"They said..." His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. He swallowed hard, struggling to make sense of the fragments. "Robb... he said... Father..."
Arianne's expression softened slightly, though her brows knit together in worry. "Edric, you're not making sense."
"Father's dead," he croaked, the words catching in his throat like jagged stones.
Arianne froze, her lips parting as she processed what he'd just said. "Dead? How could you possibly—"
"I heard him!" Edric whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of grief and desperation. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp "Robb said it. He said Father's dead. I was there... I saw him, Arianne. I saw Robb. I was—"
He cut himself off, unable to explain the unexplainable. How could he tell her he'd been inside his direwolf, that he'd walked into Robb's tent and heard the words spoken with his own ears? It sounded like madness, even to him.
Arianne moved closer, she reached out hesitantly, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Edric," she said softly, her voice steadier now, "you were dreaming. Whatever you think you heard... it doesn't mean it's true. Dreams aren't always real."
He finally looked at her, his dark eyes wide and haunted. "I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was... dreaming, but it wasn't a dream. It felt real—too real."
Arianne frowned, her brow furrowing as she searched his face. "What do you mean?"
"I saw them," Edric said, his voice growing steadier, though his hands still shook. "Robb. Mother. They were in a tent, talking about the war, about me." He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And they said…" he choked on air, unable to say it again "they said… it."
Arianne's eyes widened, her hand tightening on his arm. "You think it's true?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Edric shook his head again, his expression torn. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. But it felt real, Arianne. It was like I was there, like I wasn't even myself." He hesitated, the next words catching in his throat. "I think... I think I warged."
Arianne's lips parted in shock, but she quickly composed herself. "Warged? Into what?"
Edric took a shuddering breath. "My direwolf. I've never seen it, never touched it, but I was... I was it. I could feel everything, smell everything. I was in their camp." His voice dropped, heavy with dread. "And I heard them say it. I heard them say that Father—"
As if he realized the Edric sat frozen, his body unnaturally still as Arianne's words drifted around him, unable to penetrate the fog of his mind. His breaths, shallow and uneven, were the only signs of life. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, his face pale and devoid of expression. He was trapped, his mind replaying the fragments of his dream over and over—Robb's voice, the bitterness and pain in his tone, mother's sorrowful expression, and the crushing finality of those words: Father is dead.
"Edric?" Arianne's voice trembled, her hands cupping his face.
There was no response. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The weight of what he had seen—what he had felt—pressed down on him like a mountain. His mind spiraled, torn between disbelief and the harrowing possibility that it was all true.
"Edric," Arianne whispered. She shook him gently, her hands gripping his shoulders. But he remained unresponsive, his body stiff. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his eyes glassy and distant as though he were somewhere else entirely.
She reached for a pitcher of water on the nearby table, her hands trembling as she poured a small amount into her palm. Pressing her wet hand against his cheeks, the shock of the cold water caused his body to jerk slightly, but still, he didn't snap out of it.
Arianne sat back on her heels, her hands clutching the hem of her robe as she stared at him, helpless and unsure of what to do. "Edric," she said again, softer now, her voice breaking. She had seen him many ways before—confident, defeated, even vulnerable—but never like this. Never so completely lost.
Turning back to him, she gripped his hands. They were cold, limp, as if the life had drained out of him. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her shallow breathing and the faint crackle of the wind outside the stone walls. Then, slowly, Edric's chest gave a shallow heave, his lips trembling as if trying to form words. Arianne froze, her heart pounding as she leaned closer.
"Edric?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Arianne's lips pressed into a thin line as she gazed at Edric's vacant expression. She said nothing, letting out a slow, steady breath as she guided him back onto the bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she pushed him to lie flat.
Climbing in beside him, she wrapped her arms around his trembling form, pulling him close. Her warmth enveloped him, her cheek resting lightly against his shoulder as her fingers traced soothing circles on his chest. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding, but Arianne didn't rush to fill it.
Edric's body slowly relaxed, the rigidity that had seized him melting away under the warmth of Arianne's embrace. His breathing grew heavier, shaky as he buried his head into her shoulder, seeking comfort in her touch. He didn't say anything, his hands, once clenched, now lay limp at his sides, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the sheets.
The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the room, casting a soft glow on the stone walls. Arianne stirred, the warmth of sleep still lingering in her limbs. She shifted slightly, the quiet of the morning wrapping around her like a blanket. But then she noticed him—Edric, still nestled against her shoulder, his dark hair messy and his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the wall across from them.
His body was tense, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he were caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge her stirrings. His gaze was distant, locked on something that didn't seem to exist in the room.
Arianne's breath caught in her throat, and she slowly pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at him. "Edric?" she whispered, her voice soft but full of concern.
He didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the wall as if it held some haunting memory, a truth too difficult to face. Arianne's hand reached out, gently brushing the hair from his forehead.
For a long moment, she said nothing, simply watching him. She could feel the weight of his emotions, even if he didn't speak. She knew he was still processing everything—the vision, the news of his father's death, the fear and helplessness that had clung to him like a shadow.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice soft, "Edric, talk to me"
Edric's hand tightened around hers, his fingers trembling slightly as he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and raw, "I promised to save them," he whispered, his eyes still fixed on the wall, his gaze unfocused, distant.
His voice cracked with the weight of guilt, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "I promised... I should've stayed. I should've done something. Father… Sansa... I left them behind, and now… It's my fault."
He finally looked at her, "If I had stayed in King's Landing, if I'd done more… Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't be gone. I could've—" His breath hitched, and he had to stop himself, the words choking him.
The guilt gnawed at him. His promise, the one thing he had held onto through all the uncertainty, had shattered. His father was gone—and Edric knew that he had failed him. That he had failed everyone.
Arianne's fingers gently stroked the back of his hand "You're not the one who killed him. And running away would have only made things worse. You had no way of knowing… none of us did. You did what you thought was best."
He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "But I ran. And now my father's—" he still couldn't bring himself to say it "and Sansa's still there, and I…" His voice faltered, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might break.
Arianne squeezed his hand tighter. "You didn't know," she repeated. "And you're still here, Edric. And you're still fighting. For your family, for the North. That's all you can do now. Keep fighting."
Arianne slowly slipped out of bed. She adjusted her robe, pulling it tighter around her, the silk glimmering. "We need to speak to the others," she said. "The war won't wait for you to gather yourself, Edric. The decisions that lie ahead... we need to be ready."
The room was dimly lit. Edric sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his arm wrapped protectively around Arya's trembling form. She clung to him tightly, her small hands fisting the fabric of his tunic as though letting go might make the pain unbearable.
Arianne sat on Arya's other side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched the young girl struggle with the enormity of what she had just learned. Arya's shuddering breaths filled the silence. Every few moments, her body would tense, a new wave of anguish passing through her as she buried her face against Edric's chest. He held her close, but his own gaze was distant, staring at nothing in particular. The reality of their father's death had hollowed him out in ways he couldn't yet articulate. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—it was necessary. Words felt meaningless in the face of such loss, and none of them could bring themselves to speak.
Arianne's hand was on Arya's back, her thumb tracing slow circles. Her eyes flicked briefly to Edric, catching the dull, empty look in his eyes, and for a moment, her own heart ached for him.
Arya sniffled, her small frame shaking as she tried to catch her breath. She whispered something unintelligible against Edric's chest, her voice breaking. He didn't answer, just tightened his hold on her, resting his chin lightly atop her head.
"It's not fair," Arya whispered, her voice thick and broken, barely audible. "It's not fair... they killed him. They killed Father."
"I know," Edric replied, his voice low and steady, though it cracked at the edges. "I know it's not fair."
Arya pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face tilting up to meet Edric's. Her gray eyes, so much like his own, were filled with anguish and anger. "Why didn't anyone save him? Why didn't you save him?"
Her words hit Edric like a dagger to the chest. He flinched, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out. He didn't have an answer—nothing that could make sense of the senseless.
Arianne responded instead, her voice gentle. "No one could have known what Joffrey would do. Your father was a good man, a strong man, but the Lannisters... they are cruel. They don't care about honor or justice."
Arya's sobs quieted slightly, but her body continued to tremble. She buried her face into Edric's chest, her tears soaking his tunic. Arianne reached out, her hand brushing Arya's hair back from her face, her touch tender.
"We'll keep you safe, Arya," Arianne said softly. "No one will hurt you. Not while we're here."
Arya lifted her head slightly, her red-rimmed eyes meeting Arianne's. "I don't want to be safe," she said, her voice filled with defiance despite her tears. "I want to fight," she said through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with anger. "I want to kill Joffrey myself."
Edric exchanged a glance with Arianne. He placed a hand on Arya's cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. "You're strong, Arya," he said quietly. "Stronger than anyone I know. And when the time comes, you'll get your chance. I promise."
The night grew quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire. Arya had eventually drifted into a restless sleep, her form still trembling slightly. She lay nestled against him, her small hand clutching the fabric of his tunic as she breathed softly, her face peaceful for the moment.
Arianne shifted slightly, looking down at the young Stark girl. Then, without disturbing the fragile silence, she turned her gaze to Edric.
He was exhausted—physically, emotionally. Arianne's voice broke the silence "Edric," she murmured, her eyes lingering on Arya before returning to him. "My cousins will arrive soon... I'll have them train her. To take her mind off things. She's strong and it'll be good for her. It'll be something to focus on."
Edric's gaze flickered to her then, his brow furrowing slightly. "The sand snakes?" he repeated, his voice rough. "How soon?"
"Soon enough," Arianne replied. "A few days at most. They know what needs to be done. They'll help her find strength in herself again, and it will give her something to focus on."
For a long while, they sat in silence, breaking the silence, Edric spoke, his voice low and quiet to avoid disturbing Arya. "Father indulged her too much," he began. "Letting her train with a blade, run wild like she's one of the boys. He meant well... he wanted her to be happy. But it wasn't right."
Arianne tilted her head, studying him carefully. "You think it was wrong to let her fight? To let her have that freedom?"
Edric sighed, his hand brushing a stray lock of Arya's hair from her face. "It wasn't just freedom. It gave her ideas—dangerous ones. Arya's strong-willed, stubborn... but she's still just a girl. She can't get carried away with all of this. She needs to learn to become a proper lady."
Arianne raised an eyebrow at his words, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "A proper lady?" she repeated, a teasing note in her voice. "And what does that mean, Edric? To sew, to smile, and sit quietly in a hall while the men speak of war and politics?"
He glanced at her, his expression softening slightly but remaining serious. "No, not just that," he said quietly. "But she'll have to marry one day. She'll have to take on responsibilities that matter—real responsibilities, not dreams of being some... sword-wielding hero. If a good enough proposal comes for her, we'll have to accept it. That's what's best for her and our effort."
"The Sand Snakes aren't the standard in Dorne though," he continued, shaking his head slightly. "They're the exception. Oberyn's daughters are bastards, they are fierce, yes, but they've had a freedom most women here don't get. That's not how it is for the rest of Dorne, and it's not how it will be for Arya. No matter how much we want her to carve out her own path, the world will demand something different from her."
Arianne tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "You sound like you've already made up your mind about what Arya is meant to be. A proper lady, married off for alliances."
Edric's jaw tightened. "That's not fair. I'm trying to think of what's best for her, Arianne. For all of us. Arya can't live her life pretending to be something she's not. And she can't live it believing she can defy everything and everyone without consequence."
"No," Arianne admitted, her gaze softening slightly. "It doesn't. But don't you think there's room for her to be more?"
He sighed "Life in the North... it's not kind to women who refuse their roles"
Arianne studied him for a moment. "And do you think she'll ever forgive you for that?" she asked softly. "For deciding her fate for her, when she's already lost so much?"
Edric's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to Arya again. "I don't know," he admitted. "But what choice do I have, Arianne? This war, this... chaos—it's not a place for her. She's just a child. She deserves safety, a future... not a sword in her hand."
Arianne leaned back slightly, her eyes still fixed on him. "You're not wrong to want her safe, Edric," she said after a moment. "But if you push her too hard into being something she's not... you might lose her."
He didn't answer immediately, the weight of the question settling heavily on him. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I just... I want her to be safe. To be happy. But the world doesn't care about happiness, does it?"
"No," Arianne agreed quietly. "But you do. And that's why you'll figure it out when the time comes. For now... let her grieve. Let her fight. Let her find her strength. She'll need it for whatever future awaits her."
Edric let out a long sigh, his exhaustion clear in the way his shoulders slumped. "I'll think about it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His exhaustion caught up with him, his shoulders heavy, his eyelids drooping despite the inner turmoil that still churned. "I'm... tired, Arianne," he whispered, almost to himself.
"I know," she replied softly, "rest…. we need you whole for what's to come."
Edric's head lowered, and he let out a slow breath. The firelight danced in his tired eyes as he glanced back at Arya, then back to Arianne. "I'll rest," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm not done yet. Not until they all pay."
Arianne nodded "We won't stop until they do."
The soft morning light filtered through the curtains as Edric stirred. But as his senses sharpened, a small frown tugged at his lips. Something felt... off. He sat up slowly, his gaze sweeping the room. The bed was empty save for the two of them.
"Arya," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with sleep. Arianne blinked awake at the sound of his voice, her dark eyes fluttering open. She glanced at the vacant space beside them and pushed herself up as well, her brows furrowed.
"Where is she?" Arianne asked.
Edric swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching the cool stone floor. Before they could dwell on it further, the faint sound of clashing steel reached their ears. Arianne's gaze snapped toward the balcony, her expression immediately alert. "The courtyard," she said, already rising to her feet.
Edric quickly followed, the two of them stepping onto the balcony. Below, in the courtyard, a scene both startling and bizarre unfolded before their eyes. Arya was there, wielding needle. Across from her stood Oberyn Martell himself, his expression of amusement as he parried her strikes.
Arianne's lips parted in shock. "Is she—"
"Training with Oberyn," Edric finished. He leaned over the balcony railing, watching as Arya lunged forward, her blade aimed with precision. Oberyn sidestepped smoothly, his spear lazily deflecting her strike.
Then, with a sharp command, Oberyn called out, "Break!" He stepped back, lowering his spear and holding up a hand. Arya froze in place, breathing heavily, her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed from exertion.
Oberyn turned his gaze upward, spotting Edric and Arianne on the balcony. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he gestured to Arya. "This little wolf held a sword to my throat this morning and forced me out here," he called, his tone playful but edged with admiration. "What was I to do? Refuse her?"
Arianne stifled a laugh. Edric, however, just sighed. "Of course, she did," he muttered. "Of course, she held a sword to Oberyn Martell's throat."
Edric walked briskly into the courtyard, Arianne trailing close behind him, her silken robe flowing as she moved. Arya stood with her chin high, a mix of defiance and pride in her expression as she wiped her sweat-dappled brow with the back of her hand. Oberyn, on the other hand, was casually leaning against a stone pillar, his spear resting lazily by his side. The man radiated amusement, his lips curled in a devilish grin as he took in Edric's exasperated face.
Edric didn't waste any time. "What exactly did you mean by Arya holding a sword to your throat?" he asked, his tone sharp with disbelief. His gaze flicked between Oberyn and Arya, as if trying to imagine how such a scene could have possibly unfolded.
Oberyn straightened, his grin widening as he met Edric's incredulous eyes. "Exactly what I said, young Stark," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with mock nonchalance. "Your little sister found me lounging in the garden this morning, enjoying a rather fine Dornish red. A moment of peace, if you will. Then, all of a sudden—" he spread his hands theatrically—"a sword was at my throat."
Arya's lips twitched, but she said nothing, her cheeks pink with a mix of embarrassment and pride. Edric turned his piercing gaze to her, one brow raised. "Arya..." he began, his voice heavy with warning.
"She wasn't going to hurt me," Oberyn interjected with a chuckle, clearly reveling in the tale. "But she was... insistent. She said something about needing to train, to fight, and that if I was the best, then I'd better prove it." He tilted his head toward Arya, a spark of admiration glinting in his dark eyes. "She's got nerve, I'll give her that. Besides how could I refuse such a bold challenge?"
Edric let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't just—" he began, but Oberyn interrupted him again, clearly enjoying himself.
"She's got a fire in her, Stark. You should be proud," Oberyn said, his voice light but laced with genuine praise. "Most people would have balked at the idea of holding a blade to the Red Viper's throat. Your little sister didn't even flinch."
Edric rubbed a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. He looked at Arya. "Arya," he said firmly, crouching slightly to look her in the eyes, "you can't do things like that. This isn't Winterfell, and you can't just force people—"
"But it worked," Arya interrupted, her voice rising. "Didn't it? He trained me. I'm not going to just sit around and wait while everyone else fights."
Edric opened his mouth to argue, but Arianne stepped forward, placing a calming hand on his arm. "She's a wolf, Edric," she said. "You can't keep her caged. If she wants to train, let her. Oberyn's right—she's got fire."
Edric sighed again, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked back at Oberyn, who was now sipping from a goblet of wine someone had conveniently handed him, then at Arianne. "And you both," Edric said, his tone exasperated but lacking any real bite, "stop encouraging her."
Oberyn smirked, raising his goblet in a mock toast. "Encouraging? I'm merely recognizing greatness when I see it," he said smoothly. "Besides, she might make a fine swordswoman one day. Someone has to teach her."
Edric shook his head, his expression caught between annoyance and reluctant acceptance. "You're impossible," he muttered. Then, turning back to Arya, he added, "We'll talk about this later. For now, go clean up."
Arya hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but the look in Edric's eyes made her think better of it. With a huff, she turned and stalked off.
As she disappeared, Edric looked back at Arianne, who was watching him with a knowing smile. "You'll never control her, you know," she said softly.
"I know," Edric replied, his voice weary but tinged with affection. "But someone has to try."
"Fifteen," Robb muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Fifteen paces," Robb murmured, almost to himself. "On our ninth nameday. I remember it well—Father had just given us those new bows. You missed your first two shots, Edric... then you hit the mark dead center every time after. I of course got it on my first try" His lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile, but it quickly faded as the weight of the letter settled over him again. "He remembers."
Catelyn smiled faintly as well. "Edric always had a way of remembering the small details," she said softly.
Robb nodded, folding the letter carefully. "He's raising an army with Dorne," he said, the weight of the words sinking in. "Fifteen thousand for now, and more to follow as the war spreads further from Dorne." He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing.
Catelyn rested her hands on the table. "Dorne's loyalty could shift the balance of power, but it also complicates things, Robb. You've been declared King in the North, an independent kingdom. Neither Renly nor Stannis will see that as anything less than treachery. They will want the North as part of their claim. To them, Dorne aiding you may look like an alliance against their thrones."
Robb exhaled sharply, frustration flashing across his face. "I never asked to be King in the North," he said, his voice low. "The North demanded it, Mother. They called me king because they refuse to kneel to a Lannister or anyone else. But you're right—Stannis and Renly will see it as thievery, as if I've stolen the North from them. To them, I'm no ally—I'm a rival. If Dorne allies with one of them, they might see Edric's presence as treachery."
"They may not say it outright," Catelyn replied, her tone even, "but they'll think it. And it will color their dealings with Dorne—and with you."
Robb hesitated, the question weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Renly is young, charming, and well-liked. He has the support of the Tyrells, and his army is strong. Stannis is rigid and unyielding, but he has the better claim as Robert's elder brother. Supporting one risks alienating the other—and both want the North as part of their kingdom."
"If Dorne marches under Stannis' banner, it could bring the South into chaos. If Renly… then we'll have to decide whether to stand against him or find a way to coexist."
"And if they march under neither?" Catelyn asked softly.
Robb exhaled sharply. "Then they'll have to carve a path through the Reach and the Stormlands, fighting every step of the way. And by the time they reach us, what kind of army will they have left?" He looked at the letter again, his fingers tracing the edges of the parchment.
"Fifteen paces… If Edric's aim is as true as it was then, maybe we still have a chance."
Edric sat at the long table, the candlelight flickering against the worn parchment in his hands. His brow furrowed deeper as he read and reread Robb's letter, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper tighter with each passing moment. The Vale would not support them. Lysa Arryn, their own mother's sister, had refused to raise her banners.
"This makes no sense," he muttered under his breath, his frustration evident in the way his jaw clenched. "The Lannisters killed Jon Arryn—her own husband. She knows this. She has every reason to seek revenge, to take up arms against them. And yet…" His fingers drummed against the table before he threw the letter down. "She prattles on about the safety of her kingdom and her son."
Arianne, lounging on a cushioned seat across from him, had been listening in silence. She had grown accustomed to Edric's ranting, especially over matters of war. But now, there was something else—disbelief, of what seems almost like betrayal.
She leaned forward, resting her chin against her palm. "Perhaps she values her son's life more than she valued her husband's," she mused.
Edric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "If she truly cared about her son's future, she would fight. The Lannisters won't leave the Vale alone forever. If she waits too long, they'll come for her and that boy of hers. What good will her 'safety' be then?"
Arianne smirked slightly, watching him. "Lysa Arryn has always been… unbalanced, from what I have heard. Overprotective of that sickly boy of hers. She probably sees war as a threat to him more than to herself."
Edric scoffed. "War is coming whether she acknowledges it or not. This was the moment for the North and the Vale to stand together, to make our strength known. But instead, she chooses to cower behind her mountains like a frightened rabbit." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Robb needs every ally he can get. He already faces the Lannisters, and now he must worry about Stannis and Renly. The Vale should be marching with us, not hiding behind their walls."
Arianne took a slow sip of her wine before setting the cup down. "Perhaps she truly believes the Vale is safe. The mountains are a fortress, are they not? Why risk her son, her power, when she can wait and see who wins?"
Edric's jaw tightened. "Cowardice," he spat.
Arianne tilted her head, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "Pragmatism."
Arianne sighed before continuing "Give her a reason to join us."
Edric glanced up at her, his expression caught between frustration and curiosity. "What reason could possibly move Lysa Arryn? She refuses to risk her son in war."
Arianne smiled, a knowing, serpentine smile. "Then make this about her son."
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
She stepped around him, gliding toward the table where Robb's letter lay. Her fingers brushed over the parchment before she turned back to him. "Offer Arya as his wife."
Edric blinked, then scoffed. "Lysa would never agree to that. She keeps that boy of hers clutched to her like a mother hawk."
Arianne's smirk deepened. "Which is exactly why she might accept. You know what they say of Lysa—she has raised that boy in fear, coddled him to the point of weakness. But what if his wife could protect him? Train him? Make him strong?"
Edric frowned, listening.
"Robin is weak, sickly—he will need someone strong beside him. And what mother wouldn't want her child protected by a fierce warrior?"
Edric exhaled sharply. "Lysa is paranoid. She might think we're trying to control the Vale through Arya."
"Not if you feed her the right fantasy," Arianne countered. Her dark eyes gleamed with amusement as she leaned closer. "Disillusion her with thoughts of Aegon and Visenya. A mighty queen beside a strong king. A warrior wife who would lay waste to her enemies for him."
Arianne folded her arms, stepping closer. "Tell her that Arya has been trained by Prince Oberyn Martell himself. A wife who can protect him, one who has the blood of the wolf and the fire of Dorne, might soothe her fears." Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief. "Tell her that Arya will defend her son like Visenya defended Aegon the Conqueror."
Edric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You want to sell Lysa on some delusion?"
Arianne's voice was rich with amusement. "She already sees him as one. All you need to do is whisper the right words. Tell her he could have a wife who is as much his guardian as his queen." She raised a brow. "That will make her feel safe, Edric. And Lysa Arryn craves safety above all else."
"And what if someone is behind Lysa?" he asked.
Arianne arched a brow. "What do you mean?"
Edric leaned forward, voice lowering. "What if her lunacy is a guise? A convenient mask to hide who is truly pulling the strings?" His mind churned as he spoke. "Lysa is erratic, but she isn't stupid. The Lannisters killed Jon Arryn—by all rights, she should be the first to raise her banners against them. And yet, she hides, clings to her castle, refusing to act. Why?"
Arianne tapped a finger against her lip, considering his words. "Who would gain from keeping her out of the war?"
Edric's mind raced. "The Lannisters, obviously. But also the Reach. The Vale staying neutral means fewer enemies for them and for Renly. If Renly wants to consolidate his power before moving against the Iron Throne, he'd want the Vale to stay out of it."
Arianne tilted her head. "And Stannis? He has no love for the Lannisters, and the Vale's knights would be invaluable to his cause. But if she's not supporting him, then he's losing a potential ally as well."
Edric nodded. "Exactly. If she's truly mad, then she's just a frightened woman making bad decisions. But if she's being influenced, someone stands to gain from her silence." He exhaled sharply.
Edric's fingers tapped against the table, his mind working through the pieces. "Why keep them out?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His grey eyes flicked up to Arianne. "Why would Renly or Stannis want the Vale to stay neutral? They should be trying to bring them into the war, not letting them sit idle."
Arianne leaned forward, resting her chin against her hand. "It has to be the Lannisters," she said, her voice hushed, yet firm. "They're the only ones who gain from keeping the Vale out of this war. If the knights of the Vale marched, they'd tip the balance. The Lannisters have enemies coming from the Riverlands, the North, and now Dorne. The Vale joining would be disastrous for them."
Edric exhaled slowly. "Then how?" His jaw clenched. "How are they keeping Lysa out of it? We know she despises them. She believes they murdered her husband, she should want to fight."
Arianne's eyes darkened in understanding. "So instead of fighting the knights of the Vale, the Lannisters are making them sit still. They let them waste away in that mountain fortress, isolated and useless. And no one else is calling on them because they assume Lysa is too mad to be reasoned with."
Edric nodded grimly. "And if the Lannisters know she'll never fight, then they don't need to waste time forcing her hand. They can focus their efforts elsewhere."
Arianne tapped her nails against the wood. "Then the question is—how are they ensuring her silence? Coin? Threats? Or is there something more?"