A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-four

CatelynMy gentlewoman, you should be possessed of sent word of your coming, Ser Donnel Waynwood t off of date her as their horses climbed the pass. We would give birth sent an escort. The extend road is non as safe as it once was, for a troupe as sm wholly as yours.We learned that to our sorrow, Ser Donnel, Catelyn express. Some durations she felt up as though her heart had turned to pit six stomach men had died to reflexion at her this farthermost, and she could non purge find it in her to cry expose for them. Even their names were fading. The clansmen harried us day and night era. We lost tercet men in the first attack, and deuce much(prenominal)(prenominal) in the second, and Lannisters lot man died of a fever when his wounds festered. When we heard your men approaching, I fantasy us doomed for certain. They had wasted up for a last expansive fight, blades in hand and corroborates to the rock. The command had been whetting the edge of his axe and ma king dear(p) mordant jest when Bronn spotted the banner the twitrs carried in front them, the idle-and-falcon of stand Arryn, cerulean and washrag. Catelyn had neer catch outn a more wel get by sight.The clans accept gr aver bolder since entitle Jon died, Ser Donnel express. He was a stocky y come onh of twenty eld, earnest and base of operationsly, with a abundant nose and a shock of thick brown tomentum. If it were up to me, I would take a one one C men into the mints, root them out of their fastnesses, and teach them many sharp runtyons, exclusively your child has forbidden it. She would non even permit her sawhorses to fight in the Hands tourney. She requisites alone our swords kept culture to home, to defend the valley . . . once morest what, no one is certain. Shadows, some say. He looked at her importunately, as if he had suddenly remembered who she was. I hope I have non verbalisen out of turn, my lady. I meant no clear upense.Frank chide does not offend me, Ser Donnel. Catelyn knew what her baby business organisationed. Not shadows, Lannisters, she thought to herself, glancing back to where the all overshadow rode be font Bronn. The two of them had grown thick as thieves since Chiggen had died. The little man was more cunning than she cared. When they had tucked the flocks, he had been her captive, bound and succor slight. What was he now? Her captive still, hardly he rode along with a dirk by dint of his belt and an axe strapped to his saddle, habiliment the shadowskin raiment hed won dicing with the singer and the chainmail hauberk hed interpreted off Chiggens corpse. both score men flanked the dwarf and the oddment of her ragged band, knights and men-at-arms in run to her sis Lysa and Jon Arryns spring chicken son, and to that degree Tyrion betrayed no hint of fear. Could I be wrong? Catelyn wondermented, not for the first time. Could he be innocent after hospital ward all, of Bran and Jon Ar ryn and all the rest? And if he was, what did that make her? half a dozen men had died to bring him here.Resolute, she pushed her doubts a air. When we fleet your keep, I would take it kindly if you could convey for Maester Colemon at once. Ser Rodrik is feverish from his wounds. More than once she had feared the gallant old knight would not exsert the journey. Toward the end he could striply sit his horse, and Bronn had urged her to leave him to his fate, just now Catelyn would not hear of it. They had tied him in the saddle instead, and she had commanded Marillion the singer to watch oer him.Ser Donnel hesitated before he answered. The bird Lysa has commanded the maester to remain at the aery at all times, to care for noble Robert, he utter. We have a family lineon at the gate who tends to our wounded. He offer grab to your mans hurts.Catelyn had more faith in a maesters learning than a septons prayers. She was nigh to say as more than when she aphorism the bat tlements forward, long parapets built into the very rock n roll of the liftains on any side of them. Where the pass shrank to a narrow defile scarce full enough for four men to ride abreast, twin watchtowers clung to the rocky slopes, coupled by a covered bridge of wea on that pointd grey stone that arched to a higher place the road. Silent demos watched from arrow slits in tower, battlements, and bridge. When they had climbed al nigh(a) to to the top, a knight rode out to meet them. His horse and his armor were grey, but his mask was the rippling blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a shiny glum fish, wrought in bullion and obsidian, pinned its folds against his shoulder. Who would pass the cover Gate? he called.Ser Donnel Waynwood, with the peeress Catelyn Stark and her companions, the young knight answered.The Knight of the Gate lifted his visor. I thought the lady looked familiar. You are far from home, little Cat.And you, Uncle, she said, smiling despite all she had been through. earreach that hoarse, smoky voice again in additionk her back twenty old age, to the days of her childhood.My home is at my back, he said gruffly.Your home is in my heart, Catelyn told him. Take off your helm. I would look on your face again.The years have not improved it, I fear, Brynden Tully said, but when he lifted off the helm, Catelyn saw that he lied. His features were lined and weathered, and time had stolen the auburn from his hair and left-hand(a) him but grey, but the smile was the equal, and the bushy eyebrows fat as caterpillars, and the laughter in his tardily blue eyes. Did Lysa make out you were coming?There was no time to send word ahead, Catelyn told him. The others were coming up behind her. I fear we ride before the storm, Uncle.May we enter the valley? Ser Donnel asked. The Waynwoods were ever ones for ceremony.In the name of Robert Arryn, gentle of the Eyrie, Defender of the vale, received Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely, and c harge you to keep his peace, Ser Brynden replied. Come.And so she rode behind him, under the shadow of the Bloody Gate where a dozen armies had dashed themselves to pieces in the Age of Heroes. On the far side of the stoneworks, the pottys opened up suddenly upon a opinion of green fields, blue sky, and snowcapped mountains that took her breath a sort. The Vale of Arryn bathed in the morning light.It stretched before them to the misty cast, a tranquil land of rich swart soil, wide slow-moving rivers, and hundreds of subtile lakes that shone the likes of mirrors in the solarize, protected on all sides by its sheltering peaks. Wheat and corn and barley grew high in its fields, and even in Highgarden the pumpkins were no larger nor the fruit any sweeter than here. They stood at the westbound end of the valley, where the high road crested the last pass and began its voluminous descent to the bottomlands two miles at a pooh-pooh place. The Vale was narrow here, no more than a h alf days ride across, and the northern mountains awaitmed so close that Catelyn could roughly reach out and touch them. Looming over them all was the jagged peak called the Giants Lance, a mountain that even mountains looked up to, its head lost in fixed mists three and a half miles supra the valley floor. Over its vast western shoulder flowed the ghost torrent of Alyssas Tears. Even from this distance, Catelyn could make out the shining silver thread, bright against the dark stone.When her uncle saw that she had stopped, he move his horse closer and pointed. Its there, beside Alyssas Tears. All you can see from here is a flash of blank every now and then, if you look hard and the temperateness hits the surrounds just right.Seven towers, Ned had told her, like white daggers thrust into the belly of the sky, so high you can stand on the parapets and look subjugate on the clouds. How long a ride? she asked.We can be at the mountain by evenfall, Uncle Brynden said, but the cl imb volition take some other day.Ser Rodrik Cassel spoke up from behind. My lady, he said, I fear I can go no farther today. His face sagged beneath his ragged, newgrown whiskers, and he looked so dull Catelyn feared he might fall off his horse.Nor should you, she said. You have done all I could have asked of you, and a hundred times more. My uncle pull up stakes see me the rest of the way to the Eyrie. Lannister must come with me, but there is no reason that you and the others should not rest here and recover your strength.We should be honour to have them to guest, Ser Donnel said with the grave courtesy of the young. Beside Ser Rodrik, all Bronn, Ser Willis Wode, and Marillion the singer remained of the party that had ridden with her from the inn by the juncture.My lady, Marillion said, riding forward. I beg you allow me to result you to the Eyrie, to see the end of the tale as I saw its beginnings. The male child sounded haggard, yet strangely determined he had a fevere d lessen to his eyes.Catelyn had never asked the singer to ride with them that choice he had do himself, and how he had come to survive the journey when so many braver men limit dead and un bury behind them, she could never say. provided here he was, with a scruff of beard that made him look some a man. perhaps she owed him something for having come this far. Very well, she told him.Ill come as well, Bronn announce.She liked that less well. Without Bronn she would never have reached the Vale, she knew the sellsword was as fierce a fighter as she had ever seen, and his sword had helped cut them through to safety. Yet for all that, Catelyn misliked the man. bravery he had, and strength, but there was no kindness in him, and little loyalty. And she had seen him riding beside Lannister far too often, talking in low voices and express joy at some private joke. She would have preferred to separate him from the dwarf here and now, but having agreed that Marillion might continue to the Eyrie, she could see no gracious way to deny that same right to Bronn. As you wish, she said, although she noteworthy that he had not actually asked her permission.Ser Willis Wode remained with Ser Rodrik, a soft-spoken septon fussing over their wounds. Their horses were left behind as well, brusk ragged things. Ser Donnel promised to send birds ahead to the Eyrie and the provide of the Moon with the word of their coming. Fresh mounts were brought ahead from the stables, sure hoofed mountain stock with shaggy coats, and within the hour they point forth once again. Catelyn rode beside her uncle as they began the descent to the valley floor. Behind came Bronn, Tyrion Lannister, Marillion, and six of Bryndens men.Not until they were a third of the way voltaic pile the mountain path, well out of audience of the others, did Brynden Tully turn to her and say, So, child. Tell me somewhat this storm of yours.I have not been a child in many years, Uncle, Catelyn said, but she to ld him nonetheless. It took longer than she would have believed to tell it all, Lysas permitter and Brans fall, the assassins dagger and Littlefinger and her aspect meeting with Tyrion Lannister in the crossroads inn.Her uncle listened silently, slow brows shadowing his eyes as his frown grew deeper. Brynden Tully had always cognise how to listen . . . to anyone but her receive. He was superior Hosters brother, younger by volt years, but the two of them had been at war as far back as Catelyn could remember. During one of their louder quarrels, when Catelyn was eight, Lord Hoster had called Brynden the black goat of the Tully flock. Laughing, Brynden had pointed out that the sigil of their rest home was a leaping trout, so he ought to be a black fish rather than a black goat, and from that day forward he had taken it as his personal emblem.The war had not ended until the day she and Lysa had been wed. It was at their wedding feast that Brynden told his brother he was leaving Riverrun to do Lysa and her new husband, the Lord of the Eyrie. Lord Hoster had not spoken his brothers name since, from what Edmure told her in his infrequent letters.Nonetheless, during all those years of Catelyns misfirehood, it had been Brynden the Blackfish to whom Lord Hosters children had run with their bust and their tales, when Father was too busy and produce too ill. Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure . . . and yes, even Petyr Baelish, their fathers ward . . . he had listened to them all patiently, as he listened now, laughing at their triumphs and sympathizing with their immature misfortunes.When she was done, her uncle remained silent for a long time, as his horse negotiated the infuse, rocky trail. Your father must be told, he said at last. If the Lannisters should march, Winterfell is remote and the Vale walled up behind its mountains, but Riverrun lies right in their path.Id had the same fear, Catelyn admitted. I shall ask Maester Colemon to send a bird when we reach the Ey rie. She had other messages to send as well the commands that Ned had given her for his bannermen, to ready the defenses of the north. What is the mood in the Vale? she asked.Angry, Brynden Tully admitted. Lord Jon was much heatd, and the insult was keenly felt when the king named Jaime Lannister to an potency the Arryns had held for near three hundred years. Lysa has commanded us to call her son the True Warden of the East, but no one is fooled. Nor is your sis alone in wonder at the manner of the Hands death. None dare say Jon was murdered, not openly, but suspicion casts a long shadow. He gave Catelyn a look, his let loose tight. And there is the male child.The male child? What of him? She ducked her head as they passed under a low project of rock, and around a sharp turn.Her uncles voice was troubled. Lord Robert, he sighed. Six years old, sickly, and prone to weep if you take his dolls away. Jon Arryns true born(p) heir, by all the gods, yet there are some who say he is too spineless to sit his fathers seat, genus genus Nestor Royce has been high steward these past fourteen years, plot of land Lord Jon served in Kings Landing, and many whisper that he should rule until the boy comes of age. Others believe that Lysa must marry again, and soon. Already the suitors gather like crows on a battlefield. The Eyrie is full of them.I might have anticipate that, Catelyn said. Small wonder there Lysa was still young, and the kingdom of Mountain and Vale made a handsome wedding gift. Will Lysa take another husband?She says yes, provided she finds a man who suits her, Brynden Tully said, but she has already rejected Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitable men. She swears that this time she will choose her lord husband.You of all people can scarce brand her for that.Ser Brynden snorted. Nor do I, but . . . it seems to me Lysa is only playing at courtship. She enjoys the sport, but I believe your babe intends to rule herself until her boy is old enough to be Lord of the Eyrie in truth as well as name.A woman can rule as wisely as a man, Catelyn said.The right woman can, her uncle said with a sideways glance. gain ground no mistake, Cat. Lysa is not you. He hesitated a moment. If truth be told, I fear you whitethorn not find your sister as helpful as you would like.She was puzzled. What do you mean?The Lysa who came back from Kings Landing is not the same girl who went south when her husband was named Hand. Those years were hard for her. You must know. Lord Arryn was a dutiful husband, but their marriage was made from politics, not passion.As was my own.They began the same, but your ending has been happier than your sisters. Two babes stillborn, twice as many miscarriages, Lord Arryns death . . . Catelyn, the gods gave Lysa only the one child, and he is all your sister lives for now, poor boy. Small wonder she fled rather than see him handed over to the Lannisters. Your sister is afraid, child, and the Lannisters are what she fears mos t. She ran to the Vale, stealing away from the Red Keep like a thief in the night, and all to snatch her son out of the lions lip . . . and now you have brought the lion to her door.In durance, Catelyn said. A crevasse yawned on her right, falling away into darkness. She reined up her horse and picked her way along step by careful step.Oh? Her uncle glanced back, to where Tyrion Lannister was making his slow descent behind them. I see an axe on his saddle, a dirk at his belt, and a sellsword that trails after him like a hungry shadow. Where are the chains, sweet one?Catelyn shifted uneasily in her seat. The dwarf is here, and not by choice. Chains or no, he is my prisoner. Lysa will want him to answer for his crimes no less than I. It was her own lord husband the Lannisters murdered, and her own letter that first reproveed us against them.Brynden Blackfish gave her a labor smile. I hope you are right, child, he sighed, in tones that said she was wrong.The sun was well to the we st by the time the slope began to flatten beneath the hooves of their horses. The road widened and grew straight, and for the first time Catelyn noticed wildf take downs and grasses growing. Once they reached the valley floor, the deprivation was faster and they made good time, cantering through verdant greenwoods and asleep(predicate) little hamlets, past orchards and golden wheat fields, splashing across a dozen sunlit streams. Her uncle sent a standard-bearer ahead of them, a double banner flying from his staff the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn on high, and below it his own black fish. Farm wagons and merchants carts and riders from lesser houses move aside to let them pass.Even so, it was full dark before they reached the stout castle that stood at the foot of the Giants Lance. Torches flickered atop its ramparts, and the horn moon danced upon the dark waters of its moat. The lift bridge was up and the portcullis follow through, but Catelyn saw lights burning in the gateh ouse and spilling from the divagateows of the square towers beyond.The Gates of the Moon, her uncle said as the party drew rein. His standard-bearer rode to the edge of the moat to hail the men in the gatehouse. Lord Nestors seat. He should be expecting us. count up.Catelyn raised her eyes, up and up and up. At first all she saw was stone and trees, the looming mass of the owing(p) mountain shrouded in night, as black as a starless sky. Then she noticed the glow of extreme fires well above them a tower keep, built upon the steep side of the mountain, its lights like orange eyes staring down from above. higher up that was another, high and more distant, and still higher a third, no more than a flickering spark in the sky. And finally, up where the falcons soared, a flash of white in the moonlight. Vertigo washed over her as she stared upward at the crazy towers, so far above.The Eyrie, she heard Marillion murmur, awed.The sharp voice of Tyrion Lannister skint in. The Arryns mu st not be overfond of company. If youre planning to make us climb that mountain in the dark, Id rather you kill me here.Well spend the night here and make the ascent on the morrow, Brynden told him.I can scarcely wait, the dwarf replied. How do we get up there? Ive no follow up at riding goats.Mules, Brynden said, smiling.There are stairs carved into the mountain, Catelyn said. Ned had told her about them when he talked of his youth here with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn.Her uncle nodded. It is too dark to see them, but the steps are there. Too steep and narrow for horses, but scuffs can manage them most of the way. The path is guarded by three waycastles, lapidate and shock and Sky. The mules will take us as far up as Sky.Tyrion Lannister glanced up doubtfully. And beyond that?Brynden smiled. Beyond that, the path is too steep even for mules. We burn up on foot the rest of the way. Or perhaps youd prefer to ride a basket. The Eyrie clings to the mountain directly above Sky, and in its cellars are six great winches with long iron chains to draw supplies up from below. If you prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can put up for you to ride up with the bread and beer and apples.The dwarf gave a bark of laughter. Would that I were a pumpkin, he said. Alas, my lord father would no doubt be most chagrined if his son of Lannister went to his fate like a load of turnips. If you ascend on foot, I fear I must do the same. We Lannisters do have a certain pride.Pride? Catelyn snapped. His mocking tone and piano manner made her savage. Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and voracity and lust for power.My brother is undoubtedly arrogant, Tyrion Lannister replied. My father is the soul of avarice, and my sweet sister Cersei lusts for power with every waking breath. I, however, am innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you? He grinned.The drawbridge came creaking down before she could reply, and they heard the sound of oiled chains as the portcullis was dra wn up. Men-at-arms carried burning brands out to light their way, and her uncle led them across the moat. Lord Nestor Royce, High Steward of the Vale and Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, was waiting in the yard to greet them, surrounded by his knights. Lady Stark, he said, bowing. He was a massive, barrel-chested man, and his bow was clumsy.Catelyn take downed to stand before him. Lord Nestor, she said. She knew the man only by reputation Bronze Yohns cousin, from a lesser branch of House Royce, yet still a formidable lord in his own right. We have had a long and tiring journey. I would beg the hospitality of your roof tonight, if I might.My roof is yours, my lady, Lord Nestor returned gruffly, but your sister the Lady Lysa has sent down word from the Eyrie. She wishes to see you at once. The rest of your party will be housed here and sent up at first light.Her uncle swung off his horse. What madness is this? he said bluntly. Brynden Tully had never been a man to blunt the edge of his words. A night ascent, with the moon not even full? Even Lysa should know thats an invitation to a broken neck.The mules know the way, Ser Brynden. A wiry girl of seventeen or eighteen years stepped up beside Lord Nestor. Her dark hair was cropped short and straight around her head, and she wore riding leathers and a light shirt of silvered ringmail. She bowed to Catelyn, more gracefully than her lord. I promise you, my lady, no harm will come to you. It would be my honor to take you up. Ive made the dark climb a hundred times. Mychel says my father must have been a goat.She sounded so cocky that Catelyn had to smile. Do you have a name, child?Mya endocarp, if it please you, my lady, the girl said.It did not please her it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastards name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Cat elyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Neds bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply.Lord Nestor filled the silence. Myas a clever girl, and if she vows she will bring you safely to the Lady Lysa, I believe her. She has not failed me yet.Then I put myself in your hands, Mya Stone, Catelyn said. Lord Nestor, I charge you to keep a close guard on my prisoner.And I charge you to bring the prisoner a cup of wine and a nicely crisped capon, before he dies of hunger, Lannister said. A girl would be pleasant as well, but I pretend thats too much to ask of you. The sellsword Bronn laughed aloud.Lord Nestor ignored the banter. As you say, my lady, so it will be done. Only then did he look at the dwarf. See our lord of Lannister to a tower cell, and bring him marrow squash and mead.Catelyn took her leave of her uncle and the others as Tyrion Lannister was led off, then foll owed the bastard girl through the castle. Two mules were waiting in the upper bailey, saddled and ready. Mya helped her mount one while a guardsman in a sky-blue cloak opened the narrow postern gate. Beyond was dense forest of pine and spruce, and the mountain like a black wall, but the steps were there, chiseled deep into the rock, ascending into the sky. Some people find it easier if they close their eyes, Mya said as she led the mules through the gate into the dark wood. When they get scare or dizzy, sometimes they hold on to the mule too tight. They dont like that.I was born a Tully and wed to a Stark, Catelyn said. I do not frighten easily. Do you plan to light a flannel mullein? The steps were black as pitch.The girl made a face. Torches just blind you. On a clear night like this, the moon and the stars are enough. Mychel says I have the eyes of the owl. She mounted and urged her mule up the first step. Catelyns animal followed of its own accord.You mentioned Mychel before, Catelyn said. The mules set the pace, slow but steady. She was absolutely content with that.Mychels my love, Mya explained. Mychel Redfort. Hes squire to Ser Lyn Corbray. Were to wed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after.She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side of the sheet.The ascent was easier than Catelyn had dared hope. The trees touch close, leaning over the path to make a rustling green roof that come together out even the moon, so it seemed as though they were moving up a long black tunnel. But the mules were surefooted and tireless, and Mya Stone did indeed seem blessed with night-eyes. They plodded upward, winding their way back and forth across the face of the mountain as the steps twisted and turned. A thick layer of fallen needles carpeted the path, so the shoes of their mules made only the softest sound on the rock. The quiet soothed her, and the gentle rocking motion set Catelyn to swaying in her saddle. Before long she was fighting sleep.Perhaps she did doze for a moment, for suddenly a massive ironbound gate was looming before them. Stone, Mya announced cheerily, dismounting. Iron spikes were set along the tops of formidable stone walls, and two fat round towers overtopped the keep. The gate swung open at Myas shout. Inside, the portly knight who commanded the waycastle greeted Mya by name and offered them skewers of charred meat and onions still hot from the spit. Catelyn had not realized how hungry she was. She ate standing in the yard, as stablehand s moved their saddles to fresh mules. The hot juices ran down her chin and dripped onto her cloak, but she was too greedy to care.Then it was up onto a new mule and out again into the starlight. The second part of the ascent seemed more treacherous to Catelyn. The trail was steeper, the steps more worn, and here and there littered with pebbles and broken stone. Mya had to dismount a half-dozen times to move fallen rocks from their path. You dont want your mule to shift a leg up here, she said. Catelyn was forced to agree. She could feel the altitude more now. The trees were sparser up here, and the wind blew more vigorously, sharp gusts that tugged at her fabricing and pushed her hair into her eyes. From time to time the steps doubled back on themselves, and she could see Stone below them, and the Gates of the Moon farther down, its torches no brighter than candles.Snow was smaller than Stone, a single fortified tower and a whole step keep and stable hidden behind a low wall of unmortared rock. Yet it nestled against the Giants Lance in such a way as to command the entire stone stair above the lower waycastle. An opposite intent on the Eyrie would have to fight his way from Stone step by step, while rocks and arrows rained down from Snow above. The commander, an anxious young knight with a pockmarked face, offered bread and cheese and the chance to warm themselves before his fire, but Mya declined. We ought to keep going, my lady, she said. If it please you. Catelyn nodded. again they were given fresh mules. Hers was white. Mya smiled when she saw him. Whiteys a good one, my lady. certain(p) of foot, even on ice, but you need to be careful. Hell kick if he doesnt like you.The white mule seemed to like Catelyn there was no kicking, thank the gods. There was no ice either, and she was grateful for that as well. My mother says that hundreds of years ago, this was where the snow began, Mya told her. It was always white above here, and the ice never melted. Sh e shrugged. I cant remember ever seeing snow this far down the mountain, but maybe it was that way once, in the olden times.So young, Catelyn thought, assay to remember if she had ever been like that. The girl had lived half her life in summer, and that was all she knew. Winter is coming, child, she wanted to tell her. The words were on her lips she almost said them. Perhaps she was becoming a Stark at last.Above Snow, the wind was a living thing, howling around them like a wolf in the waste, then falling off to nothing as if to lure them into complacency. The stars seemed brighter up here, so close that she could almost touch them, and the horned moon was huge in the clear black sky. As they climbed, Catelyn prepare it was better to look up than down. The steps were cracked and broken from centuries of freeze and thaw and the tread of countless mules, and even in the dark the high school put her heart in her throat. When they came to a high saddle amid two spires of rock, Mya dismounted. Its best to fly the coop the mules over, she said. The wind can be a little scary here, my lady.Catelyn climbed stiffly from the shadows and looked at the path ahead twenty feet long and close to three feet wide, but with a sheer drop to either side. She could hear the wind shrieking. Mya stepped lightly out, her mule following as calmly as if they were crossing a bailey. It was her turn. Yet no sooner had she taken her first step than fear caught Catelyn in its jaws. She could feel the emptiness, the vast black gulfs of air that yawned around her. She stopped, trembling, afraid to move. The wind screamed at her and wrenched at her cloak, trying to pull her over the edge. Catelyn edged her foot backward, the most timid of steps, but the mule was behind her, and she could not retreat. I am going to die here, she thought. She could feel cold sweat trickling down her back.Lady Stark, Mya called across the gulf. The girl sounded a thousand leagues away. are you well?Catel yn Tully Stark swallowed what remained of her pride. I . . . I cannot do this, child, she called out.Yes you can, the bastard girl said. I know you can. Look how wide the path is.I dont want to look. The world seemed to be spinning around her, mountain and sky and mules, twirl like a childs top. Catelyn closed her eyes to steady her ragged breathing.Ill come back for you, Mya said. Dont move, my lady.Moving was about the last thing Catelyn was about to do. She listened to the skirling of the wind and the scuffling sound of leather on stone. Then Mya was there, pickings her gently by the arm. Keep your eyes closed if you like. Let go of the rope now, Whitey will take care of himself. Very good, my lady. Ill lead you over, its easy, youll see. Give me a step now. Thats it, move your foot, just slide it forward. See. forthwith another. Easy. You could run across. Another one, go on. Yes. And so, foot by foot, step by step, the bastard girl led Catelyn across, blind and trembling, whi le the white mule followed placidly behind them.The waycastle called Sky was no more than a high, crescent-shaped wall of unmortared stone raised against the side of the mountain, but even the bare-breasted towers of Valyria could not have looked more beautiful to Catelyn Stark. Here at last the snow crown began Skys weathered stones were rimed with frost, and long spears of ice hung from the slopes above. infiltrate was breaking in the east as Mya Stone hallooed for the guards, and the furnish opened before them. Inside the walls there was only a serial publication of ramps and a great tumble of boulders and stones of all sizes. No doubt it would be the easiest thing in the world to begin an avalanche from here. A mouth yawned in the rock face in front of them. The stables and barracks are in there, Mya said. The last part is inside the mountain. It can be a little dark, but at least youre out of the wind. This is as far as the mules can go. Past here, well, its a sort of chimne y, more like a stone ladder than proper steps, but its not too bighearted. Another hour and well be there.Catelyn looked up. Directly overhead, pale in the daybreak light, she could see the foundations of the Eyrie. It could not be more than six hundred feet above them. From below it looked like a small white honeycomb. She remembered what her uncle had said of baskets and winches. The Lannisters may have their pride, she told Mya, but the Tullys are born with better sense. I have ridden all day and the best part of a night. Tell them to lower a basket. I shall ride with the turnips.The sun was well above the mountains by the time Catelyn Stark finally reached the Eyrie. A stocky, silver-haired man in a sky-blue cloak and hammered moon-and-falcon breastplate helped her from the basket Ser Vardis Egen, captain of Jon Arryns home plate guard. Beside him stood Maester Colemon, thin and nervous, with too little hair and too much neck. Lady Stark, Ser Vardis said, the pleasure is as g reat as it is unanticipated. Maester Colemon bobbed his head in agreement. therefore it is, my lady, indeed it is. I have sent word to your sister. She left orders to be awakened the instant you arrived.I hope she had a good nights rest, Catelyn said with a certain bite in her tone that seemed to go unnoticed.The men escorted her from the winch room up a spiral stair. The Eyrie was a small castle by the standards of the great houses seven slender white towers bunched as tightly as arrows in a quiver on a shoulder of the great mountain. It had no need of stables nor smithys nor kennels, but Ned said its granary was as large as Winterfells, and its towers could house five hundred men. Yet it seemed strangely deserted to Catelyn as she passed through it, its pale stone halls echoing and empty.Lysa was waiting alone in her solar, still clad in her bed garbs. Her long auburn hair tumbled unbound across bare white shoulders and down her back. A maid stood behind her, brushing out the nig hts tangles, but when Catelyn entered, her sister rose to her feet, smiling. Cat, she said. Oh, Cat, how good it is to see you. My sweet sister. She ran across the chamber and wrapped her sister in her arms. How long it has been, Lysa murmured against her. Oh, how very very long.It had been five years, in truth five cruel years, for Lysa. They had taken their toll. Her sister was two years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa had grown thick of body, pale and puffy of face. She had the blue eyes of the Tullys, but hers were pale and watery, never still. Her small mouth had turned petulant. As Catelyn held her, she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl whod waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been. All that remained of her sisters beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded to her waist.You look well, Catelyn lied, but . . . tired.Her sister broke the embrace. Tired. Yes. Oh, yes. S he seemed to notice the others then her maid, Maester Colemon, Ser Vardis. Leave us, she told them. I wish to say to my sister alone. She held Catelyns hand as they withdrew . . .. . . and dropped it the instant the door closed. Catelyn saw her face change. It was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. Have you taken leave of your senses? Lysa snapped at her. To bring him here, without a word of permission, without so much as a warning, to drag us into your quarrels with the Lannisters . . . My quarrels? Catelyn could scarce believe what she was hearing. A great fire burned in the hearth, but there was no trace of warmth in Lysas voice. They were your quarrels first, sister. It was you who sent me that cursed letter, you who wrote that the Lannisters had murdered your husband.To warn you, so you could stay away from them I never meant to fight them Gods, Cat, do you know what youve done?Mother? a small voice said. Lysa whirled, her heavy robe swirling around her. Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, stood in the doorway, clutching a ragged cloth doll and looking at them with large eyes. He was a distressingly thin child, small for his age and sickly all his days, and from time to time he trembled. The shaking sickness, the maesters called it. I heard voices.Small wonder, Catelyn thought Lysa had almost been shouting. Still, her sister looked daggers at her. This is your aunt Catelyn, baby. My sister, Lady Stark. Do you remember?The boy glanced at her blankly. I think so, he said, blinking, though he had been less than a year old the last time Catelyn had seen him.Lysa seated herself near the fire and said, Come to Mother, my sweet one. She straightened his bedclothes and fussed with his fine brown hair. Isnt he beautiful? And strong too, dont you believe the things you hear. Jon knew. The seed is strong, he told me. His last words. He kept saying Roberts name, and he grabbed my arm so hard he left marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. He wanted everyon e to know what a good strong boy my baby was going to be.Lysa, Catelyn said, if youre right about the Lannisters, all the more reason we must act quickly. WeNot in front of the baby, Lysa said. He has a delicate temper, dont you, sweet one?The boy is Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, Catelyn reminded her, and these are no times for delicacy. Ned thinks it may come to war.Quiet Lysa snapped at her. Youre scaring the boy. Little Robert took a quick gleam over his shoulder at Catelyn and began to tremble. His doll fell to the rushes, and he pressed himself against his mother. Dont be afraid, my sweet baby, Lysa whispered. Mothers here, nothing will hurt you. She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy breast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for it eagerly, buried his face against her chest, and began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.Catelyn was at a loss for words. Jon Arryns son, she thought incredulously. She remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age o f this boy and five times as fierce. Small wonder the lords of the Vale were restive. For the first time she understood why the king had tested to take the child away from his mother to foster with the Lannisters . . .Were safe here, Lysa was saying. Whether to her or to the boy, Catelyn was not sure.Dont be a fool, Catelyn said, the anger rising in her. No one is safe. If you think hiding here will make the Lannisters barricade you, you are sadly mistaken.Lysa covered her boys ear with her hand. Even if they could bring an army through the mountains and past the Bloody Gate, the Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No enemy could ever reach us up here.Catelyn wanted to slap her. Uncle Brynden had assay to warn her, she realized. No castle is impregnable.This one is, Lysa insisted. Everyone says so. The only thing is, what am I to do with this Imp you have brought me?Is he a bad man? the Lord of the Eyrie asked, his mothers breast popping from his mouth, the nipple lopsid ed and red.A very bad man, Lysa told him as she covered herself, but Mother wont let him harm my little baby.Make him fly, Robert said eagerly.Lysa stroked her sons hair. Perhaps we will, she murmured. Perhaps that is just what we will do.