The Eyrie was beautiful. After days of travelling through the dangerous paths, it was a relief to finally arrive at the Crescent Chamber. Not that the climbing was not enjoyable – in fact, Arya loved it and would be more than happy to climb and hike back down and back up to the Eyrie again.
After resting the night in the Gates of the Moon, a stout castle that stood at the foot of the Giant's Lance, Arya found herself a part of the first party who were led up the trail on mules to the first waycastle, Stone, by their guide, a tall, strapping young woman with short, coal-black hair and deep blue eyes called Mya Stone. A bastard, Arya had pondered when her thoughts landed on Jon. The path to Stone was rather calming. The forest of trees on either side of the path rustled and had whispered to one another like old friends; the heat of the warm, morning sun had shined down and touched the back of everyone's necks; and the surprising quiet atmosphere of the first party was welcoming. The other people who were part of Arya's party were the king, who was given the fattest and sturdiest mule; his wife, the queen; Princes Orys and Ormund and their bands of friends; Princess Minisa, who had clung to her mother throughout the journey; Father, Mother and Bran of course (Bran travelled mostly with Prince Ormund); and an assortment of nobles with some sort of close relation to the king to have the apparent privilege to be a part of his royal entourage.
Arya wished she had more time to explore Stone. As it was decided to stop for a short respite there, mostly to eat and drink for a bit, Arya only had time to stare at the iron spikes crowned on the squat castle's stone walls and glimpse the two, fat round towers that rose high above the keep. It would've been exciting to have a quick look at the horses that were kept at Stone and maybe even walk around a little bit in the forest of trees. Ah well. After the brief rest at Stone, it was up onto a fresh mule and out again onto the second trail.
The trail to Snow, the second waycastle, was steeper than the first. It was also less relaxing. Unlike Stone that was right in sight, Snow, consisting of one timbre keep, a stable and a single fortified tower, was hidden into Giant's Lance. The trip from Stone to Snow wasn't the most terrifying or treacherous though.
"Beautiful isn't it?" Arya almost jumped as Father walked quietly up to her, his grey eyes brooding with memories. He looked more tired than usual – probably a result of all that travelling – but he still gave Arya a warm smile. "I have not come here in years," Father continued, his gaze moving from Arya to the seven towers that encircled a garden. "I used to spar there with Robert." He chuckled. "He once tried to teach me to wield a warhammer there. Come." He headed into the garden. "I have something to show you." Curious, Arya followed him. What could he have hidden in a garden that would be of interest to her?
Father studied a stone bench and gestured for Arya to look at it. Arya did. The back of the bench was carved with the Arryn sigil as expected. Father pointed to the frozen crack near the edge of the bench. "That was what Robert did when we first sparred," Father explained with a reminiscent smile. "He swung his hammer at me. I dodged and he swung down on the bench."
"Is that when you and the king became friends?" inquired Arya.
"Perhaps," Father acceded. "Maybe. This garden was meant to be a godswood, but no weirwood heart tree would take root in the soil. It is a good training place though, you know, if you intend to keep practising."
Arya's heart leapt with hope. "I can miss the jousting and melees?"
"If you can find a sparring partner."
"Lyarra told me she sent a letter to Syrio," said Arya tentatively. "She asked for him to come here to meet me for us to continue my water dancing training." She rushed on as Father's forehead creased into the all too familiar frown. "I know it was wrong of me to keep it a secret from you, but I didn't want you to send Syrio back to Braavos…" Her voice trailed off.
"I understand," said Father softly. "Why would you think I would send Syrio to Braavos once he arrives here?"
Arya mumbled. "Because you want me to be a proper lady."
Father sat down on the stone bench and gestured for Arya to sit down next to him. "What do you mean by proper lady?" he asked.
Arya looked at him, surprised. "Perfect at embroidery." She scowled. "Polite all the time, dreaming about knights, princes and babies." She shuddered. "That isn't me," she said bluntly. "I tried, Father. I really did, but I can't be a proper lady."
"A proper southron lady," Father corrected, again to Arya's astonishment. "As for being a proper lady, do you know how hard my father tried to force your aunt into behaving like one? It took many arguments and by the end, he still failed. It's been said that you look like my late sister. You don't only look like her, but you're like her in spirit too."
"I know." Arya felt slightly uncomfortable and confused. "What does that have to do with Syrio and water dancing?"
"It doesn't really, does it?" Father laughed, shaking his head. "Being back here and all…" He stood up. "Your mother said she wants to talk to you later. Maybe at the welcome feast. Thought to let you know. As for Syrio, if he appears here, I will not stop him from tutoring you."
"I can keep learning from him? Even when I become a woman?" Arya was only a number of months short of her thirteenth name day yet she heard that girls can have their first flowering a month or two after their twelfth name day.
Father seemed to consider it. "We will see," he said finally. "Now I'm expected in the High Hall. Don't go running around looking for trouble. We are both guests here Arya." A twinkle appeared in his grey eyes before he turned and headed to the High Hall doors, leaving Arya alone in the garden.
Arya did not stay in the garden for long. The moment she caught sight of a few noble girls strolling leisurely into the garden, she sprang up from the bench like a cat and sprinted away, hoping the girls didn't see her.
Maybe I should go to the melee, thought Arya, slowing down from a sprint to a light run. I want to see the sky cells, but I do not think the Vale guards will think to allow a guest to see their cells. It was a disappointment as she had once heard that the Arryns kept the only dungeons in the Seven Kingdoms where their prisoners were welcome to escape at will – by jumping to their deaths. Many prisoners had been driven mad by the cold and howling wind had apparently chosen death.
Before Arya turned around, a thought struck her.
The Moon Door.
"The Vale has no executioner," Arya murmured to herself. In the North, it was always said that the one who gave the sentence swings the sword. In the south – in King's Landing at least – there was a royal executioner. Now keen to glimpse at least a little of the infamous Moon Door, Arya set off for the High Hall. It was late afternoon; the start of the jousting tournament. By now the High Hall should be a vacant area save a few servants. That was what Arya assumed. Since she arrived at King's Landing, she was forced to attend a number of tourneys. She escaped in a couple of them to explore the Red Keep and realised that most of the household and court would be watching the tournament, not lingering in the castle. Surely it would be the same here in the Eyrie!
Quiet as a shadow.
Creeping on her toes like a cat, Arya moved stealthily and calmly into the High Hall without making one sound. She stopped near the High Hall doors and looked around. Good. No one in sight. Resuming her sneaky walk, Arya crept closer to the High Hall doors.
"Where are you going, my lady?"
Arya froze, her right foot about to step down on the next step. One of the Vale guards was looking down at her kindly from his place next to the door.
"The tournament is over there," the guard said, pointing to where a couple of lords and ladies were hurrying to.
"Oh…of course," said Arya, recovering quickly. "I was just…looking for my lord father, Lord Stark."
"Lord Stark is already at the tournament my lady," said the guard, still smiling benevolently at her, "as is Lady Stark. The jousting tourney is to begin soon. You don't want to miss a minute of it now, do you?"
"What about my brother Bran?"
"I'm certain Lord Bran will be at the tourney too my lady. There is no one in the High Hall but the servants."
Stifling a sigh, Arya turned and walked away. Clearly the guard wasn't going to permit her entry to the High Hall. Perhaps it was a Vale custom that the High Hall was to remain closed to guests during tournaments. An odd custom, but it should still be respected. Readying herself for hours of boredom, Arya slowly headed to the tourney grounds. Arya only took a few steps before she caught sight of a door that was slightly ajar.
Could it be the servants' door to the High Hall?
Captured by curiosity, Arya edged towards the small, ordinary door, careful to avoid the eye of any watchful guards or hurrying lords. If that Vale guard sees me creeping through the servants' door, he will know something is up. It might even be a night in the sky cells. Arya shuddered. She desired to see the sky cells but didn't want to spend the night there as a prisoner. She cautiously pulled the door a little more open and slipped in.
It was dark.
Arya knew instantly that it wasn't the servant passage to the High Hall. No one could hold a dozen dishes and walk in the dark. She reached out in an attempt to touch the walls. The stone walls were damp. Arya gingerly took another step and then another, wary of stairs. If I fall and break my neck, no one will find me. Maybe one of the servants or someone who knew the Eyrie extremely well would find at the most, her rotting remains days, weeks or months after her accident.
Be calm, Arya silently snapped at herself as her heart began to pound. Be calm as still water. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She felt her heart slow down to a steady beat as she continued making her way through the dark passage, both her hands constantly grasping at the damp walls for safety and oddly enough, for a sense of comfort.
Why am I frightened? Arya couldn't help wonder. She willingly walked through the door – she could just as easily walk out. It wasn't as if the door slammed iron-shut behind her. As if reminding her that she could still leave, a cold draft swiftly breezed through the slightly ajar door and prodded Arya in the back of her neck. Arya shivered. "Winter is coming," she muttered on impulse. It was actually more like winter was at Winterfell's doorstep.
Taking a deep breath. Arya continued walking through the dark passage. Over time, her eyes adjusted to the blackness. When the passage came to an end in the form of another small, plain door, Arya did not hesitate. She silently pushed what she hoped was the door and cautiously entered, alert for stairs. Through another dark passage Arya walked steadily, repeating Syrio's words in her mind.
Quiet as a shadow.
Calm as still water.
Strong as a bear.
Fierce as a wolverine.
Arya's heart skipped a beat when she heard the sound of distant voices. More determined than ever, she crept closer, hoping to identify the voices. Was it at all possible for her to be in a secret passage under the High Hall? During the passage, there were no steps descending or ascending, but Arya did feel like she was on a small descending slope a few times during the long walk.
"…this is a terrible idea," one of the voices was saying. "What if someone finds the door? It's not exactly inconspicuous." A woman, Arya realised.
"A servant's door," answered another voice in a calm, familiar tone. "No one of noble rank will pay much attention to it. Besides, there is the tourney that will be starting in a minute or so. For months, I had my little birds spread the word that this tourney will be the grandest tourney in all of Westeros."
There was a sharp laugh. "Every lord claims his tourney is the grandest one in all of Westeros. My oaf of a son said the Highgarden tourney was the grandest."
"Have you heard about the winner's prize?"
"Forty thousand golden dragons I suppose?"
"Thirty thousand actually, but the champion may also ask the king for a favour. Say if it is the squire's melee, the king would knight the champion himself. Quite an honour do you not think?"
"Hmmph. Loras is furious he cannot be here today."
Arya shuddered as she heard a high-pitched titter. "Now, now my lady. He has a imperative role to play in our game. Besides, isn't it much more merciful for the Knight of Flowers to be away from here? We are both well aware of the…relationship between the Knight of Flowers and Lord Renly."
"And you trust the Viper to secure King's Landing for the king?"
"He is a man who will always crave vengeance, as we both know." There was a second titter. "Vengeance is the prize for the Viper – he will do anything to grab it. A pity the Old Lion is dead, but there is always the Mountain That Rides. Besides, I believe the Viper will willingly secure King's Landing for the king as he is family. You will do everything for family will you not?"
Wouldn't anyone? Arya could not help think. She shifted to a more comfortable position as she settled down to listen further. The Viper must be the Red Viper of Dorne, the smirking man who was bold enough to bring his paramour to court. It was apparently a scandal. There was no need to guess who the Knight of Flowers and the Mountain That Rides were – they were obviously Ser Loras Tyrell, a man whom the other girls always gush about and the terrifying Ser Gregor Clegane. It was odd for the two men to appear in one conversation. Arya flattened herself to the wall and pressed her right ear against it in an attempt to hear more. Arya was not one for eavesdropping (she had only eavesdropped thrice in her life, this one being the fourth), but what the two people were saying, it had sounded much too important to creep away from.
Who does that male voice belong to?
"…and the Stormlands?" The woman was speaking again.
"They will be subdued once King's Landing is taken. With Dorne and Reach in unity, the Stormlands will not last very long."
"Hmmph. Last time there was a war in Westeros with the Reach and Dorne on the same side, the Stormlands did not yield thanks to a lowborn smuggler."
"Ah, but it was just the Reach alone against the Stormlands, was it not? To my knowledge, the Dornish were fighting at the Trident with the dragon's forces, or am I wrong? We have set the pieces on the cyvasse board a long time ago, and the game can finally begin. It is a pity Prince Doran is not alive."
The woman's voice sounded scornful. "You trust the daughter?"
There was a pause. "She is much like the Viper. Hot-headed, craving revenge. I believe if she did not wish to aid the restoration, she would've already stated that Dorne will embark on a strong friendship with the stags. The Red Viper just told us via raven that the Princess of Dorne has her soldiers lined up and ready. She is an ally of our cause, as her father was."
A little line of dust danced its way under Arya's nose. Arya sneezed. Almost at once, she looked around, alarmed. Silence had entered the conversation. Readied to run, Arya lingered nervously. Hearing the soft murmurs augment precariously, Arya bolted like the cats she'd often tried to catch in Winterfell. Quiet as a shadow, Arya reminded herself as she sprinted through the dark passage. Her lungs were burning with air yet her lips moved as she continued reciting Syrio's words.
Quiet as a shadow.
Calm as still water.
Strong as a bear.
Fierce as a wolverine.
Run!
Running through the passage felt like forever but Arya eventually pushed her way through the door and burst out of the passage. She was instantly blinded by the bright afternoon light. Squinting like a half-blind cripple, Arya staggered from the door and headed in the direction of the tourney. Father…she must tell Father everything she heard…
The sound of applause rumbled like the thundering hooves of a dozen or more horses as Arya approached the canopied stands. She craned her neck as she tried to locate Father. Usually he'd be seated near the king, but not today. Arya slowed down and looked around more carefully. There were hundreds, no, thousands of spectators and Father could be anywhere.
Almost desperate, Arya's grey eyes darted this way and that until they found a target: Cley Cerwyn. Though she still hadn't warmed up to him as a friend of sort, Cley was the closest recognisable and familiar person there. Arya quickly ran up to the Cerwyn heir as he was putting on his armour for the joust.
"Lady Arya," said Cley, smiling at her. "A pleasure to see you again. We haven't spoken since we left King's Landing."
You were the one running around with Theon all day. "Do you know where my father is, Cley?" said Arya impatiently.
"Over there my lady." He pointed at another jousting ground. "Lady Arryn had decided to hold the squire's melee concurrently with the jousting tourney. Your brother Bran will be entering and Lord and Lady Stark have already gone over to watch." Cley cracked a grin. "Much more interesting than watching the joust here, eh? What about you, Lady Arya? Melee or joust?"
"What?" said Arya, taken back. She hadn't considered participating in either of them due to a lack of experience in both. "If I have to choose, I guess I'd take part in the melee…?"
Cley laughed. "Oh, my apologies! I meant which one will you watch?"
Arya rolled her eyes. "Probably neither." She then wished him luck in his joust and hurried to the melee area. It was easy to spot Father; there were not as many spectators for the melee as there were for the joust. Father and Mother sat on the seats closest to the melee grounds and next to them was Prince Orys Baratheon, who had probably decided to watch his younger brother spar instead of sitting in the jousting stands as a jousting watcher.
Without hesitation, Arya plunged herself into the crowd of spectators who did not manage to secure seats. Mumbling apologies, Arya squeezed her way through to the front row. Huffing a sigh, she ran her thin fingers through her hair. It was a tangled mess – almost like a bird's nest. It was no help that she was still attired in her old, yet comfortable riding clothes. Shrugging that thought aside, Arya ran up to Father, brushing away the inquisitive glances from her good-brother Orys and probably a dozen curious spectators.
"Arya!" Father exclaimed, immediately moving to make room for her. He then lowered his voice. "I thought you had plans to miss to joust and melee."
"There's a plot," Arya whispered breathlessly, careful not to be overheard. "A plot that will probably have people killed!"
Father was smiling at Bran who was walking onto the melee field in shiny new armour and an equally new sword in hand. He then frowned at Arya. "A plot that involves people dying? Were you eavesdropping, Arya?"
"Well…no…and yes," Arya admitted. "It somehow involves the Mountain That Rides, the Knight of Flowers and the Red Viper." She bit her lip in thought. "There were two voices. One was a woman and the other a man. He sounded familiar but I can't place who it is…"
Father sighed, his eyes returning to Bran who was facing his first opponent, a Tyrell boy who was taller than Bran by half a head. "You should not be following people about and spying on them. Perhaps you misunderstood them. The Knight of Flowers – Ser Loras – might want the Red Viper dead in the joust. They're both equally skilled in jousting and it is only natural for them to wish the other defeat in this jousting tourney." His expression clouded to worry as the steel swords in the hands of the squires began their song of clashing and clanging.
Arya watched Bran fight. He was pretty good considering his height and build. Then again, he practised sparring every day with Ser Barristan the Bold. "I know what I heard," she said stubbornly to her father. "One had called the other-" She broke off with a gasp as she watched another squire turn and swing his hammer right to the back of Bran's head.
I would've liked it better to have Arya eavesdropping on the conversation in King's Landing as the Red Keep is more likely to have secret passages familiar to certain people, but I assumed the Eyrie would have unused or ignored passages too. I forgot to ask you guys something from the last chapter - what girl and boy names do you want Daenerys's child/children to be? :) I looked at House Stark's family tree and there are so many awesome names to choose from that I can't decide so I thought to ask you readers for your name choice/s! :D
