Cruel fate for a character with a real-world prototype and Martin's ex, is it not? How nice of Martin to constantly state that a seventy year old man who married a thirteen year old was oh so very kind amd dutiful to her, and that it's her who is to blame, not a man who lost all his heirs and decided to marry a child because she was "fertile". All that, of course, before he disposed of her in a way that's only slightly less crueler than Cersei's ADWD fate.
Lysa had always been too fond of singers. I must not blame her. Jon Arryn was twenty years older than our (Catelyn's) father, however noble.
How young they all had been—she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager.
She and her sister had been married on the same day.
They began the same, but your ending has been happier than your sister’s. Two babes stillborn, twice as many miscarriages, Lord Arryn’s death.
Lord Hoster had mistaken her for her sister before. You’l have others, he said. Sweet babes, and trueborn. Lysa had miscarried five times, twice in the Eyrie, thrice at King’s Landing...
Lysa’s match with Lord Arryn had been hastily arranged, and Jon was an old man even then, older than their father. An old man without an heir. His first two wives had left him childless, his brother’s son had been murdered with Brandon Stark in King’s Landing, his gallant cousin had died in the Battle of the Bells.
Lord Jon might wed Lysa to bind the Tullys to the cause of the rebellion, and in hopes of a son, but it would have been hard for him to love a woman who came to his bed soiled and unwilling.
“Jon Arryn was no dwarf, but he was old. You may not think so to see me now, but on the day we wed I was so lovely I put your mother to shame. But al Jon desired was my father’s swords, to aid his darling boys. I should have refused him, but he was such an old man, how long could he live? Half his teeth were gone, and his breath smelled like bad cheese.
Father said I ought to thank the gods that so great a lord as Jon Arryn was willing to take me soiled, but I knew it was only for the swords. I had to marry Jon, or my father would have turned me out as he did his brother.
Her sister was two years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa had grown thick of body, pale and puffy of face ... she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl who’d waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been. All that remained of her sister’s beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded to her waist.
