[center][h2]A Queen flies in[/h2][/center]
A Collab with [@Ezekiel] (He did the bulk of the work!)

Eyes shut against the world, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms clung to the harness binding her to her mount and companion, Syrax. The methodical beat of her heavy wings drowned out all sensation as Rhaneyra focused on it. It was that, or acknowledge the harshness of the wind and cold around her, of the pain in her body and the sapping of her strength. She had forsaken her Hand's idea of flying with a maester, even the weight of one more person would delay Syrax, even if only by a little. It was not as if the man could have looked to her ills mid-air, and no matter what had come between them, she doubted her oldest friend would deny her the service of the Eyrie's own, even if that was all she gave her.

Syrax was not a swift dragon, but she was so vast as to be implaceable, while smaller dragons would have to flow with the harsh gale of the building mountain storms, Syrax bludgeoned her way through gust and gale. Behind her neck, Rhaenyra was sheltered from the worst of the wind and rain when they travelled, but she had not been in a fit state to do so when they had begun, and the journey had not been easy.

When Syrax finally began to approach the Eyrie, cresting over the mountains of the vale, Rhaenyra was barely aware, but she did not allow herself to slip into unconciousness. She was not sure if she would awaken, and she would not have the weather do her half-brother's dirty business for him. Through barely open eyes, she saw glimmers of the Eyrie as Syrax dropped low, heard shouts of alarm from below, although they were barely more than a whisper to her. With an impact that must have been titanic, but she could just about feel, Syrax landed in the mountain keep's main courtyard, giving out something of a roar of confirmation.

The Queen reeled in her harness, her travelling cloak pulled over her, and the riding leathers she wore beneath, she appeared more the adventurous teenager of her youth, in spirit, if not quite in form. Now, however, she fought to remain awake, her head lolling backwards as she almost instinctively removed herself from the harness, half dismounting, half falling, from the dragon, to the courtyard below, barely aware of the many figures rushing towards her.

"A dragon, m'lady!" Aya had called. The stewardess had been sitting cross-legged in the window-seat of Jeyne's solar whilst the Maiden of the Vale read through replies from her bannermen to her call to ready themselves for the possibility of war. Some were incredulous that she gave no sign of declaring one way or other and others even thought to try to persuade her themselves. House Sunderland was minded to declare for Aegon rather than face the wrath of the King and had even petitioned the rest of the Sisters to do likewise. Adrian Redfort  had already gone to Dragonstone to pledge his sword to Rhaenyra. It was hopeless. She knew that for good or ill the Vale could scarce hope to avoid the coming storm any more than they could hope to avoid the coming winter. Mercifully the past week had seen an easing of the snows yet the wind was sharp and cold as a blade. Aya's cry gave her pause. 

"Green or Black?" Jeyne rose and crossed to the window. Aya oftimes claimed she saw a dragon reflected in the mists of Alyssa's Tears, a wisp of the shadow of a ghost but she'd ever been a dreamer and the magical held a special fascination for her. Jeyne tightened her lips as she made out the familiar silhouette of Syrax growing larger in the grey skies. She'd made up her mind that her courtesy would be icy cold until whomever courted her support made their plea, but her breath was all relief that Rhaenyra approached rather than Aegon or one of his brothers. 

She didn't bestir herself to go to the courtyard, a fire blazed in the Crescent Chamber and Jeyne took hr seat upon a high chair, the throne of the Old Arryn Kings on a raised dais of black marble. Aya stood, slender as a spear at her right hand as Lorn Lynderly and Emmon Corbray ventured out to receive Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone and some would have it, rightful Queen of Westeros. A squire, a wiry lad named Loras Lipps, scurried after them with bread and salt but Jeyne called him back. He sullenly took up position to her left and the traditional guest right was forestalled.
 
Across the blue satin of her gown she lay the blade Falconclaw, not Valyrian Steel to be sure but the naked steel was message enough for Rhaenyra upon her entrance. Her heart panged to do it, but she'd resolved whomever made visit to her, they'd be treated with suspicion in the outset. This was their war, if it came to it, not hers and until they stated their motives for bringing a dragon to her doors, then she must needs defend herself. For who else would?

The first courtier of the Eyrie to approach Rhaenyra, or was it a guard? Her vision still swam and she couldn't make out the details, had the misfortune of coming face to face with the protective maw of Syrax, letting out another fortress-shaking roar in defence of her clearly stricken rider.

By the time more picked up the courage to approach, Rhaneyra had calmed the huge beast, patting its side gently as her sense returned. Still the chill and pain remained rooted in her centre, but her faculties had returned. In short order, she pulled down her hood, revealing who she was, if there was any doubt, the crown of her father placed atop a man of Valyrian silver. While tussled and made rogue by the storm, her look was still an impressive one, although more in line with the reputation of her husband, the rogue prince, than the Realm's Delight.

"Take me to....take me to your lady." The Queen spoke to the nearest courtier, who nodded before leading the way, Rhaneyra turning briefly to calm Syrax once more at the thought of being apart from her wounded companion. The short distance was not easy for Rhaenyra, but she fought to keep that from being obvious. Her travelling cloak was cast aside, the riding leathers beneath, black with red trime, was fine enough in its make to suffice for a formal meeting at pressing notice. Thankfully, the swelling of her miscarried womb had retreated, and so the Queen was willing to be seen as such, even if the slender figure of her youth had been replaced with the buxom sign of motherhood.

When she was finally brought before Jeyne Arryn, she was wounded, if not surprised, to see her prepared in a manner that was aggressive in its coldness, Falconclaw at the ready. She couldn't help but smirk a little at that, Jeyne would be so bold as to prepare to fight a dragon with a ceremonial blade.

Rhaenyra paused only for formal introductions to be made, her violet eyes not wavering from Jeyne's, something of a powerful sight, the stormswept heir of Valyria, before she herself spoke; "Lady Arryn, you must have heard of the-" It was as far as the Queen managed before the pain of her travels finally overcame her, a sharp pain within her, like a knife to her stomach, marring the concentration of her faith, the Queen extending one arm to catch herself on something, but nothing was to hand, instead she stumbled, to a collective gasp of the room. When she straightened herself once more, the pain kept her silent, clenching her teeth against the limits of her body.

Falconclaw rang every stone wall as it slid from Jeyne's lap and clattered uselessly to the uncarpeted marble. She'd steeled herself for the meeting but had scarce thought to behold her lifelong friend in such a state of ill-health. She hissed at Lynderly and Corbray, "Help her! For pity's sake! My chambers. Make haste. Aya?" She whirled around but the Lyseni was already halfway to the door. "I shall bring Maester Cowley at once." She curtseyed deftly and disappeared. Jeyne seized Rhaenyra's hand. Warm. It was always warm. "Have you lost leave of your senses, Rhae? You're not near fit to fly!" She hadn't meant to scold her dearest friend and, as her heart told her- rightful queen but to see her brought low by the travails of the birthing bed had shocked her to her core. 

By the time the knights of the Vale had helped her to Jeyne's own bedchamber, Aya and Maester Cowley were already in attendance. Jeyne's Stewardess had lit candles and poured fresh water in a crystal jug at the bedside. The Maester had tinctures, powders, potions and salves in a clever wooden holdall that opened into many compartmented shelves via a system of levers and catches. Hot towels and cool moistened cloths were readied. After Rhaenyra was abed, Jeyne apologised for speaking sharply to the two knights and gave them leave, sullen Loras Lipps, who had followed in befuddlement still clutching his tray of bread and salt was bid to leave it on the writing bureau and to see to it that Falconclaw was returned to its place above the great hearth and that the cooks supplied meat for Syrax. "A couple of goats should serve. I doubt she's still partial to lemoncakes." She smiled and mopped Rhaenyra's brow with one of the damp cloths. "I am truly sorry, my friend... about the babe." She frowned but couldn't meet her friend's eye.

"I have prepared milk of the poppy." Whispered Maester Cowley, his eyes glittering and kind. She needs rest but there are no outward signs of lasting injury. Over-exertion is the cause of this malady. A decent sleep and a decent meal are the best remedies. Fish would be best... given the blood loss." His smile was tight and sad. "Thank you, Maester. Thank you Aya. If we might entreat some time alone?" She received nods from both and they slipped away in silence. The draft of milk of the poppy was left at the bedside next to the jug of water, beads of cool moisture cascading down the contours of the crystal like swollen jewels. 

For the time it took for Rhaenyra to be abed, she was queen no longer, nor Jeyne Lady of the Eyrie, she was simply thankful for the aid of a friend, purpose flying in the face of troublesome pain. She, along with every ache and pain of her body, more than welcomed the comforting embrace of a bed. The first one she had lay in since the false-birth of her stillborn child, a thought that arose unbidden from the depths of her mind, before she could focus on the matters at hand. For now, she waved off the milk of the poppy, a sigh escaping her lips as the Queen sunk into the pillows of her impromptu bed.

"You were right, flying was not wise, but I had little choice, recent times have taken away most of my choices." The violet eyes that looked up to meet Jeyne's were vulnerable in a way that Rhaenyra was not often, even as a young girl, she had met most of the great challenges of life with iron walls of character about her. Only a few would ever see through that, Jeyne could be counted among them. For now, Rhaenyra chose not to mention that Jeyne's decision not to declare for her immediately was the principle reason for such a rash move by the Queen, bridges were not mended through blame.

Her hand clasped Jeyne's as she spoke of her lost child, she did not seek to force her to hold her gaze, simply squeezing her hand; "A daughter...my first, she would have been, born in to this world far too soon." The last few days, of trial and travel, had kept her mind from the crushing thoughts of her grief, swallowed up by rage, but now that the fire within her was dying, if just for a moment, her sorrow, a far worse pain than of her ails.

"I should change, my ancestors and husband may have made a habit of ruling as warriors alone, but I doubt many expect the first Queen of Westeros to look like a wild hunter." She chuckled, even if her laugh, all her laughs, were hollow these days.

Seeing her this way was hard. Jeyne had sorely missed her childhood friend but had to make a point of refusing to acknowledge Rhaenyra's marriage to Daemon. Daemon was poison; her Aunt Rhea had died childless and shunned because the Prince cruelly chose to forsake her and had made a point of sullying the good name of the Vale to any who would hear him. It would not do. Finally, he'd brought war upon Runestone and whilst the Knights of the Vale had ensured his claim remained fruitless, a score of loyal bannermen had needlessly perished. She had doubts how Royce, Redfort or Templeton might take her declaring for the very man, albeit through his wife, whom had cost them so much.

But that could wait. Not long, she knew, but for now. She squeezed the Queen's hand. "I'm so sorry I thought to greet you like that... I couldn't be sure it were you or one of Aegon's party and I'd resolved to treat any dragons at my door with steel." It sounded petty to say it aloud. "Gods... It's pathetic really, but your mention of your 'warrior husband' only reminds me what that man has cost the Vale." She sighed. "He remains an exile in these lands, and when you disregarded my advice to wed him... It hurt, Rhae. It showed me how little regard you had left for our friendship. I love you well but [i]him[/i]?" She turned away. "You put me in an impossible position Your Grace..."

In the several sconces, the candles flickered. A raven beat its wings by the window and on towards Maester Cowley's rookery. [i]Dark Wings. Dark Words[/i] she feared. Of late correspondnce had stepped up a notch, various Houses seeking Jeyne to give some indication of her intent. Most implored her to declare for Rhaenyra and their counsel was the counsel of her heart in truth. Yet there was a point to be made and she would make it. If her leal bannermen would risk their lives, let their Queen make her offer. To have lost the baby was a pain Jeyne had wept to hear but War was separate from personal matters and she doubted the might of the East would march into dragonflame because a babe had died and it was a bit of a shame.

She allowed Rhaenyra to digest her words as she compressed a cool cloth to her fevered brow.

For the moment, Rhaenyra allowed Jeyne her grievances. It had been a driving wedge between them, her marriage to Daemon, but it had never been something she was willing to compromise on, even to those closest to her. In truth, losing her childhood friend had cost her much, and not just the assured loyalty of one of Seven Kingdoms.

"As my friend, I understand, and I am sorry for the actions of my husband." Another pause, with her violet stare settling on the Lady of the Vale; "But I am not just your friend, I am your Queen, you know this to be true, you knew my father and his wishes. Whether or not you approve of my husband, the position you are in is the same for all lords and ladies of the realm, loyalty, or treason." She sat straighter in the bed as she spoke, even though she longed to remain as still as possible, for now, no longer holding Jeyne's hand.

"Loyalty is rewarded, but I should not have had to question yours."

It was heavy for Jeyne to hear; she was ever the Targaryen- Fire and Bluster. "Oh Rhae, don't play the high and mighty with me here, under my roof. In mine own bed!" She laughed, rising from the bedside and beginning to pace; "We're too old for petty squabbles. I just wanted you to ask my aid and not presume to ignore me for years then hope I'll come running in your hour of need..." She kept her expression soft, human but there was an edge to some of her words that betrayed the hurt beneath them that was genuine. "Of course I know your claim is right. I know what Viserys wished and I know Aegon and his lackeys have conspired to cheat you of your birthright." A tear slid down her cheek. When had she last wept? She'd wept when she heard of the babe... All her tears were for Rhaenyra of late. [i]But should it come to war the realm will weep...[/i]

"In my heart, my friend, I am yours. Always. But my duty is to my people. Nobody understands that better than you." She stopped pacing and returned to her seat by Rhaenyra's pillow. "Daemon affronted the whole Vale and in that blasted business with Runestone he cost the families of some of my bannermen dear." Her eyes were downcast, she cuffed away the tears. "It would be remiss of me to push them into a war behind a man they despise, no matter to whom he's wed this time..."

For now, the Queen, abed in the Eyrie, decided not to push the issue that Jeyne's desire for gratification might have ended her reign before it had even begun, after all, no one had exactly forced her onto Syrax, but it took a brief pause to pass over the thought, before a weak smile graced her lips.

"I am glad, I would not want to have lost yet another joy so soon." Her smile persisted towards the Lady of the Eyrie for some time,even as they turned back to more serious, specific matters. The Queen retained her upright position, not wishing to come across as overly casual.

"I understand, they will not be happy to commit to a war they see in aid of my husband, but you will fight for me, not Daemon, although I doubt that will comfort them much. In stead of that, I have the backing of Driftmark, and much of the realm's fleets beside, Aegon may promise much, but even as war begins, for your bannermen so affronted, coastal as they are, great boons can be made for the Eyrie. My husband may still wound your soul, but prosperity, over poverty, can go much to fixing what he has done to the people of the Eyrie."

It sent a sorrowful pang to hear the rightful Queen trying to barter for her service with another's coin, yet it made sense with Winter drawing closer that those that would pledge their swords might receive recompense for those they left behind to see them through the cold years. "The snows have been dread of late." That was true, until the past few days the Eyrie was utterly cut off from the rest of the Vale. There had been Winters, Jeyne knew, when the Arryn Kings of old had spent years atop the Giant's Lance and no soul had been able to enter or leave again. She might even be better served sending her bannermen to Rhaenyra's cause by sea should it come to it and she was about to say as much...

The knock was familiar, welcome. "Maester Cowley? What news?" She bid the friendly maester enter. "Queen Rhaenyra, I implore you to try to sleep." He tried again, ever putting the care of his patient before the trifles of the realm. He turned to Jeyne; "The Blackstar approaches. Some seventy men & horse. He's cleared the Bloody Gate though I wonder that he takes such a bemusing route." Jeyne frowned. She liked Jon Templeton well enough but she'd pointedly not called the banners and wondered at the meaning of him bringing a reserve the long way round to her door unbidden. 

"Forgive me your Grace, it seems we're to have more visitors during your stay with us..." She had a grave look as she sat in contemplation. "Ser Jon Templeton's a case in point Your Grace." She offered. "As loyal a bannerman as I could have hoped for. It was his brother I called upon to foster a Sunderland babe to assure their ongoing fealty long years past now. Jon came to collect her, Ronnel was ever half a cripple." She could scarce believe how the years had slipped through her slender fingers. "But when I had to call the banners when Daemon tried to sieze Runestone... Well, Daemon himself slew Ronnel and Jon's never forgiven it. 

"My brother is Kennelmaster at Ninestars..." Maester Cowley put in. "Jon is honourable to a fault. Were the Queen wed to the Night King himself, he'd fight for her should Lady Jeyne bid it." He smiled placidly.

"I won't sleep while I have matters to attend to, at least for now." The Queen responded in terms that were certain but not unkind, sitting up straight in the bed provided for her, the bed clothes still wrapped around her form.

"If he is truly so loyal, then I should speak with him, it should not be seen that I am unkind, or rude, towards those who would set aside such things, though I will need to change before I see anyone else, I should gather." She mused seriously, before laughing, and smirking a little at the Lady of the Arryn; "While your lady may be accustom to her Queen dragged through the dirt in leathers, I feel most vassals are not."

Jeyne had Aya summoned to see that the Queen had fresh clothes, though Jeyne's own wardrobe boasted little black and crimson, the Lyseni stewardess presented some dark blue dresses or a deep red velvet gown that she doubted Lady Jeyne even knew she owned. Aya didn't look the Queen in the eye and was resolved only to speak if spoken to. She had spent the time since leaving the chambers looking at the dragon in wonder from the safe distance of the Courtyard gates. She was humbled to be in the company of a queen but in Syrax, felt she had witnessed true majesty.

Aya dreamed of dragons her whole life. Only Jeyne knew and she found it endearing, she often sat in the window seat in her Lady's chambers and watched the mists of Alyssa's Tears evaporating before they reached the valley's floor and fancied she could sometimes see a grey shape flirting through the distant spray. Jeyne had said she saw it too from time to time but Aya could never tell if she was just humouring her. There was no doubting Syrax's reality though and this Queen was lucky enough to have bonded with her for life. Small wonder she couldn't find the words to address Rhaenyra.

The Queen examined the offered clothing for only a little time, swiftly deciding upon the dark blue, for the current setting. Rhaenyra had always found it rather easy to read others, or at least, she thought so. It wouldn't take much of a genius to pause over the presence of a foreign handmaiden at the Court of the Eyrie, it was not as if the Falcon's Keep was a common port of call for travellers. Rhaenyra had known the girl, or at least her face, from time spent with Jeyne. She could not remember how she had come to be in the service of House Arryn, but it was clear Jeyne relied on her more than one might any other servant.

"You, and your...Aya? was it?" The Queen raised an eyebrow as she stood and spoke, a recalled distant memory, the bed clothes falling away from her, only a slight wince marring her features from the movement after her much needed, if short burst, of rest. Despite the presence of servants, having dismissed all but one, Rhaenyra set to work on the clasps and bindings of her leather garb, simple, even if expensive, and was no issue for the Queen to undress herself.

In her youth, back in the days that Jeyne and her's friendship had been cemented, Rhaenyra had been a slender, if womanly, beauty of the Targaryen line. Now, years gone by, and the Queen was no less fair of feature, but children and life at court had reshaped her, instead of a slender maid, Rhaenyra's form was buxom and maternal, a change that was more than obvious even under the loose small clothes that still covered her. The Queen's own eyes flicked from Jeyne to herself, before laughing, only a brief moment of childish amusment. "I do hope your gown has a little give." Gowns, unlike riding leathers, would need some amount of assistance from the handmaiden, even as Rhaenyra addressed Jeyne;

"I am sure there is more of note you have not told me of your realm? How does the Eyrie fair, in full."

As Aya manouvered the gown into position as flatteringly as she could, Jeyne remembered there was an old suit of plate and mail that might go around the Queen if all else failed. Though she decided she would keep that thought to herself. Having no issue of her own, who was she to pass judgement on her friend who had borne six children in these intervening years? "The Eyrie is peacful and prosperous. My smallfolk have the stores to see them through this next winter and since Runestone, war is something we do not speak of. At least not until recent tidings..."

Aya loosened the lace in the bodice and the Queen seemed more comfortable. "I think your dragon is beautiful, Your Grace." Aya spoke softly. "A beautiful creature for a beautiful woman." She smiled, fixing Rhaenyra's hair; beaten silver interwoven with gold. 

The gown fitting was more than a slight wiggle, but once in place, and a loosening of the lace, the Queen was once again herself, as the Realm knew her, resplendent in courtly glory, especially as her hair, turned wild from the wind, was treated back into shape. She chuckled slightly at Aya's words; "Well, I do see why you have her serving you so loyally, Jeyne," Compliments, even subserviant ones, were always welcome when it came to Rhaenyra. "Yes, Syrax is quite the wonder, as are most of the dragons we ride."

"I am sorry then, that these matters should bring war to a peaceful realm, know that I wish it were not the case, I do not take lightly a conflict with my own blood." She sighed sadly to Jeyne, turning slightly to examine how she looked, nodding with swift approval. While that may have made her words seem flippant, in the company of friends, the barriers of formality were laid low.

"Ser Templeton will doubtless make his climb overnight." Jeyne knew, The Bloody Gate was a half days' ride from the Gates of the Moon and from there it was another half day's ascent to the castle. More treacherous by night, Jon Templeton was experienced enough to move through the dark and he'd have the sure-footed garrons of the guides to vouchsafe swift passage. Mercifully, the snows had abated but Rhaenyra's presence only pressured Jeyne into feeling she needed to make a declaration before she was ready.

"Your Grace," She began, courteously. "You must believe me when I say I would never declare for your enemies but at the same time if there is a course open that better secures the safety of my bannermen then I must pursue it." She sighed, knowing it was not the show of solidarity and sisterhood Rhaenyra would have hoped for. "I promise you this; should any parley or interim negotiation fail utterly, then my will and the Knights of the Vale are yours." She held the Queen's hand once more. "It's no easy thing. If I send my strength to Dragonstone, the Clans will have wind of it within a moon's turn and..."

"Lady Jeyne?" It was the Maester once more. "I apologise for any intrusion once more but another Raven... There's word of a youth and his Dragon at the Bloody Gate. I thought it prudent you were made aware. Daeron Targaryen approaches the Gates of the moon..."