Chapter 27 : A Trial in the Vale

"Uncle, do you know what you're doing? You're helping the damn Lannister!" Lysa stormed around the room, her face twisted with anger.

Catelyn was equally perplexed by his behavior. Was this the same Uncle Brynden who had once shared in their joys and sorrows?

The two women, both mothers, stared intently at the Blackfish.

Brynden spoke slowly. "How long do you intend to keep up this farce? The Kingslayer's forces have already gathered outside Riverrun. War is upon us. If we kill that dwarf now, we leave ourselves no room for negotiation."

"Farce? That damned little devil killed my husband! He must die, and my knight will crush that boy to pieces!" Lysa declared with absolute confidence.

"I don't care what happens to the dwarf. If you wish to put him on trial, do so. But I will take a thousand cavalry and ride to support your father and brother."

Lysa sat back in her chair arrogantly. "The Eyrie will not be left undefended, Uncle. You are the Knight of the Bloody Gate; you should be here, guarding it."

Catelyn had not expected her sister to say such things. She turned to her uncle and saw his face flush red with anger.

"To hell with the Knights of the Bloody Gate! Blackfish or not, I am a Tully, and I will return to Riverrun tonight."

"Are you going to break your oath, Uncle?" Lysa challenged.

Brynden turned on her sharply. "Knight of the Bloody Gate? Not anymore. Find some other fool to flatter you."

With that, he stormed out.

"How could you speak to our uncle like that?" Catelyn looked at her sister in shock before rushing out after him.

"Uncle Brynden!" she called. The black fish sigil on his cloak fluttered as he came to a halt.

"Little Cat, are you here to scold me for knighting that boy too?" Blackfish turned to her, his expression still dark with anger.

Catelyn shook her head. "No, Uncle. He can be a knight."

Brynden's expression softened slightly.

"Uncle, don't be too hard on Lysa." Seeing the tension in his eyes, Catelyn hesitated before adding, "Will you ride alone? That mountain road is dangerous. Ser Rodrik and I are also preparing to return to Winterfell. Travel with us. I will send a thousand elite soldiers to Riverrun. Our home will not stand alone."

Brynden studied her face for a long moment, memories of the little girl who once cried on his shoulder flickering in his mind. At last, he sighed. "Very well. I'll wait for you below."

Catelyn did not return to the hall immediately. Instead, she walked back toward her chambers, regret settling heavy in her chest. Lysa had become someone she barely recognized. What had happened to her over the years?

Did the gods truly deem the Lannisters innocent? Tyrion was her prisoner—Lysa had no right to judge him. Was it truly right to let the boy go? And why had her uncle insisted on knighting him?

Cole's thoughts were equally tangled as he returned to his quarters. He had been made a knight, but there had been no great ceremony, no joy in it. The title brought him no real honor. No one would respect him for it. He was still a nameless, landless man—an ant beneath the boots of the highborn.

He could have lied. No one would care if an unknown man called himself a knight. Even if it were true, he would only be a hedge knight. Only a noble's blessing could grant him a name and a title.

At the very least, the knighthood might spare him unnecessary trouble in the future. Ser Brynden had extended a hand in his hour of need, offering both him and Tyrion a sliver of dignity. Even if Cole could not fight, Bronn would be there. The sellsword was sharp enough to seize an opportunity when it presented itself.

Tomorrow, he would stand beside Tyrion in trial by combat. His opponent was a renowned knight of the Vale. The children of the Vale might forget the Kingsguard or the knights of White Harbor in their games, but they would never forget the Knights of the Vale. This was a land steeped in chivalry, which was why Catelyn had so easily dismissed his claim to knighthood.

The realm was in turmoil, but high in these mountains, the lords of the Vale played at kings and built their walls ever higher. Here resided some of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. If the Bloody Gate ever opened to war, the whole of Westeros would feel its impact.

Cole gazed out at the shifting clouds beyond the window. The Vale held the foundations of kingship; it was no wonder the Andals had begun their conquest here. He wondered if the woman who now sat the Iron Throne understood that.

Then he shook his head. None of it mattered to him. He only wished to be like Bronn—knighted, titled, and in possession of a fine estate. Preferably in the Riverlands. Then, he would find a highborn wife with good taste, spend his days indulging in fine food and drink, and enjoy life until the Stranger finally came for him.

He wiped the blade with sword oil beneath the chill of the winter night. Even after so many battles, it remained as cold and sharp as the day he first laid eyes on it. It was a fine sword—he owed Willis a great debt for it.

By morning, the castle was alive with noise.

Cole had found his composure the night before and slept soundly.

If he looked back, he would see how much he had changed. The boy who once lost sleep over trifles had become a man—steady, unshaken, no matter what lay ahead.

He donned his armor, though it was missing pieces. His opponent would be fully clad in steel, but Cole was confident. He had fought through death more times than he could count, and now, his killing skills were honed to perfection.

The moment he stepped outside, a knight awaited him. Without a word, he led Cole through the corridors and into a garden already packed with spectators.

At the center, a massive figure stood while his attendants fastened the last pieces of his armor. Ser Vardis Egen—Cole's opponent.

Above, Lady Lysa sat upon an open balcony, a thin child perched beside her in the lord's chair. Below them, a puppeteer performed acrobatics, drawing bright laughter from the boy.

The guests raised their goblets, drinking and jesting. To them, this was no trial—it was entertainment, another excuse for a noble gathering.

Catelyn Stark had just arrived. Her sister Lysa came forward, embracing her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

But Catelyn did not return her joy. Instead, she spoke with quiet urgency. "Lysa, you must stop this madness. The Imp is valuable only while he's alive. And if the boy wins—"

Lord Hunter cut her off. "My lady, I find that highly unlikely."

Catelyn turned her cold gaze on him. "Are you so certain, my lord?" She knew what Tyrion was capable of. Five or six mountain clansmen had not been able to bring him down.

She and Lysa argued for a time, but her sister was as stubborn as ever, deaf to reason.

Then, suddenly, young Lord Robert cried out in excitement, "The little rascal is here! Mother, I want to see him fly! Can we let him fly?"

Tyrion was being escorted by several knights. He cast his eyes over the crowd and found Cole.

Cole met his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile.

The boy on the balcony grew impatient, tugging at his mother's sleeve.

The bells tolled. Below, a septon stepped forward, standing before the stone statue at the heart of the garden—a woman in mourning. Alessa. The river called Alessa's Tears, which flowed from the Giant's Lance, was named for her.

Ser Vardis was now fully armored. His squire presented him with his sword.

Cole, too, stepped forward into the open space, moving with deliberate ease.

"Let him fly! Let him fly!" Lord Robert Arryn shouted, his voice shrill with excitement.

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