Chapter 19:
She was running from someone, but didn't know who. She was running to search for someone, but didn't know who, and she was running to somewhere, but didn't know where. The skirts blew in the wind, and her hair tossed in all directions and her legs led her to hallways and corridors that seemed foreign and strange to her.
A figure appeared in the distance, and he stopped to wait for her until he had decided to run away again.
"Wait!" she called out.
She picked up her skirts and start running again, hoping to find the person she was looking for. She ran around the corner and into the open courtyard, to find herself alone. As she stopped to catch her breathe, a snap of a branch made her whip her head around and she saw the figure, hidden behind the godswood.
"Stop! Please!" she yelled out.
Isabel ran towards the godswood, but could not find anybody there, as the figure had somehow mysteriously disappeared again.
'Little bird," he whistled out.
She looked up, and the mysterious figure was above her on the castle walls looking down at her. In an instant, she ran out of the courtyard and up the spiral stairs to catch up to the mysterious figure.
He remained there, but his back was facing her and she could not see his face. He did not turn around, but remained ever so still like a stone statue.
"Why do you run away from me?" she asked.
"Why do you seek me?" he challenged.
"I don't know," she said truthfully.
"Then you cannot seek the answers to the questions you have not yet found," he replied.
"Who are you?" she asked.
She could not see his face, but his voice sounded so familiar, as if she had heard it from a previous life. It sent shivers down her spine, but she could not place a face to his words.
"Everything you hope to achieve," he answered cryptically. "And everything that you hold dear to your heart."
"You sound like my father," she jokingly said.
"I met your father once," he recalled, "You were his hope…you were his dream. He died a proud man…he died with no regrets."
"How…how do you know my father?" she suspiciously asked, "Who are you?"
"You must not fear me," he cautiously said.
"How can I fear you when I do not know you?"
"Are you afraid of me now?"
She was confused, and she furrowed her brows trying to remain one step ahead of this mysterious man, trying to recall the sound of his voice. She knew in her heart that they once knew each other, and she was convinced he was trying to trick her.
"I am more confused than afraid," she confessed, "Just tell me who you are."
"I am anything you want me to be – whatever your heart desires…but you in turn must hand over everything to me. It is the price I ask for the dreams you seek."
"A most unfair price," she objected.
"On the contrary, it is the necessary price if you wish to seek me. Many men do not have the courage to agree to my terms, and these men meet failed and unhappy fates."
"And my father? What was his price? What did he give to seek you?"
"His life," he stated, "For you…he gave up everything. In the end, it was all for you."
"What did he see in me that was worth his own life?" she wondered out loud.
"What does any father see in their children? He saw great things…and he was right. Great and powerful things lie ahead of you Isabel Arryn, but you must be prepare to pay the price when the time comes. You must not fear me, when we meet again…and I suspect we will meet again very soon."
"And when will that be?"
"When you realize your heart's true desires," he told her. "You will realize soon that your dreams, whichever one you choose will not come without my price. Sacrifices…have to be made."
"Who are you?" she asked again, still unsatisfied with the man's answer.
"You already know the answer, my little bird," he said affectionately.
Before she could say his name outloud, the man ran away, and she picked up her skirts to chase after him.
"Wait!" she yelled out after him.
But he did not listen, and he disappeared into the shadows leaving Isabel alone, confused and afraid for what was to come.
"Robb!" she sobbed out and she collapsed onto the stone floor, with her skirts billowing around her.
"Please come back! Please don't leave me!"
Ser Harrold Hardyng walked down the winding corridor of the Eyrie, with a letter in hand in desperate search for his fellow council members for advice and direction. The raven arrived at first light, and had Ser Harrold not been dueling with some of the other knights in the open courtyard, he would have never have seen Maester Coleman and his messenger birds.
Since Isabel Arryn's departure, Lord Nestor Royce had been careful not to interfere with the war between the Lannisters and Starks. With their lands divided, it was deemed more important to keep the peace in their homeland, rather than seek out war itself. Rumours had begun to swirl amongst their court that she had gone to personally apologize to the Lannister Lord for offending Tyrion, while others had speculated that she was planning to aide the lions. Lord Nestor Royce and Lord Hersy were careful neither to deny or confirm any claims, but merely said she was on the King's business, and that as his loyal subjects, they had to comply with his wishes.
But that changed all too fast. Within a week, the ravens from King's Landing came announcing the King's death. Within a week, the ravens came from the Lannister camp, announcing Isabel's extended stay and her surprise declaration in returning to the capital. Within a week, Ned Stark was arrested and charged with treason, and now his son, Robb Stark rode south with the Northern Army, ready to join the Tully forces.
The rapid change of events left little time for the Eyrie to ponder their next moves. Isabel's letter was immediately suspicious, and no one from her party had sent any sort of messages, leading the council to think she was taken hostage and her men, dead. While the council advocated riding into battle with Robb Stark to free Isabel, Lord Nestor Royce was firm to retain their armies. Though Ser Harrold disagreed, he saw reason in the older man's logic. As long as Tywin kept Isabel safe, then the Eyrie would not enter the war.
It was a silent threat that forced the council into an uneasy truce, and unwilling submission.
Ser Harrold picked up his pace, anxious to seek his council members. A knight waiting by the doors of High Hall gave a bow to the younger knight before opening the door and announcing his arrival. Inside, Lord Nestor Royce and Lord Hersy were privately conversing with one another, hunched over the table that had maps of Westeros sprawled out all over the surface. They may not have been participating in the war, but they were monitoring all its movements and carefully tracked both the Lannister and the Stark army.
"My Lords!" the young knight called out.
The two older men looked up and gave a respectful nod to him. Ser Harrold was Jon Arryn's nephew, through his sister's marriage to the late Lord Hardyng who had died many years prior. He had spent his entire life in the shadows of Isabel Arryn, and for many years had been envious at the lavish attention she had received from not only her father - his uncle, but from all the Lords of the Vale. He was of the same blood as her, and yet many of the higher Lords disregarded him as the third choice.
And he had promised to himself many years ago, that he would prove all of them wrong – he just had to wait until the time was right to join the other players of the game.
Ser Harrold, quick to mask his true intentions kept a straight face and quickly handed the letter to the Steward of the Vale. "A letter from the Stark Army."
Lord Nestor Royce let out a heavy sigh. "If it's another alliance they seek, they're wasting their time. We cannot afford to join in their war while we have matters to attend to at home."
He unfolded the parchment and immediately fell silent, as the coloured had drained from his face and his hand begun to shake slightly.
"What is it? Another victory from the Lannisters?"
"..N..no…" he replied, having the sudden inability to speak.
"Out with it Nestor," Lord Hersy impatiently grunted.
"…Lady Isabel…she's been…attacked. Robb Stark believes she's in serious danger at King's Landing and urges that we make haste and gather our forces."
Lord Hersy grabbed the letter from his hands to read the letter himself. His eyes blinked rapidly, unsure if the words were a cruel illusion and that they'd change their meaning each time his eyes readjusted.
"Robb Stark does not say he has any proof. How can we be sure? We have received no news from King's Landing."
"We receive no news at all in general," Ser Harrold pointed out, "The Lannister's have made it their mission to keep the Vale in the dark since they took Lady Isabel. But we all know it's a ploy to keep our obedience."
"I think they'd have the decency to tell us if she was hurt, or worse dead," Lord Hersy challenged.
"Then you put too much faith and honour in their name. That's the last thing they want to do."
"And what if the wolf is right?" asked Lord Nestor Royce, "An attack on the Lady is an offense to her house, her father and our lands."
"You think they deliberately invite us out into open war?"
"Robb Stark did not speculate any culprits, although we can all guess who may be behind it."
"It doesn't make sense," said Lord Hersy, "Tywin threatens us into submission with Isabel's life, and now he attacks her to provoke us? It's not the wisest move on his part."
"Then perhaps it is not Tywin's doing…but somebody else," suggested Ser Harrold.
"Now what conspiracy are you toying with now, boy?" asked Lord Nestor Royce.
"Perhaps not a conspiracy…but somebody wants us to enter this war. Somebody wants us to side with the Starks…and now they've become dangerously close to achieving their goals. And we must ask ourselves why? And who?"
"The other lords will not be happy. They will not be convinced to raise their banners in Isabel's name…actually some of them will be happy. The minute this news gets out, I guarantee you that they'll be plotting to but her brother back on the throne."
"Then don't call the houses," announced Ser Harrold. "Let them sit in their castles while they cowardly wait and hope that Lord Robert is restored. The few houses loyal to Isabel have an army close to eight thousand men alone. We don't need the other Lords to ride out…just those who are prepared to fight for her Lady's honour."
'And who will lead them? You?"
Ser Harrold cleared his throat. "I'm the best swordsman in the Vale, and she's of my kin, my Lords. It is the most insulting offense against my mother's house that I must avenge."
"What do you know about war, Ser Harrold? You know only of tourneys and jousts. You've never killed a man, nor seen the blood that spills out to the battleground. You've been raised by the old Lady Waynwood…you're as green as Robb Stark. What do you have? A crown of reeds and thorns from your tourney victories? A wooden sword you play with in the courtyard?"
"And how old were you when you rode out during Robert's Rebellion?" he challenged. "How old were my lords when they first drew the blood of another man? We all were the green boy once, but we all were given the chance to prove ourselves."
The two high lords looked at each other for a long time, and neither said anything to one another. It was a risky decision that neither of them had wanted to make, and yet they knew the young boy had enough fire in him to get the job done.
"Eight thousand men," Lord Nestor Royce said in finality. "If you find your victory, Ser Harrold Hardyng, you'll be half way to a lordship."
He inclined his head at the slight compliment, although it had sounded more like an insult though remained silent, awaiting their decision.
"Ride out to the Northern Army, and join their forces," instructed Lord Hersy, "We'll send the ravens to King's Landing demanding Isabel's release and in the meanwhile try to maintain some peace with the other lords and avert a civil war. These will be dark times for us…let us pray that the Seven has us in their favour."
When she opened her eyes, the bright light that shone into her room made her head spin and her sight became blurry again. She tried to move her body, but it felt that her arms and legs were heavy as if chained to irons. Her neck was stiff, and her head was pounding and as she desperately tried to remember how she ended up in her bed, she begun to panic when she couldn't remember what had happened to her.
She moaned, and found her throat extremely dry as if she had not spoken in days. Her muscles were sore and there was a dull throbbing pain at her chest, just above her breasts. She slowly touched her chest, only to be thoroughly surprised that a thick bandage was covering her chest, indicating a wound that she had mysteriously sustained. Gently touching it, she gasped in pain, surprised that such a light pressure felt like a million needles had pierced her body.
What happened to me?
Flashes of a dagger and a hidden face plagued her visions, and she had begun to remember the sharp pain she felt she the cold steel dug deep into her skin. She began to remember her pathetic attempt to fight off her attacker, and how she fell to the floor in her own pool of blood thinking she had finally met death's door.
Yet somehow, the Seven had decided to grant her life instead of death.
The door opened, revealing the last person she had expected to be present in her private chambers. He stood there with a smug expression on his face, as if he knew the real reason behind Isabel's present condition.
"Our little bird awakes from her slumber," he happily commented. "The entire castle was in uproar when word spread what had happened to you…Maester Pycelle didn't think you'd last the night since you lost so much blood. A servant girl found you…frightened the poor girl, seeing you lying in a pool of blood like that."
She opened her mouth, wanting to speak but only a series of croaks and broken words came out. Petyr Baelish chuckled and lightly patted her on her hand. "You've been asleep for nearly a week Isabel. Your voice will come back to you soon. We've taken the liberty to come by to your chambers everyday to check on your condition…that is Lord Varys and I. Sansa has visited you quite often, and I'm told sits at your bed during the day. And our queen has prayed for your speedy recovery…she's been very worried about you. We've already begun to investigate who the culprit was in your attack…although I'm sure you have your suspicions."
She narrowed her eyes at him, understanding his meaning. Could it be the Lannisters? It was the only probable suspicion, considering of the treatment she had received by them. Could it be Varys? Was this just another piece of the game he was playing? There were so many questions that went unanswered that it made Isabel confused and tired.
"Maester Pycelle was careful to tend to you…but he did say… it will leave a scar," he said and gestured towards her bandage. "The wound was so deep; it most likely won't really properly heal."
Her hand went up to her chest, and she was careful not to touch it with such force as to agitate her healing wound, but she held her cry in her throat at the thought of a scar that now would be a constant reminder of her encounter with death.
"There are rumours that your Valemen move west on the High Road…no doubt to avenge you," he nonchalantly stated. "I say, your predicament must have caused quite a stir in the Eyrie. It does make me wonder who has stepped up to the plate and volunteered to save the day. I wonder what your step-mother must think of the situation, whether her tears are tears of sadness, or tears of joy."
She clenched her fists in anger, and felt helpless at the fact that she could not yell nor defend herself due to her healing throat. She knew he was enjoying himself, belittling her. He thrived in these small moments of power, where his knowledge proved to triumph his own arrogance.
What are you up to Petyr Baelish?
"Half your men ride West, while the remainder stays to defend your throne in the event that Lysa Arryn decides to plot against you. Divided lands, divided lords and divided loyalty…whatever will you do Lady Isabel? How will you save the day? I wonder, can Isabel Arryn…be her own hero?"
She was seething in anger, and she breathed slowly in an effort to control her emotions. Isabel knew what he was trying to do her, and she felt helpless that it was working. Petyr Baelish was trying to undermine her, taunt her and remind her that she was powerless in King's Landing. It was if he was reminding her that Jon Arryn died because of him, and that he could very well take Isabel's life if he wanted to.
It was at that moment that she realized just how dangerous this man was.
"….G…get…o..out..," she managed to slowly whisper out, having the sudden impatience for him.
His smirk remained on his face, as if he was unfazed by her command but decided to grant her the simplest request. He stepped back from her bed and gave her a low bow before walking out and closing the door behind him and allowing the darkness and the shadows consume her thoughts.
I want him to rise to high that when he falls, there will be no one to catch him, the sinister voice whispered in her head.
I want him dead, the voice whirled around the room, I want them all dead.
A/N:Sorry for the long wait..enjoy! :) xoxo