The Vale of Arryn. Ironoaks. 298 AC.
Ser Brynden Tully.
As a very young boy, Brynden had been a second son of a lord and had never reached for the stars. He understood his duty, his purpose, his fate. He was ant to be his elder brother's sword, to strike down the enemies of the family. It had been so during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, it had been so during Robert Baratheon's rebellion, and so it would remain until he drew his last breath. Did such a life suit him? Strangely enough, it did. He had everything he could have wanted: a family he loved, a position, respect, coin, and a craft he was born to.
At the wedding feast celebrating Lysa's marriage to Jon Arryn, he had told his brother that he ant to go and serve his younger niece, and as usual they had quarreled bitterly over it. Hoster needed him in the Riverlands, not in the Vale. Brynden understood that, just as he understood that sixteen-year-old Lysa would not find it easy to be alone in a strange place. She was a foolish, lovesick girl who had nearly died from an overdose of moon tea, sold off to an old man. He simply could not leave his niece to face that alone.
He had expected relations with the Arryn heir to be tense, but he had not grasped the full scale of the problem. Axel Arryn, even as a child, had been openly and categorically opposed to Lysa and had humiliated her at every opportunity that presented itself. That could not help but create strain within House Arryn. Thanks to the Seven, Jon had recognized the problem, and after his attempts at reconciliation ca to nothing, had kept the two of them at a distance from one another.
When Falcon's eye was "exiled" to Essos, the relationship between Lord Arryn and Lysa ward considerably. They finally turned their attention to producing an heir against unforeseen circumstances. It worked, and Robert Arryn was born, the fruit of a union between two great houses. But it was not entirely without sorrow, for Lysa suffered miscarriages. She bore the deaths of her children badly, very badly, and it beca the root of a smothering and excessive attachnt to the child she did have.
Jon Arryn's death, Lysa's departure for Winterfell, Falcon's eye rising to power, all of it had happened with dizzying speed. Sensing the Arryns' grip weakening, bandits and deserters had flooded into the Riverlands, though most such groups had been intercepted. Once again Brynden had been struck by his brother's foresight, for Hoster had arranged for the post of Knight of the Gate to go to him.
He had put Lysa's flight to Winterfell down to the paranoia of a woman who had just lost her husband and was protecting her child. He himself had thought it no bad thing. Under Lord Stark's eye, Robert would have the chance to grow into a fine person. Axel Arryn's rise to power had not borne out Hoster's fears. The new Hand of the King had not moved against the Riverlands the way he had against the Reach. His attitude toward those from the heart of Westeros was cool rather than hostile. There was no open persecution, but the contempt was felt. The courtiers noticed it and had no wish to invite the Hand's displeasure upon themselves.
Then the war began and Westeros split into warring factions. The Starks of Winterfell and the Tullys of Riverrun had declared for the true king, Stannis Baratheon. Lysa, in the na of young Robert , had declared for the family. And now it fell to Brynden to help his niece and her son in turn, for Arryn was an experienced, ruthless commander with n personally devoted to him. Brynden considered the accusations against Falcon's eye fabricated. Anyone who had known Jon Arryn in his youth would say the son took after the father.
"Family, Duty, Honor," the Tully words, the principle by which they lived. Whatever na one put to it, Lysa had raised a rebellion and he had stood with her. Would his honor be stained? Let it. For him, as for any Tully, family ca first. Falcon's eye was not known for forgiveness. If the rebellion failed, the Moon Door would be among the least of what awaited the insurgents.
"We should wait for the Corbrays. Then we'll have the numbers to crush the bastard," Uthor Tollett offered, clearly convinced he was making a clever point.
The Lord of Grey Glen plainly wanted to avenge his shaful defeat. Uthor was a tough old man who ought to have been bouncing grandchildren on his knee rather than fighting wars. His hunger for revenge was shared by Gerion Grafton, son and heir of Gerold Grafton, Lord of Gulltown. Their humiliating encirclent and defeat at Arryn's hands had already beco public knowledge and had done nothing for their standing. They wanted to win back respect by dealing the enemy a blow, but fear of another trap made them hesitate.
"Falcon's eye can only resort to dishonorable tactics because he knows he is no match for us in an open field. We should go on the offensive and punish the Redforts." Morton Waynwood had again said sothing foolish.
Despite the small number of n present, the hall dissolved into a market, with everyone shouting to prove their own point right. Blackfish, from long experience, had no intention of joining in, knowing it was pointless for the next five minutes at least. They would shout, settle down, begin pulling the blanket back and forth with sothing resembling an argunt, then drown in shouting all over again. Without a man of genuine authority these councils were pure farce. Brynden was technically in command, but in practice he was an outsider with few swords at his back. He could force his decision through now if he chose, since both Lord Uthor and the Grafton heir owed their lives to him, but doing so carried long-term consequences. Everything pointed toward them waiting for Lyn Corbray's force and then moving to the offensive. That suited him well enough.
Brynden knew Ser Lyn and found him an unpleasant man, but one who could be made to listen to sound advice. Using his own authority, Corbray, and the fact that he had saved Tollett and Grafton, he would be able to turn this battered rabble into sothing resembling a proper army. He only needed to wait a little longer.
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