Jon Arryn

The winter winds where brisk in the Vale of Arryn especially at the base of the Giant's Lance, the gales swirling around the peak of the mountain and collecting the cold air near the abandoned Eyrie, then sweeping them down the slopes past the way castles and to the Gates of the Moon. The winter home of the Arryn's was a hub of activity in the white blanketed valley at the foot of the Giant's Lance. Servants bustled about and guards patrolled the walls of the stout stone keep. In the highest tower of the castle Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale and the Eyrie stood at the window of his study.

Jon watched out the window of his office in the Star Tower as his son Artys trained in the practice yard below. Jon smiled as Artys dueled with one of his wards, Robert Baratheon. Robert was a giant of a man even at just sixteen, six and a half feet tall and muscled like a bull, all coupled with a handsome face beneath a crop of midnight black hair. The young Lord of Storm's End dwarfed even Jon, and the Lord of the Eyrie was not a small man himself, taller than most and with broad shoulders from long years of weapons training. Shaking his head Jon flicked his eyes back to his son just as Artys parried a blow from Robert and slammed his own weapon into the big man's shoulder, beginning his own offensive. Artys was the result of Jon's first marriage, to Jeyne Royce, Jon smiled sadly at the thought of the girl, a pretty thing and sweet as summer. Jeyne was from one of the oldest and strongest houses in the Vale, descended from the First Men. She'd died giving birth to Artys, their only son, just over seventeen years ago.

Artys was a blending of their two families, of First Men Royces and Andal Arryns. The young man was just two finger widths shorter than Robert, which meant he towered over Jon, and he was built just as broad and strong as the Baratheon man. His eyes where the grey of the Royces, but his hair was Arryn blonde. Artys was an exceptionally handsome lad, with a square jaw and an aquiline nose, the object of every young lady in the Vale's desires, though he was too shy to make anything of it. Jon swelled with pride just looking at him, Artys was a son that any man could be proud of, an outstanding swordsman and jouster, kind hearted and clever, brave and gentle. The only problem was his shyness, Jon knew his son was practically terrified of speaking to women, and was quiet even around other men and friends.

Jon chuckled at that thought, it was probably what made his son get along so well with his wards. True Robert was as loud and boisterous as his size implied, the big lord loved women, hunting and feasting and had at least one bastard that Jon knew of. A babe just over a year old now, Mya Stone, begat on some tavern keeper's daughter in the castle town outside the Gates of the Moon. But Artys and Jon's second ward, Ned, where both quiet lads. Neither spoke much except for when they had to, and neither was much given to drinking or women. The three offset each other immensely but at the same time each lad brought out the best in the others.

Jon's eyes now flicked away from the combatants as Artys delivered a heavy backhand blow that Robert barely caught on an upraised shield. Sitting on a barrel watching the two from the edge of the courtyard was Ned himself. Unlike his two big friends, Eddard Stark was a rather plain and unassuming lad. He was tall, that much was true, but his friend's dwarfed him, which added to the illusion that the northman was of average height or shorter. Ned was lean limbed, with the athletic figure of a warrior, his hair a plain brown color and his eyes a grey that changed color with his moods. His face was handsome, though not in any manner that made him stand out from a crowd. Where Artys and Robert stood out, looking like the knights or kings of maiden's fantasies Ned was just, Ned.

A great booming laugh drew Jon's gaze back to Artys and Robert. Artys had just knocked the bigger man's blade from his hand and had his sword leveled at Robert's neck. The Baratheon lord had his head thrown back and was laughing thunderously as Artys merely smiled softly at his victory. From the edges of the yard came applause and cheers. In addition to his wards Jon was hosting the young heirs and grandsons of a dozen lords, all seeking to bond and make friends with Artys so as to gain the favor of the future lord of the Vale. Albar Royce, the son of Nestor Royce and distant cousin to Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone stood side by side with his cousin Andar, the heir to Runestone. Both young men two years Artys' junior and nearly as tall as their cousin, with the same build, and fiercely loyal to Artys. Ser Harlan Hunter, youngest son of Lord Hunter and Artys' senior by five years. Jasper Redfort, a boy of twelve whose father wanted him to squire for Artys. Ser Elbert, the only son of Jon's dead brother was leaning against one wall of the courtyard, Jon's distant younger cousin Ser Denys Arryn standing beside him. Not to mention half a dozen others from less distinguished houses,the sons of landed knights and minor lords.

Artys and Robert's stalemate quickly dissolved into a wrestling match as Robert tackled the smaller man to the ground and began trying to stuff snow down the back of his padded jerkin. Jon chuckled at the sight of it, then grew grim at the realization that this might be the last time he would see this for a while. Ned had turned sixteen not a week past, and as per the terms of his fostering in the Vale he was to return home soon. Artys and Robert had volunteered to escort him home, though Robert was technically supposed to have returned home himself not long ago, but he'd decided to take a ship from White Harbor to return home once Ned was returned to Winterfell. The three where due to leave in just a fortnight, taking a score of guardsmen, three knights and the Royce cousins with them.

The thought of losing even one of the young men that he had come to view as his sons in the past eight years was a hard thing for Jon to process. On one hand Jon was happy for the young man, he was getting the chance to return home and see his family, something he'd only managed to do one other time in the past eight years considering the massive distance one had to travel to reach the North and Winterfell. On the other hand Jon was devastated to see him go, the Eyrie wouldn't be the same without him, doubly so with Robert. Shaking his head Jon drove the thoughts from his mind and watched Artys and Robert struggle in the winter snows, laughing as they fought and the other young men egged them on.

Turning away from the window Jon strode to the door of his study, opening it to reveal the single guard stationed outside, a rangy man with greying hair to match Jon's own, "Wallen, kindly go ask my son to present himself in my study within the hour, preferably after washing and changing."

The guardsman gave a shallow bow and darted off down the stairs at Jon's request. Vanishing around the curve of the tower within the span of a few heartbeats. Closing the door once more Jon returned to the window, looking down at the courtyard below. Somehow Artys and Robert had roped many of the other young men in the yard into a snowball fight, acting more like children then young men almost grown, it brought a smile to Jon's face at the sight of it.

Turning from the window Jon sat back down at his desk, scanning the ancient oak top for a moment. Scattered atop the desk where dozens of letters and scrolls, reports from the Bloody Gate, requests from lords across the Vale, sheets of taxes and tariffs that had been collected from said lords, and even a handful of betrothal offers from lords of the Vale and beyond. Picking up one such letter Jon scanned it for the second time today.

It was from Lord Walder Frey of the Twins, a man midway through his seventieth year and with more descendants than anyone cared to count. The man was one of the most powerful lords in the Riverlands, but he was too eager for marriage contracts by far, this alone was the sixth such letter he'd sent to Jon this year. Setting the letter aside Jon flipped through the stack it had been atop, noting the names of other houses proposing a betrothal as he looked, Mallister, Waynwood, Corbray, Hunter, Grafton, Bracken, Ryswell. Mostly his own bannermen, but a handful from outside his lands, the Ryswell's where northmen and the Brackens and Mallisters where from the Riverlands.

In all honesty though Jon didn't think any of them where suitable at the moment, he was looking for a stronger match for his boy. Though they hadn't sent him proposals he knew of three houses with daughters that might be worth looking into. Cersei Lannister was supposedly a beauty, and her father was the wealthiest man in Westeros, and high in the favor of the king as well. Lord Hoster Tully's younger daughter wasn't betrothed yet, another fair lass, and if her father couldn't match Lannsiter wealth he at the least controlled only lands with a land route into the Vale. Or there was Ned's sister, Lyanna Stark, Ned spoke highly of her, and her father was reportedly looking for marriage alliances in the south, and trade with the North across the Bite could certainly help the Vale's coffers.

With Ned and Robert leaving and Artys now a man grown at seven and ten Jon supposed that he should probably start looking into these things further. After all, the Arryn family wasn't exactly numerous these days, there where just four of them left now, him, Artys, Elbert and Denys. If his house was to grow and prosper Artys would need to marry soon.

Leaning back in his chair Jon made a mental note to send ravens to Casterly Rock, Riverrun and Winterfell making inquiries about the hands of those girls. Maybe Artys would take a liking to the Stark lass while he was in the North, and if not, well most marriages weren't made with love in mind.

Artys Arryn

Artys shook himself, trying to dislodge the snow that Robert had somehow gotten down the back of his doublet, even with his armour on over it. The chill had been somewhat pleasant at first but it was getting uncomfortable now. Shoving open the door to his chambers he quickly began struggling out of his doublet, almost before he'd gotten the door shut. Pulling the sweat and snow soaked garment over his head Artys grunted in shock as the remaining snow now soaked his neck and head.

Tossing the doublet off to the side Artys took a moment to look around his chambers as he let the melting snow run off his back and onto the stone floor. His rooms where rather plain considering that he was the heir to the Vale. No expensive rugs from Essos, no finely carved woodwork, the walls where plain stone, the rugs made from simple wool and the furniture was unadorned and practical. The sole source of ornamentation in the room hung from a wooden rack just beside the fireplace. A suit of finely made plate, given to him as a gift from his uncle Yohn for his last name day, to celebrate the knighthood he'd earned not long before the occasion.

The plate was a melding of Arryn and Royce, just like Artys. The armor was made of fine steel, burnished and unmarred by use as of yet, carved and cast in bronze across the face of the armor where First Men runes. Twin steel falcons formed the pauldrons, the wings curving back over his shoulders protectively. Most magnifiicent of all was the helm, worked in bronze and steel was a startlingly lifelike falcon's head, the screeching beak forming the visor of the helm.

Artys had only had the chance to wear the armor a handful of times, and never in a real fight before. Not that he'd had many of those to wear it in. Turning away from the armor Artys pushed it from his mind, instead finishing stripping as he pushed open the doorway to one of the handful of side rooms his chambers possessed. A large copper tub sat in the middle of the room, ringed by a cleverly lowered bit of the floor to keep overflow from flooding the entire room, a small drain in the depression would then drain the spilled water through some piping. Where it went Artys had no idea, he'd never really thought to ask that question. The tub was full almost to the brim with steaming water, just as he'd asked, and with a luxuriant sigh Artys sank into it.

For a few moments he let the hot water simply wash over him, enjoying the feeling as it washed away the winter cold and the chills from the snow Robert had stuffed in his shirt. After that brief moment of ecstasy Artys quickly began to wash himself, sparring little more time to enjoy the bath. Father had asked for him, and keeping his father waiting wasn't something Artys liked to do. It took mere minutes to finish, and Artys quickly clambered out, sending water splashing to the floor before drying himself with a nearby cloth as he watched the spilled water drain through the grate in the floor, idly wondering once more where it went.

With his bath completed he strode back into his room, stopping before his wardrobe for new clothing. Throwing it open he grabbed a pair of stout woolen trousers almost at random. Like his room his clothes where simple, wools and leathers for the most part, cut for hunting, fighting, riding and climbing. The handful of court clothes that his father demanded he keep where likewise somewhat simple, blues and greys with the Arryn moon and falcon on the breasts, nothing flashy.

Pulling on the trousers Artys then grabbed a wool tunic, dyed a dark grey, with a white falcon stitched upon each sleeve. An undyed leather jerkin went over that, followed by his sword belt, the heavy iron pommel etched with another wheeling falcon resting easily just above his left hip, a dagger hanging at his other side. As he struggled to put on his boots a heavy knock came at the door. Starting in surprise Artys looked up, and managed to cough out a response to the interuption of his concentration, "Enter."

Robert pushed the door open, the Baratheon man striding easily into the room, clad in hunting leathers as usual, a sword that Artys knew he hated using strapped to his hip. The younger man chuckled heartily as he watched Artys struggle with his boots, "Having a bit of trouble are we Artys?"

Without looking up Artys directed a rude gesture towards his friend, eliciting more chuckles. With a grunt he managed to get the boot on and laced, muttering under his breath as he did so. Looking up a Robert he cocked an eyebrow questioningly, why was Robert here? His friend knew he was getting ready for a meeting with his father. The big man closed the door cautiously, which only added to Artys' confusion. Taking a deep breath Robert looked seriously at him, "Artys, I need to ask you for a favor." Artys' eyebrow climbed higher as he sat up from his boots and rested his forearms on his knees, looking at his friend curiously.

Robert looked almost nervous for a moment, "You know I'm going home directly from the North, taking a ship from White Harbor to Weeping Town." His confusion unabated Artys gave a nod, his brow beginning to furrow. "I was hoping, that you would keep an eye on Mya once I'm gone. Maybe talk to your father about fostering her in the Eyrie, giving her a place in the household once she's old enough." His big friend looked slightly heartbroken, "I'd love to take the little lass home with me to Storm's End, but Stannis would pitch a fit, and I'm to be married not to long from now." There Artys almost stopped him, Robert was betrothed? Since when? To who?

Missing Artys' shock entirely Robert carried on, wringing his hands somewhat, "I can't take Mya with me, but I want better than just some lord's bastard growing up in a tavern for her. I'll pay whatever you need to support her and her mother, I'd just appreciate it if you would check on her every now and then, don't let her forget who I am, that kind of thing."

Standing Artys clapped his friend on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Looking Robert squarely in the eye he gave him a reassuring grin, "She'll be safe and happy here Robert. I'll be sure of that." The Baratheon lord looked remarkably relieved and began to thank him profusely. Shaking his head Artys' widened his grin, "And I'll be sure to tell her all the stories about her father's exploits as a boy."

With a chuckle Robert thanked him again as Artys began shuffling his friend towards the door so he could finish preparing for the meeting with his father. Pushing Robert out the door Artys paused for a moment, realizing something, "Robert" His friend turned to him, grunting questioningly at Artys interuption of his escape, "You said you're betrothed now?"

Robert shook his head in embarassment and chuckled, "Did I forget to tell you Artys? Sorry, still adjusting to that little fact." He smiled widely, "I'm betrothed to Ned's sister, Lyanna. Just finished the negotiations with his father recently. Part of why I'm coming north to Winterfell, to meet her. Word has it she's a rare beauty."

Artys nodded, slightly offended that his friends hadn't told him of the betrothal but happy for Robert, "Congratulations Robert. Take it this means you'll be spending less time in the taverns now?"

Robert's grin only widened, "Of course not! I'm only betrothed Artys, I've got years to explore all the good lasses of the seven kingdoms." Artys frowned at that, no lord liked having his daughter dishonored by her husband openly whoring his way about, especially not lord's so honorable as the Stark's. Robert's exploring wasn't going to win his new betrothed over to him. Artys bid his friend a quick farewell and watched him leave, letting his mind run wild for a moment with all that could go wrong between Robert and the Starks.

Shaking his head Artys shut the door and pushed those thoughts away, thinking back to Robert's request instead, honestly he wasn't even sure why Robert felt the need to ask him to look after Mya. Artys and Ned had gone with him to visit the girl a handful of times, even if Robert was tired of her mother he loved that little girl and could play with her for hours. A love that had rubbed off on Artys well, though Ned seemed a little cautious around the babe. Artys had planned on taking care of Mya with Robert gone, and he was sure his father had plans for her as well.

Walking back to his still open wardrobe Artys let his eyes drift to his favorite garment within the oak monstrosity. A Shadowskin cloak, slightly long even on his massive frame, the black fur streaked with silver, the cloak fastened with a simple brass clasp. The cloak was the source of one of Artys' favorite memories; when they where thirteen he'd convinced Ned and Robert to climb the Giant's lance with him, just as autumn was starting to arrive. The three of them had snuck out before dawn one morning armed with climbing gear, bedrolls, a pair of hunting bows, and their daggers.

They'd planned to climb the mountain to a small pool that Artys had found a few months before, where the waterfall men called Alyssa's Tears landed and camp for a night before climbing back down. A crude staircase had led to the great shelf that housed the pool once, but had been worn away by time and the rain, leaving only a handful of the steps even recognizable. Artys had found the place while climbing the mountain and a small glade, two score weathered pines and ashes surrounded the pool, eking out a living in the rocky soil. At the heart of the glade was the most remarkable part, a weirwood stunted but strong, with a weeping face carved into its trunk, was nestled against the shore of the pool.

Artys had been raised in the light of the seven, as had his family for hundreds of years, even the Royces. But he'd been struck by the beauty of the shelf and the weirwood when he'd found the place, by his best guess it had been a godswood for the First Men before the Andal invasion, abandoned when his namesake crushed the First Men beneath this very mountain, and lost to the ages. Climbing to the glade wasn't difficult, but it took longer than he'd expected with Robert and Ned in tow.

They'd reached the shelf just before dusk on the first day, and had promptly made camp, never noticing the complete lack of noise from the birds and squirrels that Artys had seen inhabiting the glade on his previous visit. Halfway through the night they'd awoken to the sound of a great coughing yowl not far from their camp, and not long after it had come prowling near them. A shadow cat, one of the largest Artys had ever seen, nearly ten feet from nose to tail tip. Snarling the beast had stalked around their fire, its fiery eyes appearing to float across the rocky ground.

The beast had stumbled across the shelf much like them, and had rested here near the pool before returning to its hunt. But game was scarce on the mountain during autumn and the great cat had been starving, in desperation it saw three young boys as the perfect meal. Robert had stood his ground, eager to kill the beast and prove himself before Artys and Ned, even though the only weapon he clutched was a dagger.

When the cat had attacked everything became blur, none of the three truly remembered what happened afterwards, with the shadows and the fear spreading confusion. But they agreed that the shadowcat had come for Artys. What they did remember was the aftermath, Artys had come to with a burning pain across his left shoulder and a heavy weight upon his chest. When Robert and Ned managed to free him he realized it was the shadowcat.

A single arrow protruded from the cat's shoulder, courtesy of Ned. The killing blow however was from Artys, somehow, some way he'd managed to get his dagger up and had apparently stabbed the cat three times, twice in the neck and a third blow to the cat's eye. But the shadowcat had left it mark on him as well, four claw marks tracing from his right shoulder down to barely shy of his stomach, and a single massive bite mark upon his left forearm.

It took the three of them two full days to descend the mountain, with Artys injured and Robert insisting upon bringing the shadowcat along as proof. Artys' smiled at the memory of their return, his father's fury, followed by his quiet pride. Artys' had the cloak made to remember that adventure, and he, Ned and Robert each had a pendant made from several of the shadowcat's teeth to remind them of the time.

In that moment it began to sink in that Ned and Robert where leaving, his best friends, his only friends really. Artys briefly wondered what he'd do without them. True he had his cousins, but Andar and Albar weren't the same as Ned and Robert. Shaking his head sadly at the thought of it Artys swept his shadowskin about his shoulders, he'd have to cross the courtyard to see his father and the cloak was warmer than anything else he had. Taking a deep breath to push the memories and the thoughts of his friend's leaving away he strode towards the door. Time to go see his father.

The trip to his father's chamber was not a long one, and Artys reached the door to his father's study after only a few minutes brisk walk, shaking snow from his crossing of the courtyard off of his shoulders as he did so. A single guard stood outside the lord's study, acting more as doorkeeper to prevent father from being disturbed than a true bodyguard. The man merely gave Artys a single nod as he approached, and offered no resistance when Artys pushed the door open and entered, instead pulling the door shut behind him.

Within the study was as it had been for as long as Artys could remember. Warm woolen rugs decorated with images of famous battles covered the floor. The right wall was covered by two stout shelves full of books and scrolls, mostly ledgers and records his father found useful to keep at hand. The hearth was burning merrily, flanked as always by two comfortable chairs, a pair of heavy battleaxes crossed above the mantle. His father's desk, a stout oaken thing carved centuries ago and decorated with landscapes of mountain ranges, dominated the far wall, seated between two windows that lit the room. Behind the desk hung his father's favorite tapestry, one depecting the Battle of the Seven Stars, where the Arryn's had won their kingship of the Vale, led by Artys' namesake.

Lord Jon Arryn sat beneath that tapestry, scribbling furiously away at some parchment before him, barely seeming to notice as Artys entered. Without a word Artys crossed the distance to his father's desk, seating himself in the chair before it as he waited for his father to finish writing. It took only moments before his father set the quill and parchment aside and looked up at his son, eyeing him carefully for a few heartbeats. Finally the Artys' father broke the silence, "You still plan to leave for Winterfell soon?"

Artys gave a shrug, "Aye. Ned's itching to be home soon. The plan's to leave in two days if the weather's good." His father nodded slowly as Artys carried on, "We'll ride to Ironoaks by Ronnel's pass, then on to Gulltown. We'll take a ship north to Sisterton, and then on to White Harbor. It's straight to Winterfell from there."

His father leaned back in his chair and ran fingers through greying hair, "You couldn't convince him to at least wait until winter breaks? The maester's are saying that the better part of it has passed already."

At that Artys chuckled and shook his head, "Ned say's that its been to long since he's been home, he misses his family. Besides you know him as well as I do father, there's steel in him, even Robert can't talk him out of something he's set his mind to." Lord Arryn laughed with his son for a moment. As silence fell once more Artys wondered why his father had actually called him here, after all they'd spoken on the route he intended to take to Winterfell several times already.

His father sighed and gestured at a pile of letters upon his desk, seeming to notice Artys' confusion, "I've been getting these for the last few moons. They're letters offering betrothals between you and half the noble ladies of the Vale, and a few beyond." Artys winced, so this was what his father had brought him here to speak on, betrothals. He'd been dreading this moment for half his life. True he liked women but he'd never had much skill with talking to them, high born or low, and the idea of wedding a stranger was one that sent butterflies racing about his stomach.

Lord Arryn gave him a slight smile and nodded, "I know, you don't like the idea Artys, but it needs to be done. Our family needs to grow, and you need heirs so that your own sons can one day rule the Eyrie." Artys nodded grimly at his father's words, he wasn't wrong after all, but that didn't make the idea more palatable. His father leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk, "I want your opinion for who you marry though Artys, I won't put you through this without at least a say in it."

Artys managed a wain smile, "Well that's something I guess. Though I assume from the fact that I'm here at all you've narrowed it down to a handful of your favorites."

Here the elder Arryn merely nodded, keeping his face calm, "I have. Three of the great family's have daughters around your age who are available for betrothals. Any of them would be a good bride for you, they could build strong alliances for the Vale." Artys nodded once more, and his father carried on, "Cersei Lannister is just two years your junior, and everything I've heard says she's a great beauty, the kind that comes around once in a generation. Lysa Tully is just fourteen, but I'm told she's a pretty little thing, and cheerful. Or there's Lyanna Stark, though I'm sure Ned's told you enough about her."

Immediately Artys began shaking his head, "Lyanna Stark's betrothed, to Robert." That caused his father to sit up in his chair and take notice.

"When did that happen?"

Artys shrugged, "I'm not sure exactly. Robert just told me about it today though."

Lord Arryn grunted and reached across to another scrap of parchment, quickly scribbling something upon it and muttering under his breath. Turning back to Artys he gave a half hearted grimace, "Well I suppose that makes your choice easier."

Sighing Artys ran a hand across his jaw, "Why not any of our bannermen? I know that Lady Waynwood has a daughter my age, she won't stop hounding me about her after all."

Father chuckled, "I know, she's been after me about it too." He grew serious, "I don't want to offend any of our bannermen. If you marry ones daughter you'll slight three more, they'll think that we're favoring one above the rest. Marry one of the great family's and they can't see us as playing favorites."

Artys frowned internally, his father's logic wasn't perfect, they'd still leave slighted bannermen, but the added wealth for the Vale and the Eyrie that would come with a marriage outside the Vale would help some with that. Glancing at his father he raised an eyebrow questioningly, "I don't suppose that I'll have time to think about this? Maybe meet them?"

Father shrugged, "You can have time if you wish, I'll start making inquiries and suggestions to both their fathers. As for meeting them" He paused and thought for a moment, "There's rumors that Lord Whent is starting to make plans for a tourney. A quite impressive tourney if they're accurate to any degree. The Tully girl will likely be there, her mother's a Whent after all. Maybe the Lannister girl will attend? We'll have to see."

Artys nodded and let his thoughts drift as the conversation turned to more mundane topics, automatically answering his father's questions as his mind went elsewhere. Wondering about the two ladies he must decide between.

Author's Note: So here we go. My first ever fan fiction. Hope you all enjoyed it. Feedback and reviews are welcome, just please try to keep it constructive is all I ask. Thanks for reading and hopefully I'll give you all more to read soon.

-S