Enigmas | Aemond Targaryen

FORTY SIX

The journey to the Vale of Arryn had been long and arduous. The springing up of a contrary blustery wind had greatly slowed Vhagar's pace. When we flew over the darkened waters of the Bay of Crabs, the weather suddenly changed. The rain poured in torrents from a black iron sky. Out of the boiling sea an ocean storm arose. And the wretched shores vanished in the mists of impenetrable obscurity.

It was past midnight we finally reached Runestone, where every effort was made to welcome us. The young Lord of Runestone was a pasty-faced, spindly boy with nervous hands and runny eyes, solely relying on his distant cousin and regent Ser Gerold Royce to elevate the conversation to a more formal level. It took no more than three brimming cups of hot mulled wine for me to gain the confidence that Daemon's slights against Lady Rhae were unforgotten, as predicted, and House Royce would not answer his summon to war.

The sanguine knowledge didn't make me rest any easier at night, however.

A thousand times the dream of short dozings gave Visenya to my arms as I last beheld her. There was a melancholy haunting her eyes. A thousand times I jolted awake from a heavy unrefreshing sleep by the soft sound of her heartrending weeping.

I poured myself more wine and stepped to the small, rudimentary hearth to sip at it. Sometime in the wee hours, the rain stopped. I was struck by the absolute silence and stillness of the chamber, and found myself missing the warmth of my wife's lithe body and smile to the point of anguish.

I pictured distractedly in my mind's eye where she was, what she might be doing. The nagging fear burning away at my insides prodded me into worrying over what might cause her distress in my absence: the night terrors, the morning sickness, loneliness, low mood, the stress of the situation...

The endless possibilities raised every protective instinct I had. I wanted nothing more than to fly back and cradle her on my lap, stroking her back tenderly until she felt safe and secure and gave that contented purr of a kitten that I adored.

"Come back soon." She leaned in to whisper, smelling of lilac and tuberose and styrax and naked, unvarnished neediness that made my blood sing. "I don't feel safe without you by my side."

Soon, sweet thing. I promised in my heart. As soon as I win the staunch alliance with the Eyrie that'd secure your safety.

I spent the whole morning haggling with Ser Gerold, and left at noon with the gratification of knowing an agreement was sealed, and Runestone was ours. With our skyward journey to the Eyrie came an unforeseen thick gray fog that closed all over the Mountains of the Moon.

Some of my fondest memories of my last royal progress was of the Eyrie, of bright and golden midsummer sunshine, of falcon-sighting and spruce-grouse hunting, of hiking up the Giant's Lance and drinking from Alyssa's Tears, of making love to Visenya on the highest balcony of the tallest tower of the elegant castle and counting stars.

Through the thickening veils of fog as dank as coiling water-snakes, the jagged summits of the mountains were barely discernible pinpoints, much less the forest passes and game trails of my recollection. I could only be thankful Vhagar's natural instincts seemed to serve her well while I was outright useless in guiding our path.

A little longer, I espied the sky-scraping white towers crowning the castle of the Arryns shining fitfully through the damp fog. The gauzy, transparent, ghostly mountain mist was swirled apart into wispy rags as my old girl darted forward with a ferocious flap of her behemoth wings.

"Be at ease, soldiers. This is not an attack." Unfastening the black helmet from the gorget with stiff fingers after we landed harshly in the inner courtyard with a tremble that shook the very foundation of the fort, I lifted it off to draw in a deep breath. Frost clung to my eyelashes and my loose strands hung wet and heavy. Vhagar, equally loathing the cold and the moisture, shook her weathered neck irritably, and grumbled in such mighty fury that several guardsmen staggered to their knees, fear etched in their cadaverous faces as the useless crossbows dropped to the ground.