River water soaked Lysa Arryn's skirts.
The wet fabric clung to her legs, making every step unbearably heavy.
After swimming across the river, she stumbled along the muddy bank, almost dragged along as she fled.
Behind her, Riverrun, the castle where she had been born and raised, now seemed to have become a beast that devoured lives.
The flames and screams fell far behind them.
But the thick smell of blood lingering in her nostrils clung like a festering wound, impossible to shake.
"Petyr! My Petyr!"
Lysa babbled incoherently, one hand gripping the man's sleeve with all her strength.
It was as though he were her only piece of driftwood in a raging flood.
"I knew it! I knew you wouldn't die!"
"Thank the Seven, you're alive!"
Her voice brimmed with excitement and lingering fear, tears mingling with river water all over her face.
She did not care about the slaughtered Freys, her brother and uncle collapsing from poison, or even the destruction of House Tully.
She cared about only one thing.
He was alive.
Petyr Baelish, the man she had loved all her life, was alive!
That was enough.
Everything she had done had been to avenge Petyr.
Littlefinger had fallen in love with Lysa's sister, Catelyn.
Lysa, in turn, loved Littlefinger deeply.
And all this evil had begun after Littlefinger was gravely wounded in a duel for Catelyn, when Lysa nursed him.
"Quietly, my little Lysa."
Petyr's low voice sounded beside her ear.
The endearment made Lysa feel as though a warm hand had closed around her heart.
All her fear and unease were soothed in an instant.
He had always called her that.
On those nights no one knew about, nights that belonged to the two of them alone.
Petyr pulled her along, deftly turning into a