The Andals III

A/N: SURPRISE!

Yes, I did this. I managed to write two chapters in a single day. Am I not awesome?

Anyways, I'm hella tired. So don't forget to leave your FAV/Follow and review.

I'll be answering to some of the comments on the last chapter.

-Thunderbird29: Yes, this story is supposed to have way shorter chapters. Make the whole writing thing easier, and the flow smoother. It also allows me to publish more chapters per month.

-JimmyHall24: Thx man.

-Guest 47: The best reviews, indeed. I already have some ideas, though it is nothing you would expect- a tip, red-eyes, small stature. About the Sistermen, I'll see what I can do, but Artys already has some of the clans' support. You'll also be seeing some more of his personality in this very chapter, since it's his time to shine once more. Red Priestess…maybe, but I'm a bigger fan of Moqorro.

That's it for today, I guess. Peace.

Wildfurion.


"Family, Duty, Honor."- House Tully's words.

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, nor do I own any of the series/anime/movies/comics/games/books cited. I merely own my character, and this fanfic.

The Andals III

-{Artys}-

(CHECK ON THE POLL AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER)

The thunderous sound of hooves hitting the moist clay of the River Road echoes through the fertile, lush valley of the Red Fork.

Three hundred of the Vale's finest Knights follow the course of the muddy stream, having escorted their new overlord- Lord Artys, of House Arryn- down the High Road into his mother's homeland. Eyes accompany the Fork's course with interest, taking note of each wooded islet and each trade raft they pass by.

The Riverlands are prosperous, that is beyond any serious doubt. Being the most central of the regions in Westeros, the dominion of House Tully is the second most populous of the Kingdom, and the area is cut by an uncountable amount of rivers and fiords that act like arteries: the fisherfolk, usually making use of their light skiffs, transport grain and many products down the Trident to Saltpans- a port town where the food produced was usually shipped off to the North, Dorne and the capital.

Merchant ships also came up the rivers, to buy and sell exotic goods- including the small, tart grapes grown in the region. Unlike Artys, who rules over the mountainous Vale, Lord Hoster has his lands alternating between suave hills, forests and vast farmlands.

'I hate riding…' the auburn-haired Protector of the Vale thinks with an internal sigh, completely hidden by his calm expression. Pale, bony fingers- each of them wearing a fancy, jeweled golden ring- tighten their grip on the crude leather of the reins as his brindled gypsy steed gallops ahead, in front of the long column. White and blue banners of House Arryn fluttering behind them. 'I'd rather be on a ship right now.'

Artys' original plan was to ride to Gulltown, where a ship could transport him and some twenty or thirty bodyguards to Fairmarket or Oldstones- where he'd wait for the King. Maybe even meet his Jenny, who'll snatch his frozen heart like she did to the Prince of Dragonflies.

Yet his mother, lady Lysa, objected- stating that the Lord of the Vale shouldn't expose himself to such danger- and insisted on his riding through the High Road towards Harrowtown, escorted by the cream of the Vale's knights. He left Colemon as the Eyre's steward, despite knowing his mother would be in command anyways- and decided to ride for Riverrun, instead of Harrowtown, to pay a visit to his grandfather- Lord Hoster Tully.

'Thank the Seven we're almost there.' Artys winces in pain at the burns in between his thighs. They've been riding for far longer than he'd be comfortable with, despite the stays they took at night at the stout castles of many river lords. He had to take a larger dose of the poppy- among other remedies carried in his purse- every day in order to keep going. 'I think I wouldn't last another day.'

As the red sandstone walls of Riverrun finally come into view, the new Lord Arryn couldn't hold the relived sigh back anymore- he had his back turned to his men, so he could relax a bit. 'I wonder if I should have brought Robert with me…' He feared his little brother would grow too spoiled, if left with their mother for much longer. Lysa Tully had grown too protective since Artys left for the Eyre, more than a decade before- a bit of protection is good, that's a fact, but flacons had to learn how to fly by themselves.

Just as he thought about the bird, two loud screeches make themselves heard up high in the skies. As if sensing his relief, two large birds of prey make a rapid descent from their place among the clouds, flapping their broad wings to make for a suave landing on each of his shoulders.

The first to land is Artys' favorite hunting companion, Lightning. The young, black-feathered Golden Eagle sinks its sharp talons on the rough leather of his riding clothes, before cleaning its feathers with its sharp beak. The late Lord's Gyrfalcon, Thunder, lands soon after. The white bird has yet to get fully used to a new master, and often pecks at the sensible skin of Artys' neck.

"There you are." The young lord greets with a faint smile, taking strips of deer jerky and feeding some to the birds before eating one himself. The meat was a welcome treat. "That hunt at Longbow Hall was worth it, I guess…"

The trout banners of House Tully hang loosely from the masts- with no wind to flutter them- as the column of Valeman knights rides through the fortress' main, redwood gate.

While not nearly as large as Highgarden or Winterfell, the ancestral seat of House Tully is remarkably strong. Located right at (and guarding) the crossing of the Red Fork and Tumblestone rivers, Riverrun is a three-sided castle- with a massive, man-made ditch located on the side connected to the land. When the flood gates are open, in times of danger, the stronghold can be turned into an island- further improving its strength.

"Lord Arryn." Greets the bald captain of the guard of Riverrun, Ser Robin Ryger. The old knight is stout of build, being about a head shorter than Artys, and wears heavy chainmail and plate. "It's an honor to welcome you to Riverrun."

Immediately, two beautiful serving girls- one red-haired, the other blonde- walked in carrying two plates containing a fresh bread and salt. Understanding what they meant, the boy quickly dismounted from his steed, taking out his canteen and cleaning the dirt off his hands before eating. Guest right- a tradition taken very seriously in the Seven Kingdoms, especially among the Houses such as the Arryns.

'I'll remember to call them for my bed later…' As the girls went to offer the same to his men, Artys' blue eyes rapidly scanned the courtyard- looking for familiar faces. With the exception of some servants- who mostly look at his armored knights in awe- there's close to none. "Where's my uncle, Edmure? I thought he'd be here when I arrived."

"Your uncle is out hunting with some of our men. Luckily, we'll be having venison for dinner." The man replies seriously. "He'll be coming soon, Lord Arryn."

"Good." The Red Falcon couldn't help but feel the saliva forming just at the thought of a good, spiced venison. He had been fasting for nearly five days, as eating seems to improve his chances of having a crisis- which would be…unpleasant at the road. "Provide proper accommodations for my men, please. I shall take a bath and rest before visiting my grandfather."

"Understood, my Lord."

The walk to his chambers is short. Soon, Artys finds himself silently lying on a comfortable feather cushion, eyes staring at the ceiling, hearing the Tumblestone flow outside. "This is life *sigh*…" he yawns and turns on the bed. His room at the Wheel Tower is huge, and decorated with fancy furniture imported from Lys and Myr. A faint smell of perfume impregnates the white sheets. "Being the Eyre's perfect Lord is tiresome at times."

As the eldest son of the great Jon Arryn, the young man known had always needed to live up to people's expectations. Despite his frail health, his father demanded much from him since an early age- 'You don't need to be perfect, you need people to see you as such.' Was what his father said. 'Never show your weaknesses, always be graceful and lordly- in your movements, your eating, and even your breathing.'

The lords of the Vale respected him because they saw him as a man worthy of being the heir of a great line- a cunning, young lord, with unrivaled skills with both the bow, and the pen. The commoners saw him as pious- a mask which he used to cover for his scandals- noble and daring, the slender Knight who pacified the wild Mountain Clans with blood, steel and gold- the one and only Red Falcon. The merchants saw him as a generous ally, with his low taxes, while the Faith had in him a generous patron. Many saw his qualities, and only a select few could see the failures beneath. "A perfect image, for a largely imperfect man." He whispered in High Valyrian. "I'd better take a bath, those clothes stink."

It is early evening when Artys finally makes his way down to the castle's Great Hall, taking the shorter way through the Godswood while escorted by Ser Lyn Corbray, who had offered to accompany him in the voyage. "I'll never get tired of this place." The auburn-haired Lord says to no one in specific, running his hand over a redwood's smooth surface. The brown-haired wielder of Lady Forlorn has his eyes to his back, but says nothing. 'I wonder if mother and aunt Cat played here…'

Brushing those thoughts aside, the Red Falcon runs a hand over his red-brown curls, casually adjusting them back into ringlets before walking into the Great Hall. Like the Kings of Mountain and Vale of old, he wears an impressive, light blue ermine overcoat over a tunic of pure, white Myrish velvet. The set is completed by a pair of tight, purple pants made of Qartheen silk. 'Add a golden, jeweled crown, and I'm the new King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men.'

He'd surely like that.

"Look, it's him!" "The Red Falcon of Arryn." He hears some guests whisper, many are Lord Hoster's bannermen- who'd come after hearing of his visit. "Such serene grace…the rumors are true, he does look like a prince." "I heard he never missed a single arrow with his bow." "A friend's cousin once told me he's the splitting image of King Aenys." He recognizes the familiar faces of Lord Tytos, of Raventree Hall, and his child daughter, Bethany; the heavy, brown-haired Lord Jonos Bracken, and five fair ladies- Barbara, Jayne, Catelyn, Bess and Alysanne- his daughters, with whom he'd dined with some nights before. 'They haven't given up, I presume…'

"Beloved nephew! Welcome to Riverrun!" his uncle, the carefree and cheerful Edmure Tully, greets from his place at the high end of the table. The heir to Riverrun stands up from his seat- which would usually be occupied by the Lord- to give him a crushing hug. Much to Artys' discomfort, that is. "It's been centuries since you last came. Please, come, sit, this feast is in your honor as the new Lord Arryn!"

"Thank you, uncle." The Lord of the Vale replies with one of his rare, discreet smiles.

Like all the Tullys, Edmure- which was his mother's younger brother- had the classical auburn hair and blue eyes, though his- unlike Artys'- were of a much lighter tone. A bard named Tom of the Sevenstreams plays the harp as they eat and drink, and- while the feast is not as entertaining as the balls at the Eyre- the food's good, and he gets to learn more about the Riverlands' situation with his loose-tongued uncle.

It is dire, to say the least. Having been stricken by a severe illness, Lord Hoster Tully lies on the thin borders of life and death. Not even Artys expected that, considering he was being lifted in his grandfather's arms not so long ago- the man used to be healthy, proud and strong. Edmure has yet to marry, despite being thirty namedays old- which meant a potential succession crisis.

"*ahem* Lord Arryn." Hearing the cough, Artys turns his gaze to the figure of Lord Bracken- who seems to be dressed to impress. "A word, if you mind?"

"Of course." The Lord of the Vale replies with a nod and only apparent serenity, barely managing to hide his irritation. Even his patience had limits, and the man was beginning to test it. Filling up his goblet with more iced wine. Both walk out to lady Minisa's gardens, where the castle's Sept was located. "So, what is it?"

The older man than talks and talks about the fertile lands of House Bracken, about how they made them richer than even their own overlords, about how their lineage was old and prestige and about how his daughters were beautiful and intelligent. The entire conversation sounded boring at the Red Falcon's ears, so he stayed mostly silent.

"Unfortunately, Lord Arryn, I seem to be lacking an heir. My wife's too old to have children, and I don't plan to take another after she passes away…" his eyes then lock on Artys', as if trying to read beneath the serene expression of lord Jon's eldest. Like others, he failed miserably and quickly gave up. "My eldest daughter, Barbara, is the heiress to Stone Hedge, and I'd like to find a good husband for her…"

"I'll see what I can do, lord Bracken." Not waiting for a response, the young man turns on his heels and leaves back to his chambers- two knights following him close as he walks. 'I'll make him wait…' the auburn-haired Lord thinks with a discreet- but mischievous- grin forming on his lips. '…then I'll give him my 'answer'.'

When he walks into his chambers, he sees the two girls from earlier already there- waiting on his bed. Their clothes had long been discarded, and their naked bodies reflected the faint light of the fires. "Well…" for the first time in days, his smirk is finally uncontained . The stern tranquility in his eyes being replaced by predatory desire and lust.

"I might as well indulge myself a bit."


Chapter End.

A/N: I'm studying about the Dermis now, so I'm excited to see your answers to this poll: which do you think will be the main pairing? Answer that in the reviews, lol.

That's it for today, guys. See you next week.

Listening to: Lo-fi beats.

Doing: Studying and drinking iced tea.

Status: Half-dead.

Wildfurion.