บท 61: Chapter 60 - Veil of Revelations
124 AC
The first day of the eleventh moon.
Ulf Pov
The sun hung low on the horizon as I grasped the sturdy reins of the mule, urging the beast forward with a sense of purpose that matched the weight of the task at hand. A crisp breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it a hint of the impending winter. The journey to the towering Eyrie lay before us, a path of ascending challenges that seemed to mirror the ascension of the lofty fortress itself. With each step, the landscape shifted beneath our feet, the ground rising steadily as we ventured further into the heart of the Vale.
Beside me rode the valiant knights of the Vale, their armor gleaming in the soft light of the waning sun.
As we ascended higher and higher, the air grew crisper, carrying with it the scent of pine and snow. The path grew steeper, and the mule's hooves crunched against the rocky ground with a steady rhythm that matched the beat of my own heart. The knights remained steadfast, their mules laboring but unyielding in their ascent.
And then, atop a ridge that seemed to touch the very heavens, the Eyrie came into view. A marvel of architecture and engineering, it perched on the mountainside like a sentinel watching over the land below. It was a symbol of power and authority, a place where justice was meted out and alliances forged.
As we reached the summit, I caught sight of a figure standing at the entrance of the Eyrie.
As the final rays of the sun painted the sky with hues of orange and gold, my heart quickened its pace with each step closer to the grand entrance of the Eyrie. There, standing like a vision against the imposing backdrop of stone and sky, was Jeyne Arryn, the Lady of the Eyrie. Her presence radiated a mixture of elegance and strength, a testament to her noble lineage and the burdens she bore.
The sight of her sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through me, a sensation that intensified with every passing moment. The memories of our shared trials and tribulations, etched deep into the tapestry of my mind, surged forward, flooding my senses like a torrent. The trials of loyalty and sacrifice, of battles fought and challenges overcome, all returned with an intensity that left me breathless.
As I drew near, the weight of etiquette and formality that had accompanied me on this journey seemed to vanish into thin air. The rigid expectations and social norms that usually defined our interactions fell away, leaving only the raw emotions that had been carefully concealed beneath the surface.
With the world around us fading into the background, a gravitational pull seemed to draw us closer together. Our gazes locked, and in that singular moment, an unspoken understanding passed between us—a recognition of the shared journey we had undertaken, the hurdles we had conquered side by side.
The embrace that followed was instinctual, a spontaneous response to the overwhelming surge of emotions that threatened to consume us both. Etiquette be damned.
Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk, intertwining with my fingers as I held her close. The softness of her touch, the familiar warmth of her presence, all served as a balm to my aching shoulder.
The moment we drew apart, a soft, almost mischievous cough drifted through the air, like a gentle reminder that the world outside our embrace still held its presence. With a touch of reluctance, I allowed my gaze to shift from Jeyne to the source of the sound. There, amidst the golden light and the imposing architecture of the Eyrie, stood another woman—a figure with an aura that was as vibrant as her auburn hair.
Jeyne's composed voice cut through the air, introducing the newcomer with a hesitation that hinted at something more. "Ahh Ulf, this is Jessamyn, my lov—my dear companion," she said, her words momentarily faltering before she regained her poise.
I inclined my head in a gracious nod, offering a warm smile to the woman before me. "An honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Jessamyn," I responded, my tone carrying the genuine courtesy that befit the occasion. Her name, elegant and poetic, seemed to harmonize with the atmosphere of the Eyrie itself.
But it was Jessamyn's gaze that held my attention, her sky-blue eyes studying me with a curiosity that bordered on scrutiny. It was as if she was attempting to decode the unspoken significance of my presence—an assessment that extended beyond mere formalities.
The soft rustle of her voice brushed my ears, words pitched just low enough to be shared in a private exchange.
"No wonder you like him so much, even I'm wondering about my preferences after seeing him," Jessamyn's words danced through the air, her tone a delicate interplay of playful teasing. The implication woven within her statement was as clear as day, and an unexpected surge of warmth spread across my cheeks.
Caught completely off guard by her audacious observation, I found myself blushing, my typically composed demeanor momentarily shaken by the weight of her meaning. Her words laid bare the depth of the connection between Jeyne and me, a connection that seemed to resonate even with an outsider like Jessamyn. It was as though she had uncovered a secret truth, a truth that underscored the intricacy of our bond.
Amidst the flurry of emotions that surged within me, I grappled with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. The situation had taken an unforeseen turn, leading to layers of complexity and intrigue that I had never anticipated. A sense of vulnerability hung in the air, and yet, there was a curious thrill in allowing these hidden depths to come to light.
As the camaraderie of the moment enveloped us, I found myself meeting Jessamyn's gaze once more. In her eyes, I sensed a challenge, a spark of camaraderie that beckoned for a response in kind. It was an invitation that I accepted with a newfound sense of poise, determined to navigate this uncharted territory with a grace that befitted the situation.
"Well, if you are ever in need of my service, I will be ready with my sword," I declared with a tone that hinted at more than just the literal meaning of his words. Jeyne's eyes widened in recognition of the double entendre, and a hearty laughter rippled through the air, filling the space with a lighthearted energy.
The tension that had momentarily enveloped us gave way to a shared amusement, the air lightening as the implications of my statement settled in. It was a moment that laid bare the unspoken dynamics that existed between us, inviting us to revel in the complexity of human relationships and the intertwining of emotions.
As the laughter subsided, Jeyne took it upon herself to guide me through the sprawling expanse of the Eyrie.
As the tour of the Eyrie continued, Jeyne led me through the echoing corridors and graceful arches, each step revealing another facet of the fortress's history. And then, like a whisper carried by the wind, her voice guided my attention to a particular spot—a narrow weirwood door flanked by slender pillars, nestled halfway within the grandeur of the High Hall. Her words introduced it with a sense of reverence, "And this is the Moon Door."
A sense of awe washed over me as I beheld the door. Its presence was both unassuming and profound, a sentinel of mystery and finality. The weirwood door bore the intricate carving of a crescent moon, a symbol that seemed to connect it to the celestial realm. Three heavy bronze bars held it shut, and as she described its function, my mind painted a vivid image of the chilling spectacle—the door opening to reveal a vast expanse of sky and a precipitous fall to the valley floor below. It was a door that beckoned to eternity, a door that ushered souls from the mortal coil to whatever lay beyond.
"What a way to go," I remarked, my voice hushed by the gravity of the scene before me.
"Open it," Jeyne's voice, accompanied by a curious glint in her eyes, issued the command.
Steeling myself for the view that awaited, I pushed against the heavy door, its resistance giving way as the view unfolded before me. And there, as my gaze descended to the valley floor, I found a vista that was both breathtaking and familiar. The sight wasn't as terrifying as one might expect, for I had flown even higher on the back of Silverwing, the grand dragon that had borne me through skies untouched by ordinary men.
Jeyne's voice broke the momentary silence, carrying a note of amusement. "Normally, they piss their pants or fall on their arse once they see the view," she mused, curiosity glinting in her eyes.
A chuckle escaped my lips, and I met her gaze with a half-smile. "But you are neither afraid nor curious," she continued, her tone laced with intrigue.
Her words struck a chord within me, and I found myself searching for an answer, a response that would capture the essence of my perspective. "Is the White Knight really not scared of anything?" she posed, her words carrying a challenge that mirrored the sparkle in her eyes. "Or is it because he has the blessing of the Seven upon his shoulders?" she continued, her gaze narrowing ever so slightly.
"I am just a man," I replied, my tone modest yet firm, the honesty of my words meant to peel away the layers of myth and mystery that had woven themselves around my reputation.
"No, you are not," Jeyne countered, her words carrying a conviction that seemed to reach beyond the surface. Her gaze bore into me, searching for something that perhaps even I had not fully recognized.
"You are something more, Ulf," she declared, her words resonating like a bell's chime through the air.
I met her gaze, a mixture of surprise and curiosity dancing within my eyes. Her proclamation was unexpected, and I found myself pondering the implications of her statement.
"You are a beacon of hope for the smallfolk," she continued, her words echoing like a refrain that had been whispered through the corridors of the Eyrie.
I considered her words, allowing them to settle in my mind. The image of the smallfolk seeking my blessing came to the forefront of my thoughts—the simple villagers who had placed their faith in a knight they believed could guide them through the trials of their lives.
"That will only continue," Jeyne affirmed, her voice unwavering as she shared her insight. Her words were a reminder of the path that had led me to this moment, a path that had been defined by the connections I had forged and the hopes I had inspired.
I nodded in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the truth that her words held. The journey was far from over, and as the echoes of her voice faded, I couldn't help but feel that this encounter was a turning point, a moment that marked the intersection of fate and choice, of duty and destiny. As we stood before the Moon Door, with its enigmatic allure, I knew that the path ahead was as uncertain as it was promising, and that the connections I had formed with those around me would continue to shape the chapters of our intertwined stories.
Guided by Jeyne's careful steps, the tour continued to unfold, leading me through the intricate maze of the Eyrie. As we ventured deeper into its heart, we arrived at the Moon Tower, a place of privacy and retreat. Here, the bedchambers of Lord Arryn were nestled within the stone walls, protected by an imposing oaken door that spoke of security and solitude. The rich blue velvet curtains that adorned the room exuded an air of opulence, and the window's diamond-shaped panes filtered the moonlight into a delicate dance of shadows and light.
I took in the surroundings, the elegance of the room juxtaposed against the strength of the fortress that housed it. The Moon Tower seemed to carry an aura of quiet contemplation, a space that offered solace amidst the challenges of leadership and the weight of responsibility.
"Ulf, I have something to ask of you," Jeyne's voice broke through my observations, drawing my attention away from the room's details.
"Ask away," I replied, turning my gaze to her. Her expression held a mixture of seriousness and vulnerability, an indication that the topic she was about to broach held a significant place in her heart.
As my eyes wandered to the tower window, she began to speak, her words leading me down a path I hadn't expected. "What happened that day," she inquired, her voice a mixture of curiosity and a touch of trepidation.
My thoughts, like a shifting tide, carried me back to that fateful day—the day I had sent her away for her safety, only to face the wrath of the clan leader atop Silverwing's back. The memories were a tapestry of fire and fury, of the savage clash that had unleashed untold destruction upon the battlefield.
"Fire and Blood," I muttered to myself, the words carrying the weight of that unforgettable moment.
"Nothing much, Jeyne," I replied, my tone measured, my gaze distant as I looked out of the tower window. I could sense the tension that lay beneath the surface of her question, and a comforting instinct led my hand to rub her arm gently.
With a sigh, she continued, her voice softer, more intimate. "After you sent me away and fought the clan leader..."
My mind returned to the scene, to the ferocity of the battle and the carnage that had followed. The memory of it all was etched into my mind like a scar, a mark that would forever remind me of the sacrifices that had been made to ensure her safety.
"I defeated the clan leader in single combat," I began, my voice steady, recounting the details as if they were carved into my very being. "After which...they attacked me, seeking vengeance."
Her palm found its way to my face, her touch both grounding and comforting. The weight of the past was heavy, but the connection between us seemed to lighten the load.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine.
"The clan attacked me, determined to take their revenge," I replied. The words hung in the air, heavy with the implications of that tumultuous day.
A note of disbelief colored her next words, and I could see it in her eyes. "You mean to tell me that you killed a hundred savages, all on your own?"
I met her gaze, her disbelief mirrored in my own memories. "What matters, Jeyne, is that you are safe," I affirmed with conviction, my eyes holding hers. "And that is all that matters."
There was a pause, a pregnant silence that spoke volumes. Jeyne's response was wordless, an embrace that drew us close—a gesture that conveyed more than any words could express. It was a moment of connection, a silent understanding that acknowledged the depths of the past and the complexities of the present.
As we stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, I knew that the scars of that day were not just physical—they were etched into our souls.
After a while, Jeyne gently pulled back from our embrace. There was a certain comfort in the way we understood each other, a quiet connection that transcended the need for constant words. She glanced at me with a soft smile, her eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions that mirrored my own.
"I have something to give you," she said, her tone carrying a note of intrigue. She walked over to her desk, her movements graceful and purposeful, and retrieved two scrolls. She turned and extended them toward me, a sense of anticipation in her eyes.
"One came from Dragonstone, and the other came from King's Landing. They are meant for you," she explained, her voice steady as she handed over the scrolls.
I accepted them with a nod of gratitude, my curiosity piqued by the origins of the messages. As I unrolled the first scroll, the familiarity of the handwriting struck me immediately. The script was unmistakable—it belonged to none other than my former Knight, The Rogue Prince himself.
"Ulf, it seems your balls have grown larger than the Red Keep itself. You smashed through a hundred savages to rescue the maiden of the Vale, who, for some damned inexplicable reason, can't stand the sight of me. Truly, the complexities of the fairer sex.
Things in Dragonstone have been a right mess since your departure. Rhaena's decided to wander off to the Dragonmont in some grand display of defiance, and lo and behold, she ends up taming the Cannibal himself. The girl's slowly but surely stepping into my shoes, and mark my words, we're in for a rogue princess soon enough. As for Rhaenyra, well, she's being a bitch regarding your escapades.
A word of advice, though I know you'll toss it aside like yesterday's piss. If you've got any ideas about bedding a Vale woman, think twice. Those sheep they're tending to in their fields? Hell, they've got a fairer face than most, and I say that from personal experience. A touch of jest, lad, but I'm not one to mince words.
Keep at whatever the fuck you're up to. Making me prouder than I care to admit, my boy. And If you come across a Royce then just shove your sword up their ass. Also if you come across Silverwing then do send a raven as the Dragonkeepers are having trouble finding her.
The Rogue Prince".
"he knows," the words tumbled from my lips like stones dropped into a bottomless abyss. A shiver slithered its icy fingers up my spine, an unwelcome guest in the midst of my thoughts. The parchment in my hand felt suddenly heavy, its contents a thicket of thorns that pricked my very being itself.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง