WARS TO COME, game of thrones

𝐈. silence

𝟐𝟕𝟏 𝐀𝐂

Anrir sat hidden in a small bay window above the great hall of the eyrie . He had climbed up here early after the morning meal, a spot protected from view that would be difficult for inexperienced climbers to reach. Since the early morning he had been waiting for the guests to finally reach the eyrie. They were boys from the houses of Stark and Baratheon, whom his father would take as wards. Stark and Baratheon, these were famous names, far more famous than Riverfall and Anrir couldn't wait to meet them. He didn't like being the only child in the eyrie because he realized that his father was gradually getting too old to deal with him day in and day out. He was allowed to accompany him everywhere, but Anrir was not particularly interested in the many tasks his father had either. Some things were exciting, but most were administrative and Anrir found no joy in them.

His dark curls fell into his forehead and he brushed them aside gruffly, his gaze continuing on the gate. At this time of day, he was usually supposed to be going about his daily chores; reading books his father picked out for him or taking messages to the guards who could send him back and forth all day. Presumably, he was now wanted.

His worries about all that disappeared as the gate opened and his father entered, followed by a guard and the two boys. Curious, he stretched forward, his gaze darting from one to the other until he could pull himself together and focus on one of them. They were both his age, but the first one Anrir focused on was unusually tall, with thick black hair and bright blue eyes; clearly the Baratheon boy. His companion was slimmer and smaller, with reddish-blond hair and gray eyes that roved alertly. This had to be the Stark boy.

"I am pleased to have you here. Your chambers are ready, you can rest from your journey and come to dinner, there you will meet the rest of the house",his father looked around and Anrir ducked, but Jon Arryn's gaze lingered on him. His father smirked, whistled at him like one of his hawks, and Anrir obediently climbed out of his hiding place, jumping beside him. Now he could see the two boys from close up; both were taller than him and looked more grown up, Anrir's features were much softer and his whole stature smaller.

"Anrir, those are Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. They will live with us as wards and you will learn together in the future. Robert, Eddard, this is my son Anrir." Anrir found himself under curious stares. He remembered no other father than Jon Arryn, but he still knew that he would never be his son by blood and, of course, never his heir. Besides, they didn't look alike, not even remotely; Anrir's hair was black and his eyes as well, like the moon door at night while his father was blond and blue-eyed. "Show them to their rooms, their belongings have already been brought there," Jon prompted him in his usual calm tone, and Anrir nodded before leading the two into one of the towers, up endless flights of stairs.

"I guess we'll have to get used to that now," the Baratheon boy grumbled and Anrir turned to face him on the marble step he was currently standing on. "You'll be soon," he promised him, trying to imitate his father's calm and even tone. He almost never spoke to his peers, and they were supposed to like him. Most of them liked his father and so this seemed like a good tactic to him.

"Where are you from?",Robert Baratheon skipped over his question, looking at him urgently with dark eyebrows slightly drawn together. "From Riverfall," Anrir explained, "But I left there early, my parents died years ago." "So you are Lord of Riverfall?",Baratheon laughed and Anrir shrugged his shoulders with a smile. He wasn't sure if Baratheon was making fun of him and he didn't dare to ask, so he started moving again. First they passed the room assigned to Baratheon and the boy quickly closed the door, which is why Anrir and Stark walked a bit just the two of them.

"You'll be picked up by maids... For dinner, I mean," murmured Anrir as they came to a stop in front of the door. "Thank you," the Stark boy smiled kindly, and Anrir smiled right back. He had a hard time sizing up the other newcomer, but this one gave him a good, unexcited feeling. "See you tonight," he then spoke hastily and hurried back down the stairs, slowing down only when he came to a stop in front of his father's study.

Quietly, so as not to disturb him, he opened the door and just as carefully closed it again behind him, then sat down on the empty armchair next to the door. His father was bent over the table, making notes on a map of the valley. Silently, Anrir watched him until he finally broke away from his work.

"What do you think of them?" "Nice,",Anrir shrugged. "You were shy, this is something new." "I'm just observing. And when I'm quiet it works better." "You're right about that,",his father leaned back and Anrir chewed thoughtfully on a strand of hair. "So they're studying with me now?" "Right. In all disciplines." "Are they staying forever?" "No, eventually they go back to their families." "But I'm staying." "Yes, you stay,",his father clicked his tongue and Anrir stopped chewing on his hair.

"I...",Anrir began uncertainly, "I wish I could go back to my house too and.... Parents..." He was ashamed to say that in front of his father, after all he had done for him. But his father just smiled calmly, "You have a house. You are part of the House of Arryn." "But I am no Arryn. I am not even your bastard and certainly not your heir. You will marry a woman someday who will give you heirs. But I have nothing..." "You are lord of Riverfall, Anrir." "Riverfall," he murmured, feeling a tender shudder at his core, like a memory buried so deep that only a vague emotion reached him. For six months he had survived alone in the fortress, but remembered nothing at all. His earliest memory was of sitting with his father on a horse, leaning against his warm torso.

"Riverfall is a grave. I'm the only one left.... I can't go back to anything." "You won't have to. You will not be my heir, but the eyrie is your home and you will always have a place here." Anrir looked uncertainly into his father's blue eyes, which fixed him calmly. "Promise?" "Promise," Jon Arryn smiled and rose, patting his head. "Go on now. You certainly have things to do."

Obediently leaving his father behind, Anrir went to his writing room, where he hung over the books for hours until his eyes burned and his head ached, the letters seeming to dance before his eyes. Even if they were challenging, he devoured every book his father assigned him. On the one hand, of course, he wanted to impress him and on the other hand, he couldn't get enough of the books; part history books, part non-fiction and sometimes fiction. Sometimes when he read about the years of Aegon's conquest and before, and read the name Riverfall, his heart would beat a little faster and he imagined himself born at that time; when his house was still big and strong, one of the oldest in Westeros. During the old times, his line had allegedly even mixed with that of the Targaryens.

Anrir leaned back and looked up at his bright ceiling. He liked it in the eyrie . But in his daydreams, he was the son and heir of a powerful lord.

--------

In the evening, Anrir had been put out fresh clothes, in sky blue and white, the colors of House Arryn. On his collar, however, he wore an old brooch of blackened metal that showed the coat of arms of his family, a winged tower,. Briefly, he stroked the brooch. Under his fingers, the metal felt cold.

It was not a nice feeling, and Anrir ran down the steps into the great hall, found his usual seat, and settled down, being one of the first, his eyes intently fixed on the entrance. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark arrived at the same time, and they took their seats next to the head of the table, facing him. His father arrived last, when the table was already set. He excused himself and gave Anrir a brief smile of encouragement.

His father talked to the guests about the journey and Anrir listened intently, greedy for every bit of information on their lives outside of the eyrie. Baratheon was from Storm's End and Stark, of course, from Winterfell. They did not tell much about their homeland, but Anrir was eager to know more, but did not dare to ask. He was especially curious about the Stark boy; he was quiet and reserved, the exact opposite of his dark-haired companion. So the Baratheon boy dominated the conversation and Anrir and Stark just ate in silence, their eyes fixed on Anrir's father and only now and then, when they reached for something to eat, for example, did they break away from their observer role. Stark smiled slightly at him across the table when their eyes met. Anrir returned the smile immediately.

It was nice not to be the only listener at the table anymore. Of course, sometimes Anrir wanted to join in the conversation, but whenever he had something to say about Baratheon's chatter, he couldn't find the courage to speak up. It was as if he only listened. But for once he didn't feel alone.