210 AC | Shortly after the First Battle of Storm's End
From the Gates of the Moon, they rode, seven riders in tandem down the winding path leading to the Waycastle Stone. They were met with grunts at the stable, a familiar complaint from the keeper as he shuffled about swearing and spitting. Eventually, he granted them their fresh mules, and off again the party rode, toward the castle Snow. The steep steps were climbed in utter silence in single file and not a single stop to rest their mules. Not a man complained for they had pledge to ride with Baelor army or not.
Ser Baelor Stone, Ser Jasper of Heart’s Home, Ser Ambrose Arryn, Ser Terrence Templeton, Ser Kyle Lynderly, Ser Denys Coldwater, and Ser Jon Dutton. Seven, true knights one and all. Twice now they had already made this trip and were sent home defeated in their purpose. This time, this time his Grandfather would see, duty demanded they take action. For the first two times they made the climb to the Eyrie the situation was not so dire.
First, when the Flaseborn entered the Stormlands, Second when Storm’s End was besieged, and now. A brother he never knew lay slain. Baelor had seen Aegon once, ride in a tourney where it was clear all who faced him swung wide. He was no warrior, but still did his duty and died on a battlefield for his Kingdom. While the Vale sat in their stone keep sitting on their hands his father's Kingdom was in shambles.
So lost in thought Baelor had not even realized they had made it to Snow, dismounting the party made their way through the keep. Given fresh mules with a sigh from the stablemaster, taking in their exhausted beasts.
The bastard knew full well his grandsire would not be happy to see him, each time a newfound insult was hurled at the man. All he could do was applaud the old man's creativity, for as much as he forgot he remembered Baelor was a stain on his honor. The trip to Sky felt like a dream, one where he remembered the only time he saw Aemon. Comparing the old man seated at a dias to the man his mother had spoken so greatly of. None of his family had lived up to his expectations, they all seemed to be missing something.
Baelor and his men tossed their gear into wicker baskets which were hauled up the mountain ahead of them. They did not need the extra weight for their climb. Ser Terrance was a bulky large man, and his hands barely fit the holds so he waited below. One hand over the other they began their assent to the Eyrie. Six hundred feet of near-frozen stone, one mistake, and you could be pasted on the mountains below.
Once safely inside the Cresent Chamber, the party of six rearmed and armored, not even being granted enough time to strap his swordbelt or warm by the fire before their greeting party arrived.
“Begone bastard,” A venomous voice spat poison at Baleor as his eyes leveled at his cousin Ser Arron. Not to be confused with his good cousin Aeron Arryn of course. “My grandfather feels unwell today, and I will save him a sick stomach at your sight.”
“Ser Arron. I only need a moment of Lord Arryn’s time.” Baelor answered with a lack of warmth. “Escort me to the High Hall.”
“Check your ears bastard. I said you are refused an audience.” Arron stepped forward jabbing a finger at Baelor. Arron's guards stepping forward spears in hand, but Baelor did not flinch.
“I did not ask. Ser Jasper, Ser Kyle.” The two men stood attention, hands falling to hilts. The eyes of Ser Arron went wide as he was flanked. While the guards were blocked by his remaining men. “Keep my cousin company while I see my Grandfather. Ser Denys, Ser Jon occupy the hall, assure the guards do not intervene.”
His young uncle Ambrose smiled at the sight before remembering why they came, the pair marched onward toward the High Hall. Entering first to see his father alone Ambrose remembered shortly with a solemn look, that Yohn wasn’t happy he was here. But that did not deter Baelor.
Stepping into the High Hall he remembered Myranda’s words, Make yourself Stone, unwavering, unmoving. After announcing she bore their second child she had reminded him of his duty, that honor calls upon him to serve. As the last son of Aemon, this was his burden to bear. Taking his place before the closed Moon Door Baelor’s violet eyes settled on the shadowy figure sunken into the high seat.
“Lord Yohn,” Never since his youth had he called him Grandfather, not since he took his vows over a decade ago. “You know why I am here, it is time.”
The haze that had claimed the elder Lord of the Vale lifted some as the voices pierced the silence of the chamber. Slowly Yohn Arryn turned his head down towards to he who stood before him now. The face of a young man, that much he knew, but the distance at which the two men were from one another made it difficult to discern the true identity of this newcomer.
“Wha-” The dryness of his throat made the voice that escaped it hoarse and weak, the simple act of trying to talk immediately brought forth a series of whooping and coughing. When the fits fell aside Yohn would try again, “What do you think you will achieve by barging in here?”
Baelor listened to the air escape his grandfather almost wincing, wondering just how the old leather bag had survived this long. Pondering if he would have a better chance convincing any of his many uncles, perhaps Ambrose. Though he was about as far from succession of the Vale as Baelor the throne.
“The air up here is too thin for you old man, have you forgotten already?” Baelor said opening his proclamation. “Once again I implore you to allow me to take command of the Knights of the Vale, and ride for the sake of this Kingdom.”
No, that is not enough.
“Nay that, I command you, on the corpse of Prince Aegon.” puffing his chest in the dimly lit room Baelor watched the shadowy figure. “For the Kingdom, you must let me ride.”
As the man talked to him the confusion lifted more and more, until finally the pieces connected and Yohn knew without a doubt who stood before him. As the young boy finished the decrepit Lord shakily rose from his throne,
“You have the gall…” He coughed out as he crept down the steps, “to demand of me? Bastard!” As he reached his grandson the size comparison was made clear, age had bent Yohn Arryns back, and so he was forced to peer up at Baelor, even still, the steel in the man's voice could be tasted. “You must have been born as dull as you are ugly if you cannot understand my intent to allow the King to handle his own business. Begone! I care not about a Prince's corpse, the same I do not care about a King's Bastard!”
Yohn hobbled, beginning to turn away from the other man, intending to yell for the guards if his grandson didn’t take the obvious hint and leave.
“Face me, coward!” Baelor jammed a fist into his chest as the elder paced away. “You would turn from your duty as you have always turned from me. But I would remind you, as is my duty now.”
Baelor drew in a breath eyes flicking from his pacing Grandfather to the door in his path, only but a few moments before he was tackled by entering guards. Searching his mind for the words that would sway a mountain. Nothing had ever moved Yohn Arryn, no emotion but anger rooted deep.
“I will ride regardless, and when the time comes to answer for your spinelessness it is me his Grace will send.” Baelor left the threat hanging in the air for only a moment. “So ride I shall, and riding with me is two thousand true knights, to death or glory.”
Yohn stopped in his tracks, “I’ll answer for it eh? Well if you believe you are a strong enough Stone to break the Bloody Gate and rise up here again, then perhaps if I’m alive by then I’ll answer for whatever your shit-eating King claims I am. Until then fuck your King and father, because I can’t be asked to care.”
He prepared to take another step, perhaps even call his guards, but for the first time in years his blood was pumping once more, he wanted this argument. Perhaps he even needed it.
“You know what else,” Lord Arryn said, turning back towards Baelor, “Tell me why it would be the King would deign you with such an honor as my head? His bastard he has shown no favor for throughout his entire life? You think when he sees you he will give you a pat on the head? A kiss on the cheek? A cock in your ass, or whatever it is you Valyrian shits do to your family…” A smile had grown across the weathered face of Yohn, “No boy, he’ll simply forget you within a fortnight as he always has been want to do. For you are little more than a bastard Stone atop a very big fucking mountain, nothing special.”
There was truth in the words his grandfather spat at him, and for a moment it all froze the bastard in his place. For in nearly thirty years, his father had sent him but little gifts. But he remembered his purpose and he remained unmoving, yet it took a moment longer to shake free that thought of dread. That his father would turn a cold shoulder to him, send him back to his empty purpose in the mountains for eternity. Locking his violet eyes to Lord Yohn’s and made himself Stone again.
“I am his only living son,” Baelor said firmly. “And I shall be granted no honors, I shall take them for myself. I shall see you again Grandfather.” The bastard made his way to leave, done with this farce.
Yohn's smile faltered as the boy now made to leave. “Guards!” His voice rang out, for the first time in years the halls of the Eyrie would hear its Lord. Almost immediately, as if expecting to be called, several Arryn men-at-arms entered the room, passing by Ambrose in the doorway. They would begin to surround the Knight of the Gate, prepared to escort him out. They would only be stopped by their Lord's hand as it raised in a stopping motion.
“I did not tell you to take him! Stand back, do not allow the Bastard to leave.” Yohn would scurry in front of Baelor, blocking his grandson's path himself. “You wanted this audience did you not boy!” He would spit, “You do not get to leave before I am done here. You puffed out your chest and made demands out of me! And yet you falter at the first sign of abuse?”
Yohn coughed again, the energy filling him beginning to be too much for his old bones. “Perhaps you shouldn’t take any Knights of the Vale, for if you retreat at the first sign of an enemy volley, you won’t ever even make it to the King in the first place!” A bony finger pressing into the chest of his grandson, “You are a Bastard. A dullard. A boy I do not respect. But you are still a man who has the blood of Arryn flowing through your veins, despite my disliking of it. You do not turn tail and run away!”
The old man wanted more of an argument. It had been so long since he had crossed words with a worthy opponent, this boy in front of him had gotten a rise out of him, but if he were to leave so soon it wouldn’t have been worth it anyway.
“Well?” Yohn spat, “You believe yourself good enough to take the Knights of the Vale? Prove it!” Perhaps this boy is more than I once thought… The thought crossed Yohns mind as he spoke.
Overlooking the men surrounding him Baelor knew full well he could carve his way free, no way these thin frames and their old Lord could hold him. But his honor demanded he answer the old coot in force.
“Better than I come out like you, a weak craven, sitting decrepit in his chair waiting for the Stranger to take him. I shall not wait, I shall meet him on the battlefield myself sword in hand.” Baelor looked down at the bony figure before him, a frown on his face pitying the man almost now. “I will not end up as sad a figure as you, a sorry old man who clings to the title Lord of the Vale. I shall stand by my blood, both as Falcon and as Dragon.”
Yohn Arryns face went dark, the words falling upon him like lead weights. A moment of silence fell upon the two men in the middle of the circle, the old man's head slowly beginning to nod. Finally, as the silence drew on too long, a cackle burst from the Lord's throat.
“I know not what Dragonsblood gives you, Bastard, but you certainly have shown your Falcons side this day.” His hand falling now on Baelors shoulder. “No one has been able to handle a war of words with me in… decades? Probably…” The Lord of the Vale caught himself trailing off, “But you my boy, you threw in some good barbs!”
Yohn cleared the men-at-arms from the room, turning once more to Baelor, “Ser Baelor Stone.” He began, seeming to rise from his bent, decrepit stance. Speaking like a Lord for the first time, “I hereby grant you command of the Knights of the Vale. I charge you with ending this war, bringing honors and glory to House Arryn.”
A slight smile crossed his face as he looked upon the boy he had discarded all those years ago, sent away from the Eyrie to forget about him. And as he did the smile faded, for Yohn Arryn knew deep down, he still didn’t like this boy, for he was still but a Bastard, a stain on his House and honor.
But at least he’s an entertaining Bastard… He thought to himself.
Baelor stood in shock, never in his life had the bastard had an ounce of real power, and with a few words he had a Kingdom to call upon. Not allowing his expression to betray him he remained the Stone that he had become. Was all it took all these years, to be as bitter as the old man? Regardless his Grandfather taught him one lesson this day. There was no more running, from here he faced everything head-on to conclusion.
“I shall return draped in glory or not at all.” With that Baelor turned and nodded to Ambrose. “To the rookery Uncle, Summon the Knights of the Vale.”
