Vale of Arryn. The Eyrie. 280-281 AC.
Jon Arryn
Ten years had passed like a breath. Years filled with joy, grief, constant worry, and pride in my wards. Two years ago Robert finished his education. His departure was an occasion of equal parts happiness and sorrow. Over the years every soul in the Eyrie had grown attached to the cheerful, restless boy, now a man, and none more so than my heir. Yet young Baratheon was stepping into his adult life at last, and the gladness of it was felt by everyone. The Warden of the East could only hope he had raised a worthy man: one who would lead House Baratheon and bring no sha to the honor of his great forebears.
It was a grievous thing that Robert ca to lead his House so young. The ship carrying Steffon and Cassana Baratheon broke apart on the return voyage from Essos, and the worst of it was that it happened close enough to shore for Robert and his brother Stannis, freshly ho, to watch it happen. Robert said he was all right, but I could see the grief and longing in him. He grew less responsible, drank more, and gave himself over to his sorrow.
All the sa, Robert, now Lord of the Stormlands, did not grieve for long. Instead he went out and won himself a warrior's na on the tournant circuit and in single combat. During his ti away he had earned his spurs, which he was enormously proud of and which he used to taunt Axel. He received a promise in return: "I'll earn my spurs before you did, and the reason will be better." It did my heart good to see the friendship and love between Robert and Axel. Knowing that sowhere in the world there is a friend who will never abandon you, who will always understand and stand by you: that, to my mind, is a beautiful thing.
What saddened at the sa ti was that Ned and Axel never truly found each other. One cannot expect much more from Axel, he was a child, clever but a child. As for Eddard, he simply did not know what to do or say around him, and was afraid of doing sothing wrong. He did not understand that in such a situation, doing nothing was worse than doing the wrong thing. Charming people was not sothing the young Stark was born to, and that was the whole of it. Axel found it far more interesting to spend ti with the lively and spirited Robert, who took you seriously, than with the stiff and cheerless Ned, who was always finding reasons to slip away.
The Warden of the East took pride in his ward's accomplishnts, and was genuinely glad whenever Robert made ti to co and see his aging ntor, who missed the restless boy who had first walked through his doors ten years before.
Now the ti had co to send the second fledgling out into the world.
"Those were good years, weren't they, my boy," Arryn said, looking at the young Stark with quiet affection. "Are you sure that traveling North in weather like this will be safe enough? Perhaps you could stay a little longer, wait out the worst of it?"
"I'll manage, my Lord," the young man said, smiling at his ntor's concern.
Jon could see that even after all this ti it cost Stark a certain effort to use his given na, but over the years he had co to understand that it simply made Arryn feel closer to his ward, and the wish to please his ntor was enough to make the young man set aside his own instincts.
"Very well. You're not a boy any longer, you'll find your way. But can you tell why you were so stubborn about keeping away from Axel?"
Ned frowned, but after a brief inner struggle he answered:
"Jon, understand, Axel is a wonderful child, but sotis he asks uncomfortable questions that have only uncomfortable answers. I am a Northerner. I cannot do as Robert does and quietly redirect his attention or brush things off with a joke. I cannot lie either. So I answer honestly, but these are not things a child ought to be thinking about. At his age I was dreaming of martial glory, of dragons and mischief, or figuring out how to escape the maester's lesson. And he was asking about death, about life, about the aning of existence..."
"I understand," Jon said. His heir had always made him proud, and his mind was a source of constant wonder, but sotis it outran him, and that caused its own kind of pain. In Jon's view, a sharp mind had to keep pace with the wisdom that only lived years could bring.
"You know he's been having the nightmares. And just yesterday he ca to and asked: 'Where do dreams co from?' Now what am I supposed to say to that? The accepted answer is that the gods send dreams, but I cannot say that, because Axel will only ask further and each question will be harder than the last. And so he is genuinely upset with ."
"Never mind, Ned, don't trouble yourself over it. He'll grow up and co to understand. Now then: I'll see you at the tournant at Harrenhal. And know that my gates are always open to you."
"Thank you. For everything." Ned glanced one last ti with sothing like longing at the great hall of the Eyrie, the place where he had spent nearly nine fine years, then rose to his feet and opened his arms. Arryn stepped into the embrace with genuine warmth. "I promise I'll co to see you on your na day after Harrenhal."
Jon gave a short sound sowhere into his ward's shoulder, pulled him closer as though he hoped he might simply hold him there by force, and then let him go.
He watched him without breathing all the way to the door. He waited until it closed behind him and forced himself to smile.
"May the grace of the Seven go with you, son," he said, feeling a hollowness in his chest for reasons he could not quite na. "Even if you don't believe in them in the slightest."
...
The year 281 AC was known as the Year of the False Spring. The two years before it had brought a hard winter, though the South had borne it more easily than most. The North, the Riverlands, and parts of the Vale had taken the worst of it. When the winter ended, people wasted no ti returning to their fields to fill the empty granaries.
If anyone asked how I would describe Harrenhal, I would say: imposing. Even now, half in ruin, that castle had the power to strike . One might set it alongside the legendary strongholds of the Great Lords without any sha: the Eyrie, Storm's End, Winterfell, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and to so degree Riverrun. The work of Harren the Black might have surpassed all of them, but dragons changed the rules of the ga, and now that castle was a heap of scorched rubble, a monunt to the rage of Balerion the Black Dread.
It was fortunate that there were no dragons left. And perhaps it was for the best, because if Aerys had possessed them, the consequences would have been terrible. Aerys had never been a particularly reasonable man, and after the Defiance of Duskendale his madness had consud him entirely.
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