Even after washing the halls for three days, the scent of blood at the Twins was stubborn, seemingly seeping out of the stone itself.
Especially at night, mixed with the damp river mist, that smell would drift into your nose, a constant reminder of what had happened here.
In Lynn's solar at Riverrun, the fire was blazing.
He hated the damp.
"Petyr" was currently leading Lysa on a "dangerous escape," carefully avoiding "pursuers" to keep up the charade.
It had taken them quite a while to finally reach the borders of the Vale.
Lynn used his warging ability to nudge "Petyr," telling him to pick up the pace.
Roslin Frey knelt on the rug by the fireplace.
She was using small silver tongs to carefully adjust the burning logs.
She did it with intense focus, as if it were the most important task in the world.
The firelight danced on her pale, delicate face.
Her long lashes cast small shadows under her eyes.
She had changed into a proper handmaiden's dress of dark blue, which made her skin look even paler.
Her hair was neatly combed and tied back with a simple ribbon.
For the past three days, she had acted like a true servant, taking care of Lynn's daily needs.
Making the bed, preparing meals, mixing ink...
Her movements were clumsy but incredibly earnest.
Everyone else in the castle—whether Northern soldiers or Tully servants—treated her with a strange mix of attitudes.
Awe, distance... and a hint of pity.
She was a daughter of House Frey, but also Lord Lynn's "trophy" and personal handmaiden.
No one dared to provoke her, but no one dared to get close to her either.
Roslin could feel their gazes.
But she didn't care.
All her attention was focused on the man in the room.
Lynn sat at the desk by the window, reading reports from all over the Riverlands.
Some were secret letters of allegiance from Tully bannermen; others were reports on armaments and grain supplies from various lords. There was even a report about Winter eating a herd of Tully cattle, causing direct economic loss...
The Riverlands, a land perpetually ravaged by war, was being reorganized under Lynn's direction with unprecedented efficiency after the bloody purge and wealth redistribution.
"My Lord."
Roslin's voice was soft, like a feather brushing past.
She held a silver tray with a cup of warm milk and a few honeycakes.
"You've been reading all night. Please eat something and rest a little."
Roslin placed the tray gently on the corner of the desk, her movements light, afraid to disturb him.
Lynn didn't look up, just gave a hum of acknowledgment, his eyes still fixed on the parchment.
Roslin didn't leave. She stood quietly to the side, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her.
Ready to serve the moment he needed anything.
For a while, the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the rustle of paper as Lynn turned the pages.
After a long time, Lynn finally put down the report and rubbed his temples.
He picked up the milk and took a sip.
The warm liquid slid down his throat, chasing away some of the fatigue.
Complex, intertwined, messy.
The Riverlands were far more interesting than he had imagined.
But for someone with his cheats, it wasn't a big problem.
Lynn looked up at Roslin, who was still standing there.
"Are you afraid of me?"
Lynn asked suddenly.
Roslin flinched almost imperceptibly, lowering her head further.
"No... I dare not be."
"You dare not, not that you aren't."
Lynn put down the cup, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her with interest.
"Every day, you act like a frightened rabbit around me."
"When I ask you to pour wine, your hands shake so much you spill half the cup. You're constantly on edge."
Roslin's face went white. Her lips trembled, but she couldn't say a word.
She thought she had hidden it well.
"Why do you always peek at me?"
Lynn suddenly asked a completely unrelated question.
Roslin froze.
She looked up sharply, confused.
In the candlelight, Lynn's face looked like a statue carved by the gods. Those deep eyes seemed capable of sucking a person's soul in.
Noble black hair, distinct skin tone, refined features.
Everything about him screamed that he was different from the usual men of Westeros.
"My Lord... you are the most handsome man I've ever seen. Any woman would look twice," Roslin stammered, a blush rising on her cheeks despite her fear.
"Am I treating you badly?" Lynn asked again.
Roslin shook her head desperately.
"No, My Lord, you treat me very well... You saved my life, gave me a place to stay... You are very good to me."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
"Afraid I'll treat you like your father did, giving you away as a gift at any moment?"
"Or afraid I'll act like Edmure, draw my sword and cut you down in a fit of rage?"
Roslin's mental defenses crumbled.
Afraid?
Of course she was afraid.
She lived like a pet who didn't know its master's temper, terrified every single day.
Thud. She dropped to her knees, tears spilling uncontrollably onto the floor.
"I... I just... just don't know what to do..."
Roslin choked out, her voice full of helplessness and confusion.
"I don't know what you really want, My Lord..."
"I... I can do anything... as long as you..."
She wanted to say, as long as you let me live.
But she felt her humble life wasn't worth mentioning in front of this man.
Lynn looked at the girl trembling on the floor and was silent for a moment.
He stood up, walked over, and crouched down in front of her.
He didn't pull her up. Instead, he reached out and used his thumb to gently wipe the tears from her cheek.
His touch was light, but the warmth of his fingers made Roslin tremble even harder.
"Roslin."
He said her name.
"Look at me."
Roslin shakily lifted her tear-filled eyes.
"What I want is simple."
Lynn stared into her eyes, speaking slowly and clearly.
"I want a handmaiden who can handle trivial matters so I can focus on more important things."
"A smart, careful, and absolutely loyal handmaiden."
"You are doing well now. A bit clumsy, but you'll learn."
"As for the things you worry about, they won't happen."
"I told you, your life is mine."
"No one can touch you."
"Not Edmure, not anyone."
"You are not cargo, you are not Frey scum. You are my handmaiden, hired by me, Lynn."
"As long as you do your job well, you will receive the pay and respect you deserve, and maybe more."
Roslin stared at Lynn blankly, as if seeing him for the first time.
She thought she was just a plaything in his eyes, a trophy to show off his victory.
But he was talking to her about... respect?
"I... that's not what I want..."
The words slipped out almost subconsciously.
After saying them, Roslin froze, instantly overwhelmed by terror.
was she crazy?
How did she dare say that?!
Lynn's eyebrows raised slightly, a look of genuine interest appearing on his face.
"Oh? Then what do you want?"
Roslin opened and closed her mouth.
What did she want?
She wanted... she wanted him to look at her like he just did, with that gentle gaze.
She wanted the warmth of his fingers wiping away her tears.
She wanted... to be someone he genuinely cared about.
Not just a "useful" or "bed-warming" servant.
Or a servant ready to strip, lie on the bed, and let the master take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
She had always believed that was her fate.
Because that's what Walder Frey did to her mother.
Before she died, her mother always told her: This is our fate as women. We never have a choice.
Walder Frey was like that. Others were like that. Even the lords of Westeros, Essos, the whole world were like that.
To be Lynn's intimate companion...
But how could she dare say such things?
Though Lynn saved her from hell and let her taste respect...
There was still a mountain of corpses and a chasm of status between them.
In the end, her courage dissolved into nothing.
"N-nothing..."
Roslin lowered her head, her voice whisper-quiet.
"I'm sorry, I... I misspoke."
Lynn looked at her retreating back into her shell and didn't press further.
Some seeds were already planted.
They just needed time and sunlight to sprout.
Right now, Roslin was just a poor girl oppressed for too long. She didn't have the courage to be herself yet.
He couldn't push too hard.
Some ideas need to be awakened by the person themselves, not forced by dry lectures.
Lynn stood up and walked back to the window.
"Get up. The floor is cold."
He looked toward the direction of the Eyrie.
"Judging by the time, they should be there."
...
The Vale, Mountains of the Moon.
The road to the Eyrie was perilous and long.
With winter approaching, the mountain wind cut like knives against the skin.
Lysa Arryn pulled her cloak tight, feeling her bones freezing.
But a fire burned in her heart.
Petyr was by her side.
He held her hand, walking on the rugged mountain path, struggling forward with her.
For days, they had slept in the open, taking the most hidden paths.
Petyr seemed to know every rock and tree here.
He always found the safest caves for the night, easily hunted game, and even magically produced half a wheel of cheese or a small flask of sweet wine from his robes.
He was like an omnipotent god.
This made Lysa even more dependent and obsessed with him.
She rejoiced countless times that she hadn't truly doubted him in the cave.
He was the hero sent by the gods to save her.
"Almost there, my little Lysa."
Petyr wore that familiar, reassuring smile.
"Over that ridge, and we'll see the Giant's Lance."
"Petyr..."
Lysa leaned on his shoulder, her voice full of infinite attachment.
"Once we save Robert, we'll leave here for good and never come back, okay?"
"Of course."
Petyr pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead gently. "I promise you."
Finally, before dark, they reached the foot of the Eyrie.
The Giant's Lance soared into the clouds, casting a massive shadow in the setting sun.
Like a silent giant looking down on the earth.
The entrance to the castle was guarded by soldiers wearing the direwolf sigil. Heavy security.
"How do we get in?" Lysa's heart jumped into her throat.
"Follow me."
Petyr didn't hesitate. He pulled her into a very hidden crevice obscured by bushes.
At the end of the crevice was a secret door disguised as a rock.
Petyr fumbled on the rock wall for a moment. With a soft click, the door slowly opened.
"This is... where we used to..."
Lysa's breath hitched.
She recognized this place.
This was the secret passage they used for their trysts years ago to avoid Jon Arryn's eyes!
Even she had almost forgotten, but Petyr remembered!
The last shred of doubt vanished completely.
Lysa followed him joyfully into the familiar, dark tunnel.
Inside, the passages were a maze.
But Petyr walked as if in his own backyard, without hesitation.
They climbed stairs, turned corners.
Gradually, they could hear footsteps and voices from above.
Northern soldiers patrolling.
Lysa was so nervous her heart threatened to burst, treading carefully with every step.
Finally, Petyr stopped in an inconspicuous corner.
He pointed to a stone slab above his head.
"Up there is Robert's room," he whispered in her ear.
Lysa's heart clenched.
Her son! Her and Petyr's sweet baby! He was right above them!
Petyr made a "shh" gesture, then carefully pushed the stone slab up, creating a tiny crack.
Through the crack, Lysa saw the room.
It was lit by candles, quite bright.
A small figure sat on the edge of the bed, hugging a rag doll.
It was her son, Robert Arryn!
He looked thinner and paler, but his spirit seemed okay.
He was looking down, whispering something to the doll.
"Don't cry... don't cry... Mommy will come back for me soon..."
The boy's sobbing, timid voice was like a needle stabbing straight into Lysa's heart!
Tears gushed out instantly.
It was her Robert!
Her son!
He was okay! He was alive! He was waiting for her!
Just as Lysa was about to rush out in excitement...
The door to the room opened.
A soldier in Northern leather armor walked in, carrying a tray.
"Lord Arryn, time for your medicine."
The soldier's voice was stiff but not malicious.
"I won't eat it! It's bitter!"
Robert screamed, throwing the doll away.
"I want my Mommy! I want to see my Mommy!"
"Little Lord, please don't make this difficult."
The soldier sounded resigned.
"This is Lord Lynn's order, for your health."
"I don't care! I won't take it! You're all bad men! You're keeping me prisoner!"
The boy started rolling on the bed, throwing a tantrum, crying and screaming.
Just like he always did.
Lysa's heart broke.
She covered her mouth tightly to stop herself from crying out.
She saw the Northern soldier sigh, put the tray on the table, then walk over and kneel by the bed, trying clumsily to coax the boy.
Below the floorboards, Petyr watched Lysa's heartbroken expression. He gently tugged her sleeve, signaling her to retreat.
They quietly moved back deeper into the tunnel.
"Did you see?"
Petyr's voice held suppressed anger.
"That demon Lynn... that's how he treats our son!"
"My Robert... my baby..."
Lysa was sobbing uncontrollably.
"Don't cry."
Petyr held her, patting her back.
"We move tonight."
"Tonight?"
Lysa looked up sharply.
"Yes, tonight."
A shrewd light flashed in Petyr's eyes.
"I've observed them. Every night, only one soldier guards his room."
"At midnight, I will deal with the soldier."
"Then we take Robert and leave this place."
"No one will ever separate us again."
His voice was full of convincing power.
Lysa looked at him, at the man who planned everything for her, and her love and dependence peaked.
She nodded vigorously.
"Yes! We do it tonight!"
She couldn't wait to save her son from that monster's den!