From the port-side of the ferry, the Saltpans looked to be in poor shape. Elder Brother had taken Brynden aside before he left. He said the commonfolk of the city had been left to fend for themselves when they were attacked. As the boatman tied onto the dock, the Blackfish recalled his old friend's advice, "Remember, Bryn, finding no sign of your niece's little girl might be the closest to good news that you're like to hear."
He and Jeyne Stark stepped off the rowboat; only after they walked past the waterside homes did they see the true state of the Saltpans. Ser Quincy Cox's stone holdfast and the buildings adjacent to the water were the only structures spared from the fires. Mounds of freshly turned soil far outnumbered the people remaining in the once prosperous harbor-town.
Two men tried to pull a mulecart through the muck. The Blackfish lent them his shoulder and helped push it out of a ditch.
"You have my thanks, brother," one of the men said.
"Mayhaps one of you can help me," Tully wondered. "I search for my grand-daughter. A dark-haired girl of ten."
They looked at each other. "Friend, when she get 'ere?"
"About two moons ago."
Their expressions told him all he needed to know.
"The Hound's men left none unharmed," the man said. "Those a' us who live, we was off in our fishing boats. Ser Quincy. . . that man's no man, but some foul craven. He kept his guards walled up while's our families was slaughtered."
The second one told Brynden, "He made cravens of all of us. We watched from our boats - couldn't do nothing else - while's the last of it happened. Them demons in human flesh left us naught but ash and blood."
"So, no one?"
"No, friend. None of the wounded lived, even them we brought to the brothers on the Quiet Isle. We'll ne'er return and you'd best be on your way. There's nothing left for honest men in this place."
The fate of anyone caught in the Saltpans was plain to see. Ser Brynden wouldn't need ask each of the few left burying their dead about what happened to his grand-niece. He wished he could hope for the girl's survival, but Brynden was too experienced for such hopes. The Blackfish remembered Arya Stark as he last saw her, all adventurous energy and muddy clothes. I'm sorry, child. And, I'm sorry little Cat. I pray that Jon hears better news of your other girl.
Kneeling in the dirt, he asked the Mother to lend her mercy and set Arya's soul to rest.
Every trade ship on the docks was primed to leave. Brynden found a captain who'd only just arrived that morning. The man wasn't happy to find the Saltpans in their current condition. "Ser Quincy-No-Cocks just let his folk burn. Most everyone is to be away from here. Yes, old man. I'll take you both as far as Longbow, 'fore I cross to Braavos."
Jeyne played the role of daughter to Ser Brynden, and they shared a small cabin. He would've preferred to house the girl in the sterncastle or atleast the helmshouse, but the captain offered them only a cargo compartment. The barrels of unsold turnips filled their quarters. There was barely enough room for them to hang both hammocks.
After ten days of choppy waters, Brynden and Jeyne reached the shores of the Vale. In truth, they were no closer to the Eyrie than they had been whilst at the Saltpans. With the Mountain Pass blocked by snowfall, the sea was the only assess into the region. Thus, they bought two old garrons at the harbor near Longbow Hall and made their way toward the Eyrie.
The Vale of Arryn was, primarily, a valley between the crescent-shaped mountain range. Though the peaks could be as brutal as the North in winter, the fertile floor was as hospitable as the Riverlands.
Along their route, Brynden and Jeyne spent eight nights bedding down in various inns and farmhouses. These lands look no different than they did years ago. Here, it's as if the War of the Five Kings never took place.
With miles still to go, the Blackfish beckoned to Jeyne and said, "Lass, can you see where that peak ahead meets the clouds? Somewhere above that is the Eyrie."
To the sight that had intimidated countless others, she responded with slack-jawed wonder.
Arrayed at the base of the Giant's Lance - the mountain on which the Eyrie sat - a host of a thousand soldiers impeded the way. Banners flew for Houses Royce, Waynwood, Corbray, Templeton, and Redfort. Brynden and Jeyne got closer and were greeted by a mounted man-at-arms. The Blackfish insisted he was a messenger with urgent news for the Lords Declarant. The soldier demanded he turn over his sword, but then agreed to escort him to Lord Royce and the others.
"And so you barred the way into the Eyrie?!" Ser Brynden Tully shouted. "That is how you mean to protect my nephew? I say, my lords, I don't know how much more of your protection the boy can survive."
He stormed out of Lady Waynwood's thickly lined pavilion.
Have they gone mad?
As the Knight of the Bloody Gate, Tully had for years assisted in governing the Vale. He'd never known any of these lords to act so blatantly reckless. The Lords Declarant had at least lifted their siege, though they did not deign to name it as such. Still, they camped just beyond the Gates of the Moon, the entryway below the Eyrie, with their levies.
Lord Yohn Royce chased after him. "Ser, would you follow me to my tents? Please, I have news."
Brynden accepted the invitation, but only to tell him what he thought, not listen to another justification for the move against Littlefinger and Lord Robert Arryn.
The tent was spacious. The furnishings were all engraved with markings meant to resemble the ancient runes of the famous Royce armor and their castle walls. Burning embers in the large brazier kept the air dry and warm.
Bronze Yohn said, "First let me express my surprise, and congratulations after a fashion, that you've returned to the Vale with your natural daughter."
Referring to Jeyne Westerling, Brynden replied, "She's never lived outside of Riverrun, but I couldn't leave her to the Freys and Lannisters." He glared at Lord Royce. "I assume neither she, nor I, have anything to fear among the Lords Declarant?"
"You would find no safer place," Royce assured. "Let me speak bluntly, ser. Baelish is a liar and, though I don't know his plans, I'm certain he will use Lord Robert for his own ends."
Brynden's patience for further speculations was exhausted. I thought to hear something of news, my Lord of Etchings. He got to his feet and walked to the tent flap. Too weary for courtesies, he opened it without asking for Lord Yohn's leave.
"One last remark," Yohn called to the Blackfish. "A surprising number of natural children have appeared of late. Mayhaps when you meet with Baelish, you will take a close look at his. . ."
Ser Brynden Tully left Jeyne in the care of Lady Waynwood and intended to retrieve her after assessing the situation within the Gates of the Moon. He waved to the guards and entered alone.
All those men on the wall. . . Does Littlefinger expect the Lords Declarant to storm the ramparts?
In the castle's feasting hall, Petyr Baelish introduced Robert Arryn as Sweetrobin. The boy sat in the lord's seat, buffeted by blankets and cushions. Lord Robert was small for his age, thin and sickly. He greeted his grand-uncle warily. The Blackfish hadn't seen the boy in years, considering he was born in King's Landing while Lord Jon was serving as King Robert's Hand.
Soon after his arrival, they brought out a meal. Robert wailed at the food the servants set before him. The Blackfish couldn't avoid bristling in annoyance at the boy's shrill cries. Brynden pushed his greens about his plate, trying to keep his mind on anything besides the little lord's behavior.
After an insurrection over a sausage, Petyr Littlefinger walked over and put a hand on Robert's shoulder to coerce him to quiet. Seeing them in this manner, Brynden understood Bronze Yohn's cryptic words.
A shiver ran through him.
In his younger years, Brynden knew the children of Riverrun well. His nieces, his nephew, and his brother's ward would brag to him of their achievements and ask for his help at the difficulties they encountered. He'd watched them at every stage of their childhoods. Seeing Littlefinger in the hall at the Gates of the Moon brought back memories of their little faces, their builds, voices, and mannerisms.
Robert Arryn is Petyr's bastard!
He might never have thought of it without witnessing them side by side. But to look at them together, it couldn't have been more obvious to Brynden Tully.
The Arryns were tall, stout of build, with thundering voices. Robert was nothing like Lord Jon had been. His round face resembled Lysa, but his short stature, thin limbs, whining voice, and delicate health was quite the same as Littlefinger had been as a boy of eight.
For the rest of the evening, Brynden couldn't take his eyes off of Robert and Petyr.
Littlefinger was playing his part so well, the Blackfish was amazed that Bronze Yohn had ever realized the connection. Petyr went further than simply acting disinterested to distance himself from his bastard son. Brynden watched him put on a layered mummer's show of a resentful foster father struggling to look protective and mindful, rather than the boy's true sire.
But the lords discovered the truth of boy's birth. That's why they blocked the gates and demanded Littlefinger hand over the boy. The Blackfish dreaded what this development might mean for Lysa's son.
Long after the rest of the fortress fell asleep, Brynden and Petyr sat alone sharing a flagon of a fine Arbor vintage.
"I know about Robert," he said bluntly.
Baelish didn't show a flicker of self-doubt. "And what is there to know of our young lord?"
"Petyr Littlefinger, do you think you can lie to me? Is there a man alive who knows you better than I? I know everything. I see through your act. I know why Yohn Royce is so eager to take him from you."
Petyr kept his amiable demeanor, but said nothing.
"How can I help?" asked the Blackfish.
At that, Baelish's eyes grew wide.
Brynden laughed. "You doubt me? What are the Tully words? You are near enough to family to make no matter, and of course Robert is family. I may be able to keep him in your care. The Lords Declarant will spread their rumors, but what more can they to do 'til spring?"
Littlefinger looked unsure.
"Your bastard would remain in your care. True identities need never be divulged, or so I would prefer."
"Prefer? You would prefer that?"
The Blackfish said, "Of course. The safety of my kin is more important than whatever else may happen. But I must tell you of mine own. . . bastard. She's just outside the gates and now that I see that you have matters in hand, I mean for her to join us."
Petyr set down his glass. His attention was rapt.
"Jeyne Stark. She switched places with her sister before Edmure yielded the castle. I couldn't leave her to the whims of the Lannisters, so I smuggled the Young Wolf's widow out of Riverrun."
Petyr Baelish smiled at his foster uncle. "I'll be sure to take good care of her, ser."