Chapter 6:

The next few days were muddled into a blur. The days following Bran's accident was met with chaos, cries, and panic and it wasn't long until the mood at Winterfell quickly soured, falling into an eerie silence. Not only did they mourn for Bran Stark, they were also losing their Lord, who was now set for King's Road to become the new Hand of the King. No new news about Bran had reached her ears, only that he was now in a deep coma and his chances at ever walking again would be very small.

She had barely seen Robb since that day, for he quickly fell into the role of steward, with the responsibility of Winterfell falling onto his shoulders with his father now absent. The time they did manage to catch a glimpse of one another were quick, almost stolen moments in time, with either party too busy tending to another's needs. With the King's party returning to the south, Isabel had to help the Queen and her children pack, while Robb took an increasing role at running his father's castle. Jon, too was rarely around. He had spent most of his days in the courtyard, sparring with Benjen Stark, having decided to make his way to the Wall and take the Black. Isabel was barely at Winterfell for a week and she had witnessed the once happy family now being torn apart, going their separate ways and the sadness and tears that followed. King Robert was eager to return to Winterfell, now that Ned Stark was the new Hand of the King. It also meant that Isabel was set to leave for the Vale – to return home, and set things right and fulfill her duty.

She never expected it to be so difficult, leaving him again. But she needed too, for the words of her father echoed in her mind.

"You must leave so soon?" he asked.

"I must return home, Robb," she said, "It's time now."

"Surely you can't delay for a few more days?"

She saw the hope in his eyes. He needed another shoulder to lean on with his father leaving; he needed someone who could help him. Isabel wanted to say yes and give into the temptation of her own desires, but the voice in her head convinced her otherwise.

"You know I can't Robb...the Vale needs me," she said.

"Write to me... he said abruptly, "Write to me like we did when we were younger."

She sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted at the game she was playing. They both knew that anything between them would be impossible, yet both were desperately clinging on to some foolish hope that maybe, just maybe things could work. "Robb..." she began, but was cut off.

"I know what you're going say. But whatever battles you must fight, you don't have to do it alone. Isabel, please…I can't do this by myself. I'm not ready," he confessed. "With Bran…and my father...Jon…my sisters gone...and you...everybody is disappearing. I worry for everybody…I worry for you."

"I can't promise you anything…" she slowly said, "...that this might be something more."

"Write to me," he asked again. They held each other's gaze, one full of hope and worry for those he cared about and the other full of fear, worried for what the future held. His meaning was clear, and all Isabel had to do was to agree.

"Everyday," she found herself saying in quiet whisper, giving him a small smile. She stood on the tips of her toes, and placed a small kiss on his cheek; a keepsake for him to hold onto so it would ease his worries.

She gave into her desires, so she should have been elated, like a young lovesick girl. On the contrary, her heart sank with fear and she didn't understand why.

It was now two weeks since her visit to Winterfell, and only days after when she decided to part ways from the royal entourage and made her way east, to the High Road leading to the Vale, with a small party for added protection. She gripped her reigns in anticipation, unsure of how the events would fold out. Would her father's bannermen accept her or cast her aside for her younger brother?

They were now at the edge of the Mountains of the Moon, home to the Mountain clans who were uncontrollable and defiant over the Arryn rule. It was a treacherous pass that was a half a day's ride before they reached the Bloody Gate.

"We will wait for Lord Hersy and his men to accompany our party through the Mountains," instructed Ser Tommas.

"How long?" asked Isabel, anxious to step foot into the Eyrie once again.

"Not long now, I suppose," the knight guessed.

Isabel shifted her weight, unable to calm herself at the anticipation of returning home, and afraid that she would not recognize it anymore. Sensing her eagerness, Ser Tommas placed his hand on her shoulder, which instantly stopped the young woman from fidgeting.

"It'll be alright," he reassured her. "He will come. They'll all come to pledge their allegiance to you."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked with uncertainty. Her thoughts lingered to the mysterious letter that was sent to her in Winterfell. She still needed to find its author, and unravel the mystery surrounding her father's death. If the ravens were sent out accusing her of murder, would her father's bannermen still stand by her side?

"The lords don't care about who has the better claim," he said in honesty. "They care about your ability to rule, to command and to lead. Your brother cannot lead these men into battle, nor rule over them in times of peace."

"And I can?"

"It's in your blood, my Lady. They will come," he said. The words spoke truth to Ser Tommas, and he believed in them faithfully. Her brother was no leader, compared to Isabel Arryn. He knew many of the lords and knights had questioned the capabilities of the young lord, and wondered if the young boy would even make it past his next names-day. No, Ser Tommas believed that Isabel was the true heir. He watched her father raise her into a warrior and a ruler, and knew in his heart that she would make her father proud.

The low rumblings of horses could be heard in the distance deep within the mountains, a sign that Lord Hersy and his men were fast approaching. The sigil of the winged chalice, the arms of House Hersy of Newkeep stood proudly on their flag as the figures appeared onto the horizon.

Lord Hersy was a rather large and stocky man, whom Isabel thought might have seen better days in his youth. Yet his eyes still carried a fire of ferocity and strength that was rumoured to bring his opponents down to their knees. He was a loyal friend to her father, fighting in the rebellion along his side, and again during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion only six years later. The years had taken a toll on his face. He looked tired and weathered, but his eyes burn with fire, suggesting he still had some fight left in him.

"My Lady," he said gruffly. "We've come to escort you through these mountains."

"And I thank you, Lord Hersy," she said graciously. "You did not have to go out of your way for me."

He scoffed at her remark, "These mountain clans have no regard for lords and ladies. All they see is good loot…and ever since the news about your father's passing came, they've been bolder ever since. It is my duty and an honour to escort you back to your home. You've been absent far too long."

Like a hardened soldier, Lord Hersy wasted no time into assembling his men into formation and set out to reach the Bloody Gate. They were riding at an extremely fast pace, anxious to pass through the Mountains. Looking over her shoulder, she looked onto the hillsides and could have sworn she saw movement behind the rocks shadows of the mountains.

She gulped, knowing that not a mere twenty feet away were armed mean, ready to attack their party if the opportunity arose.

"Try to keep up the pace, my Lady!" Lord Hersy yelled out. "If we slow down, they'll be running down these hills with their axes and swords!"

By the time they had passed through the mountains and arrived at the Bloody Gate, a former battlement that now served as the entrance leading to the Eyrie, the sun began disappearing below the mountains. The two twin watch towers stood on either-side of the rotating steel gate, a familiar site which made Isabel feel at home again.

They were greeted by the Knight of the Gate, who served as commander and the Vale's first line of defense of any incoming attack. The unmistakable red-greyish hair and the armour of the black fish caught Isabel's eyes, as Ser Bryden Tully and uncle to Lysa Arryn emerged from the gate. He was appointed to the position by her father when he married Lysa, as a gesture of good faith and generosity to her family.

"You made it back in record time, Hersy!" Ser Brynden Tully bellowed out.

Lord Hersy gave a huge grunt, "I had an important package to deliver, as you can see. Ladies should not wait."

Isabel jumped down from her horse and walked in front of Lord Hersy to meet the commander of the Bloody Gate. "Ser Bryden," she welcomed.

The knight, commonly called the Blackfish, gave a low bow to Isabel, and lightly pecked her hand. "It's been a long time since I've laid my eyes upon you my Lady. Look at that..you've all grown up!"

He called for his soldiers, and they immediately went to work and pulled the gate open, with the view of the Vale opening in front of Isabel's eyes. The mountains stretched into infinity, as the winding paths slithered in and out of the valleys and cracks of the rock, and the snow-capped mountains that disappeared into the clouds in the sky. From a distance, her eyes gazed up Giant's Lance, the mountain which her father's castle was built on, where the Eyrie was calling her home. It was a moment that she dreamt of since moving to King's Landing – and it was marvelous in her eyes.

"We'll reach the Gates of the Moon by dusk," Lord Hersy explained. "We won't be able to travel anymore after dark…it's too dangerous. Lord Nestor Royce has already been notified of your arrival, and he welcomes your return with open arms."

"Thank you, Lord Hersy…for all that you've done," she said in gratitude.

"We're all glad you've returned, my Lady. We've been waiting for you to set things right….there's been a lot of talk going around the Vale, and it's about time you've come home."

Petyr Baelish walked through the streets of King's Landing, taking his daily stroll to and from his establishments as a way to clear his mind and to ponder his next moves.

Everything was set into motion, and now all he had to do was to wait a little bit more. Soon, the chaos between lions and wolves would unfold; war would ensue, and King's Landing will fall into pieces. And it would be him, Petyr Baelish of The Fingers to come and save the day.

And the mighty hero will be greatly rewarded.

But he didn't want just any reward. Having been raised in a humble house with a small fortune, the dreams of land, power and wealth were also but a reach away from his grasp. He had felt a small taste of it in his youth when Lord Hoster Tully had agreed to foster him in the Riverlands, and now it would be his moment to shine.

No, he didn't want just any land, castle of title. He wanted the Vale and all of its beauty – and that would only be the beginning.

He arrived at the gates of the Red Keep, ignoring the guards stationed there and momentarily giving a quick glance at the group of children huddled near the ground playing a game. He smirked to himself, recognizing the little birds that belonged to Lord Varys. King's Landing was a nasty place to live in – there were spies and dishonesty everywhere.

The ravens came that morning, announcing the King's arrival in a few days' time, as well as the arrival of the new Hand of the King.

Ned Stark. The name made his blood slightly boil, for he had stolen the object of his affection from his youth – his brother had won her hand, but after his death it was Ned that married Catelyn Tully, and took her away to the North forever.

She was the true love of his life, a far greater desire than any throne or kingdom that Westeros could bestow upon him. Nothing in this world could compare to the love her bore towards Catelyn Tully, and it made him hungry for desire knowing that she was the one thing he could not have.

"Lord Baelish," a voice broke out.

His smile remained on his face, as he greeted the shorter, bald man in front of him. Strange, he thought. Studying Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, could anybody ever guess that he was probably the most dangerous man in all the Seven Kingdoms. The man was a eunuch, held no lands and titles, and could not hold a sword if his life depended on it, and yet, he was one of the most powerful men in the realm.

"Seems like we'll be greeted with a new Hand very soon," Petyr chimed.

The spider squirmed and giggled like a girl. "Oh, I am most anxious to meet with Lord Stark again…a refreshing addition to our council. But, I am sad to learn that the Lady Isabel Arryn will be joining us at a later date. She has decided to return to the Eyrie…to continue her father's legacy, most likely. It's a shame, she was an asset to this council...such drive and ambition...I had many hopes for her."

Petyr did not dare to flinch, but a passing doubt went through his mind, as he did not anticipate her returning to the Vale so soon. Does she know something?

"I suppose she misses home and mourns for her father...a parent's loss is especially hard for someone so young," Lord Varys mused.

The glint behind the spider's eyes made Petyr suspicious of his intention, searching between the words of their intended meaning. Lord Varys, Master of Whispers was a man that Petyr distrusted the most – solely because Varys' motives and ambitions was something he could never figure out.

"She will be missed," Petyr echoed. "But I do apologize at my forwardness, but I think you know something about the true reason behind her return, and so you choose to stand in front of me and gloat me. That is simply, too teasing of you. Now you simply must tell me what you know."

The spider giggled again, as it he was flattered by his snide comment. "Lord Baelish, you honour me too much with such flattery," he commented.

He walked away, the smile now long gone and replaced with a sad frown. He knew Lord Varys was not a person for idle talk; everything he said had a purposeful intent. So what was he really up to?

Petyr secretly hoped that Lysa would not do anything rash with Isabel, knowing the unstable temper and emotions the woman tended to go through. She was now far away from him, and now more difficult to control. Yet, he remained in good faith, that Lysa Arryn would not give away anything to his plans, despite what little knowledge she had of them. He knew Lysa would do almost anything for him.

Give me time, he said to himself. The Vale will eventually be mine and I will steal it right from under your nose Isabel Arryn.

A/N: Just a speculation on Petyr Baelish's motives in the book/series!(A bit of a filler chapter, but I promise you it'll get more intense!)