"Poison?" This time, no one could remain calm. They had already guessed that Lysa and Littlefinger were highly likely to have murdered Jon Arryn with poison, but none of them had expected poison to trouble even little Robert at such a young age.
Ser Donnel stood some distance away. He was not yet close enough to enter the inner circle.
As for the logic behind the conspiracy, that Lysa Tully and Littlefinger had poisoned Lord Jon Arryn together so they could fly off as lovers, or so Lysa alone believed, everyone found it both absurd and horrifying, yet also quite credible. After all, nearly all the lords had heard something of the old affair between Lysa and Littlefinger.
The flock of suitors Lysa had gathered at The Eyrie was probably nothing more than a smokescreen. From beginning to end, she had loved only Littlefinger. Great Lord Jon was old, and Littlefinger had always been clever, quick-tongued, and full of sweet words.
Poison Lord Jon, seal the Bloody Gate, take hold of young Great Lord Robert, then have Littlefinger win himself a grand title from the Iron Throne, marry Lysa, and control the Vale. It was all entirely possible. Chaotic times bred chaotic ambitions. The lords of the Vale had simply never imagined that Littlefinger's ambition could be so vast. After all, he was born a petty lord from the Fingers. For an ordinary man, becoming Master of Coin would already have been a dream beyond reach, yet he wanted The Eyrie as well. Nor had they imagined Littlefinger was a true villain, a man who repaid kindness with betrayal and had no bottom line, while Lysa was a poisonous woman, blindly devoted to him and hopelessly obsessed.
"No heart is more venomous than a woman's. How many innocent girls, after being spurned in love, have cruelly murdered the men they adored? And that is before speaking of those who act for the sake of the one they love," Ser Barristan Selmy sighed. Not everyone truly cherished honor and oaths. That was true of White Knights, and true of marriage as well.
Anguy felt a chill down his spine as he listened. If the person sharing your bed was a poisonous woman, there was no guarding against her.
"When Lord Jon married Lysa, some knights hinted to him that Littlefinger's presence was dishonorable and an insult to House Arryn, and that he should be made to disappear quietly. But Lord Jon scolded them. He said Littlefinger was only a child, and that killing a child would be dishonorable," Bronze Yohn sighed. "Instead, Lord Jon listened to Lysa's pillow talk and let Littlefinger rise step by step. Unfortunately, what he nurtured was no grateful man, but a viper and a scorpion, and in the end they brought him down."
"My two nieces' marriages were both built on politics rather than love, yet their outcomes could not have been more different. Lysa certainly brought it on herself, but my brother... ah." Ser Brynden sighed. Had Great Lord Hoster not sold his second daughter at such a high price, things might not have come to this. Lord Jon wanted soldiers, and Great Lord Hoster wanted his foolish daughter, deflowered and miscarried, married into a great house.
Political marriages began from the same place, but Catelyn's fate had been far better than her sister's. Eddard Stark might not have been as handsome, imposing, and vigorous as Brandon Stark, but he was still a young and promising man. Jon Arryn was older even than Hoster. Two of Lysa's children had been stillborn, and she had suffered four miscarriages. In the end, the gods had given Lysa only one child, and he was sickly.
"The past is past. Right now, what matters is taking Lysa and protecting little Robert."
"Those skilled with poison understand its principles. They can make a young child sleep more, or fuss less for a while. In the end, it is only the toxin settling in over time. And Gulltown happens to be close to the other side of the Narrow Sea, so acquiring certain poisons would not be difficult," Gendry said. He knew something of poisons himself, though he was simply too lazy to use them. From Qyburn, he had learned a great deal about their properties and varieties.
"Little Robert has fits at the slightest provocation. I have also heard that Lysa gives him medicine to keep him quiet. She will not let the child leave her side for even a step, nor does she allow him any playmates. How is that child supposed to grow?" Blackfish frowned deeply. In truth, this was a kind of slow suicide, but Lysa valued the child so much that no one knew how much he had actually been given. Whatever Littlefinger said, Lysa would likely believe.
"Every maester's storeroom contains medicines and poisons. Anyone who knows how to use medicine naturally knows how to use poison as well." Medicine and poison were of one body. Many maesters of the Citadel studied the history and uses of various poisons alongside their healing arts, but poisons spread and served their purpose far more often in the Free Cities and among assassin guilds.
Before poison, even knights and kings lost the halo of strength and power. That was the magic of poison. Even cowards and women too weak to bind a chicken could wield tremendous power through it.
"Damn it. If Littlefinger and Lysa truly did this, their crimes cannot be forgiven." Bronze Yohn was furious. In the feudal society of the Seven Kingdoms, poison was feared and despised by knights and nobles. Many saw it as a treacherous hidden weapon used only by the decadent drunkards of the Free Cities.
"Poison is a coward's weapon, and Littlefinger happens to be a vicious coward," Ser Barristan said. Poison had always been seen as the weapon of cowards, eunuchs, bastards, and women.
"That is why Maester Colemon is important as well. He is the maester of The Eyrie. He handled part of Lord Arryn's treatment, so he naturally knows something about the young Great Lord's medicines too," Gendry said. The man was also a vital link in the chain of evidence. Of the three people involved in the plot against the Arryn father and son, two were already within reach.
Everyone nodded. If they were to go straight up to The Eyrie, several people had to be controlled: Lysa, the chief culprit; Maester Colemon, who knew the truth; Nestor, the steward of the Gates of the Moon; the young Great Lord, who needed protection; and then all those suitors.
"What is the situation in The Eyrie now? How many suitors are still there?" Gendry asked Ser Brynden.
Ser Brynden spoke. "For the past fourteen years, Lord Jon served in King's Landing, and during that time, Nestor Royce, the High Steward, managed affairs here. Many people believe he should act as Regent until the young Great Lord comes of age. Others believe Lysa ought to remarry, and the sooner the better. Even now, The Eyrie should still be crowded with suitors, as thick as crows on a battlefield. The most favored are Old Hunter and Lyn, who only likes young boys. But now, I think she is merely enjoying the game of being courted. The real man is still in King's Landing. She means to rule personally until her son grows up and becomes the true Great Lord of The Eyrie."
"Only those two are shameless enough for it. After all, they are always short of coin," Bronze Yohn said coldly.
Eon Hunter was even older than Jon. Gout had left him with a slight limp, and he had three sons who never stopped quarreling, each greedier than the last. Ser Lyn Corbray was another kind of absurdity. Slender and handsome, he was heir to the ancient but declining House Corbray, yet he was vain, quick-tempered, and acted without thinking. Some even whispered that he was famously uninterested in intimacy between men and women.
"With so many lords nearby, that may not be a bad thing," Gendry said. "Control the situation, then persuade them." What choice did these poor but ancient nobles have? They had to live somehow. Aside from nobles who controlled ports, trade routes, or certain industries, some Vale nobles lived rather bitter lives as well.
"Lord Nestor is our first step, but I fear he may not be as cooperative as we hope," Blackfish said thoughtfully to Bronze Yohn. Nestor Royce had served for many years as High Steward of the Vale and Guardian of the Gates of the Moon. Though he had never asked for a reward, he surely believed so many years of loyal service deserved a generous gift.
Blackfish was one of the few clear-headed members of House Tully, and he was sensitive to the workings of power. He had long seen how Lysa had changed, and understood that her search for a husband was a game of love rather than a sincere intention. But even he had not imagined Lysa could be so vicious and foolish, sinking straight below the bottom line. After all, the Seven Kingdoms had never before seen a Great Lord's lady so utterly deranged.
"Then I can only try courtesy first and force afterward, for the honor of House Royce," Bronze Yohn said.
"For the honor of House Tully." Blackfish Brynden gave a bitter smile. It was all torment, but for justice and the honor of House Tully, he had to act.
The slope beneath the horses' hooves began to level out, and the sun was already sinking in the west. The road gradually broadened and straightened. For the first time, Gendry noticed wildflowers and green grass by the roadside, signs that the air was growing warmer and the altitude lower. Once they reached the plains of the Vale, they moved even faster. They wasted no time, pressing on through green woods and quiet villages, past orchards and golden wheat fields, splashing through sunlit streams.
Ser Donnel sent his standard-bearer ahead, carrying a long pole with two banners flying from it: the crescent falcon of House Arryn above, and his own house's broken wheel below. All the riders had put away their cloaks and robes, leaving only the banners of House Arryn and House Waynwood to fly.
Farm carts, merchants' wagons, and riders from minor noble houses all moved aside to let them pass. This was a prosperous land, not yet disturbed by war. The faces of the people were busy and content, not panicked or tense.
Even so, by the time Gendry neared the strong castle at the foot of the Giant's Lance, night had fully fallen. Torches blazed along the battlements, and the crescent moon danced upon the black waters of the moat. The drawbridge had been raised, and the iron portcullis was down. Gendry could see firelight inside the gatehouse, and lamplight spilling from the windows behind the tower.
Ser Donnel's standard-bearer rode to the edge of the moat and called to the men in the tower, while more knights remained outside the tower's line of sight. Without Blackfish, it would have been hard to know the place so clearly.
Gendry first saw the Gates of the Moon, now the seat of Nestor, the High Steward of the Vale. This fortress at the mountain's foot had once belonged to the heir of House Arryn, the Guardian of the Gates of the Moon, but because the Arryn line had long been thin, it had occasionally been entrusted to others.
Gendry lifted his head toward the sky, looking not only at this fortress, which was not broad yet stood among the loftiest in the Seven Kingdoms. The Eyrie was a rare chain of castles, a series of defensive works rather than a single castle.
At first, Gendry saw only rocks and trees, the great mountains covered by night, black as a starless sky. Then he noticed a faint fire high above. It was the tower of a castle, built into a sheer cliff, its lights gazing down over the land like orange eyes. Above it stood another tower, higher and farther away, and above that another, almost no more than a bright spark in the night sky. Finally, at a height where only eagles soared, there was a patch of white light shimmering beneath the moon, while the Red Comet hung off to the other side.
Gendry looked up at the hazy pale towers high in the sky, and awe swept over him like a tide. House Arryn truly deserved its eagle totem. They lived in the heights like eagles themselves. Proud as eagles, bright as eagles, and unfortunately, as dull as eagles too.
The darkness also concealed the movement of the cavalry. Hidden in the night, they had made every effort to cover themselves, standing like a silent forest.