It was getting colder every day, and that made the shakes worse - fits and shivers could only be hidden to a point. No matter how elegant the robes Gyles found were, no matter how beautiful Joy's embroidery on his padded sleeves was, Robert's hands trembled at least half of the time.
The cold, sharp air did seem to make thinking a little easier. Not so easy as the sea air of the Rock had, of course, but it was still a little easier now than it had been when he first came home. He only hoped that it lasted. The clearer his mind, the more capable he would be.
"Here," Terrance said, wrapping him in a heavy fur that smelled of camphor. "Keep yourself warm, Robin, the better to keep away the shakes."
Terrance's long hands fussed at the collar, and he took the robe Joy held out with a smile of thanks - Gyles was away with Lord Nestor, digging through Robert's lady mother's accounts to salvage what of her stolen gold they could. It was proving more a struggle than anyone had expected, because she seemed to have sequestered it in strange, awkward ways, and Lord Littlefinger and his friends were reaping the benefits. Robert had written to Lord Tywin, asking for the use of one of his many accountants. If anyone could return the gold to its rightful place, it would be one of Lord Tywin's coin-chasers, and Robert would gladly pay the tax he knew Lord Tywin would demand as payment.
Anything, to break his mother's desperate hunger for power.
Joy pressed a cup into his hand that near scalded his palm, but he drank it down in two long swallows all the same. That way, he wouldn't have to taste Maester Creylen's vile, glorious tinctures, and would get all their benefits. Terrance kept on fussing until Robert stopped gagging, and then swapped the hot cup for a glass of water. It took at least half a jug of water to wash away the taste of the tinctures, and sometimes sweet tea, too, but his shakes were only mild and his chest much clearer - any noxious taste was worth it, for that.
"Your lady mother's been asking for you again this morning," Joy said quietly, sliding a heavy signet ring onto Robert's finger. "She's protesting her imprisonment and torture again, Robin."
As if confinement to her rooms and the removal of her ladies was torture. Imprisonment yes, because Robert wasn't sure she could be trusted not to act against him if given the run of the castle, but hardly torture. She was still well fed - not quite so well as before, admittedly, since he'd seen fit to deny her the sweets and sweetwine she'd become so bloody fond of - and well kept, and had no real cause to complain.
Her confinement had even allowed him to intercept a letter or two from her beloved Petyr. Perhaps he would go to her this morning, and bring those letters with him. It would do her no harm to be made aware of how public her folly had become.
"Lord Nestor has been heard to suggest that it might be best to marry your mother to someone known to be loyal, Robin," Joy said quietly. "And it has been suggested to him in return that he, in the absence of a Lady Royce, might be a suitable suitor."
Terrance's face was neutral to a degree that even Maester Creylen, who Robert had never seen react to anything, would have done well to manage. Robert and Joy had discussed Terrance and Gyles at great length, and had agreed that Gyles' outward shows of devotion were nothing compared to Terrance's quiet competence and care. They would never have discussed such a thing with Gyles present, for fear that all his time in Lord Nestor's company had transferred his effusive loyalty to Robert's lord regent.
He had no such fears regarding Terrance. Lord Nestor had spoken favourably of Ser Lyn Corbray, and Robert had noticed the way Terrance's shoulders had shot high and tight. Joy had asked some of her delicate, pointed questions, and Robert had vowed to keep Lyn Corbray as far from the Eyrie as he feasibly could without killing the bastard.
Failing that, he would keep Ser Lyn as far from Terrance as he could. Lord Tywin suffered many horrors, and even indulged in things of equal evil if the stories were to be believed, but this was insufferable. Terrance's father was one of the most powerful men in the Vale, simply for the acreage of his holdings and the many men who lived there, and to tempt Lord Lynderly's enmity was not something Robert wished to risk.
Terrance was Robert's friend, too. Robert had so few friends that he would risk some little discord among his lords to make those treasured few safe.
"Come, then," he said, once Terrance had settled his robe and Joy had satisfied herself with straightening his thick, dark hair. "To my lady mother's rooms, for all that I should rather face open battle, and after that - breakfast."
"I will not be dictated to by a child," Lady Lysa said, chin raised and eyes closed. "I shan't, Sweetrobin, I simply won't."
"You have no choice, my lady," Robert said, leaning over the back of a chair opposite his mother. "Lord Nestor as my regent supports me in barring your contact with Lord Baelish, much less your betrothal - and he is my vassal, too, and would do well to remember that when stealing from my treasury."
"It is not just your treasury!" she snapped, turning her fierce, angry eyes on Robert. "I am your lady mother, and had your father not been such a distrustful, malicious old bastard, he-"
"Enough!" Robert shouted. "I will not hear my lord father spoken of in this manner! You are here under my sufferance, my lady, and I am not inclined to allow you to remain if you do not remember your place!"
"You are just like your grandfather," she said, colour flooding her soft cheeks and fire catching in those pale blue eyes. "Spiteful and cruel and full of malice, all in the name of honour!"
"It may be that I am growing in Lord Tully's likeness," Robert said, moving around the table to look her straight in the face. He felt stiff with temper, angrier than he had ever been, and wondered why she was being so difficult. "Perhaps if I am, I will be able to control you!"
"I am a widow!" she shrieked, circling round to stand over him - damn her for being tall, and damn himself for being so ill that he hadn't grown tall as her or broad as his father! "I am in control of my own life, child!"
"Not while you remain under my roof!" Robert bit back. "You say that you are Lady Arryn, and yes, that is your name - but you are not Lady of the Eyrie, and as such, I have removed you from any position of authority you may have enjoyed during your marriage to my lord father-"
"Enjoyed!"
"- and I will not tolerate your foolishness!"
She slapped him. Of all the things she might have done, this was the very last thing he could have expected, and he was glad of Gyles' strong arm behind his back.
"Lord Nestor," he said, once he was back on his feet. "Send for Ser Brynden at the Bloody Gate. I would have him bring my mother home."
Ah, that stopped her in her damned tracks.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you mean, send me home? This is my home. I am your mother. I will remain with you-"
"I am sure my lord grandfather would be happy to receive you at Riverrun," Robert said, as cold and without emotion. He understood why Lord Tywin was always so withdrawn, now. "Because unless you drastically alter your behaviour, I will not be happy to keep you here."
She retreated to her bedchamber with a wail, slamming the door in her wake in a show of such childish temper that Robert wished he might slap her, if only to shock her out of it.
"What news of Lord Baelish, then?" he asked once he and Gyles and Terrance and Joy had retreated to his solar. There were letters from Winterfell, condolences and offers of friendship, and Robert would deal with those in time. For now, though, the more important letters were from what little remained of his father's household in King's Landing. They had surely left the city by now, but the ravens they had sent had made it home ahead of them, and Robert was glad of it.
"I wonder if your lord father knew how often Lord Baelish visited with your lady mother, Robin," Gyles said, his round face folding like a ball of dough in his disgust. "Gods preserve us, even if they were close as children, this is far beyond unseemly. "
"How often?" Robert asked, looking up from his letter - a detailed account of the Lord Hand's spending on food, truly riveting stuff. "Weekly? Every few days?"
"Daily," Gyles said, passing the letter across the table. "Sometimes twice daily, and often late in the evening."
Robert glanced over the letter and then passed it to Terrance, who passed it to Joy.
"She cannot be allowed to marry him," Terrance said. "Even if he weren't a whoremonger with a nasty reputation such as he is, well. All these visits, Robin - and your lord father's steward says they go back years, look here-"
"If she is allowed to wed him, and these visits are brought to light, well," Joy said. "Robin, it might-"
"My father never sired a living child," Robert agreed. "Would that my mother had a single ounce of sense! Does she not understand that this will cast doubt on my damned legitimacy? Is she really so selfish that she would risk everything just for the sake of a, of a- I don't even know what to call it!"
"I don't think it's selfishness, Robin," Joy said, leafing through another set of letters altogether. "Oh, gods above, Robin, look at these - letters between them! He wrote his replies on the backs of hers, but-"
"I don't know that I want to see those, Joy," Robert said, "not if they have you quite so scandalised as this."
Those letters would have to be burned, probably, unless his lord father's steward could assure him that his lady mother had not been cuckolding her husband with some no-account coin-counter from the meanest reaches of the Fingers. Robert was weak enough that many of his lords would no doubt welcome a chance to see him cast aside in cousin Harrold's favour.
He could not let that be. The Arryn words were As High as Honour, and Harrold's behaviour showed little enough of that. Robert would have to survive long enough to continue his father's line, and survive as Lord Arryn at that.
Joy's hands landed heavy on his shoulders, firm even through his layers of furs and silk, and he sighed. He hadn't even noticed her rising from her seat, but he was thankful for it all the same.
"My uncle will be here as soon as he can," Robert said, hoping the Blackfish was as sensible as his legend was wild, "and Lord Royce of Runestone, and half a dozen others. Perhaps with all of them on hand, we might shackle my mother."
He wrapped his fingers around Joy's, relishing the warmth of her hands, and sighed.
"I love her," he said, leaning his head into his other hand. "I love my lady mother very much, but this cannot be tolerated - I simply don't understand what I am to do with her."