The comet's tail cut across the morning sky like a bloodstained sword, bleeding over the lonely heights of The Eyrie.
"Beautiful. The dreamland of the Andals." Gendry stood on the white-stone balcony of the Maiden's Tower, with a view that looked down over the Vale. The white falcon had taken to him and followed him every day. Outside, the wind howled, but the scenery was breathtaking.
Gendry was tall and long-legged. He wore a velvet robe of gold, black, and red, and with his deep blue eyes and short, tousled black hair, he looked even more slender and graceful. Two weapons hung at his waist. One was the Dragonbone-hilted Arakh scimitar, a Valyrian steel divine weapon and a symbol of the warrior. The other was Lord Jon Arryn's sword, which Ser Vardis had asked him to accept in order to avenge House Arryn.
The Maiden's Tower was the easternmost of the seven slender towers of The Eyrie, giving it the clearest, most unobstructed view. Beneath the morning light, forests, rivers, and fields spread lazily below, while sunlight glittered on the mountain peaks like countless golden pyramids from legend.
"You had better be careful." Gendry looked at the beautiful white falcon, his new pet. If it ever met a little dragon, it might be swallowed in one bite. After being away for some time, Gendry missed his silver-haired girl Daenerys, his black-and-red Dragon Balerion, and the foundation and companions he had across the Narrow Sea. But he had to seize this window opened by war. Great deeds came from hardship, and shining opportunities had to be grasped.
"Prince Gendry, you should have stayed in the Moon Tower," Lord Bronze Yohn Royce said. "That is Great Lord Arryn's residence."
"That place would remind me of sad things. Poor Great Lord Jon." Gendry said to Bronze Yohn. This was also a show of respect for Great Lord Jon Arryn. That place too easily called to mind the poor old man and the mad woman.
"The Eyrie is not at its most beautiful right now," Bronze Yohn added. "When winter comes, the Giant's Lance is covered in snow, and it is especially beautiful. In summer, on the cliffs where Alyssa's Tears surge down, icicles twenty feet high can hang from the rock. But by then, the Arryns must go to the Gates of the Moon to shelter from the cold."
"Winter will likely come in about a year," Ser Barristan Selmy, the white knight, said to Gendry, worry on his face. "The Northerners say the Red Comet is the sword that cuts down the seasons. Not long after the Red Comet appeared, the white ravens brought word from Oldtown that autumn had arrived."
The climate of Westeros was famously irregular. Summer and winter were the longest seasons, while spring and autumn were brief transitions.
"If winter comes, it will be the harshest Long Winter in ages, something rarely seen in a thousand years," Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, said with a sigh, his red-and-blue cloak bright against the wind. "This past summer lasted ten years and several dozen days, the longest summer in living memory. In return, a ten-year winter is bound to be cruel."
"Ever since the Dragons left, summers seem to have grown shorter and winters longer. Until this last summer, many fools said it was the beginning of an endless summer, that the gods favored King Robert." Ser Barristan glanced at Gendry. Gendry had a dragon, but in this place, that top-secret truth was known only to him and Anguy.
Gendry turned those words over in his mind. In theory, it seemed right, because Dragons were creatures of blood and fire. The coming of winter meant the battle between ice and fire would hasten, Dragon against Night King, light against darkness, summer against winter. Only by destroying the Others could there be longer summers.
Anguy could not help shivering all over. "A ten-year winter. Gods save us."
Jon Snow's face tightened as he remembered the old stories. Snow falling without end, people without homes, no food to eat, nowhere to fill their bellies. Good men selling themselves to feed their wives and children, cruel men selling their wives and children to buy food for themselves.
History has changed because of me, but winter has not, Gendry thought as he looked at the Red Comet. Because the Dragon had hatched, the Red Comet had arrived a little earlier, though not by much.
The Red Comet had appeared at the end of 298, though not on the final day. First came the deaths of Khal Drogo, the witch, and Viserys, then the hatching of the Dragon and the arrival of the Red Comet, and after that, the death of King Robert.
"The Long Winter will be cruel. All we can do is fight this battle as well as we can," Gendry said. Hawks might soar above The Eyrie, but even falcons could not withstand the cold. Only the Stag and the Dragon had the power to resist the bitter winter.
Behind him, Jon Snow nodded as well. "My father always said Winter is Coming. Now winter has truly come."
"You were right to have Robb trim his forces and plan again. The North is the kingdom most affected by the Long Winter. If so many men die in the south, the North will not be able to endure it," Bronze Yohn said, still shaken.
For the North to charge down like this had been a desperate choice, but it wasted grain and manpower, and would make their suffering in the coming Long Winter far worse. If the war could not be ended within a year, their support would shrink rapidly. Normally, the Northerners gathered strength slowly before marching, but this time they truly had no choice.
"Have you seen the looks in the eyes of the Boltons? The Boltons, the Karstarks, even the Umbers. Robb has the ability to start a war, but not the ability to end one," Gendry said. This was Robb's greatest hidden danger. His bannermen loved him, but he could not command them like his own hands and feet, much less control the whole situation. Robb was, after all, the Young Wolf pushed to the front, and the Northern lords had always gone their own way. The gods had given him too little time.
Jon nodded and gave a fair answer. "That is not entirely Robb's fault. Everything happened too suddenly. We were not ready for winter."
"The main thing is that House Stark does not have many adults left," Jon added in a low voice. Like House Arryn, the main line of House Stark had also suffered a shortage of people before, without many strong branch relatives. There had also been the Winterfell turmoil more than a century ago, the She-Wolves of Winterfell.
Rickard and Eddard, father and son, had at least changed that situation. Lady Catelyn, foolish though she was, had borne House Stark many children. But two of Great Lord Rickard's children had died violently in the south, while now Eddard was in King's Landing and Benjen was in the Night's Watch. As a result, the main Stark line was being carried by Eddard's children.
"That is true." Bronze Yohn spread his hand. "Lord Eddard has few relatives left. If you count further down, it comes to our house." House Royce had once been kings of the First Men, and had always had a good relationship with House Stark, with occasional marriages between them.
Robb Stark's grandfather had been an only child, while his great-grandfather's sister, Jocelyn Stark, had married the youngest son of Lord Raymar Royce. The two had three daughters, all of whom married Vale lords. The eldest married into House Waynwood, the second into House Corbray, and the youngest seemed to have married into House Templeton.
As Gendry listened to them, he thought it was still more reliable to have many children. Otherwise, there would not even be enough relatives to send out as regional commanders. But with House Arryn and House Stark, it was only the main line that had few people. There were plenty from cadet and illegitimate lines. House Arryn's poor relations were scattered all through the Vale of Arryn.
Just then, Ser Vardis in his sky-blue robe and the haggard Maester Colemon hurried onto the balcony of the Maiden's Tower.
The Eyrie was now being managed in good order. Most news would not be allowed out, and the lords still remained as guests in The Eyrie, especially with Lyn Corbray involved.
"Prince, my lords. Lysa has already confessed the pattern and timing of Littlefinger's letters," Ser Vardis reported. Silver-haired, strong-bodied, wearing a sky-blue cloak and a crescent-falcon breastplate, Vardis still had a touch of joy on his face.
"My lords, ravens have also come from King's Landing. There are letters from the Iron Throne, and Littlefinger's private letter as well," the frail, uneasy Maester Colemon added. He had too little hair and a neck that was far too long. He handed the envelopes to Gendry and the others, and the letters bore the wax seal of the mockingbird.
"What are the Iron Throne and that brat of a king demanding?" Bronze Yohn asked.
"The same as before. They want us to send troops. The important thing is Littlefinger's letter."
"Littlefinger's tail is showing," Ser Barristan said as he opened the letter. Aside from the usual sweet words, flattery, and flirtation, the heart of it was Littlefinger's warning. He told Lysa to hold the Vale fast, remain unmoving as a mountain, and under no circumstances send out a single soldier. He would return to see her when the time was right, and find a way for them to be together forever.
"Our chance has come," the Blackfish said. He could not help looking forward to killing the child he had once cherished and cared for in his youth.
They had all changed. Times were different now. The wild wolf's sword had failed to kill Petyr back then, but it had raised a scourge, one who climbed upward by stepping on the bones of others.
"So long as he dares leave King's Landing and return to the Vale, he will be walking to his death," Ser Vardis said viciously. He wished he could kill Littlefinger a hundred times, a thousand times.
"Lysa will write back to him. She wants to see Young Lord Robert," Maester Colemon said.
Gendry listened quietly. Littlefinger was meticulous, but Lysa was a burden he could not avoid. The woman was mad, obsessed, and had little sense, while Sweetrobin was her weakness. The Lysa whom Littlefinger looked down upon contained factors he could not control, so his long-term plans would likely include finding a way to kill her.
"Let Lysa write the letter," Ser Vardis suggested to Maester Colemon. "At least when it comes to her child, she is honest, unless she loves Littlefinger more than everything else."
Gendry nodded as well. It was a decent suggestion, one that could draw the mockingbird into the game. Otherwise, he would not have kept waiting in the Vale.
"I understand." Maester Colemon nodded. Lysa was not especially literate, and the contents of her letters were almost formulaic. "The letter will be the same as before. She will talk about those annoying suitor lords and fools, then say how desperately she longs to see her beloved."
"The letter to Littlefinger needs to sound natural. There is no need to polish it too carefully. Lysa should not be so mad that she would abandon everything. Maester, there is another letter as well, one meant only for Lord Marq Grafton of Gulltown," Gendry said. "Once the fish takes the bait, Gulltown must draw in the net at once. It is time Littlefinger's little tricks were made public, along with those loyal vassals of his."
"Yes."
"How is Sweetrobin's health?" Gendry asked Colemon and Vardis.
"Great Lord Robert's body is much the same as before. The main issue is that he is without his mother and her milk now, and that will take a long time to change. I am considering having him slowly grow used to cow's milk. But now that he has those children to keep him company, he can at least smile a little. That beaten Marillion can also play a tune for him and help him sleep more soundly," Maester Colemon said. "However, with his body as it is, he cannot become a proper squire or young knight for the time being."
"Princess Mya is also helping manage The Eyrie now. Everything is in good order," Vardis said with a bow.
Mya knew every path well. She had long served as The Eyrie's guide and supply runner. So long as Vardis and Nestor took care to train her, she would progress quickly. Besides, she had been born and raised in the Vale, so finding her footing here would be easy enough.
"That's good." Gendry nodded. Even if he left The Eyrie, he needed to make proper arrangements for Sweetrobin, and for his sister.
He thought again of the child who had flown up from his palm, the laughing child, the poor little eagle.
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