Author's Notes: First and foremost, I would like to thank iia_ao3ac, who did beta for this chapter. The first version of this chapter was absolutely horrid. I hated it. It was not up to the quality I hold myself to and it was certainly not the quality that you deserved as readers. Iia_ao3ac came in clutch and gave the context and pointers I needed to make this chapter great.
So thank you very much, iia_ao3ac!
Way back in Chapter 14, I predicted that Jaime would meet Brienne in Chapter 30. Sadly, that did not happen. But I can say that I have finally written their first encounter. Soon, Jaime x Brienne fans. Soon.
Chapter 30
Aemon VI
"In the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, true Warden of the East, I bid you welcome to the Bloody Gate, your grace," Ser Brynden Tully curtly said to him. He frowned over Ghost as the direwolf stepped over the threshold and shook the light flurries that decorated his fur.
"Thank you, Ser Brynden," Aemon said, with a gracious nod. Something about the list of titles tickled at him and he asked, "True Warden of the East?"
"Yes, when Lord Arryn died, King Robert Baratheon appointed Ser Jaime Lannister-" there was no mistaking the way he bit off Jaime's name how Ser Brynden felt about him "-as Warden of the East against the wishes of those of us in the Vale. The seat has been held only by the Arryns for near three hundred years and then Robert Baratheon decides to buck tradition. Lady Lysa has commanded we all refer to Robyn as the true Warden of the East, but as far as the rest of the kingdom knows, Jaime is the named warden."
Aemon frowned. Passing strange. It did impose another complication and he'd have to yet again smooth over rough edges involving Jaime. He turned to his uncle and asked, "Were you aware Robert had made this appointment?"
Ned blinked owlishly at him and hopelessly shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not recall, your grace."
Aemon nodded and muddled over the news. Jaime hadn't said anything either. It was certainly possible that he may have forgotten as well, but his political instincts screamed there was more behind this. Jaime wouldn't lie to me, would he? He thought and felt a twinge of guilt at the doubt for his friend. No, he shut the thought down. I have to trust Jaime implicitly. He would not keep any crucial details from me. It was not lost on him that he doubted everyone else's motivations and trustworthiness, but he refused to reconsider Jaime's, whom many would argue was more dangerous. He would be in the perfect spot to betray me if his loyalties ever changed. He was certain of one thing though: Jaime was willing to bend over backwards to prove that he could be a trustworthy and honorable man.
"If you'll forgive me, your grace, I am a bit surprised that you would come to negotiate the alliance yourself," the Blackfish said, rather pointedly glancing at his uncle Ned and Lord Edmure Tully following just behind him.
"As it is my kingdom I am trying to claim, I feel it is necessary that I be the one to negotiate as many of the alliances as I can," he replied. Especially this one, he thought as his insides twisted up painfully. He had been dreading this.
Not for the first time, he felt the fate of the world teetering on a knife's edge. Am I really going to do this? But what choice did he have? Baelish controlled the Vale through Lysa Arryn. He had to knock him off his perch before he could deem himself safe and the kingdom united.
He had spent his time in the past week scheming with only Ghost for company. He refused to include his uncle or even Ser Barristan, though he could trust the old knight to at least keep the secret, if not the charade. It was imperative that none of this get back to Baelish before he was ready. It would likely scare the mockingbird into hiding and then he would forever be looking over his shoulder. No, he had to trap him the same way Sansa, Arya, and Bran had trapped him previously. But he wouldn't have the failsafe of a Three-Eyed Raven to see the entirety of the past.
This was something else he and Jaime had discussed at Winterfell when he was still Jaime's squire. They had nothing concrete but agreed that retaining the forces of the Vale was the first step in many. This plan had been so secret that they had actually huddled together at the foot of the weirwood in the middle of the night, so close as to be able to whisper in each other's ear.
"How? How can we manage this? Baelish will eat us alive."
"You have to think of something, Jon. You must play the game."
"I could get us all killed with one wrong word, one wrong move."
"That's the game."
"I don't want to play the game."
"You have no choice."
Jaime had vowed to help him and then the fiasco between him and his sister happened. Jon had to think fast and by the time all was said and done, he'd commanded Jaime to go ahead of him to secure more allies. Thinking back on it, it was still their best move, especially in light of Lord Tywin deliberately ignoring orders. But he was several months removed from his most trusted and currently missing source of information and friendship.
But what kind of king am I if I have to hide behind my Hand all the time? A poor one. It was best that he was carrying his half of the plan by himself to prove he was capable, but he didn't have to like it.
"I'm afraid it's too late in the day for you to make the trip to the Eyrie. The mountain paths are quite treacherous in the dark," the Blackfish said, peering at him carefully.
Aemon was too distracted to notice. He stepped up to a window that overlooked the Eyrie and he stared at it. Whatever fear of heights he'd had, they were long conquered after his tenure on the Wall, but all the same he was grateful they weren't going to attempt that path in the failing light of the sun. He finally said, "I figured as much. If you would, I'd like to be on the path to the Eyrie at first light.
"I'll see to it that someone wakens you." Aemon nodded absentmindedly, so Blackfish turned to Lord Stark. "Ned! Good to see you again? How fares my niece?"
"She is well, Ser Brynden. I know she wishes she could have been here, but we have children still up north to care for."
"A shame, though it's probably for the best. Edmure, how is Hoster?"
Edmure gave his uncle a weak smile. "As well as can be expected. I...I don't think he has much longer. When we return to Riverrun, you should see him, uncle."
The Blackfish frowned tersely and said, "We shall see."
Olyvar watched the proceedings quietly but proudly, his hand tangled in Ghost's fur. The direwolf hadn't frightened his young squire and the two had developed a rather fast bond themselves. Ghost was large enough now he could reach Olyvar's face to lick it with little trouble and it always brought a smile to Aemon. The proceedings now were too serious for Aemon to find any humor and so he remained grim. If Jaime were here, he'd be teasing him for his moping.
Everyone was led away to their prospective rooms and a bath was procured for Aemon. He sighed as he sank into it, shuddering at the heat of the water. His shoulders were tight from tension and the heat soothed the ache. He had done little else for the last week save fret so he allowed himself a moment to lie back and relax, closing his eyes to get a small respite from the world, willing his mind to quiet for just a moment.
All too soon he was back out of the tub buttoning up a black tunic with red cuffs and linings for the feast. He gazed at himself intently in the mirror. He had been growing a beard since Winterfell and it had finally filled enough to make him appear several years older than his true age. He then scowled at the crown sitting on the table in front of him. They'd finally had one made at Riverrun. It was a simple thing of silver and iron with only minor detailing to distinguish himself. Regardless, it was heavy and it only served to widen the chasm between him and his men. He'd neglected to wear it all the way to the Eyrie, but now that he was here, he would be forced to wear it as decorum dictated.
The feast would be a small affair. Before leaving Riverrun, Aemon had sent an invitation to Lord Yohn Royce at Runestone to meet him at the Bloody Gate, so he and his two sons, Andar and Robar Royce, were at the feast as well. It was gratifying to see the old lord and two of his sons, strong and healthy. He had greatly respected Bronze Yohn and much like Ser Davos, he was a pillar of strength in the Long Night, though worn down from the losses he had suffered. He had been remarkably steadfast in spite of losing all of his sons even before the Long Night had started.
He didn't know much about Brynden Tully other than Jaime calling him a 'stubborn old goat' and saying he was Robb's staunchest supporter, even after his death. He was likely to support his cause, even if he didn't manage to convince Lysa Arryn to commit her forces. According to Jaime, however, Lord Yohn Royce refused to go against his liege lord and stuck out the War of the Five Kings desperately trying to convince Lady Lysa to back them. He would be instrumental in ensuring the Vale forces were committed.
"Your grace, if you please, depending on whether Lady Lysa relents, what do you intend on doing?" Ser Brynden asked.
"I will take the Red Keep," Aemon replied simply. "I'm sure you're aware that I sent my army on ahead to King's Landing, where already Lord Tywin's Westerlands army awaits."
With the exception of Lord Edmure and Lord Stark, he had sent everyone else to King's Landing. Only Arya and Sansa remained behind at Riverrun. He appointed Greatjon Umber in charge for the time being. That appointment was courtesy of his uncle as he insisted that the Greatjon could be trusted. While Aemon had reservations about his son, the little he'd seen about the Greatjon had assured him he was trustworthy. On the other hand, he had tasked Howland Reed and Lady Maege Mormont with keeping an eye on Roose Bolton. If he even so much as nodded at Lord Tywin in greeting, Aemon was confident he'd know about it. Tyrion was given the job of placating his father and bringing him up to speed.
If he were being honest with himself, he was looking forward to taking the Red Keep. While it wasn't always the case, battle tended to be simpler. He was already weary of trying to juggle so many things at once.
Aemon heard Yohn breathe deeply and he said, "Forgive me, your grace, but why should you seat the Iron Throne? Do not say it's your birthright. Your grandfather dealt a lot of pain to much of the nobility. I think you can imagine our reticence to see another Targaryen as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms." Aemon could see clear pain in his eyes and his sons Andar and Robar were looking back at him with a somber expression.
That's right. Yohn lost a brother when Brandon Stark challenged the king, he thought. His already dark mood grew darker still. The Targaryen legacy was difficult to bear but he had little choice.
"Lord Royce, I am aware of what my grandfather did. He was a monster. There is nothing that can explain away what he did and justify it. However, my father was not a monster and it is in his footsteps I shall follow. He did not rape my mother. He married her in sight of the Seven. We can endlessly debate about whether what he did was right or wrong, but I believe he had good intentions based on the fact that he did not rape her."
Yohn gave him a quizzical frown. "Do you have proof of this assertion, that Prince Rhaegar married your mother?"
"We do, only it's not with me. A journal by one Septon Maynard details that he annulled Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's marriage to Princess Elia Martell and he married Prince Rhaegar in secret to Lyanna Stark. That journal is currently in the hands of the Tyrells, since we are also seeking their alliance."
Yohn glanced at Ned who nodded in assurance.
He set his fork down to give the lord his full attention. "The old gods granted me a vision just after my uncle Ned informed me of my true lineage. I was sitting under the weirwood tree when I saw myself seated on the Iron Throne."
Yohn blinked in puzzlement. "How can you be sure it was a gods-ordained vision? Perhaps it was but a dream?"
"Because the gods possessed me and wrought powers through me that I have yet to reproduce." There was a stunned silence and then Aemon continued. "I had the unenviable task of convincing the northern lords to support my cause. Lord Jon Umber challenged me to a duel to prove my worth. On a downward blow, the gods seized me and with my steel sword, I broke Lord Umber's sword clean in two."
Again, silence prevailed until Ned said, "'Tis true. His grace's eyes came ablaze with orange light, as though on fire. I have never seen ought like it."
"That is how the northern lords were won to my cause. The old gods gave me their blessing when they ensured I won that duel." In his rush to plan and forge alliances, Aemon had nearly forgotten about that scuffle, but the story had spread through the camp like wildfire. Anytime he was passing by his soldiers, they looked at him like he was a god himself. It was a not a pleasant thought, but he needed as much good will as he could muster.
Tyrion had also learned about the occurrence secondhand and he pestered Robb, Theon, and his uncle Ned for details, thoroughly dismayed that he'd missed it. He had been secluded to his room to prevent stoking the northern lords' fury.
Ser Brynden scoffed at his declaration, but Yohn's stare became more piercing. "Is...is there a reason they want you to take the throne?"
Aemon glanced at his uncle for help, but he only had an expectant look. He tried to think back on his knowledge of Yohn. He had come to know him quite well after all, but would this Yohn accept the possibility of the Long Night with the same certainty as before? Should everything go as planned, he'd likely find out from the northern lords eventually.
He sucked in a deep breath and said, "Yes, there is. Lord Royce, I know from my uncle that your family, much like many in the North, have a long tradition of sending spare sons to guard the Wall. The gods assure me that their watch is not in vain. The Night King stirs in the North even now. The Long Night is coming. While the realm is not yet in a weakened state, it was precarious under Robert Baratheon and the unlawful execution of Lord Jaime Lannister would have sent it right over the edge. That is why I seek the throne. The gods seem to want me to be the one to prepare the kingdoms."
There was no mistaking the quiet chuckle that broke the otherwise tense silence. Ser Brynden was looking at him in amusement and Edmure Tully was staring up at his uncle with wide eyes, darting them back and forth between him and Aemon. "Apologies, your grace, but...the Long Night is a myth."
"You doubt the gods?" Aemon asked.
Ser Brynden grew uncomfortable. "If it's true - why now?"
"This is the longest summer on record, Ser Brynden," Yohn replied in a clipped tone. "As wisdom goes, it will be followed by an equally long winter."
"And a brutal one, I assure you. You will see, Ser Brynden. As we speak, my uncle Benjen who is a ranger with the Night's Watch is on the hunt for a wight."
"Has he found anything?" Robar, Lord Royce's younger son, finally spoke up and gazed intently at Aemon.
"I have yet to receive news regarding his mission. The area beyond the Wall is huge. It could take some time," Aemon soothed.
Robar turned to his father and asked, "Do you think that may be what killed Waymar?"
Yohn looked troubled and struggled to answer.
Aemon asked, "I'm sorry, what?"
Yohn looked at Aemon with a drawn expression. "As you just mentioned, my third son Waymar has committed himself to the Watch on the Wall. He was sent out on a mission and we received news from Castle Black seven months past that he was killed along with another of his companions. Another deserted."
Aemon felt his heart quaver. He remembered how fraught he had been when his uncle Benjen had gone missing as well.
"I remember that execution," Ned replied in a quiet voice. "The deserter was absolutely terrified of something beyond the Wall. I could not reach him. His death brought him relief, not anguish."
The silence that followed was as tense as a harp string. Ser Brynden decided to break it, "I only receive what news the Lady Lysa decides to send us, but it sounds like Renly has burrowed into the Red Keep like a tick. I can't imagine it will be easy getting him out. While I wouldn't say he was as brash as his brother, Robert, I don't think you can expect him to be any less stubborn."
"Having never met Renly, I suppose that's true enough. According to everyone around me, he's green and has never seen battle. I expect him to wave the white flag when he sees the force I have amassed at his doorstep," Aemon said. He rather doubted Renly would do such a thing with his bloodthirsty paramour advising him, but it was a possibility.
"Really?" Lord Yohn finally chimed in. He furrowed his brow quizzically. "Last I heard, Ser Loras was in the keep with him. You might get the Reach on your back."
"That is also a possibility," Aemon replied. "I still hold the Westerlands, the North, and the Riverlands. The Reach boasts a considerable force, but not one that can take all three."
"Lord Jaime Lannister is negotiating an alliance with the Reach as we speak," Ned replied.
"Lannister?" The Blackfish said with a snort. "You really think he'll come through for you?"
"Yes," Aemon replied and he seemed unconcerned. He had not informed his uncle of Jaime's disappearance. He was still yet unsure what to do in regards to the Reach. He decided that if he received another message from the Tyrells, he would go himself, but he had to secure King's Landing first. Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill he'd refrain from taking Loras' head when he finally took the Keep.
There was no mistaking the skepticism in both the Brynden's and Yohn's eyes.
"Forgive me, your grace, but are you aware that we at the Vale presume the Lannisters were behind our Lord Paramount Jon Arryn's death?" Brynden asked.
"Really? It is suspected that his death was by something other than natural means?" Aemon asked, hoping his surprise looked genuine. He glanced at his uncle and his face had merely darkened.
"As Hand of the King, Lord Arryn was stationed in King's Landing. Upon his death, the Lady Lysa took his only son and heir and retreated back to the Vale, claiming the Lannisters are responsible. That's difficult to argue with, especially since Jaime Lannister was appointed Warden of the East."
"Hmm..that is troubling. I am at the very least confident that my Hand, Lord Jaime Lannister, was not behind Jon Arryn's death. He despises his sister and would not cover up any of her indiscretions."
"Your grace, I'm sorry, but how can you be so sure?" Ser Brynden asked. "The Lannisters were always an arrogant lot, but Jaime was the worst of them, since he was considered the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms after Ser Arthur Dayne. He murdered your grandfather. What makes you so certain that you have Jaime Lannister's loyalty?"
Aemon smiled. "Because, as king, I am the only one who can grant him what he wants."
"And what is that?"
"That is between me and him," Aemon replied lightly. Both Brynden and Yohn seemed disatisified with that answer, but they knew better than to pry. "Tell me, Ser Brynden, how does the Eyrie receive its messages?"
"The rookery is here at the Bloody Gate. Ravens have difficulty flying as high as the Eyrie, but the Maester, who usually tends to the ravens is up at the Eyrie. We have another fellow who takes care of them instead."
"Really? How do you get the messages to Lady Lysa?"
"We have a pulley system that allows us to send small bundles up to the Eyrie without having to saddle the mules for every single letter."
"Hmm...that's interesting," Aemon replied and he felt his gaze wander. That would make things easier, but nothing was ever sure.
After the small feast, he retired to his guest room, but as was typical of him these days, he only managed to fall asleep a few hours short of dawn. These schemes will be the death of me, he thought as he rose from his bed. Upon looking in a mirror, he was pleased to see that a carefully trimmed beard hid what otherwise might be a haggard appearance.
Since Aemon wished to be back before nightfall, they broke a hasty breakfast. A tough girl named Mya Stone claimed the honor of guiding them to the Eyrie on the backs of mules. Before they went, however, he turned to the Tully men and said, "You shall stay here. I want Lord Royce, Lord Stark, and my Kingsguard to attend me."
"B-but, your grace," Edmure began, "she's my sister. I think she would like to see a familiar face."
"I'm sure she would, but I'm afraid I cannot allow that. I'm sorry," Aemon replied, with a wan smile. I can't trust you not to leak. Secrecy is of the utmost importance here. His uncle Ned appeared to want to say something, but thankfully thought better of it when Aemon flashed him a warning frown. "Olyvar, you stay here, too. Maybe show Ser Brynden what you've learned from Ser Barristan." The boy stood up tall with shining eyes and nodded at him.
Olyvar had been a stellar squire, never once complaining whenever they were swamped by rain, even when he was shivering. He did his tasks as soon as they were ordered. Aemon felt a pang of guilt that he was unable to devote the necessary time a squire required in his training, but Ser Barristan and Ser Preston had been kind enough to pick up the slack.
Mya Stone loaded up a bunch of mules and they plodded up the narrow, stone path to the Eyrie. Ser Barristan was just behind Aemon, followed by his uncle Ned and then the rest of the Kingsguard. Even Torrhen Karstark, who had yet to be formally sworn in, was in attendance to him. The young lad peered up at the Eyrie owlishly with his mouth hanging open, enthralled by the new lands he was seeing. He brought a welcome spark of energy to the Kingsguard who were otherwise nearly twice his age or older. While not as young as Jaime was when he was sworn in the Kingsguard, Aemon couldn't help but wonder if Jaime was anything like him at the beginning of his tenure as Kingsguard. Ghost was forced to stay behind. Aemon didn't want to risk startling the mules on such a precarious edge.
The wind whipped and roared, making conversation impossible, so everyone just dropped their heads and held on as the mules plodded around the stones slow, but steadily. It took some time, but finally they reached the doors of the Eyrie. By this point, Aemon could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his hands were sweating in his gloves. This is it. There is no turning back.
He turned and said, "Kingsguard, to me!"
All but Ser Barristan seemed puzzled by this. Before this point, they had all barely been in the same room since he'd taken the throne from Robert.
Aemon's orders were swift and concise. "As soon as these doors open, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston, I want you to go around the castle and slaughter all the ravens you see. All of them."
"Yes, your grace," the two replied automatically.
"Ser Arys and Torrhen, you will guard the front doors here. If anyone tries to leave, detain them. If they fight, wound them, and I will interrogate them myself. Ser Barristan, you're with me."
"As you will, your grace," Ser Barristan said. There was only a slight flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he was otherwise impassive. No doubt, he recalled what Aemon had said about Petyr Baelish controlling Lysa Arryn.
Lord Royce and Ned overheard his orders and they stared at him quizzically, but he hastily shook his head. Mya was peering at him cautiously, hugging her mule, and her grip on his muzzle only seemed to tighten as he addressed her. "You are to stay here by the mules. This will not take long and I intend to leave as soon as possible."
"Yes, your grace, b-but, apologies, but I have supplies that need to be unloaded."
"Then set them down at the door, but you are not to enter the Eyrie. Ser Arys, Torrhen, I trust you to ensure she follows my orders."
"Yes, your grace," they intoned, though Torrhen appeared uneasy from the way his eyes darted from Aemon to Mya.
When the doors opened, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston immediately broke off from the group. A servant led the rest of them to the great hall where they found a herd of suitors crowded around Lady Lysa. She sat above them on a seat with a wisp of a boy clinging to her like he was little more than a babe. A few lords knelt before him, but most seemed to be concerned about showing him too much deference in a hall where he was not welcome. He paid them little attention as the Lady stared down at him imperiously, the beginnings of a sneer twisting her face.
"So you've come," she said.
"Good morning, Lady Lysa. Are your greetings always as cold as the wind outside?" Aemon asked.
"Why have you come? The Vale will not pledge to you. We will not assist putting another Targaryen on the throne. I am surprised at you, Lord Stark. After what the Targaryens did to your family, I wouldn't think you'd be so foolish."
His uncle stiffened beside him.
Aemon nodded. "I can understand being wary of a Targaryen. My grandfather did horrible things to many people, most of all the Starks. However, I have no intention of continuing in his legacy, rather I intend to follow in my father's footsteps. Prince Rhaegar was a kind and just man, even when his own father's madness was spiraling out of control. I think it's high time that peace and justice be brought back to the Seven Kingdoms."
Lady Lysa's lip curled in a sneer. "Is it not you who have disrupted this peace by making a claim on the throne?"
"I did not disrupt the peace, merely turned the course of a war. Robert Baratheon was prepared to unlawfully execute Jaime Lannister for a crime he didn't commit. Everyone knows what Tywin Lannister is like. With his wealth and his power, he could have torn the Seven Kingdoms apart. I prevented such a rift from forming and despite the fact that my path will take me to the throne, I have yet to encounter any opposition. There has yet to be a single violent clash. That's rather peaceful for a war."
"But there will be war. There always is. Men will die bloody deaths so a single man can ascend the throne. Well, the Vale shall not dabble in such a useless campaign. You shouldn't have come least of all knowing that Jaime Lannister is your Hand. He stole my child's birthright!"
"I think, you'll find, My Lady, that Lord Jaime did no such thing. I have a suspicion that he was appointed Warden of the East without his knowledge. After all, he was a Kingsguard at the time. They have no business doing anything else outside of guarding the king," Aemon replied.
"Hah!" It was a bitter laugh that rang throughout the hall. "You dare come into my hall and sing the praises of the famed Kingslayer, a man who murdered your own grandfather? You truly are mad."
"Not at all. Lord Jaime Lannister is the Kingslayer no longer. He has been pardoned for that crime, but we're not here to talk about Jaime Lannister. The iron throne rules over all of the Seven Kingdoms, which includes the Vale. You owe me your allegiance. Half of the Seven Kingdoms have already pledged their support to me. Not to mention that, as king, I can restore Lord Robyn Arryn's birthright as Warden of the East. Will you pledge your support, my Lady?"
Lysa had a truculent jutt to her jaw as she said, "No, I will not be fooled by your sweet words."
"Are we going to throw him through the moon door?" Her son asked with wide eyes.
She tightened her grip on him and shushed him.
Aemon nodded and said, "I find your response puzzling, my Lady. You would turn down your son's rightful title to deny fealty to me? I don't think Petyr Baelish has your son's best interests at heart, since you seem to be taking advice from him."
She seemed to stop breathing and her eyes went wide, but she said nothing.
He paused long enough to give her time to respond and when she didn't, he reached into his coat and pulled a piece of parchment with a simple broken seal. "I had my archers shoot down the Ravens between here and Riverrun and just before we started climbing to the Bloody Gate, we got this one. Shall I read it to you?" It was not a question. He opened it and elevated his voice so that the entire crowd could hear.
"My dear Lysa,
I have heard reports that the dragon king is on his way to the Vale. Stay strong. It would be most unfortunate for him if he were to meet with some calamity. Be prepared to do to him what you did to your lord husband.
He has taken a Frey for a squire. The Lord Frey was quite insulted by the king who overrode his authority and forced him to lower his bridge for a paltry sum. Lord Tywin has shown some reticence at following the new king as well. He would back the Freys in their revenge on Aemon Targaryen. It should be easy to point the blame for the king's ill-fate on the Freys and Tywin Lannister.
Forever yours,
Petyr Baelish"
The hall was deathly silent as Aemon finished. He looked up at Lysa who was gasping like a fish and her skin had taken a sickly tone. She was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Yohn was gaping at Aemon in shock and his own skin had gone pale beneath his beard.
"What did you do to your husband that you have tried to blame on the Lannisters?" Aemon asked.
The letter reading seemed to have put her into a trance and she shook herself of it and screamed, "N-no! L-lies! LIES! The Lannisters are responsible for my husband the Lord Arryn's death! He was ready to reveal their dirty little secret to the king when they poisoned him! I did what any concerned mother would and fled to the Vale for protection. I sent my sister, Lady Catelyn Stark, a letter to warn her of their treachery."
All eyes then turned to Ned. He was frowning up at Lysa. "Indeed, we received such a letter. I accepted my position as hand to Robert Baratheon as a result of it. I was going to reach the bottom of that mystery."
"And?" Yohn prodded.
"I never had the opportunity. Cersei Lannister committed...atrocities against her brother that led both of them to the executioner's block. Lord Jaime Lannister did not commit the crime he was being accused of. Justice was to be miscarried. It...it had to be stopped!"
"Cersei Lannister is already in exile," Aemon said. "All we have is your word it was them. What proof do you have that they actually did it?"
Lysa's mouth twitched once more into a snarl, but she continued to breathe heavily. She was panicking like a herd animal aware of its impending doom. "My husband discovered their little secret. He knew. He knew none of Cersei's spawn were true Baratheons. He was to bring his concerns to the king, but they murdered him before they could!"
"You knew the children were not trueborn Baratheons and you did not think to inform your king?" Aemon asked.
Once more, silence settled on the hall, broken only by Lady Lysa's ragged breathing. Then she whispered, "The Lannisters...they would have killed me too. My boy. I had to protect my boy."
"Even here you feared their retribution? Safe in the Eyrie?"
She chuckled, but it sounded maddened as her smile was more like a blanch. "You know nothing, boy. King's Landing will eat you alive. Maester Pycelle is in the pockets of the Lannisters. He would have ensured King Robert remained ignorant and informed the Lannisters of my knowledge."
"And yet you managed to get a letter to your sister, Catelyn Stark, even though it spent much of its time traveling with the Lannisters."
Aemon could feel his own heart pounding and not for the first time wondered if everyone there could hear it. He had to get Lysa to confess to the murder of her husband or at least place enough of a question on Lysa Arryn's ability to control the Eyrie so that a replacement could be appointed. Otherwise his entire scheme would fall apart and it would inevitably get back to Petyr Baelish, who would spook, and then slip through their fingers. She was putting up a much harder fight than he had anticipated. Just from what he remembered Sansa telling him about her, it sounded like a stiff breeze would blow her over. She certainly did not look good in the eyes of the surrounding lords, but he knew it wasn't yet enough to get her overthrown.
"You keep saying the Lannisters? There's quite a few people in there. Can you give us a name as to who specifically poisoned Lord Jon Arryn?" He asked.
"Stop being mean! Shove the mean man through the moon door," Robyn cried out into the hall.
"Quiet, child," Yohn barked, his face growing red. "You will stay quiet and listen to your elders!"
"You forget yourself, Lord Royce! This is your lord paramount. You will defer to him," Lysa snapped.
"My Lady, Lord Robyn is not yet of age to claim his lordship. He is rude and unmanageable, hardly fit to rule the Eyrie. He needs discipline, training!"
"He's just a boy! An ill, little, fragile boy who needs his mother! He stays with me," she cried, clutching at her son again. There was now color blossoming in her cheeks and she was glaring at Lord Royce.
"Lord Jon Arryn discussed with me the possibility of sending him to Lord Stannis Baratheon to foster. That's not possible right now, but if you may, my Lady, I could foster him at Runestone. He will become a proper lord!"
Lady Lysa's eyes flashed and her face twisted into an ugly rictus as she leaned forward and shouted like a great thunderclap, "Absolutely not! If you dare attempt to take my child away from me, I will kill you the same way I killed him! Nobody will take my sweet Robyn from me! Nobody!"
The silence was deafening. A collective breath was held as everyone stared at Lady Lysa in shock and fear. Aemon kept looking between Yohn and Lady Lysa. He got the confession out of her without even trying! He thanked the gods that the confession had finally come out before all and sundry.
At first Yohn was shocked, but as he understood her words, his face purpled so much Aemon became concerned for his health.
"You did what?!" Yohn roared, his voice boomed like a dragon's roar. "You murdered Lord Arryn?! It was not the Lannister's after all? It was you!"
The cold and hard edge of her face had given a way to a weak and trembling chin. She seemed to look around the hall as though searching for a savior, but there were none who stepped forward. Finally, in a weak voice, she said, "H-he was going to take my baby, my boy. Your lord!"
"What did you do to him?" Aemon repeated. Apart from her quiet sobs, the hall was silent and his voice had no trouble carrying.
"It was the only way! The only way! I couldn't let him take my sweet Robyn away," Lysa cried, bringing her son to her once more in a hug and crying into his shoulder.
Lord Royce growled and made a step forward, but Aemon grabbed his arm and shook his head. He imagined the lord would blush in embarrassment were his face not already red from anger. He bowed his head and stepped back. Aemon glanced back at his uncle to find him just as pale and shaken, though he already knew of Lysa's betrayal from the time before. Ser Barristan remained remarkably impassive; he had to commend the old knight for keeping calm in the face of treachery even if they knew it was coming.
"P-Petyr gave me Tears of Lys. I put it in his wine," she sobbed.
Aemon's face grew dark. "He was your husband."
Her anger seemed to come back once more and she seethed, "He never loved me! You never met him! You don't know! Imagine on your wedding night having to kiss a bride who was an old woman with half her teeth missing and her breath stinking of old cheese! Time and time again I had to put up with that old man mounting me like an old bull that should have been put out to pasture. His seed was weak and all my babies died. Finally, finally, I have my boy and he was going to take Robyn from me! He was going to give him to Stannis and then my boy would've been lost to me!"
Aemon shuddered. Dany had tasted of cinnamon and red wine, as though she embodied their house's motto of fire and blood. Her taste was capable of entrancing him and the thought of her tasting like old cheese left a sour taste in his mouth. He pitied the Lady Lysa. She wasn't evil, merely a vulnerable woman manipulated by an evil man to do his dirty work. She was just another life Petyr Baelish had destroyed for his own ends. He turned to leave the hall. Upon seeing the guards on the door, he ordered, "Take Lady Lysa to her chambers. She is to be guarded day and night. Her trial shall await her after I take the Red Keep."
His uncle Ned, Lord Royce, and Ser Barristan followed hot on his heels. At the main door, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston were awaiting them.
"All the ravens in the castle have been slaughtered by your command, your grace," Ser Meryn said with a savage grin.
"They were pets, your grace," Ser Preston said, as though killing them hadn't sat right with him.
Aemon could hardly say it sat right with him either, but they had to make sure Baelish remained ignorant of Lysa's confession. "Good. We shall leave. Inform Mya Stone to prepare the mules once more. Ser Preston, fetch me the maester," He ordered.
They were quiet while they waited. A noise by the door to the hall caught Aemon's attention and he saw a few of the lords who were previously there to court Lady Lysa coming out.
"Your grace," one acknowledged and knelt to the floor before him. He had shoulder length curly brown hair dressed in greens and browns like he was out for a hunt, except it was in the latest fashion of trousers and a long coat with green trimmings. "Forgive me for being present at the house of a traitor. I meant you no ill will."
"No forgiveness necessary," Aemon acknowledged to which the man smiled in relief. Then he continued, "unless you were aware of her schemes."
The man immediately paled and shook his head. "No, no, your grace! I - we - none of us had any idea what she was doing."
Aemon nodded at him.
"If you will, your grace, I would be interested in returning to my own home now that I cannot wed a traitor."
"No," Aemon replied.
"W-what?"
Aemon gazed up at him, his eyes now cold and dark. "On pain of death, none of you are allowed to leave until I say so."
"But, forgive me, your grace, but why?"
"Because it is as I order. You will stay here and continue to be a guest of the Eyrie until I rescind."
"How long will that be?"
"Until I say so."
"Even through winter?"
He stepped closer, causing the man to shrink back. "Until I say so."
Ser Preston had arrived a few minutes earlier with the old Maester in tow. He was a wiry fellow with long brown hair and sallow skin. The maester was glancing around in alarm at Aemon's declaration. When Aemon turned to him, he flinched as if struck.
"Maester, Lady Lysa is not allowed to leave her room. She is not allowed to see her son and she is not allowed to communicate with anyone in anyway. See to it that these orders are carried out."
"Your grace, I am but a mere Maester. To command a castle is not my function. I am only to advise."
"And now you're overseer since its Lady has confessed to the murder of her lord husband."
The Maester's eyes went wide and he froze.
"Kingsguard, we're leaving."
As soon as they stepped outside into the whipping wind, Aemon rounded on his uncle Ned and Lord Royce. "What you heard in there is not to be relayed to anyone beyond this point."
"Make I ask why, your grace?" Lord Royce asked, squinting against the wind.
"It's safer this way. Understood?"
"Yes, your grace," they both said. His uncle Ned had a troubled expression, but he nodded. Hopefully his uncle had at least an idea of what needed to be done to stop Baelish. He knew perfectly well how much damage that man could do to Westeros. He needed to be contained before that could happen.
Did I do the right thing? Aemon asked himself the entire pathway down the mountain. His heart ached. He was going against everything he had been brought up to believe, to hold...to honor. Was there still honor in a king who manipulated and lied, even if for a good cause? Around and around his reasoning had gone, asking himself, asking Jaime, asking the gods if this was the only way. But apart from simply going up to Littlefinger and murdering him without a trial, he couldn't see any other way. He had to lay a trap, just like his cousins had done in that other lifetime.
It was just after noon when they once more reached the Bloody Gate. Edmure and Ser Brynden were waiting for them as if they had been there the whole time. Edmure gave him a rushed bow and asked, "What news of my sister?"
"Bite your tongue, boy! You're speaking to your king," Ser Brynden barked.
Aemon did not acknowledge the possible insult and said, "The Lady Lysa has taken ill. She will be unable to govern the Vale for the foreseeable future."
Ser Brynden frowned tersely.
"Ill? Like our father? Perhaps I should go up and see her!"
"You will not," Aemon said, glaring at Edmure. "You will follow me to the Red Keep. As King of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the first men, I appoint Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone as interim Lord of the Vale until such time as young Lord Robyn Arryn is able to assume his father's place."
"Thank you, your grace," Yohn replied, but there was no mistaking the sadness that hovered around him.
"You command the Vale forces," Aemon gently reminded him.
He stared intently at Aemon and then said, "The Vale shall pledge it's forces to you. You wish to unite Westeros and restore the iron throne to the glory that King Robert Baratheon squandered, and prepare the realm for the Long Night. I see it as a worthy cause and so does the Vale. I shall begin writing to the vassals at once. By your leave, your grace?"
Aemon nodded and he swept away. He watched him go for a moment and then he turned back to the Tullys. "Ser Brynden, you will stay here at the Bloody Gate. Collect all of the letters that come through here. When I command it, you, and you alone, will bring them to me. All letters shall be answered with the phrase, 'Lady Lysa Arryn has taken ill and will address your needs when she has recovered from her illness.' If anyone should make it down the stony path from the Eyrie, throw them in the dungeons."
"The dungeons? Whatever for?"
"We don't want them spreading the illness that the Lady Lysa has contracted," he replied, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as though he had been lying his whole life.
Ser Brynden, who had appeared troubled from the first, continued to look so. He threw a look at Ned and apparently saw something there that appeased him. He said with a sigh, "As your grace commands."
Aemon strode to his rooms. He could hear his uncle Ned and Ser Barristan trailing behind him. The moment he stepped into his room, he removed the simple silver crown and at the same instant, the coldly calm mask fell from him and he slumped over it, breathing heavily. He kneaded at his temples, already feeling a headache building there and it was in no small part caused by the weight of the crown that he bore.
"I know what you did was hard, your...Aemon," His uncle Ned said. "You did what you had to do. No matter how difficult. I'm proud of you. Though I must say, I didn't realize we had obtained a letter from Lord Baelish."
Aemon winced as though he had been stabbed in the chest by the words, knowing that his uncle had meant them sincerely. He pulled out the letter and unfurled it, gazing at his own untidy scrawl.
"We didn't," Aemon said in a low voice. "I lied." With that, he tossed the letter into the fireplace.
