Codex Entry:

—The Kingdom of Westeros is a sovereign country located on the continent of Westeros in the far west of the known world. It is separated from the continent of Essos by a strip of water known as the Narrow Sea. Formerly once known as the "Seven Kingdoms", it was unified as a single nation in 305 AC by the political union of the North, Reach, Iron Islands, Vale, Stormlands, Riverlands, Westerlands, and Dorne, ruled by the Kings/Queens of Westeros from their court at the Red Keep in the city of King's Landing.

Originally a feudal absolute hereditary monarchy, it began transitioning into a unitary parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy in 903 AC.

The current monarch is King Argilac IV Baratheon, who has reigned since 1119 AC following the death of his mother Queen Shiera III.

—The Andalosinian Throne is the seat of the Kings and Queens of Westeros constructed in 305 AC to replace the Iron Throne after it was destroyed in the Battle of King's Landing during the War for Westeros. The monarchs often hold audiences and dispenses justice from atop it in the Red Keep's throne room in the capital city of King's Landing. Besides the monarchs themselves, only their Hands could sit on it.

Due to the majority of Westerosi monarchs being of Andal descent, the nation's seat of power was popularly referred to as "the Andalosinian Throne."

—*The Great Spring Sickness of 1116 AC was a plague epidemic that severely impacted the Kingdom of Westeros following the Great Spring of 1115 AC, killing tens of thousands of people. According to the survivors, a strong man could wake up healthy in the morning but die a painful death by the evening. This plague also had a devastating effect on the Baratheon dynasty, rendering Houses Baratheon of Storm's End, Dragonstone, and Highgarden legally extinct.

Today, only House Baratheon of King's Landing – the ruling royal house – remained standing.

*In terms of its impact, the Great Spring Sickness is loosely Westeros's analogue of the real-life Black Death, which killed off over a third of the population of Late Medieval Europe (1347-1351).

—Near Gulltown—

"We should be within sight of Gulltown soon, Your Highness," called out a rebel sailor.

About time. "Very good, ensign," Daemon acknowledged as he stared into the distance. They had been sailing over 410 miles for the past four days since departing Driftmark. Having rid himself of his past indecision, he had his sights set on rendezvousing at the rebels' base of operations in the Vale: the Eyrie.

Although his men-at-arms were vastly smaller and limited in numbers compared to Argilac's army, these rebels were mostly comprised of volunteer forces recruited from his vassals sworn directly to Dragonstone, but by daybreak, Ser Jacaerys had gained an additional 800 longships and 200 war galleys for his younger nephew's navy—bringing the total amount of ships to approximately 1,200. If the rumors were true, then this would give Daemon a significant advantage over his brother by sea. Being the Master of Ships and Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet, Ser Jacaerys still carried a great deal of influence among those who knew him best and could win over more sailors to the Prince's side. He will put them to good use as the rebels' top naval commander.

"The smallfolk are calling this civil war the 'Clash of Antlers'. Much like the Targaryen's Dance of the Dragons almost a thousand years ago," Jaqoros spoke up.

"Only there were dragons back then, not modern artillery," remarked Samson. Now acting in his capacity as Master of War, the professor had come out of retirement to assume the position as Grand General of the rebel army. Even on the deck of Second Wind, Samson spent much of his time training the volunteer troops in the art of warfare. As a veteran, his years of combat experience were essential. These people were recruits and had never held either a blade or firearm in their lives. "Sergeant! Do not pull any punches with this lot. These cadets need to prepare for an actual fight, not a practice one."

"Yes, General," the soldier acknowledged.

Samson turned his attention to his colleague. "Have your spies turned up anything?" he inquired.

"My little birds report unusual activity in the Riverlands, though not much else. Stoney Sept, the Golden Tooth, Maidenpool… any contacts I have had installed there have gone silent. I suspect the Lannisters are responsible for it on Argilac's behalf, but until we know more… I cannot be certain. Perhaps House Arryn could tell us more."

"Lady Alayne has been our greatest supporter."

Jaqoros nodded in agreement. "Did you hear what else the people are calling him?"

"Who?" asked Samson.

"Prince Daemon. Already the word has spread about his coronation at Driftmark. They're calling him 'the King in the Narrow Sea' – distinguishing himself from his older brother, the King on the Andalosinian Throne."

"Daemon is young, able, and willing, but he still has a long way to go compared to his older brother—who fought on the frontlines with most of us during the last armed conflict. Argilac might be insane, but when it comes to combat experience… that is where he vastly outshines Daemon. He must cajole, make the necessary sacrifices… and he will need to get his hands dirty if left with no other option. Here, in this war, he'll be overwhelmed with all three choices at the same time."

"But it is our duty as his advisors to ensure he doesn't have to bear most of the burden entirely on his shoulders, no?"

"And lend our experience where his own is lacking."

"It is as you said, old friend. Prince Daemon is young but inexperienced. Where he lacks in prowess as a warrior, he at least makes up for it in diplomacy."

Samson huffed. "Still it would be unwise to underestimate Baratheon men. They are fast learners in combat. When they get serious, it is as if instinct itself takes over and consumes them. Trust me, Lord Jaqoros. I have seen it myself firsthand 34 years ago during the War against the Band of Twelve. I still remember seeing King Ormund, wielding that monstrous war hammer high in the air. Every time his hammer struck the ground, it felt as if the world itself trembled before his might."

Jaqoros shuddered. "Eugh. I still remember hearing the reports of the old Westerosi king, even from across the Narrow Sea. 'A one-man army,' 'the strongest man alive', 'flee-on-sight if one should ever encounter the old stag.' That's what the Sealord told me."

"And yet you served him," Samson pointed out.

"We all did," the Braavosi responded. "When one seeks an opportunity, often it lies before their eyes – but sadly is often overlooked. Having such close connections grants one access to much more than what we already have. It's something a Westerosi wouldn't understand."

"Only a Braavosi?"

"No. I learned that during my employment with the Iron Bank."

Jacaerys, ignoring his colleagues' banter, stared beyond the horizon when land became started becoming visible followed by a silhouette of a large walled city. Gulltown, the Vale's largest port, it remained as the fourth largest city behind King's Landing, Oldtown, and Lannisport. The port was a historically important port and economically vital to the Vale, its sheltered harbor offering anchorage to ships traveling from King's Landing to Braavos or the North. Its strategic location means it never lacks for trade in many of the exotic goods making their way from across the Narrow Sea, keeping the Vale supplied even when the passes of the Mountains of the Moon are closed in winter.

"Land ho!" he called out. "All hands, prepare to dock!" Let us hope Lady Arryn received our letter.

Daemon snapped out of it. "So here we are… Gulltown."

"We should— wait, there's something strange going on."

The Prince and observed what his uncle was looking at. Indeed, there seemed to be an unusually rather large crowd forming near the port's dock. Commoners, merchants and nobles alike were looking on with curiosity, but mostly suspicion. As the crew slowly disembarked, Daemon felt an uneasy tension in the air. Escorted by his uncle, Samson, and Jaqoros, the Prince contemplated that there would already be an unwelcome scenario given his familial ties with Argilac; Seven hells, this would be a lot tougher than he thought. He needs the Vale's support. He needs House Arryn's support. He needs the people's support.

"Look, mommy! It's him," a little girl whispered.

"THAT's the supposed savior? Huh! How is one Baratheon supposed to make a difference?" one merchant scoffed.

"He shouldn't even be here," uttered a local lord.

"He'll bring the King's wrath down upon us," another chatted.

My ancestors would be ashamed to see how far our house has fallen. Damn you, brother. This is all your fault, Daemon thought. "Easy now, everyone. Please. Just hear me out," he beckoned. "For those of you who don't know me well, my name is Prince Daemon of House Baratheon, second son of Queen Shiera the Pure, the Third of Her Name. I come to you under the banner of peace. I mean you no harm."

"That will be up to Lady Arryn to decide," a knight approached with a contingency of guardsmen. "For the time being, you will surrender your weapons and have your ships anchored. Local port authority dictates that uninvited vessels are to be inspected for… 'illegal contraband.'"

"How dare you! Do we look like smugglers to you, lad?" Jacaerys accused rather offended.

"Local port authority dictates—"

"We heard you the first time. And we're telling you no. Who's to say you won't try anything? We're not surrendering our weapons without House Arryn's say-so and we're not letting you seize our ships, nor will we tolerate you treating us like criminals. We've done nothing wrong."

The guardsmen pointed their muskets at them. "If you refuse to cooperate, then we will have no choice but to—"

"Wait!" Daemon shouted. "We wish to plead our case to Lady Alayne Arryn."

The guards were immediately silenced; the onlookers began whispering and murmuring amongst themselves—most appeared to be visibly grief stricken if not somewhat offended by the blatant disrespect at the mere mention of that name. Aside from Daemon, Samson and Jaqoros sensed something was amiss whereas Jacaerys remained adamantly defiant towards the port authorities.

"How dare he…" one lord uttered.

Daemon blinked. "Did… did something happen?" he asked, now concerned.

One guard pointed the tip of his lance at the Prince. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OUR LADY'S NAME—!"

"Men! Stand down!" one of the Brotherhood of Winged Knights approached.

The crowd acknowledged the elite Vale knightly order approaching and stood aside to let them pass. The hostile guardsmen barely noticed until one Brotherhood rode to the front atop his horse. This knight was physically attractive with sandy hair, deep blue eyes. Daemon observed this strange man standing before him. He has an aquiline nose and looked every inch of a young lord-in-waiting: straight as a lance, clean-limbed, and hard with muscle; he wore white armor decorated with a blue sash depicting the red and white diamond arms of House Hardyng and the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn.

"And you are…?" Samson inquired.

"Ser Petyr of House Hardying, major in the Brotherhood of Winged Knights," he introduced himself. "No need to tell us who you are. Nearly the entire Vale has heard of your accomplishments on the Stepstones, General Samson."

The crowd gasped.

"'General Samson'? The Samson?" one chattered.

"Samson the Tenacious!"

"I thought he retired."

Samson sighed. He hated it when people started worshipping him. "Yes, yes. I'm Samson. Consider me out of retirement for the sake of this damn civil war."

"What brings you to the Vale?" Petyr inquired.

"I've been named as Prince Daemon's Master of War and Grand General of the revolution's troops. As I'm sure he repeatedly said, we've come seeking an audience with Lady Arryn. But clearly, something is amiss. Might I ask why?"

Petyr sighed. "Perhaps… it would be best for you lot to come with me to the Vale's Monorail Station. The next one departs for the Eyrie from here. We'll talk more once we arrive there, not here." He turned. "Let's go. The next monorail car is scheduled to leave in 30 minutes."

"What about—?" Daemon tried to speak.

"My cousin Sharra has asked for you," the Young Falcon interrupted. "Don't keep her waiting."

Daemon immediately kept quiet for the rest of the trip to Gull Tower. Upon being granted permission from House Shett, the group accompanied Petyr and his contingent into the monorail car. Constructed over 100 years ago under the supervision of Lord Reginald Arryn, the Vale's Monorail Station was designed to accelerate travel speed from one section of the region to the other in less than half the time rather than take the high road on foot. Centuries ago, the Vale was nothing but mountains and valleys, now people queuing up to ride the monorail to get to where they want to go. Although Daemon was rather excited to ride the monorail for the first time, the only mistake he ever made was by looking out the monorail car's window where he saw nothing but dense cloud and the mountains below. By the Gods, they were so high in the air! A six-hundred-foot drop to the stones of the valley below. The Prince immediately felt nauseous and looked away.

—At the Eyrie—

A few hours had passed, but the monorail car arrived at the Bloody Gate; as expected, the Vale maintained a high military presence there. Whether it's to repel an incursion from Argilac's army or the Mountain hilltop tribesmen, security was high. All passengers had to undergo a thorough background check to prevent potential spies from entering. Beyond the Bloody Gate lies the Eyrie, ancestral seat of House Arryn, at the top of the Giant's Lance in the Mountains of the Moon.

"We have arrived," Petyr pointed.

Daemon stood in awe at the Eyrie. One of the great castles in the realm, the Eyrie consisted of a cluster of seven slim white towers made of fine white stone bunched tightly together. Each tower encircled a garden, which had been meant as a godswood, but no weirwood heart tree would take root due to the castle's stony soil. Samson estimated the Eyrie's barracks and stables were carved directly into the mountain, aside from the sound of Alyssa's Tears flooding his ears from a distance.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Jaqoros asked.

Samson hummed. "The mountains are impassable. If you want to get to the Eyrie, you need to go through the Bloody Gate. According to legends, say the Eyrie is impregnable."

"Exactly, General," Petyr agreed. "We Valemen know every inch of the terrain better than anyone else ever could. And we know how to use them. Not even King Argilac would make it past this point. It doesn't matter how large your army is or how well supplied or funded you are if you attack this gate, you do it on this road, three men abreast and get slaughtered like goats," he explained tactically.

"But should one overcome the Bloody Gate guarding the high road, then the Gates of the Moon stands as the Eyrie's last line of defense – but even then the narrow goat trail is guarded by three waycastles: Stone, Snow, and Sky. Know your strengths, use them wisely, and one man can be worth 10,000. It's something Lieutenant Reynold Hardyng understood at the Stepstones."

"You knew my father?" the Winged Knight raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Aye. Served under my command with distinction," Samson nodded. "One of the finest, honorable young men I ever met. A lot of lives depended on us reaching Bloodstone and Grey Gallows that day. But to do so, one of us had to stay behind to hold off the pirate kings. It was a tough call I had to make, and it wasn't done casually. Your father gave his life so that others might live. Without him, we never would have been able to stop Malaqual Zha. Lieutenant Reynold died a hero. You should be proud of him."

Petyr appeared despondent, but overall pleased with getting the full story. He never got the chance to meet his father as he died long before he was born. As the group was escorted from the monorail car and passed by several passengers/refugees, they were soon met by a bald, massive, barrel-chested man wearing a greying beard.

"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" he inquired.

"Major Petyr Hardyng of the Brotherhood of Winged Knights," the Young Falcon responded. "And accompanying me are Ser Jacaerys Velaryon the Master of Ships, Lord Jaqoros Hestohr the Master of Whisperers, General Samson the Master of War, and… Prince Daemon Baratheon. My lady cousin Sharra Arryn has requested them personally by name."

Daemon looked at the large, intimidating man. He gruffly examined them all as numerous Vale archers perched high atop the mountain ridges aimed rifles and crossbows at them – waiting for the order to strike.

"Stand to," the knight ordered.

"Stand to!" echoed an archer.

"Stand to!" chimed a sharpshooter.

"Welcome back, major."

Petyr nodded as the Bloody Gate slowly began to open rather noisily. As the Winged Knight was the first to press forward, Daemon, Samson, Jacaerys, and Jaqoros followed close behind. Once they ascended the goat trail and entered the Eyrie, they noticed a rather large assembly in the Crescent Chamber, the castle's reception hall before arriving at the High Hall. The main chamber was a long and austere hall with walls made of blue-veined white marble. Daemon noticed several Vale nobles staring at him, making him feel relatively uneasy.

They don't like me, the Prince noticed. I don't understand. What did I do to them? I'm nothing like my brother. I'm not Argilac.

But what eventually caught Daemon's attention was the sight of Sharra Arryn sitting on the throne of the Arryns carved from weirwood. By the Gods, she looked beautiful than the last time he saw her. Sharra wore a white silk dress trimmed with fox fur befitting a highborn lady of her status, with long open wing-like blue sleeves hanging down below the arms that loop around back up to attach to the brooch in the middle of her chest, the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn pendant around her neck, ringlets on her fingers and the Falcon Crown of Mountain and Vale on her head.

But… Sharra looked so worn out. Exhausted, stressed. Standing by her side were her chief primary advisors Ser Rupert Royce, Lady Anya Waynwood, and Lord Tavion Corbray.

"My lords and ladies," Petyr cleared his throat. "I hereby present to you my dearest cousin, Lady Sharra of House Arryn, Defender of the Vale and Wardeness of the East."

Daemon blinked. Wait, what? Sharra? You are ruling the Vale? "Sharra," he spoke silently.

"My honored guests. Welcome to my humble home," Sharra greeted them. "May we offer you some wine or food? You must be weary after such a long journey."

"You're very kind to offer, my lady, but no thank you," Jaqoros declined.

"State your purpose," Rupert demanded.

"Manners, ser," Sharra hushed.

Daemon stepped forward, giving a polite courtesy and cleared his throat. "Yes, well… I'm sure you're already aware of this. My brother's gone too far this time. But now that we're at war, I was hoping we could join forces to remove Argilac from the Andalosinian Throne."

"And how would we believe that what you say is actually sincere?" Anya suspected. "You are of the King's blood, that is beyond dispute. But your brother has made numerous attempts to invade our lands by force. We've been fighting him off since."

"I… wasn't aware of that, my lady."

"Two of your companions here have been licking Argilac's boots these past four years and now decide to change allegiances when it suits them," Tavion said, referring to Jaqoros and Jacaerys. "Had we been informed of their intentions to defect beforehand, had the Braavosi foreigner Jaqoros and Ser Jacaerys done the right thing earlier and not later, no one would have cared. But only after Queen Shiera died, after we learned of your brother brutally disbanding parliament and having several delegates put to death for doing their solemn duty, did our confidence in House Baratheon fade."

"I'm not my brother, Lord Corbray."

"Argilac's recently been making a play to seize the Riverlands and deprive your troops of crops, hence the overall frustration, no?" Jaqoros mentioned. Before any could speak, he cut them off. "My little birds are everywhere, from as far east as the Free Cities to nearly every corner of Westeros. I have to know things, otherwise, I'd be a rather poor Master of Whisperers."

"You need crops, I have a navy of my own," Daemon pressed. "We can engage in philosophical debate 'til the end of time, my lords and ladies, but the more we bicker amongst ourselves, the more damage Argilac inflicts than he already has." He glanced back at his advisors before returning his gaze towards Sharra. "What happened at King's Landing was only just the beginning. We need your help. We need the Vale's support. Anything you can spare."

Sharra observed her childhood friend closely. As much as she wanted to help without hesitation, the Flower of the Vale knew some of her vassals were rather reserved; stubborn and would not give their aid willingly as she would. "I'm afraid each of us faces a similar situation, Prince Daemon. Even as we speak, our scouts report that Argilac plans on making another push on our borders," she said. "If we rush to lend you our armies blindly, our defenses at home will be left vulnerable."

"But Sharra—"

"You will address her as 'Lady Arryn'," Anya scolded.

"I apologize, my lady. Shar… ahem, I mean, Lady Arryn and I have been close since childhood."

"Yes, we all know how close you two are, how fondly she speaks of you. Lady Arryn's personal affairs is her own business. But her asking for our help is our affair."

Sharra didn't like how viciously her advisors were grilling Daemon. She wanted to rebuke them, but she needs their experience and counsel.

"Even if we were to unite our forces, do you believe we stand a chance? As it stands, King Argilac outnumbers our troops and militiamen on the frontlines 3-to-1, he has the backing of the Reach – the most fertile region in Westeros, and General Gerion Lannister leading his armies," Rupert raised the question.

"I don't expect you to follow blindly without a plan," Daemon said. "General Samson?"

Samson nodded. "As Prince Daemon has said, whereas Argilac wields the advantage on land, we hold the advantage by sea. We start small and build upon that bit-by-bit. So far, as Master of War, everything I've been doing with our troops and recruits is merely delaying Argilac's men until the opportune moment presents itself. His men will most likely target the major strongholds in the Riverlands, which should give our smaller forces some room to maneuver."

"And then what?" Tavion pressed.

"Our ships should be able to prevent Argilac's fleet from harassing our troops on the mainland. Keeping them distracted until we cut them off from their provisions, which won't be easy," Jacaerys explained. "More recently, we've got more than 1/3rd of the Royal Army defecting from the King's cause. The senior officers could provide useful intel on General Gerion's next move."

"The man is ruthless as he is dangerous," Rupert stated. "The scale to pull off a feat against one of the nation's brilliant military generals would be quite an undertaking."

"Not quite. Everyone has a weakness," Samson refuted. "And if there's even a chink in Gerion's armor, then we can exploit it. If we work together."

"The reports are dire enough as it is. If we throw everything we have and lose… what then? It's a fool's errand. Your proposals are flawed."

Daemon felt himself growing increasingly irritated. "Do you have a better one? If so, then let's hear it," he challenged, stunning the senior Vale nobility. Silence. No? That's what I thought. You old fossils haven't been down on the ground to see the overall carnage long enough. Picking up on it, the Prince pressed further. "I've seen the terror Argilac is capable of firsthand my whole life. I know what my brother is capable of better than any of you combined. If he doesn't get what he wants, if he can't control something, if he can't break someone to bend to his will, he'll destroy them root and stem. And he won't stop with you or the revolutionist movement. If we're to ever make it through this civil war, then we need to stand together as our forefathers have done before. Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon… they rebelled against an evil tyrant 800 years ago and persevered to restore peace. It's because of them that any of us are still around to talk about it even some of us had forgotten. If we work together, we can do it again. Here. With us. With this generation."

Sharra nodded in agreement. She curled her fingers beneath her chin as Daemon's open beratement and subsequent plea for unity caused much of the Vale's assembled nobles to stir and gossip amongst themselves once more. As the sun began to set behind the mountains, they were presented with a choice: band together as one against a common enemy… or risk total annihilation. The Lady of the Eyrie then noticed Rupert, Anya, and Tavion whispering to each other before Anya gave her opinion silently. Sharra simply sat on her throne and listened. After much discussion, she sighed and shook her head in disbelief.

"As compelling as your arguments have been, Prince Daemon," Anya stated, "the cruel and unfortunate truth is that we simply cannot give support your cause at this time. Our borders must come first."

"What?" Samson reacted with disappointment.

Are you fucking shitting me right now?! Daemon thought bitterly.

"If we can be guaranteed that another incursion will not occur once more, we may consider aiding you," Rupert suggested.

Tavion nodded. "We apologize if this was something you did not wish to hear, but this is the hard truth. Honesty is all we can offer. The Vale cannot make a promise of military aid that we simply cannot keep."

Such a sad day when our supposed allies turn their backs on us, Jaqoros lamented. If the revolutionists could not acquire the backing they need, then the rebellion is doomed to fail before it gets a chance to begin.

"Laina," Sharra called out to one of her handmaidens, "see to it that our guests have a place to sleep tonight."

"At once, my lady," she curtsied.

The Vale noble ladies obeyed their lady's request and ushered Jacaerys, Jaqoros, and Samson to their assigned quarters. Petyr remained behind along with the rest of his Winged Knight brethren to maintain the necessary security and go over strategy once more. The other nobles quietly left until the high hall was empty. Daemon, however, shook his head and threw his hands up in disbelief. But before he could leave… he heard Sharra call out to him.

"Daemon, meet me in my chambers when you can tonight," she said before leaving.

Nightfall…

By the time it was night, most occupants were asleep… save for one.

« …You must keep moving… »

Daemon carried a lit candle through the halls of the Eyrie. He never slept a wink, aside from another bout of his strange dreams of a raven with three eyes again, but also from having to be dealt with a first blow when the Vale's leading nobles declined to help him against his brother's army. He grumbled slightly under his breath until he found the bedchamber of the Defender of the Eyrie. Daemon rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out before raising a hand against the wooden door.

*KNOCK, KNOCK!*

"Enter," a feminine voice called out.

Gripping the door handle, Daemon turned and pushed the door open and closed behind him. When he turned to face her, Sharra was standing in front of a mirror brushing her hair. She wore a thin bedgown to cover herself before going to bed. If Daemon wasn't too bothered with recent events, he'd compliment her many times over until her face turned a beat shade of red. Now… not so much. Both have changed since the escape. One was tasked with leading a rebellion, the other bore the responsibility of ruling an entire region by themselves.

"So… Lady of the Eyrie, huh?" Daemon inquired.

Sharra turned to face her childhood friend. "It's… complicated," she set her brush down and stood up to gaze out the window. "But what about you? 'The King in the Narrow Sea'?"

"Ah, Seven hells, not you too…"

"Relax, Daemon. I didn't bring you here just to tease you." Sharra allowed herself a small smile – even if her thoughts were trouble. "Still… I am glad you're here."

"Really? It was hard to tell. Your 'advisors' really fucked me hard back there."

"Language."

"Sorry. Just been under a lot of stress lately."

"We all have."

"How could they be so blind? You'd think we'd all be on the same side."

"It's not that simple. My advisors meant well, but they have their way of showing it. I'm the Lady of the Eyrie now; people are looking to me for guidance. Their well-being is my utmost priority. Any minor disagreement based on principle could split the Vale in two," She turned to sit down on the bed. "I… simply cannot afford to be selfish right now. No matter how much I might want to…" Sharra lowered her face to avoid his gaze.

Daemon felt something was wrong and approached Sharra. Bending down on one knee, he gently cupped her chin to get her to face him at eye-level. Indeed, he could see something was bothering her. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked concerned.

Sharra exhaled shakily. "No. No, I'm really not. My… my mother is dead, Daemon," she confessed. "She passed away a couple of days ago. Now four million lives rest on my shoulders."

Now he felt bad. Ah, shit. "I'm so sorry, Sharra. I didn't know. How did it happen?"

"Mother was ill for some time. She fought it for as long as she could, but…" Sharra shook her head. "To be honest, I've never felt so alone as I do now…"

Daemon pulled her in for a hug. For a moment, it felt as if the world's problems were briefly washed away. Sharra relaxed a bit and returned the hug, with Daemon massaging her back and whispering reassuring words.

"Thank you. I'll be alright. Really," she exhaled and pulled away. "But you have more pressing matters than listening to me complain." Sharra stood up. "I called you here because I have something important that might be of use to you."

"Really?" the Prince's curiosity was peaked.

"While my advisors were right about this morning, I can't give you what you need… BUT I can tell you how to get it."

"Go on. I'm listening. What do I have to do?"

Always so eager to dive headfirst into trouble, consequences be damned. That's just like you, Sharra reflected. "Before my mother's passing, we've dispatched an envoy on a sensitive diplomatic mission to Riverrun. Ambassador Tycho. Trouble is, he hasn't reported back for quite some time. We don't even know if he's even alive. I try not to worry, but… I can't help but suspect the Lannisters were somehow involved when they invaded Maidenpool."

"What was this envoy of yours meant to do?" Daemon pressed.

"He was tasked with building an alliance between my house and Lord Edmyn Tully, Lady Myranda's brother. In exchange for providing food and a supply chain for our troops, the Riverlands would get the full military support of the Vale in addition to the North's. Ambassador Tycho is an essential diplomat. We can't proceed without him."

"Why not send in the—?"

Sharra cut him off. "Sending in the knights of the Vale would attract too much attention. A small strike team would be able to bypass the Lannister armies and sneak into the Riverlands almost undetected. But it is not just House Arryn or the Tullys. Each leader of the Great Houses will be the ones who decide our future. Our troops, where they fight, and with whom. From there, everything else falls into place."

"Nothing's ever simple, isn't it? Military or politics, huh?" Daemon raised an eyebrow.

"No, Daemon, nothing ever is. But if it gets you what you need, does it matter?" she replied.

"Where was your ambassador last seen?"

"Our scouts report he was seen heading towards Harrenhal."

"I'll find him, Sharra. We'll go to the Riverlands first thing in the morning. I promise."

Sharra smiled. "Thank you, Daemon." She turned to stare out the window overlooking the Mountains of the Moon as the light of the full moon shined brightly. Daemon leans on the railing beside her; she is quick to become aware of his presence. "It is a beautiful sight, isn't it?" she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"The view's nice, just… not used to being so high in the air."

"You looked out of the monorail car window, didn't you?"

"…Yes… Turns out I'm afraid of heights," Daemon places a hand on hers. "But not here. With you, it's as if nothing could ever ruin this moment."

Sharra is receptive to the way he looks at her. "Alyssa's Tears is said to have one of the cleanest waters in the Vale. Crystal clear – good for a swim in the hottest summers. The way the waterfall churning them ripples and moves."

They look into each other's eyes. Daemon cups her chin.

"I used to think if you looked too deeply into the waterfall," she continued, "you would lose all sense of reality."

"Well, I think the stories don't do the Vale's marvelous beauties justice," Daemon replied.

Then, Daemon leans close and claims Sharra's lips in a tender kiss. Although surprised but somewhat expected it, she does not resist and kisses him back, interlocking her fingers with his. Her thoughts and concerns simply melt away; she felt as if butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. Both soon shifted as Daemon put his arms around Sharra's waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck. A shallow hum escaped from within her in response to how Daemon was making her feel; Sharra's heart was beating faster and opening up to him. To the young couple, it's like a cool inhalation of oxygen to warm the soul – an aphrodisiac. Like nothing in the world exists but she and him.

For what felt like an eternity, Sharra suddenly felt her senses coming back and quickly pulled away. Flushed and embarrassed for one, yet confusion with the other. The Flower of the Vale panted as heat rushed to her cheeks.

"No… I-I shouldn't have done that…" Sharra stammered.

"But… I love you, Sharra. Don't you feel the same for me?" Daemon asked, somewhat hurt.

"But I don't… I mean… The stress of it all, it-it… You-you mean it, don't you? But how can I be sure you aren't making a mistake? When you kissed me…. I-I… no. I'm so sorry."

"Sharra…"

Now it was her turn to feel bad. "Please, Daemon, I know we both wanted it – but… I'm sorry. I don't blame you… I-I have to go before somebody sees us," Sharra quickly ran past Daemon and out of her room, leaving him alone to stew in his thoughts.

Don't go. Please… come back. "I'm sorry…" Daemon choked.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Confrontation at Gulltown, confrontation at the Eyrie… Prince Daemon and his companions simply can't get a break. And with the first mission about to go underway, we're expecting some battles taking place in the Riverlands as the crew set off to locate and retrieve the Vale's missing ambassador. Will they be able to find Tycho in time or is it far too late? If it comes down to the worst case scenario, what will be Daemon's Plan B? Find out next time!

C.E.W: The Vale's lack of willingness to help is based of Mass Effect 3 when the Council first refused to help. The longer they it takes for them to join together, the bigger chance Argilac has of crushing them once and for all.

KMilesXD: Aren't Varylians extinct by the end of Game of Thrones, since Daenerys died and the Targaryens were extinct? How come Daemon's paternal family come to be if Varylians were supposed to be extinct

—House Velaryon remains as the only known noble house of Valyrian descent - the Targaryens aren't simply the only ones to survive the Doom of Valyria. The way things stand, after the Great Spring Sickness of 1116 AC (as mentioned above), there's not much left of them. Daemon's paternal relatives are the last ones as a result.