Chapter Text
There will come a soldier
“I bear grave news, Your Grace,” announces Grand Maester Gerardys. “Lady Jeyne Arryn passed away during her visit to Gulltown. She succumbed to a chest cold. I offer my condolences, Your Grace, Lord Arryn.”
Murmurs fill the small council chamber.
Oh, her poor cousin. To die so young.
“What of the succession of the Eyrie?” asks Isembard Arryn. The Gilded Falcon is a resourceful man, skilled when it comes to trade and how to manage resources. That’s why she has made him a Master of Coin. No better candidate than her own cousin even if he is an Arryns of Gulltown, not of the Eyrie.
He could be less greedy at times, though.
“Who would even want that pile of rocks?” taunts Daemon. Her Hand has no love for the Vale even after all that time.
“Lady Arryn has left a will declaring Joffrey Arryn as her heir,” answers the maester.
“Joffrey Arryn?” she asks.
“A fourth cousin of Lady Jeyne,” sniffs Isemband. “A rather distant relation. Certainly not as close as her cousin Arnold or Arryns of the Gulltown. Even Her Grace has a better claim than some boy the lady chose on a whim.”
What a group of people , she thinks. A cousin imprisoned for his attempts at usurping, a branch of the family shamed for their marchant ways and a Targaryen woman.
“It is a complicated situation as Lady Jeyne had no children,” starts her Master of Laws. “If there was no will then ser Arnold would be an uncontested heir.”
“But there was a will,” she says harshly. “I will see my cousin’s chosen heir installed as Lord of the Eyrie peacefully.”
“I doubt there will be peace, Your Grace,” states the Master of Whispers. “I heard that unrest and treachery are already stirring in the Vale. Ser Eldric Arryn wants to fight for his father’s claim. There are houses which consider offering their support to him.”
Do those fools think they can do as they please?
“Send me, my Queen.”
She turns her head in the direction of the voice.
He is leaning against the entrance to the room, which is almost engulfed by his big frame. He smiles when their eyes meet and her breath catches in her throat. Of all her children he resembles Harwin the most with his curly brown hair and bulky frame. When he wears his dark scaled armor and golden cloak the resemblance is uncanny.
“You are late, my prince,” she says, trying to be strict.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I had urgent business in the city,” he explains as he takes the seat on her left. The Commander of the City Watch is not an official position on the small council, but if her father made space for his brother then she can do the same for her son.
“It is the best option to send a dragonrider, Your Grace. Those who are doubting Lady Jeyne’s will be hesitant to conspire with that would be usurper and his kin when they see the crown will take a stand with the true heir. I should go-”
“Joffrey,” she sighs.
Where did this desire to constantly get into conflict come from?
As a child, he was the merriest of his brothers. Always running around Dragonstone with his wooden sword, his dragon Tyraxes clumsily trying to follow him. Telling everyone on his path that he would be a knight, just as his father announced on the day of his birth.
He yearned for his father so she spoiled him with the stories Laenor once told her - earning his knighthood and warring on the Stepstones on the back of his dragon.
As he grew, his goals didn’t change.
She offered to give him a castle of his own after the war. He would have a pick of them as many of her enemies have fallen and their assets were taken by the crown. You can even take Harrenhal , she whispered to him. He rejected the offer even when she pointed out that his betrothed and future children could have a home of their own, a legacy to pass on.
(“Would you drive me, us, away from your side? Is the Red Keep running out of space,Your Grace?” he asked angrily. His voice had a sharp quality to it, but his face looked crushed.
“Jace has Dragonstone now and soon Luke will move to Driftmark. Don’t you want to be a lord of your own castle?” she tried for the last time.
“I am no lord, mother. I have no patience for squabbling vassals and no knowledge of running a keep,” he admitted while looking close to tears. “Please, let me stay. If you want me to be of use then I will be your sword and shield.”
“Oh, my brave boy,” she sobbed as he cradled him to her chest. “You will always have a place by my side.”)
”- wouldn’t be the worst plan,” says Daemon.
Daemon and Joffrey are practically vibrating, but it is not their reactions she wants to observe. The rest of the council seems to agree with the plan, at least they don’t seem to be against the idea. Isemband looks troubled, almost alarmed. Their eyes meet.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” he asks. “Maybe the lords of the Vale will solve this issue on their own, cousin.”
Cousin? She almost snorts.
“Prince Joffrey will go to the Eyrie,” she decides. “He is to oversee the peaceful ascension of Joffrey Arryn, the new Warden of the Vale. The sight of my son and his dragon will guarantee that those who oppose Lord Joffrey’s rule will yield before the strength of the crown.”
Joffrey is trying to be solemn, but she sees the excitement in his eyes.
“I don’t want any fighting,” she tells him. “You are going there to prevent bloodshed, not cause it.”
“Of course, mother.”
Days come and go as they wait for any news from the Vale, but no ravens fly from the Eyrie nor any messengers travel to the capital.
When the word comes it is from sailors from Gulltown, who make port in King’s Landing. They speak of the recent happenings in the Vale of Arryn.
They speak of vile treachery.
They speak of smoke and ruins.
They speak of a warrior prince.