The sun was still low, and the morning light was just right. Ser Barristan felt in good spirits. As he aged, he needed less and less sleep. As a squire, he could sleep ten hours in a night and still stumble yawning toward the training yard half awake. Now, in his sixties, five hours was more than enough. Today, though worn from the road and the saddle, he felt he could still swing a longsword.
"Another fools' festival in the garden, I suppose," Ser Brynden said.
"Near enough," Ser Vardis said, his face dark. "A great deal of Lord Jon's property has been given away for that singer. Many people are beginning to draw back now, but they are not willing to give up either."
Most noble ladies would at least put on a show after their husbands died, but Lysa had let herself run wild. She did not even pretend.
Lord Nestor's face looked ugly as well. He had been one of those fools, and among the first to be rejected. Lysa looked down on him, that fat sow, calling him a bumpkin. If not for that scrap of power, why would he have lowered himself so?
"Vile woman. Let us see how you end this." Thinking that, Nestor found himself looking forward to the show. The other side had five ruthless hands: Stormhammer, the White Knight, Bronze Yohn, Blackfish, and Anguy.
On the balcony stood jars of thick cream cheese and baskets of blackberries. The guests held carved silver cups and sipped sweet wine flavored with orange. A fools' festival indeed. No wonder Brynden had called it that.
"Hahahaha." On the balcony, Lord Hunter told a joke that made Lysa laugh aloud. Then she bit a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbray's dagger. Among the crow-like suitors, those two were the most favored, though only on the surface.
"She has really let herself go," Gendry thought when he saw Lysa, the greatest fool of a woman in ice and fire.
After marrying Jon Arryn, suffering several miscarriages, and finally giving birth to Robert, Lysa had begun to grow fat. Though she was two years younger than her sister Catelyn, she looked a full ten years older. Her body was swollen and loose, and powder covered her pale cheeks. In appearance, she had no appeal at all.
The party of six shattered the laughter in The Eyrie. Ser Nestor wisely stood at the rear. In truth, only five of them would act. The blue-cloaks under Ser Vardis remained silent, spreading out on both sides of the group.
"Get out! The Eyrie does not welcome you!" Lysa shouted the moment they met, and the air between them turned hostile at once.
But the five knights stood unmoving. Gendry wore black scale plate with a golden surcoat over it, and on his cloak was a beautiful quartered design where stag and dragon appeared together. Anguy was dressed much the same, except his plate had been replaced by lighter leather armor, and he carried a Myr crossbow and a sword. Beside them stood the old knight Barristan, clad in plate as bright as snow and a milk-white cloak; Bronze Royce in silvered armor engraved with red runes; and Ser Brynden Blackfish in gray armor, though his cloak bore Riverrun's lively blue and red, with a gleaming blackfish crafted from gold and obsidian set upon his shoulder.
"Insolence. Those words should have been shouted by a herald, so I must repeat them myself." Barristan the Bold looked at Lysa. "You should welcome the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, the lawful heir of His Grace Robert I of House Baratheon, Prince Gendry, Lysa."
"Gendry."
At that name, the lords and knights of the Vale all changed expression. This man was a powerful contender for the Iron Throne, and none of them had expected him to come here in person.
The young, fierce Gendry was a butcher who had slaughtered his way across both sides of the Narrow Sea. The Vale was close to the Free Cities, so they naturally knew of Gendry, the "Killing Star" and "King of Two Cities." More recently, even the proud, arrogant Kingslayer had been crushed in defeat. Plenty of songs about the brave Stag had already spread through the Vale.
"Robert? What face does Robert have to come ordering The Eyrie again? He was busy bedding women and hunting while Jon worked himself to an early grave. And what did Jon get in return? He wanted to send his foster father's son into the lion's mouth, and he could not wait to give the Warden of the East to the Kingslayer." Lysa began screaming hysterically.
"In the past, the late King did indeed wrong Lord Arryn in many ways. But Lady, that is no reason for you to poison and murder Great Lord Jon Arryn, or to poison the young Great Lord as well." Gendry looked at Lysa.
The words fell, and the balcony that had been full of laughter and flattery went utterly silent. These uninvited guests were accusing her of poison and conspiracy. The lords of the Vale froze where they stood, at a loss for what to do.
Lysa's manner turned frantic. "Uncle, Vardis, Nestor, have you all rebelled? Will you betray the kindness Lord Arryn and I showed you? These people are all traitors to the Iron Throne. Robert's bastard, the traitor Barristan, and Yohn, traitor to the Vale."
"We are no traitors, Lady Lysa!" Gendry said coldly, his voice ringing like steel. "There is no tragedy in this world worse than a wife poisoning her husband. Yet Lord Jon never imagined that the wife he loved so dearly was a venomous woman, vicious as a viper. Poison is the trick of women and petty men. How could Lord Arryn suspect his own wife? You betrayed Lord Arryn. So did Littlefinger."
"You lie. How could I, how could I..." Lysa shouted incoherently, then turned toward her suitors. "Will no one fight for my honor?"
"Honor? Your honor?" Gendry nearly laughed. He stepped forward, his tall figure seeming to press the breath from those before him, like a bright sword drawn from its sheath, edge laid bare. "You bedded Littlefinger and killed Arryn?"
"You are talking nonsense." Lysa rose, refusing to yield.
"Lady, I think you should let him finish," Old Lord Hunter said softly. "He is, after all, a king's son."
"When a king's son comes to see you, you ought to meet him. Besides, the Vale cannot stay out of this forever."
Many of the noble suitors and knights pretended to study the sky. Trial by combat was honorable, but it was not the same as throwing one's life away. Could they compare themselves to the Horselord or the Kingslayer?
"Of course I have clues. You were dissatisfied with King Robert, and with Lord Arryn as well. The King wanted to send the child to Casterly Rock. At the time, Lord Arryn was investigating the royal bloodline. He visited brothels and followed the trail, and then he meant to send the child to Dragonstone to be fostered by Great Lord Stannis. Is that right?
"Old Lord Walder remembers it clearly, because he also wanted to take Sweetrobin as his foster son. But you could not bear to let the child leave his mother's side for even a step, so you believed Littlefinger's whispers and gave Lord Arryn a little poison. Perhaps the colorless, odorless Tears. Later, Maester Colemon began purging him, only to be driven away by Pycelle. After that, you wrote to The North and claimed the Lannisters had killed Lord Jon. Is that not so?"
"No. No, it is not." But Lysa's words carried no conviction. Her voice immediately began to tremble, and her face grew stranger still. Judged by the logic of the story, this tale of assassination was horrifying, but it also sounded terribly real. After all, everyone knew her control over the child had become something sick.
"Whatever Littlefinger says, you do it, Lady."
"Ser Vardis, am I right?"
Ser Vardis nodded. "I know Great Lord Jon meant to send Robin to Dragonstone. As for Ser Hugh, he was my lord's squire. He did not go with us, yet somehow he died in King's Landing."
"Catelyn mentioned that letter to me as well." Ser Brynden nodded too.
"Ser Vardis, go bring Maester Colemon here," Gendry said.
"Yes." Vardis gave Lysa a cold look, as if he were already Gendry's man. "Lady, if this is true, then we must avenge Lord Arryn."
A good number of blue-cloaks immediately left to search for Maester Colemon.
"They are not my guests. I command you to kill them. Kill them!" Lysa screamed. She seized a sword and laid the drawn blade across her knees. Denying guest right was an old custom.
Then Lysa dragged over the falcon on the balcony and flung its cage open. The falcon flew out. "This was a gift from the whoremonger king. I give it to you, bastard." That meant the sacred guest right had ended.
With the falcon flying through the hall, Lysa had chosen her own death.
But few of the blue-cloaks on the balcony were willing to act. A dozen or so blue-cloaks dragged their feet, their crossbows unstrung and their swords still sheathed, uncertain whether they ought to fight. Some even seemed inclined to restrain Lysa instead. They had no affection for this foolish woman. If she truly had murdered the master they revered, they would have gladly killed her themselves. As for the attendants, knights, and lords great and small, they were even more frozen. A shadow of murder gathered overhead, yet Lady Lysa was raving like a madwoman.
"Enough, Lysa. You have shamed House Tully and House Arryn. Your father has already cast you out," Blackfish said coldly. Sometimes, there was no room for mercy.
Hot tears spilled from Lysa's eyes and rolled down her fat, flushed cheeks. "Will no one help a poor widow like me?" But no one moved.
Ser Lyn Corbray stepped down from the balcony. He wore silver armor, with a white surcoat bearing three flying ravens, each clutching a blood-red heart in its talons. In his hand was the deadly Lady Forlorn. His brown hair fell to his shoulders, and he was as thin as a sword. He was handsome, but vain, short-tempered, and rash.
"Ser Lyn, you are a true knight." Lysa was overjoyed.
"Shut up, you foolish woman. A traitor too, most likely. You have been playing with me, waiting for that dog Littlefinger, haven't you? I have had enough." Lyn spoke impatiently, then shoved Lysa aside. "My lady is thirsty. I will let her taste some meat, and while I am at it, I will have a look at the king's blade."
Ser Lyn walked over, the heart-shaped ruby on his sword hilt flashing with dazzling red light.
"You want your lady to drink some blood?" Gendry looked at the approaching Ser Lyn. Lyn was quite handsome, though perhaps his tastes were questionable.
"I have always wanted to cross swords with the Kingslayer. Since he has already lost, I would like to draw my sword as well. This is a fine opportunity. But perhaps the Storm will become my king, so we will stop short of killing. After all, I truly do not believe a young man could defeat the Kingslayer so easily. If I lose, I will give you a gift," Lyn said. "Guest against guest."
"Then we are only playing."
Lyn saw the looks in Barristan's eyes and the others'. Those looks were clearly pity. Anger flared in Lyn's heart. You look down on me, then I will prove I am the finest sword. This young man's name may be famous, but I am dangerous too.
Light danced along the smoky-gray blade, and the dark metal seemed to radiate sharpness. Lady Forlorn and the Arakh curved sword.
"My sweet Robin, and Petyr, come save me," Lysa sobbed in her seat, while several blue-cloaks gathered around her.
Ser Lyn was a careful, methodical swordsman, and a dangerous one. The longsword in his hand was precise and merciless. But Gendry's counters came like a storm, power pressing down through his blade.
Every heavy blow from Gendry struck like a great stone crushing down, like mountains collapsing. He made light things heavy, and still kept strength in reserve, building pressure wave after wave.
Lyn's face grew uglier by the moment. Gendry was taller and stronger than him, with a longer reach, yet also as nimble as a hunting cat. Two storms of steel light tangled and crashed in the air, the ringing blows clear to every ear.
All the knights cried out in delight. It was one of the most beautiful dances in the world, a dance of steel against steel, two legendary weapons striking through the air in the hands of two of the most dangerous warriors alive.
But a moment later, the curved sword swept toward Lyn's head. Lyn blocked with his sword, yet his body was forced down inch by inch until one knee touched the ground.
Clang.
Lyn dropped Lady Forlorn, wearing an embarrassed smile. "Now I believe the Kingslayer's defeat was no injustice. I had little strength left to answer."
"I was once the finest sword in the Vale. Now? I think you are the finest in the Seven Kingdoms." Lyn tossed Lady Forlorn at Gendry's feet. "I believe the Warrior protects you."
"Rise, Ser," Gendry said, letting Lyn get back to his feet.
"My lords, our king has come. This young man is as brave and fearless as a king, and I believe he is the Warrior's chosen. I know many of you owe Littlefinger coin, and I have taken Littlefinger's coin myself. But if Littlefinger dies, do we still have to pay him back?" Lyn shouted toward the lords and knights on the balcony, and the mood changed at once.