The mountain road from the Vale to the Riverlands was rugged and difficult.
Lysa Arryn's convoy was like a grey snake wriggling among the craggy rocks.
She didn't ride in a comfortable carriage but chose to ride a horse.
The biting mountain wind messed up her hair but couldn't blow away the madness in her eyes.
The letter brought by the raven made her disbelieve.
She didn't believe it!
When she stood before her father alive with her son, with the future of House Arryn, her father could still say such heartless words!
Father was old, muddled.
Sister Catelyn married a Stark, and her heart turned into Northern ice and snow, forgetting the sisterly affection between them.
They didn't understand.
None of them understood what Petyr meant to her!
They understood even less what kind of desperate situation she was facing now!
Robert's butcher knife was already raised high.
She could even smell the killing intent emanating from the blade.
She had no retreat!
"Mother..."
A timid voice came from behind her.
Robert Arryn, the boy thin as a reed, was wrapped tightly in a fur cloak, shivering on horseback.
He was used to the wind chill high up in the Eyrie, but the gloomy wind in this mountain pass made him feel a fear from his bones.
"Why... why are we coming here? I want to go back to the Eyrie..."
Lysa reined in abruptly, turning back to look at her son.
In those bloodshot eyes, there was not half a mother's tenderness, only an irritability and tyranny of being disobeyed.
"Shut up!"
She scolded sternly.
"We are going to see your grandfather! Let him see you! The blood of House Arryn! He will protect us!"
Little Robert was so scared he shrank his neck, daring not make any more sound, only his small body shook even more violently.
Lysa ignored him, whipping the horse's belly fiercely with spurs, galloping toward Riverrun.
She left the entire Vale behind, handing it over to those bannermen already incited by her but each harboring ulterior motives.
Yes, she did this deliberately.
Someone had to be used to establish authority.
Only then could the road be paved for the coming war.
...
When Lysa Arryn's travel-worn convoy appeared below Riverrun, the entire castle was alarmed.
Edmure Tully stood on the battlements.
Looking at the blue and white moon-and-falcon banner belonging to House Arryn, the expression on his face was extremely complex.
He didn't expect his always willful sister would actually make such a crazy move.
The castle gates opened slowly.
Lysa didn't wait for any welcome ceremony.
She dismounted, throwing the reins casually to a dumbfounded squire.
Then she dragged her still-shivering son off the horse, striding toward the main keep.
"Where is Father?!"
Her voice echoed in the courtyard, sharp as a hawk's cry.
Edmure hurried forward, his face written with difficulty.
"Father... his health is very bad; the maester said he needs rest..."
"You'd better not disturb him now."
"Rest?"
Lysa let out a sneer; she pushed away Edmure, who tried to stop her.
"When he's done resting, his daughter and grandson will have their heads cut off by that drunkard Robert!"
Like a whirlwind, she rushed into the bedroom filled with the heavy smell of herbs and death.
Hoster Tully.
Once the Warden of the Riverlands, now just a skeleton lying in bed.
His breathing was weak and rapid; every rise and fall was like wrestling with the Stranger.
Hearing the commotion at the door, he opened his cloudy eyes with difficulty.
When he saw the visitor was Lysa, a terrifying light mixed with anger and disappointment burst from those eyes.
"You... what are you doing here?"
The old man's voice carried rapid gasps.
"What am I doing here?"
Lysa pushed little Robert to the bedside.
"Father, look at him! Your grandson!"
"The only blood of House Arryn!"
"Do you want him to die?!"
"Want him to be crushed like a chick by that usurper Robert?!"
"Madwoman..."
Lord Hoster coughed violently, his withered chest heaving sharply.
"You madwoman! For a lowly... cough cough... Baelish, you want to destroy us all!"
"Petyr wasn't lowly!"
Lysa screamed, her face haggard from the long journey twisting instantly.
"He was the best person in the world!"
"It was you! You all forced him to death!"
"Now, you want to force me to death too!"
"Father! I am your daughter! Are you going to watch me die helplessly?!"
Lysa threw herself by the bed, grabbing the old man's hand, withered to skin and bones, tears bursting forth.
Those weren't tears of sadness, but a vent of anger and grievance.
"Get out..."
Using all his strength, Lord Hoster wanted to withdraw his hand.
"I don't have... a daughter like you..."
"The words of House Tully are 'Family, Duty, Honor'!"
"You murdered your husband, that is unrighteous! Inviting wolves into the house, that is disloyal! Dragging down the family, that is unfilial!"
"You... you defiled the honor of House Tully!"
Every word of the old man stabbed ruthlessly into Lysa's heart.
All her hopes, all her fantasies, were shattered at this moment.
"Good... what a 'Family, Duty, Honor'..."
Lysa slowly let go, straightening up.
The tear stains on her face were not yet dry.
Lysa Arryn straightened up slowly.
In those blue eyes, not a trace of sadness or grievance could be seen anymore, only madness burning everything!
She leaned down, her face almost touching her father's withered cheek.
Her voice was no longer a scream or cry, but a whisper more piercing than the yin wind in the mountains.
"Father, you talk to me about honor?"
"Forgot who sold me like a piece of goods to Jon Arryn, who was even older than you?"
"Just so you could have a backer in King's Landing!"
"You talk to me about duty?"
"I'm about to die, yet you hide in this castle waiting to die, without even the courage to fight for me! Is this your duty?"
"You talk to me about family?"
"Hypocritical!"
"Being born in House Tully was truly a sin for me."
She let out a sneer; that laugh sounded particularly harsh in the deadly silent bedroom.
"For the reputation of House Tully, you forced me to abort my and Petyr's child!"
"At that time, why didn't you talk to me about family?!"
"You only care about your face! Your status!"
"When did you ever truly care about me?!"
How could Hoster Tully's long-decayed heart bear these?
The old man's cloudy eyes widened abruptly, filled with extreme horror and disbelief.
What did he see?
He saw not his daughter Lysa.
But a monster thoroughly twisted by hatred!
"You... you..."
Hoster struggled, wanting to sit up, wanting to curse angrily, wanting to drive this unfilial daughter out of Riverrun.
But his failing body could no longer support even his smallest movement.
A sweet, fishy liquid surged up his throat abruptly.
"Hah... hah..."
He clutched his own throat tightly.
That withered face turned a terrifying liver color, eyeballs protruding due to lack of oxygen.
He wanted to call for help, wanted Edmure outside to see his sister's true face.
But only weak hisses could come from his throat.
Lysa reached out, covering his mouth that wanted to call for help, then just watched coldly.
She watched her father struggle in pain, watched his life drain away bit by bit before her eyes.
There was no expression on her face.
No fear, no reluctance, not even a trace of pleasure.
Only an indifference like a bystander.
As if the person before her was a stranger with no blood relation to her.
Finally, that withered body stiffened abruptly, then went limp like a pile of mud.
Those eyes staring fixedly at her lost their last luster, becoming grey, empty.
Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, Warden of the Riverlands.
Died.
Angered to death by his youngest daughter alive.
In the bedroom, dead silence returned.
Lysa straightened up slowly.
She didn't look at the corpse still warm on the bed, but turned, looking at the door.
Footsteps.
It was Edmure.
Just a second before Edmure pushed open the door.
The extreme indifference on Lysa's face vanished instantly.
Replaced by a heart-rending grief enough to move anyone with a heart of stone.
"Father——!"
A miserable cry unlike a human voice burst from her mouth, almost resounding through the entire Riverrun.
She threw herself by the bed abruptly, throwing her whole body onto Hoster's corpse.
"Father! Wake up! Look at me! I am Lysa!"
"How could you leave... how could you just leave like this..."
When Edmure Tully rushed into the room, this was the scene he saw.
His sister, like a helpless child, lay on their father's corpse wailing bitterly, crying her heart out.
And their father had no breath left.
"Father?!"
"Fuck!"
Edmure's brain buzzed, blank instantly.
He staggered to the bedside, reaching out a trembling hand to probe Hoster's breath.
None.
Nothing at all.
"Maester! Quick! Call the Maester!"
Edmure roared at the door like a madman.
Soon, the elderly Maester ran in panting, carrying his medicine chest.
He checked Lord Hoster's pupils, listened to his heartbeat.
Finally, he stood up slowly, shaking his head sorrowfully at Edmure.
"My Lord... he has..."
"No——!"
Edmure let out a desperate wail, collapsing on the floor.
He couldn't accept it.
Clearly Father was fine just now, though weak, his consciousness was clear.
How come as soon as Lysa came, he...
Edmure's gaze instinctively cast toward the sister still wailing.
A terrible thought flashed through his mind.
Just then, Lysa seemed to have cried out all her strength.
She raised her head slowly.
That tear-stained face was written with heartbreaking sorrow and fragility.
She looked at the dazed Edmure, speaking tearfully.
"Brother... Father he... he went peacefully..."
"He was very happy to see me and little Robert..."
"He held my hand, he said... he said he could finally rest assured..."
Lysa sobbed as she spoke; that superb acting was enough to fool the entire Seven Kingdoms.
"He said House Tully can't be weak like before anymore... He said, he agreed... he agreed to ally with the Vale..."
"He said, let you... let you listen to me, protect Riverrun well, protect our home..."
Edmure was completely stunned.
Father... agreed?
Before dying, he actually changed his mind?
This... how is this possible?