Chapter 3: The Old Falcon's Song
(Jon Arryn POV)
Jon was jolted awake by the sound of terrified screams emanating from Hugh's chamber down the hall. Throwing off his bedcovers, he rushed from his room, wooden door banging against the stone wall as he flung it open.
He found Hugh thrashing in his bed, blankets twisted around his small frame, face contorted in an expression of sheer horror. "Stranger! Stranger!" the boy cried out, voice thick with dread.
Moving quickly to the bedside, Jon grabbed Hugh's shoulders and gave him a firm shake. "Hugh! Wake up, lad, you're only dreaming!" When the screaming persisted, Jon enveloped the trembling child in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth.
On instinct, he began to hum a soothing melody his own mother had sung to him as a babe - a lullaby about brave knights vanquishing dread beasts to protect the innocent.
In the Vale's embrace, where shadows dance,
Underneath the moon's gentle glance,
Close your eyes, little one, take a chance,
On dreams of dragons and knights in a trance.
Rest now, young falcon, on feathers light,
In the Vale's cradle, where stars ignite,
May your dreams take flight in the night,
In the Vale's whispers, find your might.
As the notes washed over Hugh, Jon felt the rigidity slowly leave the boy's body until he lay quiescent once more, features finally relaxed in repose.
With a weary sigh of relief, Jon extricated himself, draping the covers back over Hugh before retreating to the door. He paused in the entranceway, looking back at his nephew's sleeping form with a pang of sorrow. So much responsibility already weighing upon those young shoulders. Shaking his head, Jon pulled the door closed and headed back down the corridor to his own bed, the remnants of the lullaby still drifting from his lips like a whispered prayer.
Later that day, Jon found Hugh honing his archery skills in the practice yard alongside Ysilla and Waymar Royce. The two younger Royces offered pointers and encouragement as Hugh nocked arrow after arrow on his weirwood bow, his form improving with each successive shot.
"You're developing a good eye," Waymar praised as Hugh's latest shaft struck mere inches from the bullseye.
Ysilla giggled and batted her eyelashes at the blonde-haired boy. "Soon you'll be putting my brother to shame with that bow of yours."
Hugh ducked his head shyly but couldn't hide the pleased grin crossing his features at her teasing flirtation. Jon chuckled to himself, recalling his own adolescent dalliances. He made a mental note to ask Yohn about the appropriateness of such interactions when he next saw the Royce patriarch.
Speaking of which, Jon spied the grizzled lord striding towards him from across the yard, Andar at his side. Bidding the trio of youths farewell with a wave, he moved to greet his old friend.
"Jon," Yohn inclined his head respectfully. "I trust Runestone's hospitality has been to your liking?"
"Indeed it has," Jon assured him. "I'm sure Hugh will be quite enamored with the armor you've had forged for him." His expression turned somber. "Though I'm afraid he suffered from night terrors last evening. The poor lad was in the throes of some horrific vision, crying out about 'the Stranger' repeatedly."
Yohn's craggy features creased with concern. "The Stranger? You don't suppose..."
Jon waved a dismissive hand. "Just a bad dream, I'm sure. The boy has been through an awful lot of upheaval these past few moons. Once he's older and able to process it all, the nightmares will likely cease."
"For his sake, I certainly hope so," Yohn rumbled. They watched in contemplative silence for a time as Hugh, Ysilla and Waymar continued trading barbed rejoinders and raucous laughter between archery bouts.
"It gladdens my heart to see them getting on so well," Yohn admitted wistfully. "Almost makes me wish...No, it's a foolish notion." He shook his grizzled head.
"What notion is that?" Jon prompted gently.
The bronzed lord was quiet for a moment before responding. "Just an old man's fancy. When I look at Hugh… I see Elbert reborn, plain as day."
Jon's heart twinged with sympathy for his friend's grief. Reaching out, he clasped Yohn's shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort and understanding.
"I oft wonder about Ysilla," Yohn continued after a steadying intake of breath.
"What sort of husband could I hope for her to take? Oh, she'll no doubt wed eventually - to whichever young lordling's suit her dowry proves most appealing." A derisive snort. "But she deserves a match born of love and devotion, like what her mother and I once shared."
His eyes drifted back towards Hugh and the warmth seemed to return to his features. "You can see it in the way she looks at the boy. Would that I were a braver man and damn the consequences of their disparate births."
Jon followed his friend's gaze, watching as Hugh jested with Ysilla, all easy camaraderie and youthful affection. A bittersweet pang tugged at his heart - such innocent intimacies were often fleeting in the lives of the highborn.
"Fate has dealt your family a difficult hand as of late," he said consolingly. "But take heart, my friend. I have a sense that great happiness still awaits you and yours in the days ahead. We simply must weather the coming storms first."
Yohn regarded him sidelong, silvery brow arched quizzically. But before he could respond, their reverie was interrupted by the ringing of smithy bells from the castle forge. A sudden disturbance erupted from the entrance to the armory as a hulking, broad-shouldered figure lumbered forth. Clutched in one massive, soot-stained hand was a hammer large enough to rival one of Robert's.
The giant of a man locked eyes with Jon from across the yard. Then, with an inhumanly powerful swing of his arm, he sent the hammer arcing high in a blinding steel-on-steel screech. It seemed to almost hang weightless in the air for one interminable instant before plunging back towards the earth in a blazing descent.
Yet just when it appeared the great forge-tool would crash into the ground with catastrophic force, it...stopped. Suspended a mere foot above the hard-packed dirt, defying all sense and gravity. The hammer hung there, unmoving, until its thrower released whatever mystical force had arrested its momentum. Then it dropped harmlessly into the dust, kicking up a small plume that dissipated just as quickly.
Watching this bizarre, impossible display with utterly dumbfounded expressions, neither Jon nor Yohn could find their voices for a long moment. The giant smithy, meanwhile, regarded them impassively before reaching into the pouch at his belt. He withdrew a small iron talisman in the shape of a hammer and tossed it underhand in their direction.
The necklace sailed through the air, arcing directly towards Jon, who snatched it reflexively from its path. As his fingers closed around the sculpted metal, an intense burn seared his palm, forcing him to open his hand with a sharp hiss of pain. The talisman clattered to the ground, leaving an angry red weal in the shape of the hammer's head across his skin.
When Jon looked up again, the towering smith was nowhere to be seen, having seemingly vanished back into the armory from whence he came as inexplicably as he had emerged. Gingerly, Jon reached down and retrieved the necklace, studying the intricate etchings and patterns decorating it.
"What in the name of the seven hells was that about?" Yohn muttered, looking utterly confounded.
Jon simply shook his head slowly, unable to offer any sort of explanation for what had just transpired. "I have not the faintest idea, old friend. But I suspect we'd both do well to keep what we just witnessed to ourselves for the time being."
With great reluctance, he tucked the hammer talisman into a pocket.
A short time later, Jon ushered his nephew into the sweltering heat of Runestone's forge. Inside, the air was thick with the acrid scents of coal smoke and scorched metal. A pair of soot-stained armorers had just completed the final touches on a magnificent suit of silvered steel plate. Jon's eyes widened appreciatively at the craftsmen's handiwork.
The entire suit was covered in intricate runes and sigils of warding - the same patterns that had protected Yohn Royce during his storied exploits in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Bronze filigree in the shape of sinuous vines and crescent moons were embossed over every segment, creating a mesmerizing dappled effect.
The helmet was surely the most distinctive aspect, with a visor shaped like a falcon's beak and small wings made of blue feathers erupting from either temple. The breastplate likewise featured a pair of raised bronze wings arching across the back.
"By the Seven..." Hugh breathed in awe, running reverent fingers over the cool metal. "This is for me?"
Jon smiled and clapped the boy's shoulder. "Indeed it is, though you'll need to grow into it some before it fits properly. But I thought you might want to see the master armorers' fruits of their labors first."
Hugh turned shining eyes up at his uncle, an awed grin stretching his face. "It's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. I shall need to thank Lord Royce immensely for such a gift."
As if on cue, the runes etched into the breastplate flared briefly with a faint blue luminescence before fading once more. Both males started at the phenomenon.
"Did you see that?" Hugh asked, wonder in his tone.
Jon nodded slowly. "Aye, I did. The runes seem to hold some sort of...enchantment."
His gaze swept the interior of the forge, almost expecting the hulking, mysterious blacksmith from earlier to materialize. But the cavernous room was empty save for the two journeymen armorers who had returned to their work.
"I was rather hoping to encounter that mammoth of a man again," Jon murmured, mostly to himself.
From the pouch on his robe, he withdrew the iron hammer pendant, holding it up so the intricate etchings glinted in the forge's orange glow. Even in the stifling heat, Jon couldn't help but shiver - there was an undeniable aura of power surrounding the innocuous-looking necklace.
Jon stopped just before reaching the exit of the forge. Turning to face Hugh.
"Here, lad. I want you to have this," he said solemnly. "Consider it a gift, of sorts."
Hugh's brow furrowed quizzically as he reached out to accept the necklace. "What is it, Uncle? It feels...warm to the touch."
"I'm not entirely certain," Jon admitted with a shake of his head. "It was given to me by a rather unusual craftsman lurking in this very castle. A man of prodigious size and evident skill at working the steel."
He watched Hugh turn the talisman over in his hands, running his fingers along the raised etchings and designs decorated its surface. The runes briefly flashed with that same faint blue glow from before, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from the boy.
"You saw him too, then?" Hugh asked, looking back up at Jon. "The giant smithy?"
Jon gave a somber nod. "Aye, though he did not introduce himself nor explain his reasons for offering me that pendant. All I know is that it radiates with some sort of...power. Perhaps even magic, though I'm loathe to entertain such fanciful notions normally."
"You think I should keep it?" Hugh pressed. "That it may be important, somehow?"
Resting a hand on his nephew's shoulder, Jon smiled down at him. "I'm not sure of anything regarding that talisman's mysteries. But I DO know that you are meant for great things in this world, lad. If anyone is worthy of unraveling its secrets, it's you."
Hugh seemed to consider his words carefully for a moment before reaching up to secure the necklace around his neck. As the metal settled against his chest, a look of determination set his youthful features.
"Very well, I shall endeavor to do just that, Uncle," he stated with all the solemn conviction a boy of nine years could muster. "This gift shall not go to waste, you have my word."
Jon felt an unreserved surge of pride watching the solid resolution harden Hugh's expression into that of a man decades beyond his years. With a squeeze of his shoulder, he guided them back towards the exit.
As the pair strode from the sweltering confines of the forge, Jon couldn't help but steal one last look over his shoulder.
The rest of their stay at Runestone passed uneventfully, Hugh continuing to ingratiate himself to the Royce household with his earnest charm and insatiable curiosity, much to Jon's pride. He found himself marveling at how naturally the boy had adapted to his new identity and station. One would never guess he had originated from a completely divergent reality altogether.
In their spare moments between Hugh's page duties, Jon ensured they got some quality time alone, taking the lad fishing in the streams or joining him and the Royce boy for a friendly game of cyvasse.