The valley stretched out before them, fading into the misty east. It was a peaceful and gentle land, ringed by mountains, with rich black soil, broad, slow-flowing rivers, and hundreds of lakes big and small shining like mirrors in the sun. Barley, wheat, and corn hung heavy in the fields. Even Highgarden's famed pumpkins were no larger than the ones grown here, and no fruit matched the sweetness of this place.
They entered the western end of the valley and passed through the last mountain pass; from there the road began to wind downward toward the foot of the mountains, a full two leagues below. The gorge narrowed here, so tight that one could cross it in half a day. The northern mountains felt so close Sansa thought she could reach out and touch them.
The tallest peak was called the Giant's Lance, rising above the surrounding ranges, its summit three and a half leagues high and lost in cold mist. Alyssa's Tears fell like a ghostly ribbon down its western slopes. Even from this distance, Sansa could pick out that bright silver thread, stark against the dark rock.
Ser Brynden noticed her pause and rode closer, pointing.
"Right there, beside Alyssa's Tears. If you look closely, and the sunlight hits the walls just right, you'll see a flash of white."
Her husband rode alongside Bronze Yohn, the two of them chatting and laughing. It seemed, just as her husband had told her, that their journey through the Vale would not be as perilous as the Riverlands. She began to imagine the Eyrie like a castle carved from snow and ice, and the splendid fashions of Gulltown.
She thought of the letter Tyrion had told her to write—filled with longing for her aunt, and mention of Lord Petyr's care in King's Landing, yet saying nothing of the kindness she'd received from the Lannisters.
She remembered, too, how after their intimacy he had held her in his arms and whispered that once they entered the Vale, he would keep his distance on purpose. She mustn't take it to heart.
Was it already happening? She looked at Tyrion's back. Since entering the Vale, he had barely spoken to her. Only Arya, Brienne, and Gendry stayed close. Even his three attendants had been sent to accompany her instead.
And Ser Bronn, newly knighted—where had he gone? He had ridden with the main host to Darry, yet after a few days' stay he had simply vanished.
"I never imagined Aunt would marry Lord Petyr," Sansa said, though inwardly she still found it strange that Littlefinger would desire her aunt. In her memory, Lord Petyr Baelish was elegant and finely dressed, always surrounded by beautiful women. Her aunt, though she had never seen her in person, was clearly past her prime.
Brynden Tully said, "She turned down Lord Royce and a dozen other suitors. She swore this time she'd choose her husband herself."
"Lord Royce was a suitor?" Compared to Lord Royce, Lord Petyr truly did seem the better choice, she thought.
"In my eyes, Lysa was only putting on a show. She enjoys the game of being courted, but I believe your aunt always meant to rule on her own until her son grew up and became the rightful Great Lord of the Eyrie," Ser Brynden continued. "No one expected the charade to turn real."
"Women can rule wisely, same as men," Sansa said. "There was Queen Rhaenyra…"
"Only the right woman can," Ser Brynden cut in. "Perhaps you could too, but as I see it, both you and your aunt are ruled by the men in your beds."
Sansa flushed. He does not rule me.
"The gods gave Lysa only one child, and now she lives solely for him," Ser Brynden said. "Sansa, do you like children? Could you care for them?"
"I do," Sansa said. "I pray to the Old Gods day and night that I may have children of my own."
"You will," Ser Brynden said with a sigh. "But I have no hopeful thoughts about where this journey ends."
"Lysa would rather flee than watch her son raised by the Lannisters. Child, your aunt was terrified—and she feared the Lannisters most of all. She slipped out of the Red Keep like a night thief and fled back to the Vale of Arryn, all to snatch her son from the lion's jaws… yet here we are, bringing the lion to her doorstep."
The slope beneath their horses gradually eased. The sun was already sinking in the west. The road widened and straightened, and for the first time Sansa noticed wildflowers and grasses along the roadside.
When they reached the Vale's plains, they traveled faster, pressing on through lush green woods and quiet villages, past orchards and golden wheat fields, splashing through clear streams lit by the sun. Her uncle sent his standard-bearer ahead, two banners fluttering from the long pole: House Arryn's crescent falcon above, his own black fish beneath. Farm wagons, merchants' carts, and riders from lesser houses all moved aside to let them pass.
Even so, by the time they arrived at the strong castle at the foot of the Giant's Lance, night had fully fallen. Torches blazed along the battlements, and the crescent moon shimmered on the dark waters of the moat. The drawbridge was raised and the iron gate lowered, yet Sansa saw the light burning within the gatehouse and shining from windows behind the tower.
"This is the Gates of the Moon," Lord Royce called as they approached. His standard-bearer rode to the moat's edge and hailed the men in the tower. "The seat of Lord Nestor. He's of a cadet branch of House Royce of Runestone."
Sansa lifted her gaze—higher, and higher still. At first she saw only rock and trees, the mountains wrapped in night, black as a starless sky.
Then she noticed the faint glow high above—a tower built into a sheer cliff face, its lights staring down at the land like orange eyes. Higher still was another tower, taller and farther away, and above that yet another, no more than a spark of fire in the night sky.
At last, at the height where eagles flew, a pale patch of white shimmered in the moonlight. As she stared up at that distant, ghostly tower, a wave of dizziness swept over her.
"The Eyrie," she heard Arya murmur, clearly stunned.
"I'd rather not go through that again," her husband's voice came.
"Lord Robert Arryn and Lady Lysa are not at the Eyrie," Bronze Yohn said. "We're only staying the night. Tomorrow we'll head to Redfort to meet Lord Redfort. The army of Runestone is camped here as well."
Armies? Why would there be armies? Sansa's heart tightened.
"Don't worry," Ser Brynden said, noticing her concern. "The nobles of the Vale care deeply about honor—especially Lord Royce. He's a trustworthy ally."