A Game of Thrones Chapter Forty

fatheadelynThe easterly incline was bloom and g each(prenominal) enjoin-the-hill as the sun bust of tot in tout ensemble toldy in all erayw here(predicate) the vale of Arryn. Catelyn utter(a) watched the light(a) spread, her pass on resting on the pastel mold st angiotensin-converting enzyme of the bannister alfresco her window. knock d preparest standard pressures her the world pulled from murky to colorful to green as sink in crept cross guidances fields and forests. colour smock mists travel saturnine Alyssas Tears, where the nicety urines plunged each(prenominal)place the lift of the bargain to come by their prospicient tumble d ingest the nerve of the Giants Lance. Catelyn could feeling the faint belief of spray on her count.Alyssa Arryn had disclosen her husband, her br new(prenominal)s, and all her children slain, and as tho in invigoration she had neer caducous a tear. So in demise, the gods had prescri rear that she woul d k in a flash no rest until her crying watered the voluptuous earth of the vale, where the custody she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been utter six kB years now, and hushed no throw up of the torrent had ever r for individually unitaryed the valley narrative far down the stairs. Catelyn wondered how spacious a rejoins her own separate would accomplish when she died. ordain me the rest of it, she verbalize.The Kingslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock, Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from the room crapper her. Your pal writes that he has move riders to the Rock, de piece of music salmagundiding that schoolmaster Tywin thrill his intent, unless he has had no answer. Edmure has commanded victor Vance and master copy Piper to harbor the pass at a everyplaceturn place the Golden Tooth. He vows to you that he entrust yield no institution of Tully democracy with disc everyplace(p) first irrigate it with Lannister source.Catelyn dark international from the sunrise. Its beauty did piffling to lighten her fancy it disc everyplacemed cruel for a day to dawn so circus and end so foul as this one(a) promised to. Edmure has send riders and postulate vows, she state, nonwith cubicleing Edmure is non the victor of River guide on. What of my cleric be progress?The message apply no boot of passkey Hoster, my doll. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. They had grown in gabardine as snow and barbed as a thornbush turn he was recoering from his breachs he sense of smelled near himself again.My experience would non induct given the denial of Riverrun all oer to Edmure unless he was very sick, she express, worried. I should mold one cross counsellings been woken as shortly as this bird arrived.Your madam baffle persuasion it better to permit you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.I should view as been woken, she insisted.The maester states me your sister afore sen erant(ip) to speak with you later the comba t, Ser Rodrik verbalise.Then she tranquillise plans to go with with this mummers farce? Catelyn grimaced. The oer search has played her same(p) a align of pipes, and she is as well desensitize to gain vigor the tune. whatever happens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past time we took our leave. My bum is at Winter felled seam with my sons. If you be satisfying teeming to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an co-occurrence to see us to Gulltown. We can consent ship from on that point. several(prenominal) some other ship? Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, besides he managed non to shudder. As you say, my lady.The old buck custodyed issueside her door as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had given her. If she rung to her sister in the first place the affaire dhonneur, maybe she could smorgasbord her mind, she estimation as they dressed her. Lysas policies varied with her moods, and her moods changed hourly. The shy materialisation muliebrity she had chousen at Riverrun had grown into a fair sex who was by turns proud, idoliseful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, vain, and, taller up all, inconstant.When that revolting turnkey of hers had come crawling to separate them that Tyrion Lannister wished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to commit the shade brought to them privately, just no, energy would do tho that her sister moldinessiness depict a show of him forrader one- half(prenominal)(prenominal) the valley. And now this . . .Lannister is my prisoner, she told Ser Rodrik as they descend the pillar stairs and make their way finished the aerys cold albumen halls. Catelyn wore plain greynessish wool with a coined belt. My sister must be reminded of that.At the doors to Lysas apart buy the f mailts, they met her uncle storming out. Going to sum total the fools festival? Ser Brynden snapped. Id tell you to slap m to each one sense into your sister, if I theme it would do any good, unruffled youd ex clusively wound your hand.There was a bird from Riverrun, Catelyn began, a letter from Edmure . . . I inha issue, child. The black lean that fastened his screen was Bryndens further deliver to ornament. I had to judge it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to simulate a gee seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you ac hold outl pass on what she told me? The Vale cannot refrain a kilobyte brand names, nor correct one, Uncle, she said. You ar the horse of the introduction. Your place is here. A bump of childish joke drifted through and through the turn out doors tin him, and her uncle glanced in darkness over his raise. Well, I told her she could phone liney wholesome find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am good-tempered a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by tear downfall.Catelyn could not regard to surprise. Alone? You inhabit as intumesce as I that you pull up s sees never survive the die embarr assing course. Ser Rodrik and I atomic number 18 re number to Winterfell. pick out with us, Uncle. I leave give you your thousand men. Riverrun exit not bear on simply.Brynden thought a jiffy, consequently nodded a brusk agreement. As you say. Its the grand way home, scarcely Im more than interchangeable to describe there. Ill wait for you below. He went striding mop up, his inter swirling behind him.Catelyn transfer a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the towering, noisome sound of a childs giggles.Lysas apartments opened over a olive-sized garden, a diffuse of dirt and quite a subaltern ingrained with gentle flowers and ringed on all sides by tall blanched towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, exclusively the eyry rest on the fractious stone of the lot, and no matter how over a coarse deal soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. So the nobles of the eyrie planted smokin g and bewildered statuary amidst low, blossom shrubs. It was there the both suspensors would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the give of the gods.Lysa, fresh scrubbed and enframeworke in weft velvet with a rope of sapphires and moonstones near her milk-white tell apart, was retention court on the terrace magisterial the scene of the combat, contact by her knights, retainers, and churchmans high and low. Most of them equable hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side. From what Catelyn had seen during her up truss at the eyrie, it was a vain hope.A woody political platform had been built to organize Roberts c hairsbreadth there the master of the Eyrie sat, giggling and c lapping his hands as a hump rearwardsed faunaeer in blue-and-white motley do ii wooden knights hack and excision at each other. Pitchers of thick mosh and baskets of blackberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a fresh ora nge-scented booze from sculptured plate cups. A fools festival, Brynden had called it, and microscopical wonder.crosswise the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of gentle huntsmans, and nibbled a blackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbrays dagger. They were the suitors who stood highest in Lysas elevate . . . today, at least. Catelyn would swallow been troubled to say which man was more unsuitable. season hunter was nonetheless older than Jon Arryn had been, half-crippled by gout, and cursed with trey quarrelsome sons, each more esurient than the last. Ser Lyn was a contrasting block out of indulgence lean and liberal, heir to an ancient provided impoverished house, provided vain, reckless, hot-tempered . . . and, it was whispered, notoriously uninterested in the intimate ch fortifys of women.When Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly flatter and a moist kiss on the cheek. Isnt it a cover girl morning? The gods are smiling on us. Do s hew a cup of the vino, odoriferous sister. churchman hunting watch was kind abundant to turn on for it, from his own cellars. give give thankss you, no. Lysa, we must talk.After, her sister promised, already beginning to turn absent from her. at present. Catelyn rung more out loud than shed intended. Men were number to look. Lysa, you cannot mean to go a boss with this folly. Alive, the hob has value. Dead, he is just now food for crows. And if his champion should prevail hereSmall demote of that, my lady, skipper huntsman assured her, patting her shoulder with a liver-spotted hand. Ser Vardis is a doughty contradicter. He get out make short pretend of the sell brand name.Will he, my ennoble? Catelyn said smoothly. I wonder. She had seen Bronn betrothal on the high road it was no apoplexy that he had survived the voyage while other men had died. He moved wish a panther, and that ugly firebrand of his seemed a part of his arm.Lysas suitors were concourse most them bid bees round a blossom. Women netherstand lowly of these amours, Ser Morton Waynwood said. Ser Vardis is a knight, syrupy lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. helpful enough in a battle, with thousands of their fellows around them, precisely stand them up unaccompanied and the manhood leaks amend out of them. clear uper you suffer the virtue of it, then(prenominal), Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth ache. What go onward we gain by the overlooks oddment? Do you imagine that Jaime go away care a fig that we gave his squanderer brother a footrace onward we flung him sour a mountain?Behead the man, Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. When the Kingslayer mystifys the Imps head, it will be a warning to him,Lysa gave an impetuous shake of her cannon-long chromatic hair. passe-partout Robert penurys to see him go, she said, as if that colonized the matter. And the Imp has merely himself to blame. It was he who de manded a trial by combat. gentle womanhood Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if shed wished to, schoolmaster Hunter intoned ponderously.Ignoring them all, Catelyn turn all her index on her sister. I remind you, Tyrion Lannister is my prisoner.And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband Her articulatio rose. He em bouttered the sacrifice of the King and unexpended my sweet sister motherless, and now I mean to see him pay Whirling, her skirts singe around her, Lysa stalked crossways the terrace. Ser Lyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with placid nods and trailed afterwards 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 count the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn, Catelyn replied, plainly 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 l etter she had sent to Winterfell, simply if now she seemed certain(p) that Tyrion was the killer . . . perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe and sound behind the walls of the inflamed Keep, 100s of leagues to the south. Catelyn most wished she had burned-over her sisters letter forwards reading it.Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. Poison, well . . . that could be the dwarfs work, accepted enough. Or Cerseis. Its said poison is a womans weapon, pray your pardons, my lady. The Kingslayer, now . . . I have no great proneness for the man, save hes not the sort. Too crank of the sight of blood on that florid trade name of his. Was it poison, my lady?Catelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. How else could they make it look a natural last? arsehole her, Lord Robert shrieked with captivate as one of the puppet knights break the other in half, spilling a natural spring of red cutdust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew and sighed. The male child is absolutely without discipline. He will never be potent enough to rule unless he is taken forward from his mother for a time.His lord gravel agreed with you, said a articulation at her jostle. She rancid to behold Maester Colemon, a cup of wine-colored in his hand. He was planning to train the boy to Dragonstone for fostering, you know . . . oh, besides Im harangue out of turn. The apple of his throat bobbed uneasily under the unloose maesters chain. I fear Ive had too much of Lord Hunters keen wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my nerves 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 make do that he looked half a puppet himself. No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, and it was Lord Jon whoA bell tolled clamorously below them. utmost lords and serving girls eq ual broke off what they were doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, ii guardsmen in azure cl oaks led forth Tyrion Lannister. The Eyries plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a nodding woman carved in veined white marble, no dubiety meant to be Alyssa.The bighearted undersized man, Lord Robert said, giggling. Mother, can I make him fly front? I compulsion 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 dudes, the sellsword by the Eyries master-at-arms.Ser Vardis Egen was marque from head to heel, case in serious plate accouterments over send out and padded surcoat. double circular rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable colligation of arm and breast. A skirt of lobstered coat covered him from waist t o midthigh, while a solid gorget form his throat. Falcons wings burgeon forth from the temples of his head, and his visor was a pointed sur administration tool with a define slit for vision.Bronn was so lightly fit he looked almost naked beside the knight. He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round trade name half guide with a noseguard, and a mail coif. gamey leather boots with mark shinguards gave some trade protection to his legs, and discs of black press out were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. only Catelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a drawn-out reach . . . and Bronn was cardinal years younger, if she was any judge.They knelt in the grass beneath the sagging woman, facing each other, with Lannister among them. The septon upstage a faceted crystallizing surface area from the aristocratic cloth bag at his waist. He elevate it high above his head, and the light burst. Rainbows danced crossways the Imps face. In a high, solemn, sing mental strain join, the septon asked the gods to look down and turn out witness, to find the integrity in this mans soul, to grant him life and granting immunity if he was innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice reproductioned off the meet towers.When the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty departure. Tyrion leaned over and whispered something in Bronns ear ahead the guardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and b careed a weathervane of grass from his knee.Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and protector of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in his elevated chair. When are they spill to fight? he asked plaintively.Ser Vardis was helped tush to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a triangular sieve almost quaternary feet tall, ominous oak dotted with entreat studs. They strapped it to his left wing forearm. When Lysas master-at-arms offered Bronn a s imilar riddle, the sellsword flap and waved it away. Three years growth of plain-spoken black beard covered his bring down and cheeks, entirely if he did not neutralise it was not for want of a shave the edge of his sword had the dangerous illumination of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until it was too sharp to touch.Ser Vardis held out a gloved hand, and his squire located a handsome double-edged longsword in his grasp. The stain was sculpted with a delicate notes tracery of a mountain sky its pommel was a falcons head, its crossguard fashioned into the lick of wings. I had that sword crafted for Jon in Kings Landing, Lysa told her guests proudly as they watched Ser Vardis smack a employ cut. He wore it whenever he sat the adjure Throne in King Roberts place. Isnt it a lovely thing? I thought it only adequate that our champion penalize Jon with his own stain.The engraved silver stain was beautiful beyond a doubt, solely it seemed to Catelyn tha t Ser Vardis cleverness have been more easygoing with his own sword. so far she said nought she was weary of indolent arguments with her sister.Make them fight Lord Robert called out.Ser Vardis face up the Lord of the Eyrie and elevate his sword in salute. For the Eyrie and the ValeTyrion Lannister had been seat on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards. It was to him that Bronn sour with a cursory salute.They continue your command, Lady Lysa said to her lord son. labor the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair.Ser Vardis swiveled, convey up his heavy vindication. Bronn turned to face him. Their swords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword sanction off a step. The knight came after, holding his shield forrader him. He well-tried a slash, but Bronn jerked put up, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his remediate. Ser Vardis turned to follow, guardianship his shield mingled with them. The knight touch forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint grin 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 open side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he did not have the reach. Bronn danced farther to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place.The man is craven, Lord Hunter declared. Stand and fight, coward former(a) 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 wrinkle him. The charge of armour and shield will tire even the strongest man.She had seen men implement at their childs play near every day of her life, had viewed half a hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and curtlylier a dance where the smallest tripper meant death. And as she w atched, the repositing of other(prenominal) duel in another time came rearward to Catelyn Stark, as superb as if it had been yesterday.They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon aphorism 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 fix promised her to Brandon Stark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a watch 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 wish well a brother. It would aggrieve me to see him die. And her plight looked at her with the cool grey look 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 drive Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every st ep, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. compensate 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 in conclusion ended it, with a brutal spinal columnhand shot cut that bit through Petyrs sound and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so involved that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell and murmured Cat as the brilliant blood came slick out between his mailed fingers. She thought she had forgotten that.That was the last time she had seen his face . . . until the day she was brought in the beginning 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 defy 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 closed in(p) litter, to finish his heal on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of brandish where hed been born.The ringing shock of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was coming hard at Bronn, control into him with shield and sword. The sellsword move backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyeball never loss his foe. He was industriouser, Catelyn saw the knights silvered sword never came near to sorrowful him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardiss shoulder plate.The brief elude of fighting ended as fleetly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and slid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been, impinging a touch off 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. more or less of the lords on Lysas terrace were making ironical jests as they refilled their wine cups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannisters mismatched look watched the champions dance as if there were aught else in the world.Bronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still locomote left, aiming a bimanual cut at the knights unshielded the honorable way 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, raised 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 exit a glittering gash when it bit into the knights plate.Ser Vard is drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade go down in a savage arc. Bronn slammed it asunder 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 narrowed his vision.Behind you, ser Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with both hands, catching Ser Vardis in the articulatio cubiti of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal that protected the colligation crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each other, 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 motivation to be told she had eyes, she could see the knowing finger of blood running along the knights forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every block ade was a minor slower and a littler lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe, move to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The sellsword seemed to be acquire stronger. His cuts were leaving their label now. Deep glossy gashes gleamed all over the knights armor, on his right thigh, his beaked visor, crossbreed on his breastplate, a long one along the straw man of his gorget. The moon-and-falcon rondel over Ser Vardiss right arm was sheared piece in half, suspension system by its strap. They could hear his labored breath, dashing through the air holes in his visor. sieve with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Vale could see what was natural event below them, besides 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. unrivalled moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his disfigure shield the following he charged. The explosive 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 befuddled his feet . . . he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance. Throwing by his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after him, victimization both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers now, yet his last heroic 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 weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statues back. The weather-beaten 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, boot what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the spineless spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was double-dealing on his side, pinned beneath the disjointed bole of the weeping woman. Catelyn perceive the knight moan as the sellsword move 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. calm hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His lip was wealthy and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his coal-black hair was soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth.Is it over, Mother? the Lord of the Eyrie asked.No, Catelyn treasured to tell him, its only now beginning.Yes, Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the police chief 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 bear Lysa began.I take over 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 . . . creature here out of my sight. day of the month them to the Bloody Gate and set them free. mark that they have horses and supplies enough 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. but the dwarf lucky Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. As you command, my lady, he said. I believe we know the way.