Chapter 1

The Spare

The Giant's Lance

Rime clung to every surface of Roland Royce's body as his ice axe bit into the serac he needed to traverse. Icicles grew from his lashes threatening to seal his eyes shut if the upper and lower lashes ever met for long enough. The insides of his nose had frozen painfully and he could feel frostbite beginning to take hold on his ears. None of this deterred him from his ascent. The pain could be worked through and the frostbite wouldn't matter if he slipped and fell kilometers into the abyss of the deepest valley in the Vale. Nor would the frostbite matter if he sunk his axe into the wrong place and broke off the entire face of the serac. The summit was in sight and he was committed now. Time was of the essence, the weather was turning quickly. Dark clouds threatened overhead and the wind cut deeper and deeper into his bones with every minute. Without a secure anchor and rope a descent would be far more perilous than if he kept moving forward. He managed a weak smile for the briefest of moments as the ice sung from his axe, he had volunteered to go first, he had asked for this after all.

Roland Royce always volunteered to go first, in the hunt, in competitions and most dangerously in mountain climbing. The fourth son of a noble family needed to be nothing less than suicidally brave or historically accomplished to be noticed by one's parents and without a war worthy of songs he had found his dragon to slay. The Giant's Lance was the largest mountain in Westeros, it loomed over 5 kilometers over the valley floor and the Eyrie, fortress of the Lords of the Vale spent many hours of the day in its shadow. Roland and his team of 30 hand picked men had been assaulting the summit from the east for nearly three weeks now. Establishing base camps to acclimate and rest, methodically deconstructing every glacier and crevasse and relaying supplies higher and higher for the final attempt on the summit. Nobody had died yet, that was a miracle from the Seven Above, it was grim business and every one of the team had lost a teammate on previous climbs and everyone expected the injuries to continue to get worse.

Suicidal bravery was not in short supply among the team on the Giant's Lance but it was more than that. The mountain climbing community was small and almost exclusively among Valemen of means. Each and every one of them had felt the calling though. The call of the First Men or the Seven or whatever other higher power that drove them to the mountain top. It was the same call Roland felt deeply in his soul when he had committed to being the first to summit the Giant's Lance. It was the same burning he felt drive heat into his freezing limbs so he could drive his fingers into another crevice. Finally he reached the end of the serac. The shelf he needed to reach was just beyond the reach of his fingers perhaps another quarter meter, the only problem was that it formed an overhang, that required technical climbing he didn't have time for. A violent gust of wind almost ripped him off the face of the mountain just as he reached out for safety. Roland clung desperately to the ice, adrenaline spiking through his veins until the wind died down. He needed a secure spot to rest, and so did his climbers, this had to end now. Gathering all his remaining strength, he jumped. He had judged the distance right and hooked his axe. Roland reached up with his free hand and pulled himself to the overhang as his muscles screamed at him.

For the briefest moment he simply laid on the shelf catching his breath and staring at the black clouds above him as the adrenaline receded and fatigue overcame him. He shook himself, there was still work to be done. He found a boulder and began tying off the coil of thick rope he had carried on his back. He lowered the coil down the serac so that climbers further down could secure it and use it to transport their equipment and themselves to safety.

First up the rope behind was Arnold Coldwater, another spare son and Roland's lifelong friend. "The Giant wants to shake us of his lance!" Arnold said as thunder began to echo across the Vale. Roland nodded his agreement but a response was cut off by thunder so close it rattled his teeth. With desperate urgency they began to assemble the 6 person tent that Arnold had brought up for shelter. The next two climbers began assembling a cooking tent. Over the next hour 3 more tents were brought up as well as bags of food and skins of wine and water. Bedrolls and fur blankets and everything else the climbers needed to survive the night was belayed by rope the nearly 200 meters between the previous camp where half of the climbers would stay the night and camp they were establishing on the shelf. All the while the Giant's Lance shook and shivered under the might of a blizzard.

The night was deadly. No amount of furs could stave off the cold and they could not maintain even the smallest fire to heat wine. The food was frozen and inedible as was the water. They shook and shivered and clung to each other as frostbite took hold on their bodies. One man, an experienced hand from a village near the Moon Gate froze to death in the night. By the time the storm passed it was near mid-day, only then could they start a fire to rescue their limbs from amputation and feed themselves. Roland remained determined to reach the summit but he was falling to sickness same as near every other climber. The mountaineers stayed in place for another day nursing their wounds but the general condition of the group only deteriorated.

They had gotten so close, the peak was within sight, but the Giant had won again. Roland was heartbroken as he ordered the descent. With reverence they began the process of lowering the body of their fallen comrade with ropes between each of the base camps. Every step of the way the peak loomed over them. The cruel tip of the Giant's Lance etched itself into Roland's mind. It had been insane to even try, no other had ever gotten as close as they had and yet he could not shake the sorrow in his heart. On the third day of the descent as he stood on belay lowering the body of his fellow climber he had a moment where it struck him that he was more upset about his failure to conquer the peak than he was about the death of his comrade. He knew that was immoral, he knew the Seven were judging him harshly for feeling that way and yet he could not change the way he felt even as the frozen corpse reached him. That stung in a way he could not process and the thought haunted him the entire way down to the Gate of the Moon.

The Gate of the Moon was the eternal sentinel of the Eyrie, that it was possessed and guarded by Roland's Uncle Nestor Royce was a mark of how much the Arryn's trusted the second house of the Vale. Once upon a time Roland had dreamed that he might rise to take his Uncle's place. Those days were long past. He was old enough to understand that if anyone would take possession of the Gate of the Moon it would be his older brother Robar. That brought no shortage of bitter thoughts to Roland's mind.

Uncle Nestor met the group of climbers as they entered the Gate of the Moon. "Tell me my boy, tell me of your climb!" he said boisterously while swinging his arm around Roland's shoulder and guiding him away from the rest of the group.

"We almost made it Uncle. We couldn't have been more the 300 meters from the top." Pride mixed with exhaustion filled Roland's voice. "But we got caught in that storm a few days ago. We lost a man." Roland paused to reflect on his feelings about that death. "We wanted to push on, make it to the peak and declare victory in his name, make his sacrifice worth it. But we were too sick, the storm gutted us. It took days to make our retreat down the mountain."

"You made the right choice" Nestor said as he led Roland into a guest room where a warm bed, hot soup and the Maester were waiting for him. He stood back to let the Maester fuss over Roland and begin treating his cold weather injuries and ailments. "Honor could have compelled you to push on to the top regardless of the casualties, it could have compelled you to leave your corpse on the peak as an eternal frozen reminder of your achievements." A knowing look on Nestor's face told Roland there was no use pretending he hadn't considered it. "It takes an intelligent man to understand that honor is found in the ultimate victory. And sometimes a temporary retreat to rest your troops and prepare for another attempt is more effective than a final throw of the dice, even if it stings in the moment." He paused for a moment as old memories flashed across his face. "I know a wounded pride hurts more than most physical injuries. Whatever your father or brothers may say, I am proud of you for taking the path you did."

Roland choked down a spoonful of some foul potion the Maester insisted on feeding him. "Thankfully I won't have to listen to what Father or Robar or Andar think for a while. I have no intention of returning to Runestone this year. Or any year really if I can help it."

Nestor's face darkened "Your father is here, as is Robar. Or they are at the Eyrie rather. I am to send you up to them as soon as you are fit for the journey."

That was a deeply unpleasant surprise. "Why in the name of the Seven are they here?!"

Nestor's expression grew even more grim. "Lord Arryn has died, a sudden illness. All the Lords of the Vale have been summoned by Lady Arryn."

Despite the firm hand of the Maester trying to force him to lay down Roland staggered up to his uncle. "I was only gone for a month, and all this happened, he seemed in perfect health last time he visited his holdings."

"He was very old" Nestor explained.

"Lord Arryn has been old since before the word was invented. That never interfered with his health before."

"Roland, I heard the descriptions of his last days. It was some sort of terrible ailment in his stomach and a violent fever. It happens sometimes, you have seen sickness strike a man down before."

Memories of his five-year-old sister and his mother being burned on a pyre because they could not risk burying their pox ridden bodies and spreading the disease twisted through Roland like a jagged knife. "Aye, I have." He said quietly.

Nestor nodded, "As soon as you are fit, we will send you up to the Eyrie. Some of the lords are still arriving so do not push yourself too hard." With that he left to let the Maester tend to Roland.

The Eyrie

Three days later Roland and Arnold Coldwater were sharing a terrifying basket ride from Sky gate up to the Eyrie itself. Nestor had insisted that they spare their bodies the climb and ride with the supplies being ferried up to the fortress. Never again Roland swore to himself as the gondola swung back and forth in the wind. He would rather make the jump up to the ledge on the Giant's Lance a hundred times again than sit helpless in the void like this. It did not help that Arnold insisted on standing on his tip toes to look over the edge for a better look. "I am telling you! This is what it must feel like to be a bird!"

"Just don't start flapping your wings you idiot." Roland said trying to cover up his nervousness with humor. "I don't need you flying away into that abyss". There was a clear tremor he could hear in his own voice.

Arnold began flapping madly, his arms waving like the wide wings of an albatross as he mimicked a bird's screech. Another gust tipped the basket just enough to make him lose his footing and with a scream of surprise that sounded very similar to his bird noises he fell into the food that shared the space with them. Onions and radishes spilled from bags onto him drawing a deep belly laugh from Roland. "Why are you so scared?" Arnold asked. He threw a radish playfully at Roland's head. "I saw that ridiculous jump you made on the mountain. I have never seen you like this."

Roland shook his head "On the mountain I am in control. Its my tools, my muscles, my skills and my instincts." He gestured vaguely towards the basket and the sky. "I have never felt this helpless, this out of control." Memories of the smell of a funeral pyre gave him pause. "Not since the pox at any rate. I hate this feeling more than anything in the world. I feel like a helpless child."

That satisfied Arnold and he took it upon himself to distract his friend from the fear by throwing a growing assortment of vegetables at Roland. By the time they reached the Eyrie everything was in order though. No evidence of the vicious food fight remained, no matter how bruised the onions would be when they were finally peeled in the kitchen there would be no effort put into investigating why they were that way.

Instead of being shown to their respective quarters the two young nobles were guided to the high hall where an audience was already being held. Roland spotted his Father on one of the balconies and made his way through the crowd of nobles that had gathered as he heart the trembling voice of Lady Lysa Aryn. "-Our borders are not secure! This must end now!" He could guess a bit as to what he had missed from that much alone. He saw Corbray's, Tollet's, Waynwoods and Redforts. All the major houses had representatives here and a great many of the knightly houses as well. He reached the balcony and made eye contact with his older sister Ysilla. That was reassuring, he could get a few hours of good conversation out of her in between the unpleasantness he knew was coming. "-All enemies of LORD ARYN OF THE VALE!" Lady Aryn screamed that part for emphasis. "All shall break upon our fortress walls, none shall ever climb to see the glory of our kingdom, they shall fall into the valleys of darkness."

Roland took his place next to his sister and hissed to her as discreetly as he could. "Has actually said anything yet?"

Ysilla whispered back conspiratorially. "No, she seems scared but she just keeps repeating over and over again that the whole Vale is sworn to protect the new Lord Aryn. Nothing about what she expects us to protect him from."

Robar, second son of the Royce's interjected from two seats over apparently feeling left out. "All foreign enemies, and those at home. That's what oath's to our liege mean you know."

Roland wanted to punch the smugness out of his brother in front of all the High Lords of the Vale. "Yes I know what oaths fucking mean you idiot." He whispered back far louder and angrier than was needed or polite.

"Enough!" Lord Yohn Royce made a violent gesture with his hands below the railing of the balcony so few could see, his voice could only be called a whisper because of its tone, certainly not because of its volume. "You all know better. Be silent and we will discuss in private." Ysilla giggled while Roland and Robar glowered at each other. They listened for the better part of an hour more to the speech. All the while the young Lord Aryn, a sickly child really, stayed silent in his mothers lap. Little more of substance was said by Lady Aryn but whispers grew even before the end of the speech.

When the audience was dismissed the Royce's retreated to their guest quarters keeping their words to themselves until they were out of earshot. Lord Royce sent a servant to gather wine. All four of them sat at their private dining table as they were served wine and cheese and fruit to eat. Lord Royce looked critically at Roland. "You failed on the Giant's Lance."

Roland had been expecting as much. "Hello to you too father, it is so good to see you in good health. It has been so long. I have been meaning to visit but life has been carrying me further away from home the harder I try to return to Run-"

"Enough Jokes." Lord Royce slammed his fist upon the table. "I have tolerated your dangerous obsession while you have remained unmarried because I thought some measure of glory might help your prospects. No more, it is time for you to be married."

That he had not expected and judging by the looks of his older siblings, neither had they. "I had prospects for marriage, you never thought they were good enough!"

Yohn glowered at the reminder of that history. "None of them were. The Wydman girl was a pauper, from a house of knightly paupers that offered nothing more than her charm!"

Roland threw his arms in the air in exasperation but steeled himself to relitigate the issue. "There was Lady Ruthermont. She had plenty of money and land my children could have inherited. She was eager to marry me."

"You were 15 years old and there was no guarantee she was still young enough to have children."

"Well her 2 children she has had in as many years since then seem to indicate she was still of childbearing age. Don't they father?"

Ever the forgotten middle child, Robar intervened then. "Don't talk to our father that way, have you learned no respect? Have you forgotten it?"

"Have you forgotten that you are not my Father? Nor are you the Lord Royce, you undermine his authority by acting as if you are. Father has beaten plenty of respect into the both of us over the years. He is more than capable of doing it again." Roland was itching to throw the table over onto his brother. Instead he turned back pointedly to his father. "You aren't doing that because that would you and I both know you would be conceding that I am right." His heart stopped realizing he had crossed the line when his brother gasped and his sister groaned in resignation.

Lord Royce paused for too long for anyone to be comfortable. "There is still time for you to join your brother at the Wall. I can tell Waymar his little brother will be joining him. He would love to have family so near. Do you want that?" He did not yell, his voice was dangerously calm and Roland knew instinctively that if pushed his father would carry out the threat. "No?" Roland slumped into his chair and shook his head. "Good then be silent and listen to what I am telling you. We are the second house of the Vale, only the Aryn's and the other six great houses sit above us across all the Seven Kingdoms. Even the fourth son of this house requires the right match, even if it takes time to find. I have erred in looking throughout the Vale for your match, this was a failure and I will correct it as soon as possible." He looked seriously at all his present children. "What did you all hear in the High Hall just now? Tell me you used the brains I gave you!"

Ysilla was the first to answer. "A call to war."

Robar nodded in agreement. "I'll be damned if I know who with though."

That pleased Lord Royce "That isn't clear, yet. But I am glad you see what I see. I don't know what form it will take, but so long as Lady Aryn rules in her grief on behalf of the new Lord Aryn there is trouble on the horizon. That is why I am sending you out of the Vale Roland."

"What?" Roland genuinely didn't know how to react to that news.

"As we speak the King is heading North to Winterfell, he seeks to make Lord Stark the new Hand of the King. There is still time to catch his party on his route. Lord Coldwater needs a wife for his son too. He has agreed to take the two of you into his care to join the King. You will seek a match and Lord Coldwater will represent my consent or lack thereof to the match. Should you fail, he will make you a match. Royce's have rarely left the Vale without good reason so I am not as familiar as I should be with the potential matches you will find. I am trusting you with this. We need our house strong for whatever is to come." Lord Royce's tone left no room for negotiating.

Roland picked up his goblet as the eyes of his family bored into him. He stared into the dark wine within before gulping down all of it even as his throat burned. He slammed the goblet down on the table before looking up at his father. "Well…..shit."