Clutched in his hands was a letter written on vellum so colored it almost appeared gold. His breath caught in the back of his throat and he recalled the sweet song of his first wife. He'd loved Jeyne Royce dearly, though she had been a bit young for him. She was a strong woman, it only pained him that her life was snuffed out bringing forth a child. A child whose name was contained in this letter. Jon had sent the girl away, she was a throbbing reminder and a child that could never be his heir. He had also thought that his second wife wouldn't be keen on raising the child of a dead woman. However, it'd served him well that Rowena had also passed away recently. Jon had replaced his daughter with the sons of those he sought alliances with and for a time, her name had slipped to recesses of his mind, a convenient coverup to have the sons he had always wanted.
'Lord Arryn,
Your daughter has done wonderfully in our company over the course of the years. She's blossomed in a lovely flower, which many enjoy spending their time in the company of. As the winter wanes, I suspect the wind the mountains abate well enough for this flower to return. Even if we cultivate her to be a flower, she shall always have the ferocity of a falcon. Janna and Mina will miss her terribly, but the arrangement between my eldest, Mace and Elyse, seems as if it were not meant to be. We shall be sending Lady Elyse back to the Vale in the company of Tyrell knights. This raven shall arrive well ahead, hopefully giving proper preparations for your own knights to meet us at the Tourney in Harrenhal, which the Tyrells shall be attending.
Regards,
Lady Olenna Tyrell'
One day it would happen, Jon had been fully aware that his hope of marrying Elyse to Mace was just that; a hope. Just as boys would be sent to squire or be wards with other families to forge an alliance, Jon had sent Elyse to Highgarden to be among girls of a similar age. What did Jon know of raising a daughter? The girl had been only 5 when he had sent her across Westeros to be raised by strangers, with the plan that she'd bond with Mace and stay there permanently.
But she shall always have the ferocity of a falcon? Jon repeated, scanning over the Queen of Thorns' message again. He wondered if the girl had a bit of a tongue on her, just like the woman who had raised her. Perhaps sending her there so young had worked against him, as Mace could only see the girl as a sister. Either way, I've to meet them in Harrenhal... he thought, glancing down at his desk, pawing through the letters he had received in recent days. He delicately plucked up a more modest piece of parchment with a broken wax seal, the silver hue belonging to the dire wolf of the Starks. The Starks are headed there. It would not be too much to ask for them to retrieve her and then deliver her to the Vale, he thought suddenly, a plan blossoming swiftly.
He was about to have a new wife, one that would be younger than his own daughter, perhaps it was best that Jon found a more permanent solution for her.
Sitting down, he uncorked his inkwell and blotted water in it before stirring the dried pigment. On his own vellum, a pale milky white, he began to write to Rickard Stark, inquiring about the retrieval of his daughter.