Beyond the tall windows of the Eyrie, the sky stretched wide and clear, a brilliant blue scattered with drifting white clouds. The mountain winds whispered softly through the high stone corridors, but within the garden below, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.
Lords, knights, and attendants had gathered in tense silence.
At the center of it all stood Lysa Arryn.
Or rather—
What remained of her dignity.
She was no longer the proud Lady of the Vale, nor the regent who once ruled in her son's name. Now, she was a trembling, disheveled figure, her mind unraveling under the crushing weight of truth.
"Please… forgive me, Jon…" she wailed, her voice cracking. "It was you… you wanted to take Sweetrobin away from me… you never loved me… never…"
Her words spiraled into incoherence.
Attendants in blue robes held her firmly, preventing her from collapsing entirely. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her face pale and streaked with tears. Under the pressure of exposure, her sanity seemed to fracture further with each passing moment.
To the gathered nobles, she was no longer a ruler.
She was a madwoman.
Above them, a white falcon circled gracefully in the sky.
It was Duke Robert's falcon—a symbol of House Arryn.
The bird glided through the air before descending in a smooth arc, landing lightly upon Gendry's shoulder. Its snow-white feathers shimmered in the sunlight, its sharp eyes scanning the crowd with uncanny awareness.
For a brief moment, silence fell.
Then—
"The falcon has descended!" Ser Vardis exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "It is a sign! Lord Jon's spirit watches over us!"
"The falcon! The falcon!" the crowd echoed, their voices rising in reverence.
Gendry, however, remained calm.
To him, it was nothing more than coincidence.
The falcon had once belonged to King Robert, gifted to Jon Arryn. It likely recognized strength—or perhaps simply sought the tallest figure in the crowd.
And yet…
In this moment, symbolism mattered more than truth.
With the falcon perched upon his shoulder, Gendry appeared as if chosen by fate itself.
"May your spirit find peace, Lord Jon," he said quietly.
His gaze shifted toward Lysa.
There was no anger in his eyes—only cold judgment.
Today, he had two responsibilities.
To deliver justice.
And to ensure its consequences were properly managed.
The charges against Lysa Arryn were undeniable.
Her own frantic confession had laid everything bare.
First—she had poisoned Jon Arryn using tears of Lys, a rare and deadly toxin.
Second—she had fabricated accusations and sent false letters to House Stark, igniting suspicion and unrest across the realm.
Third—she had endangered her own son, administering sweet sleepflower to maintain control over him.
Fourth—she had conspired with Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger—betraying House Arryn and handing over its authority and resources.
Each crime alone was grave.
Together, they formed an unforgivable betrayal.
"That's enough," Gendry said firmly. "She has said more than enough."
He gestured slightly.
"Silence her."
The attendants obeyed immediately, placing a cloth over Lysa's mouth. Her cries were reduced to muffled sobs as she struggled weakly against their grip.
The illusion of nobility was gone.
Stripped away completely.
"Maester Colemon," Gendry continued, "have you recorded everything?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Colemon replied, clutching his parchment tightly. "Every word."
"Good."
Ser Vardis stepped forward.
"There is also Ser Hugh," he added. "Jon Arryn's former squire. After the Hand's death, he was knighted… and later died during the Hand's Tourney, slain by the Mountain."
Ser Barristan Selmy nodded solemnly.
"I remember. He was ambitious… too eager to prove himself. At the time, it seemed like an unfortunate accident."
He paused.
"But now… it feels different."
"A silencing," Brynden Tully said quietly. "A loose end tied off."
The realization settled heavily over the crowd.
How many threads had been pulled to weave this conspiracy?
How many lives had been sacrificed?
"This was no simple crime," Gendry said. "This was treason."
"A conspiracy led by Petyr Baelish."
At the mention of Littlefinger's name, murmurs spread through the gathering.
Even in his absence, his shadow loomed large.
"He is clever," Gendry admitted. "Clever enough to manipulate gold, emotion, and fear."
"But cleverness without honor leads only to ruin."
Littlefinger had risen through deception.
He had no great army.
No powerful lineage.
No loyal kin.
He thrived in shadows—preying on the weak, exploiting the unsuspecting.
But such power was fragile.
And now—
It was collapsing.
"Your Highness," Ser Vardis said, kneeling. "The authority to judge belongs to the King… and you are his rightful heir."
"Lord Jon's blood must not be spilled in vain."
"Please," Brynden Tully added, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Grant her a swift death… without further humiliation."
"She murdered the Lord of the Vale," Baron Nestor said bluntly. "There can be no mercy."
"None," Vardis agreed. "And Littlefinger deserves worse."
"The Lannisters may also be involved," Lyn Corbray interjected. "And Grand Maester Pycelle… his past actions are not without suspicion."
Tension rippled through the crowd.
If this conspiracy reached King's Landing—
The consequences would be far-reaching.
Gendry raised his hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"My Lords," he began, his voice steady and commanding.
"Lysa Arryn denied us guest right. She raised her sword against us."
"By all laws—she has forfeited her protection."
He paused briefly.
"However—before I pass judgment…"
"I will restore what is rightful."
He turned slightly.
"The title of Warden of the East belongs to Robert Arryn."
A wave of approval spread through the Lords.
Though symbolic, the declaration mattered.
Honor had been restored.
"Under the eyes of gods and men," Gendry continued,
"I, Gendry Baratheon—heir to King Robert—sentence Lysa Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and all those involved in this conspiracy…"
"To death."
"For treason, murder, child endangerment, and inciting unrest."
"All titles, lands, and honors are hereby stripped."
"The sentence will be carried out at the Moon Door," Ser Vardis announced.
"Take her away," Gendry ordered.
Lysa was dragged from the garden, her muffled cries echoing faintly before fading into silence.
No one pitied her.
Not anymore.
With her removal, all attention returned to Gendry.
He was now the center of gravity.
The one who would decide what came next.
"Littlefinger remains," Ser Vardis said.
"In King's Landing," Lyn Corbray added with a sneer. "But his roots are here."
"In Gulltown," Bronze Yohn Royce said. "That is where we strike."
"And his wealth," another lord added. "He has hoarded vast sums."
Gendry nodded.
"I will send word to Lord Grafton."
His tone was calm.
"His assets will be seized. His agents… removed."
This was not merely punishment.
It was eradication.
Then, Gendry addressed the assembled nobles once more.
"Littlefinger deceived many," he said. "Even great men."
"Any past dealings with him—debts, favors—will be forgiven."
Relief spread instantly across the crowd.
"But from this day forward—"
His voice hardened.
"Anyone who aids him… will face my judgment."
No one doubted his meaning.
"Maester Colemon," Gendry called.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"You will write a letter."
Colemon hesitated.
"As Lady Lysa would."
Understanding dawned.
"You wish to lure him?"
Gendry gave a faint smile.
"He will not ignore her."
Colemon swallowed nervously.
"I understand."
"Good," Gendry said. "Do it well."
As the meeting dispersed, the wind carried away the last echoes of Lysa's cries.
Justice had been delivered.
But this was only the beginning.
The game was far from over.
And somewhere in King's Landing—
Littlefinger was still smiling.
For now.
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