Prologue

Vale of Arryn, 298 AC.

A lonely arrow cuts through the chilling mountain air with a sharp screech, sent by long, slim fingers towards the back of a distracted fat hare. In the blink of an eye, the escaping animal falls into the tall grass with a barely audible thud, with the projectile burying deep into its furry body.

A round of applauses soon follows, accompanied by whistles and the barking of the hunting dogs. "Wonderful! A great shot, Lord Artys!" the knights and courtiers of the Eyre compliment, to which the young man replies with a simple nod.

Stealing a brief glance at the relatively isolated mountain that is the Giant's Lance, the heir to House Arryn and acting Lord of the Vale, Artys Arryn, soon returns his gaze back to the hunting game. His black Dragonbone longbow- which stands almost as tall as himself- rests to his side, as he silently watches the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, Nestor Royce, take another animal down. The game is very simple: the one to get the most hares, which were often brought to that particular field by the household servants of the castle, wins.

Thus the reason why that grassy elevation was known as the Rabbit Hill.

'My turn again.' the boy known as the Red Falcon thinks with an inner sigh. He feels the eyes of Nestor's buxom daughter on his back as he takes aim at another prey, pulling the bow's steel rope till the limit. Recently widowed Myranda Royce isn't the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, with her brown eyes, short height, small mouth and curly brown hair. But she is fleshy and a good bedmate- some even say her former husband died having sex with her. 'And her father wants her to be Lady Arryn.'

Gracious, tall and slender, the eldest son and heir of old Lord Jon is said to be even more handsome than his father was in youth. Leaning more to his mother's side of the family, Artys has long, silky auburn hair that flows down over his shoulders in suave ringlets and eyes of an intense, sky blue. Born more than two months premature, however, his build is somewhat frail and his skin, as pale as the fresh mountain snow- which adds a nice contrast to his red lips, however.

Although he possesses little muscle due to his condition, his broad shoulders and intense training allow him to wield a weapon as powerful as a Westerosi Longbow with relative ease. In other words, he can shoot a decent amount of arrows before needing to rest.

The game continues during most of the morning, until it is time for the Young Lord to return to his home at the Eyre- leaving lord Nestor and his widowed daughter at the Gates of the Moon.

While he'd known the treacherous way up the mountain since he was a sickly little boy and was quite familiar with it, Artys still accepted the aid of the cheerful and pretty Mya Stone- appreciating the black-haired girl's company as he rode through the three castles that guard the way to the seat of House Arryn.

"Good work as always, Mya." The quiet auburn haired heir says with a discreet smile. Though the ride was unusually smooth, he'd still want to bathe after the few hours riding a mule. Their smell was far from pleasant. "Care to join me for dinner tonight?"

"Thank you, m'lord. But I still have to-"

"Don't worry, you can stay the night here." Artys cuts her short, earning a grin from the young woman. Mya had known him for more than a decade already, she can easily understand the meaning of his ever courteous words and knows what he wants. "You can have the room at the Maiden's Tower."

"As you wish, m'lord~" Mya teasingly replies with a giggle, as some servants stop to observe the exchange with barely hidden interest. Being about as tall as him, the girl leans closer to whisper at his ear. "I'll be looking forward to tonight then."

The sway of her hips entices him as she leaves- his gaze fixed at her back until she disappears in a corner. After Mya's gone, Artys turns his eyes to the statues at the not-so-green gardens of his father's castle. 'Maybe I should order some more of those from Volantis…'

While House Arryn is one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms, their castle at the Eyre is- by far- the smallest among the Great Houses. Deemed by the Valemen as the most beautiful castle in the world, the seat of the oldest Andal line consists of a cluster of seven slim white towers- made of a rare type of stone- surrounding a garden which would have been a godswood, if not for its rocky soil.

Due to its location many thousands of feet up the Giant's Lance, the Eyre is considered impregnable- though dragons did fly up to the castle more than once. With a garrison of about 500 men, the barracks and stables were carved by King Roland Arryn directly into the mountain, while the huge granary and the beautiful and richly decorated Sept stand closer to the waterfall known as Alyssa's Tears.

To give one an idea about the Eyre's might, an invading army from the Riverlands- for instance- would have to assault the Bloody Gate, located at the narrowest part of the High Road, before marching onto the heavily fortified Gates of the Moon. Then, came in the tree castles garrisoning the way up the mountain: Stone, Snow and Sky.

'Reason why no army managed to conquer the Vale in six thousand years.' The young Arryn thought with a sigh. As the acting Lord while his father was away at the capital, serving the King as his Hand, the weight of managing all of those lands fell upon his slim shoulders like the very mountain his family lived on. "On to the work then…"

The way to the High Hall was swift, and the Red Falcon makes the House's throne his seat- ignoring the glances and whispers of the petitioners and courtiers present. The Sky throne, as it is called, is a queer chair carved out of pale weirwood. While it wasn't the most comfortable of seats, it was imposing and regal.

"My Lord." Starts the serious captain of the Eyre's household guards, Ser Vardis Ergen- a heavily built old man with a square face and intimidating eyes. "May I call the first petitioner?"

Jon Arryn's eldest remains silent, observing the present people- recognizing the tall figure of elderly Bronze Yohn, and his daughter Ysilla; handsome and hot-tempered Lyn Corbray, wielder of the Valyrian sword, Lady Forlorn; ser Gilwood Hunter, heir to Longbow Hall and other minor Valemen knights and commoners. Ten of the Winged Knights- dressed in shiny silver plate armor, and with long blue cloaks depicting the soaring, white gyrfalcon of Arryn- stood in between the numerous petitioners and the young heir.

"Very well, Ser Corbray, step forwa-"

"Lord Artys!" All of a sudden, the skinny Maester Colemon- healer and tutor of the Arryns and their children- rushes into the High Hall, tightly gripping a letter in his hand. "I bring urgent news from the capital!" The man halts in front of the knights, panting- he must have run all the way from the rookery. "A raven was sent by the Red Keep! Dark wings, even darker words…"

"And what is it, Colemon?" Though his tone is calm, Artys couldn't help but feel a pang of fear in his chest. What could possibly be so bad, as to make his family's Maester look so desperate? Surely it couldn't be… "Surely it's not something that terrible…"

"It's your father, sir…" the Maester turns pale like milk, and so does Artys. His eyes are now fixed at the man who's served the family for years, slim fingers digging deep into the pale weirwood of his throne.

"What about him?" The auburn-haired heir inquired with a voice as cold and cutting as the winds of winter. The entire room tensed up. Artys' father, Lord Jon, had left for the capital many years before, to serve as Hand of the King to his friend and former ward, Robert Baratheon. "What about my father?!"

"Lord Jon…he fell ill from the stomach…and he…"

"And he?" No. This couldn't be happening. His father was robust and healthy like a bull, despite the old age. A small thing like that could never possibly take that man down…

"Lord Arryn… he's dead, my Lord!"