Late that night, when they came for Tyrion Lannister, he was shivering in his sleep.
Inside the sky cell, the wind howled relentlessly, the biting cold seeming to pierce the thick stone walls and sink straight into the marrow.
Mord opened the door without a word. Ser Vardis Egen nudged Tyrion Lannister awake with the tip of his boot."Succubus, up. My lady wants to see you."
Tyrion Lannister rubbed the sleep from his eyes and deliberately put on an irritated expression."She certainly does. But at this hour, what could she possibly want? I'm not interested in widows."
Ser Vardis frowned. Years ago he had served in King's Landing as captain of the Hand's household guard, and Tyrion Lannister remembered him well. The man had a broad, ordinary face, silver hair, a thick build, and not the slightest trace of humor.
"Save your wit, succubus. Show some respect, or you'll rot here."
Tyrion Lannister pushed himself up from the floor, stood, and obediently followed Vardis out of the cell.
Mord's small eyes bore into his back, a silent reminder not to forget the promise.
They walked along the Eyrie's long corridor. Torches were set into the walls every twelve steps; Tyrion Lannister counted fifty-five before they reached their destination.
It was an unremarkable small chamber within the castle, yet four knights in heavy armor stood guard outside.
"All prepared," said a middle-aged man in a hoarse voice.
As they approached, Tyrion Lannister recognized the weather-worn face framed by gray hair—Brynden "the Blackfish" Tully.
Vardis opened the door and gestured for Tyrion Lannister to enter."Succubus, mind your behavior. If you attempt anything dangerous—"
"I know," Tyrion Lannister said. "You'll rush in like a storm and chop me to pieces."
He winked at the Blackfish. "There are four of you, plus the Blackfish. I'm well aware of my situation."
Vardis nodded, pushed him forward, and the door closed softly behind him.
The room was pitch black. It took Tyrion Lannister a moment to adjust. Statues filled the space; when he reached out, he found smooth white plaster beneath his fingers.
Men and women alike stood there, though their faces were difficult to make out. Even if he could see them clearly, he likely wouldn't recognize them—most were surely likenesses of House Arryn.
"Tyrion Lannister."
The voice from the corner startled him.
He stepped closer and finally saw her. Lady Lysa Arryn wore a black mourning gown, the crescent falcon embroidered in pearls upon her chest. Her long hair was braided delicately and draped over her left shoulder, though in the darkness its auburn hue was invisible.
"My lady." Tyrion Lannister bowed. "An honor to see you here."
"What did you wish to discuss?" Lysa Arryn asked bluntly. "The mockingbird? I don't understand what you mean. If you intend to confess—"
"No. You know exactly what it means," Tyrion Lannister interrupted. "The mockingbird born from the Titan's giant head is my ally."
"No," Lysa Arryn said sharply, her voice suddenly heated. "You are the butcher who murdered my husband. He would never have such a friend!"
"Yes, yes," Tyrion Lannister said. "Perhaps some Lannisters are threats to you, but that doesn't mean Lord Baelish and I cannot be friends."
What a two-faced hypocrite, he cursed inwardly.He knew perfectly well it was Lysa Arryn herself who had murdered Jon Arryn.
This madwoman—perhaps only the mention of Petyr Baelish could bring her back to reason.
"You're lying!" she snapped.
Tyrion Lannister quickly raised a finger to his lips, signaling her to lower her voice.
"I am not lying, my lady." His eyes were wary and tense. He wasn't confronting her directly—he was circling carefully."I don't know which Lannisters you believe wronged you, but it certainly wasn't me. Lord Baelish and I have been friends for years. Even…"
"Even if you and Petyr are friends, that doesn't mean I'll spare you," Lysa Arryn said softly. Whenever she spoke of Littlefinger, her voice dropped, as if afraid of being overheard."Even what?" she pressed.
"Even…" Tyrion Lannister leaned closer and lowered his voice. "We've been planning for me to take his position as Master of Coin—so he can return to the Vale to assist you."
"Ah!" Lysa Arryn let out a soft gasp, making Tyrion Lannister flinch.
He feared someone outside might hear, that the Blackfish would burst in and cut him down.
"Is it true?" she asked eagerly.
He could hear the delight in her voice. The plan tempted her greatly. If Littlefinger returned to the Vale, she would not mind offending her sister and setting him free.
"Absolutely true, my lady," Tyrion Lannister said firmly. "Once I return to King's Landing, Lord Baelish will soon follow back to the Vale. I give you my word."
Lysa paced the small chamber. His words had moved her, though hesitation still lingered.
"My lady, I know how much you need Lord Baelish's help," Tyrion Lannister said, feeling along a nearby statue.
It was a life-sized figure of a man, shorter than himself and slimmer. The chest was smooth, but the groin was carved with surprising exaggeration.
"When I return to King's Landing, you won't have only these cold plaster statues to keep you company."
"That one was modeled after Petyr," Lysa Arryn said.
Tyrion Lannister examined it up and down."My lady, I couldn't tell… because Lord Baelish has a long scar across his chest…"
"You know about that?" she asked, surprised.
"Good friends are always honest with each other," Tyrion Lannister said. "But he never told me how he got it."
"That doesn't matter," Lysa Arryn said, stepping closer and gently stroking the statue's chest with lingering affection. "In my heart, Petyr is perfect. So I didn't carve the scar."
Tyrion Lannister knew then that he had succeeded.
After a moment of silence before the statue, Lysa Arryn turned back to him.
"I will hold your trial shortly. Be clever, succubus. Wait here."
She pushed open the door and left. Two suits of armor clattered after her, the sound echoing down the corridor.
"They've left two guards at the door."
Inside the room, Tyrion Lannister listened as the footsteps faded, already plotting his next move.