Ser Joffrey Arryn stood beneath the high, pale arches of the Eyrie clad in a simple shirt of mail, its rings polished but unadorned. A cloak of sky blue fell from his shoulders, clasped with silver at the throat, the blue and white falcon of House Arryn stitched plainly upon it. He kept his posture straight, his chin lifted, though his hands were clenched tight enough that his knuckles ached.
Lady Jeyne Arryn regarded him from her seat, tall and severe, her dark hair bound back with pearls. Her expression gave nothing away, yet her eyes were sharp and knowing.
"Ser Joffrey," she said at last, her voice cool and measured, "you are to be as loyal to Prince Aegon as you have been to me."
Joffrey did not hesitate. He stepped forward and dropped to one knee, mail chiming softly as it bent. "At your command, my lady. I shall be faithful to the cause of House Arryn and House Targaryen alike, without wavering."
His heart thundered in his chest. For years beyond counting he had waited for this moment. He had borne Lady Jeyne's burdens without complaint, ridden her roads, held her castles, answered every summons. He had swallowed insults from proud lords who saw only a distant cousin and a convenient sword. All of it had been for this. This day.
Lady Jeyne had not spoken the word heir, yet this audience was declaration enough. To be presented openly to Prince Aegon was to be marked. She was giving him a patron strong enough to cow the Vale itself.
"Rise, Ser Joffrey," Prince Aegon said.
The prince leaned forward and took Joffrey by the arm, drawing him to his feet with an easy strength that surprised him. Aegon's expression was open, almost warm, though his violet eyes missed little.
"I am very fond of brave new friends," Aegon went on. "You held the Bloody Gate against the mountain clans when others would have faltered. Your service has not gone unnoticed."
Joffrey bowed his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. In truth, he had long known he was Lady Jeyne's chosen successor. Hearing it acknowledged aloud still sent a thrill through him.
"If trouble arises in the Vale," Lady Jeyne said, folding her hands in her lap, "Prince Aegon will be your greatest ally. You would do well to remember that. And to thank him."
Joffrey turned back to the prince and bowed deeply, fist to breast. "I will always be grateful for your friendship, my prince. The Vale shall stand as your loyal bulwark."
The words were more than courtesy. The Eyrie was a fortress without equal, its walls sheer and its gates narrow, yet even the Eyrie feared dragons. Especially one as vast and terrible as the greatest living wyrm.
"Has Ser Arnold truly not given up?" Rhaena asked quietly.
She stood beside Lady Jeyne's chair, her silver-gold hair braided simply down her back. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers worrying at the edge of her sleeve.
Lady Jeyne exhaled through her nose. "He never has. The Mad Heir." There was weariness in her tone now, buried beneath the steel. "His wits are broken, but his supporters remain restless. And Arnold has a son."
She spoke of the closest blood claimant to the Eyrie, her nearest male kin. Ser Arnold Arryn was ambitious and unyielding, a man who had challenged her authority openly and without shame. Were it not for him, the path to Joffrey's succession might never have been contested at all.
"He claims to be my first cousin once removed," Lady Jeyne continued, her mouth tightening, "and insists the Eyrie is his by right. Twice he dared to question my rule before my own bannermen. Said a woman was too weak to govern the Vale." Her gaze hardened. "I would sooner see these towers cast down to bare stone than place them in his hands."
The hatred between them was old and bitter. Lady Jeyne would grant honor and inheritance to a fourth cousin without a drop of pride before allowing Arnold or his line to inherit.
Joffrey kept his face still, though his thoughts were anything but. He imagined steel at Arnold's throat, the man's son beside him, and forced the vision away. Patience had brought him this far. With the Iron Throne and a dragon behind him, no rebel would dare rise.
"You have my support, Lady Jeyne," Aegon said. His voice was calm, his words deliberate. "Your will shall be honored."
A smile softened her features at last, and she inclined her head. "Good. Under your rule, and with Rhaena at your side, the realm will soon know peace again."
She reached for Rhaena's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. During Rhaena's years in the Vale, she had been Lady Jeyne's ward, almost a daughter. Their bond was plain to see.
*
Cannibal cut across the sky like a living mountain of flame and wind as Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaena departed Gulltown. Below them, the harbor churned with sound. Bells rang, horns blared, and the people roared themselves hoarse, craning their necks as the great dragon beat his wings and turned south toward King's Landing.
The wind tore past them, cold and sharp. It tugged at their cloaks and whipped their hair back from their faces. Aegon's hair had been cut short, and clean, a style chosen with care. It echoed the ancient likenesses of Aegon the Conqueror, all sharp lines and unadorned authority.
"Another battle awaits us," Aegon said over the thunder of Cannibal's wings. His voice was steady, but his jaw was set. "Soon."
Rhaena did not look at him at first. Her eyes were fixed on the clouds ahead, pale lashes narrowed against the wind. "You mean the Vale's war of succession."
"Yes." Aegon exhaled slowly. "Lady Jeyne's decision is a desperate gamble."
Even he could not deny it. The law was not on her side, not cleanly. Joffrey Arryn's claim was thin as spun glass, and many in the Vale would be eager to shatter it. Yet Joffrey was plainly her chosen heir. Aegon had no reason to oppose her will. A weak claim, after all, bound a man all the tighter to the Iron Throne.
Inheritance was not iron. The will of the ruler carried weight, or it always had when dragons still ruled the sky. Otherwise Lady Jeyne's choice would mean nothing, and neither would the late King Viserys naming a woman his heir.
"By leaping over a first cousin to favor a fourth," Rhaena said, her voice measured, "Lady Jeyne risks everything. Many of the Vale lords stand with Arnold. They claim inheritance law cannot be broken." She shook her head. "That is why she has not named Joffrey openly. The resistance is too strong. She sees no other path. Arnold's line has been her enemy for years."
"The Vale is full of Andals," Aegon replied. "They cling to Andal law as if it were scripture."
He glanced down at Cannibal's black neck, scales gleaming dully beneath the sun. "But we have dragons. And we have Lady Jeyne's will. She supports us, and I will see her wishes honored."
House Arryn's main line had withered before, but its branches were many. If Joffrey inherited the Eyrie, others would surely press similar claims. Precedent mattered, whether the lords liked it or not.
"I am inclined to uphold the precedent of the Great Council of 101," Aegon said after a moment.
Rhaena finally turned to him. Her expression was thoughtful, almost troubled. "That council placed the former king upon the throne," she said, "yet he himself later broke its rule. Once peace is restored, I believe the realm must follow the will of the people. Unclear succession is the seed of every war."
"We are still young," Aegon said. His mouth curved slightly, though there was little humor in it. "When the time is right, I will settle the matter once and for all."
The slaughter between Black and Green still haunted the realm. It had driven the lords back into the comfort of male-preference law, clinging to certainty after chaos. As for old grievances, Aegon had little patience for them. By strict male succession, the Green line was already spent. Once he was secure, he meant to close the door forever.
"Tell me," he added, as if the thought had only just come to him, "how many times has House Arryn gone extinct?"
"Twice," Rhaena said without hesitation. "They always end the same way. Widows and orphans. The first was when Jonos Arryn cast his brother Ronnel and Ronnel's children through the Moon Door. Maegor came on Balerion. Jonos followed them through the same door, and his supporters were hanged. The Eyrie passed to Ronnel's cousin, Hubert Arryn. And now," she said softly, "when Lady Jeyne dies, it will pass to another cousin once more."
"The Vale is a dangerous land," Aegon said grimly.
And it always had been. Even after the Conquest, mountain clans plagued its roads and passes. Two Arryn lords had already died fighting them, steel and blood spilled in the high places of the world.
When Cannibal reached King's Landing, the dragon circled the city three times.
The dragon's roar rolled across the hills and streets like thunder given flesh.
"Targaryen forever!"
"Long live King's Landing!"
"Long live the true king!"
The city answered him. The people flooded rooftops and balconies, voices rising until the sound became a single, intoxicating roar. Aegon and Rhaena lifted their hands in greeting from the dragon's back, their smiles bright, their bearing keen as drawn blades.
It was impossible not to be enthralled by such youth, such fire.
The crowd remembered other shining princes of old. Jaehaerys. Baelon. Aemon. Daemon. The cheers only grew louder.
Gold Cloaks lined the streets below, spears lowered in salute as the Cannibal descended. They welcomed the Prince of Dragonstone and Princess Rhaena home.
Aegon felt satisfaction settle deep in his chest as they passed beneath the Red Keep's walls. The city had seen them. The realm had seen them.
Hand in hand, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaena entered the throne room as living banners of House Targaryen.
Aegon wore black velvet, a circlet of blackened steel set with rubies upon his brow, a longsword resting easy at his hip. Rhaena walked beside him in a gown of the same dark velvet, a single crimson gem burning at her throat. Their black cloaks billowed behind them, embroidered with the three-headed red dragon.
Silver-gold hair. Violet eyes.
Tall, luminous, and alive with fire.
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