Andar Royce's sudden arrival at Runestone sent a wave of joy through House Royce.
"Brother!"
Ysilla burst from the inner keep, tears welling in her eyes.
"The gods be praised—you're safe! You've really come back!"
The hall erupted with cheers and cries of welcome. The knights and retainers who had stayed behind quickly surrounded Andar, clapping his shoulders and bombarding him with questions about the Eyrie and his daring escape.
Andar gave a brief account, speaking of Mya and Mychel's aid with heartfelt gratitude. Inevitably, every gaze turned toward Mya Stone, who stood a little apart, looking somewhat ill at ease.
Once a bastard guide of the mountain paths, now a legitimized Baratheon bloodline, Mya lowered her head slightly under the weight of their mixed and curious stares.
Just then, a tall figure parted the crowd and stepped forward.
It was Isembard Arryn, who had not yet departed Runestone. His face was lit with a broad, genial smile.
"Ah, Ser Andar! Welcome home—truly, the gods have blessed us!"
Isembard's booming voice filled the hall as he gave Andar a hearty pat on the back.
"And this must be the honorable Lady Mya!"
His gaze shifted to Mya, his eyes gleaming with fervent admiration.
"Your name has spread across all Seven Kingdoms! The eldest daughter of the late King Robert, the rightful Baratheon bloodline!"
Flustered by his warmth and praise, Mya murmured softly, "Lord Arryn flatters me..."
"Modesty is a virtue, my lady."
Isembard's smile widened. He bowed slightly, extending an elegant gesture.
"Might I invite you to stay for a while at my family's estate near Gulltown? The surroundings are peaceful and pleasant, and it lies but half a day's ride from Runestone. Though our House Arryn is not of the main line, our heritage is long and noble. The manor holds a fine collection of books on the history of the Vale and the Seven Kingdoms—perhaps they would interest you? Think of it as a small token of gratitude for your rescue of Ser Andar."
His tone was flawless, his demeanor humble, his offer impeccably phrased.
Mya hesitated. She longed for freedom. Though Runestone was safe, its walls still felt confining. A strange manor... could that be the breath of open air she craved?
She looked toward Andar. He was surrounded by his sister and retainers, their voices a jumble of questions and relief. He hadn't even noticed her dilemma.
Mychel Redfort stood a short distance away, watching her with a complicated expression, as if words hovered on his lips but never found voice.
"Well..."
Mya, kind-hearted by nature and unaccustomed to refusing such generous offers, felt swept along by Isembard's courteous insistence. His talk of "House Arryn" and its "long history" only made the girl—raised among commoners—feel flattered and overwhelmed.
"Very well, Lord Arryn. I would be honored."
Isembard's grin brightened, triumphant and radiant.
"Splendid! It will be my honor entirely. I shall make the arrangements at once—a comfortable carriage will come for you at dawn."
...
The estate of House Arryn of Gulltown stood in a fertile river vale not far from the city. The castle was not old, but a grand creation of wealth—built swiftly with gold rather than generations. Its walls gleamed with polished white stone; its tall towers bore ornate falcon carvings, every inch designed to flaunt opulence.
In magnificence, it rivaled even the castle of House Grafton, rulers of Gulltown.
Mya was lodged in the most splendid guest chamber: velvet draperies, gilded furnishings, and vast windows overlooking manicured gardens. Everything around her felt strange, luxurious, and a little suffocating.
That evening, in the family's small hall—lit by hundreds of candles and adorned with stained glass like a miniature sept—Isembard Arryn dismissed all the servants.
He personally poured Mya a glass of sweet, heavy wine from Dorne, his face softened by an air of heartfelt sincerity.
"Lady Mya..."
His voice was low, almost intimate. "Are you settling in well here?"
"Very... very well, Lord Arryn. Your estate and castle are truly magnificent."
Mya's reply came hesitantly, her tone restrained.
"Magnificent?"
Isembard let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. "These are mere lifeless things, Lady Mya. You possess something far more valuable than all of this—a noble bloodline. You are the eldest daughter of King Robert. After His Grace's great decree, your identity—your right of succession—was acknowledged by the Iron Throne itself. Think of the Iron Throne. There should have been a place there for you."
Mya's heart skipped a beat. The wineglass in her hand nearly slipped from her grasp.
The Iron Throne?
That was something she had never even dared to imagine.
"Lord, you jest. I am merely... a newly acknowledged bastard daughter, and besides..."
The thought of the current turmoil across the Seven Kingdoms filled her with instinctive fear.
"No, you are far more than that."
Isembard interrupted sharply. "A decree is a decree. It grants you both legitimacy and rights. Look at Westeros now—those two kings in the Stormlands and the Reach, both bastards of the late king, yet they rule openly. And look at the Vale—the Eyrie is in the hands of a bastard, manipulated by that whore Lysa Tully and that conniving Littlefinger. The Vale needs a true leader! It needs the blood of the Baratheons to set things right!"
He fixed his gaze on Mya's dazed eyes, each word deliberate and heavy with intent.
"Princess Mya, I, Isembard Arryn—on behalf of House Arryn of Gulltown and all the people of the Vale who long for justice—implore you to be crowned Queen. Become the one true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. In the name of your father, Robert Baratheon, and as his eldest daughter, lead us to reclaim the Eyrie, purge the traitors, and restore order and honor to the Vale."
"Become... become Queen?!"
Mya froze in disbelief. The goblet slipped from her trembling hand and clattered onto the thick carpet, the deep red wine spreading like blood across its fibers.
Her mind went blank.
This was madness.
"Yes—claim the throne," Isembard said firmly. "It is your right, and your duty. Think of your father's legacy. Think of the people of the Vale, suffering under Littlefinger's cruelty. Don't you wish for the power to protect those you care for? Do you want to remain forever at the mercy of others—a guest living under someone else's roof? Become queen, and you will command your own fate. You will make the entire Vale—and all the Seven Kingdoms—hear the voice of Mya Baratheon."
Hold my destiny in my own hands?
The words struck her like lightning, illuminating the deepest corners of her heart.
All her life, her fate had never been her own. Because she was a bastard, she had been overlooked, controlled, and confined. The royal decree had granted her legitimacy, yet it had also chained her anew.
But if she truly became queen... would that not mean freedom?
Self-doubt and the hunger for power battled fiercely within her. Looking into Isembard Arryn's face—so full of encouragement and expectation—she thought of her imprisonment in the Eyrie, the watchful stares at Runestone, and the uncertain path ahead.
A wild, reckless resolve surged up inside her.
Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Alright... I agree."