Ned
A giant gaping hole in the tower let light into Lord Balon's solar. A rock from one of their catapults had done the deed, as seagulls cawed in the distance. The Lords of the Iron Islands were crowded into the solar. Stark men wearing the grey cloaks of House Stark held command of the door, eyeing all the men present with suspicion. A few days ago, we were killing one another underneath these walls. And now I must make peace. A just peace in Robert's name. Among the company included Lords Harlaw, Botley, Blacktyde, Merlyn. Gaunt faces glowered at him. Peace was a hard thing for stubborn men who buried sons and brothers. The kings brother, Lord Stannis, glowered at them with a gaze that could sour milk. He believes this peace is too lenient.
"My lords." Ned began. "You have fought leally for your lord, but now the war is done. Balons Rebellion has been crushed, and you have bent the knee to our King Robert." He paused and reached into his desk and pulled out the parchment. "I've spoken to every one of you individually and I have heard your words about who shall be named Lord of Pyke and shall rule over you." His grey eyes fell upon Lord Rodrick Harlaw, the so called Reader. "Lord Rodrick, with a stroke of a pen, I intend to name you Lord of Pyke and Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands." A title that many a man would kill over, he offered freely.
"It should be chains you receive." Lord Stannis said. "But our honorable regent has decided on such mercy."
Lord Rodrick, an average-looking man with pleasant looking garb, rose and dipped his head. "Tis a noble offer, Lord Stark. I told Lord Balon not to raise his flags in rebellion, for I considered such folly." He admitted. "But respectfully, I must decline." And Ned was left a gaped by the refusal. Lord Stannis jaw clenched at the perceived slight to them.
"The Iron Islands must be ruled over by a martial man like my heir." Lord Rodrick continued. "Name him as Lord of Pyke and leave me ser to my books and my lands."
"You seek to command our course of action." Lord Stannis bristled.
Ned raised his hand. "Peace my lord." He gazed at the assembled lords and looked for the truth on this matter. "Does Lord Rodrick speak truly? What say you of this Knight of Grey Garden?" A sea of slow grumbling of praise and approval flooded towards him. But he had not spoken with the man and he could not appoint him until he had a good judge of him. This was the last Ironborn Rebellion he wished to quell in his lifetime.
"I shall speak with him then, and I shall make my choice."
They escorted the lords out, and Ned departed for a short walk to stretch his legs. In the courtyard, he saw his boy Robb surrounded by the sons and daughters of the North. Pride filled his chest at how he handled the siege of Shatterstone. The North shall be in fine hands. A boy no longer stood before him, but a Lord of Winterfell. Hard and battle tested. It made Ned miss the days when he was simply playing in the snow with his siblings. A little body ran into him as he turned the corner, knocking the lad backwards. Prince Tommen's cheeks reddened. "Lord Stark!" He dipped his head. "My apologies. I should have watched where I was going."
Ned helped him up. "It is well, my prince. Are you looking for Bran?" He asked. His boy Bran spoke highly of Crowned Prince Tommen and they were as thick of thieves much like him and Robert had been in the Eyrie. Bran even told him during the thick of battle Prince Tommen ran back for him. Ah, Robert, you would have been proud of your son. It made him wistful for simpler days. Days when he wasn't a Regent of the Iron Throne and making peace on behalf of an absentee king.
Prince Tommen shook his head. "I wished to see you, my lord." His voice was sheepish. "About the matter of peace. Lord Arryn tells me I should garner experience from observation. "He explained. "I wish to observe my lord. Even if Uncle Stannis doesn't seem to like me." And that was true. He had noticed a strange coldness between them. I wonder why? Prince Tommen was a cheerful lad. He could hardly see the cause he gave for offense.
He nodded his head in understanding. "There will be plenty of time for that." Ned said. "When you are older. For now, enjoy your time in the courtyard with my son." He chuckled. "Trust me, you aren't missing much. Old gaunt men arguing like a bunch of shepherd wives."
"Alright, I understand." Prince Tommen laughed. "But you should punish them all." His bright face darkened. "They are evil! All of them! " The venom in his voice took him aback. He had never heard young Prince Tommen speak of anyone with such hatred. His green eyes stormed like a Baratheon. It reminded him of Robert and his hatred of the Targaryen's. Though he knew about his friend, the young Waynwood boy, and he understood the reason behind such hatred. He considered lecturing him, but he wasn't his ward, nor his son. I shall have to speak with my nephew about such. It would not be well to see the future King of the Seven Kingdoms to grow up with such hatred in his heart. He nodded solemnly, and he ran off looking for his son. Ned thought of Jon Arryns son. He had taken a wound in the storming of Shatterstone. Oddly, he had taken little interest in the peace of the Iron Islands, unlike the Lannisters or the Tyrells, and had not once visited his solar to make his wishes known. He had received more pushback from Lord Stannis over his plans. If he had his way, every noble family would send a hostage to the Red Keep or lose their heads.
But if the worst he had to deal with was Robert's prickly brother, he would endure. "Jory." He commanded. "Find me this Knight of Grey Garden and bring him to me in my solar."
Jory bowed his head.
Ned returned to the solar and stretched in the chair as he looked over a letter from his sweet Cat. She was in Riverrun, and Ned knew he would see her soon. It shall be good to hold you once more wife. And no doubt she would embrace Robb and Bran with love only a mother could provide. Ser Harras Harlaw was ushered into the room. The knight was tall and austere, with a long, serious face. "Lord Regent." He said. "I've been told by your man you've wished for words with myself."
"Tis true ser. Have you spoken with your uncle?"
Ser Harras nodded his head. "He told me his intentions and if you make the offer, I shall say the words." And Lord Balon had said so as well, but hopefully he would keep his oaths and adhere to his demands. The Knight of Grey Garden seemed a serious and somber sort, and Ned could find little complaint from him.
"I have other stipulations." Ned informed quietly. " You shall enter with a betrothal with Lady Elinor Mooton of Maidenpool." Ser William had been one over with a few quiet words and pledges of reducing the customs of Maidenpool for his family. He waited for him to finish watching him with a patience he inherited from his uncle. "And you shall keep the Iron Fleet to under seventy-five war galleys. Are these terms acceptable?"
He chuckled and rubbed his chin. "Ah, the lady I could suffice, I think. Many a lord shall grumble, but one dance with Nightfall and they would quiet pretty quick and such limits are acceptable." Ser Harras stood up. "the only problem I have, my lord, is the troubling whispers and rumors you seek to introduce the Seven on our islands. I know many of your lords wish such. Now that would see me chopped up and thrown to the fish." He laughed darkly. "If you plan on that, I can't swear such oaths."
Ned was puzzled. The affairs of gods have little business in this. "You may have your own gods. I shall write up an edict explaining such." And that won him over. Ned bade him to kneel and when he rose he became Lord of Pyke and Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands. They would have a public ceremony in the Great Hall, but for now, he was satisfied. The fruit of peace grows. And soon he would depart for Kings Landing to resume his Office in the Red Keep. Though first he would have to stop at Riverrun and see they did justice for Robb and Jon Arryn. A trial would have to be had, no matter what his nephew said about it. I shall get to the bottom of Jon Arryn's demise. And the lad would get over it once they uncovered the truth and made it plain to see. He owed it to Jon Arryn to see it done.
Jasper
Swords clanged, and screams echoed in the bloody hallways of Shatterstone. Yells of soldiers. The wails of women. Jasper wanted to scream, but lords didn't scream. His heart was pounding violently in his chest as he left the Strangers Realm. A realm of nightmares and horrors. Even in the middle of the day, he left for the land of the dead. Goblets clanged together. Men japed and laughed. It's a celebration. He recalled. How long had he been staring into the distance? Was he saying something? Jasper hoped not. He had no recollection of it.
Riverlords surrounded the table. Jasper sat with Lord Jason Mallister, he was the first over the walls of Harlaw, Ser Marq Piper who was deep in his cups, Ser Ronald Vance who was more interesting in fondling the server, Ser Lymond Goodbrook, and Lord Tytos Blackwood whom was eyeing Lord Bracken as a man does his most hated enemy with clear contempt. The center of them was Uncle Edmure, whom wore a quilted doublet of red with a flying trout embroidered on the fabric. Many of these men were his close friends. Potential allies in any war. Naturally, Jasper needed to court them as he did his own banners. The Blackfish sat with a goblet of bitter beer, snorting as Uncle Edmure made another bold claim of his taking of Harlaw. They gave up because they wanted to be on the winning side. Not because of the valor of his commanders.
They had plenty of valor on the Old Wyk. Brave valiant men who fought like heroes of the songs, and died unsung. They only speak of my duel for Red Rain, as if he was more important than them. The men who followed him were the true heroes.
"You've barely said a word, nephew." Uncle Edmure said.
The eyes fell on him, the accursed eyes, but he stepped into his role as easily as he put on his boots and gave a flashy smile. "I didn't wish to interrupt your exploits. Tis quite the tale. What say you, grand uncle? Was it as riveting?"
The Blackfish snorted. "Something like that."
Uncle Edmure laughed. "But it must be nothing like your own. You've earned enough glory to brag." He slammed his fist against the table with his goblet. "Speak the heroics, like how you got that Valyrian steel sword. I wish to hear it from your own lip." The sword weighed him down as heavy as stone. It's all they seem to care for. Jasper mused bitterly. The rehearsed line he came up with and spoke to his own banners felt hollow and fake. Must I speak these falsehoods? All he wanted to speak was the truth. I don't know how I won it, but I know the price I paid for it. A castle of blood.
I need to speak the truth. Jasper told himself.
Jasper tightened for a moment before dipping his head. "My heroics pale compared to the noble men of the Vale. They are the true heroes of the hour." And that was another lie. There were no heroes, only butchers. "Brave men like Lord Hunter and his sons who died before the walls. Good men." A small fake smile. "And the Northman as well."
"Very honorable." Lord Jason acknowledged.
"I suppose." Uncle Edmure said. "But you can acknowledge your valor as well. This celebration is for you, too." In that he was wrong, this celebration was not for him. It was a performance he needed to master for his duty and little more. Banners to acknowledge and respect. Fake smiles. Handshakes. Little false niceties drilled into him by Septon Layne. It was suffocating as his hands tightened around his goblet until it turned white. Everything was worse than before. Play the role! Drown it out.
Jasper raised his goblet.
"To the Riverlands and her brave sons!"
"To the Vale and her noble lords!" Uncle Edmure said graciously.
A few more japes and quips and Jasper felt satisfied with the evening performance and made his way to his balcony outside of his quarters, overlooking the sea. He passed the tables of Northman, where Cousin Robb was at the center of a party that included Dacey Mormont, and the Karstark sons. He didn't bother to acknowledge them. If I did then, I would have to start the performance all over again.
Seaguard was a small castle, but its lord had treated them graciously on their return journey to Riverrun. The view from the balcony was beautiful, not as amazing as the Vale, but a fair view. Though the crashing of the waves sent his heart racing as he smelled the salt in the air, but at least it was away from the suffocating crowd. Outwards beyond the bay, the Iron Islands lay and the bitter memories it inspired. He recalled Jon Waynwood and the knights he led to their deaths like lambs to the slaughter. For what? A useless piece of rock? A dumb castle that meant nothing to the war effort.
He would rather think of Myrcella and his twins, Roland and Alyssa. Both of them were born strong and hale and awaited his return in the Eyrie. Myrcella wrote to him they were red-haired with green eyes.
I have a family…A true family.
It's something he always wanted.
He had a lot of things he always wanted. A Valyrian steel sword his boyish self would have killed for, a sweet wife as bright as the dawn, a strong position for House Arryn in court, The Crowned Prince fostered under his household, respect of his lords who no longer looked at him like some green boy, but a veteran of war.
But the price…
Jasper sighed. Do you think of these things, Snow? He wondered about the Stark bastard off with King Robert in the East. Have you maintained your honor better than I Snow? Jasper thought it likely. It came naturally to the Bastard of Winterfell. The gods seemed to enjoy their humors.
"Mind if I join you out here?" The familiar voice of his ser asked him. A flask of wine in his hand. "You've been out here for sometime." Had he? He must have lost track of the time.
"If you wish." He voiced with indifference, not bothering to keep up his cheerful flashy public shield. Ser Brynden knew him far better than that. "Do you think I should I head back?"
"Nah, it's stuffy as hell."
Grand Uncle Brynden leaned his back against the bannister. "Alright, lad, cut the shit. Whats the matter?" He asked, as blunt as always. "I don't want to be pissing around it all night."
The last thing he wanted was to worry him about the truth. He chuckled. "I'm fine." He rubbed his pant legs, feeling anything but.
The following gaze was his no nonsense look that told him he didn't buy the act. He raised a bushy brow, an ultimatum to say what was on his mind. Jasper sighed deeply. "You may find me mad, but half of me wishes to throw this damn sword into the sea."
"That does sound mad Jasper."
"This sword." Jasper swore. "It weighs me down. By the Seven, I can scarcely stand having it at my side." It was a symbol of House Arryn victory and his personal triumph over the Ironborn. It was expected of him to showcase it publicly like some prize calf. He drew it out in the open. It breathed; The blade, true to its namesake, was bloody red. Perfectly balanced a weapon fit for a Falcon Knight. I made it rain red. For a moment, he considered tossing it and trying to wash himself of the blood that stained him. Jon. The dead Knights of the Vale. The boys in the hallway. All the dead and suffering caused by the campaign.
The guilt of living gnawed on him while better men than he died.
I played the game, and I won handsomely
Jasper couldn't stand the sight of it a moment longer and shoved it into his grand uncles hands. "Take it!" He snapped with a lords commands. "You have it! I want nothing to do with it!"
Grand Uncle Brynden shook his head. "It is yours. You won it by honorable combat."
"Honorable conduct?" Jasper tasted the words before laughing and somewhere along the way, hot tears formed he wiped away with his sleeves. "THERE WAS NOTHING HONORABLE ABOUT THAT FUCKING DAY! IT WAS SHIT! ALL OF IT!" His blood was hot and he saw nothing but the stars. He was done lying and pretending everything was fine. "WE WERE BUTCHERS ALL OF US! I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER ANYTHING! BUT I SAW THE AFTERMATH! DEAD BOYS! WOMEN RAPED AND THROATS SLASHED LIKE GUTTER FILTH! AND THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY TO CALL US HEROES! THEY SHOULD NAME US BEASTS! NOT KNIGHTS OF SONG!" His chest rose quickly up and down as he threw Red Rain on the ground. "I SHALL NOT SULLY WHAT REMAINS OF MY HONOR WITH SUCH A PRIZE!"
"It's war." Grand Uncle Brynden squeezed his shoulder as a father would. "It's ugly."
He twisted away from him shoulders, deflating. His blizzard spent. "Please take it." His voice was more broken plea. "I can't…" He whispered. "You know perfectly well I could have stopped this whole thing in Kings Landing." If he could go back, he would go to Lord Stark and tell him everything. Together, they would have stopped it. A son of Jon Arryn should have done that. I should have done that.
Grand Uncle Brynden picked up Red Rain and pressed it into his hands. "Mayhaps you could have? Or mayhaps you would have started one inadvertently. There were many reasons the war started Jasper. The evil of men doesn't revolve around you." He lifted his head up and held his gaze. "As long as man could make swords and spears, we've killed one another. If you stopped it and that's a big if another war will always come. Men always kill and shall always long after you and I are in the dirt. All we can do is to honor our oaths to ourselves and our family."
"I-"
"Take the sword, Jasper. You are as worthy of it as any."
He hesitated, and despite the doubts, he gripped the hilt and placed it in his scabbard. His Blackfish had an irksome habit of being right more often than not. "Make no mistake, I don't do this for me, but my son." He gave a small smile. "He deserves the best weapon to defend himself and his siblings." May he soar higher than me. His grand uncle nodded, and he considered saying words to the man. Myrcella would have told him to do so, but it was not the kind of man he was and the mere thought of it made the guilt in his chest worse. He is more my father than Jon Arryn. Yet another betrayal. "I think I wish to go for an evening ride ser." Jasper said. "I wish to clear my head."
A ride might help him forgot for a time. Let me forget. Please Seven above let me forget. The Blackfish offered his company, but he didn't want that. Let me be alone. Alone to my thoughts. I've done my duty for the day.
Bran
The rules were simple: First, to the top of the weirwood tree and back on the ground won. Tommen may be better than him with swords, and Adrian was better at tossing daggers. He was both of their betters with climbing. Lord Arryn forbade him in Winterfell from climbing. "Squires do not climb." He had commanded. And he had tried to follow such instructions, but when Adrian challenged him to a race, he had to uphold his reputation. Out here, no one could report back to Lord Arryn of our misdeeds. It would be childs play for him, he could climb even the most challenging of the towers in Winterfell. A mere tree would be a walk in the Godswood.
"On the count of three." Tommen said. "Agreed?"
"Aye!" Adrian roared. "Ready to lose Stark?"
Bran smirked. "Not likely."
Tommen counted to three and Bran shot off, climbing the branches like a squirrel while Adrian struggled behind like a slow old man. He felt free as he climbed to the very last branch and felt the wind kiss his cheeks. Bran had already started the descent when Adrian was only halfway up, panting and out of breath. Bran almost felt bad. Almost. As he gave a shit-eating grin. "You call that fast!"
"Come on, Bran!" Tommen cheered. "Don't be a sore winner!"
He was almost down when the branch he was holding with his hand broke, cutting his hand in the process as he fell the last portion of the climb. It wasn't a terrible fall as he landed on his ass.
"Bran!" Tommen cried out as Bran groaned in pain. The wind knocked out of his lungs as he leaned against the tree root with his bloodied hand.
"I'm fine," Bran said. "Just a few cuts and scrapes." Suddenly his vision darkened, and the world spun with Tommen echoing his name.
Evil eyes glowered at him, and Bran knew they were evil. He had seen them before. He had been in the pool of red surrounded by the darkened halls. Golden chains shined beneath the bloody pool. It held something down there. The same empty feeling enveloped him as he shivered, like he was covered in snow. "I see you." The voice rumbled as the halls shook. The eyes, the gods forsaken eyes grew larger and larger. "Did you think I wouldn't see you? You've entered my prison, son of Brandon."
"I'm the son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell!" Bran declared bravely.
Laughter. It amused it, whatever it was. "So ignorant. So foolish. This is all that remains of those who imprisoned me?" The laughter shook the halls. "The other heirs are little better."
"What are you?" Bran asked. A hand rose through the pool. It was pale as milk.
"Grab my hand, and I shall show you." Bran took a step to the edge, but it felt wrong. It felt a trick, and he pulled back. "No matter. My chains weaken and my agents of the sea shall set me free." The walls crumbled, and water poured in.
"YOU SHALL ALL DROWN!"
Bran woke up in the darkness, kicking and screaming. Light poured in. "It's okay." Tommen voiced, and Bran wanted to hug him for the sweet sound of his friend's voice. "It's just my cloak. Your eyes were milky white and I know you don't want anyone to know about it." Tommen said sheepishly.
"Adrian-"
"I told him you hit your head, and I was pressing the wound. I sent him back to get a maester."
Bran couldn't help but be a little impressed with the quick cover. "Quick thinking." He admitted.
"I suppose I have a hint of Lannister cleverness."
Tommen gazed at him, his green eyes burning with questions that made his skin flushed with embarrassment. Had it been a mistake telling him? Bran wondered. Tommen, strangely enough, believed every word to be true. He required no convincing that his dreams were true, and he had some strange magical talent. "No." He whispered. "It wasn't like before. I think it was an accident." He grabbed his arm nervously as Dawn licked him. "Gross! Cut it out! I said cut it out!" It had him laughing as his heart calmed.
"What do you mean?"
"Tis hard to explain." Bran mumbled. "But I think there is something evil Tommen, and it's trying to get out!" Evil didn't do it justice.
Tommen didn't cower. "Whatever it is, we shall face it together and shall win." He vowed with complete confidence. Never had he sounded more like a future king than he did in that moment. In the light, it even looked like he wore a crown. "I swear I shall help you Bran in whatever way I can." And he offered his hand like a good friend and helped him up. "Together, our fathers overthrew the dragons. They didn't know how the rebellion would end, but they knew together they had their best shot. I'm your best shot, I think. We princes are supposed to defeat evil, you know."
"I'd like that Tommen. I really would." He offered a smile. Maybe Tommen was one of the heirs it spoke off? Whatever it meant by that. Why did it call him son of Brandon? Did it mean Brandon the Builder?
Dawn howled, and Bran understood the reasoning as the sound of voices and footsteps in the distance. His eyes widened. "My head!" Bran hissed.
Tommen looked at him, clearly puzzled. "What about your head?"
"It's not bleeding!" Tommens eyes went wide. Yeah, he truly only had a hint of that Lannister cunning. Bran bent over and picked up the fallen branch, and placed a shallow cut against his head. "Cloak! Hurry!" He called and pressed it to his head. Adrian and a small party of healers and maesters emerged through the brush. He wore a characteristic grin.
"Your up Stark!" Adrian said happily. "I swear by the Seven if you made me run all that way for nothing, I'm going to beat you!"
"It wasn't that bad. I just woke up."
The old healer inspected his forehead and the shallow cut. "You were concerned over this?" He prodded his head and looked for a bump and found none. "No idea how that fall knocked you out, milord."
"I think he fainted ser from the sight of blood." Tommen said seriously.
Bran could have murdered him. Fainted? I didn't faint! I'm not Sansa! And given the look Adrian was giving him, he would jape about this for some time. "I-" Tommen glowered at him. "It's what happened. I fainted."
The old healer rubbed his short, wintery beard. "That could explain it well."
"Poor Bran!" Adrian japed. "So frightened of a little blood."
"I still beat you down the tree! I win!" He smirked. "You know what that means." Adrian scowled at the knowledge he had to do his chores for a week. Some evil may try to escape whatever prison it lived in, but he enjoyed his time with Tommen and Adrian. It made things more normal. Well, as normal as things could be. He and Tommen were getting far too good at lying. It would sorely disappoint father and Cousin Jasper for such deceit. But if they had these dreams, he figured they would understand.
Catelyn
Her father, Hoster Tully, was laid to rest in a small boat; stones resting over his eyes. In his youth he was a vigorous man, broad shoulder and tall, but age had taken its toll. An old man is who they put on the rich blue-and red cloak. They dressed him in his customary silver plate-and mail with his massive oak and iron shield resting on top of him. Seven men waddled into the water of the Red River, clad in steel and chain-mail. Six strangers and one friend. It should have been family or his lords. At least Ser Desmond was among those who pushed her father adrift to his final rest. He had been close friends with her father. They filled the boat with stone to weigh it down to the halls of House Tully and the kindling and wood to catch fire. Tradition stated his son or brother should set aflame the boat by flaming arrow, but Edmure and Uncle Brynden were off in the Riverlands.
Family, Duty, Honor. Catelyn knew her house words well. She could draw no bow, but she could throw a torch well enough and when the septons finished their words. "In the name of the Father, we send you to the halls of your forefathers!" The flames of the torch flickered as she tossed it and the fire danced across the boat, consuming her father as she watched. If she had known he was truly this sick, she would have come sooner. All of us should have been here for him in his last hour.
Edmure shall never forgive himself for missing this. It pained her knowing that father died with none of his siblings or children present. Lysa, she was told, refused to see him as he passed. Another grievance she added to her growing list of her sister. When her company rode into the gates of her ancestral home, Catelyn was heartbroken to see funeral arrangements were being made for her father. He passed three nights before she arrived. "Did he say anything?" She asked Maester Vyman.
"Only the same thing he had repeated for hours." He said. "Forgive me. Tansy... blood ... the blood ... gods be kind." Words that had no meaning to her. Was Tansy some woman? But she thought that unlikely her father was not the sort to sire bastards. Too prickly and proud. Maester Vyman didn't understand the meaning either.
"His mind was failing him, my lady. It was likely nonsense. I would worry little over it."
Stark men followed her back to the keep as her father's boat burned behind them. Catelyn hoped he wasn't about to watch this sisterly chat. It would not be a polite affair. I wanted to interrogate her the moment I arrived. But father's funeral required my attention. The duty ended with the boat consumed by flame and Lysa was about to learn you don't threaten to take her babes from her.
"Leave us good sers." She told the Tully men outside of her room. They nodded their heads stiffly, adhering to her word as a former Tully. She didn't need to take a breath to steady herself and entered her sister's chambers. For Robb. For Ned. For my family. Lysa had changed much from the girl who married Jon Arryn in the sept of Riverrun. When she was a girl, she had been slender with high breasts and an easy smile. The years had not been kind to her. She had grown pudgy around the chest and the hips. Catelyn should feel some pity for her, but then she thought of Robb and held only disdain. "Sister." She announced with ice. "We need to have words."
Lysa turned to her, and her puffy red lips twisted into a smile. "How was father's funeral? He took forever to die. Did he take forever to burn?" She asked with a voice as sweet as honey.
She slapped her.
Her sister stumbled to the cold floor, nursing her cheek as she stood above Lysa.
It was wrong to hit her own sister, but she was too furious to care. "Have you forgotten everything we were taught?" Catelyn asked. "Family! Duty! Honor! Where has my sister gone?"
Lysa laughed. "Oh, has precious little perfect Cat come to lecture me?" She pouted her lips as she did when they were children. "Please, Cat, help me see my son, Robin. My sweet boy needs his mother."
"You tried to murder my son, Robb!"
She giggled. "Of course I did!" she confessed without shame. It left her at a loss for words. "A son for a lover! But then I saw my son Jasper, and I wanted to kill him instead!" The words were monstrous as she babbled on and on about it being water under the bridge and tried to soothe her with sweet, mollifying words. Does she even hear the words she speaks? By the Seven you are mad, Lysa.
Her eyes narrowed, and she had to treat her less a sister than a dishonorable foe. "Mayhaps if you are honest to me, Lysa, some accord could be reached." She dangled the carrot in front of her. "Don't you wish to see your boy again?"
Lysa pondered her words with a scrunched-up face before another loud bout of giggling as she crossed her arms. "I don't trust you, sister of mine. Why should I trust a harlot like you?"
"Because when we were children. You would tell each other's secrets. I never spoke of them."
"Liar!" Her eyes blazed like wildfire. "You told father about the babe!" She lunged forward with no grace, tripping over her own feet and tumbled to the ground hard. Tears streaming down her cheeks. A part of her wished to comfort her sister despite her crimes. She raised her brow. I don't understand what you mean.
"What babe?" Catelyn asked. "I understand not."
"Don't play stupid!" She said in a half sob and half laugh and total hatred. "You told father about the babe Petyr put in me! And he killed it! You knew how special that night was for me!" She prattled on. "He was so gentle, like a knight of summer! It was perfect when he battered down my gate!"
Catelyn's jaw became unhinged. "I-" Was this madness? Or did this really happen? "You laid with Littlefinger in your youth?"
"We made love. Sweet sweet love." She smirked. "Something you foolishly denied. He chose me Cat. He chose me for the first time in my life someone saw I shined brighter than you!" Her eyes blazed with anger, jabbing a finger into her breast. "And you couldn't handle that, so you killed him! Sweet romantic Petyr!" Catelyn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She did neither and brought her hands into her own.
"Lysa, child, listen to me." Catelyn tried to reason with her. "You must tell me the truth if you have any hope of seeing your son." A sweet lie she was telling. There was little chance of that happening. But she needed to know the truth. "Do you understand?"
Lysa calmed. "Okay sister, what do you wish to know?"
A thousand things, but the most important question came first. "Did you kill Jon Arryn?"
"Of course I killed that silly old man! He was going to send my little Robin away! Just like his rotten son Jasper!"
"How?"
"I don't know. Petyr thought of those things. You know how clever he was!" She said, swooning lost in love. " I just put a drop in his drink. Then he died!" Lysa said. "And I fled with my little boy to the Eyrie and my Florian was supposed to join me and we would live happily ever after!" Lysa crossed her arms. Catelyn saw no guile in her eyes. She believed every word she uttered, whether it was true, she couldn't discern. But she knew her Ned would believe her honest, along with many lords.
"Is Robin-"
"All Petyr! I saw none of that wretched old man in him!" She said with pride. "He's his son, and he's perfect! I tried to tell Jon Arryns boy this. Now, you know the truth. You can see Robin is returned to me here in Riverrun." Such delusions amazed Catelyn. Oh Lysa, how can you believe they would just let you have him?
"Your son Jasper knows this?"
"He is not my son!" Lysa snapped. "Oh, for sure he borrowed my eyes, and my hair, but that nose was that old bastard. He's Jon Arryns son, not my own. I've wanted nothing to do with him." She spat with more venom than a mother should show to her firstborn. "I never wanted the marriage with that old man, but father made me."
Catelyn said nothing in his defense. I need to uncover her secrets. "I understand Lysa," she whispered with an understanding tone, as if they were children telling the other girlish stories. "But tell me what Jasper knew."
She huffed. "Fine! I said I tried to tell him, but he scared me with the angry look in his eyes after I tried to free my precious SweetRobin from his custody." She shivered. "Can you believe he was going to send him to that nasty Lord Yohn?" Yes, I can. But she didn't say that. Lysa continued. "I was afraid he was going to kill me. I suppose I tried to kill him, but it was the perfect opportunity. Him dangling over the Moondoor holding SweetRobin as if he cared for him."
Catelyn whitened.
"Sadly, I failed. So sad." Lysa sighed deeply and clearly disappointed.
She crooked her head. "You look pale, sister. Hope you aren't coming down with the sniffles." Catelyn wished it was the sniffles that made her sick to the stomach. Her sister was as vile as some villain from a song and she struggled to separate the sweet girl from girlhood to the mad woman next to her, giggling about almost killing her sons. Jasper Arryn had lied when he said she didn't drop her own son down the Moondoor. Why did he lie about such a thing? Would you have believed him? And she knew the sad answer. What should she do with this confession? Catelyn wondered. She wished to tell her Ned everything, but then she thought of her nephew Jasper. What if he doesn't accept the reality of the situation? It was not an easy thing for a boy to accept. His brother was a bastard and not a trueborn. His mother laid with another man and killed her husband. She remembered Kings Landing and the error they had made in not telling him the truth behind closed doors. Her nephew was a stubborn youth, and she had to be delicate with him. Gentle. It made her quiver, imagining tempers flaring between her husband and nephew. Swords being drawn between the Eyrie and Winterfell over the trial of Lysa with Riverrun caught right in the middle. Who would Edmure side with? He was always a soft-hearted boy, but choosing between family would kill him. The moment she told her Ned, he would accept nothing less than seeing justice was done for Jon Arryn.
I can't let such happen. We can not turn against the other.
"Will you help me see my Robin Cat?"
"I shall try." She lied. "Get some sleep."
Catelyn wanted her Ned to be here so she could find comfort in his arms. Or her children, she could kiss and press tightly to her breast. She needed them desperately. When she saw them next, she doubted she would ever let them go.
Authors note: Okay, next up the Trials of Rivverun shall Winterfell and the Eyrie clash over the fate of Lysa Tully? Will swords be drawn? Or shall Cat see cooler heads prevail. The Trials of Riverrun are starting! We are almost at the end of this Book. Two more chapters! And we shall be at the end of Westerosi portion. As always I enjoy seeing the reviews.
Jean d arc: Hope you enjoy this face off! I do enjoy writing the tully sisters. They have an intresting dynamic.
Natman: Glad you are enjoying it! I'm intrested too in how thats going down!
Atp: I suppose we shall see, but Tyrion and Brienne aren't happening sorry.
Lord of the East: Well, if you ever get to this chapter thanks for the awesome review!
Intemperance24: Glad you are enjoying it totally agree about the Eyrie thing. I'd say Jasper is aloof more than dull, he would be the guy at the party who would be doing some activity like darts, pool, ping pong with a big fake smile on his face while wishing to be anywhere else!