Tears of Lys

Tears of Lys was said to have been invented by the alchemists of Lys. Sweet and clear as water, it could be dissolved in wine without leaving any scent or taste.

It could disrupt the stomach and intestines, killing within a day or two while appearing to be an ordinary intestinal illness.

Some therefore regarded it as a poison.

Yet it simply sat there quietly, allowing people to use it as they pleased.

Was that its fault?

Petyr took it away and gave it to a lovesick woman.

Tears of Lys had now become an ordinary-looking jug of red wine, silently resting in Lord Hand's study.

It was already deep into the night, yet Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, was still staring blankly at that book by candlelight.

"Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with Descriptions of Many High Lords, Ladies, and Their Children," written by Maester Mellion a century ago, was full of trivial, complicated details and seemed to hold little practical value.

Yet the Hand had found the most crucial evidence within it.

The evidence was important.

In tales from the Age of Heroes, the ancestor of House Lannister, Lann the Clever, stole sunlight from the sun and dyed his hair gold.

The Lannister family's golden hair, passed down for a thousand years, was renowned throughout the realm. No one had questioned why the three royal children were not black-haired. King Robert was no exception.

But this book clearly recorded unions between stags and lions.

The most recent was over ninety years ago: a lioness's infant son who died young had black hair. Thirty years before that, a doe had borne a lion four children, all with black hair.

He kept tracing backward through the yellowed pages. Whenever golden met coal-black, it had always been forced to yield.

"Seed is Strong."

Jon's thoughts were in turmoil. He had finally obtained irrefutable evidence, but how was this to end?

He could not help noticing that Cersei had left King's Landing with her three children during the day, and the Kingslayer had left as well. Was it a coincidence?

Under such circumstances, could this still be settled peacefully?

Jon knew the answer.

"Seed is Strong," he murmured.

He knew Robert's temper better than anyone. Once Robert rashly learned the truth, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms would irretrievably plunge into an abyss.

His wife Lysa came over. "Jon, get some rest early."

Catching sight of his wife's evasive, fragile eyes, the Hand remained as kindly as ever. "I still have work to do. Don't wait for me. Is Robin asleep?"

No matter what, he had to wait until Lysa and Robin returned to the Eyrie before making any plans.

With more than seventy years of life experience, Jon no longer acted impulsively. Only after arranging his family affairs could he devote himself fully to facing the crisis of the Seven Kingdoms.

As long as Robin returned to the Vale, the falcon's bannermen would protect him. My little Robin will become the proud new King of the Eyrie, inheriting the glory of House Arryn.

High as Honor.

If he could witness that day with his own eyes, he would die without regrets.

"The Mother has blessed him. Little Robin is sleeping very well, without making a fuss." Lysa refilled her husband's wine cup herself. "The nights are cold. Have some wine to warm yourself before continuing your work."

The Hand smiled in relief.

He did not ask much of his young wife. So long as she loved Robin as a mother should, that was enough. Now, it seemed their marriage was moving in a better direction as well.

His wife went to rest, leaving Jon once more in a quiet, dim space.

His thoughts inevitably returned to the matter troubling him.

"Seed is Strong."

Jon lifted his wine cup and took a large swallow.

Early the next morning.

After going to the privy several times, the Hand collapsed onto his bed and could no longer rise.

The violent pain in his abdomen ravaged his thoughts and reason, showing no sign of easing or improving.

Lysa Tully and her child, Robert Arryn, known as Robin, were not in the room.

There was no helping it. As Lady Lysa put it, little Robin was already in poor health. What if Jon's illness was contagious, or disturbed Robin's mind? That would be disastrous.

The servants continuously wiped down the Hand's body and stretched his limbs, doing all they could to make Lord Hand more comfortable.

"Grand Maester, have you discovered anything? At first, I thought Lord Jon had eaten too much ice and chilled his stomach, but now his condition is only worsening..."

Maester Coomon, Lord Arryn's maester, asked anxiously.

Pycelle merely shook his head and sighed. "Ah, child, you are too young. You do not know how fragile the elderly can be. Even a minor ailment can take the lives of men our age."

Maester Coomon did not give up. "Perhaps we could give Lord Jon some purging medicine and pepperwater. We cannot simply do nothing, can we?"

Pycelle patted his shoulder.

"Good child, you are clever and capable, but let me impart another bit of an old man's experience."

"For a weakened patient, one must never use medicine carelessly. Otherwise, you will only harm them."

Pycelle stroked his long white beard with a sigh.

"Sometimes, doing nothing is far better than acting blindly."

Coomon still could not quite understand. "But..."

Pycelle waved a hand to stop him. "Child, Maester Coomon, you are too nervous. Go down and rest. Leave this to me."

The Grand Maester dismissed young Maester Coomon, then quietly sat beside the Hand's sickbed.

The attendants waited for the Grand Maester's instructions, but Pycelle only told them to continue.

The room became busy again, though no one knew what good it would do. Perhaps it merely made them seem less useless.

Grand Maester Pycelle sat motionless, as though asleep.

He had served four kings.

Robert Baratheon; the last king of the previous dynasty, Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King; Aerys's father, Jaehaerys II; and Jaehaerys's father, Aegon V the Unlikely.

Yet he believed that among all the men of the Seven Kingdoms, the one with the greatest kingly bearing, the one who truly ought to rule the realm, was Lord Tywin Lannister, who had never worn a crown.

Pycelle understood that he cared too much about the Lannister family.

But what reason did an old man in his eighties have to go on living? Fear of death and worldly desires could not be ruled out, of course.

But the most important reason was probably the desire to change something and leave something behind.

The king of the Seven Kingdoms ought to be skilled at and willing to govern. He should not indulge himself or others, nor should he be as cruel as the Mad King. Ideally, he should be like Lord Tywin.

The unconscious Hand made an indistinct sound.

Pycelle leaned closer to listen. It sounded as though he was calling "Robert," though Pycelle could not tell whether he was calling for the king or frail little Robin.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep had been very strange these past few days.

Pycelle knew that the queen wanted Lord Arryn dead!

Though she had never said it aloud, Pycelle understood the meaning simply by looking into her eyes.

Now, would this be a good opportunity?

Was Lord Hand Jon ill, or had he been poisoned with some rare toxin?

Pycelle was not entirely sure. He merely chose to wait and see. Time would reveal everything.

Hopefully, everything would go smoothly.