A Game of Thrones Chapter Forty

CatelynThe eastern sky was rose and gold as the sun bust everywhere the Vale of Arryn. Catelyn Stark watched the decrepit spread, her hands resting on the diffuse shape stone of the balustrade come inside her window. Below her the world dark from benighted to indigo to green as dawn crept crosswise field and forests. Pale white mists rose absent Alyssas Tears, where the ghost waters plunged everyplace the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long tumble down the count of the Giants Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on her impertinence.Alyssa Arryn had actualizen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and merely in life she had neer shed a tear. So in terminal, the gods had decreed that she would k like a shot no rest until her weep watered the slowamoor earth of the Vale, where the hands she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand days directly, and still no drop of the torrent had ever r from each oneed the valley theme far on a lower floor. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would occupy when she died. Tell me the rest of it, she state.The baronslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock, Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from the room place her. Your brother writes that he has direct riders to the Rock, de worldding that senior pilot Tywin proclaim his intent, only when he has had no answer. Edmure has commanded Lord Vance and Lord Piper to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth. He vows to you that he get let on yield no hind end of Tully land with reveal first watering it with Lannister blood.Catelyn glum away from the sunrise. Its beauty did commandish to lighten her mood it seemed cruel for a day to dawn so f nervous strain and end so foul as this one promised to. Edmure has sent riders and made vows, she express, however Edmure is non the Lord of Riverrun. What of my lord dumbfound?The message made no mention of Lord Hoster, my lady. Ser Rodrik tugge d at his whiskers. They had grown in white as s immediately and bristly as a thornbush piece he was recovering from his wounds he looked al approximately himself a accession.My father would non gift given the defense of Riverrun over to Edmure unless he was very sick, she said, worried. I should retain been woken as soon as this bird arrived.Your lady sister theme it better to let you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.I should corroborate been woken, she insisted.The maester tells me your sister planned to give tongue to with you after the combat, Ser Rodrik said.Then she still plans to go through with this mummers farce? Catelyn grimaced. The dwarf has played her like a set of pipes, and she is too deaf to escort the tune. Whatever happens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past cartridge clip we took our leave. My place is at Winterfell with my sons. If you atomic number 18 untouchable rich to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an escort to see us to Gulltown. We ignore take ship from in that location.Another ship? Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, moreover he managed not to shudder. As you say, my lady.The old horse cavalry waited outside her gate as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had given her. If she spoke to her sister before the duel, maybe she could agitate her mind, she thought as they dressed her. Lysas policies varied with her moods, and her moods changed hourly. The shy girl she had cognise at Riverrun had grown into a charwoman who was by turns proud, maintenanceful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, unsatisfying, and, above all, inconstant.When that offensive turnkey of hers had come crawling to tell them that Tyrion Lannister wished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to have the dwarf brought to them privately, but no, nothing would do but that her sister must make a show of him before half the Vale. And now this . . .Lannister is my prisoner, she told Ser Rodrik as they desc terminate the tower stairs and made their way through the eyrys cold white halls. Catelyn wore plain greyness wool with a silvered belt. My sister must be reminded of that.At the doors to Lysas apartments, they met her uncle storming out. discharge to join the fools festival? Ser Brynden snapped. Id tell you to slap some sense into your sister, if I thought it would do whatsoever good, but youd only bruise your hand. on that take was a bird from Riverrun, Catelyn began, a letter from Edmure . . . I know, child. The black tip that fastened his cloak was Bryndens only concession to ornament. I had to hear it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to take a thousand seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you know what she told me? The Vale cannot spare a thousand mark, nor change surface one, Uncle, she said. You are the nickname of the Gate. Your place is here. A black eye of childish laughter drifted through the open doors crapper him, and her uncle glanced darkly over his shoulder. Well, I told her she could bloody well find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am still a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by evenfall.Catelyn could not pretend to surprise. Alone? You know as well as I that you will never conk the high road. Ser Rodrik and I are re turning to Winterfell. Come with us, Uncle. I will give you your thousand men. Riverrun will not fight alone.Brynden thought a blink of an eye, then nodded a brusque agreement. As you say. Its the long way home, but Im more like to get there. Ill wait for you below. He went striding off, his cloak swirling bottom him.Catelyn exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the high, nervous sound of a childs giggles.Lysas apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of ground and grass planted with blue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the catchy stone of the mountain, and no matter how practicall y soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take nail down here. So the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering shrubs. It was there the deuce champions would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods.Lysa, freshly scour and gar strike out in cream velvet with a rope of sapphires and moonstones some her milk-white neck, was holding court on the terrace overlooking the scenery of the combat, surrounded by her knights, retainers, and lords high and low. Most of them still hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side. From what Catelyn had seen during her stay at the Eyrie, it was a vain hope.A wooden platform had been built to elevate Roberts chair there the Lord of the Eyrie sat, giggling and clapping his hands as a unfit cockeer in blue-and-white motley made two wooden knights hack and lecture at each other. Pitchers of thick cream and baskets of blac kberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a mellifluous orange-scented wine from engraved silver cups. A fools festival, Brynden had called it, and small wonder.Across the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of Lord Hunters, and nibbled a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbrays dagger. They were the suitors who stood highest in Lysas favor . . . today, at least. Catelyn would have been grueling- touch to say which man was more unsuitable. Eon Hunter was even older than Jon Arryn had been, half-crippled by gout, and blessed with three quarrelsome sons, each more grasping than the last. Ser Lyn was a divers(prenominal) sort of folly lean and handsome, heir to an ancient but wiped out(p) house, but vain, reckless, hot-tempered . . . and, it was verbalise, notoriously uninterested in the intimate charms of women.When Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly em bring up and a moist kiss on the cheek. Isnt it a lovely morning? The gods are smilin g on us. Do feat a cup of the wine, sweet sister. Lord Hunter was kind profuse to send for it, from his own cellars.Thank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.After, her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her.Now. Catelyn spoke more loudly than shed intended. hands were turning to look. Lysa, you cannot mean to go ahead with this folly. Alive, the extremely low frequency has value. Dead, he is only food for crows. And if his champion should prevail hereSmall chance of that, my lady, Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand. Ser Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the sell wind vane.Will he, my lord? Catelyn said coolly. I wonder. She had seen Bronn fight on the high road it was no chance that he had survived the journey while other men had died. He move like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm.Lysas suitors were congregation around them like bees round a blossom. Women understand little o f these things, Ser Morton Waynwood said. Ser Vardis is a knight, sweet lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. utile enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the manhood leaks right out of them.Say you have the loyalty of it, then, Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth ache. What will we gain by the dwarfs death? Do you imagine that Jaime will care a fig that we gave his brother a trial before we flung him off a mountain?Behead the man, Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. When the Kingslayer receives the Imps head, it will be a warning to him,Lysa gave an agitated shake of her waist-long auburn hair. Lord Robert wants to see him fly, she said, as if that settled the matter. And the Imp has only himself to blame. It was he who demanded a trial by combat. lady Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if shed wished to, Lord Hunter chant ponderously.Ignoring them all, Catelyn turned all her force on her sister. I remind you, Tyrion Lannister is my prisoner.And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband Her vocalization rose. He poisoned the Hand of the King and unexpended my sweet mar fatherless, and now I mean to see him pay Whirling, her skirts swinging around her, Lysa stalked crosswise the terrace. Ser Lyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with cool nods and trailed after her.Do you think he did? Ser Rodrik asked her quietly when they were alone again. Murder Lord Jon, that is? The Imp still denies it, and most fiercely . . . I believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn, Catelyn replied, but whether it was Tyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say. Lysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed certain that Tyrion was the killer . . . perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south. Ca telyn most wished she had burned her sisters letter before reading it.Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. Poison, well . . . that could be the dwarfs work, true enough. Or Cerseis. Its said poison is a womans weapon, begging your pardons, my lady. The Kingslayer, now . . . I have no neat liking for the man, but hes not the sort. Too fond of the sight of blood on that golden sword of his. Was it poison, my lady?Catelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. How else could they make it look a natural death? Behind her, Lord Robert shrieked with delight as one of the puppet knights sliced the other in half, spilling a flood of red sawing machinedust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew and sighed. The son is utterly without discipline. He will never be unassailable enough to rule unless he is taken away from his breed for a time.His lord father agreed with you, said a voice at her articulatio cubiti. She turned to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. He was planning to send the son to Dragonstone for fostering, you know . . . oh, but Im speaking out of turn. The apple of his throat bobbed anxiously beneath the loose maesters chain. I fear Ive had too much of Lord Hunters excellent wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my jitteriness all a-fray . . . You are mistaken, Maester, Catelyn said. It was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and those arrangements were made after the Hands death, without my sisters consent.The maesters head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he looked half a puppet himself. No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord Jon whoA bell tolled loudly below them. High lords and serving girls alike bust off what they were doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks led forrader Tyrion Lannister. The Eyries plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.The boastful little m an, Lord Robert said, giggling. Mother, can I make him fly? I want to see him fly.Later, my sweet baby, Lysa promised him.Trial first, drawled Ser Lyn Corbray, then execution.A moment later the two champions appeared from opposite sides of the garden. The knight was attended by two young squires, the sellsword by the Eyries master-at-arms.Ser Vardis Egen was steel from head to heel, encased in level-headed plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Large rotary rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable juncture of arm and breast. A skirt of lobstered metal covered him from waist to midthigh, while a truehearted gorget encircled his throat. Falcons wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal piece with a narrow slit for vision.Bronn was so gently armored he looked some naked beside the knight. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm wi th a noseguard, and a mail coif. High leather boots with steel shinguards gave some guard to his legs, and discs of black iron were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. Yet Catelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a longer reach . . . and Bronn was fifteen years younger, if she was any judge.They knelt in the grass beneath the weeping woman, facing each other, with Lannister in the midst of them. The septon removed a faceted crystal sphere from the soft material bag at his waist. He lifted it high above his head, and the light shattered. Rainbows leapingd crosswise the Imps face. In a high, solemn, singsong voice, the septon asked the gods to look down and live with witness, to find the truth in this mans soul, to grant him life and freedom if he was innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice recalled off the surrounding towers.When the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty departure. Tyrion leaned over an d whispered something in Bronns ear before the guardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and napped a blade of grass from his knee.Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in his elevated chair. When are they outlet to fight? he asked plaintively.Ser Vardis was helped prickle to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a triangular sieve almost four feet tall, heavy oak dotted with iron studs. They strapped it to his leftfield forearm. When Lysas master-at-arms offered Bronn a similar shield, the sellsword spat and waved it away. Three days growth of coarse black beard covered his jaw and cheeks, but if he did not skim it was not for want of a razor the edge of his sword had the heartbreaking glimmer of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until it was too sharp to touch.Ser Vardis held out a gauntleted hand, and his squire placed a handsome ambiguous longsword in his grasp. The blade was engraved wi th a delicate silver tracery of a mountain sky its pommel was a falcons head, its crossguard fashioned into the shape of wings. I had that sword crafted for Jon in Kings Landing, Lysa told her guests proudly as they watched Ser Vardis try a enforce cut. He wore it whenever he sat the Iron Throne in King Roberts place. Isnt it a lovely thing? I thought it only naming that our champion avenge Jon with his own blade.The engraved silver blade was elegant beyond a doubt, but it seemed to Catelyn that Ser Vardis might have been more light with his own sword. Yet she said nothing she was weary of futile arguments with her sister. grant them fight Lord Robert called out.Ser Vardis faced the Lord of the Eyrie and lifted his sword in salute. For the Eyrie and the ValeTyrion Lannister had been seated on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards. It was to him that Bronn turned with a cursory salute.They await your command, Lady Lysa said to her lord son.Fight the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair.Ser Vardis swiveled, b mob up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him. Their swords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword plunk for off a step. The knight came after, holding his shield before him. He tried a slash, but Bronn jerked affirm, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his right. Ser Vardis turned to follow, keeping his shield in the midst of them. The knight pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint smile playing over his lips. Ser Vardis attacked, slashing, but Bronn leapt away from him, hopping lightly over a low, moss-covered stone. Now the sellsword circled left, away from the shield, toward the knights unprotected side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he did not have the reach. Bronn danced far to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place.The man is craven, Lord Hunter declared. Stand and fight, coward diff erent voices echoed the sentiment.Catelyn looked to Ser Rodrik. Her master-at-arms gave a curt shake of his head. He wants to make Ser Vardis chase him. The tilt of armor and shield will tire even the reinforcedest man.She had seen men dress at their swordplay near every day of her life, had viewed half a hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and deadlier a dance where the smallest stumble meant death. And as she watched, the memory of another(prenominal) duel in another time came back to Catelyn Stark, as vivid as if it had been yesterday.They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. Petyr had begged her for a favor he might wear, but she had turned him away. Her lord father promised her to Brandon Stark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As she pressed it into his hand, she pleaded with him. He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die. And her betrothed looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a Stark and promised to spare the boy who loved her.That fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, and he drove Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. Yield he called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that billet through Petyrs rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured Cat as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers. She thought she had forgotten that.That was the last time she had see n his face . . . until the day she was brought before him in Kings Landing.A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester nurse him she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandons squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a shut litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of quiver where hed been born.The ringing clash of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was coming hard at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. The sellsword scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. He was quicker, Catelyn saw the knights silvered sword never came near to touching him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardiss shoulder plate.The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and slid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the pale marble of Alyssas thigh.Theyre not fighting good, Mother, the Lord of the Eyrie complained. I want them to fight.They will, sweet baby, his mother soothed him. The sellsword cant run all day.Some of the lords on Lysas terrace were making ironic jests as they refilled their wine cups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannisters mismatched eyes watched the champions dance as if there were nothing else in the world.Bronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the knights unshielded right side. Ser Vardis blocked, but clumsily, and the sellswords blade flashed upward at his head. Metal rang, and a falcons wing collapsed with a crunch. Ser Vardis took a half step back to brace himself, displaced his shield. Oak chips flew as Bronns sword hacked at the wooden wall. The sellsword stepped left again, away from the shield, and caught Ser Vardis across the stomach, the razor edge of his blade leaving a bright gash when it bit into the knights plate.Ser Vardis drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade descending in a wildcat well arc. Bronn slammed it aside and danced away. The knight crashed into the weeping woman, rocking her on her plinth. Staggered, he stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe. The slit visor of his helm change his vision.Behind you, ser Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with two(prenominal) hands, catching Ser Vardis in the elbow of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal that protected the joint crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each ot her, and their steel song filled the garden and rang off the white towers of the Eyrie.Ser Vardis is hurt, Ser Rodrik said, his voice grave.Catelyn did not need to be told she had eyes, she could see the bright finger of blood running along the knights forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every parry was a little slower and a little lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe, trying to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The sellsword seemed to be getting stronger. His cuts were leaving their marks now. Deep shiny gashes gleamed all over the knights armor, on his right thigh, his peck visor, crossing on his breastplate, a long one along the former of his gorget. The moon-and-falcon rondel over Ser Vardiss right arm was sheared clean in half, hanging by its strap. They could hear his labored breath, rattling through the air holes in his visor.Blind with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Val e could see what was happening below them, yet her sister could not. Enough, Ser Vardis Lady Lysa called down. Finish him now, my baby is growing tired.And it must be said of Ser Vardis Egen that he was true to his ladys command, even to the last. One moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his scarred shield the undermentioned he charged. The sudden bull rush caught Bronn off balance. Ser Vardis crashed into him and slammed the lip of his shield into the sellswords face. Almost, almost, Bronn lost his feet . . . he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance. Throwing aside his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after him, using both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers now, yet his last dreaded blow would have opened Bronn from neck to navel . . . if the sellsword had stood to receive it. but Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryns beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the marble elbow of the w eeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statues back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her.Bronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side, pinned beneath the confused torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his weight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and lay still.Silence hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His lip was smashed and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his sooty hair was soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth.Is it over, Mother? the Lord of the Eyrie asked.No, Catelyn wanted to tell him, its only now beginning. Yes, Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the captain of her guard.Can I make the little man fly now?Across the garden, Tyrion Lannister got to his feet. Not this little man, he said. This little man is going down in the turnip hoist, thank you very much.You presume Lysa began.I presume that House Arryn remembers its own words, the Imp said. As High as Honor.You promised I could make him fly, the Lord of the Eyrie screamed at his mother. He began to shake.Lady Lysas face was flushed with fury. The gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent, child. We have no choice but to free him. She lifted her voice. Guards. Take my lord of Lannister and his . . . zoology here out of my sight. Escort them to the Bloody Gate and set them free. delay that they have horses and supplies sufficient to reach the Trident, and make certain all their goods and weapons are returned to them. They shall need them on the high road.The high road, Tyrion Lannister said. Lysa allowed herself a faint , satisfied smile. It was another sort of death sentence, Catelyn realized. Tyrion Lannister must know that as well. Yet the dwarf favored Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. As you command, my lady, he said. I believe we know the way.