The fire crackled in the cave.
The light cast their shadows on the rough rock walls.
Elongated, twisted.
Like entangled ghosts.
Lysa Arryn slept deeply.
Like an infant finally returned to its mother's embrace.
Days of terror, betrayal, and slaughter had drained her dry.
Now, resting on Petyr's arm, smelling the familiar faint scent of spices on his robe, she finally found a moment of peace.
But even dreams couldn't completely block out the bone-deep fear.
The bloody scenes in Riverrun's Great Hall.
Walder Frey's rolling head.
Lynn's face, ripping off the mask to reveal that wicked smile...
Scene after scene flashed madly behind her closed eyelids like a lantern show.
"No!"
Lysa jerked awake.
Breaking free from the nightmare, her body was drenched in cold sweat.
She instinctively tightened her grip on the man beside her.
That solid touch was the only thing that calmed her chaotic mind.
He was still here.
Petyr was still here.
By the dim firelight, she looked greedily at his sleeping profile.
The gaunt contours, the carefully groomed goatee.
Everything was exactly as she remembered.
But...
A thought crept silently out of the darkest corner of her heart.
That demon Lynn could easily disguise himself as Ned Stark.
That face, that voice... it was flawless.
So... could Petyr... could he be...
Once the thought appeared, it couldn't be suppressed!
Lysa's heart pounded violently, threatening to jump out of her throat!
She looked at Petyr, the man she had loved her whole life, and suddenly he seemed like an unknown monster wearing human skin.
No, impossible.
Petyr was sent by the gods to save her.
He said so himself.
But... what if?
What if this was also Lynn's trick?
What if he just wanted to lure her somewhere to torture her to death slowly?
The more she thought, the more afraid she became, her body trembling uncontrollably.
She had to check!
She had to verify it with her own hands!
Lysa slowly loosened her grip.
She slowed her breathing, pretending to still be asleep.
She listened closely; Petyr's breathing was steady and long, indicating deep sleep.
This was her chance.
Lysa's heart was in her throat.
She reached out a trembling hand.
The hand that had once personally handed poison to her husband was shaking badly now.
Her fingertips, careful as if touching the most precious and fragile porcelain, lightly landed on Petyr's cheek.
The skin felt warm and real.
Lysa's heart settled slightly.
But that wasn't enough.
Her fingers began to trace along his jawline, inching upward.
Chin, behind the ear, hairline...
These were the places where a Faceless Man's mask would most likely show flaws.
She checked meticulously.
Not letting go of a single seam, a single trace of glue.
Nothing.
There was nothing!
The skin had the exact texture it should for a man his age.
She could even feel the muscles beneath the skin moving slightly with his breath.
It wasn't a mask!
It definitely wasn't a mask!
No matter how good Lynn's mask skills were, he couldn't achieve this level of seamless perfection!
She didn't know.
Lynn's masks now didn't just replicate facial features; they replicated height, weight, and every tiny detail like a 1:1 clone.
If Lynn wanted, he could create a Cersei Lannister out of thin air...
But Lysa obviously didn't know that.
She let out a long breath.
She was just paranoid.
That demon Lynn had scared her witless.
A massive wave of guilt washed over Lysa.
How could she doubt Petyr?
Doubt the man who crawled back from hell for her?
She deserved to die for even thinking it!
Just as Lysa prepared to withdraw her hand and repent for her suspicion, a pair of eyes opened without warning in the dark.
Those grey-green eyes, reflecting the dancing fire, looked at her like two bottomless pools.
!!!
Lysa's body went rigid, her blood freezing instantly!
He was awake!
When did he wake up?
Did he see what she was doing?
What would he think?
Lysa's mind went blank.
Countless thoughts flashed by, finally coalescing into sheer panic.
"I... I..."
Lysa opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Petyr didn't speak. He just looked at her with those deep eyes.
There was no anger, no interrogation, only a hint of... amused knowing.
That look made Lysa feel even more ashamed.
She couldn't admit it!
She absolutely could not admit she suspected him!
That would break his heart completely and ruin everything between them!
In her desperation, an excuse that even she found absurd, yet was the only plausible one, blurted out.
"I... I want you..."
Her voice was as quiet as a mosquito, her cheeks burning hot instantly.
After saying it, she wanted to find a hole to crawl into.
However, the expected silence and awkwardness didn't come.
"Littlefinger" smiled.
That smile was just as she remembered.
A little wicked, a little knowing, and a little spoiling, reserved just for her.
Petyr didn't expose her, didn't even ask.
He simply reached out, pulled Lysa into his embrace, and kissed her cold, trembling lips.
"My little Lysa," his husky, magnetic voice whispered in her ear.
"We... really haven't done this in years."
"Last time, it was while Lord Arryn was asleep, right next door..."
It was like a key instantly unlocking the floodgates of Lysa's memory.
See? If Petyr were an imposter, how could he know such intimate details?
He was Petyr, without a doubt!
The familiar scent, the familiar strength, the familiar technique...
Everything was exactly the same as those stolen nights in the past!
The stone hanging in Lysa's heart finally dropped.
Yes.
This was him.
This was her Petyr!
That demon Lynn!
He could copy Petyr's face, copy his voice, but he could never copy the intimacy and warmth that belonged only to them.
The last, deepest shred of doubt was crushed in this moment.
Lysa stopped resisting, stopped being shy.
Like a fish out of water, she greedily responded to him.
She used all her strength to feel this man she had lost and regained.
The fire in the cave dimmed, leaving only sparse embers glowing in the dark.
Clothes were shed, skin met skin.
Lysa felt like she was melting into a pool of spring water.
She let go, screaming, releasing all the longing, grievance, and desire accumulated over the years without reservation.
She felt herself being tossed into the air repeatedly.
Every collision seemed to prove to her that the man before her was real.
Every gasp seemed to say that their love was eternal.
...
Who knows how much time passed before the storm subsided.
Lysa curled up in Petyr's arms like a lazy cat, a satisfied flush on her face.
She felt reborn.
Physical pleasure had completely washed away her mental exhaustion and fear.
Now, she was two hundred percent sure: this was her Petyr.
"Petyr..."
She nuzzled into his chest, her voice husky with satisfaction.
"Once we get Robert, we'll never be apart again, okay?"
"Okay."
Petyr gently stroked her smooth back, his voice dripping with tenderness.
"At first light, we leave."
"To the Eyrie. To bring our son home."
His voice was like the sweetest lullaby.
In his arms, filled with infinite hope for the future, Lysa fell into a deep sleep again.
This time, there were no nightmares.
Hearing her breathing even out, the smile on Petyr's face vanished instantly.
He looked down at the woman whose face was stained with tears, still clutching the corner of his robe in her sleep. There was not a shred of pity in his eyes, only cold indifference.