Lysa became somewhat deranged. "Uncle, Vardis, Nestor, have you all rebelled? Are you betraying my and Lord Arryn's kindness? These men are traitors to the Iron Throne, Robert's Bastard, the traitor Barristan, and the traitor Yohn of the Vale!"
"We are not traitors, Lady Lysa!" Gendry said coldly, his voice ringing like steel. "There is nothing more tragic in the world than a wife poisoning her husband, and Lord Jon never anticipated that his beloved wife was a viper-like, vicious woman. Poison is the trick of women and cowards, and how could Lord Arryn suspect his own wife? You betrayed Lord Arryn, and so did Littlefinger."
"You lie, how could I, how could I..." Lysa shrieked incoherently, then turned to her suitors. "Is there no one to fight for my honor?"
"Honor? Your honor?" Gendry almost laughed. He took a step forward, his tall figure seeming to suffocate those around him, like a bright longsword drawn from its sheath, its sharpness fully revealed. "Carousing with Littlefinger, killing Arryn?"
"You're spouting nonsense!" Lysa stood up, refusing to back down.
"My Lady, I think you should let him finish," Old Earl Hunter said softly. "After all, a King has come."
"The King's son has come to see you, and you can simply meet him. Besides, the Vale cannot always remain aloof."
Many Lords, suitors, and Knights pretended to look at the sky. A joust was honorable, but a joust was not suicide. Could they compare themselves to a Khal or the Kingslayer?
"Of course I have clues. You were dissatisfied with King Robert, and also with Lord Arryn. The King wanted to send the Child to Casterly Rock. At that time, Lord Arryn was investigating the royal bloodline, he had visited brothels, investigated clues, and thus wanted to send the Child to Dragonstone to be fostered by Lord Stannis. Is that not right?
Lord Walder remembered clearly, because he also wanted to take Sweet Robin as his foster son. But you couldn't let the Child leave his mother's side for a moment, so you fell for Littlefinger's enticement and gave Lord Arryn some poison, perhaps the colorless, odorless Tears of Lys. Later, Maester Colemon began to induce vomiting, and was then driven away by Pycelle. And after that, you wrote to the North saying that Lannister had killed Lord Jon. Is that not so?"
"No, it's not." But Lysa's words lacked conviction. Her voice immediately trembled, and her face looked even stranger. From the story's logic, at least this assassination story, though shocking, was very real. After all, everyone knew of her pathological control over the Child.
"What Littlefinger said, you did, My Lady."
"Lord Vardis, am I right?"
Ser Vardis nodded. "Lord Jon wanted to send Robin to Dragonstone, I know this. As for Ser Hugh, he was Lord Jon's Attendant, he didn't come with us, but he died mysteriously in King's Landing."
"Catelyn also mentioned that letter to me," Ser Brynden Blackfish nodded as well.
"Ser Vardis, go fetch Colemon," Gendry said.
"Yes," Vardis looked at Lysa coldly, as if he were Gendry's subject. "My Lady, if this is true, we must avenge Lord Arryn."
Many of the blue robes instantly left, going to find Maester Colemon.
"They are not my guests! I command you to kill them! Kill them for me!" Lysa shrieked. She grabbed a sword and laid the unsheathed blade across her knees. Denying guest rights was a traditional custom.
Lysa then pulled over a falcon from the balcony, opening its cage directly. The falcon flew out of the birdcage. "This is a gift from the whoring King! I give it to you, Bastard!" This meant that the sacred guest rights had ended.
With the falcon flying in the hall, Lysa was also seeking her own death.
But few of the blue robes on the balcony were willing to act. A dozen blue robes shuffled hesitantly, their crossbows unstrung, their longswords unsheathed, unsure whether they should resort to force, and faintly wanting to control Lysa. They felt no warmth for this foolish woman; if she had truly killed their beloved master, they would have wished to kill her themselves. As for the squire, Knights, and Lords great and small, they were even more hesitant. A cloud of murder brewed in the air, and Lady Lysa was utterly mad.
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