varys, the eunuch who served as the Master of Whisperers in King’s Landing, had quietly offered his support. Though Jon was wary of the Spider’s intentions, he couldn’t deny the value of the information Varys provided.

“Trust only what you can verify,” Jon had told his spymaster, Wylis Manderly. “Varys is a player in this game, and I won’t let him outmaneuver us.”

Jon’s response to Harrold Hardyng was swift and direct.


Lord Harrold Hardyng,

Your loyalty is noted and appreciated. I agree to your terms—there will be no bloodshed. Together, we will ensure a smooth transition of power in the Vale, for the good of its people and the realm.

Prepare your supporters quietly. My agents will coordinate with yours to ensure the process is swift and without incident. The Vale must stand united, and with your leadership, it will become a cornerstone of the new Westeros

Jon Targaryen, King of Westeros


Long before the war began, Jon had stumbled upon this secret through his network of spies. Lady Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish had been having an affair for years, a scandal that would ruin her reputation if it became public. Jon had not thought much of it at the time. It wasn’t his place to judge, and his focus had been on stabilizing the North.

Jon had orchestrated the death of Jon Arryn, the Warden of the East. Through his network of spies, he had forged a letter in the name of Petyr Baelish, a man Jon knew could manipulate Lady Lysa Arryn with ease. The letter urged Lysa to poison her husband, framing it as a necessary step to protect her son and secure her own power.

Lysa, erratic and easily swayed, had followed through. She poisoned her husband and let the world believe it was the Lannisters’ doing. Jon had ensured that enough evidence pointed toward the Lannisters, knowing it would deepen the divide between the Vale and King’s Landing.

His plan had been simple: with Jon Arryn gone, Lysa would turn to the North for support, uniting the Vale under his banner. But Lysa had proven more unpredictable than he anticipated. Her neutrality in the war had now made her a liability, and Jon decided it was time to expose the truth.

The high council chamber of the Eyrie was steeped in tension. Lady Lysa Arryn sat on the lord’s seat, her fragile son Robin perched on her lap, his wide eyes darting nervously around the room. Around them, the lords of the Vale sat at long wooden tables, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion.

In the center of the chamber stood Harrold Hardyng, commanding attention with his confident stance. Beside him was a boy, bound at the wrists but standing tall despite his predicament. His face betrayed none of his fear, only quiet determination.

Harrold’s voice boomed across the chamber. “Lords of the Vale, I have called this council to uncover the truth behind the death of the late Lord Jon Arryn. It is time we cast aside the shadows of doubt and deception.”

Lysa’s voice rang out, sharp and defensive. “This is absurd! My husband died of poison, and the Lannisters were responsible. What game are you playing, Harrold?”

Harrold turned to her, his gaze unyielding. “This is no game, Lady Lysa. This boy, once a squire to Lord Jon Arryn, was caught with information that changes everything. He claims to know the truth about Jon Arryn’s death.”

Lysa’s face paled, but she forced herself to remain composed. The boy, bound but calm, raised his head. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“My name is Derran, and I served as Lord Jon Arryn’s squire. I was loyal to him until the day he died, and I know what truly happened in the days leading to his death.”

The lords leaned forward, their interest piqued. Yohn Royce spoke first. “What do you know, boy? Speak plainly.”

Derran nodded. “Lord Arryn was poisoned. But it was not the Lannisters who did it, as many believe. The poison came from within the Vale.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber, and the lords began whispering amongst themselves.

Lysa shot to her feet, nearly toppling Robin from her lap. “Lies! This boy speaks lies! He is trying to divide us, to make us turn on each other!”

Harrold silenced the murmurs with a raised hand. “Let him finish, Lady Lysa. The truth must be heard.”

The room fell silent as Derran continued his tale, his voice steady but laced with tension. The lords of the Vale leaned forward in their seats, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“It all began in King’s Landing,” Derran said, his gaze sweeping across the room. “You all know of King Robert Baratheon’s... indulgences. His womanizing ways left behind many bastard children, and it was Lord Jon Arryn who made it his duty to ensure they were cared for. He believed that, though they were born out of wedlock, they deserved a chance at life. I accompanied Lord Arryn on many of these visits, delivering money and arranging for these children to live in safety.”

The lords murmured among themselves, nodding at the late Lord Arryn’s honor.

Derran continued. “But in these visits, we often dealt with Lord Petyr Baelish, the master of coin. Baelish, as you all know, owns many brothels in King’s Landing. It was in one of these establishments that something… unusual caught our attention.”

Derran paused, his eyes locking onto Lysa Arryn. She was trembling, her knuckles white as she gripped Robin’s shoulders.

“There, hanging in a room within one of Baelish’s brothels, was a painting,” Derran said. “A family portrait of Petyr Baelish from his youth. It showed his father, his mother, and a young boy—Petyr himself. The painting was unremarkable at first, but upon closer inspection, Lord Arryn noticed something shocking.”

The lords leaned forward in anticipation.

“The boy in the painting,” Derran continued, his voice steady, “looked exactly like young Lord Robin Arryn.”

Gasps filled the chamber. The lords erupted into hushed whispers and shocked exclamations.

Lady Lysa shot to her feet, her face a mask of fury and panic. “Lies! All lies! This boy is a liar, sent here to destroy my family! How dare you speak such slander in my hall!”

Harrold Hardyng raised a hand, his voice calm but commanding. “Let him finish, Lady Lysa. If these are lies, the truth will prevail. But the council deserves to hear it.”

Lysa sank back into her chair, clutching Robin tightly.

Derran continued, unperturbed by her outburst. “At the time, Lord Arryn did not act on this discovery. He was a man of honor and discretion, and he knew the implications of what he saw. But he began to suspect that there was more to Robin’s parentage than Lady Lysa had claimed.”

The room fell into an eerie silence as Derran continued his story. Every word hung in the air like a blade, ready to strike at the very heart of the Vale’s leadership. The lords leaned in, their expressions a mix of curiosity, anger, and disbelief.

Derran stood straight, his voice calm but resolute, as he spoke to the gathered lords.

“Lord Arryn was a wise man,” Derran began. “When he began to suspect that there were secrets hidden within his own household, he started investigating. It was during this investigation that he uncovered something deeply troubling: the long-standing relationship between Lady Lysa Arryn and Lord Petyr Baelish.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber, and a few lords exchanged shocked glances. Derran pressed on.

“They had been lovers since their youth,” Derran said, his voice unwavering. “Lord Petyr Baelish, as you all know, came from humble beginnings. He would never have risen to his current position without Lady Lysa’s influence. She was enamored with him, blinded by love, and she used her power to elevate him.”

Lord Yohn Royce frowned deeply, his brow furrowed. “And what of this... relationship? Surely it ended when Lady Lysa married Lord Jon Arryn?”

Derran shook his head. “No, my lord. Their affair continued in secret. Lord Jon Arryn discovered this not long after their marriage. He also learned that Lady Lysa had been pregnant with Baelish’s child before their marriage, and that the child had been lost after her father, Lord Tully, intervened.”

The room erupted into hushed murmurs, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Derran raised his voice to recapture their attention.

“It was because of this betrayal that Lord Jon Arryn decided to leave King’s Landing,” he continued. “He could no longer trust his wife, and he sought the safety and solace of the Vale. But even here, Lady Lysa and Petyr Baelish’s schemes followed him.”

Lysa’s voice rang out, shrill and desperate. “Lies! All lies! My husband adored me! He moved to the Vale because of mountain clans, not because of me!”

Derran turned to her, his gaze sharp. “Then why, Lady Lysa, did I find a bottle of poison in your chambers after his death? Why did you administer ‘tears of Lys’ to your husband?”

Lysa shot to her feet, her voice a frantic wail. “He’s lying! The Lannisters poisoned Jon! They wanted to silence him because he knew the truth about their bastards!”

Harrold glanced at the gathered lords, ensuring he had their attention. Then, with deliberate calm, he spoke the words that would shatter the fragile facade of Lysa’s control.

“You killed Lord Jon Arryn because you wanted your bastard son to be the Lord of the Vale.”

The room erupted into gasps and shocked murmurs. Lords turned to one another, their faces a mixture of disbelief and anger.

Lysa shot to her feet, nearly knocking Robin from her lap. Her face was red with rage, and her voice rose to a near scream. “My Robin is no bastard! He is Lord Arryn! He is Jon Arryn’s son! He is no bastard!”

Her outburst silenced the room, and all eyes turned to her. Harrold took a step closer, his voice soft and unassuming.

“Then why, Lady Lysa, did you kill Lord Arryn if Robin is truly his son?”

Lysa froze, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. Then, as if the weight of the moment crushed her resolve, the words spilled out.

“Because he wanted to take my baby away!” she cried, her voice trembling with hysteria. “Petyr told me! He said Jon was planning to send Robin to Tywin Lannister, to be fostered with those monsters! I couldn’t let that happen! I couldn’t lose my son!”

The chamber descended into stunned silence. The lords stared at her, their disbelief turning into quiet fury.