To celebrate the king's victory in the War of the Stepstones, gifts arrived from across the realm.
The Reach, the Vale, and the North, regions that had committed little manpower to the war, sent tributes in their stead.
From Highgarden came roses, melons, peaches, fireplums, and golden arbor wine.
The rulers of the Reach were clearly planning a grand alliance. The betrothal between House Redwyne and House Tyrell had already bound the two tightly together, and now their gaze seemed to be turning toward yet another powerful house, the Hightowers.
The fruits of the Vale were even sweeter than those of the Reach. Along with harvest goods came scented candles, costly spices, and the pelts of shadow lynxes. The towering Pale Mountains formed an impassable gate around the Vale, yet the valleys between them were rich beyond measure.
"Your Grace, please forgive us. The treacherous mountain roads and attacks by wild tribes delayed our journey."
The chief envoy, Jon Stone, a noble bastard of the Vale, presented House Arryn's gifts to King's Landing.
The Vale was strong, but crippled by geography. Its mountain roads were perilous, and the lawless mountain clans, fearless and savage, infested the Pale Mountains. They knew every ridge and ravine, fought like demons, and were deeply rooted, nearly impossible to eradicate.
"Your efforts are appreciated," King Jaehaerys II said.
Prince Rhaegar stood at his side, while Prince Aerys, as always, was lost in wine and revelry.
Though the Vale's envoys had arrived late, Jaehaerys II understood the hardship of their journey.
Most great lords of the realm preferred caution. They would rather guard their own lands than immerse themselves in the game of power.
In this, the Vale, the North, and Dorne were aligned.
The Vale and Dorne were enclosed by mountains; the North was bound by cold.
In truth, Jaehaerys II did not mind their distance. The Vale and the North had never been deeply involved in court politics. Only Dorne, due to recent marriages, had briefly appeared in King's Landing. The others remained outsiders.
"My lord bids me convey his sincerest greetings,"
Jon Stone said formally.
"From Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, Warden of the East and Defender of the Vale,
to His Grace and the Queen,
to the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone,
and to young Prince Rhaegar."
"We thank the lord for his goodwill," Jaehaerys II replied. "How is his health?"
"He remains in good health, Your Grace."
The current ruler of the Vale, Jon Arryn, was strong of body but childless. The deaths of his wife and infant son had weighed heavily upon him. His first wife had died young without issue; his second had survived into adulthood, only to endure repeated stillbirths.
Grief hung over the Lord of the Eyrie like a shadow, keeping him far from court.
Rhaegar knew this lord, still absent from King's Landing, was a kingmaker, stern and unyielding. A child raised beneath such a shadow would inevitably grow defiant.
Fate had shaped Jon Arryn into the man he was. Though he had no sons of his own, he cherished the children of others and those he fostered. He valued honor above life itself and bowed to no one.
"Stubborn old Arryn, strong as a bull, yet without a trueborn heir," Jaehaerys II sighed. Among the great lords, Arryn was already advanced in years.
"May the gods grant him a worthy successor," Jon Stone replied. In his heart, he doubted the lord would ever wed again. Weddings and funerals alike had taught Arryn to fear marriage; even a great lord would not take a third wife.
Bored, Rhaegar turned his attention inward, studying the Life Tree panel hovering before him.
The Blood of Flame still slept. Yet with each achievement, each increase in vitality, the tree grew more lush.
Power grasped, strength mastered, these nourished the tree.
When it grew tall enough, the sleeping flame would awaken, and he would rise once more upon the back of a dragon.
Jon Stone presented Rhaegar with a beautifully illustrated book. It depicted the wild beauty of the Vale,
and, of course, dragons.
Many legends of dragons were told in the Vale. Dragons had once shaped its history.
Queen Visenya had flown with a young Arryn lord through the clouds.
In a cave within the Pale Mountains, royal troops had encountered the sheep-stealer and ragged Nettles, sixteen soldiers were consumed by dragonflame.
Rhaegar lingered on the illustration showing Nettles and the wild dragon Sheepstealer bursting from a cave, vanishing into the depths of the Pale Mountains.
"Prince, you know this tale," Jon Stone said. "The last time Sheepstealer was seen was the year he clashed with the king's men."
Rhaegar nodded. The love story of Nettles and Prince Daemon had long been a favorite among singers.
"Grandfather," Rhaegar said softly, "the depths of the Pale Mountains are not a place for ordinary men."
"The mountain tribes are savages," Jaehaerys II replied.
He knew the mountains well. The feral clans had slaughtered many Vale lords, Arryns among them. Worse still, only those of dragon blood could ever hope to approach Sheepstealer. That wild dragon had been fierce, untamed, and surely long dead.
"Still, there is another tale," Jon continued.
"A branch of the Burned Men once worshipped a fire priestess high in the mountains. They offered children and gifts, and the dragon she commanded tested them with flame, to see whether they possessed the blood."
Rhaegar nodded. That priestess could only have been Nettles.
I would need an elite force, and Lord Arryn's support, to open a path into the Pale Mountains, he thought.
First, he intended to find the bones of the last dragon.
Sheepstealer must have died deep in the mountains; its massive body would have trapped it there in the end. Rhaegar had no intention of recruiting the mountain clans, those bloodthirsty savages would tear King's Landing apart if unleashed.
Second, he wished to see what else remained within the dragon's lair.
When the shepherd girl fled, she may have taken relics left behind by her lover,
Prince Daemon, the great commander of the Black host.
Rhaegar was determined to find them.
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