Author's Note: Thanks again to StellaStarMagic for beta'ing this chapter!
"You fret too much, Gunthor. Revel in the scenery at least."
Her cheery words prompted an unimpressed frown from the knight riding beside her.
"I'm fretting for the both of us," her cousin grumbled. "A lady, prancing about in the forest with nary a knight to guard her – you're entirely too untroubled." He shook his head in exasperation. "I wasn't aware that your restlessness has robbed you of half your senses as well."
Rhea merely shrugged in response as they guided their horses through the thicket of trees in front of them.
Up above, the sun had reached its zenith and brightened the greenery all around her, further enhancing the wild beauty of the forest to any passerby. The sun's rays broke through the canopy, creating a mesmerizing play of light. The sounds of their steed's hooves were muffled by the forest floor, covered in thick layers of grass, moss and leaves.
But she wasn't paying much attention to their surroundings. Her eyes were squinting at the canopy of trees blocking her view of the clear and blue sky while Gunthor continued to mutter to himself right next to her. Rhea did her best to stifle a sigh.
While she loved her cousin dearly, he could turn into a particularly fussy hen whenever it came to her safety.
He needn't fret this much, however. After all, just like him, she had donned the ancient bronze armor of their forebears over her riding garbs and skirt. Inscribed all over the plating were various runes and spells cast by runesmiths of old, meant to ward the wearer off from harm and encase them in a shield of protection.
Many, the bookkeepers of the Citadel included, seemed to forget that during the Age of Heroes, House Royce had prided itself in having the best weaponsmiths, armorers and craftsmen of all the land able to masterfully forge the bronze metal. Their creations had bested any metalwork done by other houses of the First Men from that era and had been highly sought out by kings and lords. The name of their Valyrian steel sword, Lamentation, was given in honor of an ancient bronze sword which had been lost during one of many wars against the Shetts of Gulltown.
There were even claims that the inner workings of magical runecraft were taught to her ancestors by the Children of the Forest themselves after the signing of the Pact.
But with the coming of the Andals, and the introduction of iron and steel, much of the secrets of bronze and runes had eventually been lost, forgotten and then dismissed into the annals of history as mere legends and folklore of the First Men. However, not all of their legacy had been disregarded in its entirety. Not by the Royces.
For we remember.
Their suits of runic bronze plate were a testament to the ancient skill and craftsmanship of her ancestors of old. They were devoid of any rust and yet bore the scars of countless battles spanning thousands of years. Whilst able to withstand even blades made of castle-forged steel, they remained quite outmatched by the works of the Old Valyrians.
"I brought you along with me, didn't I?" Rhea said rhetorically, tearing her gaze away from the foliage and turning towards Gunthor. She had to tilt her head further upwards just to meet his eyes.
At well over seven feet, her distant cousin had to be one of the tallest living men to have ever graced the realm. Lean, long-limbed and courteous to the point of stubbornness, Ser Gunthor Royce made quite a name for himself as a powerful knight in tourneys and mêlées across the Vale, swinging around that spiked warhammer of his and breaking lances atop his huge brown destrier.
With his imposing presence by her side, Rhea was confident that any aspiring bandit, robber knight or highwayman would think twice before approaching them lest they dare face the hammer of the Bronze Giant.
In spite of his ire, a small smile made its way onto his bearded face. "While you flatter me so, my lady, I am still but one man. Any outlaw band worth their salt would know that the best time to strike at armed travelers is not during daylight but rather at nightfall when they're at their most vulnerable lying asleep in their tents.
"However, 'tis not the cutthroats and petty thieves that I'm wary of encountering within these woods." His calm voice turned serious once more. "The mountain clans have grown bolder in the three years since Lord Arryn and his sons were killed by the Stone Crows. Something must be done to subdue them, otherwise, we ought to brace ourselves for an increase in raiding parties for the next decade or so."
To some, it might seem like exaggeration, but Gunthor's words were not completely unfounded. In the last moon alone, Rhea received a number of ravens from Lord Coldwater concerning two merchant convoys of his traveling by road on the way to Coldwater Burn that never reached their destination. Both times the patrols were sent out it had been too late to save them, finding only charred remains of wagons and strewn bodies of the dead sans the women.
Rumors had reached her ears of even more and similar raids befalling a few valleys across the Mountains of the Moon. Though her family's lands were the farthest away from the mountain range, she wouldn't put it past the clansmen to venture further east along the peninsula in search of more plunder until eventually targeting the villages sworn to Runestone.
It was a disquieting thought to be sure, but not enough to dampen the mood she was currently in.
"I'm certain that the Lord Protector is making efforts to quell this rabble," Rhea firmly stated. She would have to draft another letter to her father just in case. The high road has been at its most defensible in years which must be why the tribesmen had taken to other means to sustain their barbaric ways of living. "Raiding is all they can ever do and their arrogance will eventually outgrow their caution. Once they overextend themselves our knights will be able to corner them and reduce their numbers. Clan by clan if need be, until they're forced to return to their caves with their tails between their legs."
They soon left the shade of the trees and trotted into a small clearing. There was a pond by the center that had waterfowl teeming along the banks. Rhea let out a grin before glancing up at the now visible skies.
There you are, she thought, spotting a faint shape soaring high above the treetops and repeatedly circling the glade.
Rhea placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.
Then, with the slightest pressure from her legs and a touch on the reins, she sent her courser into a gallop straight in the direction of the pond.
Perturbed by the sudden arrival of thundering hooves, the ducks scattered with a series of loud quacks and began flapping their wings into the air just as her horse breezed past them, whinnying all the while.
Their startled sounds immediately turned into panicked shrieks as something rapidly swooped into their flock like an arrow loosed from a longbow. Moments later a duck fell from the sky and landed several feet away while the rest hurriedly beat their wings and fled the vicinity.
"Excellent work, Windsoar!" Rhea praised, before holding up a gloved hand.
With practiced movements, the peregrine flew away from its fresh kill and came to perch on the outstretched leather glove. The small bell strapped to its leg jingled a bit as the falcon ruffled its feathers and received the reward that Rhea procured from her belt pouch. Clutching its meal between razor sharp talons, Windsoar viciously tore into the piece of rabbit meat.
"A fine catch, Lady Rhea," Gunthor remarked. The tall knight dismounted from his horse and walked over to the unmoving duck. "This must be, what, his third kill of the day?"
"Fourth," she corrected with pride, stroking his feathers fondly, "including the three pheasants from earlier. Honeyed duck and pheasant pie will make for a fine supper this evening."
"Aye," Gunthor agreed, stringing the duck by its legs and leaving it to hang from his saddle along with their other quarry. "You know how Duran likes to dawdle about in the kitchen whilst preparing our meals. The journey back to Runestone should take us a few hours at best and, if we linger even further, the soonest we'll arrive is by nightfall. Now, I wouldn't wish to end our venture so early but it would be a waste to let fresh meat such as this be left to linger in the larders instead." He shrugged lightly.
She couldn't help but snort at her cousin's attempt at subtlety.
Gunthor must believe he is so clever with his little ploy, Rhea thought with amusement before pausing when she felt her stomach rumble. But then again… I only had bread to break my fast with and didn't so much as bring a waterskin in my haste to go hawking this morning. Blast it all.
"Yes, yes, perhaps this is enough for the day," she relented, narrowing her eyes at the self-satisfied expression appearing on the knight's face. "Don't look too smug up there, ser. I'm of half a mind to let Windsoar peck at your face for this show of insolence."
"As pleasant as that may be, my lady, I'm afraid he'll find better chances with the clansmen," Gunthor replied politely as he lowered the visor of his steel helm to cover his smirk.
Rhea huffed in annoyance while her hawk released an offended squawk.
Crooning at the bird, she placed a hood over Windsoar's head and allowed him to rest on her gloved arm. As she let her gaze wander around her, Rhea couldn't help but let out a wistful sigh.
It was a welcome distraction to be out of the castle once again. She loved hawking with her father back when she had been a girl but these days it felt as if too much of her time was spent being preoccupied by one thing after another. There was always something that needed to be done; some dispute that needed settling, some missive that needed to be written, some discrepancy that needed correction –
Sometimes she just wanted to snap at everyone and be left to her own devices.
Rhea had bottled it up within her whenever the urge came. Every single time. She was a noblewoman of the Vale and the heir to Runestone, after all. Of course, she had many responsibilities. She had a duty to uphold to her family, to her subjects and to her king.
She wouldn't trade her position for anything else in the world but, oh, how she missed the simplicity of youth. Where she could just let loose whenever she wanted to and act upon her desires, consequences be damned.
Rhea knew it was bad when she started to envy her husband of all people. Having little to no responsibilities at all, Daemon was also able to just climb atop his dragon and fly wherever he wished at a moment's whim.
But half the day spent out here by herself brought about a sense of calmness and clarity within her.
Passing by the villages, seeing her subjects proper, witnessing the fruits of her labor and sacrifices while thinking of her son and how he was growing, how day by day more of his youthful disposition and curiosity began to shine through – it was then that Rhea knew that it all was worth it in the end.
Giving one last glance at the clearing, Rhea turned her horse around and followed Ser Gunthor back into the forest.
Runestone wasn't a particularly large castle.
Situated atop a cliff along the northern shore of the peninsula, the ancient fortress of the Bronze Kings overlooked the bay across from Old Anchor. A small fleet of war galleys regularly patrolled the waters for smugglers or pirates, who might prey upon the trade ships.
Compared to prominent castles such as the Eyrie – built upon the tallest peak in the Vale – or Dragonstone – constructed with Valyrian sorcery and fire – it had to be admitted that Runestone lacked the awe and grandeur one might associate with the ancestral seat of a great house of Westeros.
However, what the castle lacked in splendor, it easily made up for in formidable defenses.
The sea prevented any surprise attack from the north, lest the enemy attempted to scale the steep cliffs and risk death or capture by falling into the rocks below. The rugged terrain along the east would make it difficult for soldiers to traverse, let alone bring siege equipment with them to the castle walls themselves. At the base of the slope, a gatehouse protected the outer bailey – enclosed by curtain walls and battlements – which allowed passage from the southern road into a narrow pathway leading up and around to the west side of the castle, where a second gatehouse guarded the main entrance.
As Rhea impatiently tapped her fingers on the saddle horn whilst orders were being relayed among the guardsmen to raise the portcullis of the lower gatehouse, she began to regret not taking the other path that led to the castle instead.
However, that would entail passing through the entirety of Brassbury, a port town located just west of Runestone and down a short dirt road leading straight from the main gatehouse itself. A small gate tower stood next to the cliffs and watched over this road. It was left open at all times for the smallfolk and her household to come to enter and leave the castle freely and accomplish their errands without much interruption.
Even in the late afternoon the streets were crowded and bustling with activity. Making their way across the town would take too much time for her liking, and Rhea was keen on entering the castle. Tired, sweaty, but in high spirits, she longed for a hot bath and a delicious supper to top the day off. So, she settled for the more private entryway, hoping it would be a quicker process.
A fat load of good that did, Rhea thought with annoyance. Just when the day was going so well.
Slouched atop her saddle, Rhea tightened her grip on the reins with one hand while the other was currently occupied by Windsoar, stiffly raised throughout their entire journey back from the forest. If she wasn't mistaken, the peregrine had fallen into a nap perched on her gloved arm, undisturbed by the ongoings with his hood on.
Oh, how she envied the bird's position right now.
Like a fool, I didn't bother taking his cage with me in my eagerness. By the Seven, have I regressed to a starry-eyed novice after not engaging in the sport for so long?
Rhea had been sorely tempted to turn about and run her horse down the path leading back to the town instead. But then she saw the long and winding road interspersed between fields of crops and farmland that she had to painstakingly make her way around just to arrive at the lower gatehouse, and her resolve wavered.
She was seriously contemplating scaling the battlements by herself when the heavy rattling of chains came from inside the gatehouse, indicating that the portcullis was finally, finally, being drawn.
Immediately, loud and high pitched grating noises erupted from the raising of the gates, prompting her to flinch. She instinctively raised both hands to cover her ears, dislodging Windsoar from his perch. Caught by surprise and unable to see, the bird flapped his wings and unintentionally smacked her full in the face with a curtain of feathers. Rhea sputtered and spat a mouthful to the side as he gingerly landed on her pauldron.
"I… take it the men have not been oiling and cleaning the mechanism as of late," Ser Gunthor said with a cough, sitting straight-backed atop his mount right beside her.
"The guards will be lucky if the poor maintenance of the gates is the only reprimand they'll hear from me today," she growled.
Deeming it wise not to respond, her cousin led their horses beneath the muddied spikes of the portcullis and into the winding path of the outer bailey. Thankfully, the rest of the way went without issue and in no time at all they had reached the upper gatehouse, portcullis already raised and filtering a stream of people in and out the castle.
A tall statue of Robar II Royce stood vigil in front of the main entrance. The last Bronze King and first High King of the Vale, the Fingers, and the Mountains of the Moon surveyed with stony eyes all who dared pass through Runestone, continuing to safeguard his ancestral seat as he did the Vale from the invading Andals a millennia ago.
Seeing the monument of her ancestor always brought out a sense of pride within Rhea and made her feel welcome at home whenever she returned from a long journey.
Several people bowed and greeted her as she passed through the second portcullis and into the outermost courtyard – surrounded on all sides by high walls, parapets, and extended wooden hoardings complete with murder holes. A large set of double bronze doors opened to a more pleasant visage of trees and wide open space filled with the familiar sight of castle residents scurrying about their business. Colliff in his smithy, hammering at some piece of metal; Rolan by the kennels, feeding the yapping hounds; and Ser Jason Kell, the master-at-arms, barking at the garrison from the elevated training yard.
It was good to be home.
Two people in particular were waiting by the stables as she and Gunthor entered the inner courtyard and dismounted. One was a rather large man who wore the grey wool robes of a maester while the other was dressed in a quilted leather coat, holding a cage by his side.
"Maester Ruger," Rhea greeted with a curious look. "Is something the matter?"
"Aye, my lady," Ruger spoke with a slight northern brogue even after years spent in the Citadel, "but not of the serious sort. Two ravens arrived this noon bearing news that should be of interest to you."
Might as well get this over with before I retire for the day, Rhea thought. "Very well." She handed the reins over to the stableboy that stepped forward before turning to her cousin. "I trust you know where you're headed next, ser?"
With a chuckle, Gunthor held up their quarry as affirmation. "Clear as day, Lady Rhea. I shall inform Duran that you expect the meal to be served just after dusk."
"And no further than an hour past that," she declared, "otherwise I'll be searching for a new cook to follow in his stead."
Rhea then raised a gloved hand and blew a low whistle. Despite the hood, the peregrine perked at the command and hopped from her shoulder onto the leather glove held in front of him. She stroked his feathers once more and extended her arm towards the remaining man standing by.
"Treat him with care, Lucos. Windsoar has performed rather splendidly today."
"Of course, my lady." The falconer gave a short bow as he directed the peregrine into the cage he brought along with him and departed for the mews.
"Walk with me, maester," Rhea ordered, already halfway towards the door at the base of Candle Tower, the largest of the towers in Runestone. The large man had little trouble catching up to her with his long-legged strides.
Two guards posted in front of the doorway saluted as soon as they entered, Ruger having to duck slightly to avoid his head from knocking against the doorframe. He was probably the only other man she'd ever met that came close to reaching Gunthor's gigantic height, which hardly surprised her considering his northern family.
Ruger spared her the pleasantries. "Word from the crown prince at Maidenpool, my lady," he said, handing her an unsealed letter from his pockets. "Prince Baelon intends to make a visit for Runestone."
Rhea was surprised. The last she heard of her good-father, he had just finished a royal progress of the Reach and Riverlands and was supposed to be on his way back to the capital.
"How long does it take for a raven to fly from Maidenpool to Runestone?" she inquired.
"A day or two at most, if the raven was not hindered in any way."
"Excellent, we have enough time for preparations to be done before the prince arrives with his knights and retainers. Around a fortnight if I have my figures correctly. Runestone has not hosted such a royal ensemble in its halls since the early years of the king's reign, so we must arrange accordingly as befitting of the heir to the Iron Throne." A pause. "And the other raven?"
"This one hails from Strongsong," the maester relayed, pulling out another opened letter, "and concerns Prince Daemon. If you recall the rumors heard from the docks, the Blood Wyrm was last seen flying around that corner of the Vale."
"Oh, wonderful," Rhea rolled her eyes. "And what has my beloved husband been up to this time? Has his dragon eaten another one of the lord's sheep without permission? Did he start another feud with some hedge knight or sworn sword?" She frowned. "I haven't even heard of a tourney being hosted anywhere near those lands."
"Heh, none so exciting, I'm afraid. Lord Belmore merely stated that the prince is providing assistance to him and his men in hunting down the local bandits which have abducted one of his bannermen's daughters."
This time Rhea was truly caught off guard, even as she read the letter herself. "My husband is actually doing something worthwhile for once?" Perhaps the Seven did grant miracles every once in a while.
Now if only he could expend such effort when it came to raising their child.
It wasn't long before their footsteps led them to a stop before the doors to the nursery, located in the uppermost floor of the keep, which was directly connected to the tower.
"If that is all, maester, then you'll have to excuse me. I would like to visit my son before I prepare myself for supper. Do continue to bring any ravens you might receive to my attention at once, be it mundane or of the utmost importance."
"As you command, my lady." Ruger bowed his head and left for the adjoining hall.
Left alone for once, she released a deep breath and combed her fingers through her hair. Rhea grimaced at the sweat and grease she felt lining up the strands even though it was tied in a bun. She really wanted that bath.
But first, she had to see her little boy.
Loud gurgles and excited babbling greeted her ears as soon as she opened the door, which immediately brought a smile to her face.
Baelor sat on the carpeted floor and was carefully arranging the scattered wooden blocks around him into small sets of precarious-looking towers. Once finished, he reached for his toy dragon and smashed it into the towers, tumbling the blocks down onto the ground. The boy squealed and clapped his hands in delight at that.
A young woman with braided red hair sat beside her son and clapped alongside whilst encouraging him. "That was fine work, sweet nephew. How about we turn your towers taller? That way it shall be much more exciting to see them fall."
Unable to understand a single word she said, Baelor nonetheless bobbed his head enthusiastically and began picking up the blocks once again, this time with her help.
"It's good to see my son hasn't grown tired of his new set of toys just yet," Rhea spoke up in amusement as she leaned against a pillar within the room, catching both of their attention.
"My lady!" The young woman stood up abruptly, flustered, and dipped in a curtsy.
Baelor, on the other hand, merely grinned at the sight of her and held his arms up in excitement. "Madda, up! Madda, up!"
"At ease, Mya. There's no need for courtesies in such a casual setting. We're well acquainted enough, are we not?" She smiled placatingly at her mother's youngest sister and her own companion, who glanced down in slight embarrassment. "As for you, Baelor," she teased the little boy, who still held his arms up expectantly, "you'll be getting no hugs from me whilst I stink of horse and sweat. Be patient and I might just read you a story or two later."
Her two-year-old son must have finally realized she wasn't going to carry him, for his lips dipped down in a bemused frown and his arms crossed together defiantly. Rhea chuckled as Mya picked the pouting boy up in her arms and soothed him with whispered words and gentle caresses to his rust-brown hair.
Rhea glanced around and was about to ask where Alayne was when a loud and sudden roar echoed throughout the room – if it didn't shake the entire castle down to its foundations.
It was the unmistakable cry of a dragon.
Her teeth were still chattering even as the noise died down, having to place a hand on the pillar she was leaning on to keep herself from tumbling.
"By the Seven!" Mya gasped, clutching Baelor tightly to her chest as she gripped a nearby chair for balance. "Was that Caraxes? Has Prince Daemon returned from his travels?"
Strangely enough, her son was more perplexed than terrified, glancing up at the ceiling with curiosity in his purple eyes. "Dragoon?"
No. That wasn't Caraxes. She'd heard the red dragon's distinctive roar plenty of times in the two years since her wedding with Daemon. His was a shrill and high-pitched shriek that never failed to raise the hairs at the back of her neck.
This roar, however, was deep and guttural, almost otherworldly. It held such raw power and authority that the sound alone could have brought thousands of soldiers down to their knees in the field of battle with its sheer intensity.
Despite having only heard it once during her wedding on Dragonstone, where the present dragons all roared as one after the vows had been exchanged, Rhea recognized it all the same.
A glimpse through the nearby windowsill merely confirmed her suspicions.
Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons, graced the skies of the Vale once more.
Prince Baelon Targaryen has arrived.
Runestone in this is partially inspired by the Westeroscraft version.