Blue and white had always defined the Eyrie.
They were not merely colors, but symbols—of House Arryn's pride, purity, and lofty authority. The sky above was a clear, endless blue. The seven slender towers gleamed white against the heavens like spears of light. Even the guards wore sky-blue cloaks, while the gardens bloomed with pale flowers nestled among marble statues.
Everything spoke of serenity.
Of order.
Of a house that stood above the world.
But today—
That illusion had been shattered.
Black and gold now dominated the Eyrie.
Like a rising sun eclipsing the old sky.
Tall warriors in black armor stood like pillars of iron, their golden surcoats gleaming coldly in the light. Their presence brought with it an overwhelming sense of authority—of conquest.
At the center of the circular garden, Gendry stood beside a weathered stone statue.
He leaned casually on his arakh.
The Valyrian steel blade shimmered with a smoky gray hue, each ripple along its surface like a whisper of darkness. It was light, yet impossibly strong—its edge capable of cutting through steel as though it were silk.
Gendry himself stood like a force of nature.
Tall.
Broad.
Unyielding.
Those who had witnessed the Whispering Woods battle called him a demon—a storm given human form. Even now, that aura lingered around him, like a brewing tempest ready to engulf everything.
Behind him stood Barristan Selmy, Lyn Corbray, Brynden Tully, Bronze Yohn Royce, Anguy, and others.
They were waiting.
For two final witnesses.
Maester Colemon.
And the singer—Marillion.
Gendry's gaze slowly lifted.
He looked toward the balcony above.
There stood Lysa Arryn.
Disheveled.
Weeping.
Broken.
Behind her gathered the lords and retainers of the Vale—but their unity was already crumbling.
"The gods bear witness to your crimes," Gendry said coldly.
His voice carried across the garden like steel striking stone.
The Vale lords shifted uneasily.
Moments earlier, Ser Lyn Corbray—the pride of the Vale—had been defeated.
And not just defeated—
Overwhelmed.
Even those who had believed in him now found their confidence shaken.
Ser Lyn had not been an ordinary knight. His skill was renowned across the Seven Kingdoms. Yet even with the advantage of rest, he had been utterly outclassed by Gendry, who had just arrived after a grueling journey.
Reality… was merciless.
"Swords are truth," Ser Lyn said quietly.
"Strength is truth."
"Appearance is truth."
"Spirit is truth."
His words fell like a verdict.
Violence—the most primal force in the world—had decided everything.
And Gendry had proven himself superior in every aspect.
At that moment, many of the Vale lords understood something crucial.
In righteousness—Lysa stood accused.
In strength—their greatest champion had fallen.
In courage—none dared step forward.
If that was the case…
Why continue resisting?
One by one—
They began to shift.
"Since she's a traitor… do we still owe her anything?" one lord muttered.
"Debts die with the debtor."
Others nodded.
Littlefinger's influence had once run deep in the Vale. Many had benefited from his wealth and cunning.
But now—
That same connection became a liability.
"If this is treason… then all debts are void."
"Confiscate his wealth!"
"Punish the traitors!"
Voices rose.
The tide had turned.
One by one, lords stepped away from the balcony.
They came down into the garden.
Submitting.
Leaving Lysa behind—
Alone.
"Oh, gods… save me…" she sobbed weakly.
But no one answered.
Without power—
Without authority—
She was nothing more than a desperate, aging woman.
Even the guards looked at her with thinly veiled contempt.
At that moment, movement stirred among the crowd.
"Maester Colemon has arrived."
The frail maester was escorted forward, his thin frame trembling slightly.
Captain Vardis brought him directly before Gendry.
"Speak," Vardis said firmly. "Before the gods—tell us what you know."
"Restrain her," Gendry ordered.
On the balcony, Lysa struggled violently as guards seized her arms.
She shrieked—
But no one came to her aid.
"Explain everything," Gendry said, his eyes fixed on Colemon.
"You attended Lord Jon Arryn in his final days."
The maester swallowed nervously.
"My lords… Lord Jon was… different before his illness."
He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.
"He visited places he normally wouldn't… even a brothel."
Murmurs spread.
"That was unlike him," Colemon continued. "He valued honor deeply."
"He also visited a smithy… with Lord Stannis. The same one where Prince Gendry once worked."
Gendry remained silent.
"And… he wished to send young Lord Robin to Dragonstone."
Lysa's struggles intensified.
"Lady Lysa opposed this strongly," Colemon added.
"They argued often."
He took a breath.
"Then… Lord Jon requested a book."
"A large volume."
"The Genealogies and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms."
Gendry's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And the next day?"
"…He fell ill."
Colemon's voice trembled.
"He complained of severe pain. At first, I believed it was a stomach illness."
"But…"
Ser Vardis stepped forward.
"But?"
Colemon lowered his head.
"It progressed too quickly."
"I attempted treatment… but Grand Maester Pycelle dismissed me."
"And before his death… Lord Jon repeated the same words—again and again…"
"The seed… is strong."
Silence fell.
"What poison causes such symptoms?" Vardis demanded.
Colemon hesitated.
"…There is one."
"Tears of Lys."
The name sent a chill through the crowd.
"It is rare. Expensive."
"Sweet as water. Impossible to detect."
"It destroys the body from within… mimicking natural illness."
"So if someone close to him administered it…" Lyn said quietly.
"…He would never suspect."
Colemon nodded.
"Search her chambers," Gendry ordered.
"Yes, Your Highness."
At the same time—
"Bring the singer."
Marillion was dragged forward, disheveled and reeking of wine.
Despite his condition, his fine clothing and golden ornaments stood out—proof of his indulgent lifestyle.
"Wake him," Gendry said.
Anguy smirked and splashed wine across his face.
Marillion gasped—
Then froze in fear.
"Speak," Nestor commanded.
"What do you know?"
The singer trembled.
"I… I loved Lady Lysa…"
"But she… she only loved Petyr…"
His voice cracked.
"She said she carried his child once… and would again…"
Gasps echoed.
"She did everything for him…"
"That's enough," Vardis snapped.
"Take him away."
The guards stripped him of his finery and dragged him off.
Moments later, Colemon returned.
In his hands was a small cedar box.
Inside—
Sweetsleep.
A dangerous substance.
"A few grains… to calm the child," he read aloud from Lysa's own writing.
The evidence was undeniable.
"She poisoned her husband…"
"And her own son…"
The lords erupted in fury.
"Coward!"
"Monster!"
Even Barristan's voice was heavy with sorrow.
"Poison is the weapon of the dishonorable."
Finally—
Lysa was dragged into the center of the garden.
Forced to her knees.
The cloth was pulled from her mouth.
"Speak," Vardis ordered.
"Or we search everything."
She broke.
"I hated him!" she screamed.
"He never loved me!"
"I only loved Petyr!"
Her words spilled out like madness.
"I gave everything for him!"
"Jon wanted to take my son away—I would never allow it!"
Her hands clutched her stomach as if remembering a lost child.
"They took my first child… I swore never again…"
Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.
"Petyr told me what to do…"
"He said… put the tears in Jon's wine…"
"And I did!"
Silence.
Heavy.
Absolute.
"I wrote the letter too!" she cried.
"I blamed the Lannisters!"
"It was all for him… for us…"
Her voice broke into sobs.
"I did everything for love…"
Around her—
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The truth had been revealed.
Not through strength.
Not through politics.
But through something far uglier—
Obsession.
Delusion.
Madness.
Gendry looked down at her.
His expression unreadable.
Truth…
Was often far more brutal than any lie.
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