“We learned that to our sorrow, Ser Donnel,” Catelyn said. Sometimes she felt as though her hearthad turned to stone; six brave men had died to bring her this far, and she could not even find it in herto weep for them. Even their names were fading. “The clansmen harried2 us day and night. We lostthree men in the first attack, and two more in the second, and Lannister’s serving man died of a feverwhen his wounds festered. When we heard your men approaching, I thought us doomed3 for certain.”
They had drawn4 up for a last desperate fight, blades in hand and backs to the rock. The dwarf5 hadbeen whetting6 the edge of his axe7 and making some mordant8 jest when Bronn spotted9 the banner theriders carried before them, the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky-blue and white. Catelyn hadnever seen a more welcome sight.
“The clans1 have grown bolder since Lord Jon died,” Ser Donnel said. He was a stocky youth oftwenty years, earnest and homely10, with a wide nose and a shock of thick brown hair. “If it were up tome, I would take a hundred men into the mountains, root them out of their fastnesses, and teach themsome sharp lessons, but your sister has forbidden it. She would not even permit her knights12 to fight inthe Hand’s tourney. She wants all our swords kept close to home, to defend the Vale … against what,no one is certain. Shadows, some say.” He looked at her anxiously, as if he had suddenly rememberedwho she was. “I hope I have not spoken out of turn, my lady. I meant no offense14.”
“Frank talk does not offend me, Ser Donnel.” Catelyn knew what her sister feared. Not shadows,Lannisters, she thought to herself, glancing back to where the dwarf rode beside Bronn. The two ofthem had grown thick as thieves since Chiggen had died. The little man was more cunning than sheliked. When they had entered the mountains, he had been her captive, bound and helpless. What washe now? Her captive still, yet he rode along with a dirk through his belt and an axe strapped15 to hissaddle, wearing the shadowskin cloak he’d won dicing16 with the singer and the chainmail hauberk he’dtaken off Chiggen’s corpse17. Two score men flanked the dwarf and the rest of her ragged18 band, knightsand men-at-arms in service to her sister Lysa and Jon Arryn’s young son, and yet Tyrion betrayed nohint of fear. Could I be wrong? Catelyn wondered, not for the first time. Could he be innocent afterall, of Bran and Jon Arryn and all the rest? And if he was, what did that make her? Six men had diedto bring him here.
Resolute19, she pushed her doubts away. “When we reach your keep, I would take it kindly20 if youcould send for Maester Colemon at once. Ser Rodrik is feverish21 from his wounds.” More than onceshe had feared the gallant22 old knight11 would not survive the journey. Toward the end he could scarcelysit his horse, and Bronn had urged her to leave him to his fate, but Catelyn would not hear of it. Theyhad tied him in the saddle instead, and she had commanded Marillion the singer to watch over him.
Ser Donnel hesitated before he answered. “The Lady Lysa has commanded the maester to remain atthe Eyrie at all times, to care for Lord Robert,” he said. “We have a septon at the gate who tends toour wounded. He can see to your man’s hurts.”
Catelyn had more faith in a maester’s learning than a septon’s prayers. She was about to say asmuch when she saw the battlements ahead, long parapets built into the very stone of the mountains oneither side of them. Where the pass shrank to a narrow defile24 scarce wide enough for four men to ride abreast, twin watchtowers clung to the rocky slopes, joined by a covered bridge of weathered greystone that arched above the road. Silent faces watched from arrow slits25 in tower, battlements, andbridge. When they had climbed almost to the top, a knight rode out to meet them. His horse and hisarmor were grey, but his cloak was the rippling26 blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a shiny black fish,wrought in gold and obsidian27, pinned its folds against his shoulder. “Who would pass the BloodyGate?” he called.
dbridge. When they had climbed almost to the top, a knight rode out to meet them. His horse and hisarmor were grey, but his cloak was the rippling blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a shiny black fish,wrought in gold and obsidian, pinned its folds against his shoulder. “Who would pass the BloodyGate?” he called.
“Ser Donnel Waynwood, with the Lady Catelyn Stark29 and her companions,” the young knightanswered.
The Knight of the Gate lifted his visor. “I thought the lady looked familiar. You are far from home,little Cat.”
“And you, Uncle,” she said, smiling despite all she had been through. Hearing that hoarse30, smokyvoice again took her back twenty years, to the days of her childhood.
“My home is at my back,” he said gruffly.
“Your home is in my heart,” Catelyn told him. “Take off your helm. I would look on your faceagain.”
“The years have not improved it, I fear,” Brynden Tully said, but when he lifted off the helm,Catelyn saw that he lied. His features were lined and weathered, and time had stolen the auburn fromhis hair and left him only grey, but the smile was the same, and the bushy eyebrows31 fat as caterpillars,and the laughter in his deep blue eyes. “Did Lysa know you were coming?”
“There was no time to send word ahead,” Catelyn told him. The others were coming up behindher. “I fear we ride before the storm, Uncle.”
“May we enter the Vale?” Ser Donnel asked. The Waynwoods were ever ones for ceremony.
“In the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender32 of the Vale, True Warden33 of the East, Ibid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace,” Ser Brynden replied. “Come.”
And so she rode behind him, beneath the shadow of the Bloody28 Gate where a dozen armies haddashed themselves to pieces in the Age of Heroes. On the far side of the stoneworks, the mountainsopened up suddenly upon a vista35 of green fields, blue sky, and snowcapped mountains that took herbreath away. The Vale of Arryn bathed in the morning light.
It stretched before them to the misty36 east, a tranquil37 land of rich black soil, wide slow-movingrivers, and hundreds of small lakes that shone like mirrors in the sun, protected on all sides by itssheltering peaks. Wheat and corn and barley38 grew high in its fields, and even in Highgarden thepumpkins were no larger nor the fruit any sweeter than here. They stood at the western end of thevalley, where the high road crested39 the last pass and began its winding40 descent to the bottomlands twomiles below. The Vale was narrow here, no more than a half day’s ride across, and the northernmountains seemed so close that Catelyn could almost reach out and touch them. Looming41 over themall was the jagged peak called the Giant’s Lance, a mountain that even mountains looked up to, itshead lost in icy mists three and a half miles above the valley floor. Over its massive western shoulderflowed the ghost torrent43 of Alyssa’s Tears. Even from this distance, Catelyn could make out theshining silver thread, bright against the dark stone.
When her uncle saw that she had stopped, he moved his horse closer and pointed44. “It’s there, besideAlyssa’s Tears. All you can see from here is a flash of white every now and then, if you look hard andthe sun hits the walls just right.”
Seven towers, Ned had told her, like white daggers45 thrust into the belly46 of the sky, so high you canstand on the parapets and look down on the clouds. “How long a ride?” she asked.
“We can be at the mountain by evenfall,” Uncle Brynden said, “but the climb will take anotherday.”
Ser Rodrik Cassel spoke13 up from behind. “My lady,” he said, “I fear I can go no farther today.” Hisface sagged47 beneath his ragged, new-grown whiskers, and he looked so weary Catelyn feared hemight fall off his horse.
“Nor should you,” she said. “You have done all I could have asked of you, and a hundred timesmore. My uncle will see me the rest of the way to the Eyrie. Lannister must come with me, but thereis no reason that you and the others should not rest here and recover your strength.”
“We should be honored to have them to guest,” Ser Donnel said with the grave courtesy of theyoung. Beside Ser Rodrik, only Bronn, Ser Willis Wode, and Marillion the singer remained of theparty that had ridden with her from the inn by the crossroads.
“My lady,” Marillion said, riding forward. “I beg you allow me to accompany you to the Eyrie, tosee the end of the tale as I saw its beginnings.” The boy sounded haggard, yet strangely determined;he had a fevered shine to his eyes.
Catelyn had never asked the singer to ride with them; that choice he had made himself, and how hehad come to survive the journey when so many braver men lay dead and unburied behind them, shecould never say. Yet here he was, with a scruff of beard that made him look almost a man. Perhapsshe owed him something for having come this far. “Very well,” she told him.
“I’ll come as well,” Bronn announced.
She liked that less well. Without Bronn she would never have reached the Vale, she knew; thesellsword was as fierce a fighter as she had ever seen, and his sword had helped cut them through tosafety. Yet for all that, Catelyn misliked the man. Courage he had, and strength, but there was nokindness in him, and little loyalty48. And she had seen him riding beside Lannister far too often, talkingin low voices and laughing at some private joke. She would have preferred to separate him from thedwarf here and now, but having agreed that Marillion might continue to the Eyrie, she could see nogracious way to deny that same right to Bronn. “As you wish,” she said, although she noted49 that hehad not actually asked her permission.
Ser Willis Wode remained with Ser Rodrik, a soft-spoken septon fussing over their wounds. Theirhorses were left behind as well, poor ragged things. Ser Donnel promised to send birds ahead to theEyrie and the Gates of the Moon with the word of their coming. Fresh mounts were brought forthfrom the stables, surefooted mountain stock with shaggy coats, and within the hour they set forth50 onceagain. Catelyn rode beside her uncle as they began the descent to the valley floor. Behind cameBronn, Tyrion Lannister, Marillion, and six of Brynden’s men.
Not until they were a third of the way down the mountain path, well out of earshot of the others,did Brynden Tully turn to her and say, “So, child. Tell me about this storm of yours.”
“I have not been a child in many years, Uncle,” Catelyn said, but she told him nonetheless. It tooklonger than she would have believed to tell it all, Lysa’s letter and Bran’s fall, the assassin’s daggerand Littlefinger and her chance meeting with Tyrion Lannister in the crossroads inn.
Her uncle listened silently, heavy brows shadowing his eyes as his frown grew deeper. BryndenTully had always known how to listen … to anyone but her father. He was Lord Hoster’s brother,younger by five years, but the two of them had been at war as far back as Catelyn could remember.
During one of their louder quarrels, when Catelyn was eight, Lord Hoster had called Brynden “theblack goat of the Tully flock.” Laughing, Brynden had pointed out that the sigil of their house was aleaping trout51, so he ought to be a black fish rather than a black goat, and from that day forward he hadtaken it as his personal emblem52.
The war had not ended until the day she and Lysa had been wed42. It was at their wedding feast thatBrynden told his brother he was leaving Riverrun to serve Lysa and her new husband, the Lord of theEyrie. Lord Hoster had not spoken his brother’s name since, from what Edmure told her in hisinfrequent letters.
Nonetheless, during all those years of Catelyn’s girlhood, it had been Brynden the Blackfish towhom Lord Hoster’s children had run with their tears and their tales, when Father was too busy andMother too ill. Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure … and yes, even Petyr Baelish, their father’s ward23 … he hadlistened to them all patiently, as he listened now, laughing at their triumphs and sympathizing withtheir childish misfortunes.
When she was done, her uncle remained silent for a long time, as his horse negotiated the steep,rocky trail. “Your father must be told,” he said at last. “If the Lannisters should march, Winterfell isremote and the Vale walled up behind its mountains, but Riverrun lies right in their path.”
“I’d had the same fear,” Catelyn admitted. “I shall ask Maester Colemon to send a bird when wereach the Eyrie.” She had other messages to send as well; the commands that Ned had given her forhis bannermen, to ready the defenses of the north. “What is the mood in the Vale?” she asked.
“Angry,” Brynden Tully admitted. “Lord Jon was much loved, and the insult was keenly feltwhen the king named Jaime Lannister to an office the Arryns had held for near three hundred years.
Lysa has commanded us to call her son the True Warden of the East, but no one is fooled. Nor is yoursister alone in wondering at the manner of the Hand’s death. None dare say Jon was murdered, notopenly, but suspicion casts a long shadow.” He gave Catelyn a look, his mouth tight. “And there is theboy.”
“The boy? What of him?” She ducked her head as they passed under a low overhang of rock, andaround a sharp turn.
daround a sharp turn.
Her uncle’s voice was troubled. “Lord Robert,” he sighed. “Six years old, sickly, and prone53 to weepif you take his dolls away. Jon Arryn’s trueborn heir, by all the gods, yet there are some who say he istoo weak to sit his father’s seat. Nestor Royce has been high steward54 these past fourteen years, whileLord Jon served in King’s Landing, and many whisper that he should rule until the boy comes of age.
Others believe that Lysa must marry again, and soon. Already the suitors gather like crows on abattlefield. The Eyrie is full of them.”
“I might have expected that,” Catelyn said. Small wonder there; Lysa was still young, and thekingdom of Mountain and Vale made a handsome wedding gift. “Will Lysa take another husband?”
“She says yes, provided she finds a man who suits her,” Brynden Tully said, “but she has alreadyrejected Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitable men. She swears that this time she will choose herlord husband.”
“You of all people can scarce fault her for that.”
Ser Brynden snorted. “Nor do I, but … it seems to me Lysa is only playing at courtship. She enjoysthe sport, but I believe your sister intends to rule herself until her boy is old enough to be Lord of theEyrie in truth as well as name.”
“A woman can rule as wisely as a man,” Catelyn said.
“The right woman can,” her uncle said with a sideways glance. “Make no mistake, Cat. Lysa isnot you.” He hesitated a moment. “If truth be told, I fear you may not find your sister as … helpful asyou would like.”
She was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“The Lysa who came back from King’s Landing is not the same girl who went south when herhusband was named Hand. Those years were hard for her. You must know. Lord Arryn was a dutifulhusband, but their marriage was made from politics, not passion.”
“As was my own.”
“They began the same, but your ending has been happier than your sister’s. Two babes stillborn,twice as many miscarriages55, Lord Arryn’s death … Catelyn, the gods gave Lysa only the one child,and he is all your sister lives for now, poor boy. Small wonder she fled rather than see him handedover to the Lannisters. Your sister is afraid, child, and the Lannisters are what she fears most. She ranto the Vale, stealing away from the Red Keep like a thief in the night, and all to snatch her son out ofthe lion’s mouth … and now you have brought the lion to her door.”
“In chains,” Catelyn said. A crevasse56 yawned on her right, falling away into darkness. She reinedup her horse and picked her way along step by careful step.
“Oh?” Her uncle glanced back, to where Tyrion Lannister was making his slow descent behindthem. “I see an axe on his saddle, a dirk at his belt, and a sellsword that trails after him like a hungryshadow. Where are the chains, sweet one?”
Catelyn shifted uneasily in her seat. “The dwarf is here, and not by choice. Chains or no, he is myprisoner. Lysa will want him to answer for his crimes no less than I. It was her own lord husband theLannisters murdered, and her own letter that first warned us against them.”
Brynden Blackfish gave her a weary smile. “I hope you are right, child,” he sighed, in tones thatsaid she was wrong.
The sun was well to the west by the time the slope began to flatten58 beneath the hooves of theirhorses. The road widened and grew straight, and for the first time Catelyn noticed wildflowers andgrasses growing. Once they reached the valley floor, the going was faster and they made good time,cantering through verdant59 greenwoods and sleepy little hamlets, past orchards60 and golden wheatfields, splashing across a dozen sunlit streams. Her uncle sent a standard-bearer ahead of them, adouble banner flying from his staff; the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn on high, and below it hisown black fish. Farm wagons61 and merchants’ carts and riders from lesser62 houses moved aside to letthem pass.
Even so, it was full dark before they reached the stout63 castle that stood at the foot of the Giant’sLance. Torches flickered64 atop its ramparts, and the horned moon danced upon the dark waters of itsmoat. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis down, but Catelyn saw lights burning in thegatehouse and spilling from the windows of the square towers beyond.
“The Gates of the Moon,” her uncle said as the party drew rein57. His standard-bearer rode to the edge of the moat to hail the men in the gatehouse. “Lord Nestor’s seat. He should be expecting us.
Look up.”
r’s seat. He should be expecting us.
Look up.”
Catelyn raised her eyes, up and up and up. At first all she saw was stone and trees, the loomingmass of the great mountain shrouded65 in night, as black as a starless sky. Then she noticed the glow ofdistant fires well above them; a tower keep, built upon the steep side of the mountain, its lights likeorange eyes staring down from above. Above that was another, higher and more distant, and stillhigher a third, no more than a flickering66 spark in the sky. And finally, up where the falcons67 soared, aflash of white in the moonlight. Vertigo68 washed over her as she stared upward at the pale towers, sofar above.
“The Eyrie,” she heard Marillion murmur69, awed70.
The sharp voice of Tyrion Lannister broke in. “The Arryns must not be overfond of company. Ifyou’re planning to make us climb that mountain in the dark, I’d rather you kill me here.”
“We’ll spend the night here and make the ascent71 on the morrow,” Brynden told him.
“I can scarcely wait,” the dwarf replied. “How do we get up there? I’ve no experience at ridinggoats.”
“Mules73,” Brynden said, smiling.
“There are steps carved into the mountain,” Catelyn said. Ned had told her about them when hetalked of his youth here with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn.
Her uncle nodded. “It is too dark to see them, but the steps are there. Too steep and narrow forhorses, but mules can manage them most of the way. The path is guarded by three waycastles, Stoneand Snow and Sky. The mules will take us as far up as Sky.”
Tyrion Lannister glanced up doubtfully. “And beyond that?”
Brynden smiled. “Beyond that, the path is too steep even for mules. We ascend74 on foot the rest ofthe way. Or perchance you’d prefer to ride a basket. The Eyrie clings to the mountain directly aboveSky, and in its cellars are six great winches with long iron chains to draw supplies up from below. Ifyou prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can arrange for you to ride up with the bread and beer and apples.”
The dwarf gave a bark of laughter. “Would that I were a pumpkin,” he said. “Alas, my lord fatherwould no doubt be most chagrined75 if his son of Lannister went to his fate like a load of turnips76. If youascend on foot, I fear I must do the same. We Lannisters do have a certain pride.”
“Pride?” Catelyn snapped. His mocking tone and easy manner made her angry. “Arrogance77, somemight call it. Arrogance and avarice78 and lust79 for power.”
“My brother is undoubtedly80 arrogant,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “My father is the soul of avarice,and my sweet sister Cersei lusts81 for power with every waking breath. I, however, am innocent as alittle lamb. Shall I bleat82 for you?” He grinned.
The drawbridge came creaking down before she could reply, and they heard the sound of oiledchains as the portcullis was drawn up. Men-at-arms carried burning brands out to light their way, andher uncle led them across the moat. Lord Nestor Royce, High Steward of the Vale and Keeper of theGates of the Moon, was waiting in the yard to greet them, surrounded by his knights. “Lady Stark,” hesaid, bowing. He was a massive, barrel-chested man, and his bow was clumsy.
Catelyn dismounted to stand before him. “Lord Nestor,” she said. She knew the man only byreputation; Bronze Yohn’s cousin, from a lesser branch of House Royce, yet still a formidable lord inhis own right. “We have had a long and tiring journey. I would beg the hospitality of your rooftonight, if I might.”
“My roof is yours, my lady,” Lord Nestor returned gruffly, “but your sister the Lady Lysa has sentdown word from the Eyrie. She wishes to see you at once. The rest of your party will be housed hereand sent up at first light.”
Her uncle swung off his horse. “What madness is this?” he said bluntly. Brynden Tully had neverbeen a man to blunt the edge of his words. “A night ascent, with the moon not even full? Even Lysashould know that’s an invitation to a broken neck.”
“The mules know the way, Ser Brynden.” A wiry girl of seventeen or eighteen years stepped upbeside Lord Nestor. Her dark hair was cropped short and straight around her head, and she woreriding leathers and a light shirt of silvered ringmail. She bowed to Catelyn, more gracefully83 than herlord. “I promise you, my lady, no harm will come to you. It would be my honor to take you up. I’vemade the dark climb a hundred times. Mychel says my father must have been a goat.”
She sounded so cocky that Catelyn had to smile. “Do you have a name, child?”
“Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady,” the girl said.
It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was abastard’s name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of theSeven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own.
Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned’s bastard84 onthe Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for areply.
Lord Nestor filled the silence. “Mya’s a clever girl, and if she vows85 she will bring you safely to theLady Lysa, I believe her. She has not failed me yet.”
“Then I put myself in your hands, Mya Stone,” Catelyn said. “Lord Nestor, I charge you to keep aclose guard on my prisoner.”
“And I charge you to bring the prisoner a cup of wine and a nicely crisped capon, before he diesof hunger,” Lannister said. “A girl would be pleasant as well, but I suppose that’s too much to ask ofyou.” The sellsword Bronn laughed aloud.
Lord Nestor ignored the banter86. “As you say, my lady, so it will be done.” Only then did he look atthe dwarf. “See our lord of Lannister to a tower cell, and bring him meat and mead87.”
Catelyn took her leave of her uncle and the others as Tyrion Lannister was led off, then followedthe bastard girl through the castle. Two mules were waiting in the upper bailey, saddled and ready.
Mya helped her mount one while a guardsman in a sky-blue cloak opened the narrow postern gate.
Beyond was dense88 forest of pine and spruce, and the mountain like a black wall, but the steps werethere, chiseled89 deep into the rock, ascending90 into the sky. “Some people find it easier if they closetheir eyes,” Mya said as she led the mules through the gate into the dark wood. “When they getfrightened or dizzy, sometimes they hold on to the mule72 too tight. They don’t like that.”
“I was born a Tully and wed to a Stark,” Catelyn said. “I do not frighten easily. Do you plan tolight a torch?” The steps were black as pitch.
The girl made a face. “Torches just blind you. On a clear night like this, the moon and the stars areenough. Mychel says I have the eyes of the owl91.” She mounted and urged her mule up the first step.
Catelyn’s animal followed of its own accord.
“You mentioned Mychel before,” Catelyn said. The mules set the pace, slow but steady. She wasperfectly content with that.
“Mychel’s my love,” Mya explained. “Mychel Redfort. He’s squire92 to Ser Lyn Corbray. We’re towed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after.”
She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smilewas tinged93 with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of theFirst Men in their veins94. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His familywould arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps adaughter of some greater house outside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it wouldbe on the wrong side of the sheet.
The ascent was easier than Catelyn had dared hope. The trees pressed close, leaning over the pathto make a rustling95 green roof that shut out even the moon, so it seemed as though they were movingup a long black tunnel. But the mules were surefooted and tireless, and Mya Stone did indeed seemblessed with night-eyes. They plodded96 upward, winding their way back and forth across the face ofthe mountain as the steps twisted and turned. A thick layer of fallen needles carpeted the path, so theshoes of their mules made only the softest sound on the rock. The quiet soothed97 her, and the gentlerocking motion set Catelyn to swaying in her saddle. Before long she was fighting sleep.
Perhaps she did doze34 for a moment, for suddenly a massive ironbound gate was looming beforethem. “Stone,” Mya announced cheerily, dismounting. Iron spikes98 were set along the tops offormidable stone walls, and two fat round towers overtopped the keep. The gate swung open at Mya’sshout. Inside, the portly knight who commanded the waycastle greeted Mya by name and offeredthem skewers99 of charred100 meat and onions still hot from the spit. Catelyn had not realized how hungryshe was. She ate standing101 in the yard, as stablehands moved their saddles to fresh mules. The hotjuices ran down her chin and dripped onto her cloak, but she was too famished102 to care.
Then it was up onto a new mule and out again into the starlight. The second part of the ascentseemed more treacherous103 to Catelyn. The trail was steeper, the steps more worn, and here and therelittered with pebbles104 and broken stone. Mya had to dismount a half-dozen times to move fallen rocks from their path. “You don’t want your mule to break a leg up here,” she said. Catelyn was forced toagree. She could feel the altitude more now. The trees were sparser105 up here, and the wind blew morevigorously, sharp gusts106 that tugged107 at her clothing and pushed her hair into her eyes. From time totime the steps doubled back on themselves, and she could see Stone below them, and the Gates of theMoon farther down, its torches no brighter than candles.
Snow was smaller than Stone, a single fortified108 tower and a timber keep and stable hidden behind alow wall of unmortared rock. Yet it nestled against the Giant’s Lance in such a way as to commandthe entire stone stair above the lower waycastle. An enemy intent on the Eyrie would have to fight hisway from Stone step by step, while rocks and arrows rained down from Snow above. Thecommander, an anxious young knight with a pockmarked face, offered bread and cheese and thechance to warm themselves before his fire, but Mya declined. “We ought to keep going, my lady,” shesaid. “If it please you.” Catelyn nodded.
Again they were given fresh mules. Hers was white. Mya smiled when she saw him. “Whitey’s agood one, my lady. Sure of foot, even on ice, but you need to be careful. He’ll kick if he doesn’t likeyou.”
The white mule seemed to like Catelyn; there was no kicking, thank the gods. There was no iceeither, and she was grateful for that as well. “My mother says that hundreds of years ago, this waswhere the snow began,” Mya told her. “It was always white above here, and the ice never melted.”
She shrugged109. “I can’t remember ever seeing snow this far down the mountain, but maybe it was thatway once, in the olden times.”
So young, Catelyn thought, trying to remember if she had ever been like that. The girl had livedhalf her life in summer, and that was all she knew. Winter is coming, child, she wanted to tell her. Thewords were on her lips; she almost said them. Perhaps she was becoming a Stark at last.
Above Snow, the wind was a living thing, howling around them like a wolf in the waste, thenfalling off to nothing as if to lure110 them into complacency. The stars seemed brighter up here, so closethat she could almost touch them, and the horned moon was huge in the clear black sky. As theyclimbed, Catelyn found it was better to look up than down. The steps were cracked and broken fromcenturies of freeze and thaw111 and the tread of countless112 mules, and even in the dark the heights put herheart in her throat. When they came to a high saddle between two spires113 of rock, Mya dismounted.
“It’s best to lead the mules over,” she said. “The wind can be a little scary here, my lady.”
Catelyn climbed stiffly from the shadows and looked at the path ahead; twenty feet long and closeto three feet wide, but with a precipitous drop to either side. She could hear the wind shrieking114. Myastepped lightly out, her mule following as calmly as if they were crossing a bailey. It was her turn.
Yet no sooner had she taken her first step than fear caught Catelyn in its jaws115. She could feel theemptiness, the vast black gulfs of air that yawned around her. She stopped, trembling, afraid to move.
The wind screamed at her and wrenched117 at her cloak, trying to pull her over the edge. Catelyn edgedher foot backward, the most timid of steps, but the mule was behind her, and she could not retreat. Iam going to die here, she thought. She could feel cold sweat trickling118 down her back.
“Lady Stark,” Mya called across the gulf116. The girl sounded a thousand leagues away. “Are youwell?”
Catelyn Tully Stark swallowed what remained of her pride. “I … I cannot do this, child,” she calledout.
“Yes you can,” the bastard girl said. “I know you can. Look how wide the path is.”
“I don’t want to look.” The world seemed to be spinning around her, mountain and sky and mules,whirling like a child’s top. Catelyn closed her eyes to steady her ragged breathing.
“I’ll come back for you,” Mya said. “Don’t move, my lady.”
Moving was about the last thing Catelyn was about to do. She listened to the skirling of the windand the scuffling sound of leather on stone. Then Mya was there, taking her gently by the arm. “Keepyour eyes closed if you like. Let go of the rope now, Whitey will take care of himself. Very good, mylady. I’ll lead you over, it’s easy, you’ll see. Give me a step now. That’s it, move your foot, just slideit forward. See. Now another. Easy. You could run across. Another one, go on. Yes.” And so, foot byfoot, step by step, the bastard girl led Catelyn across, blind and trembling, while the white mulefollowed placidly119 behind them.
The waycastle called Sky was no more than a high, crescent-shaped wall of unmortared stoneraised against the side of the mountain, but even the topless towers of Valyria could not have looked more beautiful to Catelyn Stark. Here at last the snow crown began; Sky’s weathered stones wererimed with frost, and long spears of ice hung from the slopes above.
Dawn was breaking in the east as Mya Stone hallooed for the guards, and the gates opened beforethem. Inside the walls there was only a series of ramps120 and a great tumble of boulders121 and stones ofall sizes. No doubt it would be the easiest thing in the world to begin an avalanche122 from here. Amouth yawned in the rock face in front of them. “The stables and barracks are in there,” Mya said.
“The last part is inside the mountain. It can be a little dark, but at least you’re out of the wind. Thisis as far as the mules can go. Past here, well, it’s a sort of chimney, more like a stone ladder thanproper steps, but it’s not too bad. Another hour and we’ll be there.”
Catelyn looked up. Directly overhead, pale in the dawn light, she could see the foundations of theEyrie. It could not be more than six hundred feet above them. From below it looked like a small whitehoneycomb. She remembered what her uncle had said of baskets and winches. “The Lannisters mayhave their pride,” she told Mya, “but the Tullys are born with better sense. I have ridden all day andthe best part of a night. Tell them to lower a basket. I shall ride with the turnips.”
The sun was well above the mountains by the time Catelyn Stark finally reached the Eyrie. Astocky, silver-haired man in a sky-blue cloak and hammered moon-and-falcon breastplate helped herfrom the basket; Ser Vardis Egen, captain of Jon Arryn’s household guard. Beside him stood MaesterColemon, thin and nervous, with too little hair and too much neck. “Lady Stark,” Ser Vardis said, “thepleasure is as great as it is unanticipated.” Maester Colemon bobbed his head in agreement. “Indeed itis, my lady, indeed it is. I have sent word to your sister. She left orders to be awakened123 the instant youarrived.”
“I hope she had a good night’s rest,” Catelyn said with a certain bite in her tone that seemed to gounnoticed.
The men escorted her from the winch room up a spiral stair. The Eyrie was a small castle by thestandards of the great houses; seven slender white towers bunched as tightly as arrows in a quiver ona shoulder of the great mountain. It had no need of stables nor smithys nor kennels124, but Ned said itsgranary was as large as Winterfell’s, and its towers could house five hundred men. Yet it seemedstrangely deserted125 to Catelyn as she passed through it, its pale stone halls echoing and empty.
Lysa was waiting alone in her solar, still clad in her bed robes. Her long auburn hair tumbledunbound across bare white shoulders and down her back. A maid stood behind her, brushing out thenight’s tangles126, but when Catelyn entered, her sister rose to her feet, smiling. “Cat,” she said. “Oh,Cat, how good it is to see you. My sweet sister.” She ran across the chamber127 and wrapped her sister inher arms. “How long it has been,” Lysa murmured against her. “Oh, how very very long.”
It had been five years, in truth; five cruel years, for Lysa. They had taken their toll128. Her sister wastwo years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa had grown thick of body,pale and puffy of face. She had the blue eyes of the Tullys, but hers were pale and watery129, never still.
Her small mouth had turned petulant130. As Catelyn held her, she remembered the slender, high-breastedgirl who’d waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she hadbeen. All that remained of her sister’s beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded131 toher waist.
“You look well,” Catelyn lied, “but … tired.”
Her sister broke the embrace. “Tired. Yes. Oh, yes.” She seemed to notice the others then; hermaid, Maester Colemon, Ser Vardis. “Leave us,” she told them. “I wish to speak to my sister alone.”
She held Catelyn’s hand as they withdrew ……and dropped it the instant the door closed. Catelyn saw her face change. It was as if the sun hadgone behind a cloud. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Lysa snapped at her. “To bring himhere, without a word of permission, without so much as a warning, to drag us into your quarrels withthe Lannisters …”
“My quarrels?” Catelyn could scarce believe what she was hearing. A great fire burned in thehearth, but there was no trace of warmth in Lysa’s voice. “They were your quarrels first, sister. It wasyou who sent me that cursed letter, you who wrote that the Lannisters had murdered your husband.”
“To warn you, so you could stay away from them! I never meant to fight them! Gods, Cat, do youknow what you’ve done?”
“Mother?” a small voice said. Lysa whirled, her heavy robe swirling132 around her. Robert Arryn,Lord of the Eyrie, stood in the doorway133, clutching a ragged cloth doll and looking at them with large eyes. He was a painfully thin child, small for his age and sickly all his days, and from time to timehe trembled. The shaking sickness, the maesters called it. “I heard voices.”
Small wonder, Catelyn thought; Lysa had almost been shouting. Still, her sister looked daggers ather. “This is your aunt Catelyn, baby. My sister, Lady Stark. Do you remember?”
The boy glanced at her blankly. “I think so,” he said, blinking, though he had been less than a yearold the last time Catelyn had seen him.
Lysa seated herself near the fire and said, “Come to Mother, my sweet one.” She straightened hisbedclothes and fussed with his fine brown hair. “Isn’t he beautiful? And strong too, don’t you believethe things you hear. Jon knew. The seed is strong, he told me. His last words. He kept saying Robert’sname, and he grabbed my arm so hard he left marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. Hewanted everyone to know what a good strong boy my baby was going to be.”
“Lysa,” Catelyn said, “if you’re right about the Lannisters, all the more reason we must actquickly. We—”
“Not in front of the baby,” Lysa said. “He has a delicate temper, don’t you, sweet one?”
“The boy is Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale,” Catelyn reminded her, “and these arenot times for delicacy134. Ned thinks it may come to war.”
“Quiet!” Lysa snapped at her. “You’re scaring the boy.” Little Robert took a quick peek135 over hisshoulder at Catelyn and began to tremble. His doll fell to the rushes, and he pressed himself againsthis mother. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet baby,” Lysa whispered. “Mother’s here, nothing will hurtyou.” She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy breast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for iteagerly, buried his face against her chest, and began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.
Catelyn was at a loss for words, Jon Arryn’s son, she thought incredulously. She remembered herown baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of this boy and five times as fierce. Small wonder thelords of the Vale were restive136. For the first time she understood why the king had tried to take thechild away from his mother to foster with the Lannisters …“We’re safe here,” Lysa was saying. Whether to her or to the boy, Catelyn was not sure.
“Don’t be a fool,” Catelyn said, the anger rising in her. “No one is safe. If you think hiding herewill make the Lannisters forget you, you are sadly mistaken.”
Lysa covered her boy’s ear with her hand. “Even if they could bring an army through themountains and past the Bloody Gate, the Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No enemy couldever reach us up here.”
Catelyn wanted to slap her. Uncle Brynden had tried to warn her, she realized. “No castle isimpregnable.”
“This one is,” Lysa insisted. “Everyone says so. The only thing is, what am I to do with this Impyou have brought me?”
“Is he a bad man?” the Lord of the Eyrie asked, his mother’s breast popping from his mouth, thenipple wet and red.
“A very bad man,” Lysa told him as she covered herself, “but Mother won’t let him harm my littlebaby.”
“Make him fly,” Robert said eagerly.
Lysa stroked her son’s hair. “Perhaps we will,” she murmured. “Perhaps that is just what we willdo.”
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1
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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whetting
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的现在分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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dicing
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| n.掷骰子，（皮革上的）菱形装饰v.将…切成小方块，切成丁（ dice的现在分词 ） | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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obsidian
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| n.黑曜石 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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38
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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40
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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41
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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42
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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43
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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44
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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45
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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49
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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51
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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52
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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53
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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54
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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55
miscarriages
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| 流产( miscarriage的名词复数 ) | |
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56
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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57
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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58
flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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59
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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60
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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61
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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62
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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64
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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falcons
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| n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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68
vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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69
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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70
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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72
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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73
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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74
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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75
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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77
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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79
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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80
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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81
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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82
bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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83
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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84
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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85
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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86
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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87
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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88
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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96
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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97
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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98
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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99
skewers
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| n.串肉扦( skewer的名词复数 )；烤肉扦；棒v.（用串肉扦或类似物）串起，刺穿( skewer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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101
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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102
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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103
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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104
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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105
sparser
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| adj.稀疏的，稀少的( sparse的比较级 ) | |
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106
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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107
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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109
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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110
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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111
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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112
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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113
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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114
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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115
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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116
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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118
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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120
ramps
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| resources allocation and multiproject scheduling 资源分配和多项目的行程安排 | |
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121
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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122
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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123
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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124
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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125
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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126
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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128
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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129
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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130
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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131
cascaded
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| 级联的 | |
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132
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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133
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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134
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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135
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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136
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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