Within the confines of the Hand's Tower, Lysa Arryn wept inconsolably. Though her cries were theatrically insincere, her disheveled appearance was equally unappealing. Littlefinger offered her gentle solace. "My dear Lysa, how could this possibly be your fault? Lord Jon was advanced in years. May he rest in peace."
Renly observed the deceased elder, who appeared remarkably serene, a trace of wine lingering on his lips. Jon Arryn had always preferred his wine with ice, and the goblet now lay empty, drained by the elder. Even if he had been poisoned, no evidence would remain. No wonder Littlefinger left not a trace behind.
"My lady, please accept my condolences," Renly said. The elder had raised him as his own son, and in this moment, Renly's lack of sorrow felt disingenuous. Yet to claim he was deeply affected would be a farce—a bitter irony, uttered in the presence of the murderer himself.
Maester Pycelle trembled as he came and went, tending to the body and subsequently informing the Silent Sisters. During this time, Renly had to command the Hound to restrain the hysterical Lysa, preventing her from desecrating Lord Arryn's corpse. He suspected her fears stemmed from the possibility of someone dissecting Jon Arryn. In this era, advanced methods for testing poisons were non-existent; it was a matter of dead men telling no tales.
Simultaneously, Renly summoned the young squire who seemed intent on fleeing. "What can I do for you, Your Highness?" the boy stammered, visibly anxious.
"Are you willing to stay by my side and secure a position?"
The boy, named Alfie, cast a fearful glance at Renly before nodding vigorously. "At once, Your Grace."
The curtain had begun to draw. Renly then conveyed the somber news to his father, Robert Baratheon. Upon hearing the tidings, Robert was ensconced within the court, lost in the depths of his cups.
"How could that old fool Jon possibly be dead?" he erupted in laughter.
Reluctantly, Renly returned to deliver the grave announcement once more. "He has passed away. Poisoned by his own wife," he added.
In an instant, the joviality evaporated from Robert's visage. The flush of his inebriated face turned ashen. "No wonder he sent his son to Winterfell," the king muttered.
Renly was momentarily taken aback. This marked the second instance of a timeline collapsing. Half a month prior, in Winterfell…
Jon Snow, the illegitimate daughter of Eddard Stark, had always been at odds with Lady Catelyn. Once again, she fell into a fitful slumber, her dreams a torrent of visions.
She saw the golden-haired prince upon the Iron Throne announce the news of her father's demise. She saw her father, with a broken leg, assisted by guards as he trudged toward his death. The scene rewound, retreating into the past. A diminutive man pressed a dagger against her father's throat. A round-faced woman with red hair added a colorless, tasteless substance to the cup of an elderly man with a mane of white hair. She witnessed the Greyjoy rebellion from eight years prior, glimpsing the youthful Theon Greyjoy alongside a robust Robert Baratheon. A newborn babe lay beside a woman who perished during childbirth. As a man bowed his head and petals of ice-blue winter roses fell to the earth, she saw a woman adorned with cerulean roses in her hair engaged in intimate conversation with a silver-haired man, her face beaming with innocent joy.
Suddenly, a sensation of weightlessness enveloped her, and Jon Snow jolted awake. She donned her fur cloak and lit a candle. The flickering flame illuminated her porcelain visage.
At long last, dawn broke.
"Jon, shall we play together?" Arya Stark inquired with a frown. "Why the sudden interest in history?"
Jon had just returned a book borrowed from Maester Luwin, her mind awash with overwhelming information. "I just felt like reading it. No reason required."
"Are you pouting?"
Suddenly, Jon spotted Eddard Stark walking alongside Catelyn. She hastened toward them.
Lady Catelyn scrutinized her with a weary gaze, her tone frigid. "What do you want?"
Jon took a deep breath. "My Lord Stark, my lady, I had a dream last night. Do you happen to know a young man of short stature with a slight mustache?"
Eddard Stark offered no reply, yet his jaw tightened noticeably.
Catelyn hesitated briefly. "Petyr Baelish." Then she sharply probed, "How do you know this?"
"From my dream," Jon replied, seeing the confusion etched on their faces. She continued, "I have glimpsed the future, where Lord Stark is condemned to lose his head."
Catelyn anxiously grasped Ned's hand. Despite her disdain for the illegitimate daughter, at that moment she inexplicably felt that Jon's words were true.
Eddard Stark, though skeptical, offered a gentle smile. "Jon, you must be exhausted of late."
"No. We must go to the godswood. There are matters I can only disclose there," Jon declared with resolute conviction.
Eddard and Catelyn exchanged a glance. "Very well."
Beneath the ancient heart tree, the godswood was suffused with the delicate aroma of verdant foliage. Jon Snow perched upon a stone by the brook, recounting her visions. Their surreal and bizarre nature caused Eddard Stark to interrupt her several times.
"Lysa murdered Jon Arryn?" He gazed at his daughter in shock. For him, this was the most explosive news.
"Shouldn't you be more concerned about the golden-haired boy upon the Iron Throne who ordered your execution? Do you comprehend? Robert is dead, and Lysa's child has also perished. Petyr had a hand in this as well."
Eddard was not particularly surprised by this last statement. After all, he had won the woman beloved by Petyr; jealousy would surely embolden the man to act against him. On the other hand, even if Jon's foreseen future were a mere fabrication, Robert Arryn's frail constitution was ill-suited to be solely nurtured by Lady Lysa.
"I shall write to Jon, escorting Robert to Winterfell."
Jon nodded. "That would be ideal. Furthermore, I wish for you to at least disclose my lineage to Lady Catelyn—here in the godswood, without others to eavesdrop."
Eddard smiled sadly. Should he neglect this, Catelyn would undoubtedly seek to wed Jon to a distant southern noble of disreputable lineage, driven by her love for Eddard Stark and jealousy towards the woman she had never met.
"Jon, it seems you're not fond of the situation."
"Is it not more scandalous for a married man and a betrothed maiden to elope than for Rhaegar Targaryen to abduct and violate Lyanna? Were it not for those two being my parents, I would feel a surge of nausea. Regardless, at the very least, I remain a Stark."
Thus declared Jon Snow in the godswood. She prayed not for herself, but for her unfaithful father and her ill-fated mother. The leaves rustled softly, as if the divine were responding in kind.
Upon their return to Winterfell, Lady Catelyn altered her previous demeanor, exhibiting a newfound courtesy and a genuine, if cautious, affection in her gaze. After Robert Arryn was brought to Winterfell, the previously frail child formed a bond with Bran, the two boys becoming inseparable companions.
Had the news of Jon Arryn's demise not reached them, one might have thought Lysa's life had deviated from its intended, tragic course.