The flames crackled inside the cave.
The firelight cast their shadows against the rough stone walls.
Elongated, distorted.
Like tangled wraiths.
Lysa Arryn slept deeply.
Like a baby who had finally returned to her mother's arms.
The fear, betrayal, and slaughter of the past few days had long since drained her mind dry.
Now, resting her head in the crook of Petyr's arm and breathing in the familiar, faint scent of spices on his robes, she finally found a moment of peace.
Yet even dreams could not fully shut out the fear that had seeped into her bones.
The bloody scene in Riverrun's High Hall.
Walder Frey's severed head rolling across the floor.
Lynn's face, wearing a sinister smile after he tore off his mask...
Scene after scene flashed madly behind her closed eyelids, like a spinning lantern.
"No!"
Lysa jolted awake.
She tore free of the nightmare, her entire body drenched in cold sweat.
Instinctively, she clutched the man beside her.
Only the solid feel of him steadied her troubled mind a little.
He was still here.
Petyr was still here.
By the faint firelight, she gazed hungrily at his sleeping profile.
That lean outline, that carefully groomed goatee.
Everything was exactly as she remembered.
But...
A thought crept silently out of the darkest corner of her heart.
That devil Lynn could disguise himself as Ned Stark with ease.
That face, that voice... the disguise had been flawless.
Then... could Petyr... could he be...
Once that thought surfaced, she could no longer suppress it!
Lysa's heart pounded wildly, almost leaping out of her throat!
She looked at Petyr, the man she had loved her entire life, yet now he seemed like some unknown monster wearing human skin.
No, that couldn't be.
*Petyr had been sent by the gods to