Tyrion Lannister remained in the dark room, surrounded by plaster statues for company.
High above was a small opening, like a ventilation hole leading outside the castle.
He felt his way toward it and measured the size with his hands—it wasn't large enough for him to squeeze through.
For a moment, he almost envied dwarfs again.
Suddenly his foot struck something. He bent down. Several sacks were piled in the corner. Reaching inside, he rubbed a pinch between his fingers—it was plaster powder.
Given that the room was full of plaster statues, a few bags of plaster dust weren't surprising.
He hadn't been sitting there long when footsteps approached again.
"He's still here?" came Ser Vardis's voice.
"No one's gone in or out," said the Blackfish.
"Lord Tyrion, please step away from the door. We're opening it," Ser Vardis called.
"Don't worry, I'm far away!" Tyrion Lannister shouted back. "I'm not foolish enough to ambush four fully armed knights!"
The door swung open, and the four men filed in. Ser Vardis led them, holding a cloak.
"It seems Lady Arryn has taken pity and decided to grant me the dignity I deserve," Tyrion Lannister said, pushing himself upright with the wall. He accepted the cloak and draped its long edge over his right shoulder. For the first time in days, he felt warmth.
"Ser Vardis, lead the way."
The great hall of House Arryn blazed with light. Fifty torches burned in brackets along the walls. Lady Lysa Arryn, dressed in her black mourning gown with the pearl-embroidered crescent falcon on her breast, sat high upon her seat.
Still in mourning, Tyrion Lannister thought. But the moment Littlefinger returned to the Vale, she would likely trade that dress for a bridal gown.
Her auburn hair was braided elegantly and fell across her left shoulder. The taller throne beside her stood empty—no doubt the young Lord of the Eyrie was asleep and trembling somewhere. Better he wasn't here.
Standing beside her was a woman with auburn hair, blue eyes, and long slender fingers. She resembled Lady Arryn by six or seven parts, though far more pleasing to the eye.
Lady Catelyn Stark. One could tell she must have been a great beauty in her youth.
Tyrion Lannister bowed deeply, taking the chance to survey the hall.
Lysa Arryn hadn't summoned many people—likely out of fear he might reveal her connection with Littlefinger.
He saw the weathered face of Ser Brynden Tully. As Knight of the Bloody Gate, the Blackfish was the Vale's equivalent of a royal guard; there was no reason for him not to be present.
Most of the remaining familiar faces were companions who had come with them.
Ser Rodrik Cassel, master-at-arms of Winterfell, looked pale, his wounds not yet healed. A singer was idly tuning a wooden harp.
Tyrion Lannister couldn't help but smile. Whatever happened tonight, he didn't want it kept private—and if word were to spread, no one was better suited than a singer.
At the back of the hall, a sellsword lounged lazily beneath a pillar. His dark eyes watched Tyrion Lannister, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Catelyn Stark spoke first."Tyrion Lannister, do you confess your crimes?"
"Confess?" Tyrion Lannister scratched his chin. "What crimes?"
"That I'm too handsome and offended your eyes? Or that I've loved too many women and drawn the Seven's jealousy?"
"Sometimes I've treated my servants poorly. I've gambled—and worse, I've cheated. I've spoken ill of many noble lords and ladies at court, made plenty of lewd jokes about them."
A few people chuckled quietly; murmurs rippled through the hall.
"Enough of your chatter!" Lysa Arryn shot to her feet from the weirwood throne. "You were brought here today for a fair trial."
"Delighted," Tyrion Lannister said. "I've been looking forward to it."
"Remember—As High as Honor," Lysa Arryn said as she sat again. At the Arryn words, the knights of the Vale straightened.
"Sister, begin," she said, turning to Lady Stark.
Catelyn Stark stepped forward."You stand accused of sending an assassin to murder my bedridden son Bran, and of conspiring to kill the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn."
"I deny it," Tyrion Lannister said, shaking his head. His filthy, mud-caked hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it aside."I'm afraid I can't confess to crimes I didn't commit. I know nothing of murder. I swear on my honor—"
"Lannister honor," she said, raising her hand for all to see. "This scar was made by his dagger. He sent a man with that blade to cut my son's throat."
"That wasn't mine," Tyrion Lannister insisted. "How many times must I swear? Lady Stark, believe me or not, I'm not a fool. Only an idiot would give his own weapon to some common thief."
Foolish woman, he cursed inwardly. Even with the truth laid bare, he couldn't convince her.
"Someone told me the dagger belonged to you…" Catelyn Stark glanced toward her sister, as if asking whether to mention Littlefinger.
Lysa Arryn shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Foolish woman, Tyrion Lannister thought again. She didn't even understand her own sister, yet trusted Littlefinger so completely.
"Lady Stark, accusations require proof—real proof," Tyrion Lannister pressed."Does justice still exist in the Vale? Is there no honor within the Bloody Gate? You accuse, I deny, and you throw me into a sky cell to freeze and starve."
As he spoke, he scanned the hall. He could clearly see the singer listening intently, already gathering material for a new song.
"Where is the king's justice? This is supposed to be a fair trial! Let me defend myself—I am a member of the royal family, heir to House Lannister."
"Lady Arryn, Lady Stark—if anything happens to me, my father and brother will be more than happy to settle accounts."
Yes—Lysa Arryn was wavering. Catelyn Stark had no proof. And no one wanted to suffer a Lannister revenge like the Rains of Castamere.
Looks like I've already won, Tyrion Lannister thought with quiet satisfaction. Mentioning Littlefinger had worked perfectly. The Lady of the Vale couldn't decide, and he would walk away unharmed.
"Ser Vardis, escort him to the guest chambers," Lysa Arryn ordered.
Ser Vardis Egen rose, glanced first at Lady Stark, then nodded to Lady Arryn, and finally faced Tyrion Lannister."Come with me, succubus."
Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow at Catelyn Stark and turned to leave the hall.
He was already imagining his life of indulgence across Westeros.
"I demand trial by combat!"
Catelyn Stark's voice rang out from behind him.