The dragons bastard

Chapter 44: the evening at the vale

Outside the border of the vale of Arryn Araforth stood at the edge of a cliff, the sea crashing violently below. The wind tore at his cloak, but he did not move. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if he could already see the pieces of the board shifting into place.

Behind him, a man approached cautiously.

"My lord... word has come from the Vale."

Araforth did not turn. "Speak."

The man hesitated-just briefly. "Your sister... she has been seen. With Rhaegar."

That earned a reaction.

Not anger.

Not surprise.

A slow... quiet smile.

"I wondered how long it would take."

He turned then, revealing eyes far too calm for a man who had not seen his sister in years after her escape from his grasp. "And the dragon?"

"They say he rides one now."

Araforth let out a faint breath of amusement. "Of course he does."

He began to walk, slow and deliberate, the man quickly falling in step behind him.

"They will believe she has turned," Araforth continued. "That she seeks to stop me."

"My lord... does she not?"

Araforth stopped.

Turned.

And for a moment, the air itself seemed to tighten.

"My sister," he said quietly, "has always believed she could choose her own path."

A step closer.

"She forgets... I taught her how to walk it."

The man lowered his gaze immediately.

Araforth moved past him.

"Send word to our friends in King's Landing," he ordered. "The court is restless. That makes it... useful."

"Yes, my lord."

"And the fleet?"

"Ready. Awaiting only your command."

Another pause.

Then-

"Not yet."

They entered a dimly lit war chamber carved into stone, its walls lined with maps, markers, and carefully placed tokens. Araforth approached the central table, studying it in silence.

"The Vale will close its gates," he said, almost to himself. "They will hide behind their mountains... believing themselves untouchable."

His fingers moved a piece-representing the Eyrie.

"They always do."

Another piece slid into place.

King's Landing.

"But kingdoms are not broken at their strongest point..."

His hand hovered.

Then pressed down elsewhere.

"They are broken where they are weakest."

The man frowned slightly. "And where is that, my lord?"

Araforth's smile returned-thin and cold.

"Trust."

He straightened, turning back toward him. "If they believe Dymeria stands with them... they will act differently. Speak differently. Reveal more than they should."