Chapter 205

The Vale, 300 AC.

Axel Arryn.

The Bloody Gate: a small stronghold leading to the Vale proper. Countless invasions had broken themselves against those walls over the years, and not once had the fortress fallen to an enemy's hand. Once, the Gates of the Vale had been nothing more than a dry stacked wall of roughly hewn stone, but under one of my ancestors' rule, the stronghold had been rebuilt into the form it holds today. A dozen more armies had since gone to their deaths beneath it, and the Gates of the Vale earned themselves a new name: the Bloody Gate. Without a doubt, the battlements stood as a place of deep historical weight for the whole region.

"Who seeks passage through the Bloody Gate?" Waymar Royce, Knight of the Gate, asked, following the old custom.

"Lord Axel Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East," Jasper Redfort answered in my place.

Waymar had once served as my squire, had crossed Essos at my side, had helped me in King's Landing, and later fought against the Rotten Fish. Ser Brynden Tully had held the post of Knight of the Gate before him, and then Nestor Royce after, though the latter had badly bungled his duties and been stripped of the post. My cousin had taken his place: an experienced man, sharp minded, and, above all, tested.

"Open the gates!" Custom observed, now for the less pleasant part.

For all my fondness for this castle's defenses, I intended to rebuild it the moment opportunity allowed. It hardly does to have the Vale's army, marching home in triumph, choke to a crawl at the Bloody Gate for want of a wider passage. Where two watchtowers pressed against the rocky slope, the gap between them allowed no more than four riders abreast. Four riders at a time, with an army fifteen thousand strong... That would take a very long time indeed, though thankfully I had capable commanders to leave such tedium to.

Unlike the Bloody Gate, the Gates of the Moon stood open and waiting for me, along with a crowd of people eager to voice their loyal devotion. Even at a glance, representatives of every great house stood there, along with a countless number of lesser ones. At the head of the procession stood Eyris. He looked rather worse for wear; his eyes carried resignation, hopelessness, hope, spite, and something else I couldn't quite place. One thing I could say for certain: his time as regent had clearly been no easy ride. Beside him stood my wards, my prisoners, my guests, all at once: my younger brother, Robert Arryn; the sweet princess, Myrcella Baratheon; the wolf cub, Brandon Stark; and the accidental lady, Sansa Stark.

"My lord, the Vale is yours," Eyris said, dropping to one knee along with the rest of the court, closing out the formal part of the greeting.

"Get up." In one motion I hauled Ser Claw to his feet and pulled him into an embrace. "You've done excellent work, my friend! All of you have! Only through our combined efforts was this campaign won, one men will tell tales of for years to come!" More than half of those present had done nothing at all, a quarter had actively made a nuisance of themselves, and only the remaining quarter had genuinely earned their place. "Tonight, a feast. In a month's time, a tourney! Eat, drink, enjoy yourselves, you've earned it. Eyris, with me."

The court dissolved into cheers of support and praise for my own beloved self. The nobility loved a feast, loved a tourney even more, but loved nothing quite so much as the two combined. My unwilling wards (the Starks and the Arryns among them) received a brief nod from me, while Myrcella earned a small smile of her own. Strange as it sounds, on the emotional side of things, I had genuinely missed the sweet princess. Cutting down enemies brought its own pleasure, plundering millions in gold its own satisfaction, ruining village girls its own amusement, drinking with my companions its own fun, but only with her did I find anything like real inner peace.

"I read your summary." My loyal companion's face fell at once. "Whatever else, you did well."

I could see in his eyes that Eyris did not agree with my assessment. He had been left at the Eyrie to see my plans through, to keep order across the Vale, and to keep me from being pulled away from the war in the Riverlands. He had managed the first well enough, the second not badly either, but the third he had failed at completely, though it was hard to hold that against him. Eyris was a lowborn, landless knight who had, in the span of a moment, become the second most powerful man in the region. An upstart, to put it plainly. And where the barest hint sufficed for me, where a single word sufficed for my more highborn companions (Robar, Jasper, Desmond, Uncle Yohn, and the rest), Eyris had to work twice as hard just to hold his ground. But in the end, the work got done, the Vale had not burned, no rebellions had risen. Which meant Eyris Claw had held up his end. Eyris was, first and foremost, a soldier, not a statesman, so there was only so much I could reasonably ask of him.

"Your scribe, and Morgan, are they here?" A nod answered me. "Call them in. We've matters to settle."

However many letters had reached me on the road, sitting down with Eyris in person and going through the account books myself would give me a far fuller picture on which to build my next course of action. Those who had made trouble would earn my deepest disapproval, those who had worked honestly, honor and trust, and those who had gone above and beyond, my friendship. Best to sort it out now, since within a couple of hours a whole crowd of representatives from various families, powers, and merchant guilds would be lining up to fawn over me, each for their own very particular reasons. It would be an unpleasant business indeed if, out of ignorance, I showed favor to the wrong man. And such a slip could never be undone cleanly afterward. A ruler's word, once given, must be kept, and only a fool believes otherwise. You remain master of your own word only until you've spoken it; once spoken, it is your word that has become your master.