The river water soaked Lysa Arryn's skirt.
The wet skirt clung to her legs, making every step incredibly heavy.
After swimming across the river, she was practically dragged, stumbling and fleeing along the muddy riverbank.
Riverrun behind her, the castle where she was born and raised, now seemed like a giant beast devouring lives.
Firelight and screams were left far behind.
Yet, the strong scent of blood at her nose was like a parasite, impossible to shake off.
"Petyr! My Petyr!"
Lysa mumbled incoherently, clutching the man's sleeve tightly with one hand.
As if it were her only piece of driftwood in the surging flood.
"I knew it! I knew you wouldn't die!"
"The Seven bless you, you're alive!"
Her voice was filled with excitement and lingering fear, tears and river water mixed together, smearing her face.
She didn't care about the slaughtered Frey, didn't care about her poisoned brother and uncle lying on the ground, and didn't even care about the downfall of House Tully.
She only cared about one thing.
He was alive.
Petyr Baelish, the man she had loved her entire life, was alive!
That was enough.
Everything she had done was for revenge for Petyr.
Littlefinger fell in love with Lysa's sister, Catelyn.
Lysa, in turn, deeply loved Littlefinger.
And the root of all this evil began after Littlefinger was gravely wounded in a duel for Catelyn, and Lysa nursed him back to health.
"Quiet, my little Lysa."
Petyr's low voice sounded in her ear.
This endearment made Lysa's heart feel as if it were gripped by a warm hand.
All her fear and unease were instantly soothed.
He always called her that.
During those unknown nights that belonged only to the two of them.
Petyr led her, skillfully turning into a dense forest.
The commotion behind them was completely cut off, leaving only the rustling of wind through the leaves and their own hurried breaths.
After running for an unknown amount of time, Petyr finally stopped, leading her into a cave concealed by vines.
The cave was dry and hidden. Petyr pulled out a flint from somewhere and quickly lit a small pile of dry branches.
The flickering orange flames dispelled the chill of the night, and finally gave Lysa a chance to clearly see the man who had returned from the dead.
He was still Petyr.
His thin cheeks, his meticulously groomed goatee, and a well-tailored black robe.
Even in their escape, he maintained an impeccable sense of decorum.
But he also seemed different somehow.
His eyes, still that grayish-green, were now so profound that one couldn't see through them.
His movements had also changed.
The Petyr of old was elegant, composed, like a shadow moving among the powerful.
But just now, in the Great Hall, facing those monstrous warriors, the skill he displayed... that swiftness, that deadliness, Lysa had never seen before.
"Petyr..."
Lysa's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor.
"They... they showed me your head... at The Eyrie... that head..."
She dared not recall that image.
That wide-eyed, lifeless head had been her deepest nightmare for days.
"A trick, my dear little Lysa."
Petyr sat by the fire, casually tossing a dry branch into the flames.
"Just Lynn's game, he wanted you to think I was dead, to make you completely despair."
"And he succeeded."
"He used your love for me to achieve his goal."
His voice was calm and unruffled, as if he were talking about a trivial matter unrelated to himself.
"But... your fighting skills..."
Lysa finally asked her biggest doubt.
"When did you... become so powerful?"
"Even those strange people... you could..."
Petyr didn't answer immediately.
He just gazed silently at the fire, the flickering flames reflecting two eerie lights in his grayish-green pupils.
For a moment, only the crackling of burning wood filled the cave.
Just as Lysa thought he wouldn't answer, and the hint of doubt in her heart was about to take root, Petyr slowly raised his head.
His gaze, piercing through the flames, met Lysa's eyes directly.
"Because I saw God."
His voice was soft, yet it carried a strange magic that instantly captivated all of Lysa's attention.
"God?"
Lysa was stunned.
"Yes, the true God."
Petyr's lips curved into a half-smile.
"At the moment I was closest to death, I saw Him."
"The Seven... they stood before me."
"The Mother bestowed her mercy upon me."
"She said that your love for me is the purest flame in this world, and it should not be extinguished."
"She said that our love is blessed by her."
These words struck Lysa's heart like a bolt of lightning!
Her mind went blank, all reason, all doubt, were completely swept away by the torrent of ecstasy in that instant!
Yes!
It must be so!
Her and Petyr's love was sacred!
It was blessed by the gods!
That's why he was resurrected!
That's why he possessed god-like power!
"The Warrior taught me how to fight, and the Father bestowed wisdom upon me."
Petyr's voice, like the whisper of a demon, continued to sound in her ear.
"They gave me a second life, for only one purpose."
"That is to return to your side, to protect you, my little Lysa."
"Petyr!"
Lysa could no longer control herself.
She let out a suppressed cry, scrambling forward to Petyr and hugging him tightly.
"I knew it! I knew it!"
She buried her face in his cold robe, weeping loudly.
All the grievances, fears, and despair of these past days turned into hot tears.
Petyr reached out and gently stroked her hair.
His movements were gentle, but his eyes were as cold as frost.
He looked at the woman in his arms, who had completely collapsed because of a few lies from him, and who believed in him implicitly.
In the depths of his grayish-green eyes, a trace of imperceptible mockery and disgust flashed.
Fool.
When Lysa's emotions had somewhat calmed, Petyr helped her up.
He cupped her face, gently wiping away the tear stains.
"There, there, don't cry anymore."
"Now, we have more important things to do."
Petyr's tone became serious.
This change also made Lysa instantly calm down.
"What is it?"
"Our son."
Petyr gazed into her eyes, enunciating each word.
"Robert?"
Lysa's heart tightened abruptly.
"My good son! How is he? Did that demon Lynn hurt him?"
"He is safe for now."
Petyr's voice carried a convincing power.
"I have been observing in secret."
"Lynn kept him at The Eyrie, but did not harm him."
"The Eyrie..."
A trace of despair flashed in Lysa's eyes.
"That's Lynn's territory now, how can we get in? How can we rescue him?"
"Others can't, but I can."
Petyr's face revealed that confident smile of someone in control of everything.
"Don't forget, The Eyrie is also our home."
"Every secret passage, every corner there, I know like the back of my hand."
"Lynn's men are just a bunch of bandits who took over our house, they know nothing about it."
His words were like a shot of adrenaline, making Lysa's heart, which had sunk to the bottom, see hope again.
"I can take you in."
"And quietly take our son away without anyone noticing."
"Our son..."
Lysa murmured these words, her eyes gleaming with a sickly light.
Yes, Robert was their son.
The crystallization of her and Petyr's love!
Although... although his father was nominally that old man Jon Arryn.
But in her heart, Petyr was Robert's only father!
"Once we have Robert,"
Petyr's voice became incredibly gentle, as he painted a picture she had always dreamed of for Lysa.
"We will leave this wretched place, Westeros."
"We'll go to Essos, to Pentos, or Myr, and buy a seaside estate."
"There will be endless sunshine and unlimited sweet wine."
"No more wars, no more conspiracies, no more damned kings and nobles."
"Just the three of us."
"Our family, together forever."
"Okay?"
Lysa stared blankly at him, at the gentle "love" in his eyes, at the beautiful future he sketched for her.
She felt as if she was about to be drowned by this sudden happiness.
"Okay..."
Lysa nodded vigorously.
Afraid that if she hesitated, the beautiful dream before her would shatter.
"Okay! Petyr! We'll go! We'll go get our son! Our family, together forever!"
She threw herself into his arms again.
This time, it was no longer crying, but filled with infinite longing and ecstasy for the future.
Petyr held her, a gentle smile on his face.
Petyr gently patted her back, as if comforting a child who had finally received candy.
"Sleep, my dear."
"Get enough rest, we still have a long way to go."
Under his soothing, Lysa, who had endured days of fear and a bloody massacre, had reached her physical and mental limits.
At this moment, she finally fell into a deep sleep in her lover's arms, amidst beautiful fantasies of the future.
Hearing the even breathing from within his embrace, the smile on Petyr's face vanished instantly and completely.
He looked down at the woman in his arms, her face stained with tears, still clutching his sleeve tightly in her sleep, his eyes devoid of any pity, only cold indifference.
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