Gaemon XI

Steam drifted across the surface of the waters, only disturbed by an occasional errant movement. Gaemon leaned forward, dipping his head beneath the nearly scalding waters, letting himself submerge fully beneath the surface, savoring the comfort that came with it. He held his breath for a few moments, before finally allowing himself to surface. Brushing his hair behind his ears, he leaned against the pool's edge and scanned the chamber. Around the cavern's edges, great stone spikes rose from the floor, reaching almost a man's height. Similarly sized spikes ran downwards, enclosing the chamber in a manner that felt eerily akin to being within the maw of a great beast.

The Sheepstealer slumbered calmly near the entrance to the chamber, its slender frame the most delicate aspect of its appearance. Its head was encased in a mess of uneven spikes, and worn fangs poked from its scaled jaws. Nothing about the dragon was proportioned in a way that would inspire an artist. Even its scales were an inconsistent muddy mess of brown hues. Gaemon chuckled. An ugly, ill-tempered beast. Yet can anything better be said of the Cannibal?

Sitting in front of her beast was its rider, a heavy woolen cloak pulled about her scrawny frame, her dark hair a ratty mess of curls that poured forth unabashedly, reaching her shoulders. The girl watched Gaemon with amused interest, clearly willing to allow him his dramatic silence. As she waited, she fiddled with a particularly difficult strand of hair that refused to come undone.

In truth, Gaemon could scarcely believe that Nettles sat before him, separated by only forty or so feet of hot springs. The pool in which he relaxed ran deep, and on multiple occasions he had attempted to swim to the bottom, only to be driven away by the intense heat of its depths. The pool and the companion have that in common too- neither are willing to share their secrets. For the most part, Nettles was just as he remembered. Foul-mouthed and boisterous, yet surprisingly quiet and contemplative at times when one would least expect it. So much had transpired between their last meeting that it felt as though an age had passed since they had said their goodbyes at the Dragonpit. In a manner of speaking, an age has passed. The woman before me has missed the reign of a Queen and King in her absence, and the end of a war besides. She knows naught of the world beyond these mountains. At first, she had been so stunned at his arrival that they had spoken of naught but the most mundane things. But with time, her curiosity had become overpowering. It was then that Gaemon had spoken of the Prince of Dragonstone's death, and the Queen's thereafter. Of the bloody end of the Usurper and his Mad Queen. Of the short but hopeful reign of Rhaenyra's eldest living child, and his and Maegor's elevation to lords and Constables.

When it came to the matter of his father, she had only asked one question of him, and that had simply been to confirm his death, alongside that of the Kinslayer. To that, Gaemon had simply bared Dark Sister, still sheathed within its scabbard and piled amongst his other belongings. Uncharacteristically quiet, Nettles had accepted his death with silence, but he had noticed how the tension within her form had diminished.

Shaking his head vigorously to dispel some of the liquid still held in his hair, Gaemon climbed quickly from the pool, wrapping himself in his wolfskin in order to begin to dry, his skin pink and wrinkled from his extended time in the waters.

A laugh sounded from across the chamber. "Look at him go, as shy as an unbedded maiden! And to think: I believed you unafraid of the fairer sex!"

Gaemon smiled from within his furs. "I have nothing to fear from the fairer sex, my Lady. But I am not certain that you qualify."

A sheep's rib sailed across the expanse of the pool, clattering harmlessly about five feet from Gaemon's resting place. "Listen here, you shit! You are a guest in my cavern, and you will flatter me whilst you grace my halls. I've spent enough time in the company of Lords and Sers to know what I am owed as Lady of this keep."

Gaemon stood, bowing low. "My deepest apologies, my fair Lady. I forget myself. My common birth and bastard blood often unbalance my humors, forcing the most detestable words from my lips. Such is the price I pay for my sire's indiscretions."

Nettles smiled, the gap in her front teeth revealing itself endearingly. She stood, extending her hand in a mockery of an invitation to dance. Gaemon took the opportunity to dress himself before crossing the length of the cavern, still clutching the furs about him for warmth. Whilst he did so his companion rummaged about through her belongings before producing a few sticks of salted venison. Joining her at the edge of the waters, he accepted her offering of food, and for a time, they both contented themselves with tearing away at the sturdy meat.

The days had passed quickly in the cavern, with their only visitors being members of her 'sworn men' as she called them. Few of them spoke the common Andalic strains that Gaemon knew, but it was clear that it was completely unnecessary to communicate with them. The Mountain Clansmen frequently brought offerings of food, and while it was simple fare, it was filling and for that Gaemon was grateful.

Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Nettles spoke. "They found me, you know. They must have spotted Sheepstealer as we flew into the mountains. I was so keen on hiding, I didn't even consider that I was likely seizing their home for myself. They're a simple sort, but I've had my fill of pompous arseholes for an entire lifetime. Sheepstealer keeps the bravest of them at bay, and it only took setting a few of them afire for them to realize I wanted to be left alone."

Gaemon raised an eyebrow. "You do realize the people of these lands think you a witch?"

Nettles cackled. "You are certain they did not call me a bitch instead? For most of my life, I was half-certain that was my birth name, given how often the good people of Hull called me by it."

Gaemon shook his head. "No, I am quite certain it was witch. Some of the boldest seem to believe that surviving the flames of your dragon makes them stronger."

Nettles whistled. "Fuck me, Gaemon. What kind of hogwash is that?" She tore another shred of venison from her jerky, contemplating. "I suppose that it might do them some good. Perhaps a dragon's flames will burn away some of the wool between their ears."

Gaemon chortled. "They'll need to be most careful, then. I am not certain they have much to spare."

Nettles shrugged. "Even so, each of them is half a Maester when compared to the likes of the honorable Ser Hugh Hammer."

Gaemon nodded, feigning a contrite expression. "Seven rest his soul."

Nettles nodded. "May he and Ser Ulf find eternal rest within the Seven Hells."

Gaemon frowned. "I wish you had been there, you know."

Nettles smirked. "The Seven Hells? I am fairly certain that I'm already living there, what with sharing an abode with a boiling lake and a massive fire-breathing beast."

He shook his head. "If you had been sent to accompany Ser Maegor or I, instead of the Prince Daemon, the Queen would never have had cause to drive you away in the first place."

His companion grew still. "It matters not, Gaemon. I was always fucked. We all were. You and Maegor were simply too daft to see it."

Gaemon stood. "But that's not true! Rhaenyra is dead, and anyone who would see you dead has either joined her in death or is too irrelevant to matter! I'll not have you rot away in this cave. You were… are a hero. The King owes you his crown, just as much as he owes Maegor or I!"

Nettles stood as well, turning to face him defiantly. She raised a finger to point at the slit in her nose. "Gaemon, no Lord will ever see past this, or the whispers of the Red Keep. We Seeds were only useful whilst there were other dragonriders to fear. Now WE are the enemy. No pampered-arse of a Lord will ever see anything but a fucking rat, come to feast upon the grain in his stores. And if the King feels he owes us his crown… that is even worse! If our dirty hands can place the Conqueror's crown on his sweet head, we can rip it off just as easily."

Gaemon scowled. "Are you truly not able to see the good in anyone?"

Nettles' eyes narrowed. "Which good do you speak of? That of my mother, who sold me to a tavern keeper? That of the shepherds, who gave me sheep for a turn with my cunny? That of the Prince Daemon, who whispered he'd make a lady of me but made me his whore instead? Or that of our dearest Queen, who called for my head, after I saved her precious fucking Seasnake and his accursed isle? I do wonder if the cunt had the stones to mention that as Rhaenyra Targaryen called for my head… you're more a fool than I thought, Gaemon, if you truly believe any of those Lords would ever wish me back."

"Those same Lords consented when I begged leave to retrieve you from hiding. They do wish you back. Whether you choose to believe it or not is an altogether different question. I swore I would make right the Queen's wrongs! I will not allow you to rot away, forgotten by all but the Maesters. You are more than a curiosity, or an intriguing aberration! You are my friend. And you deserve more!"

Tears shone in Nettles' eyes. "Gaemon, you noble fool. Nothing in this world has anything to do with what we deserve. Do you think those poor shits at Tumbleton and Bitterbridge deserved their fates? Burned alive or cut to pieces, they were every bit as common as you or I."

Gaemon stood, his eyes afire. "They deserved none of it. And they were as common as you or I. I saw the bodies of the slain, piled carelessly amongst the streets of the town. Their killers had not even thought to bury them. So I burned those responsible. Hundreds of them. At Tumbleton, I reminded those who would seek to harm the weak that they no longer could act with impunity." His hands found her shoulders, scrawny as they were beneath the furs. "And you could too. No one holds any power over us, any longer. We can be the difference that we ourselves longed for in our past." He sighed. "You are right. We are no different than the people of Tumbleton, Bitterbridge, King's Landing, or Hull, for that matter. The same common blood flows in our veins. But we do have the means to stand for them, and each other." He pulled the wolfskin tightly about himself, turning to leave the cavern. "I will depart in the morning. In the meantime, you ought to decide whether you wish to use that dragon of yours for something more than running away."

Moments later, Gaemon found himself perched at the edge of the cave, watching the stars and moon follow their paths in the heavens above. The clear winter sky obscured nothing, and he basked in the silvery light, listening to the winds of winter wail all about him. For a time, Gaemon sat alone. After what seemed to be hours, he heard footsteps amongst the gravel of the cavern floor. Nettles sat down heavily beside him, and after a moment of silence, leaned against him, watching the domain of the Gods alongside him. It was a startling sign of trust from a girl that trusted no one.

"You're right, Gaemon."

He turned, placing his arm about her shoulders. "I would have expected you to say the same to me, were our paths switched."

Nettles sighed. "I have been running for all of my life. I am not certain that I ever realized I had a dragon beneath me for some of it."

"I only ask that you grant yourself an opportunity to truly live, on your terms."

The brown-haired seed stood, her fists clenched. "Then let us go then, before I have any more time to doubt myself."

Gaemon smiled. Standing, he joined his friend as they went to fetch their belongings, and rouse a dragon from its slumber.

"One more thing, Gaemon."

"Yes, Nettles?"

"Please don't tell me you bedded that Princess whilst I was away. You've enough decent ideas in that head of yours that it'd be a damn shame to see it struck off."

Laughing, he shook his head. "No, I've not done so, though I'd be lying if I said I did not wish to."

"Gods, you are such a cocksure little shit."

"... I know."

A journey of a few days had found them perched high amongst the peaks of the Mountains of the Moon. Their flight had not been without incident, as Gaemon and Nettles had had to brandish their dragon-whips the moment that the Cannibal and the Sheepstealer had spotted one another. Despite its gradually lessening hostility, it was clear that the Cannibal still viewed the Sheepstealer as a dangerous rival. Their animosity extended far beyond human memory, dating back to territorial disputes upon the Dragonmont in days long past. Each bears wounds from the days of the Old King's youth, at the very least. It had been decided that Gaemon would mount and depart first, with his great beast of a dragon launching itself from the stony precipice of the mountainside into the frigid night air with some effort. The Sheepstealer had followed, its lanky form clearly sore from the weeks it had spent within the cave system. Whilst the clansmen had brought it goats and other mountain creatures, it had not needed to rouse itself to hunt.

The second great surprise of their departure was the absolute unwillingness of Nettles' attendants to allow her to depart without them. There were seven men in total, of ages varying from thirteen to nine and forty name days, each bearing hideous burn scars and desperately loyal to their digdi, or wise woman. The clansmen of the Vale of Arryn had long-standing traditions of loyalty to women of ancient and unseen powers. Gaemon had recalled from his time in the library at The Gates of the Moon that many of the line of House Upcliff had once claimed such abilities.They commanded hosts of devotees when the calls to war echoed amongst the mountains, long before the light of the Seven had ever shown upon them.

Nettles' followers' stubbornness had forced her to reconsider leaving without them, and Gaemon knew that they had won her over after she admitted "a passing fondness" for them with a wry gap-toothed grin. It was thus decided that they would be allowed to mount each dragon, which Gaemon managed only with some difficulty, forcing the Cannibal to accept these new passengers with much cajoling. Gaemon agreed to take four men, whilst Nettles would take the remaining three. The dragons were large enough to bear them, if not without considerable complaint. They had departed quickly, having few belongings to bring with them, soaring into the winter sky with the moon shining brightly upon them, with the roars of dragons and the wild and joyous whooping of clansmen to announce their coming.

They had chosen to rest upon a high peak capped with thick snows, and their companions had shown them how to craft a sleeping structure of packed snow and ice. The oldest among them, Arnulf, who had lost half his face to dragonflame (including an eye and ear) insisted that they do so quickly, in order to ward off the freezing winds. It had taken time, and the exertion had made Gaemon weak from the effort. Lakki, the young boy, had explained that the air this high was thin, and that the clans had long been taught to caution against climbing too high, for fear that they might lose consciousness and plummet hundreds of feet to their death. A most pleasant thought, Gaemon had thought with a smirk, as he wrapped himself in his furs and fell fast asleep in their icy hovel.

Rough hands awoke him at sunrise. Finding that he was the last to awaken, Gaemon stood and joined the others atop the peak to watch the first rays of light shine forth from behind the mountains to the east. He wondered for a moment, if they were the first nine people to ever see the sunrise from this mountaintop, for it was entirely too steep to be climbed. We likely are, he thought with a smile. In all of its untold years of existence, these stones have never had human eyes to share in their glorious view. As the rays of light shone forth more strongly, even the dragons reacted positively to their presence, shaking the melting ice from their steaming scales and arching to allow the sun to warm their lengthy forms. He crossed the distance to his friend quickly.

She grinned as a gust of freezing wind blew her unruly curls about. "How's that for a view, Ser Gaemon? These mountains are good for something beyond freezing your arse off."

He smiled. "I suppose it is so. I was just thinking… our little group might be the first souls to see the sun rise from the peak."

Nettles shrugged. "I'd wager some goats made it here first."

Chuckling, he amended his statement. "The first menfolk, then."

"Aye, that seems likely."

"We are fortunate, then." He turned to face the horizon once more. "I have been thinking… it would be wise, I think, to visit the Lady of the Vale before departing. Jeyne Arryn has been ill, and it would be best to pay our respects instead of ignoring her altogether. It will also give us an opportunity to announce your return before making for the capital. I am certain the Lord Hand would appreciate time to prepare for your arrival."

"Do you think he will throw a feast in my honor?"

Gaemon snorted. "Mayhaps. It is more likely he will be considering a match between you and his second grandson. Or perhaps offering your hand to a house whose favor he wishes to court."

Her silence drew his attention. When she spoke, the humor was gone from her voice. "You know that I won't, don't you, Gaemon?"

He shrugged. "I did not ask you to return just to cast you adrift in Corlys Velaryon's schemes. You will chart your own course, as you always have. If you do not wish to marry, I'll support you. We urchins must look out for one another."

That seemed to satisfy her. "Then let us go to see this Lady Arryn, then. I would kill for something to eat other than roast goat."

Gaemon cast his eyes about, but it seemed the clansmen had decided not to pay any heed to her words. That is fortunate. I would not want to insult their favorite dish right before seating them behind us.

The Gates of the Moon were just as stout as Gaemon remembered them, and House Arryn's banners rippled in the wind as they approached, their falcons appearing to be in flight. Men scrambled on the walls, and horns sounded, signaling the garrison at the approach of not one, but two dragons. As the cacophony sounded below them, the Cannibal and Sheepstealer roared in response, their challenges echoing around the mountains, their echoes sounding ghostlike in response. Both dragons alighted in the rough terrain outside the castle itself, with grizzled men-at-arms watching them warily from the redoubts in the distance. Gaemon dismounted, and the clansmen on both dragons followed suit, looking ill-at-ease with their surroundings. They are further from home than they have ever been… I wonder if they are now questioning their decision to come along. When he eyed the hideous burns that scarred them, however, Gaemon knew he was wrong to question them. Those men will follow their fire witch to the ends of the earth. Cregorn, the largest of them, helped Nettles to dismount, her black chainmail jingling as she landed upon the earth.

The gates of the fortress were suddenly thrown open, and a party of knights rode forth. Some wore the household blues of the Arryns, but the majority were cloaked in the whites and reds of the Redforts. At their head was a sturdy man with the Redfort's castle emblazoned upon his chest. He urged his horse to come to a stop halfway between the gates and the dragons, eyeing them warily as they each hissed at his approach, a grating and terrifying noise. Gaemon eyed Nettles before approaching, taking care to draw himself to his full height. He was puzzled- while Jeyne Arryn had not been their firmest ally, she had still lent aid in her own way. He could not understand why the situation felt so tense.

At his approach, the Redfort knight skillfully dismounted, absentmindedly fiddling with the fastments of his gauntlets. Gaemon nodded to him in greeting at the conclusion of his approach, eyeing the knights that remained mounted around him, their hands seemingly grafted to the hilts of their swords.

"Well met, Ser. I confess that I have not made your acquaintance previously. I have come to pay my respects to the Lady Jeyne, of House Arryn, alongside my newly returned companion, the Lady Nettles."

At the mention of his liege, the knight scowled. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke. "You have been gone overlong, my Lord Waters. The Lady Jeyne Arryn is dead, taken too soon by a sickness of the lungs. All true men acclaim Joffrey Arryn, her chosen heir, as the new Lord of the Vale of Arryn."

Gaemon took a half step backwards. "My… condolences Ser. I had heard the Lady had taken ill, but had no idea that the illness was so dire." All true men? He frowned. So the succession has gone the way of Rhaena's fears. It will not go uncontested. He found himself wondering if Eldric Arryn's recent disappearance was far more calculated than a simple bid for freedom. Unwilling to allow the silence to continue unabated, he spoke once more. "Are things well in the Vale? You seem ill-at-ease, Ser."

"My Lord, it is not my place to say. If you would follow me, Lady Jessamyn would have words with you."

Gaemon nodded, acquiescing. He turned to face Nettles, but she shook her head. An unspoken understanding passed between them. She would await him outside.

He allowed himself to be guided back into the fortress, through yards full of armed men. Everywhere he looked, blades were being sharpened, fletchers fashioned arrows, and smiths beat metal into rings for mail. Large groups of men, many who appeared to have just been ordered in from the villages that dotted the valley below, were being forced to march in unison and fight with spears. Knights paced amongst the rows of smallfolk, shouting instructions. The Vale prepares for war. All about, Gaemon saw Arryn banners joined by those of the Redforts. Lady Jessamyn remains as devoted to her Lady in death as she was in life. Looming above it all, the Eyrie perched atop the Giant's Lance, seemingly aloof from the mud, blood, and sweat below.

His escorts dismounted before the doors of the great hall, guiding him through its corridors and into the very chamber where he had once first petitioned the Lady Jeyne. Members of the Vale's nobility paced about, but he saw that many of the symbols upon their breasts were that of lesser knightly houses sworn directly to the Arryns. It seems few of the Vale's great houses remain in attendance. He was marched directly to the chambers of Jeyne Arryn, where he had once sat and with Rhaena's help convinced her to allow some of her sworn swords to march to war. When he entered for the second time, however, the Lady of the Vale was nowhere to be found. Instead, her once mischievous friend stood alone and forlorn, watching over a fireplace whose embers were rapidly beginning to cool.

The doors of the chamber were pulled shut behind them, to ward off the wandering ears of the court. He instinctively began to kneel, but managed to stop himself. As odd as it feels, I am now a peer of the Lady before me. I need not kneel before any but the King. Instead, he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"My Lady, it is good to meet with you once more. I only wish that our meeting could be in happier circumstances."

Jessamyn Redfort turned, her face drawn and aged since he had last seen her. There was a hardness to her eyes as well, a cold veneer that had not been present before.

"Would that it were possible, my Lord. Were circumstances not so dire, my lack of proper courtesies would be inexcusable. As it stands, however… The Vale is on the precipice of a bloodletting that has not been seen since the days of Jonos the Kinslayer."

Gaemon ran a hand along his jaw. "I assume that Eldric Arryn has resurfaced since his disappearance?"

Jessamyn scowled. "That boy is a pestilence. He emerged before my Lady's body had even grown cold! And to make matters worse, his mother's family has called their banners in order to defend his father's rights. I may still have Arnold Arryn in chains, but the son is by far the more dangerous of the two. House Royce is a formidable enemy, and Jeyne's lords never looked with kindness upon her attempts to replace her uncle with her favored kin in the line of succession." She paused, drumming her fingertips upon an engraved table. "Even now, House Templeton has declared for Arnold Arryn, and the Coldwaters and Tolletts are causing trouble on behalf of their masters."

"Surely Lady Jeyne's leal lords can address the threat."

Jessamyn nodded. "Lord Lynderly has mustered his forces to besiege Coldwater Burn, and Lord Waynwood has marched with my cousins to block the high road from Runestone. Lord Joffrey has departed from the Bloody Gate to meet them. They were to await Ser Corwyn Corbray's return from negotiations, but any chance at peace was scattered to the winds when he was laid low by brigands under Runestone's employ."

He exhaled in shock. "Ser Corwyn has been attacked? My Lady, that makes little sense. What would Eldric Arryn have to gain from his death? He did not seem the sort to work through bandits and catspaws."

Jessamyn's eyes narrowed. "You seem quite familiar with his predispositions for a man that spent little and less time with him."

"The Lady Rhaena was kind enough to school me in the intricacies of the Vale's court when I last visited."

She studied him closely, before waving her hand as if to dismiss the matter. "Nonetheless, Ser Corwyn remains confined in the Maester's chambers here, and the Lady Rhaena has not left his side since. She believes naught but Eldric could have been responsible."

Gaemon was stunned. "I served with Willam Royce during the war. He was as honorable a knight as I've known. I cannot see him approving of such an act."

Jessamyn scoffed. "For many, kin comes before honor. And Willam Royce has not been the same since his injuries in the Riverlands. He may once have had the strength to forge his own path, but now it seems he simply obeys the commands of his Lord grandfather. Gunthor Royce is not above using any means necessary to place his grandson upon the Arryn's high seat."

"What if we were to use another trusted intermediary? I once counted Ser Isembard Arryn amongst my most trusted co-commanders during the march from Harrenhal. Could he not go forth from Gulltown to treat with Eldric? Perhaps he could make the Royces see reason."

The Lady opposite raised an eyebrow. "Isembard Arryn's eldest daughter is married to Lord Brynden Grafton, and ships laden with heavily armed men from Braavos and Pentos have been seen sailing into Gulltown's harbor for a moon. I am certain that Isembard wishes to make the most of this situation, and he may not even be above attempting to seize the Vale for himself should the opportunity arise." She finally sat in a tall armchair, leaning her head back as she closed her eyes. "The eyes of the Vale are upon us. If we cannot resolve this matter soon, the undeclared houses will begin to take sides. And whilst the Egens and Hunters can be relied upon, the Melcolms and Belmores are a source of concern."

If the Regency's representative has been felled, perhaps it is time for another to take his place. An outsider, who can arbitrate with the Crown's interests in mind. Gaemon's eyes narrowed.

"My Lady, as a reward for my services to the Crown during the war, I was named a Constable of the Realm. If Ser Corwyn is unable to treat with the rebels, perhaps I can go in his stead. I am familiar with the parties involved, and dragons have had a… calming effect on truculent lords in the past."

Jessamyn Redfort eyed him cautiously. "Lord Waters, if you go, I cannot guarantee your safety. A member of the King's Regency itself has already been attacked, and he was one of the Vale's own most respected knights."

Gaemon smiled, trying to look more confident than he felt. "Nonetheless, I must away to Runestone. I cannot in good faith allow open warfare to break out if it is in my power to prevent it."

His host smiled, faintly. "Then go, my Lord, and see what might be done. Go and see justice done for my Lady."

The maester's quarters were adjacent to the very library where Gaemon had spent his days previously. They smelled of candle wax, herbal poultices, and lye. He entered quietly, not wishing to disturb any within. Finding the girl he sought, he quietly pulled a chair to sit upon a few feet away, watching her quietly place a cool cloth upon the head of her Corbray knight. Ser Corwyn had grown a disconcerting shade of gray, his ashen skin only interrupted by heavy bandaging wrapped about his neck, as well as bindings that were tied about his right leg.

When Rhaena Targaryen spoke, the exhaustion was clear in her voice. "He broke his leg after falling from his horse. The arrow that unseated him nearly killed him." She sighed, then whispered: "He was by no means wearing his full armor, as he expected this to be a diplomatic visitation." Vitriol poured forth palpably from her lips.

Gaemon sat quietly for a moment, before responding simply. "Do you think it was Eldric?"

Rhaena turned to face him, her lilac eyes blazing. "He has not denied it."

He frowned. "That is not an admission of guilt. He may not even know this has occurred."

"He has wanted war since his father was thrown into the Sky Cells. There is little he would not do to avenge those slights."

"I do not doubt it. But what does he stand to gain by waylaying Ser Corwyn on the road? If anything, this has only increased the likelihood of war."

Rhaena's eyes searched his face. "You believe someone else responsible?"

"I am not certain what I believe, as of yet. But you must be aware that there are many who would gladly see the Vale tear itself to pieces. So far it has been a stalwart supporter of your brother's rights."

"If what you are suggesting is true, then we must tread even more carefully. The Royces are a proud folk, and will not take kindly to being accused of treachery. Especially not by a natural son of the Rogue Prince. Lord Gunthor still mourns the Lady Rhea."

Gaemon chuckled mirthlessly. "I certainly am not the best candidate for a diplomat, especially in this instance."

"It is better you go than I. Were I in possession of a dragon large enough, I would just as likely raze Runestone as treat with Lord Gunthor and his ilk."

"Father would be so proud."

She smiled, coldly. "I always did love to please him."

Standing, he shook his head, as if to cajole her. "With you in this state, it is certainly better that I go." Bowing, he made to leave.

Before he could do so, Rhaena took his hands tightly into her own. "Gaemon, please ensure that those responsible pay for their misdeeds."

"At your command, my Lady."

He found his uncouth companion awaiting him where he had left her.

"Seven hells, Gaemon. I thought you were here to pay your respects, not spend an entire day chatting away with those pompous arses."

"Charming as ever. Unfortunately, Lady Jeyne has given up her ghost. It appears we have found ourselves in the midst of a succession crisis."

Nettles whistled through her teeth. "Aye, that seems to be just about my luck. Soon half the Vale will be claiming that the ugly harlot with Lord Waters brings misfortune wherever she goes." She scoffed.

Gaemon placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we shall simply have to prove them wrong, won't we?"

She nodded, tiredly. "Aye, mayhaps we must. But this is exactly the sort of horseshit I had hoped to avoid."

Gaemon frowned, but it faded as an idea came to his mind. "Have I ever told you about all you accomplished the day you arrived?"

Brown eyes stared back at him, inquisitively.

"Maegor had refused to stir from his quarters for weeks since he had lost his father and brothers to the Sheepstealer, 'cept to steal food away from the larder when he could not bear his hunger, or to go for long walks outside the citadel alone to nurse his grief. The day you arrived, I had not initially believed him to have stirred to watch you land." Gaemon smiled. "But I later learned that I was wrong. Unbeknownst to most, Maegor did watch you land, although he later confessed he planned to despise whoever climbed off of that ugly dragon of yours. He told me that he was prepared to duel whoever would claim the Sheepstealer and thus sully the memory of his father and brothers." The wind blew cold as he spoke, but the fondest part of the memory kept the chill at bay. "Instead, he was so stunned as you dismounted that he fled, guilty that he could begrudge someone for taming the dragon, that it might be taught to never kill unprovoked again. He told me as he watched you that day that it was the first time he had begun to feel an ounce of peace since he lost his kin. In some ways, he felt as though they could rest easier knowing that someone had succeeded where they had failed… someone who was of the same isles… someone who worked the same earth, and had the same salt in their hair."

Nettles remained silent, as did her companions, who had gathered around them.

Gaemon took her by the shoulder, causing her to meet his eyes. "It is easy to believe you are despised, especially as our former Queen treated you so ill. But for every lordling who may wish you ill out of envy, or every former enemy who believes you a woman of low birth and lower esteem, there are many who will see you as a symbol, a symbol of something powerful."

The girl before him coughed, lowering her eyes and scrubbing at them aggressively with her sleeve. Spitting into the earth, she returned his gaze again, her eyes bloodshot but determined.

"Let's go stop a war, Gaemon."