The Bloody Gate had guarded the western entrance to the Vale of Arryn for thousands of years. Long before the Andals had crossed the narrow sea and driven the First Men into the mountains, the pass had already been a place of war and vigilance. The fortress itself was not elegant like the Eyrie, nor prosperous like Gulltown, but it did not need to be. Its purpose was simple: no army entered the Vale without passing beneath its walls.
The High Road twisted below the Gate like a narrow scar carved into the mountainside. Steep cliffs rose on both sides, and any traveler who rode that road did so beneath watchful eyes. From the towers above, archers could strike riders long before they reached the fortress itself. The mountains had many dangers, but the Bloody Gate ensured that none came from the west unchallenged.
Ser Joffrey Arryn stood in the command chamber overlooking the road.
The chamber was narrow and cold, its walls carved partly from the mountain rock. A single tall window faced west, giving a clear view of the High Road far below. The wind pressed against the stone walls in long restless breaths, carrying the dry chill of the high peaks. Snow had not yet fallen in the Vale, but the air had grown sharp and thin. Winter was close.
Ser Joffrey watched the road in silence.
He had the unmistakable look of House Arryn. His hair was pale gold, falling loosely to his shoulders, and his eyes were the clear cold blue that marked the blood of the falcon. He was still a young man, his face unlined by age, but his posture carried the calm discipline of someone long accustomed to command.
A white surcoat bearing the falcon-and-moon of House Arryn hung over his armor.
For ten years he had served as Knight of the Bloody Gate.
Ten years guarding the entrance to the Vale in the name of Lady Jeyne Arryn.
Ten years asking the same question to every traveler who approached the fortress.
Who would pass the Bloody Gate?
Behind him the chamber door opened.
Ser Joffrey turned.
A knight entered, road dust still clinging to his armor. Two guards followed behind him, both looking tired from hard riding through the mountains. The knight removed his helm as he stepped into the room and bowed his head.
"My lord."
Ser Joffrey gestured toward the table in the center of the chamber.
"Well?"
The knight stepped forward.
"Raiders."
Ser Joffrey's expression hardened slightly.
"Where?"
"Two leagues west of the Gate. On the High Road."
That was close.
Closer than most raids.
Ser Joffrey moved to the table where a detailed map of the Mountains of the Moon lay spread across the wood. His finger traced the winding line of the road until it reached the narrow bend where the attack had taken place.
"How many dead?" he asked.
"Eight of ours."
Ser Joffrey's finger stopped.
"Royce men," he said quietly.
"Yes, my lord. Two knights and their escort."
Ser Joffrey nodded once.
"And the attackers?"
"Mountain clans."
The answer brought no surprise.
The young knight continued.
"Two survivors reached the Gate shortly before dawn. They say the attackers came from the cliffs above the road. Painted faces. Axes."
Ser Joffrey's eyes moved slowly across the mountains drawn on the map.
The mountain clans had always lived beyond the reach of the Vale's law. They struck from the cliffs and vanished into hidden valleys where organized armies could rarely follow. But striking so close to the Bloody Gate was a different matter.
That was bold.
Perhaps too bold.
"What were they carrying?" Ser Joffrey asked.
The knight hesitated briefly.
"Iron, my lord."
Ser Joffrey looked up.
"Iron?"
"Yes."
That explained everything.
Mountain clans would kill for iron.
Ser Joffrey straightened slowly and looked toward the knight.
"Gather the riders stationed at the Gate."
The knight blinked.
"My lord?"
"Thirty mounted knights," Ser Joffrey said. "And every mounted man-at-arms available."
Understanding came quickly.
"Yes, my lord."
Ser Joffrey's gaze returned briefly to the map.
"These clans grow bold," he said quietly. "If they believe they can butcher Royce riders within sight of the Bloody Gate and vanish without consequence, they will only grow stronger."
His finger tapped the map once.
"We ride at first light."
The knight bowed.
"At once."
He turned to leave.
At that moment the door opened again.
Maester Alton stepped into the chamber.
The maester rarely hurried, but now his steps were quick and uneven as he crossed the stone floor. The chain around his neck clinked softly with each movement, and there was a tension in his expression that Ser Joffrey immediately noticed.
"My lord," the maester said.
Ser Joffrey studied him.
"What is it?"
"A raven has arrived from the Eyrie."
Ser Joffrey extended his hand without hesitation.
The maester placed a folded parchment sealed with white wax into his palm. The falcon-and-moon of House Arryn was stamped clearly into the seal.
Ser Joffrey broke it open.
The room grew quiet as he read.
For several moments nothing changed in his expression. His eyes moved slowly across the lines written on the parchment. Then they stopped.
He read the message again.
When he finally lowered the parchment, the knight by the door was still waiting.
"My lord?" the man asked cautiously.
Ser Joffrey looked at him.
"Lady Jeyne is dead."
The words hung in the cold air of the chamber.
The maester lowered his gaze.
The knight stared in stunned silence.
Ser Joffrey remained still for several seconds.
For ten years he had served Lady Jeyne Arryn as Knight of the Bloody Gate. For ten years he had guarded the Vale's western gate in her name. Now the Maiden of the Vale was gone.
His eyes drifted back toward the map on the table.
But his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
Lady Jeyne had no children.
Before her death, she had named her heir.
Ser Joffrey Arryn.
The knight near the door finally spoke again.
"My lord… the riders?"
Ser Joffrey looked down at the map.
For a long moment he said nothing.
Then he folded the parchment slowly and placed it on the table.
"No."
The knight blinked.
"My lord?"
Ser Joffrey turned away from the map.
"The raid can wait."
"But the Royce men—"
"Will still be dead tomorrow."
His voice remained calm, but the finality in it left no room for argument.
Ser Joffrey walked back toward the window and looked down at the High Road again. Somewhere out there in the mountains, the raiders were carrying stolen iron back to their hidden camps.
Ordinarily he would have ridden after them without hesitation.
But this day had changed everything.
He turned back toward the room.
"Cancel the riders."
The knight hesitated.
"My lord?"
"We ride," Ser Joffrey said.
"But not west."
He stepped back toward the table and placed his hand firmly on the map of the Vale.
"We ride east."
"To the Eyrie."
Understanding slowly dawned on the knight's face.
Ser Joffrey continued calmly.
"Twenty riders. Immediately. We leave within the hour."
The knight bowed quickly.
"Yes, my lord."
As the man hurried from the chamber, the maester remained where he stood.
Ser Joffrey took the parchment once more and tucked it into his belt.
Outside the walls of the Bloody Gate, the wind howled across the mountains. The High Road lay quiet below, winding westward into the wild lands where the mountain clans hid.
But Ser Joffrey Arryn had another road to follow now.
The Vale had lost its Lady.
And though he did not yet know it, her death would soon set the lords of the Vale against one another.
The mountains would not be the only place where blood would be spilled.