The Eyrie, a white castle atop the mountains.
It pierced the sky like a spear carved from giant bones, standing in proud solitude.
This is the most impregnable fortress in Westeros.
Clouds are its walls, and the gale is its war horn.
Since the Age of Heroes, no army has ever successfully assaulted it from the front.
Yet, at this moment, a madness more chilling than the mountain winds pervades this strong castle.
In the main hall of the towering keep, the vassal lords of the Vale were gathered.
They wore their respective family armors, their expressions solemn.
Lysa Arryn.
The current Lady of the Vale, her once rather beautiful face was now distorted by long-term paranoia and grief.
Her eyes were sunken, her lips cracked, and her long brown hair was disheveled like dry grass.
In her arms, she held tightly a boy who looked seven or eight years old, but was as frail as a three or four-year-old child.
Robert Arryn.
The future Lord of the Vale.
At this moment, the future Lord of the Vale was greedily sucking at the withered… "Mother, a little more…" like a hungry chick.
The boy's thin and sickly whimper, like a sticky, disgusting maggot, drilled into everyone's ears.
"My sweet baby, of course, you can drink as much as you want."
Lysa Arryn's face showed a chillingly loving smile.
She adjusted her posture to allow her son to feed more comfortably.
Inside the hall, there was a deathly silence.
The vassal lords of the Vale, those knights proud of their honor and ancient bloodlines, all bowed their heads, looking at the exquisite leather boots on their tiptoes.
No one dared to look up.
No one dared to look at the repulsive scene from the throne above.
"Enough, Lysa!"
A low growl, suppressing anger, finally broke the suffocating silence.
"Bronze Yohn" Royce.
The Earl of Runestone.
A tall, white-haired old man whose face was etched with years and honor.
It is worth mentioning that "Bronze Yohn"'s third son, a Night's Watch Ranger, unfortunately died at the hands of the Others.
He was, in a way, Lynn's comrade in misfortune.
Except he died, and "Lynn" survived because he ran fast.
"Bronze Yohn" suddenly looked up, his grey eyes burning with undisguised anger and disgust.
"Make your son put on his pants and sit back in his place!"
"He's eight years old!"
"He's not a suckling infant!"
"He is the heir of House Arryn, the future Defender of the Vale! Not a pet in your arms!"
The old earl's voice roared, echoing through the hall.
Several young knights instinctively gripped the hilts of their swords, watching the scene nervously.
Lysa Arryn slowly raised her head?
Her eyes, somewhat clouded by grief and paranoia, stared at "Bronze Yohn" Royce.
She did not get angry; instead, a smile appeared on her face.
"Lord Royce, are you teaching me how to discipline my son?"
"Or are you saying that you think you are more qualified to sit in this chair than I am?"
"You!"
Lord Royce's face instantly turned crimson.
"I never had such a thought!"
"I just…"
"You just think I'm crazy, don't you?"
Lysa interrupted him, her voice suddenly rising.
"You think I'm dragging the entire Vale into a war with that new noble of the North who has a dragon, all for a lowly Petyr Baelish!"
"You think I'm gambling with the foundation of House Arryn, with all of your lives!"
Her words accurately hit the mark for all the nobles present.
The hall fell silent once more.
Indeed, that's exactly what they thought.
Ever since Lysa Arryn, in the name of Jon Arryn, issued a summons to the entire Vale, declaring Lynn a traitor and vowing to avenge Petyr Baelish, they had thought this woman was mad!
Who the hell was Petyr Baelish?
Just a Littlefinger who climbed to a high position through schemes and tricks.
Although news from the Vale was controlled by Lysa, some rumors had already leaked out, and things were as clear as day.
Petyr Baelish murdered Lord Arryn; this was very likely true.
But Lysa claimed it was a war of public opinion, and no one could distinguish truth from falsehood for a while.
Moreover, the Vale was now completely blockaded by Lysa, formally entering a state of war, and they could only cautiously investigate at the risk of treason; a slight misstep would lead to public beheading.
Therefore, Baelish's death was inherently suspicious in many ways and certainly not worth the Vale shedding a single drop of blood for.
And who was Lynn?
He was the Earl of the Gift personally enfeoffed by King Robert Baratheon, and a vassal of Ned, Lord of Winterfell.
Once war broke out, Ned would inevitably send troops to aid him.
Then it would no longer be a war between the Vale and the Gift, but against the North and beyond the Wall simultaneously!
More importantly, Lynn had a dragon!
The nightmare left over from the Targaryen Dynasty, that magical creature that burned Harrenhal to glass!
To be his enemy?
What was the difference between that and suicide?
Lysa's political ability was truly too poor!
"My lady, we are not questioning your decision."
A sparse-haired, corpulent Lady Waynwood cautiously spoke up.
"It's just… a dragon… that is a dragon after all."
"Dragons have been gone for over a hundred years, and our understanding of them is limited to what is written in books."
"We don't know how to fight such a monster."
"Monster?"
Lysa let out a short scoff.
She finally pushed her son away from her arms, letting him cry out sharply in dissatisfaction.
"A dragon is just a beast with wings!"
Lysa stood up from the throne and paced back and forth in the hall.
"It can fly, it can breathe fire, but it can also bleed, and it can die!"
"Three hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror's sister, Rhaenys Targaryen, rode her dragon Meraxes into Dorne."
"And what was the result?"
"From the battlements of Hellholt, a bolt from a scorpion accurately pierced the dragon's eye!"
"The dragon fell from the sky, shattering into pieces!"
"Its rider, too, became a puddle of flesh!"
Lysa's eyes gleamed with fanaticism.
"A beast is, after all, a lowly beast!"
"As long as it's a beast, a hunter can kill it!"
"We, the Vale, possess the finest knights, the strongest castles, and the most treacherous terrain in all of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"We only need to build enough scorpions and prepare enough iron spears!"
"When that beast flies into our valley, we will shoot it down from the sky with a thousand, ten thousand iron spears!"
"We will nail it to the ground before the Bloody Gate!"
Lysa's words were highly inflammatory, causing the eyes of some young knights to involuntarily ignite with excitement.
To kill a dragon!
What an honor that would be!
Enough to have their names sung by bards for a thousand years!
"Nonsense!"
"Bronze Yohn" Royce roared again, interrupting Lysa's seduction.
"What do you take war for?"
"A hunting game?"
"Even if we are lucky enough to kill that dragon, then what?"
"Do you think the King will turn a blind eye to this?"
"Lynn is his son-in-law, no matter what! Have you considered how he will react if Lynn dies?"
"We, the Vale, shall not participate in disputes; this is Lord Arryn's teaching!"
"And you are dragging all of us into the abyss!"
The old earl's words were powerful and resonant.
This also instantly sobered the young knights who had just been incited.
Yes, what after killing the dragon?
They would face the wrath of the entire kingdom.
"Dispute?"
Lysa stopped pacing.
"My dear Lord Royce, do you think we still have a choice now?"
She walked step by step towards "Bronze Yohn" Royce, her mad eyes fixed on him.
"Think about it, my husband, Jon Arryn, to whom you once swore allegiance unto death, how did he die?"
"He died in King's Landing! He died in a conspiracy!"
"And what did that drunkard Robert Baratheon do?"
"He did nothing!"
"He even wanted to send my son to Casterly Rock to be Tywin Lannister's ward while my husband's body was still warm!"
"He wanted to send the last bloodline of our House Arryn into the hands of the Lannisters, our enemies!"
"You call this not getting involved in disputes?"
Lysa's voice became increasingly shrill.
"Not getting involved in disputes doesn't mean disputes won't come knocking!"
"I fled back to The Eyrie with little Robert, I thought it was safe here!"
"But that Lynn appeared! That bastard from the North!"
"He killed my most trusted Petyr!"
"The only man who would help me, the only man who would seek justice for my husband!"
"Why did he kill Petyr? Because Petyr knew too many secrets!"
"Because Petyr knew that Jon Arryn's death was inextricably linked to those Lannisters!"
A complete and utter lie.
Everyone present was not foolish; they all knew the credibility of this matter was extremely low.
But none of them could refute it.
Because they knew nothing.
They only knew that the Vale's connection with the outside world had been cut off by Lysa Arryn for too long.
The entire Vale had almost become a one-woman show for this madwoman, Lysa.
"Now, the King's raven has flown to my desk."
Lysa pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve and slammed it onto the ground.
"That fool Robert, he actually personally enfeoffed Lynn as the Earl of the Gift and married Princess Myrcella to him!"
"He put a dragon into the hands of a Stark lackey!"
"Don't you understand?"
Lysa looked around at everyone, her eyes filled with despair.
"We are already surrounded!"
"To the north is that madman with a dragon, and to the south is that king who wants to steal my son!"
"We have long been at the center of the whirlpool, with nowhere to escape!"
"I declared war on Lynn, not to avenge Petyr!"
"I am doing it for ourselves!"
"For the entire Vale!"
Lysa's voice became hoarse from its high pitch.
"Robert has gone mad! He suspects us, he guards against us!"
"With Jon Arryn dead, he could find an excuse at any time to take back everything we have!"
"Our only way out is to take the initiative!"
"Lynn's foundation is not stable; his Gift are vast but sparsely populated!"
"His army consists of unworldly savages!"
"Cavalry fighting those barbarians will be a one-sided slaughter; I am absolutely certain of victory!"
"We must seize his Gift while he is not yet firmly established!"
"That place is far from the disputes of King's Landing, enough for us to establish a new kingdom!"
"A free kingdom belonging solely to our Vale!"
"By then, we can use the Wall as a barrier, raid south or trade with Braavos. With new territory as a shield, neither dragons nor the King of King's Landing will ever be able to threaten us again!"
"Although the Gift are bitter and cold, they are our only way to survive!"
This was her true goal.
She wanted to survive Robert's wrath, even if it meant dragging the entire Vale into war.
She wanted to use a mad war to secure a stable future for herself and her son.
Everyone knew the North was bitter and cold, but compared to survival, what did a little bitterness and cold matter?
The nobles looked at each other; they saw a hint of wavering in each other's eyes.
Lysa Arryn's plan sounded insane, yet it carried a deadly allure.
The temptation of an independent kingdom.
"Bronze Yohn" Royce opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but found he couldn't utter a single word.
Because Lysa was right about one thing.
As things stood, they truly had no retreat.
From the moment Lysa declared war on Lynn in the name of the Vale, they were already bound to the same war chariot.
Even if they surrendered, putting aside whether they could escape Lysa's blade at their throats.
Always consider the worst-case scenario: even if Lysa didn't act against the surrender faction, Robert would still brand them as accomplices.
Either go mad with Lysa and fight for that slim chance of survival.
Or wait to be purged by the King as rebels.
Or, put in minimal effort and wait for Robert's mercy, hoping for a lighter sentence.
There were no other options!
However, the Vale and the Northern The Riverlands were an alliance of rebels; they had been natural allies since Robert and Ned's rebellion.
Now, the ruler of the The Riverlands was House Tully, also Lysa's "maiden family."
They were the most famous ruling family in the The Riverlands.
During Aegon the Conqueror's time, they were enfeoffed as rulers of the The Riverlands for betraying Harren and assisting Aegon.
House Tully was skilled at consolidating its position through marriage.
Lord Hoster Tully married his eldest daughter, Catelyn, to Ned Stark of the North.
His youngest daughter, Lysa, married Jon Arryn of the Vale.
Thus, the The Riverlands, the North, and the Vale formed an alliance.
The Vale was easy to deal with; after all, Lysa's identity would not affect the friendship between the Vale and the The Riverlands.
It might even help Lysa.
After Jon Arryn's death, Lysa was the de facto ruler of the Vale.
But the Starks were another matter.
Much of their bond was the camaraderie of fighting together, and a smaller part was the relationship between Lysa and Catelyn.
And as part of the North, Lynn was Ned's vassal; Ned could not stand idly by.
A vassal refers to a subordinate relationship.
A vassal swears fealty to a more powerful lord, such as a monarch or a superior lord, in exchange for land and protection.
Lynn had already sworn fealty to the Starks.
If the Starks could not provide protection, then they might as well give up their place in the North.
From a moral standpoint, the ancient honor of the Starks, and Ned's unique character, the Starks would inevitably protect Lynn!
Therefore, once war broke out, the old friendship between the North and the Vale would vanish.
If the Starks remained neutral, it would be fine.
But who could persuade Ned Stark, that old stickler?
In this suffocating silence, Lysa slowly walked back to the throne and picked up the still-crying boy.
She held him high, facing all the vassals.
"Look at him!"
"The blood of House Arryn! Your future lord!"
"Do you want him to live his life as a puppet, manipulated in fear and suspicion!"
"Or do you want him to become the king of an independent kingdom?!"
"For Arryn! For the Vale!"
Lysa let out her final roar.
"Fight!!"
The young knights could no longer suppress the excitement in their hearts.
They drew their longswords, raised them high, and let out answering roars.
"For the Vale!!"
The roar, from one, became ten... and finally, converged into a torrent powerful enough to shake the mountaintops.
Even "Bronze Yohn" Royce, after a moment of hesitation, slowly drew his ancient longsword, symbolizing his family's honor.
He knew he had no other choice.
Looking at the vassals she had successfully incited, a satisfied smile finally appeared on Lysa Arryn's twisted face.
She cast her gaze to the corner of the hall, where an unremarkable man in a grey robe stood.
He was the chief craftsman of The Eyrie.
"Tobb Mott."
Lysa's voice rang out amidst the clamor.
"I want you to immediately gather all the craftsmen in the Vale and work day and night to build giant scorpions for me."
"I want its iron spears to be thicker than a man's arm and longer than a knight's lance!"
"I want its power to be enough to pierce the hardest dragon scales!"
The craftsman trembled at her words, and a troubled expression immediately appeared on his face.
"My lady... this... this will take time, and... we don't have blueprints..."
"I don't care!"
Lysa shrieked, interrupting him.
"One month! I'll only give you one month!"
"This month I will stockpile provisions; as soon as preparations are complete, I will immediately launch the war!"
"I want a hundred of these dragon-killing scorpions erected outside the Bloody Gate!"
"I want that Northern bastard and his dragon to come and never return!"
"If you don't finish by the deadline, then you'll see what happens!"
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