Fic: A falcon swift and peerless
The soft, pure snow muffled the sound of Lysa’s footsteps, allowing her to creep around the garden undetected. Her boredom had gotten the best of her once more, and with her sister nowhere to be found, she decided to search for Petyr. She spotted him next to a tall oak tree. He was talking to Cat, leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. Her heart sank, spite and jealousy leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Abruptly, he forced a kiss upon her sister’s lips.
It didn’t last more than a moment, the time it took for Cat to realize what’s happening, push him away and give him a half-hearted smack, but it was enough. Lysa decided to hate her. She always had father, and all the boys swooning at her feet, and now she Petyr too, she thought. What really rubbed salt in the wound is that Catelyn wasn’t even trying. On her way back to the castle, she kicked the snow angrily. The world is Catelyn’s, she thought, and the gods are mocking me.
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After losing the duel against Brandon Stark - another handsome man who vied for Cat’s attentions, Lysa thought - Petyr proceeded to steal several bottles of wine from the kitchens and get insanely drunk in his chambers. She could hear his angry, petulant curses to House Stark, to Brandon, even to Cat herself, at times.
Perhaps he’ll hate her. Perhaps he’ll tear his eyes from her and notice me, at last. She went to his room, thankful that her Lord father wasn’t here. He’d have Petyr’s head on a platter if he heard this. Lysa made a mental note to bribe the maids not to say anything to him, when he came back.
His door was unlocked, so she entered without a word. He was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, staring dazedly in front of him. She made no noise, but he turned to look at her anyway. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. “Petyr”, she began hesitantly, but she couldn’t find what to say next.
He broke the brief silence. “I loved her. And she rejected me. She loves this Stark,” he said spitefully “she only sees me like a brother.” He says “loved”, not “love”, Lysa thought. She felt hope blooming in her heart like a small flower. “You have to forget her,” she said, “she’s betrothed to him. You have to find someone else…someone who loves you.” Her words took a honeyed tone. She had to make him see her.
What happened next felt like a wonderful daze to her. He got up unsteadily, walked to her and pressed his mouth on hers, and she could cry with joy. Somehow they managed to tumble onto the bed. He ground his hips against her, making her moan quietly, then started to undress her. Lysa felt for a second he’s gone too far - he’s not your husband, her mind screeched - but she let him do it. She wanted to make him happy, despite her fear. She loved him.
It was painful when he entered her, because she was barely ready and he hadn’t made any efforts to warm her up, but even the pain felt beautiful. He’s finally mine, she thought as he started to thrust.
And then he moaned “Cat” against her neck.
It felt like someone dumped freezing cold water over her. She stayed quite still as he pounded into her, trying not to cry. She pictured herself as a bird, escaping from underneath his weight, escaping from the room, from Riverrun itself. Eventually, her tears spilled at the same time as his seed did inside her.
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She wasn’t sure how her father found out, but she reckoned one of the maids told him. They always noticed what was happening in this castle, even the smallest things. This couldn’t possibly have escaped their attention. It’s been long since she asked for potions to quell her flowering pains, or clean rags to put between her legs.
Lord Hoster was outwardly calm, but she knew it took an effort for him not to strike her and she trembled in dread. “Father,” she began to say timidly, but he interrupted her with a stern scowl. “The Maester will have the moon tea ready by tomorrow,” he said simply and turned to leave the room.
As he reached the door, he added “I have indulged your obsession with the boy enough already. He has dishonored my House, so he will leave.” She started crying, pressing her hand to her mouth to keep silent, as she watched her father leave. He’s taking everything I love away from me. First my baby and now Petyr, she thought bitterly, feeling pangs of hatred stabbing her heart.
The next two days were a haze of pain. The moon tea burned her insides, making her unable to walk, or even stand. She stayed in her bed, having to endure the maids bringing her food she refused to eat. The bleeding was so much that she thought she’d die. Neither Cat nor her father came to see her and she preferred it that way.
At the third day, the blood and the pain finally stopped. She found enough strength to scream at the maids who came to take the red-stained sheets, because she knew that they were going to burn them. Those sheets are the only thing I have left of my baby, of Petyr, she thought. She wouldn’t let them burn her baby. She hid the sheets in an old chest, weeping.
After a few days, she managed to go down to the garden undetected. She made a small hole and buried the sheets, the remains of her murdered child, praying to the Mother. After that, she had no more tears to spare.
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She said nothing when her father declared she was to marry Jon Arryn. She only looked at him, remembering that she used to love him once. Now she felt no guilt when she caught herself wishing he’d be dead.
Cat tried to comfort her. “Lord Arryn is a good and kindhearted man, Lysa, he will forgive your dishonour,” she said, and Lysa imagined she had claws to put her sister’s eyes out. How dare she? How dare Cat talk to her and rub the death of her child in her face, and call it dishonour? “Catelyn,” she said, barely holding her fury, “just leave me be.” The look on her face must have been murderous because her sister flinched, then left without a word.
She was wed to Lord Arryn a week later. Usually a place of solace for her, the sept of Riverrun never seemed so cold and grey. She stood beside her husband, between the altars of the Father and the Mother as the septon blessed the union, but for a moment she looked at the altar of the Stranger, praying for him to take Lord Arryn soon.
Catelyn and Eddard Stark were wed the same day, and she decided to attend. Her sister’s expression was uncertain, but hopeful. And why not? She has something to hope for. Healthy children, a good husband… At this thought, Petyr’s form appeared in her mind’s eye and she felt an iron hand gripping her heart. Her father had never entertained the notion that she could marry him. He was too lowborn for a Tully daughter. Family, duty, honor. The motto of her house never seemed so pointless. Her love and her child were taken away from her and she married an old man for duty and honor.
Yet…she had a new house now. She was Tully no more. She closed her eyes, imagined herself as the Arryn falcon, flying, soaring in the highest skies. Then coming to rest atop the highest peak on Giant’s Lance, over cities and men and kingdoms. Their affairs not concerning her anymore.
She opened her eyes again, thought of the rebellion, of foolish Robert Baratheon and his fury and his passion for a woman long gone, then of the Eyrie.
She managed to smile.