The sun was just beginning to rise over the jagged coastline of Gulltown, casting golden light across the bustling harbor and the newly reinforced seawalls. Edward Grafton stood atop one of the watchtowers, the salt-swept wind tugging gently at the dark cloak that draped over his broad shoulders. The sea had long whispered to him of power, trade, and conquest—but now, his gaze turned inland, toward alliances made not on ships or with steel, but with bloodlines and promises.
Edward's grip on the Vale was firm—stronger than ever—but not yet absolute. And though the tides of war were turning, and the Targaryen cause crumbling under the weight of misrule, Edward knew that a change of thrones was only the beginning. Legitimacy was the coin that would buy him true rule, not only the respect of merchants and mountain tribes but of lords and ladies across the Seven Kingdoms.
His thoughts turned to House Arryn.
Jon Arryn, recently returned to the Vale from the bloodied battlefields of the Riverlands, had made the climb to the Eyrie to recuperate and to consolidate his forces in preparation for the final strike against the Targaryens. Yet his journey was not solely for military strategy. Word had reached Edward days before that the Lord of the Eyrie would personally ride to Gulltown—not with threats, but with terms.
That morning, the gates of Edward's newly fortified keep opened to receive the Arryn party. Jon Arryn himself led the procession—tall, dignified, though the years of war showed in the lines around his eyes. Beside him rode Alys Arryn, his young and radiant niece, draped in a gown of Arryn blue and silver. Her features were proud, but not haughty. Observant, but not cold.
Edward met them in the great hall. The stone walls had been newly adorned with tapestries won from traders and minor houses—tokens of wealth, power, and ambition. Jon Arryn dismounted slowly, greeting Edward with a clasp of forearms, warrior to warrior, lord to lord.
"Lord Edward," Jon said in his steady, grave voice. "You've carved a kingdom of sorts here at the edge of the world. The Vale may not yet understand it, but I do. You've done what others would have failed to attempt."
Edward inclined his head. "I build not only for myself, Lord Arryn. But for the future of the Vale. Of Westeros."
Jon gestured toward Alys. "My niece is of noble blood, raised with the teachings of governance and grace. She is intelligent, sharp of wit and of tongue. She has refused suitors before—not because of their name, but their purpose. She has chosen to hear you out."
Edward studied her then. Alys stood still, composed. Her eyes met his, calculating. He liked that.
Jon continued, his tone hardening. "If you wish to marry her—and through her, tie your fate to mine—you must accept conditions."
Edward waited.
"I will legitimize your claim over Gulltown," Jon said. "The Arryn name will publicly recognize you as the rightful lord of the harbor and the lands surrounding. You will no longer be merely tolerated. You will be rooted into the nobility of the Vale."
Edward's lips twitched at the corner. Not a smile—he was too wary for that—but something near.
"And in return?"
"Loyalty. After the war, the Vale must remain united. You will not move against the Eyrie, nor divide the Vale's resources. You will defend this land as your own, with me as Lord Paramount."
Edward turned to Alys then. "And you? Are you content to be bound to a man of my name and ambition?"
She stepped forward. "You are no stranger to command, Lord Edward. But I will not be merely a wife in your shadow. I wish to shape the future of this land. Of Gulltown. If you want a partner, not a pawn, then I will marry you."
Edward gave her a nod of respect. "Then we understand each other."
The wedding took place not with lavish celebration, but with solemn grandeur. Jon Arryn personally officiated the ceremony in the sept of Gulltown, watched by the captains, merchants, nobles, and allies Edward had gathered over years of patient work. Word spread quickly across the Vale and even beyond, carried by raven and sailor: Gulltown had married into House Arryn, and with it, the eastern Vale stood united under a new banner.
With his position legitimized, Edward turned his attention once more to consolidation. Alys proved herself quickly—not only by navigating courtly affairs and smoothing tensions among skeptical noble families, but also by suggesting reforms that would bring trade and cultural life to new heights in Gulltown. She proposed patronage for artisans and builders, and Edward approved her plans for expanding the harbor markets into new paved districts.
Meanwhile, Jon Arryn returned to the war.
Edward met privately with the elder lord one final time before his departure.
"I know Robert grows impatient," Edward said as they stood in the study overlooking the docks.
"He does. The war has burned long enough. And he grows weary of waiting."
Edward poured wine into two goblets. "Then let him burn. My loyalty to you is not questioned, and I will uphold my oath to the Vale. But I must ensure that when the war ends, we do not inherit ashes."
Jon took the cup. "Ashes often feed the roots of new kingdoms."
"And ashes make for poor soil," Edward replied.
Jon drank, then added, "Do not forget that your marriage places you among us. If Robert becomes king, and you wish your name spoken in court without scorn, you must not isolate yourself."
Edward offered a thin smile. "I isolate only to prepare. And when the time comes, I will not be unready."
They parted with mutual understanding—not trust, perhaps, but recognition of shared goals.
Edward returned to the rhythms of rule with a renewed sense of permanence. Gulltown's inner circle had expanded—noble houses of lesser rank sent gifts and envoys, now recognizing the legitimized House Grafton as their superior in the east. Merchants from Lys and Myr offered exclusive trade rights in exchange for permanent harbor space.
Alys quickly grew popular among the people. She held court weekly, often alone, and made decisions that protected tenant farmers and resolved merchant disputes with clarity and grace. She was no mere figurehead—Edward had chosen well.
One evening, as the sun fell behind the mountains, casting a purple hue over the bay, Edward stood beside Alys on a balcony of the keep.
"We built this from nothing," he said quietly.
"And now it must last," she replied.
He turned to her. "It will. Because we are not done yet."
Far on the horizon, ships arrived from the east—laden with goods, w