Artys Arryn POV
I stood on the deck, looking ahead. At a short distance, Gulltown came into view. The city was lit bright, the mountains behind it visible under the moonlight. The docks were partially illuminated as well. It looked like House Grafton had gone to great lengths with arrangements.
"Lord Grafton seems to be very welcoming," I said, amused by the sight.
"He is probably very happy about the tax exemption the Vale received from the Crown thanks to you, Gulltown is one of the major cities of Westeros; the tax levied by crown was huge." Yohn Royce commented.
"Besides, I think he never liked paying tax to the Crown either, since his Grace was the one who took Lord Grafton's father's head during the sack of Gulltown in the Rebellion," Soryn added, his tone filled with disgust.
This idiot. He is saying this kind of nonsense in front of Yohn Royce, who had been with Jon Arryn and Robert during the siege of Gulltown in the early days of the rebellion.
"Lord Soryn, I would like to correct it was not a sack," Yohn Royce shot back, anger flaring in his voice. "We took the city with minimal harm to the people of Gulltown. I was personally present during the siege. As for the death of former Lord Grafton , it was coming for him the moment he chose the Mad King over House Arryn and the vale."
The word sack triggered memories of King's Landing- of what House Lannister had done there. It felt like an insult to his honor, which already stood as high as the mountains of the Vale. And he was right. Gulltown was never sacked when it fell, not like King's Landing under the Lannisters.
"I was merely speaking the truth. No son would like the man responsible for the death of his family," Soryn replied with a smirk.
These two fat pigs were going to start a brawl if I didn't stop them.
"His father betrayed his oath to his liege lord and raised arms against House Arryn, He broke his own oath." Yohn Royce shot back.
"Enough," I said loudly, as loud as a bloody eight-year-old could manage.
I looked at both of them, both far taller than me. Fuck. How long until my balls drop? Not the best way to assert dominance while being short.
"Let's not have a brawl here. If you want to do it, you can do it at night when no one is watching," I said jokingly, trying to ease the tension.
Rhaegar's decision was stupid. The bastard was dumb enough to face Robert alone, sword in hand. He should have kept Barristan Selmy or Ser Arthur Dayne at his side, but no he was too busy making sure the northern whore and the thing growing in her belly were safe. While his wife and children were stuck with his mentally ill father.
That boy Jon would have to die as well. He could become a problem when I press my claim to the Iron Throne. But that can wait. Killing children isn't my way. When he's grown, I'll have someone give him a quick, clean death.
"Is it necessary, my lord?" Yohn asked, pointing at the sword tied to my back. He was trying to start the conversation again
"It's my first time meeting a Vale lord besides you, and the first time the people of the Vale will see me. And as the saying goes first impression is the last impression," I said proudly. I didn't want to appear like a spoiled brat, but as a warrior.
A few minutes later—
As I walked down the gangplank, Lord Royce and the others following behind me, the docks of Gulltown blazed with light.
A large crowd had gathered for the arrival of Jon Arryn's heir. The Valyrian steel sword on a child's back drew almost as much attention as my name.
"My lord, Gulltown is yours," said the man standing at the front as he dropped to one knee—the proper formal greeting a house gives its liege lord, or his heir, in my case. The rest followed suit.
Lord Grafton. Fit, most likely in his mid-thirties, with a short beard and the posture of a man who knew exactly who he was kneeling to.
For a moment, I felt like the King of the Seven Kingdoms already—or at least a prince. Pity I was neither. Still, heir to the Eyrie was far better than being born a peasant… or worse, the son of a whore with a long list of possible fathers.
"Greetings, Lord Grafton. It is an honor to meet you. Gulltown is far more beautiful than the sailors claimed," I said. Gulltown was decent at best, but there was no harm in buttering up a potential ally.
Lord Grafton rose, the rest of the group following him.
"I hope your journey was pleasant, my lord. We have arranged a feast in your honor," he said.
"There was no need for that," I replied.Yes, there absolutely was. I was starving—for food, not… other things.
"Grrrw."
Fuck, that was embarrassing.
I glanced at the gathered crowd and smiled, smooth and practiced, as if nothing had happened at all.
"It seems your stomach disagrees, my lord." Yohn Royce said with a chuckle, lightening the mood and saving me from embarrassment.
"Lord Royce. It has been a while," Lord Grafton said, extending his hand.
"Indeed," Yohn Royce replied as they shook hands. "The last time we met was at the wedding in Redfort, two years past."
POV ends.
Olenna Tyrell POV.
Why are the gods so cruel?
Who would have thought Jon Arryn would be blessed with such luck? Not just luck—the sheer fortune surrounding that boy. And I doubted it was all chance. The recent events in King's Landing felt far too well planned. Too aligned. As if someone had arranged the pieces long before the board was visible.
"Mother, would you like some of this pie? It's quite delicious," my idiot son said, dragging me out of my thoughts about the news I had received from King's Landing.
"My lord husband, it looks like Mother has something important to discuss," Alerie Hightower said, trying to pull Mace's attention away from his food.
She was smart. Marrying my idiot son to her had been one of my better decisions. Not only was she intelligent, but she brought the Hightowers closer to us. With this, the Redwynes, Hightowers, and Tyrells were all allied by blood. Perhaps Loras could marry Randyll Tarly's daughter—yes, that would solidify our position in the Reach.
"All of you, out," I said loudly, instructing the servants to leave the dining room. Any one of them could be a spy Varys, the Lannisters, the Martells, or gods knew who else.
The last thing I needed was House Tyrell's thoughts on House Arryn becoming small council gossip by morning.
"Mother? There's no need to worry. I personally oversaw the preparations for the tourney. Everything will run smoothly. Sending the servants away just to discuss tourney preparations seems unnecessary," Mace said confidently, trying to sound smarter than he was. His eyes never left the table as he shoveled apple pie into his mouth.
"Have I ever concerned myself with the fighting games you call tourneys?" I said with a smirk, taking a bite of the pie. It wasn't nearly as good as Mace claimed. "And hardly any real men participate in them."
"Mother, the knights of the Reach are the greatest in the realm," Mace protested. "We have the largest number of knights. They are brave men—not boys."
"Men?" I asked, meeting his eyes. "How many of them have seen real battle? They are green boys who fight tourneys, Mace. Do you think they would best the knights of the Vale, the North, Dorne, or the Stormlands one-on-one?"
Our men were not weak. But a thousand trained fighters would always be worth more than ten thousand peasants who had never held a sword.
Numbers were the strength of the Reach. Grain was its true power.
"But, Mother—ouch!" Mace yelped as Alerie pinched his soft stomach beneath the table.
Smart girl. She might be the best thing that ever happened to him.
"What do you think we should do about the new developments in the Vale?" I asked. "The Arryns now possess two Valyrian steel swords and the riches of a merchant family."
This was not good. The Lannisters and ourselves were the only true economic giants outside the Crown. I had no desire to see another house rise as House Velaryon once had.
"Mother, it's not like we can simply go out and get ourselves a Valyrian sword," Mace said, unconcerned. "If that were possible, we would have done it already. The Arryns just got lucky."
"They're just two swords—prestigious, yes, but they won't magically make House Arryn stronger than the others," he added with a laugh. "It's not as if they have fire-breathing dragons."
At least he inherited a little wit from me.
The swords alone weren't the problem. Reputation was, the fame and the stories those blades would inspire. House Arryn reputation was already big.
"It's not the swords that concern me," I said. "It's the sudden rise in wealth. Who would have thought that the merchant family Rowena Arryn had close blood ties with would conveniently pass away?
Too many things are aligning at the same time. Once or twice is a coincidence but this? It feels planned. As if he made a deal with the devil."
"Perhaps we should ask Jon Arryn how to contact this devil," Mace joked.
This idiot. By the Seven, if he weren't my son, I'd have had him thrown into the Mander.
"What do we do, Mother?" Alerie asked.
"Is there anything we can do?" Mace added.
"Nothing," I replied with a small laugh, earning confused looks from both of them.
"Jon Arryn is Hand of the King, and we already have strained relations with much of the realm thanks to our choice to support the Targaryens during the rebellion. We don't need to act. The lion will already feel the shift in the winds from the east—and he will move."
I smirked, imagining Tywin Lannister's face. He was far too cruel—and far too obsessed with placing his family above all others.
"Yes. Why should we do anything when the Lannisters will cause the trouble for us?" Mace said. "A very wise thought, Mother."
"Oh, enough of your sweet talk. Where are my grandchildren? Alerie, tell her to come to my chamber for her night study," I said as I rose from my seat.
At least the Seven had blessed me with clever grandchildren—except Loras. His interest in sword fighting far outweighed his interest in lessons. He spent too much time with boys, even inviting them to his chambers for reasons I did not yet understand. I would need someone to look into that.
I was likely overthinking it. My grandson would not turn into a sword-swallower.
"Yes, Mother. I will fetch the children for their evening lessons," Alerie said, rising from her seat.
"Mothe—" Mace tried to speak.
"Not now, Mace. I am tired. If you have something to discuss, tomorrow morning will suffice," I cut him off. Tonight had already been exhausting, and I needed my energy for the children's lessons.
I pushed the door open—and nearly collided with servants carrying a roasted boar.
Seven hells. How much does that man eat?
POV ends.