Lysa

"Every great woman has a title, you know."

Looking down from the large thick glass window to the valleys that lay below the Eyrie Lysa sighed; the thick glass, which the foolish Maester claimed was needed to keep the great chill out of castle, was distorting what she was seeing. Twisting it and clouding it so that it was only because she knew that she was staring down at the forests of the Vale that she was able to understand what she was seeing. Shapeless blobs of green and gray and brown. So utterly wrong. When she looked through a window she still, even to this very day, expected to see the rushing rivers of Riverrun flowing all around her and the forest that lay beyond. That was a proper view… not this distorted one. It was why she had taken to holding her courts in one of the main open-air areas that littered the Eyrie. They were far better for her and when she could finally find a maester that would listen to her she planned to have windows, clear and beautiful ones, installed so that she could enjoy being amongst the clouds even during the winter.

Her mind at once went to her childhood dreams of what her castle would look like. They had always changed, depending on which suitor caught her fancy. The great Rock of the Westerlands, where she would walk upon golden floors so that all about her the sun dazzled and sparkled, the richest and most powerful of the ladies of Westeros. The famed Water Gardens of Dorne, where she might be a true Princess of the lands. The Red Keep, where she would be able to wake the dragons once more with her sweets songs so that all would remember her for a thousand years. And, of course, the greatest prize of all, that of her true love's keep.

'A great tower upon the peninsula, with the sea at its back and all of Westeros stretched out before it. Each floor holding different wonders, so that every flight up the stairs is an adventure. And at the very top, amongst the sea clouds, stands the Lord of the Fingers…'

Yet another reason to hate her departed husband. He had spoken of how wonderful and amazing the Eyrie was the entire time they were in King's Landing. She had craved to go there but now found it lacking against what should have been her's. Its windows too thick, its path too long. Why couldn't she instantly go from the Gate to the Eyrie at once, like in the songs?

"A title?"

Lysa smiled, her thoughts drawn back to the conversation she'd been meaning to have. "Yes, my sweet. A title. Every great woman has a title."

"But I thought only men got titles," her dear Sweetrobin said.

Sweetrobin, another source of ire for Lysa when she thought of her husband. She had never wanted to name her precious boy 'Robert'. The King didn't deserve to have his name passed down to her dear and wonderful son! He was a fat, crude, disgusting man who slept with every whore he could find and drank himself into a stupor! Jon Arryn had allowed Robert to rule the Seven Kingdoms when there was nothing Kingly about the man in the slightest.

She had selected so many other names. Better names. Wonderful names. But her husband had overruled her on each other. Said that people would talk if she chose a name that had no connection to anyone in her life. She had argued that her names did… but he had said that a childhood friend wasn't the same as her king or her goodbrother or her family. But Lysa had flat out refused to name her son after Catelyn's northern barbarian husband; she wouldn't have her sister hold that over her head til the end of days. Jon was out of the question as that would simply be confusing, as would naming her son after any of his family. The same with her own… she had screeched and screamed at the mere idea of naming him Hoster. Petyr… it was a wonderful name. A strong name. Perfect for a lord… but no. No, her husband had refused her that and she'd been stuck with Robert Arryn, a name he shared with a fat stupid king and her sister's son who, if she didn't know how prudish her sister was, she would have suspected to be a bastard himself, considering that he looked nothing like a Northsman.

It was why she insisted on Sweetrobin. Such a better name for her darling son. And wasn't that better fitting for a Lord whose sigil was a falcon? What was a 'Robert' anyway? There were no Roberts that flew! Robert most likely would sink in bathwater.

"Yes, men do get titles," Lysa said, once more pulling herself from her musings. "But only the great ones do."

"Like me namesake!" Sweetrobin declared and Lysa forced herself not to scowl at that; it would scare her sweet baby and she never wanted to scare him. "The Demon of the Trident!"

"Or your uncle, the Blackfish," Lysa said, deciding that was a safer thing to focus on. She could tolerate her Uncle Brynden… he at least was loyal to her. He had come to guard the Gates of the Eyrie and had written to her often while she was in King's Landing. Of all her family he was the only one she could truly trust. "He is the only one of the Tullys to earn a title," she informed him with a smile. "Your grandfather, your uncle, nor your aunt ever managed to earn themselves a title."

It wasn't entirely true as there had been plenty of Tullys to have titles. Ernie The Jester, who was said to be so cunning that he drove all his enemies into fits thanks to his strange yet effective strategies. Bert The Bore, steadfast and dull but who had managed the longest peace amongst the Brackens and the Blackwoods. Telly The Ponderer, who was said to have worried himself into an early grave but long after his death was praised for his foresight, for many of the plans and backup plans he had created had steered the Riverlands through the difficult winter during the reign of Jaehaerys the First…

"Like the Kingslayer or The Quiet Wolf?" Sweetrobin asked.

Lysa turned her back to her son so she could compose herself. She loathed the fact that so many current families had titles falling down upon their members like leaves falling from the trees. The Lannisters had the Old Lion, the Young Lion and the Kingslayer, the Little Lion and the Imp. The Red Viper of Dorne. The Lightning Lord. And especially the Starks… The Quiet Wolf and The Punisher. The Young Wolf.

The Young Wolf.

How was it fair that Catelyn got all that should come to Lysa? It should be her who was Queen! Whose son was marveled as a master of the battlefield! Whose husband was young and powerful and good and not some doddering old man-

"Mother?" Sweetrobin said again, insistently. "Like the Kingslayer and the Quiet Wolf?"

Lysa finally turned around and smiled. "Yes, my darling boy. And how you are Sweetrobin." He frowned at that, not quite understanding that Sweetrobin was his title and not his name and yet she understood for Sweetrobin was still a far better name-

She forced herself to focus, for Lysa knew that Sweetrobin would not be pleased if he felt she was ignoring him yet again. It wasn't that she was though! It was just that she was thinking about so many things, so many important things. And why shouldn't she be allowed to think? Everyone always wanted her to be silent and quiet, thinking her dull and stupid, but she was smart! Smarter than everyone else in Westeros, that was for sure. The Starks and the Lannisters were at war, the former blaming the latter for her husband's death and the Lannister trying to determine which of them had done the deed. All the while none of them realized that it was her-

Lysa shook her head, seeing Sweetrobin already moving to have one of his tantrums. She moved to sit next to him and her dear baby moved to her lap, cuddling against her just like a good boy should.

'That's why Edmure is the way he is,' Lysa thought to herself. 'Its is father and Catelyn's fault. Father didn't do enough to save mother, so Edmure never knew a mother's love. It is why he whores and drinks all the time, instead of being a good and kind and pious lord like he should be.' She ran her fingers through Sweetrobin's hair, allowing him to slowly reach up and, with fumbling fingers, to begin untying the laces of her dress so he might get to her breasts. 'And my sister… she claims to all that she acted as a mother to Edmure but she wasn't. If she truly was she would have allowed him to feed from her just as Sweetrobin does for me. Had Edmure seen a woman's breasts as a source of nourishment he would have respected and cared for them all, instead of seeing them as conquests for him to claim. Catelyn…'

"Ow!" Sweetrobin screeched, pulling away from her. Lysa looked down and realized she had begun to scratch at his head with her nails and she quickly forced him back towards her; despite his struggles she clung to him tightly and eventually he calmed down, returning his lips to her nipple.

"But women can have titles too," she said softly as she began to rock him, knowing that her milk was making his all better. Calming his nerves, curing his shakes, and making him a good and respectful little lord. "Queen Alyssane the Good is the most famous. She was King Jaehaerys' wife and she was more beloved than even him. Daenys the Dreamer warned the Targaryens of the Doom of Valyria, allowing them to come to Westeros and save their family. My favorite is from our own family… Abby the Magical. She ruled in the stead of her brother, Lord Murray Tully, while he was off fighting in the Sisters. She was so cunning and so wise that she was able to determine just what a petitioner wanted before they could even say a word."

Sweetrobin pulled his lips away from her breast with a wet 'plop', a long thin string of saliva running from her nipple to his mouth. She found herself staring at that thread and thinking it rather accurate in depicting the bond between mother and child. It was so important… but it also could be broken so easily. A wrong move and it would snap and she found herself dreading what would happen if her boy moved his head-

"Do you have a tittle, mother?"

She forced herself to smile, stroking his hair once more. "No… not yet, my love."

That was a lie.

She had gained a title. It was one that she hadn't realized she had had all her life but had realized was hers during her time in The Red Keep. One that dogged her steps and haunted her dreams.

Lysa the Forgotten.

In Riverrun she was always the last who got any attention. Her sister was the Lady of Riverrun, the one that ran things so that she acted more like Lysa's Septa than her sister. Every game they played, even when Catelyn allowed her to decide what they would do, she was never the leader or the focus. All the young lads in the yard focused on Cat rather than Lysa. When they had met with the likes of Jaime Lannister and Oberyn Martel and Robert Baratheon it had been Catelyn who had been complimented while Lysa was treated as an afterthought. She still remembered how Jaime Lannister had ignored her so he might talk with her uncle about the many battles he'd been in.

'I wonder if he ever realized all the whispers about him in King's Landing were because of me?' Lysa thought.

And King's Landing… there she was nothing. Cersei Lannister was the Queen, the most beautiful of the entire court. Lysa was never named the Queen of Love and Beauty. She never had any knights ask for her favor… not even the Vale Knights, who were supposed to be the most kind and decent of knights there were, thought to honor the wife of their liege lord. And if it wasn't Cersei then it was Princess Myrcella who was honored, leaving Lysa sitting in her chair with her painted on smile, feeling like a fool in her dress that often didn't fit right and had cost her far too much.

She wasn't even the one most gossiped about, for it seemed that even in scandal she was beaten by another. Selyse Baratheon was the one that all of the court whispered about, wondering at her sanity and bemoaning her husband being caught with such a woman. All discussed Selyse's trouble conceiving a child even though it had taken Lysa far longer to have Sweetrobin. And because both had been pregnant around the same time a far greater deal was made out of Shireen's birth and what it meant for Stannis than Jon Arryn finally having his heir. No one cared what Lysa did because Selyse would do something utterly mad, even far away from the Capital, off on Dragonstone, and that would be the entirety of what people discussed!

Lysa was the Forgotten. Not even Ignored… Forgotten. She would be in a group of people, just listening, and then someone would notice her and act as if she had just wandered up. They simply didn't realize that she had been there the entire time.

'It isn't fair,' Lysa thought bitterly. 'A title… a legacy. That is what I deserve. To be The Great or The Just or The Kind or The Beloved. Wise Lysa or Brave Lysa or Kind Lysa. To be remembered as more than Sweetrobin's mother!'

She had been meant for better things. Grander things. She could have been a Queen or ruled lands all on her own or sailed the Sunset Sea. She could have been a pirate who led a thousand ships into battle or a bandit ruler who held court amongst the hidden glens of the deep forests. But no one ever allowed her to do that! No one!

'Even now… that horrible old man is dead and gone and still I am forced to submit to the will of others!' Her Uncle had gone off to fight in the Riverlands when she had refused to waste the Knights of the Vale on her sister's folly. It was her fault that the Imp had escaped punishment for his crimes (even if Lysa knew that he was innocent of the ones she had claimed he committed… she knew he had to be guilty of other ones and she would have been hailed as a hero for seeing justice done). The men that had come to court her had stopped arriving at the Eyrie, claiming that they needed to worry about their borders but they promised to seek her out soon… she knew it was the fault of the likes of Harrold Hardyng and Lord Royce.

The former had been traveling the Vale as of late, meeting with the many houses. It was known that without Sweetrobin HE would be Jon's heir and that was why Lysa had refused to allow him to visit the Eyrie. She knew if he ever got near Sweetrobin he would kill him and set himself up as the new Lord of the Vale. It made her clutch at her child even as he fell into a fitful nap, his tummy full of her milk. She couldn't risk Harry the Heir ever getting close to her child. She… she needed to destroy him. Bring him down so low that he would NEVER be able to rise up again!

And Royce?

She knew he hated her. Thought her a weak and strange woman who was leading the Vale to ruin. He had tried to convince her to send aid to her father when the Mountain had been ravaging the Riverlands and later had spoken of how many of the smaller houses in the Vale had wished to send soldiers to assist in the war against the Lannisters.

"They killed our lord," he had told her.

"Your lord is here," and been her response, gesturing at Sweetrobin who had been sitting on his father's seat, playing with a toy. "Your duty is to protect him. Your oaths are to him, not to a dead man."

He had clearly not liked that but he had left and she had thought that the matter was settled… only for him to also begin traveling the Vale, speaking with the many different Lords. She knew he was trying to convince them to put her aside. He wanted to guide her son, to use him as a puppet so that he himself might be the Lord of the Vale.

'He would probably have Sweetrobin declare that he was surrendering his seat and taking the black while naming Lord Royce and his sons as his heir!' She shuddered at that. 'Lord Royce… he follows the Old Gods! They do not believe in knights! How can such a man guide the Knights of the Vale! Only a true lord, one steeped in the way of the Seven, can lead!' She held her boy tight, rocking him back and forth, hoping that if she clung to him with strong enough arms it would protect him. 'The Old Gods… like the Northmen. The Starks… Catelyn!' Her eyes widened at that. 'Of course… of course! She was here with the Imp… she brought him here, knowing that it would anger the Lannisters. And she had time to speak with the many lords… all of whom abandoned me after she disappeared after the Imp escaped justice. She must have convinced them that she should watch over Sweetrobin!'

She could hear it as clear as if her sister were standing before her. Saying how she had raised five strong children and ruled a far larger land. That she was the elder and thus the only wise thing to do would be to give Sweetrobin over to her. That she would raise him properly and Lysa could be once more tossed aside.

"No!" she snarled, standing up suddenly. Sweetrobin murmured and Lysa awkwardly adjusted him, trying to hold him close even though he was far too big to be cradled. "No… you will not take my son, you hear me?! You will not have him!"

"We haven't even asked for him."

Lysa's blood froze in her veins.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned towards the great doors that led out of her bedchambers to the open air terrace where she often took her meals now. They had been thrown open, showing the great firepit was cold and lifeless despite her demanding that it always be lit for Sweetrobin was scared of the dark and loved the flames. He slept in her rooms now, so that she could protect him from any threats, lying with her in her bed, which made his feedings all the easier as well. But the fire pit was cold now and from it strode a dark demon born from the Vale itself.

It had the body of a man, tall and lean and finely dressed. But his hands were silver talons and his feet claws with long gleaming toes. Along his neck was a ruff of feathers that did not match the ebony wings that burst from his back, flared out for all to see. And his face… oh, his terrible face! A short beak and gleaming emerald eyes stared at her as he slowly looked about the room, judging it carefully and with consideration.

Lysa's stomach curdled and she pressed Sweetrobin closer to her, feeling him stir and praying he not awaken. What monster was this that came upon her? Was it some foul creature summoned by Harry the Heir to slaughter her, a child of the Riverlands? A fish that had found itself on a mountain? Or was it the manifestation of the Arryns long gone? Did her horrible husband send him from whatever Seven Hells he had found himself in, demanding it serve as his revenge for her killing him? He had said they hadn't asked for her son… that meant he asked for her…

But she would not be taken!

At once she rushed forward, grabbing for a weapon, any weapon. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of something and she hurled it without a thought right at the demon, already moving to grab something else. She snatched up another dagger and went to throw it… only to stop and stare at the demon as he stared down at his feet.

It wasn't a dagger she had held.

It was a hair brush.

And grasped in her fingers was a small ivory hand mirror.

A long groan filled the air and it took Lysa far too long to realize that it was coming from her own throat.

"Are you quite done?" the demon asked, stepping forward. He slowly reached up and Lysa felt a scream bubbling up in her throat as she saw him grasp at his head, tugging it from his shoulders…

…no. No, he wasn't doing that. She realized that now. She saw that he wasn't removing his head for it wasn't a head at all. It was a helm and with its removal his entire appearance changed. The clawed toes revealed themselves to be boots with metal adornments upon them. The taloned hands were revealed to be ornate gauntlets. The feathered neck a collar upon a thick padded leather coat. The wings…

…she couldn't explain the wings for the life of her and ended up not even trying. Especially when they suck back into a small black pack he was wearing. It made her wonder if there had been wings at all but if not… how had he gotten onto the terrace? It was one of the highest points of the Eyrie and only had one entrance. Unless someone had scaled the sheer rock…

Lysa decided not to focus on that and instead studied the intruder's face. At once she saw it was not anyone she recognized. There was a Lordly quality to him… with a lean but worn face, receding short hair, a nose that was neither thin nor broad, and lips that could twist at once into a pleasing smile. But it was his eyes though that held her attention the most, for they might be the second must cunning set of eyes she had ever seen. This man, despite the creases and weathering upon his features, wasn't a brute that only knew that one swung a sword hard. No… there was a cunning in his mind and he knew how to get what he wanted with as little effort as possible. A dangerous man, to be sure, and one that she didn't feel comfortable being alone with. But still cunning

"Come now… is that any way for the Lady of the Vale to greet a representative of his Grace?"

"His… his Grace?" Lysa got out. "King Joffrey sent you?"

That made the stranger laugh. "I see you haven't been getting a lot of news up here. I had heard you were isolating yourself but I think you took it a touch too far." He shook his head at that and took another step forward only for Lysa, almost without realizing what she was doing, to throw the mirror at him. She watched it sail at him only for the man to twist out of the way, the ivory mirror flying over his shoulder and cracking against the stone floor of the terrace. "Well, that was a waste. What is with you lords and ladies tossing about expensive things? It really doesn't endear you to the rest of us."

"Who… who are you?" Lysa got out.

"I am Ser Adrian, Hand of the King."

"Tywin Lannister is Hand of the King."

"Tywin Lannister is long dead, as is Joffrey," Adrian stated and at once Lysa knew the man was lying. There was no way that Tywin Lannister was dead. She… she would know if he were dead! She would know! The servants wouldn't hide such things from her! Just as they wouldn't hide that King Joffrey was dead! "Tommen sits the Iron Throne… but he is not the King I serve."

That made Lysa's blood boil. "I know who you are," she hissed in a dark fury. Sweetrobin began to wriggle in her arms and she shifted him even as he tried to break free from her grasp. "And I know who you serve. If you think for one SECOND I will allow you to take my son-"

"Not interested in your son."

"-to please my sister and get revenge on me you are wrong! So you go back to Winterfell and you tell that… that bitch… that she will NEVER have Sweetrobin!" Her boy let out a scream and she shushed him. "You are upsetting him!"

"I think he's upset because you are crushing his arm," Adrian said dryly.

"Mummy…" Sweetrobin whined.

"Shush, mommy will take care of this bad man!" She threw back her head and screeched, "Guards! Guards! To your Lady!"

But no guards came.

The intruder gave a weary sigh. "I am afraid they are busy with other matters. If they were closer they might have reached you… but then again if they were closer I suppose you would hear their screams. We warned Carnage to be creative but careful… that we needed your guards alive. But on this I must admit I have less faith than my king, as I think Carnage won't be able to resist their slaughter."

"Now now," a new voice called out from the terrace, "you must show a bit more optimism, my Hand. Carnage knows there will be plenty of blood work to come… but not if he gives into his urges."

Lysa felt herself tremble. She knew that voice.

"Now then, sweetbird, set the boy down. You know I won't hurt him."

At once she placed Sweetrobin on one of the chaise chairs and slowly moved towards the terrace. Her baby called out for her, demanding that she come to him, but for the first time in his life she refused to head his call. That startled him… and it startled her too. But she still continued on, her feet moving her inch by inch, yard by yard, away from her dear boy. Sweetrobin grew quiet at her refusal to obey his demands, allowing Lysa to focus on the voice she had longed to hear again.

"That's right… that's right," he said gently, his words like the most lyrical of songs. Oh, how she had wished those many years ago in Riverrun that he would become a bard and spend his days singing her many songs but she also knew he had been meant for grander things. Just as she had been met for grander things.

Out of her chambers she stepped, one foot after the other, onto the stone balcony. A wind suddenly picked up and she shivered, having not realized how cold it had gotten. The sun was setting earlier and earlier every day, the maester claiming that Winter was Coming but she REFUSED to believe that. Winter would not come… it could not! No, it was just a cool summer… a bit chilly but that was all. A relief from the heat, and common in the mountains. Soon the sun would realize it needed to shine again and summer would return for her.

But there was no sun shining at that moment. Night had fallen and the stars were shining overhead. The moon… well, the moon looked smaller than she remembered it. In her dreams it was so big, taking up half the sky. But now it was so small… she could hide it with her finger. Clearly it and the sun were playing tricks on her… but no matter how weak and small the moon was its light still bathed down on the figure standing there, admiring one of the beautiful flower arrangements that Lysa herself had seen to.

He was exactly as she had always imagined. Clad in brilliant gleaming silver armor from head to toe, a long plush cloak of a deep purple hanging from his shoulders. Tall and strong like all the great knights spoken of in the songs and tales. His helm was frightening but she forced herself not to tremble at the sight of it; a man needed to have a terrible helm when he rode into battle, to terrify his enemies and drive them away. Such helms were not to be cowered before by the good women of the world… they were to be loved for their terror brought hope and peace to them and all they cared for.

"Petyr?" she whispered softly.

He slowly reached up, still half turned from her, and pressed his fingers to his helm and Lysa let out a gasp of wonder as it retracted into his gorget. Magic… truly it was magic! Magical armor, like in the best of her old nursemaid's tales! It made Lysa giggle and clap her hands in delight, only for her merriment to disappear as she stared at her dear Petyr. Rather than flesh and blood she saw his face was like wisps of smoke and flame, blue in color. She could see every line of his features, the ones she had studied for many hours at the different tournaments in King's Landing when they were so close to one another yet so far away at the same time, but it was not flesh and bone now.

"Petyr?" she said again, though this time not doubting it was him. "What… I don't…"

He gave a soft smile and a slight shrug. "Much has happened, my dear… much has happened." He walked towards her, his steps light and graceful as always. "Perhaps it was wise for you to seal yourself away, my dear Lysa. It prevented you from hearing the tales before I was ready to find you. I would have hated to cause you such grief."

"I… I don't understand…"

"The Lannisters tried to destroy me," Petyr told her gently, taking her hands in his own. The metal of his gantlets was, to her surprise, warm to the touch, bringing a wonderful heat to her fingers. "But you know that I am not one to allow others to drag me down. I have beaten back the impossible… I have beaten death itself."

"Death… itself?" she asked in shock.

"Indeed," he assured her. He released one of her hands and gestured towards his features. "I know it is strange and startling but I have slipped beyond the definitions of life and death and become something more. The impossible dream… I have achieved it. And now we will be able to achieve all I desire."

"We?" Lysa asked.

"Of course," Petyr said with a soft laugh. "You think I would abandon you here? My darling, trapped in her tower?"

Lysa swooned at that.

"There is much to do, my dear, to ensure my rule," he told her. "I have gathered my Small Council… please forgive my Hand for frightening you, he merely wished to prepare for my arrival."

"Yes… yes of course!" Lysa said at once, seeing Adrian in all new eyes. Of course he hadn't come to threaten her… he had come to tell her of her Petyr's coming! "Oh, I feel so foolish! I was so rude to him!"

"He will forgive you, I am sure," Petyr assured her with a laugh before moving to guide her not back to her room but to the terrace, so they might look upon the Vale bathed in evening's light. "He is a good man… he has helped me out very much, just as I know you will help me."

"Anything, Petyr, anything!" Lysa proclaimed. "I have waited so long… done all you have asked before now, you know that!" She grabbed onto his arm, clinging to it and feeling like a princess with her gallant prince. "Have I not always aided you? Helped you? Did I not get that horrid old man to make you Master of Coin? Did I not listen to the Queen and Lady Selyse and return to you with their comments and quips, to prepare you for the battles you had to face in King's Landing? When you needed messages sent to guards I did as you asked." She smiled and whispered in a coying voice, "Did we not end the life of my disgusting husband together?"

"That we did," Petyr stated. "That we did. I do not doubt you will help me… even when my requests take you as odd or strange."

"I would never think of anything you request as that!" Lysa assured him quickly. "You are so intelligent, Petyr… I always said so. It is a shame that even when you reached your great successes that you weren't given more praise for your work. I know that if you command me to do something it is needed."

"I know," Petyr assured her and her heart fluttered at that. Oh… oh she wished to feel his lips against her own in that moment! But instead he merely drew her close to his side and looked out at the Vale that lay before them. "As I have told you… I have my Small Council. And the Eyrie will be my first ruling seat… Aegon had his Aegonfort before his Red Keep, after all, so there is no shame in that. And soon… soon I will have my Queen." Lysa let out a squeal at that. Her… queen! Oh, let it happen soon! So very soon! Let all that had looked down on her and judged hr and thought her lesser stew in anger and jealousy as she claimed the greatest of Kings as her husband and the greatest of realms as hers to rule! "But I lack… an army."

"An army?" she asked.

"Of course," he stated. "I have broken beyond life and death but that doesn't mean that I can claim all I deserve. Even the Conqueror needed an army and he had dragons."

"You are worth more than a hundred dragons! An army of dragons!"

He chuckled at that and nodded. "Perhaps… but there are things that an army must do for a king, so that a king may rule."

At once Lysa blushed, feeling utterly foolish. "Of course… I didn't mean-" she began to stammer only for Petyr to bring a finger to her lips. At once she fell silent, leaning into his touch, wishing it was his lips pressed against her own rather than his finger… but she would take whatever she could get. It had been far too long since she had held him close and stolen away secret kisses with him in the Red Keep. She yearned for his caresses and touches, longing for him to hold her and drive away the darkness that seemed to always threaten the magical life she tried to claim.

"I know… I know. I took no offense. I would never begrudge you a simple slip of the tongue." He smiled at her once more and her heart fluttered. "Oh… I wish I could stand with you here forever but there is much to do… so much to do. We must set about building my army. And you are key."

"I… I am?" Lysa said, startled by that. "But how can I be the key, Petyr? I am no warrior. I can not lead men into battle."

"Of course not!" he said with a soft teasing chuckle. "I know your strengths and how to use them properly. No… you can not lead men into battle but you can lead them to me." He waved his hand in front of him, sweeping it across the Vale. "But I know Jon Arryn must have told you many times that the Knights of the Vale were the most gallant of all men in the entire stretch of Westeros. From the Sunset Sea to the Narrow Sea, from the Wall to the very edges of the Dorne, there are none like them."

Lysa scowled at that. "Must we speak of that disgusting old man? He is dead and gone and can never return!"

"Just because he injured you gravely doesn't mean his words weren't true," Petyr stated. "Remember, I am a man of the Vale myself… he spoke as much about me as he did others."

Shame filled her that she had forgotten that and she opened her mouth to beg his forgiveness but once more he continued to speak, not allowing her to lambast herself any more for her mistake. Petyr had always done that, looking past her ill thought words and understanding she meant no harm.

'Catelyn… Catelyn used to scold me for talking out of turn, for not thinking before I uttered a word. Perfect prim and proper Catelyn, the jewel of the Riverlands!' It made her blood boil at the thought of it. 'Same with my father. I told him what I wished for and he always told me to be quiet, that I didn't know what I spoke of! But I knew… I knew far better than him! How could a man, any man, know what a woman desires? Especially a man such as Hoster Tully! My father… he never had his eyes turned towards his home. No… he was focused on all those around him instead of those that should have been close to his heart. Family, Duty, Honor. Where was family though when he sent away Uncle Brynden, the only Tully that remained true to me? Where was family when he left them alone to settle yet ANOTHER dispute amongst the Brackens and the Blackwaters? As if those two families would ever set aside their feud. It was a waste of time! He should have been with us, being a father, instead of worrying about his bannermen. They were loyal… the Tullys had ruled for nearly 300 years and that was as good as 3000 in my opinion!

'And the other Kingdoms… so obsessed with them. Westerlands, the North, the Stormlands. He kept them closer to his heart than he ever did me. Is it any wonder that Catelyn grew to believe that the Seven spent their days kissing her toes and proclaiming them to smell sweet? Why Edmure has become such a disgrace? Family, Duty, Honor… where was any of that when he stole my baby from me! The perfect blend of Petyr and I?'

She would never forgive him for that. Lysa had known that Petyr wasn't quite ready to ask for her hand because he was young and young men wanted to be out having adventures rather than doing their duty to their ladywives. But… Petyr was honorable and kind. If he had learned that she was great with child, his heir, he would have asked for her hand at once and they would have gone to his great tower in the Fingers where they would rule together in peace and happiness. Hoster should have celebrated his first grandchild, a strong boy that would bring honor to House Tully. One that might be a great lord or sit on the Small Council or perhaps even marry into the Royal Family! Had not the Queen still been producing children? Did she not birth a daughter, Darberis or something like that? Her boy could have married her and been a true prince! Or Rhaegar's daughter with Ellia… why not her as her son's bride? Her father was obsessed with building up their family and Lysa had given him the perfect chance to do so!

But her father… the 'honorable' Hoster Tully… when that traitorous maester had informed him that Lysa had missed her bleeding he had practically forced her to her bed and poured the tansy down her throat, drowning her perfect son in it. Then he had forced her to wed that horrid old man, so that instead of feeling the warmth and wonder that was Petyr's perfect form all she knew was his wrinkled hands groping her flesh-

"Are you listening, my dear?" Petyr said and once more Lysa blushed and turned away, ashamed that her thoughts had wandered to the past. He spoke before she could plead for his forgiveness. "The Vale is full of strong and powerful knights. The best mounted force in all of Westeros. And we will use them to bring peace to all… end this foolish War of the Five Crowns."

"Yes…" she sighed in delight, her mind going to her sister once more. 'Oh Cat… how it will burn you when Petyr forces your lord husband to bend the knee and surrender his sword and crown to him. For daring to rebel against Petyr he will lose not only his throne but his entire standing. Your precious son Robb… Hoster's 'first born grandson' will be left with nothing, forced to sleep in ditches and hedges in order to have warmth. I will keep you close… I will show you that kindness… and I will make sure every day you realize how foolish you were to ever doubt me!'

But just as quickly as those thoughts entered her mind they fled like butterflies disturbed by a clumsy child.

"What is it?" Petyr asked her with concern and Lysa dipped her head.

"The Knights of the Vale… I know what you wish of me, Petyr. But they will not heed my command to march into battle. I am a woman, as you stated, and thus not fit to lead. But I have also angered them by refusing to allow them to enter into the War. Even with you now here, one of their own, I fear that their petty anger will cause them to refuse you." She dipped her head in shame.

But Petyr lifted her chin up and stared down at her with kindness.

"I do not need you to command them to march. Only to call for them to come here. The reason why does not matter… state that you wish to discuss matters that have been bothering them as of late. That you wish to clear the air. They do not need to know of me… in fact it might be better if they did not. They wouldn't understand for their minds are small. But… all that matters is they come here. Once they do… I will see to the rest."

"Of course," Lysa said at once. "Of course. I will send the messages and the ravens at once. All of the Vale will march to the Eyrie."

"I know they will," Petyr said as he held her from behind and Lysa felt, at long last, that all was right in the world.