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The Eyrie, built of beautiful white stone, stood atop the Mountains of the Moon, spanning the Vale's greatest peak, the Giant's Lance. Like a temple in the sky, it looked down upon all the Vale below.
Although the Eyrie was the smallest of the great castles of Westeros and could hold no more than five hundred people, everyone agreed that it was absolutely impossible to take.
Unless, of course, one counted the dragons long vanished into history.
The Eyrie's sky cells were infamous throughout the Vale. They were laid open against a sheer cliff, and because of the height, cold air blew straight through the prisoners inside.
The floor of each sky cell sloped downward as well, and the angle varied from cell to cell. Generally speaking, the steeper the floor, the smaller the cell.
Many prisoners held there in the past had been unable to endure the torment of body and mind. Rather than remain imprisoned for long, they had chosen to leap to their deaths.
In one small sky cell, Tyrion curled up in a corner with his eyes closed, trying to find some rest. The cold air made him shiver now and then.
Click!
The cell door opened. A short, fat gaoler with small eyes looked at Tyrion and said in a heavy voice, "Get up. The lords want to see you."
"Mord, perhaps I have been locked up by you for too long. Seeing you now, I find myself feeling something for you."
Tyrion had opened his eyes the moment the door moved. Hearing Mord's words, he stood and teased the gaoler in his usual irreverent tone.
"You want a beating?"
Mord was not clever, but he understood Tyrion's tone well enough. He lifted the wooden club in his hand and threatened him.
"Certainly not. Let us go quickly. We must not keep your lords waiting."
Seeing that familiar club, Tyrion quickly put away the jest and spoke solemnly.
The Eyrie's hall was a circular chamber with two levels. Its walls were made of white marble veined with blue. At the highest point stood House Arryn's weirwood throne.
In the middle of the lower level was a round, closed bronze door. This was the Moon Door, through which condemned criminals were made to "fly."
When Mord escorted Tyrion into the hall, it was already full of Vale nobles and a number of smallfolk watching the spectacle.
Lysa Arryn sat on the weirwood throne on the second level with the frail Robin Arryn in her arms. Petyr Baelish, clean and refined in appearance, stood beside her.
Ser Rodrik, who had been forcibly invited along with Tyrion, stood in a corner. Beside him was a tall, powerfully built old man with gray-white hair and a suit of bronze armor.
"Tyrion Lannister, you stand accused of plotting to murder my husband, Jon Arryn, and of sending an assassin to murder my nephew, Brandon Stark!
"Do you confess?"
The moment Tyrion took his place, Lysa set Robin on the weirwood throne, stood, and questioned him loudly.
"Lady Lysa, I know a little about many things, but murder is one subject in which I have no expertise at all.
"I am sorry, but I cannot confess to your accusation."
When Lysa turned to serious business, Tyrion put away his mocking expression and answered sincerely.
"Lady Lysa, may I say a few words?"
Baelish chose the right moment to ask.
"Of course, Lord Baelish. Speak."
"Thank you."
Baelish nodded to Lysa, then turned toward Tyrion and said loudly, "King Joffrey has confirmed that Lord Arryn was poisoned by Hugh, Eddard Stark's squire, on Eddard Stark's orders.
"As for sending an assassin to murder a child who had fallen from a tower, there is even less evidence proving Lord Tyrion had anything to do with it."
"Bullshit! Lord Eddard would never murder Lord Arryn. Littlefinger, insult Lord Eddard's honor again and I will draw steel on you."
As soon as Baelish finished, Ser Rodrik shouted at him in fury from the hall.
"Yes. I believe the nobles of the Vale all trust Lord Eddard's honor. He would never treat his foster father so.
"If you continue to insult Lord Eddard, the nobles of the Vale will all invite you to answer for it in a duel."
The sturdy old man beside Ser Rodrik also spoke loudly in defense of Eddard's honor.
"Oh, oh! Lord Yohn, Ser Rodrik, please do not be angry.
"Of course I believe in Lord Eddard's honor.
"Those words were not mine. They came from the king far away in King's Landing, His Grace Joffrey."
Baelish raised both hands toward Ser Rodrik and Bronze Yohn Royce, trying to calm them.
"Pah. We of the Vale have never acknowledged that bastard king."
Lord Yohn spat in Baelish's direction and answered with disdain.
"Careful with your words."
While in the sky cells, Tyrion had learned a little of the outside world by bribing Mord. He spoke up in warning.
"Legally speaking, King Joffrey is the king to whom all of you swore fealty. If those words reach him, I doubt Lady Lysa will be able to protect you."
"Enough. Let us see how your lord judges."
Lysa, standing on the second level, raised her voice to stop the argument. Then she turned to her son.
Robin, thin and weak but in good spirits, heard his mother and immediately jumped down from the throne.
In his childish voice, he pointed at Tyrion and said, "Um... there is no proof that this dwarf killed anyone. I do want to make him fly, but... I declare you not guilty!"
"Ha! Lord Robin is the wisest man in the Vale. This dwarf thanks you."
Hearing that he had been released without guilt, Tyrion thanked Robin with a full smile.
"Lord Robin, King Joffrey invites you to join his small council."
Baelish had already told Lysa of Cersei's terms the night before, so now he only stated aloud what could be said in public.
"Lord Robin, Westeros now has four new kings, and they are about to plunge the realm into war.
"The choice you make will affect the fate of everyone in the Vale. Please consider carefully."
Lord Yohn knew perfectly well that Baelish was helping Joffrey win the Vale. Since his own heart leaned toward Robb, how could he allow Baelish to succeed so easily?
"Lord Yohn is right. Lord Robin, please give the matter more thought."
"Yes. I hear the Riverlands have been dragged into the war. Things are terrible there now."
"The Riverlands have already seen many deaths."
After Lord Yohn spoke, most of the Vale nobles in the hall agreed with him, and discussion broke out everywhere.
"Lord Robin will consider this carefully. That is all for today."
Seeing so many Vale nobles agree with Lord Yohn, Lysa frowned and announced the end in a raised voice. Then she lifted her son and headed toward the Moon Tower where they lived.
Ser Rodrik and Lord Yohn glared fiercely at Baelish and Tyrion before turning and leaving the hall.
Baelish hurried down the stairs and came to Tyrion with a smile. "Congratulations, Lord Tyrion. You have won your freedom."
"Heh. That is thanks to you, Lord Baelish. Be at ease. A Lannister always pays his debts."
The clever Tyrion naturally understood Baelish's purpose. He smiled and made his promise.
"I also brought you a letter from Lord Tywin."
Baelish glanced warily around, then took a finger-thick roll of paper from his sleeve.
Tyrion accepted it, broke the seal bearing the roaring lion, and opened the letter.
"Alas. I still cannot leave the Vale."
After reading it, Tyrion let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh? Why not?"
Baelish immediately asked.
"My dearest father wants me to work with you and find a way to pull the Vale into our camp and bring its armies into the war."
Tyrion shook his head helplessly and told Baelish the contents.
"Heh. I believe we can manage it.
"But first, we must deal with those two stubborn old men.
"Rodrik Cassel and Bronze Yohn."
The Riverlands guarded by House Tully had once been rich, fertile, and densely populated.
Its network of rivers allowed people and goods to move with ease. In calmer times, the Trident had been full of fishing boats, grain barges drifting downstream, and merchants' poleboats wandering from bank to bank.
But as war broke out, and especially after the Mountain began his destructive burning and killing across the Riverlands, great numbers of smallfolk tried every way they could to flee.
Stone River Village sat upstream on the Red Fork, directly north of Pinkmaiden. It was a peaceful village that lived by farming and fishing.
Now, the village was filled with shrill screams and weeping.
Five Lannister cavalrymen had set every house in Stone River ablaze and driven the survivors to the broad village entrance.
One rider was assaulting a woman while the other four held the villagers in a circle, laughing as they watched.
In the woods not far from the village, Beric and Thoros hid quietly and observed the scene at the village entrance.
"Those Lannister beasts lit every house in the village on purpose. They want to draw our attention.
"Beric, this is a trap."
Thoros's face was stained with blood, and his red robe was so dirty its color could hardly be seen. After watching the village for a while, he spoke to Beric.
"Thoros, thank you for staying with me all this way. Without you, I would surely have felt lonely."
Beric, just as bloodstained and no longer looking anything like a noble knight, turned and gave Thoros a smile before quietly drawing his longsword.
"Gulp. I finally understand why my lord showed me that I should preach to you.
"Beric, the fire in your heart is bright and warm, just like my lord."
Hearing Beric's words, Thoros uncorked his wineskin and drank deeply. Then, while carefully drawing his wildfire-coated sword, he praised him with genuine feeling.
"Thoros, do not follow me this time.
"If there is no trap, I can handle those beasts. If there is a trap... then I will trouble you to hold a funeral for me."
Beric watched Thoros move and shook his head, stopping him.
"Who said I was following you?
"Like you, I simply cannot bear the sight of beasts slaughtering smallfolk.
"Enough talk. Get ready."
Thoros rolled his eyes at Beric, then looked toward the five Lannister riders and continued, "You take the three on the left. The two on the right..."
Before Thoros could finish, Beric struck him hard at the back of the neck with the pommel of his sword, knocking him unconscious.
Beric silently looked at the good, somewhat talkative man who had accompanied him along the way. Then his gaze hardened, and he bent low as he crept toward Stone River Village.
At the village entrance, the rider committing the assault was gripping the woman tightly, his face twisted in a savage smile as if he could not hear her heartrending screams at all.
"Watch out!"
The rider, lost in his violence, suddenly heard a companion's startled cry. Instinctively, he followed their gaze and looked behind him.
A sharp longsword swept swiftly across his neck. His head fell beside the woman, scattering blood.
The woman shoved the headless corpse off her in a frenzy, grabbed a stone from the ground, and smashed it again and again into the rider's head.
After killing him, Beric picked up the one-handed shield that had been cast aside beside the corpse.
By the time he slipped it onto his left arm, the other four riders had charged toward him one after another.
Beric used the shield in his left hand to block the longsword of the first rider, then thrust his own sword out from beneath the shield and drove it straight into the man's upper thigh.
He lifted his left foot and kicked the screaming, wounded rider in the belly, sending him backward into his companions.
A rider circling from the left stabbed Beric hard in the left shoulder.
Beric clenched his teeth, trapping the blade with his shoulder, and traded wound for wound. His right-hand sword plunged into the rider's eye socket.
Beric's swordsmanship was only second-rate, but he dared to risk injury and exchange wounds for kills. Relying on that method, he killed the remaining three riders.
By the time he was the last man standing, at least four sword wounds marked his body.
"You are safe now. Leave this place quickly."
Covered in blood, Beric looked at the villagers gathered at Stone River's entrance. He forced out an ugly smile and spoke gently.
Shrrrk!
A sharp sound cut through the air and reached Beric's ears.
He had only just turned when an iron-headed spear flew through his chest. The force knocked him down and pinned him firmly to the ground.
Beric spat a mouthful of blood. As darkness gradually swallowed his sight, he saw the Mountain nearby, mounted on a tall horse and riding toward him with dozens of cavalrymen.
"So the man who kept attacking my cavalry patrols was you, Beric Dondarrion."
The Mountain rode close to Beric's corpse, pulled the spear free, and spoke in a low voice.
Having killed the fly that had harassed them for so long, the Mountain happily pointed at the villagers and ordered the riders behind him, "I am in a good mood today. Give them a merciful death."
"Ouch!"
Thoros, lying on the ground, groaned softly and touched the back of his neck, which still hurt badly.
As soon as he recovered a little, he realized what had happened and struggled to his feet.
From a distance, he saw the corpses strewn across Stone River's entrance. Thoros hurriedly picked up his sword from the ground and ran toward the village.
When he reached the entrance and slowed, eyes blank, the first thing he saw was Beric on the ground.
There was a terrible bloody hole through his chest. Blood covered his body. His eyes were still open, but the pupils had fully widened.
This good and upright man had come to help because he feared dragging his family at Blackhaven into trouble and because he had heard that war was killing the smallfolk of the Riverlands.
Now he had ended like this.
Thoros's eyes grew wet.
He stood beside Beric's body in silence for a long while. Then he gathered branches and wood from the nearby trees and piled them over him.
"Beric, I will fulfill your last wish."
Thoros brushed a firestone across his sword. The wildfire-coated blade immediately burst into flame.
Holding the torch-like sword, he closed his eyes and prayed with all his heart.
"The night is dark and full of terrors.
"My lord, the Lord of Light!
"Let your light shine upon this man and save him from terrible death and endless darkness.
"The fire in his heart has gone out. May it be rekindled beneath your light."
As Thoros prayed, a miracle began beneath the branches and wood covering Beric's corpse.
Around the bloody hole where the iron spear had pierced his chest, new flesh grew from the torn meat.
The new flesh seemed alive. It quickly filled the terrible wound in Beric's chest, leaving only an ugly round scar.
The sword wounds on his body were easier to heal than the hole in his chest. It was as though an invisible tailor had roughly sewn his wounds shut, turning them into ugly scars.
Thump. Thump.
When all the wounds on Beric's body had become scars, his heart began beating again without warning.
"Hah!"
Beric suddenly opened his eyes, sat up, and drew in a deep breath.
Hearing the sound, Thoros immediately stopped praying and opened his eyes.
When he saw Beric sitting up from the pile of wood, he stared in stunned silence, raising a finger, unable to say a word.
Gradually recovering his mind, Beric turned to Thoros. A faint smile curved his lips.
"The night is dark and full of terrors."
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