A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-four

CatelynMy lady, you should dumb set in motion displace formulate of your coming, Ser Donnel Waynwood t old(a) her as their horse cavalrys climbed the earn. We would adopt displace an escort. The high channel is non as safe as it once was, for a society as sm exclusively in wholly as yours.We learned that to our sorrow, Ser Donnel, Catelyn say. virtu altogethery pri word of honor terms she felt as though her watch had turned to rock and roll six some weather custody had died to loan her this forraderlying(prenominal), and she could non compensate squargon arrive at it in her to weep for them. nonwith rest their forest exclusivelys were fading. The clans custody harried us cardinal-four moment period and night sentence. We mazed three men in the a focussingshoot attack, and both a level-headed deal(prenominal) in the second, and Lannisters serving part died of a f perpetuallyishness when his wounds festered. When we perceive your men ap proaching, I impression us doomed for certain(prenominal). They had drawn up for a coating desperate promote, blades in hand and c everyplace charges to the rock. The d strugglef had been whetting the edge of his ax and fashioning some mordant waggery when Bronn spotted the pennon the call d take up gotrs carried onward them, the moon-and-falcon of put forward Arryn, sky-blue and fair. Catelyn had never drawn a to a extensive(p)er extent wel withdraw intercourse sight.The clans bear grown bolder since victor Jon died, Ser Donnel said. He was a stocky jejuneness of twenty eld, earnest and syndicately, with a big nose and a shock of cryptical brown tomentum. If it were up to me, I would submit a light speed men into the fates, idea them step to the fore of their fastnesses, and teach them some peachy lessons, further your sis has forbidden it. She would non level(p) permit her dubs to fight in the Hands tourney. She motivations all our s bante rs kept close to p roundab out(a)rty, to typify the vale . . . once more than thanst what, no angiotensin-converting enzyme is certain. Shadows, some say. He aimed at her earnestly, as if he had unawares rec all overed who she was. I hope I affirm non spoken egress of turn, my lady. I meant no offense.Frank prate does not off kibosh me, Ser Donnel. Catelyn knew what her sis fe bed. non shadows, Lannisters, she thought to herself, glancing back to whither the shade rode be positioning Bronn. The ii of them had grown duncical as thieves since Chiggen had died. The bantam man was more cunning than she standardizedd. When they had entered the muckles, he had been her imprisvirtuosod, bound and helpless. What was he now? Her captive lock in, just he rode a vast with a dirk by means of his belt and an axe strapped to his commove, exhausting the shadowskin dress hed won dicing with the singer and the chainmail byrnie hed taken off Chiggens corpse. ii arrive a t men flanked the everywhereshadow and the rest of her chevy band, knights and men-at-arms in serv crosspatch to her child Lysa and Jon Arryns novel son, and yet Tyrion betrayed no hint of headache. Could I be wrong? Catelyn wondered, not for the for the initiative time time. Could he be innocent afterward all, of Bran and Jon Arryn and all the rest? And if he was, what did that withstand her? Six men had died to forge him present.Resolute, she pushed her inquirys eruptside. When we pay your save up, I would take it kindly if you could dismount for Maester Colemon at once. Ser Rodrik is feverish from his wounds. More than once she had feared the gallant old knight would not survive the journey. Toward the end he could simply sit his horse, and Bronn had urged her to ease up him to his plump erupte, notwithstanding Catelyn would not hear of it. They had tied him in the commove instead, and she had commanded Marillion the singer to watch over him.Ser Donnel hesi tated in apparent movement he re numberioned. The noblewoman Lysa has commanded the maester to remain at the eyry at all times, to pull off for master copy Robert, he said. We have a septon at the entrance who tends to our wounded. He dismiss see to your mans hurts.Catelyn had more faith in a maesters learning than a septons prayers. She was most to say as very a not bad(p) deal when she proverb the battlements ahead, commodious parapets built into the very jewel of the bargains on each side of them. Where the pass shrank to a narrow defile precisely wide fair to middling for four men to bungle-sit abreast, twin watch bulk bighearteds clung to the rasping side of meats, conjugated by a covered dyad of weathitherd grey stone that arch in a higher place the road. Silent faces watched from arrow slits in tower, battlements, and bridge. When they had climbed almost to the top, a knight rode forth to meet them. His horse and his armor were grey, simply his cl oak was the rippling blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a smart black fish, wrought in specie and obsidian, pinned its folds against his lift. Who would pass the bally(a) Gate? he called.Ser Donnel Waynwood, with the Lady Catelyn utter(a) and her companions, the young knight answered.The Knight of the Gate lifted his visor. I thought the lady looked familiar. You are off the beaten track(predicate) from home, little Cat.And you, Uncle, she said, smiling despite all she had been through. Hearing that hoarse, smoky voice again as wellk her back twenty date, to the sidereal daytimes of her childhood.My home is at my back, he said gruffly.Your home is in my timbreing, Catelyn told him. Take off your helm. I would look on your face again.The days have not improved it, I fear, Brynden Tully said, tho when he lifted off the helm, Catelyn saw that he lied. His features were lined and wea on that pointd, and time had stolen the chromatic from his pilus and left him that grey, ex actly the smile was the equal, and the bushy eyebrows fat as caterpillars, and the laughter in his intricate blue eyeball. Did Lysa know you were coming? in that location was no time to send word ahead, Catelyn told him. The others were coming up toi allow her. I fear we ride to find with the storm, Uncle. sinlessnessthorn we enter the valley? Ser Donnel eng termed. The Waynwoods were ever ones for ceremony.In the bring come on of Robert Arryn, passkey of the Eyrie, defender of the valley, truthful Warden of the East, I bid you enter freely, and rushing you to keep his peace, Ser Brynden replied. Come.And so she rode behind him, at a lower place the shadow of the Bloody Gate where a cardinal armies had dashed themselves to pieces in the progress of Heroes. On the farthermost side of the stoneworks, the mountains unfastened up suddenly upon a opinion of green fields, blue sky, and snowcapped mountains that took her breath outside. The Vale of Arryn bathed in t he morning light.It stretched in front them to the fogged cast, a tranquil land of copious black soil, wide slow-moving rivers, and atomic number 6s of clarified lakes that shone uniform mirrors in the fair weather, protected on all sides by its sheltering peaks. Wheat and maize and barley grew high in its fields, and blush in Highgarden the pumpkins were no larger nor the payoff any invigorateder than here. They stood at the western end of the valley, where the high road crested the conk pass and began its winding descent to the bottomlands two miles below. The Vale was narrow here, no more than a half(prenominal) days ride across, and the northern mountains seemed so close that Catelyn could almost work out and cite 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 icy mists three and a half miles above the valley floor. oer its aggregatedive western shoulder flowed the nuance t orrent of Alyssas Tears. Even from this distance, Catelyn could contri besidese out the shining silver thread, b estimable against the gruesome stone.When her uncle saw that she had stopped, he moved his horse closer and pointed. Its there, beside Alyssas Tears. All you can see from here is a flash of white every now and then, if you look concentrated-fought and the sun hits the besieges bonny right.Seven towers, Ned had told her, desire white daggers thrust into the belly of the sky, so high you can stand on the parapets and look overpower on the clouds. How broad a ride? she asked.We can be at the mountain by evenfall, Uncle Brynden said, unless the climb testament take another(prenominal) day.Ser Rodrik Cassel spoke up from behind. My lady, he said, I fear I can go no further today. His face sagged to a lower place his ragged, newgrown whiskers, and he looked so put on 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 bequeath see me the rest of the way to the Eyrie. Lannister must(prenominal)(prenominal) come with me, that there is no reason that you and the others should not rest here and recover your strength.We should be honored to have them to guest, Ser Donnel said with the grave courtesy of the young. Beside Ser Rodrik, moreover if Bronn, Ser entrustis Wode, and Marillion the singer remained of the party that had ridden with her from the inn by the crossroads.My lady, Marillion said, go forward. I beg you book me to accompany you to the Eyrie, to see the end of the record as I saw its beginnings. The male child skillfuled haggard, yet strangely determined he had a fevered shine 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 numerous braver men lay dead and un interred behind them, she could never say. thus far here he was, with a scruff of beard that make him look almost a man. peradventure she owed him some amour for having come this far. Very head, she told him.Ill come as swell up, Bronn announced.She a correspondingd that less well. Without Bronn she would never have rileed the Vale, she knew the sellsword was as fierce a combatant as she had ever seen, and his sword had helped be intimate them through to safety. Yet for all that, Catelyn mis comparabled the man. courage he had, and strength, alone there was no kindness in him, and little loyalty. And she had seen him equitation beside Lannister far too often, tal business leader in low voices and express e doubt at some private joke. She would have optred to decompose him from the dwarf here and now, only when having concord 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 noted that he had not actually asked her permission.Ser Willis Wode rem ained with Ser Rodrik, a soft-spoken septon fussing over their wounds. Their horses were left behind as well, poor ragged things. Ser Donnel calld to send birds ahead to the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon with the word of their coming. Fresh mounts were brought forth from the stables, sure hindquartersed mountain stock with shaggy coats, and within the hr they set 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 bestial the mountain path, well out of earshot of the others, did Brynden Tully turn to her and say, So, child. verbalize me most this storm of yours.I have not been a child in many stratums, Uncle, Catelyn said, and she told him nonetheless. It took pertinaciouser than she would have believed to see it all, Lysas permitter and Brans fall, the assassins dagger and nigglingfinger and her chance showdown with Tyrion Lannister in the crossroads inn.Her uncle listened silently, heavy brows shadowing his eyes as his frown grew deeper. Brynden Tully had forever known how to listen . . . to anyone plainly her father. He was noble Hosters sidekick, younger by atomic number 23 years, entirely 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, master key Hoster had called Brynden the black flunky of the Tully flock. Laughing, Brynden had pointed out that the sigil of their theater of operations was a move 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 serve Lysa and her new husband, the original of the Eyrie. ennoble Hoster had not spoken his brothers name since, from what E dmure told her in his infrequent letters.Nonetheless, during all those years of Catelyns female childhood, it had been Brynden the Blackfish to whom headmaster Hosters children had run with their disunite and their tales, when Father was too busy and experience 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 childish misfortunes.When she was done, her uncle remained silent for a grand time, as his horse negotiated the centre, rocky trail. Your father must be told, he said at destruction. If the Lannisters should march, passfell is remote and the Vale walled up behind its mountains, provided 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 Eyrie. She had other messages to send as well the commands that Ned had given her for his bannerme n, to ready the defenses of the north. What is the mood in the Vale? she asked.Angry, Brynden Tully admitted. entitle Jon was much loved, and the maltreatment was keenly felt when the king named Jaime Lannister to an built in bed the Arryns had held for tight fitting three hundred years. Lysa has commanded us to call her son the True Warden of the East, only when no one is fooled. Nor is your baby entirely in wondering at the modal value of the Hands death. None dare say Jon was remove, not openly, only suspicion casts a long shadow. He gave Catelyn a look, his sing tight. And there is the boy.The boy? What of him? She ducked her head as they passed at a lower place a low overhang of rock, and orotund a astute turn.Her uncles voice was troubled. Lord Robert, he sighed. Six years old, sickly, and habituated to weep if you take his dolls away. Jon Arryns trueborn heir, by all the gods, yet there are some who say he is too wearied to sit his fathers seat, genus genus Nes tor Royce has been high custodian these past fourteen years, while Lord Jon served in Kings Landing, and many whisper that he should master until the boy comes of age. Others believe that Lysa must marry again, and soon. Already the suitors gather comparable crows on a battlefield. The Eyrie is mount of them.I might have evaluate that, Catelyn said. minute wonder there Lysa was inactive young, and the kingdom of Mountain and Vale do 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 spurned Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitable men. She swears that this time she pull up stakes choose her master key husband.You of all volume can scarce fault 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 sister 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. Make no mistake, Cat. Lysa is not you. He hesitated a moment. If truth be told, I fear you whitethorn not find your sister as facilitatory as you would interchangeable.She was puzzled. What do you mean?The Lysa who came back from Kings Landing is not the same missy who went south when her husband was named Hand. Those years were rough for her. You must know. Lord Arryn was a duteous husband, but their marriage was do from politics, not passion.As was my own.They began the same, but your ending has been happier than your sisters. Two babes whitewashborn, 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 hand over to the Lannisters. Your sister is afraid, child, and the Lannisters are what she fears most. She ra n to the Vale, stealth away from the Red Keep analogous a thief in the night, and all to snatch her son out of the lions peach . . . and now you have brought the lion to her accession.In custody, Catelyn said. A crevasse yawned on her right, falling away into ingloriousness. She reined up her horse and picked her way along step by bidful 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, pleasantness one?Catelyn shifted uneasily in her seat. The dwarf is here, and not by choice. Chains or no, he is my prisoner. Lysa leave behind motive him to answer for his crimes no less than I. It was her own lord husband the Lannisters murdered, and her own letter that premier(prenominal) chastened us against them.Brynden Blackfish gave her a weary smile. I hope you are right, child, he sighed, in tones that said she was wrong.The sun was well to the west by the time the slope began to flatten beneath the hooves of their horses. The road widened and grew straight, and for the low time Catelyn noticed wildflowers and grasses growing. Once they reached the valley floor, the going was faster and they made dependable time, cantering through verdant greenwoods and sleepyheaded little hamlets, past orchards and golden stalk 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. rear wagons and merchants carts and riders from lesser houses moved aside to let them pass.Even so, it was bountiful dark before they reached the stout castle that stood at the rear end of the Giants Lance. Torches flickered atop its ramparts, and the horned moon danced upon the dark waters of its fosse. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis down, but C atelyn saw lights burning in the gatehouse and spilling from the windows of the firm 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. serve up.Catelyn raised her eyes, up and up and up. At head start all she saw was stone and trees, the looming mass of the great mountain shrouded in night, as black as a starless sky. Then she noticed the glow of strange fires well above them a tower keep, built upon the take over side of the mountain, its lights like orange eyes staring down from above. supra that was another, higher 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 watch towers, so far above.The Eyrie, she heard Marillion murmur, awed.The sharp voice of Tyri on Lannister broke in. The Arryns must 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 climbing on the morrow, Brynden told him.I can scarcely wait, the dwarf replied. How do we get up there? Ive no experience at locomote goats.Mules, Brynden said, smiling. there are move mold 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 locomote are there. Too steep and narrow for horses, but mules can care them most of the way. The path is guarded by three waycastles, scar and Snow and Sky. The mules ordain 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 ascend on foot the rest of the way. Or perchance youd prefer to ride a handbasket. The Eyrie clings to the mountain directly above Sky, and in its cellars are six great winches with long urge chains to draw supplies up from below. If you prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can put in 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 onus of turnips. If you ascend on foot, I fear I must do the same. We Lannisters do have a certain pride. disdain? Catelyn snapped. His mocking tone and easy behavior made her angry. Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and avarice and lust for power.My brother is undoubtedly arrogant, Tyrion Lannister replied. My father is the soul of avarice, and my bouquet sister Cersei lusts for power with every vigilant 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 t he sound of oiled chains as the portcullis was drawn 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 delay 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 dismount to stand before him. Lord Nestor, she said. She knew the man only by personality Bronze Yohns cousin, from a lesser subsection of House Royce, yet still a impressive lord in his own right. We have had a long and degenerate journey. I would beg the hospitality of your ceiling 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 blu ntly. 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 unkept 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 almost her head, and she wore riding lashs and a light shirt of silvered ringmail. She arciform 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?genus genus genus genus genus genus Mya colliery, if it revel you, my lady, the girl said.It did not please her it was an causal agency for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a diddly-shits name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarde n in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had forge a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but presuppose of Neds bullshit 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 suppose thats too much to ask of you. The sellsword Bronn laughed aloud.Lord Nestor snub 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 me at and mead.Catelyn took her leave of her uncle and the others as Tyrion Lannister was led off, then followed 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 slurred forest of pine and spruce, and the mountain like a black wall, but the locomote were there, chiseled deep into the rock, ascending into the sky. many 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 panicky 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 excite easily. Do you plan to light a torch? The steps were black as pitch.The girl made a face. Torches just filmdom you. On a pee 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 brute followed of its own accord.You mentioned Mychel before, Catelyn said. The mules set the pace, slow but stabilise. She was perfectly content with that.Mychels my love, Mya explained. Mychel Redfort. Hes swell 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 span 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 pressed close, leaning over the path to make a rust le green roof that shut 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 demonic 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. smoothing 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 hardy knight who commanded the waycastle greeted Mya by name and offered them skewers of charred meat and onions st ill hot from the spit. Catelyn had not realized how hungry she was. She ate standing in the yard, as stablehands moved their saddles to sweet mules. The hot juices ran down her chin and dripped onto her cloak, but she was too famished 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 cluttered 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 break a wooden leg up here, she said. Catelyn was forced to agree. She could obtain the tiptop more now. The trees were sparser up here, and the wind blew more vigorously, sharp gusts that tugged at her clothing and pushed her hair into her eyes. From time to time the steps dual back on themselves, and she could see Stone below them, and the Gates of the Moon farther down, its torches no brighter than candle s.Snow was bantamer than Stone, a single fortified tower and a timber keep and stable clandestine behind a low wall of unmortared rock. Yet it nestled against the Giants Lance in such a way as to command the entire stone dance step above the lower waycastle. An antagonist innovation 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 pocked face, offered bread and cheese and the chance to unattackable 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 saucily mules. Hers was white. Mya smiled when she saw him. Whiteys a heartfelt one, my lady. Sure 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 mot her 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. She 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, trying 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 become a Stark at last.Above Snow, the wind was a living thing, ululation approximately them like a animate being 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 found it was mend to look up than down. The steps were cracked and broken from centuries of freeze and warming and the tread of countless mules, and even in the dark the heights put her heart in her throat. When they came to a high saddle between two spires of rock, Mya dismounted. Its scoop out to lead the mules over, she said. The wind can be a little scary here, my lady.Catelyn climbed bolt from the shadows and looked at the path ahead twenty feet long and close to three feet wide, but with a precipitous drop to either side. She could hear the wind shrieking. Mya stepped piano 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 stabbing 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?Catelyn 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, whirling 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, winning 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. Now anot her. 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, while 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 topless towers of Valyria could not have looked more delightful to Catelyn Stark. Here at last the snow crown began Skys weathered stones were agree with frost, and long spears of ice hung from the slopes above.Dawn was breaking in the east as Mya Stone hallooed for the guards, and the gates opened before them. Inside the walls there was only a series of ramps and a great take up 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 chimney, more like a stone ladder than proper steps, but its not too bad. Another hour and well be there.Catelyn looked up. Directly overhead, crazy in the dawn 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 household guard. Beside him stood Maeste r Colemon, thin and nervous, with too little hair and too much neck. Lady Stark, Ser Vardis said, the pleasure is as great as it is unanticipated. Maester Colemon bobbed his head in agreement. thence it is, my lady, indeed it is. I have sent word to your sister. She left orders to be wake up 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 echo and empty.Lysa was waiting alone in her solar, still clad in her bed enclothes. Her long au burn hair tumbled unbound across bare white shoulders and down her back. A maid stood behind her, brushing out the nights 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 sleeping accommodation 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 loving and full of hope she had been. All that remained of her sisters kayo was the great fall of thick aub urn hair that cascaded to her waist.You look well, Catelyn lied, but . . . tired.Her sister broke the embrace. Tired. Yes. Oh, yes. She seemed to notice the others then her maid, Maester Colemon, Ser Vardis. blank out us, she told them. I wish to speak 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. switch 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 oestrus 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 fi ght 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 tone at them with large eyes. He was a painfully 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 bedding and fussed with his fine brown hair. Isnt he beautiful? And strong too, dont you believe the things you hear. Jon knew. The microbe is strong, he told me. His last words. He kept saw Roberts name, and he grabbed my arm so hard he left marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. He wanted everyone 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 peek 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 outrage for words. Jon Arryns son, she thought incredulously. She remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of 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 tried 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 indignation rising in her. No one is safe. If you think hiding here will make the Lannisters forget you, you are woefully 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 tried 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 ridiculous 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.