Whether in the sky or on the ground, the sizes of Vermithor and Syrax were incomparable: the young dragoness, a peer of her rider, looked against the background of the seventy-four-year-old Bronze Fury no more than a canary against a vulture, a sort of sunbeam on an unshakable wall. At first in the air she fluttered enthusiastically around her older comrade, banking and tangling under his wings, but then either the dragoness tired herself, or obeyed Vermithor's threatening shout and stopped performing pirouettes, saving strength.
The Giant's Lance and the Eyrie standing upon it, of course, made an impression. A mountain one cannot conquer unless born on it; a castle one cannot take from the ground. However, the Targaryens twice seized the castle and twice no one could hinder them: neither Queen Visenya nor her usurper son met any resistance. And later the Targaryens flew to visit the Arryns, but already as direct suzerains, and after they gave Princess Daella as wife to the Lord Paramount of the Vale, as relatives and honored guests. Rhaenyra was, of course, acquainted with her maternal kin, but until recently remembered them vaguely. However, after swearing fealty to the new-old Prince of Dragonstone, Lady Jeyne Arryn approached her cousin herself and spoke with her, restoring ties.
As far as Aegon knew, they had maintained a correspondence since then. On the one hand, there was nothing in this, an elder cousin may write to a younger relative, and the latter has already fully entered the age when one can conduct one's own correspondence. On the other hand, Lady Jeyne ruled the Vale in her own right, though she had several male relatives, albeit rather distant; considering that the Princess understood her rights had been bypassed, this could become a source fueling the grievances and ambitions of the King's only daughter. The brothers considered the fears justified, and Aegon's participation in the trip acquired a new meaning.
Vermithor, undoubtedly, recognized the places (dragons generally did not complain of memory, as the Prince had already noted) and did not deny himself the pleasure of showing off. The Bronze Fury circled the Arryn stronghold, demonstrating the span of his wings to its inhabitants, and then in a few powerful movements rose above the highest towers of the Eyrie, and even higher, blocking the bright summer sun with himself. Syrax could not compete with him due to her youth, and therefore, roaring resentfully, went for a landing; Vermithor cared not for these squeaks.
Having basked enough in the sunbeams and updrafts, the dragon allowed Aegon to lead him down to the ground, and chose a spot for himself under the castle walls, where, evidently, he had stopped the first time too. Syrax landed in one of the inner courtyards; for now, she could still afford to land in the yard of every castle without fear of destroying it, but the niece ought to be reminded that this would not always be so.
It was not that Aegon was surprised, but the gates of the Eyrie were open, and he was met by guards in blue-and-white Arryn surcoats. Scarce bad he hobbled closer when the guards drew themselves up, as if trying to become taller in accordance with their suzerains' motto and thereby earn honor for themselves. The Prince already expected a repetition of the inhospitable greeting he and Dennis received at Runestone, but instead of another sullen castellan, Lady Jeyne Arryn herself came out to meet them.
The Mistress of the Mountain and Vale had turned twenty-two. Her face bore an expression haughty and proud, as if the entire thousand-year history of the first Andal Kings of Westeros had left its mark on her; at the same time, she could be considered pretty even by Valyrian standards, though there was no Targaryen blood in her: her skin was fair and clear, and her eyes were exactly the same bright blue color as the sky over the Eyrie. Her hair was gathered under a "horned" headdress resembling the crescent moon of the Arryn sigil in shape. Her dress of blue velvet, embroidered with silver falcons, combined most unusually the strictness of the Seven, the luxury inherent in the high nobility, and frankness on the verge of permissible propriety. In short, Lady Jeyne did everything to please the guests.
Rhaenyra, having managed to climb out of the dragon saddle, already took her cousin by the arm quite familiarly and spoke animatedly with her about something of their own, girlish matters; a little distance away stood Ser Criston Cole and the Princess's ladies-in-waiting led by Alicent Hightower, burning a hole in Lady Arryn's back with quick jealous glances, but the latter seemed not to notice this. Whispering something in Rhaenyra's ear, she released her hand, and curtsied before Aegon in a precisely measured reverence:
"Welcome to the Eyrie, Prince Aegon. Be my guest."
"I thank you, My Lady," he bowed in return. "It seems my niece has already begun to bore you?"
"Oh no, we have just begun to talk!" laughed Arryn.
"And here I appeared so inappropriately."
"You said it yourself, My Prince."
"Well, then I am doubly sorry to interrupt your conversation. Rhaenyra, have you unsaddled Syrax already?" Aegon addressed the Princess.
"No, Uncle, but..."
"I do not think there are Dragonkeepers in the Eyrie to whom this can be entrusted."
"But there is your Dennis," Rhaenyra tried to be indignant.
"My Ser Dennis has not been a Dragonkeeper for a long time. Young dragons need space, else they will not grow. Do you want to fly on a little lizard all your life?"
Scarce had the last words flown from his tongue when the mentioned Syrax roared resentfully somewhere behind the walls; the ladies-in-waiting screamed, the guards flinched from unfamiliarity, squatted, someone even dropped a standard from his hands, and was now hurriedly picking it up. To Lady Jeyne's credit, it should be said that she only cast a brief glance over her shoulder, her face changing not a whit. Dennis, who had habitually loomed behind his shoulder until then, coughed delicately:
"If I may, My Prince, I could help Princess Rhaenyra. It is not difficult, there are only three straps..."
"So let her unfasten them herself," cut off Aegon.
Rhaenyra, pouting, turned sharply on her heels, silver braids flew into the air, and the Princess headed toward her dragoness. Aegon silently shook his head, and Dennis, understanding everything, followed, barely concealing a smirk.
"You are a strict uncle," remarked Lady Jeyne mockingly. "With such a one, no septas are needed."
"The septa taught you not to sit at the table disheveled, did she not? It is the same. A dragon is part of a Targaryen, so let her grumble and learn. I cannot increase the number of the Dragonwatch forever."
Lady Arryn did not argue; shrugging slightly, she made an inviting gesture with her hand, letting the guest pass ahead. Passing the niece's retinue, Aegon could not restrain himself and with the most innocent expression inquired of the Kingsguard:
"Ser Criston, I hope the journey passed safely?"
"Yes, My Prince," nodded the White Cloak. "It was calm on the roads."
"And on the roadsides?" clarified the Prince businesslike. Lack of understanding and furious mental work were reflected on Cole's face, but Aegon preferred not to frighten the guard and added graciously. "I jest."
To the surprise of the Targaryens, who assumed they would be given a more modest reception, Lady Jeyne proved a very hospitable hostess: on the very first day a feast was arranged in their honor, servants assigned to them were efficient, courteous, and obliging, Arryn vassals showed a due degree of respect to members of the royal family, and their Lady Suzerain managed not only to become close with Rhaenyra but ultimately to win over her ladies-in-waiting. Aegon himself was granted full access to the library. Moreover, before the feast, the castle castellan, Ser Lucas Lynderly, nephew of the master of Snakewood, approached him; being bald as a stone on the slope of the Giant's Lance and twice the Prince's age, the Ser warned him of the large number of stairs and, somewhat embarrassed, offered him the services of porters.
"Wherefore?" Aegon was surprised.
"The steps are very steep, My Prince," the castellan hesitated. "Many... yes, many use the services of porters. They are strong lads. The chair is very comfortable and there is nothing reprehensible in this..."
Guessing what Lynderly was offering him, Aegon burst out laughing:
"Thank Lady Jeyne for the care, Ser Lucas, but I have no need of this. I may be clubfooted, but I have not yet met stairs I could not overcome."
"Lady Jeyne has heard of your courage and endurance," sighed Ser Lucas. "But she fears our stairs are no match for the stairs of the Red Keep and Dragonstone."
Naturally, he turned out right. Already on the second day of his stay in the Eyrie, it began to seem to Aegon that the castle consisted entirely of stairs alone. However, to remind of the offer meant an admission of capitulation, and this the Prince could not allow himself, therefore, gritting his teeth, he continued to climb from step to step, diligently pretending that his slowness was connected only with the fact that he had absolutely nowhere to hurry.
By a happy coincidence, which could be explained only by the hostess's foresight, the Targaryen guest chambers were located on the floor below the library and Aegon did not have to climb too high. Soon he firmly established himself among the oak shelves, leafing through old Andal chronicles; periodically Rhaenyra joined him, and then they studied the political and religious vicissitudes of the history of the Kingdom of Mountain and Vale together.
Several days after arrival, when Aegon bent over another dusty tome with yellowed pages, its mistress entered the library.
"Have you been told you are a very convenient guest, My Prince?" she inquired.
"A convenient guest?"
"Yes. No need to arrange hunts, tourneys, and feasts for you. You do not spoil wenches, do not torment servants, even consume wine very moderately."
"Did you count my empty bottles?" Aegon raised his brows mockingly.
"I love order, and it is possible only with strict accounting of all expenses," answered Lady Arryn.
"And what of the dragons? They eat much more than we do."
"Syrax eats a sheep a day, and your Bronze Fury—a bull once every two days. Against the background of the whole Eyrie, these are mere crumbs."
"Sounds like an offer to stay as a guest longer," Aegon allowed himself a sly smile.
"You may consider my words such, My Prince," nodded Lady Jeyne.
"In that case, I propose leaving titles aside, at least behind closed doors," he suggested. "'Aegon' will suit me quite well."
"Then 'Jeyne' will suit me quite well."
The Lady of the Vale—now simply Jeyne—seemed to relax a little, and her smile became less official.
"To tell the truth," she said, walking to the window and settling on a sky-blue sofa. "I had already begun to think you are as unsociable as your uncle."
"You are acquainted with Uncle Vaegon?" the Prince was surprised.
"No, but Maester Elbert studied under him. Says one can sooner make pious septas of harbor wenches than extract praise from the Archmaester."
"Very like him. But Dennis and I saw him from another side," Aegon did not specify that this side was a foolish attempt to prick himself with a sharp Valyrian candle in an attempt to unravel its secret. "He raised me as I am."
"A bookman?"
"Why, is it so noticeable?" he grinned.
Jeyne laughed, and a dark-brown braid fell out of the complex hairstyle coiled at the temples; the Lady did not correct it.
"Then what has riveted the attention of the Prince-bookman this time?" she inquired.
"Apology of the Line of Hugor."
"Oh, that is a very amusing book."
Aegon, in principle, agreed with her. Maester Jasper in his thousand-page work explained as detailedly as possible that the Arryns are direct descendants of the first King of Andalos, Hugor of the Hill. This, in the opinion of the apologist, was necessary and sufficient to consider the Kings of Mountain and Vale the High Kings of the Andals of Westeros. All arguments looked logical, only they did not help the Arryns themselves much: in the four hundred years passed from the moment of writing the work to the Conquest, not one of them succeeded in gathering Andal lands beyond the Vale.
"In the end," remarked the Prince. "Jasper turned out right. The Andals of Westeros acquired High Kings."
"Only not those he thought of," nodded Jeyne. "The Mountains of the Moon are our fortress, but they not only protect the Vale from foreign armies, but also protect all Westeros from the ambitions of the Arryns. The giant falcons of Artys the First turned out to be fiction. Unlike dragons."
"Therefore we sent a retinue ahead. So that our arrival would not be... misinterpreted."
"There was no need for that," waved the Lady off.
"But the Small Council preferred to play it safe."
"Because of what?"
"Lady Royce is considered your close friend..."
"It is so. And you feared that the dissolution of her marriage to Prince Daemon would influence my attitude toward the Royal House?"
"We could not exclude this," Aegon answered evasively, setting aside the book that had become superfluous.
"Rhea, of course, is my friend and my truest bannerman," spoke Jeyne, smoothing the folds on her silver dress. "Truest, but not only. After my father's death, the Royces gained too much power: Ser Yorbert was my regent, there were more of his people in the Eyrie than mine. Rhea's marriage to your brother, even so disgustingly unhappy, raised their ambitions even more. I had no guarantees that one day they would not consummate the marriage after all, and then their child would become heir to the Iron Throne."
"Therefore you did not resist the divorce?"
"Yes. Rhea understood me."
"And agreed regardless."
"This marriage suited her no more than your brother," shrugged Lady Arryn.
Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Maester Gaven, a lean old man of short stature, wearing a long chain that hung from his neck to his very navel. Bowing from the threshold, he shuffled to his Lady and silently handed her a letter; Aegon managed to notice the large royal seal of red wax on the missive—that means Viserys wrote officially.
"My Prince, and this letter is addressed to you," creaked Gaven, holding out a small envelope in a trembling hand; scarce was the letter in the Prince's hands when the Maester, obeying a careless gesture of Lady Arryn, withdrew.
Unlike Jeyne's letter, the one Aegon received had two seals: the small royal one, which the King attached to personal messages, and the red-and-gold one Daemon used. The letter was written by him too and turned out quite brief:
"Your wedding gift came in handy. Expect a nephew.
Elder Brother."
A little lower was a postscript made by Viserys's hand:
"The gift is mine actually, but the choice is truly good.
Eldest Brother."
"It was worth remembering marriage and children," Jeyne chuckled, setting aside her letter; evidently, in her letter the upcoming happy event in the family of the Prince of Dragonstone was announced officially. "Prince Daemon managed very quickly."
"He is very diligent," nodded Aegon.
"And you?" the Lady smiled slyly.
"No one has complained of me."
"Sounds like an offer to verify this myself."
"You may consider my words such, My Lady," repeated the Prince the recent phrase of the castle's mistress.
Tilting her head to one side, she measured him with a thoughtful gaze, in which Aegon recognized mischief, and curiosity, and desire. Jeyne Arryn finally corrected the braid that had escaped from her hairstyle, rose from the sofa, and answered with noticeable regret:
"Another time."
Having said this, she quickly left the library, as if suddenly remembering Seven-Godly proprieties. Aegon could not restrain himself, followed her with his gaze, and when the door closed behind her, grinned; perhaps Daemon is more experienced in such matters, but his own knowledge was enough to understand: this woman was definitely not a virgin and knew what she wanted.
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