57 Panorama

After passing the castle of Stone, the trail grew steeper. Soon, we ascended, and as I glanced back, the Gates of the Moon had receded into the distance.

Our legion stayed at the Gates of the Moon; it would have been too cumbersome to lead such a large group up those perilous tracks.

Instead, I led my elite group up the mountains, accompanied by Aunt Rhea and her bannermen.

"How is my nephew?" Aunt Rhea inquired as we rode on mules accustomed to the journey.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard," 

"I have," she said with a knowing smile. "Given the frequent messengers you always send."

I quipped back, "What can I say? I like to keep my loved ones informed."

"And your father and mother?" she asked.

"I didn't say I inform everyone in the same manner."

Aunt Rhea narrowed her eyes. "Selective. Just like your uncle."

I surveyed her briefly. "Mmm, not in the same way."

"I've seen much of your dragon of late," she said, dismissing my eyes of undress.

"So I've heard."

"Should I be worried? He shows up to Runestone injured and bloodied. And when he lands, he consumes all the livestock!"

"So the livestock we supplied are faring well? What about the farming plans?

"Don't change the subject."

I relented, "Fine. Sundance is fixated on his feud against the vicious Cannibal, it seems. Dragonstone is our home, so I don't blame him. The Cannibal is a monster in every sense of the word."

"Just don't blame me if he ends up killed," Rhea cautioned. "I'll not have it said he died because of Runestone's overfeeding."

"Sundance has other places he frequents, other houses that will provide for him as much as he desires," I assured her.

"Are you not concerned?" she asked.

Without hesitation, I responded.

"If there's one thing I've learned and truly believe, you can't control a true spirit—be it dragons, great men, women like you, or those who have lived earnestly and dipped in the lagoon of uncertainty. People wander such happenstance, day by day, in bliss or struggle, all in the hope of love and pursuit of some faint freedom."

"Goodness, forget I ever asked!" Rhea laughed.

"I suppose I do have a knack for nothing-speak," I remarked lightly.

"It has improved quite dramatically," she retorted.

Changing the subject, I joked, "Only because it's required. As to nothing.., When can I expect a baby cousin?"

Her mood shifted. "Why don't you ask your uncle?"

"Surely, there's some attraction between you both. I picture a child, half-blood of Valaria, half that of the First Men."

"Keep on picturing," she dismissed. "Your uncle isn't exactly the 'finish' type."

"Aunt Rhea! How unseemly to speak in such a manner in front of royalty!"

"Don't fault a loyal subject for answering a question from her prince!" she countered.

"So it's duty that compelled you?" I teased, only to receive further teasing from her.

"You'll make your future wife very happy, speaking like that," she remarked. "On that topic, how are you on the Lady front?"

The matter of my marriage was tiresome. "Where do I start? It seems like every day I receive proposals from lords and ladies. My spies report many offers sent to my father in King's Landing."

"Your spies? In the Red Keep?" Rhea asked with concern.

"Perhaps 'informant' is a more accurate term," I clarified. "There are many who feel compelled to tell me things. A Prince should always listen."

As I spoke, Rhea grew uneasy, a reminder of the weightiness of my position. Even if I played along, the fact remained:

I was of the Dragon.

So I laughed heartily, the sound echoing in the mountains, almost as if the warmth of my voice could melt the snow-capped peaks, turning white into red and blue.

"But that's of no consequence," I said, "There are far more important things than my hand in marriage. Let the birds continue to chirp, I say, and perhaps a nice song will come of it."

"How I've missed that easy going nature," said Rhea, "No doubt life at court has been dull without you."

"Court needs no help in that regard!" I said, "That's why you should leave Runestone and take your place beside my uncle. The capital would be better for it."

"Then who would tend to my sheep?"

"It's you I'm concerned with."

We reached the second-way castle, Snow, etched into the Giant's Lance. It hammered home the futility of attempting to invade the Eyrie by land. A brief stop at Snow treated us to hot garlic broth, and we traded for new mounts. 

Mounted on fresh mules, we pressed on. 

"If it weren't for our dragons," I remarked after leaving Snow behind, "The Vale would still be an independent kingdom. Thought of warring in this terrain is bad enough."

"Is that what princes do on tour?" said Rhea. "Lay imaginative siege against host?"

"That all depends," I said with a wink, "I haven't been hosted by you yet."

She ignored my meaning, "Runestone will always be open to you."

"That won't stop me from wondering. It's a boy thing. We and our war games."

"Yes," said Rhea, "waving your cocks while we stay home and keep things in order." 

"Is that sense of longing I detect?"

"More like contempt."

"Sounds like cock-jealousy, if you ask me," I said, and suddenly I was reminded of my sister. 

"It's the ignorance I yearn for," said Rhea.

"Of that, my dear Aunt, we completely agree."

The ascent to the final waycastle, Sky, proved to be the most treacherous leg of our journey.

Countless times, we found ourselves thanking the gods for the nimble feet of our mules, their agility saving our lives on numerous occasions. It's said they could even make climb in the dead of night if need be. 

Exposed to biting winds that felt like icy daggers, the path's steps were cracked and broken from the relentless grip of ice. 

The waycastle resembled a formidable wall, thick enough to shelter a contingent of men. Crafted from unmortared stone, it shaped like a crescent moon, rising resolutely against the side of the Giant's Lance. 

Inside its protective walls a series of ramps coiled, accompanied by an array of boulders and stones, ready to be hurled at a moment's notice to thwart any would-be besiegers.

Seeking refuge within Sky's shelter, we indulged in a dish of quail eggs, accompanied by a warming draught of wine as we gathered around the crackling fire.

Renewed in spirit, we knew that the Eyrie was now within reach. Sky served as the access point, offering the option to sit in supply baskets and be pulled the remaining distance. 

Yet, eschewing the easier route, we, steadfast and unyielding, chose to climb the rest of the way. This involved navigating a precarious path through Sky's chimney, relying solely on slick-thin handholds to keep us anchored to the wall.

Enduring the ascent, much to the chagrin of Ser Lorent, who perpetually feared for my safety, we finally beheld the grand keep that lay before us.

The Eyrie, the ancient and noble seat of House Arryn, radiated Andal glory. Nestled on the Giant's Lance, it resembled a pristine shoulder piece of armor with its fine white stone and seven slender towers. 

The panoramic view from our lofty perch revealed a mountainous expanse, where valleys and peaks were veiled beneath drifting clouds. 

Falcons circled a boundless sky, serving as eager heralds of our arrival. The ambiance of the place felt almost sacred, as if its proximity to the heavens had bestowed upon it a divine grace.

Aunt Rhea observed us all gawking like fools and remarked, "First time laying eyes on the Eyrie?"

We nodded in unison. "They say it's impregnable," I added.

Sari scoffed, "Give me ten good men and some climbing spikes, and I'll impregnate the bitch."

That's when I sensed a shift in the air, a tingling awareness.

"That shan't be necessary, Sari," I declared, strolling confidently along the bridge leading to the Eyrie's gate.

Sari raised a brow, "Huh?"

Suddenly, a mighty roar echoed through the mountains, so powerful that Aunt Rhea's bannermen covered their ears and wobbled on their knees.

However, neither I nor my men were affected. That roar signaled the return of a dearly missed friend, a spirit of triumph and freedom.

Midway across the bridge, I turned to Sari, proclaiming, "Because I have a dragon."

From the scorching sun emerged a colossal winged shadow. Sundance flapped his wings and nosedived, weaving through valleys and soaring up into the clouds. His golden aura radiated as ice melted from his scales.

Ser Lorent's eyes widened in horror. "No, Prince Rhaenar. Please—!"

For he recognized the expression that no Kingsguard knight wished to see—the face of his prince before he did something ridiculous.

With laughter, I leaped off the bridge, relishing the flutter of weightlessness. Almost feeling remorse as Aunt Rhea screamed in horror.

But when I landed on Sundance's back and guided him into an impressive flying maneuver, the collective sighs of relief from everyone made it all worthwhile.

What can I say? The artist in me adores a good surprise.

And sometimes, the best surprises are those self-inflicted~