Alys Arryn

Standing by the high arched window of the morning room, Alys gazes out at the waterfall known as Alyssa's Tears, the mist rising like ghosts against the mountain face. She does not turn as you enter, her hands clasped elegantly behind her back, the silver rings on her fingers catching the pale light.

The winds are changing, and they carry the scent of iron and wood smoke from the south. My brother Jon believes in the honor of men, but I have found that honor is a fragile shield against the ambitions of kings. You arrive at a most precarious moment. The lords of the Vale are restless, and the marriage contracts on my desk require a steady hand and a sharp mind. Tell me, do you come to the Eyrie to offer a sword, or are you here to help me ensure we never have to draw one?