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The air in the Vale was crisp, heralding the arrival of autumn as dusk settled over the high peaks surrounding the Eyrie. The narrow, winding paths leading up to the ancient castle seemed to hold their breath as the news echoed through its stone halls: Lady Jeyne Arryn was in labor. Servants scurried, whispering prayers to the Old Gods and the Seven alike, while the maester prepared potions and salves for the coming night.
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In a candlelit chamber within the Eyrie, Lady Jeyne lay on a grand bed draped with deep blue and silver silks, colors of House Arryn, her face pale but determined. Lady Alara was known for her strength and resilience; she hailed from House Royce, an influential house of the Vale, known for its storied history and unbending loyalty. She clutched the hand of her husband, Lord Rodrik Arryn, a young lord in his prime, with sharp, clear eyes that seemed both watchful and distant, much like the soaring mountains that surrounded his ancestral seat. As well the youngest brother to Aemma Arryn his oldest sister.
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Lord Rodrik knelt by her side, a blend of worry and pride in his gaze. Tall and lean, with the dark hair and intense blue-gray eyes of his bloodline, he looked every bit the noble lord of the Eyrie, though tonight his stern features softened in the presence of his laboring wife.
The labor was long and difficult, the hours stretching into the night as Jeyne battled through waves of pain. Every so often, Rodrik would whisper words of encouragement, his voice a low murmur against the rush of wind outside. Occasionally, the roar of an eagle echoed from the heights above, a haunting sound that the people of the Vale took as a blessing from their ancestors.
