Across the width of Westeros, another struggle for succession broke out late in the year 134, when Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Maiden of the Vale, died at Gulltown of a cold that had settled in her chest. Forty years of age, she perished in the Motherhouse of Maris on its stony island in the harbor of Gulltown, wrapped in the arms of Jessamyn Redfort, her "dear companion." (Fire & Blood)

Jeyne Arryn/Jessamyn Redfort

They told the story to one another on every anniversary of their first act of coupling. Some of the details would be spiritedly contested (no, it certainly did not happen that way, one would say, while the other would insist, of course it did, it most certainly did) or misremembered (a first kiss that lasted barely the space of two breaths became a long, lingering kiss that left them both gasping for air), but the essence of it remained the same, always.

The essence of their story, of their love and intimacy, of their bond and trust. Jeyne and Jessa. Jessa and Jeyne. The Maiden of the Vale and her more than just "dear companion."

"Once there was a lonely girl who lived high up the mountain, in the castle Eyrie," Jeyne would begin.

"A nominal ruler of a great land since she was three," Jessamyn would continue, with a grin as wide as saucer.

"It is not a song or a poem. It does not have to rhyme," Jeyne would tease.

"My stories always rhyme," Jessamyn would reply, with mock-outrage.

The guardian of this lonely girl (who was also the regent and lord protector of her land during the years of her minority) brought many girls from the noble houses sworn to the Eyrie to be her companions. These girls, most of them having brothers, were expected by their families to extol and promote the virtues and attractions of those brothers in front of the lonely girl, with matrimony in mind.

"Is your brother as clever as you? As kind? As thoughtful? As gentle? As bold? As witty? As spirited? As funny?" Jeyne would ask of every girl, changing the descriptions to fit the special virtues she had observed of each girl.

"My brother would make a poor consort to the ruling Lady of the Eyrie," Jessamyn had replied bluntly, when it was her turn to be asked the question. "He is not made to be any woman's consort. He would want to rule through you, not beside you."

"I will suffer no man to rule either through me or beside me, when I am of age," vowed Jeyne.

"But you will have to suffer a husband in your bed."

"Will I?"

"We must. Every woman must, whether she likes it or not," said Jessamyn, with heavy resignation.

"Even if she prefers a woman in her bed?"

"Even then. This is the world we reside in, and there is no other, not while we still draw breath."

Last night I dreamed of my last breath being drawn in your embrace, with your arms holding me tightly, thought Jeyne, the day Jessamyn left the Eyrie to be wed. And now that could never happen.

A husband dead of a burst belly three years later brought Jessamyn back to the Eyrie, this time as Jeyne's lady-in-waiting. A gaggle of squabbling suitors intent on besting one another became Jeyne's best tool for avoiding matrimony. Conflicting rumors thrived and flourished about the Maiden of the Vale. Some said that she would not wed because she would rather have ten men in her bed instead of only one. Other claimed that she would not wed because she would rather have ten women in her bed instead of one man. The numbers seemed to increase with each passing year, and the supposed voraciousness of her sexual appetite became more exaggerated with each telling of the rumors.

She would not wed because she did not wish to risk becoming a husband's catspaw, and she had seen too many women brought down by a man's quest for glory. She would not wed because she only wanted one woman beside her, in her bed and elsewhere, the only person in the world she trusted to share all her secrets and all her troubles.

Both of those things were equally true for Jeyne Arryn.