We found Prince Rhaenar in the godswood, where Sundance loomed surefooted, without causing any damage to Eyrie property.
A scene of magnificence. The Lords of the Vale had gathered in the sky garden, watching in awe as their lady liege, Jeyne Arryn, the 'Maiden of the Vale,' took Rhaenar by the delicate hand.
Together, they climbed Sundance and soared to sky.
Standing back with Theodore, I contemplated the significance of that fated meeting.
"We may have just witnessed the first flight of our future Queen."
"Brien." Theodore twitched his ginger-freckled nose at me. "If you believe that, then you haven't been paying attention."
I shrugged,"You must admit, they make quite the duo."
Sari Sicai said, "So does my finger and your mother's twat; you don't see them getting married."
Chuckling, I said, "Twat? You hear that, Theo? I could have sworn someone in camp said Sari enjoyed a good bumming. Not this 'twat' business!"
"I'll have to check our records," Theodore half-joked.
It was too easy to rile him, just as Rhaenar told me. Sari curled a fist in anger, "I'll cut the cock of the man who said that."
'Good luck with that,' I thought. Little did he know Captain Evelyn had uttered those words.
In any case, the arrival of Prince Rhaenar had been well-communicated in advance, as every Lord in the Vale had gathered to the Eyrie.
The castle's seven spires — modest compared to other great keeps — had enough space to accommodate 500.
Those spires were filled with lords, their offspring, second, third, and fourth sons, daughters, wives — each house utilizing its available lodgings.
Only the most trusted, loyal, and renowned knights were granted a spot among them. It was truly a gathering of the Vale's family members.
A collection of creed, like a great tree, its branches curling this way and that, with some disconnected entirely.
All the same, Rhaenar's connection to the Vale through his queen mother, Aemma Arryn, instilled a certain patriotism.
The Lords observed his silver hair and how he gazed affectionately at Lady Jeyne. And suddenly, an 'Andal fever' took hold.
He pulled each of them aside, listening to their stories, problems, dreams, beliefs.., He laughed at their jokes and relished in their company.
They glowed with assurance that their prince would come to their rescue when the time came, for he was blood of the Vale, an eastern soul—one of sky, the blue falcon in his veins, destined to ride rugged dales and swim in peak-glazed streams.
It was as if each disappearing droplet from the Alyssa pained Rhaenar, his heart yearning for the Vale soil to be quenched by its heavenly spray.
Meanwhile, I spent most of my time perusing the Eyrie's library for material, leaving Theodore to accompany Prince Rhaenar in his meetings.
I couldn't help but be alarmed by Rhaenar's frequent use of Theodore; it seemed to go beyond the usual documentation purposes of which I no doubt would have done should I have been in attendance.
"What's been going on in there?" I asked during our breakfast, referring to the meetings in the quarters Rhaenar occupied, which were spacious and close to Lady Jeyne's.
"Numerics," yawned Theodore. "They proved most boring, even by my standards."
This shocked me. If discussions on economics were dull enough to lull Theodore, I couldn't fathom the extent of the prince's frustration.
Yet despite the countless conversations, he attended them consistently, displaying no hint of fatigue or resentment. Always with his mind engaged, always present in the moment.
"By the gods," I uttered, "Is the matter of coin of such import here?"
Theodore rubbed the sleep from his eyes and regarded me casually. "From the perspective of now? Not entirely. From the perspective of Winter?"
I shuddered. Among all the secret schemes Prince Rhaenar plotted in the shadows, solving the impending famine of the Winter seasons was arguably the most pressing.
The realm, though united under the banner of the Dragon, remained fragmented, making it difficult for the prince to organize such efforts.
Petty lords owed allegiance to higher lords, and so on, authority was maximized at the region's warden, each in constant flux with the other. Terrible, as far as communication was concerned.
Such was the state of Westeros. Lords acted in their self-interest, pretending loyalty to history or honor. Yet, each made it as difficult as possible for Rhaenar to achieve his purpose.
Despite the incessant questioning of their faith in him, wondering why he didn't use Sundance to burn this, that, or the next thing, and scoffing at every act of his mercy, Rhaenar pressed on.
Somehow, and always, he won their respect, never taking it for granted —such was his understanding of the fickle loyalty of men.
I was fearful, yet captivated by the whispering dream his purple eyes afforded — how they carved at landscapes and slew at barrier.
But none of us noticed any fear. Certainly not at the time. With hard work came hard hedonism. And where Prince Rhaenar went, a wayward tale went with him.
Such was the life of our prince. He bore an unspoken curse as if trying to prove to himself this world was real. Like one who signed a pact with the Stranger, forever toiling between the brink of death and fantasia.
But until the Stranger called, Rhaenar was determined to toil his fullest.
As was his charm. Women turned into little girls around him, caring not to act strong or independent. Instead, melting in the ecstasy of his eyes.
Men drowned themselves in the masculine camaraderie he enabled. Every man believed they had something to say toward the cerebral pursuit of solving problems, and Rhaenar was the one to listen.
(This phenomena the prince would later coin as 'Solvation', as men found salvation in his willingness to listen to their ways to solve at matters.)
Indeed. It was Rhaenar who mounted life; it just so happened we came along for the ride~
None of those who gathered in the Vale seemed more along for the ride than Jeyne Arryn herself. And the feeling was mutual. The halls of the Eyrie resounded to Rhaenar, his sweet serenades; to Jeyne, her bubbling laughter.
Seldom were the two separate. They strolled the garden hand-in-hand with glide in their step. Exchanging secrets and absorbing all that came from good company.
She'd tell about her dreams; he'd nod without the means. Never did he understand. Not willingly.
What I saw in their time spent together was what I always saw. A beast of a dragon that took to us like curious playthings.
Thanking our fortune, for the gods writ Rhaenar be dwarf among his kind, doomed to walk the earth without wings.
Everything went smoothly for a time. We enjoyed good fun, gained information, and progressed things along... talks of a grand Vale tour were rampant. How we'd range with this lord and go hawking with another. Tournaments and celebrations. Taking our leave to see all the sights at a leisurely pace.
It was the sixth night of our continuous feast when that changed.
Maester entered the great hall. He received a raven, you see. Dark wings, dark words. His breathing erratic as he handed the letter.
Lady Jeyne hid her annoyance. She was in the middle of being fed a grape by Prince Rhaenar and did not appreciate the disturbance.
The two sat together on the weirwood throne of the Eyrie, her legs spread comfortably over his, leaning back in her puffy blue gown as the Prince took the letter.
I watched Rhaenar closely. I'd been with him since before he had all his baby teeth. I saw how he processed information.
There was something about watching him figure it out. To see the subtle creativity burst in his eyes, the subsequent body language in an attempt to hide the lofty ideas that followed.
"What is it, my Prince?" Lady Jeyne said with glistening lips.
Rhaenar's eyes darted left and right as he read the letter, twice, then three times to make sure, just as I taught him.
"Trouble," said Rhaenar. His brow darkened. "The clansmen. They've been… daring." He frowned as he took the letter and read it. "I fear this is my fault."
Rhaenar was half correct. The Mountain Clans, emboldened by the absence of all the Lords of the Vale, took liberty to take advantage and raid the countryside.
As such, Prince Rhaenar feigned guilt.
"This is my doing," he declared to the great hall packed with lords and ladies, "I have taken up too much of your time, and now the love I bear has turned to ruin in mine heart."
Even I found it difficult to discern whether Rhaenar was lying. By then, the prince had learned much from the mummers who resided amongst the camp followers. His performance was genuinely believable.
The Globe Theater he built in the capital had created scores of would-be actors and storytellers. The odd soul is even dedicated enough to travel across the continent in hope of showing 'what they got' to the prince.
And when Rhaenar encountered someone truly talented, he lavished them with praise, welcomed them among his presence, and paid their way back to the capital of King's Landing where they would join up with the ever-growing organization that, in all senses but the official title, was becoming a Mummer's Guild.
In any case, what followed was a grand and heartfelt speech.
The Prince spoke of the Vale and how its history united the people in strength and tenacity. Of the love he bore for the country he'd just seen on the short march here, and took special care to connect this beauty to its custodians, those lords and ladies.
And they ate it all up.
I knew after all that. Something must have switched in Rhaenar's mind. Yes, he would use this situation to his advantage. All under the guise of peace and need for harmony.
"Your plight shall be ignored no longer!" the Prince roared, "I will root out these clansmen and free this glorious land from ther shackles of terror! I will not rest until every man, woman, and child of the Vale can go their way freely and without molestation!"
It was at that point that the brave men of the Vale rose up in arms, pledging their swords to this undertaking.
Lord Corbray was the first, "Heart Home is with you!"
Next was Lord Lynderly, "And so is Snakewood!"
Then they all shouted at once. From Moore to Woodhull, the Redforts and Hardyng's, the Upcliffs, the Shetts...
Prince Rhaenar listened patiently as each House of the Vale pledged themselves to his effort of mountain clan eradication. All with a placid smile.
Then, when it began to die down, Rhaenar rose a diplomatic hand and said with a quelling tone,
"My lords, you have bled enough already. Nay, let this be a family matter. The Crown shall handle this."
(Which essentially translated to: 'I don't want your nose in my business. You shall not come!')
Of course, such little was not enough to persuade the vain egotism of a Lord. It was only natural that the prince would have something up his sleeve.
Rhaenar turned to Jeyne Arryn, placed hand on heart, and bowed. This caused the Rhaenari elites to grumble from their table in the feast hall in the back left corner.
Sari Sicai coughed so loudly and falsely the entire hall turned their heads in attention. Dirty Douglas spat with disgust. Deadeye Ronny downed his Dornish wine with such speed that you would have sworn it tasted like cheap ally-house piss.
Leon Strongarm yanked a whole roast chicken from the platter of a passing serving girl and gnawed into it like an animal. Ivan jerked his knee so suddenly that the bang it caused underneath the table shook and vibrated its contents, bowls, mugs, and all, to the point that some fell and crashed to the ground.
I could list all names. The point being that it was clear the Rhaenari took great care in the honor of their prince.
While they trusted his actions were done with thoughtfulness and intent, the fact still remained that these lords had not bled from the same hardships. In their eyes, they did not *deserve* Rhaenar's humility, fake or not.
Yet another example of how possessive they got, the people of their Prince~
All the same, Rhaenar spoke to Lady Jeyne like it was just he and her were all that mattered.
"My Lady, I make you this promise. If me and mine cannot bring peace to the Vale in only half a year, you will have the most precious of gifts from me."
"Oh?" said Lady Jeyne, under his spell, "And what 'gift' might that be?"
"Anything. Any wish you desire, so it shall be. On my honor!"
The great hall gasped and fell silent. They knew what such a wager meant.
If Prince Rhaenar failed, Lady Jayne would surely wish for his hand in marriage. and the Vale's power would soar as taller than the Giant's Lance.
Naturally, Lady Jeyne accepted. I will paraphrase what she said in her mushy manner toward him. Just imagine there were hearts in her eyes.
"Then let it be done, for I could never deny you!"
.
..
…
….The matter of this event is still hotly debated, even in the hallowed halls of scholars. Were the clan raids genuine, or an artfully orchestrated spectacle?
Regardless, whether propelled by a sense of duty to his countrymen or fueled by a hunger for personal accomplishment and wealth — however you wish to paint the spectrum of motives — the indisputable fact, the one all scholars can agree upon...
Prince Rhaenar reveled in it.
-Brien Flowers