The mountain road was steep.
"I truly hate coming back to this damned place," Tyrion muttered, nudging his horse forward. "For mountains, these are far bleaker than anything in the Westerlands."
"And far more treacherous," Blackfish said. "The Bloody Gate is the only way into the Vale."
"Indeed. The Westerlands have many entrances," Tyrion agreed. "Golden Tooth guards the Riverlands Road, Deep Den lies on the Goldroad, and Crakehall controls the Ocean Road."
"Three roads to the Riverlands, King's Landing, and the Reach," Blackfish said. "That's why the Westerlands are wealthier."
"Trade depends on travel. The better the roads, the better the commerce," Tyrion said with pride. "By land or sea, Lannisport outshines Gulltown many times over. The Westerlands may not be the biggest or most fertile, but they are unquestionably the richest."
"We should thank wise Lord Mace for his obsession with making his daughter queen," Blackfish said with a sigh. "Had the Reach and the Westerlands joined, they might have ruled the entire Sunset Sea."
"My wife surpasses the Rose of Highgarden a hundredfold," Tyrion said. "Lions and wolves share a better diet."
Inside the carriage, Sansa and her sister heard none of it.
The procession crossed the Trident and wound northwest through the mountains. More than a thousand marched: roughly five hundred Lannister infantry, five hundred Frey infantry, and soldiers from various Riverlands lords.
Janos Bracken personally led two hundred men, while Brynden Blackwood—heir to Raventree Hall and namesake of the Blackfish—commanded a hundred.
"Tytos Blackwood didn't even come himself," Lord Janos scoffed at his old rival. "An insult!"
Brynden Blackwood flushed at once.
"His eldest heir has come—that's honor enough. And his brother Hoster is my attendant," Tyrion said. "Insulting a man's father is discourteous, Lord Janos. I must ask you not to say such things again."
Now it was Lord Janos's turn to redden. "My daughter serves as your wife's handmaiden!" he muttered. "If I had a son, I'd have sent him too."
The mountain road twisted like a coiled dragon, disappearing into thick forests. It was said that after the Dance of the Dragons, the bastard who rode a dragon hid somewhere within the Mountains of the Moon.
At times the path clung to sheer cliffs, where even a light step felt the cold hardness of the rock. At others it crossed trickling streams, the rounded pebbles beneath their feet clicking musically. Steep slopes forced caution—each step grounded, for one slip could send a rider tumbling.
Mist curled through the mountains, lending the trail an eerie depth. Branches swayed gently, leaves drifting down. Sunlight broke through sparse canopies, scattering warm dappled light across the rugged path—until…
The Bloody Gate.
Two watchtowers clung to the cliff face, linked by a weathered graystone arch.
"Who seeks passage through the Bloody Gate?" a knight's voice called out.
"Ser Donnel Waynwood, my successor," Blackfish whispered. "Second son of Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks."
"Tyrion Lannister and his new bride, Sansa Stark, come to call upon Lady Lysa Tully!" Tyrion shouted.
A head popped out from the tower. Donnel Waynwood was a sturdy young man of twenty, plain but earnest, with a wide nose and a messy mop of coarse brown hair. "I've received no orders to let you through!" A thousand-strong escort had clearly startled him.
"Ser Donnel," Blackfish called.
"Ser Brynden!" Donnel Waynwood blinked in shock. "What are you doing here?"
"Sansa Stark is the last surviving kin of my late niece. She wishes to visit her aunt, and I will accompany her," Blackfish said. "So why is the gate still shut?"
"Ser…" Donnel Waynwood faltered. "I must have permission from Lady Lysa and Lord Petyr…"
"Ser, let me remind you—you're my successor," Brynden Tully said, his tone carrying weight. "Let us pass and reunite with family, or else—"
He didn't finish. The gate groaned open and a booming voice rang out.
"In the name of Robert Arryn, Great Lord of The Eyrie, Protector of the Vale, and true Warden of the East, I grant you passage—and command you to keep the peace in his name."
Tyrion knew the voice: Bronze Yohn Royce. He had been present during Tyrion's imprisonment in the Eyrie.
Yohn Royce stood tall. His face was lined and his hair graying, but his broad, powerful hands still marked him as formidable. His gray eyes and thick brows completed the stern impression he carried.
"Lord Royce?" Tyrion sounded genuinely surprised. "You're early."
"No need for 'lord,' esteemed Warden of the Riverlands," Bronze Yohn said, his voice ringing like a great bell. "You slippery little fox—did you think I wouldn't see through your plan? Saying you'd arrive in a week, only to try to catch me unprepared?"
He was a difficult man to deal with. One wrong move here and Tyrion would end up being used as a pawn. He frowned. If Littlefinger hadn't pressured him, he wouldn't have asked for his help at all.
"Lord Tyrion, your men may camp inside the Bloody Gate, but you can't bring so many into the Vale," Bronze Yohn advised. "Naturally, supplies will be provided by Gulltown and Runestone."
"Fine." With the Lord of Runestone taking the upper hand, Tyrion had little choice but to agree.
Just then Sansa stepped down from the carriage with her sister and curtseyed to the Lord of Runestone. Brienne and Gendry stood behind them.
"Lord Royce," Sansa said as she dipped into a curtsey. "I once saw you and your sons display great valor at the tournament the King held in my father's honor."
"May the gods watch over Lord Eddard. He was a knight of true honor," Bronze Yohn said in a brief prayer before giving Tyrion a pointed glance, its meaning obvious.
"Esteemed Lady Sansa, your hair and eyes are the very image of Lady Lysa," Lord Royce said as he kissed the back of her hand. "And young Lady Arya—welcome to the Vale."
The group passed through. Brynden Blackwood remained behind with the main host to make camp, while Tyrion led two hundred picked soldiers deeper into the Vale.
Sansa left the carriage and rode with her sister at her husband's side, passing beneath the shadow of the Bloody Gate. In the Age of Heroes, countless armies had died trying to force their way through here, yet none had ever taken the valley. Beyond the stone walls, the world opened up at once—green fields, blue sky, and the snowcapped peaks of the mountains bursting into view, so beautiful they stole her breath. The Vale of Arryn lay before them, glowing in the morning light.