The Red Keep was cloaked in the stillness of late night, the spring air cool as it drifted through the corridors, the distant hum of King's Landing muted under a starlit sky. Edric Arryn, at nine and a half, moved with purpose toward his father's solar, his boots soft on the stone. His dark blue doublet, embroidered with silver falcons, was paired with his usual regalia—a short cloak pinned with an Arryn moon-and-falcon clasp—and the black bear pelt draped over his shoulders, a trophy from the Kingswood hunt that had left three scars on the side of his head, hairless and stark, a mark of his grit. At 5'4", he carried himself with a lord's bearing, his live steel sword at his hip a testament to his proven skill, his sandy blond hair tied back, blue eyes sharp with resolve.
The past week had been a storm in Edric's mind since Petyr Baelish's appointment as Master of Coin. Littlefinger's rise was a clarion call—Edric knew the man's ambitions from the books, knew he'd orchestrate Jon's murder, spark wars, and climb over corpses to power. As Jon Arryn's heir, Edric was a direct obstacle to Petyr's plans in the Vale, and likely already a target of his shadowy schemes. Staying in King's Landing was no longer an option—he had to leave, and he'd spent the week preparing in secret. But he wouldn't tell his father that—not yet. To speak of Littlefinger would raise questions he couldn't answer without risking the future he knew.
The door to the Hand's solar stood ajar, a faint glow of candlelight spilling out. Edric knocked once, then entered, finding Jon Arryn at his desk, graying hair thin, his stern face lined with exhaustion as he pored over parchments. Jon looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Edric," he said, his voice low, setting down a quill. "It's late. Why have you come?"
Edric stepped forward, his posture straight, his tone steady and lordly despite his youth. "Father, I've learned much in King's Landing—grown in ways I couldn't have imagined. But as heir to the Vale and future Warden of the East, I have a duty to know the land I'll rule. I need to go to the Vale, to learn its ways, its people, to prepare to lead. I want to leave King's Landing—tonight."
Jon's brow furrowed, a mix of concern and disbelief crossing his face. "Leave for the Vale? Edric, you're nine—much too young for such a journey, let alone to rule. You're skilled, aye, but you're still a boy."
Edric's jaw tightened, his voice firm, unyielding. "I'm twice as competent as any child my age, Father—in mind, in skill, in all ways. I've proven myself a man grown. I've hunted a bear, led my crew, wielded steel in training. I'm not a child to be coddled—I'm your heir, and I need to be ready."
Jon shook his head, his tone softening but resolute. "No, Edric. Your mother would never agree to be apart from you—not after all the children she's lost. She's clung to you since you were born, and I'll not break her heart by sending you away."
Edric's eyes flashed, his voice rising with a fierce edge. "I'm no child to be at my mother's breast my whole life, Father. To be a lord, I can't hide behind you and her—I must forge my own way. I've a boat ready to leave King's Landing tonight, down at the docks. I need to do this, and I need your trust. Give me a chance to prove myself.
Jon's face tightened, pain etching deeper into his features as he leaned back in his chair, conflict warring in his eyes. "A boat—tonight?" he said, his voice heavy. "Even if I agreed, you couldn't leave so soon. You'd need time to gather your things, to prepare properly."
"I've been preparing for a week," Edric countered, his tone unwavering. "I knew this was my path—I've packed my things, my crew's ready, our gear stowed. All I need is a 15-man escort to take me to the Vale. I'm ready, Father."
Jon exhaled a long, pained sigh, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, his stern facade cracking under the weight of his son's resolve. He looked at Edric—really looked at him—seeing the scars, the steel, the unyielding determination in his blue eyes, and the boy who'd grown far beyond his years. "You're my only son," Jon said, his voice thick with emotion. "If I let you go, I'll not rest easy. But… I see the man you're becoming." He paused, then nodded slowly, the decision tearing at him. "You'll have your escort—15 men, as you ask. And Ser Brynden Tully will go with you to the Vale. The Blackfish is a seasoned knight—he'll guide you, keep you safe. You'll need his counsel."
Edric's shoulders relaxed slightly, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, though his resolve didn't waver. "Thank you, Father," he said, his voice steady. "I won't fail you—or the Vale."
Jon rose, crossing to Edric, and placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but trembling. "Go, then. But write to me—often. And if you need me, I'll come." Edric nodded, the weight of his father's trust settling on him, and turned to leave, his bear pelt swaying, his mind on the journey ahead—The Vale awaits. Littlefinger won't touch me there—not yet.