“So tell me, sweetling—why is Harry the Heir?” Her eyes widened. “He is not Lady Waynwood’s heir. He’s Robert’s heir. If Robert were to die…” Petyr arched an eyebrow. “When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn’s bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon…and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back…why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa…Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?” — THE VALE PLOT