Blue and white were the ruling colors of The Eyrie, and the colors of House Arryn's sigil as well. Proud, cold colors.
Outside the tower were the blue sky, the seven white towers, the guards in sky-blue cloaks, and the blue flowers and white statues in the garden. But now, all that blue and white seemed overshadowed by black and gold, by a new sun: a tall blade-bearing warrior in a black helm, with black hair and a golden surcoat.
Gendry walked to the stone statue in the center of The Eyrie's circular garden. Barristan, Lyn Corbray, the Blackfish Brynden Tully, Bronze Yohn Royce, Anguy, and the others followed behind him. They were still waiting for two people: Maester Colemon and the singer Marillion. Grass and blue flowers grew from the garden's soil, and white statues stood among the dense flowering shrubs.
Gendry stood with the Arakh long blade planted before him. The Valyrian steel blade was smoky gray, each ripple a deep, dark black. It was light, hard, and terrifyingly sharp. The Demon of the Whispering Wood was a tall, powerful warrior with the strength of a giant. Among the crowd, he stood like a towering fortress, as if a storm of blood and fury might descend upon the world at any moment.
"Let the gods witness your crimes," Gendry said contemptuously, looking up at Lysa on the balcony, that sobbing madwoman, and at the lords and servants behind her, a pack of worthless curs.
"Ser Lyn lost that thoroughly?" The Vale lords, knights, and servants were shaken. Even though they had heard of the Storm's strength beforehand, they had still held some illusions about a duel. Ser Lyn was no ordinary man. The Kingslayer may have been defeated, but the knights of the Vale were famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet reality was that the Vale's finest swordsman had been utterly beaten. Lyn had seen the gap for himself and had not tried to argue it away. He had once been such a proud man. And this had happened while Ser Lyn was fresh, after Gendry had crossed mountains and rivers to get here.
The sword was truth. Strength was truth. Looks were truth. Presence was truth.
Violence was the clearest truth in the world, and the most fundamental. Besides, the knight was handsome and powerful, like the Warrior come down to earth. At least in these respects, the Vale knights had already begun to admire Gendry.
But once Ser Lyn said those words, many lords and knights suddenly understood. In terms of justice, Lysa already stood on the edge of ruin. In terms of force, even the Vale's most dangerous swordsman was far beneath the Storm, and no one else had the courage to step forward. In that case, it was better to change sides at once. Unexpectedly, Ser Lyn had been the first to notice this opportunity.
"If he is already a traitor, do we still need to repay his money? When a man dies, so do his debts." There were plenty of poor nobles in the Vale. Who could say he had never received Littlefinger's favor? Littlefinger had sunk deep roots in the Vale. If they were a little bolder, perhaps even their debts to the Lannisters need not be repaid.
After all, before his ambition was exposed, Littlefinger's gold and his smile had both been charming. Everyone had thought he posed no threat. Littlefinger was clever, always smiling, pleasant to be around, a friend to everyone. Whatever coin the King or the Hand of the King needed, he supplied it. His birth was not high either, only a little above a hedge knight's, and so he did not stand out. He had no vassal lords, no great retinue, no strong ancient castle, no proud ancestral lands, and no capital to seek a lofty marriage.
"Hmph! I long ago saw that Lysa had ill intentions. She had not a shred of loyalty to Lord Arryn. A traitor," old Lord Hunter said, turning with the wind.
"Exactly. Littlefinger and Lysa are both traitors."
"Gods above, I have always been loyal to King Robert."
"Right. King Robert and Prince Gendry are our own people."
"Traitors. Since they are traitors, Littlefinger's property should be confiscated, and his debts should be canceled."
More and more lords, knights, and servants had left the balcony and submitted beneath the Storm, leaving only Lysa and the blue-cloaked guards alone.
"Gods, save me. Petyr, Falcon Knight." Lysa began to sob, but the eyes of the blue-cloaked soldiers, lords, and knights were already full of disgust.
Stripped of the halo of power and the Regent's seat in The Eyrie, Lysa was nothing more than an aging, faded, fat woman.
"Lysa, Maester Colemon has arrived."
Just as Ser Lyn had yielded and the situation had turned completely, the blue-cloaks brought Maester Colemon through the restless, anxious crowd and into the garden. The maester was thin and uneasy, with too little hair and a neck too long for his body.
Old but still firm, Captain Vardis personally brought Maester Colemon before Gendry, making sure everyone in the garden could see. "Maester, before the gods, tell us what you know."
"Restrain Lysa."
The blue-cloaks on the balcony immediately seized Lysa, pinning her hands to keep her from making some desperate move.
All the Vale lords and servants below avoided the Regent Lady as if she carried plague, ignoring her wails.
Only the falcon continued circling in the air, never leaving. The air was deathly still.
"Speak clearly before everyone, Maester," Gendry said, looking at Colemon. "It is said you once tried to save Lord Arryn, but failed. You know Lord Arryn's final condition better than anyone."
Maester Colemon looked at the crowd and stammered, "Lord Jon behaved somewhat strangely before he fell ill. I heard from others that he even visited a brothel, but it was very strange for my lord to go there. He always valued honor. He also went with Lord Stannis to the smithy to look at armor, the very smithy where Prince Gendry once worked. My lord also meant to send the young lord to Dragonstone, to Lord Stannis. Because of this matter of going to Dragonstone, Lady Lysa often quarreled with him. She could never bear to be separated from the child for even a step. One day, Lord Jon went to Grand Maester Pycelle to borrow a large book. I remember it was terribly dry. I believe it was The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. The next morning, he was in pain all over and could not even get out of bed. At the time, I thought it was some kind of stomach ailment. The weather was too hot, and the Hand often put ice in his wine, which might have disturbed his digestion. I only dared guess it was indigestion. I did not dare think of poison. I gave my lord a purgative and pepper potion, intending to make him vomit out the poison, but Grand Maester Pycelle said my method was wrong and drove me away. Before Great Lord Arryn died, he kept calling out 'Robert,' and repeated his final words to his wife and King Robert: 'The seed is strong.' Lady Lysa told us he meant young Robert."
"Is there a poison that can make a man seem to have an intestinal sickness?" Ser Vardis asked.
"I believe there is. Ordinary intestinal illnesses do not come on so violently, but I had little say in Lord Arryn's treatment. The Tears of Lys are a very rare and costly poison. They are sweet and clear as water, dissolve in wine or water, and cannot be detected by smell or taste. They disturb the stomach and bowels, killing like an intestinal illness and leaving no trace," Maester Colemon said in a low voice.
"In other words, if someone close to him intended it, the Hand of the King would drink the wine," Ser Lyn said.
"Yes. If the poisoner was someone at his side, there would naturally be many chances. And Lord Jon never allowed anyone to taste his food before he ate. My lord was always honorable," Maester Colemon said.
"Did Littlefinger come before it happened?"
"Lord Littlefinger occasionally visited the Tower of the Hand. Everyone knew he was a high officer, and besides, Lord Jon and Lady Lysa were his benefactors. He bowed and scraped before the Hand and the Lady, making everyone laugh. The day before my lord fell ill, Littlefinger also came to visit and relieve the bored Lady's spirits. My lord was always busy and did not pay it much mind. Besides, they were only chatting, old acquaintances as they were. As for that large book, only Lady Lysa, Grand Maester Pycelle, and I knew of it."
"Watch her," Ser Vardis said. He had already seen Lysa streaming tears, struggling everywhere, still trying to throw herself from the balcony.
By now, Lysa's treason was nearly certain.
There was strife between husband and wife. There was motive. And after the incident, she had fabricated a false letter. Since this was treason, the weight of the evidence had already struck Lysa and Littlefinger down like thunder.
A blue-cloak tore off a strip of cloth and stuffed it into Lysa's mouth. The fat woman still tried to struggle, but she could not move. Two blue-cloaked soldiers dragged her straight into the garden, cloth jammed between her teeth.
Lysa still tried to scream, so the blue-cloaks struck her savagely with their sword hilts, blow after blow.
"And young Robert, the young lord's illness," Gendry said, motioning for the maester to continue.
"My lords, please forgive me." Maester Colemon immediately knelt. "I treated the young lord only as Lady Lysa ordered. Within the limits I was allowed, I bled him, gave him sleeping wine and milk of the poppy to help him sleep, but only rarely. Whenever the young lord became restless, Lady Lysa would nurse him herself. Archmaester Ebrose said a mother's milk has remarkable properties."
"What else besides motherly love? Was there some other medicine?" Ser Vardis trembled all over. Everyone knew Robert Arryn was not only thin and frail, but unable to be parted from his mother.
This was not idle suspicion. A person skilled with the Tears of Lys would surely know Sweetsleep Flower as well.
"There is... there is Sweetsleep Flower." Maester Colemon's Adam's apple bobbed rapidly. "Gods above, I have never used it on a child." Sweetsleep Flower was a poison that could grant a painless death. In small amounts, it could soothe the nerves and suppress seizures. But poison was still poison.
"Traitor!"
"Coward!"
"Ungrateful beast!"
The lords of the Vale were furious. Lysa had not only harmed her husband, but her own young child as well, not to mention Littlefinger. The toxin of Sweetsleep Flower accumulated gradually, meaning even small doses could become dangerous over time.
"Search Lysa's chambers," Gendry ordered.
"Yes, Prince." Captain Vardis waved a hand, and Colemon went with them. The blue-cloaked knights quickly headed for the rooms. What mattered most was the "medicine."
"Bring the singer Marillion here."
The drunken singer Marillion was also brought down. Marillion was good-looking: young and slender, with smooth skin, sandy hair, and a charming smile.
But the singer's clothing only stirred everyone's anger further. He wore costly sky-blue garments, golden arm rings, and a belt that had once belonged to Lord Arryn. The singer had also harassed quite a few maidservants and slept with others.
"Who can sober this fine singer up?" Gendry looked at Marillion.
Anguy, as if playing a prank, brought over a cup of fine wine and splashed it across Marillion's face.
Marillion woke up at once, too frightened to speak. Lady Lysa was being held under guard, fierce warriors surrounded him, and The Eyrie had become a realm of blood.
"Tell us what you know, good singer," Lord Nestor shouted, and a spearman prodded Marillion.
"Oh, I loved the Lady so deeply. I could not bear to see her lying in another man's arms, could not bear to see her share a bed with another man. But I swear to the heavens, Lady Lysa was so cold... She said she had once carried Lord Petyr's child, and that there would soon be another. That was her love. She loved only him, and said she had sacrificed too much for love. I was so jealous."
"Please, let me keep my harp and my tongue. The Lady likes to hear me sing."
"That useless wretch. I'll tear out his tongue," Nestor shouted.
"I think taking his tongue would be best," Ser Lyn said darkly.
Nearly every lord and knight had been mocked by Marillion, who had grown arrogant under Lysa's favor.
"Take him away. Strip off everything that belonged to his master."
"Yes."
The blue-cloaks stripped Marillion of his fine robes and golden ornaments while the singer wept.
Maester Colemon returned to the garden with a grave expression. In his hand was a small cedarwood box. From the outside, it looked like a cosmetics case, but inside was Sweetsleep Flower, and Lysa's handwriting was written on it.
"A few grains, to suppress Sweetrobin's seizures and make him calm and strong."
Maester Colemon showed the box to everyone, and the matter was clear beyond doubt. Lysa was a fool who knew nothing of medicine, unless someone had comforted and guided her.
"It seems Littlefinger has studied poison quite closely," Gendry thought.
"Coward!" Bronze Yohn's face was livid.
"Poison is the weapon of petty men," Ser Barristan sighed.
The lords of the Vale were furious, unwilling to see the honor of House Arryn dragged through the mud. Blackfish Brynden's face was bitter. This matter was a true torment. The onlookers formed a ring, staring at Lysa in the center, while the blue-cloaks forced her viciously to her knees.
Captain Vardis ordered someone to pull the cloth from Lysa's mouth. "Speak now, or we search all of The Eyrie."
"Don't. Don't hurt Sweetrobin." Lysa knelt on the ground and pleaded, her face twisted with terror.
"I hated Jon. He was old, and he did not love me. My father said I ought to thank the heavens that Jon Arryn, such a great lord, was willing to marry a woman who had already been deflowered. But in truth, all he wanted was my father's army. I had to marry Jon, or Father would have shut me out the way he did Uncle Brynden. But in my heart, I loved only Petyr!" In her madness, Lysa pressed both hands to her belly and rubbed it, as if the child were still inside. "They stole my baby back then, and I swore to the heavens I would never let that happen again. Jon wanted to send my little darling Robert to Dragonstone, and that drunken king even dreamed of fostering him with Cersei Lannister. I would never allow it..."
"This woman really is mad." The more the crowd listened, the more absurd it became. Gendry waved his hand, and all the voices quieted again.
"Go on."
"I not only gave Petyr my maidenhood, I meant to give him a son. It was them. They used moon tea to take it from me. Tansy, mint, and wormwood, with a spoonful of honey and a drop of mint oil. Not me! I did not even know! Whatever Father gave me to drink, I just... Petyr, Petyr, come save me. I did it all for you. Catelyn never gave you anything. I gave you your first time. I had Jon bring you to court so we could see each other often. You swore to the heavens that you would never forget my love."
The crowd listened in horror. Love had truly gone to her head and driven her mad. So this was the truth of it all.
"What happened next, you foul woman?" Nestor shouted angrily, while Ser Vardis had the sword brought out.
"Prince Gendry, this is Lord Jon's sword. I ask your permission to kill her and avenge my old master," Ser Vardis said, kneeling on one knee. It was a beautiful double-edged longsword. Silver lines on the blade traced the open sky between the mountains. The hilt was shaped like a falcon's head, and the guard like a pair of wings.
"Why not let me do it?" Lyn said. "My lady wants a little blood."
When Lysa saw the sword, her mind broke completely. Vardis's figure seemed to merge with Lord Jon's, and a ghostly howl filled the air.
"Jon, Jon, please forgive me. No, it was all because of my love. Whatever Petyr told me, I did. Petyr told me to put the Tears in your wine, and I obeyed, because you did not love my Sweetrobin. You wanted to send him away, and I hated you, hated you. I did it for Robert, for the future Petyr and I would have! I even wrote to Catelyn and lied that the Lannisters had murdered you." Lysa sobbed bitterly, knocking her head again and again before the Falcon's sword.