TBOV: Chapter Ten: The High Roost(PT 2)

Chapter Ten: The High Roost

The pale morning light seeped through the veiled windows of the Eyrie’s upper solar, casting shifting patterns across the embroidered tapestries. Jeyne stood by the tall mirror of polished bronze, one hand bracing Jessamyn’s waist as she guided a lace through the slender loops of her gown.

In the mirror, she caught the flicker of Jessamyn’s eyes—wide and restless, their russet flecks catching the hearth’s glow. Hers was a face carved for fretting. She did it well—lips forever twitching into a half-frown, brow knotting up with little worry lines at the corners of her eyes. “You’ll be splendid,” Jeyne laughed lightly, sliding the final lace loop snug. Her own voice was hushed, as she dusted Jessamyn’s shoulder with the back of her hand

“You’re certain I must be there?” Jessamyn murmured, as though the stone walls might overhear. “I—I’d rather not stand before him if I can help it. He frightens me.”

Jeyne pursed her lips. “He frightens everyone, sweetling,” she said gently, smoothening a curl behind Jessamyn’s ear. “But, we can ill afford to offend him. I want him to see you, speak with you, so he has cause to believe we might conspire behind his back. That would be most dangerous. If he’s content, we remain safe. More than safe—we thrive.”

Jessamyn’s cheeks colored as she exhaled slowly. “I… yes. I suppose you’re right.” Her gaze flicked away, uneasy. “Still, I do not care for the sight of him.”

Jeyne’s mouth pressed thinly. She understood the sentiment, but this was simply the shape of their world. “It matters not,” Jeyne replied, crossing to the wardrobe. “All you need do is show polite courtesy, give him no cause to think ill. He tolerates us. Let’s keep it that way.”

She withdrew a slender silver chain from the wardrobe’s top drawer, returning to Jessamyn’s side. “Here,” she said, fastening the chain around Jessamyn’s throat. The silver contrasted nicely with her friend’s pale skin. “You look lovely. That will do”

She offered a small, reassuring smile, then turned toward the door.

“Come, Jess. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”

They found Captain Myles Stone in the antechamber, straight-backed and grim despite the grey that touched his hair at the temples. Four guards flanked him, each in the falcon-marked livery of House Arryn, their polished boots echoing dully on the stone floor. A hush hung in the corridor—a hush so brittle it felt a single harsh word might shatter it.

Myles cleared his throat, his voice rasping with an age-earned authority. “My lady,” he said, dipping his head toward Jeyne Arryn. “The prince has landed beyond the northern parapet, near the dragon stables. He—”

 “I know,” Jeyne said, adjusting the silver clasp at her own throat. Her gown was a somber blue, the color of a winter’s sky, fine enough for a Targaryen husband but without gaudy flourish. “We’ll receive him straight away. Please lead on, Captain.”

He bowed, turned, and they followed his measured steps through a hallway of pale stone. The hallway beyond was all pale stone and solemn tapestries of eagles in flight—worn testaments to House Arryn’s lofty pride. Yet Jeyne took no comfort in them today. Her thoughts drifted to the arrival that waited outside, to the unearthly roars that faintly echoed in the distance.

Minutes later, they emerged onto a broad stone walkway. From here, the mountainside fell away in a dizzying sweep of chiseled rock and shifting clouds. But Jeyne’s attention fixed on the shadowed caverns that sat in the stony slope: massive natural hollows in the mountainside converted for use as stables.

Partially hidden by the shadows and smog borne of their labour were two great beasts of monstrous proportions. Vhagar and Vermithor. The dragons twisted their massive bodies in half-lit hollows, exhaling flames that turned raw stone into molten slag. Even from a distance, Jeyne felt the scorching breath wash over her, a deathly furnace that made the Vale’s usual chill seem pitiful. Beside her, Jessamyn flinched, color draining from her face. Jeyne understood that fear. Few beings were so unnerving as the sort that remade the land to suit themselves.

That was what had been delivered to her doorstep. She lifted her chin, trying to summon the poise her station required. After all, she had requested to have these dragons roost here. She closed her eyes for an instant, recollecting the terms she’d struck with Aemond: even now, she thanked the Seven she had been wise enough to seize the offer when it was made. Better them on her side than upon the horizon with the enemy.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present when she spotted two figures approaching—a tall man in black leathers, silver hair gleaming in the sun, and a white-haired woman at his side. Aemond. The woman must be Rowenna, his rumored mistress, and the rider of the bronze fury. Jeyne exhaled and squared her shoulders.

She descended the few steps that led to a stone landing, Jessamyn clinging just behind. Myles Stone and the four guards followed at a respectful pace. This close to the dragon’s lair, Jeyne could smell scorched minerals mingling with the crisp mountain breeze.

Aemond and his companion soon reached them. He looked every inch the princely warlord: stance relaxed, single violet eye appraising Jeyne with mild interest. Rowenna halted a pace behind, poised like a sentinel, her expression neutral but for a flicker of curiosity in her pale eyes.

Jeyne curtseyed, mindful of the tilt of her head. “Lord husband,” she said, voice kept steady. “We welcome you back to the Eyrie. The flight must have been… bracing?”

Aemond inclined his head, lips curling in a slight smile. “Bracing indeed, my lady. Your mountain winds do not disappoint.” His tone was courteous, but laced with an undercurrent of authority. “I trust all is in order for our stay?”

Jeyne nodded. “Of course—” She forced a gentle smile. “The Vale remains at your disposal.”

Nodding, Aemond half turned, extending a hand toward Rowenna. “Allow me to introduce Rowenna. She attends me on certain tasks for the Crown.” A crisp explanation, ignoring any mention of the rumored closeness of their bond.

Jeyne returned Rowenna’s polite smile. “Welcome indeed,” she offered, her tone mild but measured. She saw no point in pressing for more detail. Just as hers, the prince’s business was his own. In the background, the hiss and roar of dragonfire churned, echoing across the stone.

The silver-haired woman dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “My thanks, Lady Arryn.”

Jeyne allowed the moment to settle, then touched Jessamyn’s elbow, guiding her forward. “This is Jessamyn Redfort,” Jeyne said. “She attends me in some courtly duties. I’d have her known to you, husband, as she’ll be assisting me in any hosting matters.”

Aemond’s gaze flicked over Jessamyn with disinterest. “A pleasure, Lady Redfort,” he said smoothly. Jessamyn’s murmur of greeting was nearly lost in the gust.

No further remarks; clearly, Jessamyn’s presence did not intrigue him. Jeyne let relief seep through her bones. “If you’d care to rest, my lord, I can escort you to our chambers,” she ventured. “I imagine the flight was tiring.”

Aemond inclined his head but turned aside to Captain Myles Stone, ignoring Jeyne’s final words. “Captain,” he said, “dispatch summons to the garrison at once, and see that the Merchant Guild factor in the foothills is notified. I shall expect representatives from both to attend me before sundown.”

Myles hesitated for a moment, glancing at Jeyne for direction. When she nodded he bowed, steel in every movement. “As you command, my Lord.”

Jeyne turned her gaze back to Aemond. She felt a subtle sting at his attempt to sideline her, but forced it down with a gracious tilt of her head. “Let me show you to your quarters then, Husband,” she offered. “It’s a short walk, if the new corridors do not chill you.”

Aemond merely smiled in response. “Yes,” he said, seemingly amused. “Lead on, my lady.”

Jeyne nodded and turned to leave, ignoring the flush of annoyance creeping along her neck.