Gaemon VIII
The winds whipped and bit at him as he flew through the night. Clutching the wolf pelt from Harrenhal tightly about him, he urged the Cannibal onward towards his destination. Above him, the stars glowed brightly in the winter sky, occasionally obscured by thick patches of snow clouds. Below, rocky foothills and thick forests rushed by, occasionally interspersed with high passes and yawning, deep chasms. Gaemon had been grateful that the chambers of Harrenhal's former maester had still sported a fine collection of maps, as his knowledge of the vast reaches of Westeros was limited at best.
When he had returned from the Kingspyre Tower, the others had quickly impressed upon him the importance of formulating a plan of action.
"With the fall of the Capitol, we risk allowing the Queen's forces to fall into disarray. We must needs act quickly, and provide instruction to those who still wish to fight. We possess three dragons, and news of Vhagar's death! So long as we remain true, there will be others willing to take up arms for our Queen's cause." Ser Alan Beesbury's words had been stirring indeed, helping to alleviate some of the malaise that had set in since they had all witnessed the destruction at King's Landing and come to terms with the probable capture of their monarch and her heirs.
They had quickly begun a search of Harrenhal, with Lord Alan Tarly finding and guiding them to the quarters of the Strongs' late maester. It had taken them mere moments to spread a series of maps out across the wooden table that was located in the center of the library. Tapping a gauntleted finger upon a map of the Seven Kingdoms, he had insisted that they draw up a plan for rallying the forces that remained to their liege. Ser Addam had spoken up first.
"While they were forced by circumstance to betray the Queen's cause, the Mootons have little love for the Usurper. I am confident that I could rally their support." Ser Addam had then tapped a location northwest of Maidenpool. "Castle Darry lies here. The Darrys have extensive lands east of the Green Fork. I could visit them, informing them of what we know, in order to rally their support." Tracing the Kingsroad even further north, he stopped when his hand hovered over the Twins. "The Freys have already proven themselves leal supporters of our Queen's cause. With the death of Vhagar, I see no reason why I could not persuade them to rally their forces and march for Harrenhal. On my flight back, I could treat with the Blackwoods and Brackens, and attempt to secure their support as well."
Maegor remained quiet, his eyes scanning the map before them. "Lord Stanton Piper proved a friend to Gaemon and I in the past. I will fly for Pinkmaiden, in order to rally whatever support he can grant us." He then tapped the castle of Riverrun with his index finger. "House Tully has proven far too willing to remain neutral in this conflict. When Gaemon and I searched for Aemond, we were forced to respect their neutrality and avoid their lands. I will suffer their recalcitrance no longer. After I finish my business at Maidenpool, I will ensure that the Tullys declare for us, one way or another." Gaemon misliked the looks of approval the Reach lords gave Maegor as he spoke those words.
Gaemon looked at the map once more. "If Lord Piper's forces were any indication, the Riverlords have already been bled white during Lord Jason Lannister's invasion. Apart from the Tullys, even their most powerful houses will only be able to contribute a hundred or so men apiece. If we are to win this war, we will need powerful allies, with forces that remain fresh and eager for war. Lord Cregan Stark had begun his march south when last I heard; see if you can encourage him and his Northmen to resume their march now that Vhagar has fallen, Ser Addam." Looking to Maegor, he added, "when you conclude your business at Riverrun, return to Harrenhal posthaste. We must needs have a dragonrider present to protect those who assemble here, in case the Usurper decides to strike north."
Maegor nodded, and Addam smiled, his features reflecting a renewed resolve. "It will be done, Gaemon. I will ensure Lord Cregan and his Northmen arrive here in a timely fashion."
Ser Tom Flowers raised an eyebrow. "And what do you plan to do, Ser Gaemon?"
Gaemon grinned. "It is high time that the Vale received news of the Kinslayer's demise."
After his riders-in-arms had departed, Gaemon had flown east, following the meandering course of the High Road. As he progressed further, fields and forests gave way to rolling foothills, and those had led to even more considerable elevations. His path had taken him further East, and the higher he flew, the colder it became. Snow had eventually completely obscured the road itself, so he had resolved to follow the course of the valleys that stretched ever-onwards between the peaks around him. From stories, he knew that the High Road could prove dangerous, so he maintained his guard, especially when he urged the Cannibal to land for some much-needed rest. They often took their rest in secluded clearings, high in the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, where dark forests and huge moss covered boulders provided seclusion from any prying eyes. Gaemon was most on guard during the times when the Cannibal left him to hunt, leaving him alone in deep, primordial forests where he suspected every groan or crack of a tree branch to herald an oncoming assailant. At times, the Cannibal would be gone for hours in search of sustenance, and Gaemon would remain close to whatever fire he had managed to light, cherishing every pitiful flame that he could use to warm himself. In the nights, he struggled to sleep, occasionally awoken by the wailing of some distant beast. He had heard tales of Shadowcats, capable of disemboweling a man with the swipe of a single paw, or of Mountain Clansmen, vicious wildmen who preyed on travelers making their way further into the Vale of Arryn. He kept his newly acquired blade close, trusting that its dark, rippling steel would prove more than a match to any man or beast that found his isolated encampments.
Eventually, his mount would inevitably return, having caught and consumed enough to resume their journey. Its blazing green eyes, once terrifying, were a welcome sight to its freezing and bedraggled rider. It was after their third stop that Gaemon had decided to continue onwards, pressing to continue their journey until its conclusion. They had passed what Gaemon believed to be the Bloody Gate itself towards the end of the second day of their journey, and Gaemon had decided against stopping, instead wishing to make his way directly to the Lady of the Vale and avoid any possible delay or detainment. As they soared past the great peaks of the Mountains of the Moon, Gaemon could not help but admire the way that the sparse moonlight shone on their peaks and naked stone, granting them an almost magical, glowing appearance. Dark valleys spread out beneath the Cannibal's wings, only occasionally lit by the lights of a village or holdfast. As his mind wandered, Gaemon found himself thinking of Nettles. Had her path taken her to these same mountains? Lord Mooton had last seen her flying in the direction of the Vale, but her path could have easily changed once out over the bay. She could just as easily have been across the Narrow Sea by now. Gaemon frowned. The Queen may have discarded one of her loyal riders, and condemned her to die, but I will do no such thing. For now, the war must be resolved, but I will not abandon a friend. He smirked. Wherever she is, it will not take long for word of an ugly dragon and a foul-mouthed girl to spread. Whether she intends to or not, she will give me a trail to follow. Or so he hoped.
Baela, too, occupied his thoughts. He knew her sister was somewhere within these mountains. The last of the Blacks to remain free. Clutching the saddle chains tightly, he remained determined to free Baela. So long as we, the Queen's riders remain at large, the Usurper will be forced to keep his hostages alive. He cannot risk our wrath by executing any of them. While it seemed almost a certainty that Baela had been imprisoned, he was certain that she was finding several ingenious ways of tormenting her captors. She never was very proficient at following commands or remaining confined, he thought with a smile.
What remained most troubling to Gaemon was his relationship with the Queen. Her treatment of Nettles had not only shaken him, but enraged him. While any remaining adoration he felt for her had died the day he read the letter presented to him at Maidenpool, he remained committed to her cause. If not for the Queen, then for Baela, and the Prince Jacaerys, without whom I would still be nothing. What troubled Gaemon was not his loyalty to the Queen, but her loyalty to him. I only narrowly avoided the headsman's axe once already for my impertinence. If she was willing to order the death of one of her riders based upon rumors, what might she have been willing to do to one with pretensions of royal blood? Gaemon scowled, knowing the answer. In order to survive, we must needs become akin to the lords who dominate this realm. We seeds will need allies to fight for our interests, and powerful houses to deter the mistrustful Queen from ordering our deaths once her enemies have been vanquished. The moment the Usurper falls, we will transition from powerful servants to liabilities. We must needs be prepared to defend ourselves when the time comes. He hoped he could count upon Baela, and possibly Addam, but Gaemon also knew he would need to be proactive about securing alliances and friendships with lords before the war's end. Truth be told, it was partially why he had decided he would travel to the Vale in the first place. Addam already has the benefit of his grandfather's wealth and power to protect him. Maegor and I have no such advantages. We will need to make our own luck. The greatest advantage that he and Maegor possessed was their dragons. We can promise our support in conflicts and disputes to the lords of the realm, and in return, they can repay their debts with political support and influence.
While he continued to ruminate on the future, the valley below him opened up, widening and deepening into a vast plain. As he gazed upon the mountains that formed the further limits of the open lands, a gasp escaped his lips. In the distance, he could make out seven slim white towers rising above the mountainside, glowing in the moonlight. Only the Eyrie could be so beautiful. Hundreds of feet below, a large, stout castle sat nestled between two of the great mountains. That must be the Gates of the Moon. Gaemon had read before his departure that the Arryns made their winter residence in the castle at the base of the Giant's Lance. He guided the Cannibal slowly downwards, and as they approached across the valley, the clarion call of horns echoed off the mountainsides. He circled thrice above the castle to signal his peaceful intentions, before guiding the great black dragon to land beneath the castle's great gates. Now the real fun begins.
As Gaemon unfastened his saddle chains, he kept a wary eye on the men who stood positioned along the battlements of the castle. Despite its impressive name, the castle before Gaemon did not awe him as others had. He was saddened that the Lady of the Vale had already moved her court to the base of the mountain, as he had hoped to visit the Eyrie itself and partake in its majesty. Above him, the garrison was mostly silent, only occasionally muttering words in low tones and keeping their bows and crossbows handy. Chains hidden within the gatehouse began to clatter and shake as the portcullis was raised, while at the same time a drawbridge was lowered across a dry but formidable moat. Dismounting, Gaemon hefted a well-worn saddlebag from its perch, slinging it over his shoulder as he approached the entrance to the fortifications.
Crossing the drawbridge, he entered into a courtyard that was oddly silent, given that well over one hundred souls stood all about it. Within the yard, a smithy stood with its embers glowing. A blacksmith eyed him warily as he walked, his apprentices whispering amongst themselves. Speartips and swords, newly forged, filled several barrels in the yard. Servants gathered about a nearby well, clutching buckets full of water as they watched his approach. Nearby, a pavilion had been set up, with several braziers lit to warm its inhabitants. Inside sat between ten and twenty women, who until recently had been hard at work weaving banners, tabards, and garments. Nearly all of the castle seems to be preparing for war. Whether they arm to defend themselves or march into battle has yet to be seen.
Square towers stood at even intervals along the walls, flying bright blue banners that depicted the silver-white falcon and crescent moon of the Arryns. The clatter of arms and armor drew Gaemon's attention to the entry to the central keep, where a group of men-at-arms had emerged from the great hall, led by several knights. While the soldiers wore sky-blue cloaks, as befitted them as members of the Arryn garrison, the knights themselves sported individualised garments that boldly declared their respective Houses. To prepare for his journey and subsequent task, Gaemon had spent many hours at Harrenhal reading all he could of the Vale and its Houses, perusing a tome entitled The Lords and Lineages of the Vale of Arryn. While the content itself had threatened to put him to sleep, the work had included a helpful series of family crests, painstakingly stenciled onto its pages with beautiful and expensive ink. While Gaemon was certain that he would not remember each and every House that he had read about, he decided to do his best to identify all he could.
A tall, broad-shouldered man led the group that had emerged to greet him, his white tabard sporting three black ravens in flight, clutching blood red hearts. House Corbray, if memory serves. To the man's right stood an even taller knight, whose garb sported a field of green snakes on black. Gaemon suppressed a grin as he recalled that it belonged to House Lynderly of the aptly named Snakewood. The Lynderly gazed upon him with grey eyes, narrowed with some combination of distrust and distaste. To the left of the Corbray knight a short, squat man followed, his arms as thick as most men's legs. His House symbol appeared to be six burning candles on a grey field. Gaemon could not recall which House sported such a symbol, much to his chagrin. Bringing up the rear was a tall man bedecked in deep green, with a broken wagon wheel sewn above his breastplate. The broken wheel is familiar… it belongs to the Wainrights… or perhaps Wayngoods? The man himself had long features, alongside an aquiline nose that twisted his features in a way to make it seem as though he had just bitten into something distasteful.
The party came to a halt before him, and the Corbray knight was the first to speak.
"Well-met, dragon-rider. Our Lady has dispatched us to retrieve you and bring you before her, so that you may deliver any missives you may carry. She is most eager to hear news of the war."
Gaemon nodded. "Thank you, my Lord, for your arrival. To whom do I have the honor of speaking to?"
The man studied him for a moment, shoulder-length brown hair blowing slightly in the winter gusts. "I am called Ser Corwyn, of House Corbray. In my company stand Lyman Lynderly, Lord of Snakewood, Ser Alan Waxley, knight of Wickenden, and Lord Donnel Waynwood of Ironoaks." Turning slowly, Ser Corwyn extended his hand motioning for Gaemon to follow him into the confines of the Great Hall.
Great oak doors with iron bands were pushed aside by the guardsmen ahead of them, opening into the great keep. Once inside, Gaemon was led through a stone entry-hall, where torches burned brightly, illuminating shields and weapons that bore the scars of ancient battles. More guardsmen stood at attention within, and he could feel their eyes upon him as he was led deeper into the fortress. Another pair of great doors, this time made of lacquered wood designed to look akin to the wings of a falcon were opened before them, and he emerged into the great hall of the castle itself. Tapestries hung along the walls, woven to show the legendary glories of the Arryns. Many of them were so old that the scenes they depicted had mostly faded, with only the brightest colors still shining halfheartedly through the ages that separated the viewer from the craftsmen. Bronze braziers burned brightly, casting light about the cavernous yet chilly hall. Above the banners themselves, embrasures were carved into the thick stone, and through them poured the last rays of the sunlight that had been largely blocked out by the winter sky.
Before him stood what he assumed to be the assembled nobility of the Vale, bedecked in antiquated, yet noble finery and standing in rigid, upright postures. The only sounds that could be heard were the snapping and spitting of the flames, the slight whispers of dresses, and the muttering of nearly one hundred curious voices. As his party proceeded forwards, a path was cleared through the center of the crowd, revealing a tall, carved throne upon a dais of white marble. Two women stood upon the dais, flanking who he assumed to be the Lady of the Vale herself. Before he could regard his host, his gaze was drawn to the girl who stood to her left. What had initially attracted his attention were the bright reds and deep blacks of her dress, which stood in such contrast with the greys, greens, and blues of the court. He followed the silver-white braid of her hair from where it hung to her waist, his step faltering momentarily as he made eye contact. Baela. In shock, he grappled with the reality of her presence, before assuring himself of its impossibility. Instead, he realised he was in the presence of the sister that she had spoken of previously. Not Baela, but Rhaena. The resemblance between the twins was uncanny. They shared the same mischievous purple eyes, and the same silver hair. But where Baela's had been cut short, Rhaena's flowed like molten metal. Where Baela had largely abhorred the finery of court, Rhaena wore it as though she had been born to display it. But what was most striking, and most disturbing, about the woman before him was that her eyes held no spark of recognition, no sign of knowing him. That is to be expected of course, but it is still unsettling. He would have to tread most carefully around this half-sister of his.
To the right of the Arryn upon the throne stood a tall woman, cloaked in a gown of red and white. Her bodice featured a red castle, standing alone and defiant. Deep brown eyes studied him beneath chestnut brown hair. The woman's hand rested firmly upon the shoulder of her liege, who herself regarded Gaemon with a not altogether friendly visage. It appears my arrival is not exactly to their liking. The Lady of the Vale wore a sky blue gown, featuring a high collar and long sleeves that were interwoven with Myrish lace. Her brown hair was pulled back into an ornate bun, and her striking grey eyes betrayed no fear, if indeed she even felt it. As he approached, she maintained a regal, nearly unmoving posture, not allowing herself to demonstrate any nervous behaviors. She has certainly mastered the courtly etiquette that King's Landing was so rife with. Reaching the base of the dias, Gaemon bent the knee before his host. The great hall had grown nearly silent, and much of the remaining noise emanated from his plate armor's metallic protests at adopting such a posture.
For a few moments, not a single voice could be heard in the chamber. After what seemed like an eternity, the Lady before him spoke.
"I have long anticipated a visit from one of my Queen's most illustrious dragonriders. Two have come before you, and knelt before me. One begged my support for his mother. The second came to fulfill a pledge." Her face contorted into a slight frown. "That pledge, upon which my support was contingent, has remained unfulfilled since his departure." Tapping a finger upon the armrest of her throne, Lady Arryn raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, Ser, do you come to ask more of me? Do you, too, come for the Vale's support?"
Gaemon raised his head to fully meet her gaze. "My Lady, I have indeed come to beg for your support. I may be of humble birth, but your knights are famed throughout the realm for their skill and chivalry. Our Queen has need of them in these dire times."
The Lady of the Vale steepled her fingers, her brow creasing in obvious frustration. She appeared ready to give a curt response when Gaemon noticed the hand upon her shoulder give her a slight squeeze. Giving her attendant an affectionate look of gratitude, Lady Arryn turned once more to regard him, a slight smile across her features.
"Ser, I can only imagine that your flight was most arduous. Would you care to join me and my attendants for some refreshments in a more private setting?"
Gaemon nodded in the affirmative, eager to escape from the hundred pairs of eyes boring into him. While the offer itself seemed genuine, he could not help but observe his host's eyes were akin to those of a falcon sizing up potential prey. A private audience may be more to her liking as well. Careful now. After his host had risen atop the dais, he stood, and stood by as the Lady of the Vale and her attendants used a stairwell to the rear of the throne to exit the chamber. Once they had left, he was led up the same stairs by Ser Corwyn, with the other lords remaining behind. As he left, Gaemon cast one final look about the chamber, noting the way in which the Lords Waynwood and Lynderly regarded him with thinly veiled distaste. Mine looks to be an uphill battle.
The top of the stairwell led to a carven stone doorway which opened into a pillared gallery, where one could look out into an enclosed yard. Recent snowfalls had dusted some of the shrubs and trees that dotted the enclosure, and the sun had disappeared behind the Giant's Lance mountains that loomed all around. Ser Corwyn, while not looking quite as unenthused about Gaemon's presence as the other members of the greeting party, still chose to remain silent as the two of them traversed the stone walkway towards the inner ward. While he had initially expected to be led directly to the Lady's receiving chambers, Gaemon was instead led to what he expected would be his quarters for the duration of the stay.
Ser Corwyn gave him a look that seemed to suggest that he should enter, before adding: "I can hardly imagine that you expected to attend the Lady in plate. I will send for servants to fetch heated water for a bath, so that you might wash the stench of dragon off of yourself. In the meantime, these chambers have already been furnished with the accoutrements necessary to make yourself presentable. I suggest you make use of them." Taking a step back, he regarded Gaemon for one final time with an expression that was neither cold nor warm. "Good evening to you, Ser."
After his escort had closed the door behind him, Gaemon took the opportunity to survey the chamber around him. While it featured no windows, the room did have a brass chandelier hung from the ceiling above him, its wax candles lit. The walls were made of well-worn stone, and the floor was covered by what appeared to be a faded rug that may have originally been made across the Narrow Sea. Completing the chamber was a canopied bed with several furs piled atop, as well as a cabinet for clothing and a wooden stand, upon which sat a mirror of polished bronze and a wash basin.
Undoing the straps of his armor, Gaemon was surprised at how easy the process had become for him. He piled the plate as neatly as he could in an open corner, before placing his saddle bag beside it. To his delight, he found that the wooden stand featured a bowl of cream with which to shave, and he relished the smell of the animal fat and wood pulp that it was composed of. Lathering his face, he took the razor and began to cut away the scraggly and altogether unchivalrous beard that had overtaken his face since the flight from the Capitol. As he did so, he regarded himself in the mirror. The same face he had glimpsed within Dragonstone's citadel stared back at him, but shadows clung to his face beneath his eyes, betraying the exhaustion that he had so far been unable to dispel. When he had finished, he opened the wardrobe to ascertain what clothing had been set aside for guests. To his amusement (but not his surprise), he found that all that was available was a sky blue top and dark trousers, along with supple boots that were well-worn. I can only assume that most of the Arryn's guests do not partake of this wardrobe's offerings. His ruminations were interrupted by the entrance of two serving women who both appeared to have already celebrated their fortieth name-day. Apologising for the interruption, they gingerly placed a small wooden tub in the center of the room, steam billowing up from the surface. Before they departed, they offered him a bar of soap with which to bathe himself.
Undressing and stepping gingerly into the bath, Gaemon allowed himself to exhale with satisfaction as the hot water soothed his aching muscles. To his dismay, he had not had the opportunity to bathe since before the battle of Tumbleton (one of the things he found most acceptable about courtly life was the emphasis on cleanliness). Scrubbing himself thoroughly, he was most disturbed at the ghastly color that the bath water had taken once he exited the tub. Drying himself and dressing in the only clean attire available, he left the chamber, wondering how he would be able to navigate his way to the receiving chambers of Lady Arryn. To his relief, the sweet voice of a bard echoed down the dark stone halls, his tales of chivalry and bravery providing an easy guide for the lost and confused dragonrider. Turning a third corner, Gaemon was bathed in the warm light of a fireplace as he approached the open doors of the sanctum. Arryn guards stood at attention to either side of the entryway, but they allowed him to enter without accosting him after he had crossed the distance. Stepping into the chamber, Gaemon narrowly avoided a servant exiting, gingerly bearing a silver pitcher that had been emptied of its wine.
The moment he entered the room, Gaemon felt self-conscious. He had never been permitted to attend the Queen in a manner remotely similar to this, and the relaxed yet posh and intimate setting was by no means one with which he was familiar. I was schooled in manners and etiquette by innkeeps and whores, and kept the company of fishermen and guardsmen. It occurred to him that perhaps his host expected such things of him, and had sought to use the uneven battleground to her advantage. It was also clear that whatever she had to say was not for the eyes and ears of the court itself. Unbidden, the warnings of a gap-toothed, brown skinned girl surfaced in his mind. Be careful, Gaemon. These walls likely have ears almost as big as the buggers in the Red Keep.
Upon his entrance, the three ladies seated around the room stood, acknowledging his presence. The one clothed in red and white allowed herself a wry grin.
"Come now, Jeyne. You must confess that in Arryn colors our guest is a bit less imposing, is he not?"
Gaemon was unsure of how to respond, and the uncertainty was only magnified when the Lady of the Vale let loose a short but sweet laugh.
"I fear that you are correct once again, Jessamyn. Our guest appears to be a Royce poorly masquerading as an Arryn. Certainly not as grim as he was earlier."
Extending her hand, the Lady of the Vale beckoned for him to take a seat in a cushioned chair across from hers. In between them, an ornate wooden table bore a whole roasted chicken, smelling of saffron, garlic, and black pepper. Gaemon's mouth watered despite himself as he regarded the apple and raspberry sweet tarts that were stacked to either side of the main course, as well as at the hearty bowl of pea soup that looked to be fulfilling the role of first course. He realised that he had not had a meal of such quality for weeks, and was eager to partake. Taking a seat in his chair, he remained silent, awaiting the word of the woman before him.
Studying him, the Lady of the Vale sipped a cup of what appeared to be mulled wine.
"You may eat at your leisure, dragonrider. I can only imagine what you were able to eat on your journey here. I have no desire to be a poor host to you."
Entering through an open doorway, a servant emerged with bread and salt, presenting it to Gaemon. Gingerly dipping a piece of the still warm brown bread into the salt, Gaemon ate of the offering, feeling somewhat more relaxed with the invocation of guest right. As he tore himself a piece of the chicken, the woman named Jessamyn served herself a bowl of soup. Rhaena studied him from her seat to his left, absentmindedly eating an apple tart. Once more, the room was awkwardly silent. After a few moments, Jessamyn began to giggle, before lightly punching the Lady of the Vale on the shoulder.
"Jeyne, for Seven's Sake, you're torturing the poor boy. Speak to him."
The Lady Arryn turned her studious gaze away from Gaemon to regard her attendant with a face of feigned scorn. Before long, however, she too chortled with amusement.
"You must forgive our behavior, Ser, for we have each indulged in a bit of wine. We would not normally forget our manners so."
While the Lady of the Vale spoke Gaemon paid little attention to her mirthful features, but instead watched her eyes. They remained hard as flint. She is testing me once more. I sympathise with her position, but I must needs make her understand my position.
He smiled as best as he could manage. "My Lady, there is nothing to forgive. You have honored me by hosting me in your own chambers, and allowing me to be a guest in your home. I have come as a friend, and wish only to beg your aid for the Queen we both serve."
As he spoke, the playfulness drained from the Lady Arryn's face.
"The Queen we both served is dead, Ser Gaemon. I received word via raven but a few days ago that the Usurper ordered her head struck off as a traitor to the , the Prince Aegon has demanded that I bend the knee in return for clemency. He holds King's Landing, and the might of the Stormlords marches to his aid. He also assures me that his wife is willing and able to fight alongside him, if need be, and that any traitors who will not stand down will face their flames."
Gaemon's heart sank, and he felt the cold grip of uncertainty wrap its long, icy fingers about him. The Queen has been executed? What does this mean for the other prisoners?
"What news have you of the others captured during the city's fall? What of Prince Joffrey, and the Princes Aegon and Viserys?" He wished to ask of Baela, but feared he would reveal overmuch.
"Prince Joffrey fell defending his mother, or so we have been told. Rhaenyra's mount has been executed as a 'danger to the realm' as well. The other Princes, as well as the Lady Baela, remain imprisoned." Grey eyes narrowed. "The Usurper has also seen fit to demand that I release the Lady Rhaena into his custody. He promises that he will guarantee my safety if I do so."
To his left, Rhaena's lips were pursed into a thin, enraged frown.
The Lady Jeyne continued. "I have no intentions of dishonoring my word as a guardian and a host. The Lady Rhaena has my protection, and she will remain here as my ward for as long as my knights can ensure her protection. Until today, I had intended to delay my response as long as could be managed. But with your arrival, it appears that is no longer possible." She sighed.
The Lady Jessamyn spoke up. "Your arrival here does confirm that some rumors we have heard are incorrect, to say the least. For several weeks, there have been conflicting rumors regarding a great battle in the northern Reach. In some tellings, the Usurper's brother and two traitors emerged victorious, and in others, the Queen's riders prevailed. There is little doubt now about which stories had the right of it."
Gaemon nodded. "It feels as though an age has passed since then, but it has been scarcely three weeks since those of us who remained in the Queen's service flew to Tumbleton. Ser Addam Velaryon, my friend Ser Maegor, and I took the Hightower forces unawares as they slept, just before dawn. I can tell you with certainty that we emerged victorious, and that none of our three enemies still draw breath. Only one of their dragons survived, albeit heavily wounded." He paused. "My Ladies, I understand your concerns regarding the King and his Queen consort. I myself have seen Dreamfyre in the depths of the Dragonpit, and she is a fearsome beast indeed. But I have also seen her rider. I think it unlikely that the Usurper's Queen is in any condition to fly, let alone into battle. I have also heard that Sunfyre the Golden was gravely wounded against the Princess Rhaenys over Rook's Rest before her demise. It seems a strong possibility that our enemies can only muster one partially effective dragon against our three. I also feel confident in assuring you that the Usurper is highly unlikely to strike out against you with his dragon alone. If something were to go awry, he would be stranded in a hostile region with no means of escape. If I were a betting man, I would think that Prince Aegon has no intentions of leaving the Capitol. His greatest strengths are his prisoners. So long as he has them, he believes he can prevent us from bringing about his downfall." Gaemon made sure to meet the gaze of the Lady of the Vale as he spoke his next words. "To ensure our victory, however, we must needs have the swords of the Vale marching with us. Even now, my comrades fly fast and fly far, rallying what remains of the Riverlords and making contact with Lord Cregan Stark and his Northmen. If we were to have your support as well, we would ride with the full support of three of the Seven Kingdoms. That sort of legitimacy is important in these decisive days."
Lady Arryn's eyes narrowed. "While I can understand your points, Ser Gaemon, you have only provided me with spoken assurances. You claim Helaena cannot ride, and you claim Aegon will not marshal his strength against us. Yet you will soon leave us bereft of any protection. Your assurances will mean little and less if you are wrong. I have little desire to be baked and burned within my own keep, as my people die screaming around me. Just a little over a year ago, a Prince sat before me in my own court, and promised that I would have a dragonrider to protect my realm and people. Yet when it was no longer convenient, my own Queen, to whom I had sworn my allegiance, stripped me of those protections and assurances the moment that she felt she had greater need of them." She sighed. "If you desire the Vale to march, I can arrange for it to do so. But only on the condition that you remain here, to protect my people."
Gaemon had feared that his host would impose such conditions upon him. I cannot accept these terms. I ride the largest dragon that remains to us, and if I remain in the Vale, I will be rendered useless for the battles to come. It appears we have reached an impasse.
"My Lady, your concerns are most valid, and I feel I must apologize for the unfair treatment you have suffered." He sighed. "Despite this, I cannot accept your terms. I believe it could prove disastrous to reduce our superiority in dragons at such a decisive time."
Jeyne Arryn nodded curtly. "I expected an answer of that sort. You are free to remain my guest for as long as you wish, but I will not commit my armies to your cause for nothing in return. Words are wind, after all. I have learned from my mistakes. I will not expose myself and my people to the fires of the Seven Hells for nothing in return." With that, she rose, and retired further into her chambers. The Lady Jessamyn curtseyed, and then retired to attend to her Lady. Gaemon sat in silence, watching the fire spit and crackle. He wasn't sure if it would be proper to address the only Lady that remained in the room, even if he was intrigued by the prospect of speaking with her.
A hand on his shoulder roused him from his fixation on the flames. Turning to face its source, he was surprised to see that Rhaena had cracked a wry grin, of all possible options.
"And that, Ser Gaemon, is why you need some lessons on the finer points of negotiations. Follow me."
Their stroll had taken them through the barely lit walls of the inner ward, retracing his earlier steps until they had found themselves standing once more in the pillared gallery watching the snow fall lightly in the yard below. Gaemon had retired to his chambers in order to fetch his wolfskin, and Rhaena had done similarly in order to fetch a heavy woolen cloak. Braziers still burned, casting an orange glow across the stone pillars. After a few moments of silence, Rhaena chose to speak first.
"You should know that the Lady Jeyne has been loath to commit forces to the war since the Queen recalled Joff- the Prince Joffrey to the Capitol. While we still could count upon Tyraxes, we could commit forces with more confidence. But with the arrival of winter and the departure of my cousin, there is little to motivate the Lords of the Vale to fight and die abroad. I have spent the better part of a year in these lands, learning their customs, their ways, and their people. Valemen are proud, and more importantly, they take themselves very seriously. Even in times less dire than these, they would not take kindly to their aid being demanded. They will expect pride of place, and adequate compensation from their liege. With my cos' death, they see even less reason to commit to a war that has already cost them so dearly."
Gaemon frowned. "The Vale has contributed very little to the war. Less than two thousand men were sent to the capitol, months ago. It seems likely that they did not survive the fall of King's Landing."
Rhaena sighed. "While those men may have been few in number compared to the many thousands that have died in the Riverlands, you must understand that they represented the best of the Vale. That expedition was led by Ser Adrian Redfort and Ser Willam Royce, cousin to the Lord of the Redfort and grandson and heir to the Lord of Runestone respectively. With their deaths, Lady Jeyne lost both a valuable suporter and likely earned the eternal enmity of the Royces. Ser Willam carried his House's ancestral blade and a suit of ancient armor into battle with him. When he fell, those were likely lost to his family forever." Rhaena pursed her lips. "Jeyne gambled on that expedition, and it appears to have cost her dearly. What you don't see, Ser Gaemon, is that the Vale is less united than it may appear to outsiders. The Lady Jeyne has long suffered from attempts at usurpation, and foremost amongst these usurpers is her cousin, Ser Arnold Arryn. Ser Arnold has led revolts twice against her, calling upon the support of the Royces each time, due to his late wife being a daughter of their House. While Arnold rots in Jeyne's prisons, the Royces have not forgotten the blood spilt in his name. Jeyne wished to give them pride of place and a place of import in Rhaenyra's court by allowing Ser Willam to lead her forces to King's Landing. With his death, the situation has only worsened. With the Mountain Clansmen raiding ever more fiercely due to the onset of winter, there are rumors that some Lords are dissatisfied with her rule, and wish for a man to lead them. Ser Arnold may be imprisoned, but his son, Ser Eldric, remains a guest in this court, and has done everything he can to foster such sentiments. His political influence remains nearly irrelevant now, but if Lady Jeyne suffers any more setbacks that will change."
Gaemon nodded. Come to think of it, many of the banners I studied at Harrenhal have not been present within these walls. The Royces, Templetons, Duttons, and Sunderlands are absent. "So the Lady of the Vale does not just fear dragons, but dissent at home. Why does she not simply allow Ser Eldric to lead an expedition against the Mountain Clansmen in her name? Would he not be second in the line of succession, after his father?"
Rhaena shook her head. "As a penalty for his revolts, Jeyne stripped her cousin of his right of inheritance. She has made a distant cousin, Ser Joffrey, her heir. Even now, he mans the Bloody Gate, and attempts to keep the High Road somewhat clear. But Jeyne's decision was met with discomfort by some, and outright hostility by others. The Vale prides itself on its tradition and its honor, and stripping away the rights of succession is relatively unheard of in the traditions of the Arryns. Ser Eldric remains Jeyne's guest within these walls, but he is a prisoner in all but name. She cannot allow him to leave, for fear that he will raise an army to press his father's claim."
Gaemon was beginning to understand. "So the Lady of the Vale does not just wish for my presence as insurance against the Usurper, but as a deterrent against plots against her own rule. She is also unlikely to be willing to dispatch forces of her own, fearing that they may be needed for her own battles at home?"
Rhaena smiled. "For such common birth, you have some potential for intrigue, Ser Gaemon. I could have said it no better myself."
"Fine praise indeed, m'lady." He raised an eyebrow. "But why tell me all this? Has Lady Jeyne not been your host and protector for all these months? Is this not a partial betrayal of her confidence?"
Rhaena clenched her fists beneath her cloak. "She has been nothing but kind to me. But she has also not raised a finger to help my family, when they have been in need of it the most. I refuse to stand by any longer whilst my sister and brothers languish in the Usurper's clutches."
Gaemon smiled. Sisters indeed. I can see it now, clear as day. "I understand, and I greatly appreciate the aid you have rendered to me." He paused, thinking. "But I still fail to see how we can persuade your host to part with significant forces to aid us."
Rhaena shook her head. "We will not be able to persuade her to depart with any forces of her own. But if some of her vassals could be persuaded to do so, allegedly according to their own devices, she could claim plausible deniability to the King, if he confronted her. I am certain that the Greens are aware of her struggle to maintain her grip on power. If they feel that her vassals are acting out of line, that may persuade them to focus elsewhere, believing the Vale to be neutralised by internal conflict."
Gaemon smiled. "I must commend you for having such a wonderful idea, my Lady. But who would be willing to march with us, allegedly against their own liege's orders?"
Rhaena grinned wolfishly. "Some will do so out of personal ambition, and others will do so because they have long thirsted for war." She paused, her cheeks growing a slight shade of red. "And some… some will march because of personal loyalties. All I ask is that you give me the time to speak with those I have in mind, so that I might rally their support before we make our proposition."
Gaemon nodded. "I can grant you that time, my Lady. Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance."
Rhaena shook her head. "Tis the other way 'round, Ser Gaemon. Thank you for your timely arrival. I have long awaited my chance to aid my cause, and my fallen Queen."
As Gaemon retired to his chambers, he could not help but grin with anticipation. He was still lost in his thoughts when he rounded the corner to where his guest chamber stood, and almost did not notice the two shadowy forms standing outside his chamber door. He instinctively reached for his sword, and cursed quietly to himself as he found no blade at his side. The two figures noticed him at that point, and approached him quietly. Debating whether to stand or flee, Gaemon was taken aback when the two potential assailants paused before him, and drew back their hoods. A young man with sandy blond hair and blue-grey eyes smiled cautiously at him, and the other, taller man beside him grinned, his smile at least missing one tooth.
"Ser Gaemon, I presume?" Spoke the blond-haired man. "I would be indebted to you if you would allow me a chance to introduce myself. My companion and I mean you no harm."
Gaemon chuckled. "If that were so, I can think of better times to introduce yourselves than the Hour of Ghosts."
The bigger man chuckled. The blond-haired man smiled. "Would that I could make your acquaintance in the light of day, Ser. My circumstances, however, would never allow it." He motioned to Gaemon's quarters. "Might I have a few moments of your time?"
Despite some not-so-inconsiderable misgivings, Gaemon assented, his curiosity getting the better of him. He opened his chamber door, allowing the men inside. Once the three of them had entered, the candlelight in his chamber revealed that the blond-haired man wore a doublet of faded sky-blue, and that his cloak was pinned by a brooch wrought to resemble a silver falcon. His companion, however, wore a doublet of a checkered black and white field, with three golden wings depicted in a diagonal descent across. An Arryn, then? I do not recognize the sigil of his friend, however. The potential Arryn extended his hand, and Gaemon shook it.
"It is good to meet you in person, Ser Gaemon. I am unsure if you have been told of me, or my… unfortunate situation. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ser Eldric, of House Arryn, and this is my sworn sword and boon companion, Ser Sam Shett, of Gull Tower."
Gaemon's eyes narrowed. The son of the usurper. His guest's eyes did not miss his reaction, and anger quickly surfaced beneath the friendly veneer.
"I see you have been informed of me. I would have thought our host content to allow the court's ritual mockery to pass as an introduction. It appears she fears us more than we thought, eh, Sam?" He gave his man-at-arms a playful punch on the shoulder. "I can only imagine what you have been told of me, Ser Gaemon. A faithless son of a usurper, who would not respect his cousin's rights? Something akin to that, I suppose." His face grew serious. "Ser Gaemon, I have no interest in wasting your time. I will make my proposal to you, and then leave you to your rest. I am a prisoner here, within these walls. I have little doubt that one way or another, my host will soon find one excuse or another to dispose of me, either in a cell next to my father's or via a few drops of something disagreeable in my wine. I have come here to ask that you assist me in escaping this place. I can offer you little in recompense except for my gratitude."
Gaemon raised an eyebrow. That was… certainly straightforward. He is either truly desperate, or this is a ploy of some kind. "Ser, you must realise that I am here to gain the support of Lady Jeyne for the war against the Usurper. I cannot jeopardize these negotiations by becoming involved in your dispute with your kin." He paused. "While I can understand the pain of having your lineage go unacknowledged, I simply do not see how I could help you with your predicament."
Ser Eldric's smile had completely vanished by this point. "Tell me, Ser, did you ever have to fall asleep as a child to the sound of your father screaming madly at the open sky and the mountain side? The Lady whose favor you court threw my father into the Sky Cells shortly after my seventh nameday. By the time I was able to sneak into the Eyrie's dungeons to see him, he did not even recognize me. I will never forget how wide and panicked his eyes looked that day. They were as wide and blue as the sky itself, only a few feet from where he stood. He begged me, his own son, to take him away. Anywhere else but there. I sat there, crying until the gaolers removed me, wishing I could do so." Ser Eldric clenched his fist. "That vile woman has already broken my father's mind beyond repair, yet still he rots in the cells beneath our very feet." Looking Gaemon in the eyes, he said: "Because the aid of my kin is so valuable to your war, I will not blame you for refusing to intercede on my behalf. It was probably foolish to meet with you to begin with. But I will beg one final favor of you: when word arrives of our departure, do not tell Lady Arryn that we met with you. Allow us some time to make good our escape. If you do this, I will be in your debt."
Gaemon considered the man's words. If what he said was true, he could not help but sympathise. Finally he nodded. "Go then. It will be as though we never spoke." As his guests turned to leave, he added: "Avoid the High Road. On my journey here, it seemed fraught with danger. Seek another route."
Nodding silently, the two knights left his chambers. Gaemon locked the door behind them, and allowed himself to fall backwards onto his canopied bed. What an exhausting day.
He spent the next few days at the Gates of the Moon attempting to find things to do. Surely enough, there had been a panic when word had gotten out that Ser Eldric and his 'thug' had escaped, but to Gaemon's surprise none had even bothered to question him about them. I suppose that is for the best. While tensions around the court continued to climb, Gaemon explored the castle. He spent much of his time in the library, reading tomes that seemed as though they had not been opened for centuries. He had settled on one, by a certain Maester Glowyn, that was entitled On Andalic Heraldry. While he had initially picked it at random, he was quickly drawn to the chapter on Bastardy and Heraldry: An Imperfect Compromise. As Gaemon scanned the section detailing one of the few recorded Arryn 'Great Bastards' sired by King Osric V Arryn. While the story itself seemed relatively tame (for Osric had made this particular bastard the knight of the newly refurbished Bloody Gate), Glowyn's words on the bastard's chosen heraldry drew his attention. Gaemon traced one line in particular with his finger: Great Bastards, or bastards with noble paternity on both sides, and at times simply the acknowledged illegitimate children of royalty, have occasionally chosen to invert their Houses' colors for their own banners and sigils. A small smile spread across Gaemon's face. As a knight, I ought to begin considering taking my own heraldry.
Placing the ancient manuscript back upon its shelf and thanking the Maester for the privilege of accessing the library, Gaemon's journey next took him through the winding stone halls of the inner ward, out the Great Hall, and into the snowy outer courtyard beyond. He had just finished making a request of the head weaving-woman when Rhaena found him, a confident smile upon her face.
"I believe I am ready for our next move, Ser Gaemon. If you would follow me?"
"My Lady, I have a proposal for both you and Ser Gaemon, regarding your earlier discussion of the Vale's support."
The Lady of the Vale looked exhausted on this particular day, no doubt disturbed by her erstwhile kin's departure. Massaging her temples, she raised her eyes to meet Rhaena's while Lady Jessamyn sipped inquisitively at a cup of tea.
Rhaena offered an encouraging smile. "With Eldric's escape, your need for loyal Lords and men is greater than ever. I propose this: instead of approving Gaemon's request, let it be known that after some deliberation you sent him away, due to internal disputes in the Vale requiring your attention. Swear your neutrality to the Usurper, but inform him that I escaped with the rogue dragon-rider, enraged at your 'treachery'. I will raise a small force of volunteers at my own behest, and depart from Gulltown before you are able to apprehend me."
Lady Jessamyn laughed. "Clever as always, Rhaena. That might just work. Your flight would also remove our obligation to surrender you to the Usurper."
Jeyne nodded, a small smile spreading across her features. "And who might these 'volunteers' be composed of?"
Rhaena smiled. "I have taken the liberty of speaking with several individuals eager to fight. Ser Corwyn has agreed to lead some Corbray men as a part of this expedition, and Ser Alan Waxley has agreed to march as well. Lord Grafton's cousin Ser Morton has assured me that he can contact Velaryon ships to convey us to Maidenpool. Lastly, Ser Isembard Arryn, ever eager to enhance his prestige, has volunteered to join the expedition and provide funding, so long as he can be acknowledged as it's commander."
The Lady of the Vale raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "This is no haphazard plan. How long have you entertained these ideas?"
Rhaena grinned even wider. "A woman never reveals all her secrets, my Lady. But if you approve this expedition, you will be able to claim plausible deniability if the Usurper demands answers. And given that no Lords will rise to aid me, it will seem as though only second sons and ambitious knights have chosen to go to war. You would not be committing anything overtly."
Jeyne Arryn steepled her fingers. "And your thoughts, Ser Gaemon? I can only assume the Lady Rhaena has informed you of her plans?"
Gaemon nodded. "I have been but a humble observer, watching with awe as she spun her webs. I obviously fully endorse this. With your assent, I plan to 'escape' with the Lady Rhaena this very night atop my dragon. We will fly to Gulltown, in order to meet our assembling 'supporters'."
Jeyne sighed. "I can find little fault with Rhaena's plans. The Usurper will be furious, but with my official declaration of neutrality he will have much greater concerns. You have my assent."
The Lady Jessamyn squeezed Lady Arryn's hand, beaming with mischievous excitement. "I so love being conspiratorial. Jeyne would never admit it, but she most certainly does as well!"
Jeyne laughed, a sweet sound in a court that had been so somber. "Seven save me from mischievous women!"
With that, she waved, dismissing Rhaena and Gaemon. In the hall, Gaemon extended his hand. Rhaena smiled and shook it.
"Until tonight, Ser Gaemon."
"Until tonight, my Lady."
Gaemon had been able to sneak out of an unlocked postern gate and across the drawbridge quickly. The Lady of the Vale had ensured his 'escape' would go without a hitch. In the snow-dusted field beyond the keep, the Cannibal lay curled, steam rising from its great black coiled form into the night. At his touch, the dragon unraveled, its eyes burning with an otherworldly green light. Fastening his saddle bag, laden with the sword and provisions to the saddle, Gaemon quickly pushed a red and black tabard deeper into the bag as he heard footsteps in the snow behind him. The Cannibal let out a deep hiss, its eyes set upon the approaching woman with a bundle in her arms. Steam poured out from its long, onyx black fangs as it regarded their approach. Gaemon laid a hand upon the tip of its snout, urging it to stay calm. Its reason for awareness became apparent once he realised that Rhaena carried a hatchling in her arms. The small dragon hissed as she approached, weakly flapping its pale pink wings. Jet black horns atop its head glistened in the moonlight.
Shaking his head, Gaemon laughed. "You might have mentioned that you had managed to hatch a dragon."
Rhaena shrugged beneath her deep black cloak. "I might have forgotten to do so. Her name is Morning."
Giving the hatchling a playful wave, he rummaged about his bag until he found a strip of salted meat to offer it. Gaemon climbed atop the Cannibal and extended his hand, helping Rhaena to climb atop it as well. After a few moments of fumbling in the dark, he was able to fasten the saddle chains in a manner that allowed for the both of them to be secured. Rhaena grabbed his waist with one arm for stability, while making sure to bundle Morning tightly against the cold. Uncurling his dragon whip, Gaemon gave it a single crack in the freezing night air, and in response his mount uncurled its massive black wings, beating them powerfully against the ground and slowly rising above it. Eventually, it propelled itself into the night sky, climbing high amongst the peaks of the Giant's Lance. As the stars soared by above, the Cannibal roared, its challenge echoed amongst the peaks all about. As they turned and flew west, Gaemon swore that he could almost hear a dragon's roar in response, but brushed the thought aside as nonsense.
Turning so that Rhaena could hear him, he smiled, saying: "Onwards, then, to Gulltown!"
Just over the howling wind, he heard her shout her response: "And from Gulltown, to King's Landing!"