Lysa Arryn, as she had been called for these few weeks, gazed out a window in the Maiden Tower. The household of Jon Arryn had moved back to the Eyrie from the Gates of the Moon the year before — the year that was now being called "the year of the false spring."
The Vale would have been an especially beautiful place in the peak of summer. But the warm winds had not lasted, and ice was crystalizing once again on the mountains. Instead of lingering on the fields and farms of The Vale, Lysa's thoughts turned instead to the Sky Cells. For centuries prisoners had flung themselves from the heights of the Eyrie rather than face another moment in that windy, cold prison. At these heights, the wind could talk to you, and Lysa was beginning to understand what it might be saying.
Her elderly husband and his few remaining teeth were waging war against King Aerys. A few months prior, Jon Arryn had secured The Vale at the Battle of Gulltown, and was now marching south with Ned Stark's Northmen. On their way, the two men at arms stopped at Lysa's childhood home at Riverrun and married the two Tully sisters.
As a girl, Lysa spent hours alone lying in the green fields of the Riverlands dreaming of her wedding day to a handsome lord. Those dreams had turned to ash long before she laid eyes on Jon Arryn. In the months before she left Riverrun, her dreams only showed the face of Petyr and their son. So when the proud Lord Arryn showed up, Lysa thought he was about as good as any other man her wise, cruel father could force upon her.
On her wedding day, Jon Arryn gave her a brooch with a diamond falcon, the sigil of House Arryn. "My house and my honor are yours, now and forever," he said as he placed the gift on the table and knelt before her, which took some effort on the part of the old man. Lysa reminded herself that Lord Arryn had been married twice before, and wondered if he staged this scene for his previous lady wives. When he kissed her on their wedding night, his clean-shaven face still felt scratchy, and he tasted of tar. At least Lysa had to acknowledge that he had both the decency and good sense not to comment on her maidenhead.
Her sister Catleyn, on the other hand, married the younger Stark brother. He was not as handsome as his hero brother, but he was young and strong all the same. On their wedding day, Lysa looked on her sister with envy that was tempered by a sense of inevitability. Of course Cat was the luckier one. It was always thus.
"My lady," one of Lysa's handmaidens approached her, "a raven from your lord husband."
"Dark wings, dark words," Lysa murmured her mother's phrase without thinking as she opened the letter.
My lady,
I regret to inform you that your brother by marriage and my fosterling son, Eddard Stark, is dead. I keep your sister in my thoughts during these troubled times.
Sincerely,
Jon Arryn