"A skinny brown girl on a skinny brown dragon"
―writings of Munkun
…
The morning light fell soft and pale upon the great hall of the Eyrie, illuminating the austere grandeur of its vaulted ceilings and cold stone floors. Lady Jeyne Arryn sat in her customary chair of carved weirwood, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she presided over yet another dreary matter brought before her. Her countenance betrayed no hint of her inner sentiments, though it must be said that her thoughts strayed far from the petty quarrel unfolding before her.
Before her stood two farmers, both in a state of considerable agitation, arguing over the rights to a certain stream that marked the boundary of their pastures. One of them, a man of middling years with a complexion as ruddy as a ripe apple, gesticulated wildly toward a crude map spread out on the table before him.
"It is not a matter of mere convenience, my lady," he declared, his voice tinged with indignation. "My sheep have drunk from that stream for generations! And now this rogue," he added, gesturing toward his adversary, "dares to lay claim to it?"
The "rogue" in question, a younger man of wiry build and sullen expression, crossed his arms in defiance. "Your sheep foul the waters with their waste, and now mine sicken. It is your trespass, not mine, that has caused this misfortune."
Lady Jeyne resisted the urge to sigh aloud. The matter, while undoubtedly of great significance to the two men before her, seemed trifling compared to the greater concerns weighing upon her mind. Yet she knew well the duty she bore to her people, however humble their grievances.
"Enough," she said at last, her voice cutting through their bickering like a blade. "It is evident that the stream in question serves both your lands and that neither of you has the sole right to its use. Therefore, you shall erect a fence along its course, with equal contributions from both parties. This should suffice to prevent your flocks from mingling and, I hope, restore harmony to your pastures."
The farmers exchanged glances, each clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to challenge their lady's decree. With murmured thanks, they departed, leaving Jeyne to the rare solace of a quiet hall.
She had little time to enjoy it, however, for scarcely had the doors closed when one of her guards entered in great haste. His boots clattered against the stone as he approached, his face pale and his breath uneven.
"My lady," he began, bowing deeply, "a dragon approaches the Eyrie."
Jeyne froze, her heart quickening despite her outward composure. "A dragon?" she repeated. "Whose?"
The guard shook his head. "It is not Vhagar, nor any dragon known to us. It is smaller, dark of scale, and with tattered wings."
For a moment, the enormity of the announcement rendered her speechless. A dragon whose allegiance was uncertain? Her mind raced through the possibilities, each more alarming than the last. If it were a representative of the Blacks, what would this mean for her precarious alliance with the Greens? The thought chilled her, but she quickly resolved to meet the situation with the decisiveness for which she was known.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
"Ready the men," she said, her voice firm. "I will meet this rider myself."
The guard hesitated, his expression betraying a flicker of doubt. "My lady, would it not be wiser to remain within the safety of the keep?"
"I am no cowering maid to hide behind my walls," Jeyne replied sharply. "Do as I command."
The guard bowed and retreated, and Jeyne rose to her feet, her steps purposeful as she made her way to the outer courtyard. The chill of the mountain air struck her as she emerged, though she scarcely noticed it. Her gaze was fixed on the sky, where the dark shape of the dragon was now clearly visible, descending toward a rocky promontory just beyond the gates.
When the beast landed, a low rumble emanated from its maw. The dragon loomed large upon the rocky outcrop, its scales a deep, mottled brown, like burned earth. Its great wings folded against its sides, and its tail coiled like a serpent around the rocks. Jeyne halted, her breath catching in her throat. The beast's eyes burned a molten amber, and its massive head turned toward her, nostrils flaring as it scented the air.
A figure slid from the dragon's back, lithe and quick. Jeyne blinked in surprise. The rider was a girl, no older than eighteen summers, her thin frame draped in well made leathers. Her skin was a deep brown, her hair a tangled mass of black curls tied loosely at her nape. From the scars that crisscrossed her face and hands it was obvious she was no Valyrian princess, no silver-haired scion of Targaryen nobility.
What was a peasant doing atop a dragon?
One of Jeyne's guards stepped forward, his spear lowered. "State your name and purpose, rider!" he demanded.
The girl snorted, crossing her arms. "Name's Nettles. Purpose? Your prince sent me. Thought you'd be glad of another dragon watchin' over your pretty castle."
Jeyne's brow furrowed. "Prince Aemond sent you?" Her gaze flicked to the dragon—small compared to Vhagar but still a force of nature. "And this beast is yours?"
"Sheepstealer's mine, aye," Nettles said, her tone brusque. "Ain't no one else gonna ride him now, if that's what you're asking."
Jeyne studied the girl, her rough-hewn manner and blunt speech. "Very well," she said at last. "You and your dragon will have shelter here. But understand this: while you are within my walls, you will obey my rules."
Nettles smirked, a gesture that was half amusement, half insolence. "Wouldn't dream of causing trouble, my lady."
Jeyne turned away, her cloak billowing in the breeze. As she ascended the steps back to the keep, her thoughts were a storm of questions and doubts. A dragon in her court, yet not the one she had expected. And a girl whose very existence constituted a disruption she had not anticipated. The Vale's future, she realized then, had become far more uncertain.
What was that mad prince up to now?
In the distance, Sheepstealer let out a low, guttural growl, a sound that seemed to echo through the mountains like a warning.