Higher Than Honor
Armand sat in the empty solar at the Eyrie. His father had marched south to war and his older brother had marched north to war. His next older brother was put in charge of the Bloody Gate and what had Armand been left to command? The garrison of the Eyrie. Several dozen old men and boys his age or younger with nothing better than some ballista on the wall to defend against possible dragon attacks. My job is to just sit here and if things get bad enough, serve as the last lord of the Eyrie before a dragon kills me. It was a depressing thought to say the least. It was not something that inspired a great deal of confidence or enthusiasm for that matter. Even if the Queen and her Blacks won the war, which it looked like they would, he would still be the third son to Lord Arryn. Third in line for the seat of the Lordship of the Vale. In all likelihood he would be made a member of the Kingsguard or some other “honorable” but middling post. He sighed heavily and listened to it echo about the chamber. The main source of entertainment he had was Maester Yoren. He was young, as maesters go, and was interesting to talk to at the very least.
“My Lord Arryn, moping about the solar again?” He said with a grin
“Don’t call me that. I’m no lord and I never will be.” Armand replied venomously
“Well you’re the interim Lord of the Eyrie at least, the Arryn sitting in the chair.” The man said while pointing to the ornately carved oaken throne atop the dais.
Armand stood and descended. “Aemond Targaryen killed Joffrey.” He said flatly. “He was twelve years old.”
“Yes, a mere stripling.” Yoren replied. “He was a good lad. I remember when he was born. Everyone considered him a decent young man. It is truly a shame he has been killed.”
Armand nodded. “He was twelve years old, and he had a dragon. Even if he never became King he would have been one of the most powerful men in the seven Kingdoms if he had grown to manhood. Just like Prince Daemon.”
“Armand, you’re just…”
“Don’t say a boy, master Yoren. I have seen fifteen name days. I am almost a man grown. Boys younger than me are fighting in this war.” Armand retorted.
“There are many honorable ways for you to make a difference in this world, Armand.” Maester Yoren replied.
“The wall? The Kingsguard? I’ve been with a woman, Yoren, and I don’t want to give them up.” Armand said with a snort.
“Goodness me…” Yoren replied.
“Tell me about dragons.” Armand commanded.
The next hour or two went roughly at first. Yoren was not keen to give up information on the subject, seeming to think that Armand was going to go on some misguided mission to capture a dragon or some nonsense. That was, of course, absurd. Armand would thoroughly research the topic first before jumping into something as dangerous as dragon taming. Realtively littlee was known about the art of dragon taming and dragon riding. Mostly it seemed to just be something that happened. Eggs in the crib that hatched and bonded to the rider. Some unspoken language between the two. At the very least some sort of family history. The more Armand learned the more it did seem like a suicide mission. But then again he was getting his information from Yoren who was obviously critical towards the entire idea. He would have to do some independent research.
It wasn’t the most exciting way to spend several days, but that didn’t seem to make much difference. The Eyrie was like a prison even to the people who weren’t technically prisoners. There was nothing to do and it was isolated. The sky cells just took the prison-like aspects of the Eyrie to a whole new level. Armand had spent a lot of time in the library, reading everything he could get his hands on about dragons, and then reading it over again. The histories were full of stories regarding military glory bought by dragons and the heroic riders of those dragons. Ancient Valyria must have been an extraordinary place to live, but now it was a ruin. Dragons couldn’t save Valyria. Armand would need to read between the lines in order to glean the bits of information he needed to educate himself. Knowledge of dragons would be crucial for what he had planned. He had decided he was going to place a bet on himself. Everyone knew there were wild dragons inhabiting islands in the narrow sea. There had even been a sort of call for potential dragonriders to try their hand. That had been several months ago but the prospect had sparked an interest.
Hours had passed, somewhat fruitlessly. Armand felt as if he had a better theoretical understanding of dragons, but he had still never even seen one in person. There were illustrations in the histories, but those dragons were long dead – all except Vhagar. And Vhagar was a monstrosity, a relic from the time of Aegon who was well beyond reach even if he did not already have a rider.
Dragons might be like any other predator. He thought to himself. What does a wolf – or a falcon for the matter- really want from this world? Food, shelter, warmth, water. Any animal would be content with access to those things. Perhaps dragons do not have an innate desire to fight. They must either be trained to fight in order to receive food, or they fight because of loyalty to the rider – some sort of spiritual connection. The more Armand read on, the more he came to believe that it might be a combination of the two. The consequences of failure would be dire, but at least it would be a quick and relatively painless death. It was time to find a ship to Dragonstone.
It was less than a month later Armand found himself aboard a shockingly inadequate looking vessel and was heading to Dragonstone. Most of the good ships had been taken for use in the war, and their absence left few options. A small dingy called The Witch’s Wail would take him to that island in the Narrow Sea which the dragons called home. Hopefully he would be flying back, or at least sailing. Hopefully he would be coming back. Boarding the ship seemed to bring the reality of the situation crashing down about his ears. He might not survive this. Maybe a career in the Kingsguard wasn’t so bad. He could just stay at the Eyrie and practice drills with the Master at Arms.
He looked down at his side to make sure one of the pigs wasn’t trying to eat the rope he had tied around their necks. Pigs were delicious, especially when cooked in something very hot like dragon’s fire. They were plump and soft, unlike something like a goat or horse, and were commonly harder to come by. Hopefully they wouldn’t die on the ship for some ridiculous reason. Armand decided he needed to keep an eye on the sailors. “Don’t put that up there, we will be pirate bait.” He tore down the sigil of House Arryn from the mast sail and tucked it in his pocket. “Set sail, let’s get this over with.”
The voyage took just two days before they were within sight of Dragonstone. It wasn’t a large island by any means, but it made up for size in difficult terrain. “That’s close enough.” Armand cautioned. If things went poorly he wanted the boat to remain intact. He would take a smaller craft to the island itself. He loaded the two pigs into the small boat and set off, rowing. Within minutes his arms ached. “At least you’re both fat littleers.” He cursed under his breath. “Feels like I’m fighting the tide.” Several minutes of rowing had yielded little movement but eventually it felt as if he was making progress. He wanted to get ashore as quickly as possible before a dragon mistook him as a strange seal, or something. He scanned the skies cautiously, finally reaching a rocky beach with crabs scurrying for the protection of deep crevasses.
He disembarked, pulling the pigs ashore with him. They immediately began scanning the ground for something to eat. It was almost pathetic how aloof they were. Armand begin climbing an embankment that did not seem as steep as the surrounding terrain until he stood atop it, letting the salt breeze cool him from the effort. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm. If under less dire circumstances he might take more time to enjoy himself. He decided to sit and observe the surroundings.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Pontifex Maximus
