—At the Driftmark—
It was a dark, stormy night during the voyage to House Velaryon's ancestral seat of Driftmark. Located in Blackwater Bay west of Dragonstone, Daemon had not set foot on the eponymous island since he was four years old. Samson, now actively out of retirement as Master of War and General leading the rebels' armies, shifted as the Velayron vessel Second Wind cruised past the crashing waves, steadying himself with merely his cane. Jacaerys remained steady and unmoved as Second Wind pressed on; already knowing full well he would be branded a traitor for aiding in his nephew's escape from prison, the Master of Ships dedicated House Velaryon's full support to Daemon's cause as Lord Admiral of the rebels' navy. The rogue Master of Whisperers Jaqoros, however, would maintain connections with his agents for him to operate as the rebels' spymaster.
Sailors hollered and shifted around the ship as Driftmark came closer into view.
Daemon felt his headaches coming more frequently. "Damn dreams…" he muttered. Every night it is the same dream. Why do they keep happening? But… what does this mean for me specifically? Since the escape, the Prince had not had a proper night's sleep. The several seemingly prophetic-like dreams began during his captivity where it always had a vision of a raven with three eyes calling out to him over and over — warning him of impending danger.
"All hands on deck! We're in sight of Driftmark," shouted Jacaerys.
Through the dense stormy mists, Driftmark became more visible. Named after driftwood brought by the tides, the island was low-lying and fertile with shipyards the Master of Ships himself mentioned earlier and settlements including the towns of Hull and Spicetown. True to his word, there were already 200 ships—longships and war galleys—docked; the castle of Driftmark itself was a grim-looking structure, often damp and flooded with dark, salt-stained walls; the second castle, High Tide, was built from pale stone with slender towers crowned with roofs of beaten silver that shined in the sun. When the waters of Blackwater Bay are at high tide, High Tide and the Driftmark become connected only by a causeway.
Once the Second Wind arrived at the port, Daemon was among one of the three to disembark with his trusted canine companion in tow. Accompanied by Samson, Jacaerys, and Jaqoros, the group was greeted by a squadron of Velaryon bannermen.
"Welcome back, my lord," one of them said.
Jacaerys nodded. "It's good to be home on solid ground again, lads. Has the main garrison sent word to my sister?"
"Yes, my lord. Lady Saenyra has been informed of the situation."
"Good. Take us to her at once. We've got a lot to talk about."
"Yes, my lord."
Aunt Saenyra? Gods, I have not seen her in quite a while. I wonder how she's been doing lately.
The Driftmark escorted the team from the docks towards the major road leading to the castle itself. The terrain was moist and slightly muggy with the occasional thunderbolts shooting across the darkened skies; Daemon felt exhausted from having to endure so much in a brief period and still had to be tended to by a maester for the bruises on his body, yet the flashbacks would occur off and on bearing the same warning.
« …You're not safe here. You must keep moving… »
Daemon shook his head roughly.
"Are you alright, lad?" Jacaerys inquired.
"Iksan sȳz (I'm fine), uncle," he deflected. "I just… I haven't had a good night's sleep."
"Neither of us has had any proper sleep since everything went to hell in a handbasket. But first, you're going to need Maester Lucerys clean you up before doing anything else."
"Uncle—"
"Ser Jacaerys is right, Prince Daemon," Samson agreed. "No one can be of use to anyone if we physically aren't our best should we ever go to war. And the way we stand at present would undermine our efforts in the long run."
"And then there are these… 'dreams' you've been having," Jaqoros mentioned.
"How do you know about them?" the Prince asked.
"You mumble louder than you think. A leader should have a stable mind for strategizing and should maintain focus, not be distracted by something as minor as this. If you are to lead Westeros out of this crisis, then you must rid yourself of these thoughts. Your judgment cannot be clouded."
Daemon rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, and how am I supposed to do that? I can't control when these dreams occur, nor can I know how to expunge them from my mind," he remarked sarcastically.
"Perhaps some old historical records may hint at possible clues… provided any are left intact after the Memorial Fire of 1004 AC incident. But until then we're in the dark."
"I hate being left in the dark."
"No one does." Jaqoros narrowed his eyes. "You still have much on your mind."
"I do. Everyone expects so much from me, from my leadership. I just… I hope I'm ready for this. I don't want to end up like Argilac."
He's still concerned about the path ahead of him. "You won't have to carry the burden of leading this revolution alone, although it must feel like it. That is why we are here," Samson interjected. "Every noticeable Baratheon sovereign each had their trials to overcome, and they didn't get to where they were without the support of those they trusted. Here is no different, lad. We must start small before we can further expand."
Jacaerys overheard. "By choosing to come to Driftmark, you've already taken the first step to remove Argilac from the throne. As the Prince of Dragonstone, you already have the support of the noble houses of the Narrow Sea. And here you have a fleet of your own, albeit it is small, but House Velaryon knows how to use them more than Argilac does his."
"But we still need to build more alliances and recruit more followers," Samson noted. "Argilac still controls the largest portion of the Royal Army and the remaining two-thirds of the Royal Fleet. He'd crush us and anyone in his path any time he wants. And with General Gerion Lannister at the helm, there's no telling what lengths he will go to if he wants to keep his power."
"Once my sister hears your case, lēnqar (nephew), we can make the first move in securing more aid. Hope your Arryn friend convinces the Valemen."
"Sharra will pull through on her end," Daemon said. "I've known her mother Lady Arryn for a long time. The knights of the Vale are nigh unstoppable as cavalry and the Brotherhood of Winged Knights are among the best elite guards in the realm."
"Then you'd best convince them. The Vale nobility is a proud, aristocratic bunch." Jacaerys noted the front door leading to the great hall. "We're here."
The group approaches as more guardsmen push open the doors to allow the escort inside. Velaryon guards standing before the Driftmark Throne wore light plate armor; a leather tunic with plates of steel attached to some parts with bluish-green cloaks wrapped around their necks. Daemon eyed the seat of his paternal relatives closely to see Lady Saenyra Velaryon sitting on the throne. Being the middle of the three Velaryon siblings, Saenyra assumed her role as Lady of the Tides, Mistress of Driftmark, and head of House Velaryon when her older brother Jaerys abdicated to marry Queen Shiera III Baratheon.
A woman around 52 years of age, they considered Saenyra a majestic beauty despite her age, with silver-gold hair falling past her waist, pale lilac eyes, and a smooth yet lined face with a slender figure. She had slight wrinkles around the corner of her mouth and eyes but was still considered a lovely woman. She was a clever, capable, proud, fierce, and fearless leader, though only around members of her own family was she warming and welcoming… to a certain degree. As a young adolescent girl, Saenyra admired Jaerys and often got into sibling rivalry disputes with Jacaerys. By adulthood, Saenyra was already a widow with five children of her own—her sons Daenar (20), Rhaemyx (17), Malaenys (11), and Aemon (8); and her daughter Rhaela (15).
Daemon loved his aunt Saenyra. She was there for him throughout most of his childhood and again when his father and mother died, respectively. If he could count on anyone to provide the much needed 'oomph' the rebels needed in naval warfare against Argilac, it would be his aunt, uncle, and cousins. "Sodjisto (Aunt)," he greeted in High Valyrian.
"Dubāzma! (Cousin!)" greeted his younger cousins.
Saenyra, identifying her royal nephew, rose from her seat and made her descent towards the group.
"My lady Velaryon," greeted Samson and Jaqoros respectfully.
The Lady of Driftmark merely ignored the Master of War, Master of Whisperers and Master of Ships, and continued maintaining her concentration solely on Prince Daemon. She eyed him up and down, studying his posture, yet noticed the cuts and bruises on his body and the black circles under his eyes. Saenyra determined that not only had her nephew endured great physical abuse but was suffering from sleep deprivation. It would only be logical that he would seek her out for help.
This is no doubt Argilac's doing, Saenyra thought. "Iōragon, ñuha iēnqar. Ōregon nyke. (Arise, my nephew. Embrace me.)" she said.
Daemon rose from kneeling and threw himself into his aunt's warm welcoming arms, holding her close. To Saenyra, Daemon was like a son to her; holding onto her nephew tightly, she could only imagine the horrors he had to endure in King's Landing leading up to the disbandment of the Westerosi Parliament. Saenyra had a close sister-like bond with Queen Shiera III and idolized Jaeyrs. She could not care less of Argilac; she hated and despised her eldest nephew, but she was fonder of her other nephew. She had to protect him… for his father and mother's sake.
"It warms my heart to see you again, nephew, though I wish it were under better circumstances," Saenyra said.
"I missed you too, aunt Sae," Daemon remarked.
"Malaenys, jiōragon īlva Giēñatī Lucerys syt aōha lēkia. (Malaenys, get us Maester Lucerys for your cousin)," she said to her thirdborn. Once the child obliged, Saenyra returned her attention to her nephew. "We'll prepare a warm bath and some food soon. In the meantime, we heard some rather… conflicting reports from the capital. Something about a riot."
"Argilac sent his men to dissolve parliament for attempting to call for a Great Council. There were deaths involved, including Prime Minister Mallister."
"I see. And your lady friend?"
"She… Sharra's gone back to the Eyrie. My brother had his men beat her, tried stripping her naked in front of the court, but… I lost it. I couldn't sit back and watch anymore."
What repulsive behavior. Poor girl. "Meaning you had to physically assault the Kingsguard and Argilac's elites to stop it which resulted in the injuries you now bear from them beating you bloody," Saenyra deduced.
"Yes."
"You always were a shy, timid boy when you were younger. However, I am proud of you for standing up for your friend. What was Argilac hoping to gain from getting away with such an atrocity?"
"I don't know. But what we do know for certain is that as long as my brother remains in power, the kingdom will never be safe from him. Everything our ancestors fought for will be for naught. That's why he needs to be removed from the throne."
"And you've come seeking our help."
"That pretty much sums it up, aunt Sae. We cannot stay long, though. As soon as the sun comes up tomorrow morning, we will be departing for Gulltown. From there, we'll go to the Eyrie." I probably shouldn't mention my 'dreams' to her… not yet anyway. I'll need to know more about them first.
"Well, you may not have our name—but you have our blood. The blood of Old Valyria runs through your veins as it does ours. We will always be a family," Saenyra said. "Besides, your mother and I somehow suspected that it would have eventually come to this."
Daemon blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked rather confused.
"The relations between you and Argilac have always tense, but if the threat of a civil war were to ever occur… well, Shiera asked Jaerys and me to preserve some things for you." She snapped her fingers, prompting four servants to enter the great hall with a bundle of antiques left in storage. "Nearly 120 years ago, your great-great-grandmother Queen Argella the Historian had these artifacts smuggled out of King's Landing during the Memorial Fire before the incident claimed her life along with many others. They believed these could not fall into the wrong hands. No one has ever used it in so many years. For generations, we tried to keep them safe at your parents' behest as the Keepers of Ancient Knowledge."
"But what are they?"
Saenyra nodded her head. On cue, the servants unraveled the bundles steadily catching the attention of Daemon, Samson, Jacaerys, and Jaqoros. One piece of cloth was pulled back, followed by another, then another until the first antique became visible. The group's eyes steadily widened with surprise as a sheathed longsword was presented to them; the blade's crossguard and rain-guard featured the stag of House Baratheon, the grip and pommel with a lion's head with ruby eyes decorated with Lannister gold. The weapon was approximately eight centuries-old with its past golden color faded away as rust only to be replaced and repaired with garish ornaments with new golden nuggets, cherrywood, and red leather; the blade itself was polished with red and black ripples tracing along the flat end.
"B-by the Father," Samson gasped. "I-is th-that…?"
"Stormbringer, the ancestral sword of House Baratheon," Jaqoros observed. "Forged with Valyrian steel, the blade was first wielded by King Daveth the Great himself more than 800 years ago. The Stag Sedition, Second Greyjoy Rebellion, Bolton Uprising, all the way to the Second War for the Dawn and the War for Westeros… Stormbringer has lived through many battles before being set aside once there were no more major wars—left to gather dust above the fire. We thought it was long gone as with the rest of the other artifacts, but to now learn it was removed from the Andalosian Museum of Natural History and Science… For an ancient relic, it's been surprisingly well-preserved. And modified from the looks of it."
"My… my ancestor used th-this?" Daemon remarked with awe. The craftmanship, the decorum, the metalwork… What a beauty!
"Your mother believed that House Baratheon would one day raise a worthy successor to inherit King Daveth the Great's legacy," Jacaerys mentioned. "We initially thought Argilac would be the one, but when his true nature became apparent… Queen Shiera lost all hope in your brother and shifted her attention towards you. But neither she nor our older brother ever got the chance to train you in the art of combat. Her last words before she died were to ensure that we prepared you for the journey. And for the past four years, we in House Velaryon honored her wishes."
"Father… Mother…" Why didn't you tell me?
"Did our late Queen leave anything else behind for her youngest son?" inquired Samson.
"Other than necessities, there was little left to salvage," Saenyra shook her head. "But if the end game of yours is to achieve peace and restore balance, then you must fight for it. You will need to establish a formidable opposition. An army, your own Small Council, a new Kingsguard, all of it. Once you start small, expand from there." She then glanced at her nephew. "My question to you is… will you be able to redeem your house's honor; to repair the damage your brother so savagely inflicted upon this nation? Are you willing to take the reins and carry on the legacy of your forebearers? Are you ready to be your mother's son?" she asked. Remember: you cannot lean on anyone to do things for you forever. There can be no sense of dependency.
This was overall an important step for him. Already Daemon made his intention of seizing the throne away from his older brother known to his small group upon fleeing King's Landing, but now the challenge was bound to become much harder with each progression. But his aunt and uncle were right about one thing: he can't afford to have people do the work for him; eventually, he'd have to throw himself in the thick of it as his predecessors had during their time… like his mother did. Gazing upon the ancient Valyrian steel sword Stormbringer, the blade of his long-departed ancestor, Daemon gripped the handle, ready to assume the mantle of leadership necessary to lead the revolution.
"Kessa, ñuha riña. Iksan ūbrie. (Yes, my lady. I'm ready.)" Daemon replied. I must do this. For peace, for my house… for everyone. I've got to!
Both Saenyra and Jacaerys nodded. "Then in the sight of Gods and men, we hereby proclaim you… Daemon of the House Baratheon, the Sixth of His Name, ruler of the Kingdom of Westeros and Protector of the Realm," they hailed. "Send messenger ravens to every corner of the realm from the Arbor to the Wall. The time has come to choose: Argilac… or Daemon."
—At the Eyrie—
Sharra shifted nervously her way through the crowded halls of the Eyrie, ancestral seat of House Arryn. The political atmosphere of the castle had changed since coming home; since her appointment as one of the Vale's leading parliamentarians frequently took her away from home, it felt… strange. Almost as if her home were foreign in a certain way. The moon-and-falcon banners hung from the walls, along with the paintings of Arryn lords—both old and new. Among them bore a portrayal of House Arryn's founder Artys I the Falcon Knight, the first ruler of the then-sovereign Kingdom of the Mountain and Vale; another featured the Vale's last King and first Warden of the East, Ronnel Arryn, along with his mother and Sharra's namesake Queen Regent Sharra Arryn; another featured the iconic lords Jon Arryn and his son Robin, Sharra's ancestors; and the last ones displayed her mother, her father Lord Jasper of House Hardyng, her grandfather Lord Artys, her grandmother Rowena of House Royce, and her great-grandmother Lady Alyssa.
As she trekked farther in, the murmurs grew more audible with a rather sizeable assembly of the Vale nobility gathering in the High Hall's main audience chamber near the Arryn throne made of weirwood, with only the Moon Door continuing to exist in the center. As tensions gripped the land, the nobles gossiped about their concerns as soon as word reached them of the civil war. Many had been waiting days and nights to petition the ruling Lady of the Vale, Wardeness Alayne Arryn. Unfortunately, because of her declining health, their pleas remained unheard of.
"Did you hear?" a youthful nobleman asked.
"I did. Such a scandal!" replied an elder noblewoman.
"Ergo, it will be a civil war after all…"
"We've always known that King Argilac was cruel, but to disband parliament and accuse our representatives of treason—"
"Queen Shiera should have summoned a Great Council sooner; perhaps then the problem would have been worked out much faster. Otherwise, we wouldn't indeed be in this mess."
"How? Not even a mother's love could prevent her hand. Would you do the same if any of your children behaved rather poorly?"
"By the Gods, no! No son or daughter of mine would even continue living in my hall! They would have been disowned and cast out as soon as one of them stepped out of line!"
Sharra politely pushed her way past some of them. Gods preserve her. The main hall was a bit too crowded these days. But one gossip quickly caught her attention.
"Wait! Say that again?"
"You heard me. Both Baratheon brothers have taken up arms against each other. A familiar acquaintance informed me that Prince Daemon was crowned King by his relatives at Driftmark."
Sharra momentarily paused. Wait, what? Daemon's called himself what now?
"Argilac, Daemon… House Baratheon suffered a decline as soon as Queen Shiera's elder whippersnapper seized control and ran amuck. Doing whatever he pleases. How is one Baratheon going to alter what's already broken?"
"I've heard this lad was weak-willed. No backbone at all."
"So, we've got a madman on one hand and the other, a boy."
That last comment made Sharra visibly angry. She still remembers how Daemon protected her from the failed public humiliation attempt by Argilac's men, how much she values a lifelong friendship with him… the way he kissed her in the garden and his declaration of love for her… You are wrong about him, my lords and ladies. I've known Daemon since we were children. Who are you to judge him in that manner? She brushed them off and made her way to her mother's bedroom. Sharra had to check on her. But as she got closer, she overhead the Brotherhood of Winged Knights discussing strategy with the Vale's military officials.
"Report," requested Ser Rupert Royce, one of the Vale's leading generals.
"The enemy vanguard is converging on the Riverlands at incredible speed. The bulk of which is commanded by General Gerion Lannister's son and heir, Major Loreon. Already they are nearly engulfing nearby settlements, scattering the opposition on the front lines…" said Major Petyr Hardyng, a Winged Brotherhood knight and Sharra's cousin. "Ser Jarrad Royce reports our forces were able to repel them from entering the high road leading to the Mountains of the Moon, but at the same time, our armies themselves cannot break the siege as it would leave the Bloody Gate undefended. If this keeps up, the Riverlands will fall to Argilac's horde. And without the Riverlands fertile farms, our troops will starve."
"What of the emissary dispatched to Riverrun?" inquired Ser Jon Waynwood.
"Nothing yet, ser."
"We've yet to hear a response from Lord Edmyn Tully," implied Ser Ian Redfort. "We need more help from our neighboring allies."
"The North is too far; the Iron Islands are on the opposite side of the country; Dorne has so far not taken sides—" Petyr noticed Sharra. "Oh! Cousin. Forgive us. We didn't realize you were standing there."
"My lady," the other knights acknowledged.
"There's no need to apologize, sers," Sharra dismissed. "I couldn't help but overhear our situation. Ambassador Tycho has yet to return?"
"We've heard nothing from him in over a week, my lady," Jon said.
Rupert chimed in. "Even as we speak, my lady, we've received numerous calls from the Riverlands but we're unable to move our cavalry through the high road as Major Loreon has been making an aggressive march. Stoney Sept, the Golden Tooth, Maidenpool… three of the Riverlands' major strongholds have already fallen to the Lannisters."
"How many troops does Major Loreon possess?" Sharra inquired.
"Our scouts report roughly around 80,000 men, half of the main host itself," Rupert said. "However, their main unit has not yet begun to march. I think they must be gathering more troops, suppressing any remaining local resistance, or purging the land of its resources to maintain their supply lines before making the necessary preparations for another push." He points to the center of the map. "Here. Look. Those who fled the battle are said to be converging what's left of their armies here at Harrenhal. While they stage the next line of defense, Seagard, Oldstones, Fairmarket, and the Twins have already sent a splinter force to reinforce Riverrun."
"Could it be possible that Lord Tully expects the Lannisters to ignore Harrenhal and instead target Riverrun?"
"As far as we suspect General Gerion and Major Loreon, yes. If Riverrun falls—"
"Then the entire Riverlands will fall," she theorized. "What of Winterfell? Has word been sent to Lord Jon Stark?"
"He's sent his sons Ser Rodrick and Ser Brandon to lead a northern host down the kingsroad. But it will take time for the Northmen to pass Moat Cailin and cross the Neck," Ian mentioned.
Ser Rodrick. Gods are praised he made it out of the capital safely. "And how many do the Winter Wolves themselves command?"
"45,000 troops, including the legendary Winter Wolves regiment, plus siege weapons. But timing will be crucial. Even with the room needed to effectively enter the battlefield, General Gerion is as tenacious as he is a ruthless, cunning tactician. He must be up to something."
Sharra hummed as she surveyed the map. "Hmmm. Do what you can. I'll see if I can send word to an old friend of mine. He may be able to help us."
"Does this… 'friend' of yours have ships?" asked Ser Waynwood doubtfully. "The Greyjoys have one of the largest fleets in the kingdom, but they—"
"So does the Master of Ships, Ser Jacaerys of House Velaryon. He and the Master of Whisperers have both defected from the King's side. They're the reason why I made it out of Argilac's clutches."
"And you trust them?"
"No… but two who fled King's Landing with me, I trust with my life. Professor Samson and Prince Daemon."
"How can—"
"Samson was once a respected General in the Royal Army before he retired. His experience as a veteran could be beneficial for our allies. And Daemon is a close childhood friend of mine who protected me from his brother. Doubt him if you must simply due to his relation to Argilac, but he's never let me down before. Not once."
The guardsmen mumbled. "So… what do you suggest, my lady?"
"Send them an invitation," Sharra suggested. "A small strike team could bypass the main host of the Lannister armies laying siege to the Riverlands undetected before they begin to move."
"Very well, my lady. But only if we permit one of our own to observe them to ascertain the truth of their intents. We cannot afford any pretenses lead us astray or spies infiltrating our ranks to plot an assassination."
Sharra sighed and massaged her temples. "Fine, if it's any consolation." She then turned serious. "But fair warning: neither Samson nor Daemon are to be harassed or harmed in any way shape or form. And if I hear otherwise, then it's out the Moon Door."
"As you command, my lady," they acknowledged.
As most of the commanders left, Sharra stopped Petyr for a moment. "Cousin. Wait a moment. I must ask. How fares mother?" she asked.
Petyr sighed doubtfully. "Aunt Alayne… isn't doing so well, cousin. I don't think she has much time left. You… may want to say your last goodbyes to her."
Sharra felt her heartache terribly. Mother… "I… thank you, Petyr. Let me have a moment with her."
"Take as long as you need. I'll be in the high hall."
As Petyr left to join the rest of his comrades, Sharra was left alone to her thoughts. Turning to her mother's room, Sharra pushed the door open to see her mother Alyane Arryn in her bed. Judging from her appearance, the Lady of the Eyrie and Wardeness of the East had been covered in beads of sweat. Her breathing was heavy and labored and her eyes were barely open. For quite some time since leaving King's Landing for the Eyrie following the death of her parents during the Great Spring Sickness, Alayne's health began to decline and was grooming her only child to succeed her one day. She hardly heard her daughter entering the room until she was close enough.
"Mother?" Sharra beckoned.
Alyane breathed heavily and slowly turned her head. "Oh… oh, there she is. My beautiful little girl," she smiled weakly, caressing one hand on Sharra's cheek. "I… I almost forgot how grown-up you've… become…"
"I'm here for you, mother. I came as soon as I heard. Do you… do you need anything? Can I get you some water or something to eat? Are you in any pain? Do you require a maester?"
"It is…. good of you to care for me… at my lowest. But I'm fine, my dearest daughter. Maester Yorwyck… he's said there's nothing left he… could do. The inevitable could be delayed, but… I've decided that… it wasn't worth it," Even at her weakened state, Alayne could still sense Sharra's distress. "Don't worry about me. I'm just… thinking about… things as of late."
"What kind of things?" Sharra asked softly.
"Your life. Do you… do you remember how you… would always beg me to tell you the story The Falcon and the Canary when you were little?"
"I do, mother," she nodded.
"Every day, I'd sit you… on my lap. And whenever I finished, what… what did you always say?"
"'Teach me how to fly'."
Alayne gave a weary chuckle at the memory of her daughter as a child; to her, it felt like a lifetime ago. And now there she was in front of her, a young woman. Sharra had made her proud. A capable politician with the markings of a good ruler, Sharra had already demonstrated her talents at an early age long ago. She would make a fine Lady of the Eyrie… but how her own heart ached with the realization that once Alayne had departed from the world of the living, Sharra would be on her own.
Her daughter would be the last Arryn.
In a split second, Alayne began coughing rather violently.
"Mother!" Sharra panicked.
Alayne shook her head. Well… it seems my time has come much sooner than expected. "I'm so sorry, my little canary. Don't… *gasp* don't worry about me now. Rather… spread your wings and take flight… fly high to the skies, to the future."
"But I want you here with me…"
"I know you do… I want more time with you too, but… but alas, we all must leave the nest… at some point in our lives." Alyane looked more exhausted with each breath. "I knew as soon as you… as soon as you came into this world, you were meant for… for great things."
Sharra had not felt so sad as tears started welling in her eyes. No matter how hard she tried not to show it, her emotions were cracking.
"There, there. Don't be afraid," her mother tried to comfort her. "Death is… only a natural part of life. Something… we're all destined to do. We're born… we live a little while… and when it's our time, our bodies… return to the earth. I… I did the best I could raising you after your father passed."
"You… you did well. You were… you are the best mother a girl could ever ask for," Sharra's voice cracked.
Alayne brought her thumb up and gently wiped away Sharra's tears. "Now, now… don't cry, my canary. I'll always… be with you; even if you can't see me," she closed her eyes as her breathing grew increasingly labored. "Do you remember… our words?"
Sharra nodded. "'As High as Honor'," she answered.
"And do you… remember… what those words mean?"
"To honor is to elevate with recognition such as aspiration, self-challenge, and being one's best self as worthy goals. It requires work to get to where we are. Any isolationist instinct does not represent our better nature, it twists and perverts House Arryn's values. Loyalty and truth. Consciousness, intellect, and calm tranquility. Innocence, faith, purity, and cleanliness. Our better nature arises when an Arryn embodies virtue. Where honor demands, we obey. Honor gives purpose to one's life. By making honor our target, aspiring to reach its heights even if one must fall short, yields worthy contributions. That's what it means to live a good fulfilling life. As high as honor."
"*cough! cough!* Good girl." Alayne then shakingly reaches to her desk and grasps her ringlets, her late husband's coronet, and the ancient Falcon Crown of Mountain and Vale before passing them onto her daughter.
"M-mother?" Sharra choked confused.
"I can feel it coming… I'm going to see your father again… and your grandparents… But I'm afraid you'll be here alone…" Alayne gasped. "My dearest child… you must take my place… as Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale… and Wardeness of the East. When I'm gone… you will rule the Vale." She held her daughter close. "But… promise me one last thing…"
Sharra sniffled. "Anything!"
"When I married your father— *cough! cough!* it was arranged… by your grandparents. We didn't know each other… that well, but… we loved each other. If… if you do decide to… to marry one day, please… do it for love. Find happiness in your life…"
Sharra nodded as she buried her face in her mother's neck. "I… I will try, mother."
"Th-then… that's all I ask… *cough! cough!*" Alayne smiled weakly. "My little girl… has become a woman. I… I love you."
"*hic!* I-I love you too, mother…"
"You've always made me… so very proud…"
Sharra held her mother close as her lip trembled and sniffled into her neck. She held onto her mother's hand for so long she hadn't recognized the faint distinctive sounds of her last breath until she felt Alayne's hand loosening its grip before going limp. Once she finally realized the gravity of the situation, Sharra recognized Alayne's eyes were closed and her breathing ceased. When she gently nudged her, there was no response. When she tried again, nothing. Sharra stared in shock as she understood a harsh, terrible truth.
"Mother? Mother!? MOTHER!" she wailed.
As the Flower of the Vale sobbed into her mother's arms, the word quickly spread throughout the Eyrie. Lady Alayne Arryn, aged 42, ruler of the Vale and Wardeness of the East, had passed away due to illness. She was gone. Come sunrise tomorrow, her daughter Sharra Arryn was to assume her role. In doing so, however, she would be the last of her house.
The last Arryn left in existence.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, guys, but here it is. The latest chapter of "Hail to the Stag Kings"; wherein the story's respective main characters assume the mantle of leadership. With the death of Alayne Arryn, Sharra is the last of her bloodline. And with the revelation of Stormbringer's survival, how will the people react when they see Daemon wielding it? Find out next time in the next chapter.
Guest #1: So the war has finally started. It seems the Riverlands might be siding with the Rebels after all given the royal forces invasion of their lands.
C.E.W: So Stormbringer turned up after all huh? Daemon is the first Baratheon in generations to wield it. Daemon still has much to learn, and he'll probably win over some people when it becomes known he has Stormbringer, the sword of Daveth the Great himself. Argilac will take offense to this no doubt, believing the sword is rightfully his.
Argilac "That sword, it belongs to me."
Daemon "Come and get it then."
So Sharra's mother died, and now she is both the last of the Arryns and the new ruler of the Vale. Wasn't expecting the last of the Arryns part.
So the war has already begun, and the royal army and the Westerland army under Gerion Lannister have begun their assault on the Riverlands, taken several key positions and now moving to lay siege to Riverrun. The North and the Iron Islands are rallying their forces but are taking too long, which leaves the Vale to nearest to reinforce the Riverlands. Even so the Reach and the Stormlands are probably rising their armies for Argilac, and put together, they could number up to a hundred-thousand. If the Stormlands and the Reach armies join up with Westerland and royal armies, then they'd overwhelm the rebels. Even if the Riverland, the North and the Vale joined their forces along with the Ironborn.
There is a way to turn it around, if Dorne were to side with the rebels, the Dornish can put pressure on the Stormlands and the Reach. Doing so will help less the chances of them reinforcing the royal forces in the Riverlands. The problem is, House Martell will be very difficult to convince to lend their help. Best way to get their help well, you may not like it. Daemon either marries one of them, or agrees to a marriage pact in a future generation. Although given the risk they face when rebelling against Argilac, I'd say the Martells may go for more immediate marriage.