The ride through the mountains was uncomfortable, but damn... the scenery was truly magnificent. My six subordinates and I enjoyed exploring the new land immensely.
Lord Jon Arryn was a great conversationalist, describing the history of his house and his land with great pride. From our talks, I could tell how much he loved the Vale. He treated his two wards, Robert and Ned, as if they were his own sons. Unlike other lords, he didn't seem to look down on others and valued people's merit.
I missed Elbert, who'd stayed in the Riverlands to get to know Lady Lysa Tully, his intended bride. He wouldn't be lonely, though; Brandon Stark was with him, and they were already acting like brothers.
Speaking of the Starks... I hadn't talked with Ned about his exploits with the Dornish lady. In fact, I hadn't spoken with him much at all. He avoided the spotlight, preferring to spend his time alone under a great tree. I could respect that.
The fiasco after the tourney had been unpleasant, and I'd had a hard time stopping Robert from smashing someone with his warhammer. After things settled, Lord Arryn returned to his lands with his two foster sons. On the road, I provided entertainment with my stories and songs, making new friends with two young Vale lords: Lord Horton Redfort and Ser Morton Waynwood. Morton's mother, Lady Anya Waynwood, was my most enthusiastic audience member and extended an invitation to her castle, Ironoaks.
Lords across Westeros called the Valemen prideful and egotistical, but I found them to be among the most agreeable. The lords of the Vale had little internal conflict and cared little for the other kingdoms. Their isolationist policies brought them prosperity. While the Arryns were the overlords, the other lords held a form of voting rights. They were basically Switzerland, and everyone else was jealous.
Their only real problem was the mountain clans, though it had been a hundred years since any major incident—just minor raids on travelers. I had some ideas for the clans, but that was a matter for another time. For now, we had reached the Eyrie, the seat of House Arryn and one of the crown jewels of Westeros.
The castle looked like something from a fairy tale, standing tall and overlooking the land below. It was said to be small but impregnable. In the show, Bronn claimed he could "impregnate the bitch" with ten good men and some climbing spikes. He wasn't entirely wrong; if you could infiltrate and take the key figures hostage, the castle would fall. But still, it was a magnificent sight.
We were welcomed by the castle's high steward, Nestor Royce, who offered the traditional bread and salt. The combination tasted horrible—who decided to eat salt with bread? But I understood the weight of the guest right. It was a serious, almost sacred law, similar to the Geneva Conventions. I recalled the Dornish had broken such rights during the reign of King Daeron I, earning them universal hatred. A topic for later.
Now, it was time for rest. Robert, however, left immediately to visit his bastard daughter, Mya Stone. A servant told me Mya's mother had died in childbirth.
The news was a sobering reminder of the dangers of this world. It made me think of Miranda, Rolf, and all our people back in King's Landing, a nest of vipers where the King's paranoia was a spark in a room full of wildfire. Were they safe? Had Alban and Alaric reached them in time? The helplessness of not knowing was a gnawing pit in my stomach. The communication system here was incredible, yet dumb. Only lords could communicate swiftly with their ravens; everyone else was left in the dark. Yes, I definitely needed rest.
(Hale POV)
In my short life, I had seen and learned things a simple orphaned village boy could never have dreamed of. I learned to count, to speak properly with highborns, to fight with a sword, and to ride a horse. I had traveled from Ashford to King's Landing, Harrenhal to the Eyrie, witnessing all their beauty and grandeur. All of it, thanks to the kindness of Ser Julius Harlane.
It was because of him that what remained of my family and I were still alive. I had a little brother in King's Landing, working as a blacksmith's apprentice for one of Ser Julius's contacts. Everyone did their jobs with heart and soul, for we owed him a life debt—not once, but twice.
Old Lady Miranda was a truly kind woman who loved everyone equally and deployed us according to our talents. But it would be a death sentence to call her "old" to her face. She was a terrifying woman everyone feared, even the mighty Ser Julius, who took great care to stay on her good side.
Eight months ago, I was a skinny boy. Now, I could hold my own against a knight of House Arryn. Not against Lord Baratheon, of course; the man could fight three of us at once. He was as strong as ten men. Only Ser Julius could defeat him, and he was plenty strong himself. It was his training that allowed us to withstand Lord Baratheon's blows. When Lord Baratheon learned we were Stormlanders, he dragged the six of us into a daily spar.
When he learned our story—that we were smallfolk, not highborn—he was shocked. He'd assumed we were the unwanted fourth sons of minor Stormland lords, taken in by Ser Julius to make a name for ourselves. We laughed at his assumption.
Morty couldn't hold back and explained everything. When Lord Baratheon heard how the local lords had exploited our village and the knights had taken our taxes, his fury echoed through the castle. He immediately wanted to return to the Stormlands and "smash" the corrupt lords. But Lord Arryn and Lord Stark stopped him, explaining it was a common occurrence and that some lords treated their subjects even worse.
We knew that was true; high lords rarely cared about those beneath them. But Lord Baratheon promised the six of us that when he returned to his lands with a wife, he would make those lords pay.
Surprisingly, he then offered us service under him—knighthood and land near Summerhall. It was a tempting offer, but every one of us declined. We thanked him but explained we had already sworn ourselves to Ser Julius and could not sell our loyalty to another.
We saw Ser Julius watching us with an expression that said he knew exactly what was happening. He told us we were not his slaves and to follow our hearts. But we still refused. We expected Lord Baratheon to be furious, but he just laughed, patted my shoulder, and said he'd offer it to Ser Julius instead.
He knew many lords had already made similar offers, including Lord Arryn, and that Ser Julius had declined. He made the offer anyway. Surprisingly, Ser Julius did not immediately refuse. He said he needed some time in the Vale and told Lord Baratheon that if he ever needed help, his sword would always be ready for a friend.
That was all Lord Baratheon needed to hear. He boomed with laughter, grabbed Ser Julius by the shoulder, and dragged him off to drink and hunt a boar.
That left us alone with Lord Stark, who had been standing silently in a corner, watching us with great interest. The atmosphere grew awkward. He was a quiet man; nobody really spoke to him except Lord Baratheon or Lord Arryn. He was also formidable with a longsword, and in a one-on-one duel, he could defeat any of us except Claw, who fought dirty when cornered.
Morty, ever the bold one, offered Lord Stark a spar. With a simple nod, he stepped into the courtyard. The match was brief, ended by a servant informing Lord Stark that Lord Arryn wished to speak with him. Lord Eddard left, and we resumed our own sparring matches.
That night, Ser Julius came to us with grave news.
The bad news was that Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lord Baratheon's betrothed and Lord Stark's sister, Lyanna Stark. Lord Brandon and Ser Elbert were riding for King's Landing with two hundred men.
And we... would be leaving at first light for Ironoaks, the seat of House Waynwood. I knew why. Ser Julius had an appointment with Lady Anya Waynwood.