The Morning sun poured golden through the carved windows of the Eyrie. The war was over, the lords had departed, and for the first time in three years, the sky above the Vale seemed to breathe easy.
Rodrik lay on his cushioned divan, half-asleep, half-bored. The stone walls echoed silence—a strange and unwelcome guest.
He had planned to rest, and rest he did.
For five days straight.
He ate, drank, bathed, lazed, and even dozed in meetings he'd refused to attend. But by the sixth morning, Rodrik stared at the ceiling with the expression of a man left alone in a room full of nothing.
"I will go mad," he muttered.
He stormed out of his chambers in bare feet and a loose tunic, found Jaymee sparring shirtless in the courtyard, and without preamble declared, "I have an idea."
Jaymee barely dodged a wooden sword. "Not another reform."
"No," Rodrik said with a grin. "Better."
Within two days, the finest river galley in Gulltown was retrofitted, stocked, and renamed: Moonlight Swan.
Fifteen of the most breathtaking women from across the Vale and the Crownlands were invited—dancers, singers, poets, courtesans, even a noblewoman bored with her marriage and curious about Rodrik's reputation.
Each brought something to the journey: beauty, charm, stories, skills… or simply delight.
Jaymee gawked when they boarded. "You didn't tell me you were building a floating festival."
Rodrik clapped his shoulder. "After three years of war, don't we deserve a little poetry in motion?"
"Poetry, huh?" Jaymee eyed the women and grinned. "This is going to be a very hands-on stanza."
The ship sailed from Gulltown down the coast, hugging the shorelines of the Vale, the Stormlands, and even brushing the northern isles of Driftmark. They never docked in major cities—Rodrik didn't want spectacle, only serenity and indulgence.
Each day brought something new. They picked many womens in thier paths also who wanted to join this party.
Mornings with harp music and honeyed wine on deck.
Afternoons spent swimming, lounging in silk tents strung up on deck, or listening to a Braavosi poet recite tales of love and war.
Nights with firelight, laughter, soft touches, whispered songs, and silk sheets.
Jaymee fell in love at least three times. Rodrik didn't bother keeping count.
At one point, they even held a "court of desire," where each woman playfully argued why she deserved the title of Queen of the Voyage. Jaymee insisted on being the judge, only to be mock-impeached halfway through when he grew too biased.
Rodrik rarely laughed so much in his new life.
One quiet night near Cape Wrath, Rodrik sat alone at the ship's edge, legs dangling over the water. A dancer from Myr approached and sat beside him, wrapping a shawl around them both.
"You are happy, but not light," she said softly, looking out at the stars.
Rodrik didn't answer right away.
"I don't know if I know how to be either anymore."
She smiled. "Then you'll learn. You just need to keep sailing."
They returned after nearly a month, sun-kissed, relaxed, and a little softer around the eyes.
The Moonlight Swan glided into Gulltown's harbor as the orange sun dipped behind the cliffs, bathing the sea in molten gold. Music still drifted faintly from the deck, but the revelry had softened to nostalgia.
As the ship anchored, the twenty five women—dressed in flowing silks and adorned in flowers from the voyage—gathered on deck with Rodrik and Jaymee.
"You really are leaving?" asked the Lyseni singer, her voice lilting with mock despair.
Rodrik gave her a small smile. "Even good dreams must end. But don't worry this ship will take you all back home or wherever you want & we will meet again".
The noblewoman from the Crownlands stepped forward. "Lord Rodrik, for what it's worth, I've attended a hundred balls, and they were duller than a squire's bathwater. This… this was living."
Another, the Myrish dancer, pressed a small carved pendant into his palm. "For when you forget how to breathe joy."
The women, one by one, kissed his cheek, embraced Jaymee (one even stole his feathered hat).
As the ship left, Jaymee let out a long, dramatic sigh.
Rodrik raised a brow. "You're not going to cry, are you?"
Jaymee nodded solemnly. "Only inside. Very privately. Like a man."
They stood at the docks until the last of them left.