The Gates of the Moon

Baelish, once alone, calls for Ser Templeton first and for Nestor Royce second, each coming when the other one's bussiness is concluded.

"Nay"

He said, wavering a hand.

"He's not an issue, yet. Sansa got him smitten and he will hold his sword as long as his lance is his hard in his breeches"

Baelish walks around the room.

"You're a descendant of William Stark, a third or fourth or whatevers cousin to both Lady Sansa and her siblings. That will give you some standing up the Neck. Ser, you shall go North and meet with this Stannis we all believed done for"

He hands him a document.

"You have full powers to negotiate with him, hear his terms and send ravens back to me in here"

Then, he stops on one place and looks outside, where the snow-covered peaks were drawn against the morning sky.

"Take the road to the Sisters, easier to reach the North that way"

"I can't leave the Vale, not yet. Won't give it up when there's no Riverlands to be accounted for"

Said Baelish, gesturing towards a small parchment scroll over the table.

"Only Blackwood stands with me, the kingdom is lost to me now"

He looks back at Templeton.

"I have to keep Harrenhal and the Vale, let the floppy trout, that fool, have the Trident and Riverrun, for what's worth. Have him recognize Sansa as his brother's heir. Improvise the rest of it all. If he does as much, I will dip our banners to him. I know Stannis, he won't yield, and he will make a short job of the dragon"

Baelish remains pensive. His final goal remained far-fetched right now, he almost had it, he almost had it. If Bolton had done his job, but he made a poor excuse of a Warden for the North. But, Sansa would have to wait if they both were to survive this and thrive, somehow. Stannis was no friend of his, but neither the Dragon, but he would negotiate and weasel his way out of it. Coming on top was harder as the new would-be kings weren't as easy to manipulate as Cersei. He would have to think about, think about it, think about it. Tommen was now wet paper, an useless hostage in Dragonstone, worth very little it seemed. Another way out ruined. Woe, the Lannisters rose too high and paid the price. He had a page, a boy from the Riverlands, fetch him Nestor Royce.

"Aye"

He said. Baelish was walking back and forth, like the previous meeting.

"I need someone smart enough to go to the Dragon and deal with him"

He stops to look at Nestor.

"I've sent Templeton North to deal with Stannis and hear his terms. You must do as much, you or whoever you think clever and glib of tongue to be sent down to the Stormlands or wherever you find this pretender"

He claps hands behind his back.

"The Trident for me and Winterfell for Lady Sansa are fair terms, I believe, to gain our allegiance. Whatever happens, we must come on top"

"Or a fucking whelp son of a Lyseni whore. Who cares. People believe he's the son of Rhaegar and that's what matters, what people think it's real, not the actual truth"

Said Baelish with a grunt. He was nerved by the whole situation, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I'd sooner have them all killed, dragons are no good, mad or smart, they're all dangerous and the realm was better without them all. But, we have to do some knee-bending, either Stannis or this Aegon, because I believe our sweet Tommen will soon be smothered or too irrelevant to even matter. I don't trust Mace to win a battle even if his life depended on it"

He takes a seat, finally.

"And, if he by chance he wins, I'll be back with king Tommen, all smiles and honey, and we shall face his uncle Stannis, or whatever they actually are, Cersei be screwing her own brother, the harlot. Good riddance"

"And who knows what would have been of the Vale, else"

Said Baelish.

"Our larders full, our houses intact from the miseries of war... It's hard to discern what would have happened had they marched"

Maybe the Young Wolf would be alive and all Lannisters would hang from the battlements of the Keep.