Even though it had been more than a year since he had arrived at the Vale, in all that time, he had never ridden very far from the Gates, away from the Mountains of the Moon and into the verdant valley they encircled.

He had flown over it many times in Zephyr, but it was different to ride through it in his own body, through the thick woodlands of tall spruce and hearty oak, along the black mud of its riversides and many streams, through the boundless farmlands and emerald fields dotted with wildflowers and weeds of every kind.

It reminded him of the Riverlands somewhat and made him wonder if every southern kingdom was so green and densely populated. They could not go an hour without passing a fellow traveler or caravan, without spotting a shack or inn or village somewhere in the distance, or riding past some festive commoners engaging in dance or celebration.

He was a northerner through and through, he would not trade the harsh winds and endless tundras of his homeland for anything, they had shaped him into who he was today as much as Rodrik or his father had. But the fertility of the south, the joy and cheer that came so easily to its people… it was beginning to worm its way into his heart.

They had departed the Gates some two weeks ago and arrived at the Redfort four days ago. Among all the castles of the South he'd seen so far, be it the majesty of Riverrun or the sheer absurdity of the Eyrie, it was the Redfort that had come closest in his mind to matching Winterfell's grandeur.

The castle sat atop a great hill that dominated the nearby valley, in its center were three great towers of red brick connected by curtain walls, who were then surrounded by dozens of smaller auxiliary towers and buildings, which were encircled twice more by two different curtain walls of the same red brick. It was a worthy namesake for a great house of the Vale, one which had survived the Andal invasions.

It was under the gates of that castle, away from their retainers and prying eyes, where he shared a solemn goodbye with Domeric. Northerners were sparing with their displays of emotions, and Domeric was even guarded and cold than most, but it was in the shadow of those great towers that the Bolton allowed himself a warm embrace and brotherly smile.

But that was the only fond memory he had from the Redfort, within a few hours of their arrival, the commoners began to avert their gazes where he passed, and the guardsmen watched him like hawks. The steward did not only refuse him and his retainers room and board, he refused to see Jon at all, while the local innkeeper insisted that they were fully booked, even when his bar and dining hall remained as deserted as the Night Fort.

I did not expect such hostility here…But as the miles passed and he had time to think it over, Jon was sure Lyn Corbray still hated him as much as he hated the kidnapper and child raper.To think he had promised me a knighthood if I let him run off with that boy, piss on him and his knighthood, I'veearnedone.

In either case, he remembered that the Lord Redfort had stood with Lyn Corbray at the time, and if he wished to retain the alliance, the lord would not want Corbray hearing about him wining and dining Jon.Are all the lords of the Vale so spineless?

A part of him worried the lord might turn Domeric against him, but some other part of him remembered the blood they spilt side by side, the last words they shared under bricks of red, and the last look Domeric gave him when he rode away, and he knew he needn't worry at all

But that had been some time ago, since then, Jon and his retainers had continued on the long road east towards Gullstown, stopping to sleep in inns, taverns, farmhouses, septs and even under starlight when they could not manage any better.

He remembered the dislike he had when he left Winterfell for the many, many nights he and the blackfish spent sleeping on the dirt. The migraines and neck pains that greeted him every morning and the pebbles and twigs that managed to find their way directly under his spine when he fell asleep, so unlike the feather beds he was used to sleeping on his entire life.

But that had been years ago, and that trip had hardened him greatly. Now he was used to the grass cushioning, he was even more used to spending the entire day in the saddle, crossing distances which would have once deeply ached his thighs in pain and numbed his mind with boredom, now he found peace in the silence.

Some nights, they would talk, his retainers and him, knights and men at arms the blackfish had sent with him, they were to protect the reports meant for Lord Arryn, and, though unknowingly, they also helped guard the Valyrian Steel he carried. He would ask after their families, their children and wives, he would ask after their holdings and their martial ability. While they had no end of questions for him, they would ask about everything, from the North and the Starks, the blackfish and Nestor Royce, and most of all, of his duel with Corbray and the battle at Willowbrook.

He had been getting treated differently lately, not just by older, experienced men like the ones who traveled with him, but even servants and children at the Gates, the respect owed to any knight, but also a hint of something more.

Men were knighted every day, but he had gone from a promising fighter who could dominate spars, a squire of the blackfish who once snuck into some tourney and drew the ire of a Corbray to a bloodied knight and chieftain slayer overnight. People could not ignore from such a trajectory, irregardless of what they thought of him, and while he hardly cared for anyone's opinion, he could not resist reveling in the infamy.

But on most nights, they almost always had someone sharing a fire with them, be it the farmers under who's roofs they slept, traveling hedge knights with war stories and tales of glory on their lips, and septons with a never-ending stream of praises for the Seven.Except for that one septon who kept getting drunk, he seemed a corrupt sort, though far less annoying.

The one that he remembered the most however, was that traveling minster who stumbled into their campfire one night and innocently asked to share warmth and safety, before he unfurled his lute and began to sing, and by the gods, the man would not stop singing. The music was grating to Jon's ears, his string work was sloppy and his voice kept breaking on every high note, but his men enjoyed the song and cheer, and he wouldn't take it from them.

What the bard lacked for in technical skill, he made up for with his repertoire of songs, for the man could sing anything, from the ancient ballads of Florian and Jonquil to raunchy bar songs like the Bear and the Maiden Fair which were likely just as old. Eventually he would move to more modern songs like Jenny of Oldstone, or even a newly minted song detailing Robar's campaign across the Vale.

The bard also carried with him gossip and news from nearly every corner of the kingdom. He told them of a distant cousin of the Belmores getting exiled, he told them of what happened in Willowbrook as though that was some kind of great revelation for Jon, he told them of a tourney the Lord Yohn Royce was planning within the next year to celebrate victory over the clansmen.

I should be back in time for that, I do not wish to miss it.

But more interestingly he knew of the Valyrian Steel found among the clansmen, both the axe the chieftain wielded in Willowbrook and the longsword claimed by Robar, and the leading theories as to their origins.

"Some think they were stolen by the clansmen a long time ago in some raid or other and lost in the mountains, only to be recently uncovered." The bard said, then spat into the fire and shook his head. "But I don't buy it, the clansmen were also armed and armored in steel, and you don't find an ancient cache of regular steel in the mountains unless it's been rusted to nothing."

"What do you think it is then?" Ser Tylis asked.

"There was a sharp hike in piracy along the Sisters at the same time the clansmen were pouring into the Vale." The minstrel said, though another man at arms interrupted him.

"The Sisters are always rife with piracy." The man said, Jon remembered much talk of those islands from when he visited White Harbor with Rodrik. The Sisters were a set of three islands between the North and the Vale and both kingdoms spent centuries warring over them before Aegon's Conquest, until the Vale decisively triumphed. "Each island has a dozen pirate havens on it."

"This was no ordinary scourge of pirate raids, trade from White Harbor almost entirely ceased," the bard said.

"Just as this was no ordinary clan raid," Jon said. "The timing is suspicious."

"I heard a knight near the Iron Oaks say that the Lady Waynwood believes one of the pirate havens funded the clansmen to cause chaos in the Vale and paid them in Valyrian steel." The bard said, shrugging. "Though he did not know to what end."

"How would they even come into contact? The pirates and the clansmen? And is Valyrian Steel not to valuable a bounty to waste on clansmen?" Ser Tylis said, rolling his eyes. "Let us stick to song and leave this matter to the lords."

Jon nodded at the knight's words, he did wish to get to the bottom of what was causing the recent troubles in the Vale, but there was nothing he could do about it now in either case.

It was almost an entire week riding east along the road to Gullstown when they entered a tavern for what should have been one of the last nights before they reached the city. Jon paid the tavern keep for their rooms and meals, then he took his saddle bags to keep in his rooms before going to sit in the hall for dinner.

"Ser Jon Snow?" He heard someone say from behind him, a tall man with bronze embroidery on his chest.

"Yes?" Jon said, narrowing his eyes at the man. "Do I know you?"

"You do not, ser." The man said. "But my lord bid I intercept you before you reached Gullstown and deliver his summons to Runestone."

"Lord Royce summons me?" Jon asked. "Why?"

"I cannot say ser." The man said, shrugging, "But I was told to lead you there, should you choose to answer them."

He huffed under his breath and buried his forehead in his hand, part of him just wanted to get to King's Landing as soon as possible. Not to deliver some reports but see the ripples of Valyrian Steel along his blade, to swing and feel the ethereal weightlessness the legends spoke of, and the thought of extending his trip for any reason gnawed at him.

But he'd also developed a great fondness for the old Royce. The lord had not only stood with him against Corbray when it would have been far more convenient for him to stand against him or even abstain from the matter, but Jon remembered when the lord traveled north and agreed to spar with a nameless bastard in Winterfell. With sword and board, the old man shattered whatever notions of peerlessness a younger Jon might have had. It saddened him greatly at the time, but that had passed, and the sorrow of defeat had turned into the resolve that pushed him to improve into the fighter he was today.

The lord had always treated him with a respect not owned to any bastard. Jon might feel comfortable disrespecting any other lord by refusing their summons, not this one.

And so, on the dawn of the next day, they continued not towards Gullstown, but towards the seat of the bronze kings of old, nestled high in the mountains overlooking the narrow sea. It took them only a few days to arrive, climbing up the endless rolling hills and narrow mountain paths until the fortress of the Royces finally peered into view.

The castle was half as grand as the Redfort, but just as formidable, it had countless great towers aligned next to each other which touched the heavens, and multiple circular curtain walls surrounding them.Another castle which survived the Andals.

They had only barely ridden through the gates of the castle when Jon spotted a familiar face. Robar Royce was there, speaking loudly about something or other to a dark-haired young woman who leaned against a stone building and looked unimpressively towards him.

He recognized the woman's face as well, she once sat next to Myranda Royce in the stands at tourney at the Gates. He also recognized the expression on her face, one Robb wore all the time when he or Arya or Bran would not stop yammering, one which could only be borne of sibling fondness.

Ysilla Royce tapped her brother on shoulder, and pointed her head towards them, the man turned with a confused expression, then approached them with his arms open.

"Snow!" Robar said, his confused turning into a genuine smile. "You've become a knight!"

"And you a hero, ser." Jon said, bowing his head in greeting and respect.

"You as well, if the stories of Willowbrook are true." Robar said, returning the bow.

"They say you claimed a blade of Valyrian Steel, ser." Ser Tylis said behind him, and somehow Robar's smile grew even wider, before he reached towards his belt and pulled out the blade to a low hiss, one which took Hon back to the stables of the Gates of the Moon, with Corbray standing opposite him with murderous intent.

"Try it out!" Robar said, extending the handle towards Jon, who took it with wide eyes full of wonder.

It too had the ripples along the steel, though the shapes and swirls were far different than his axe, though he featherweight of the metal remained the same. The blade endowed his hand with an unnatural balance as he swung it in front him, as though the weight of it shifted and moved with his swings, allowing for maximum speed at minimal effort.

"Extraordinary." Tylis said from behind him. "A worthy successor to Lamentation, ser."

"You men and your swords." Ysilla said, though she wore a soft smile on her face.

"It's Valyrian Steel Ysilla!" Robar objected, turning to his sister with hands raised above his head, though she only rolled her eyes at the displace. "Whatever, come, I will show your men to stables and to their rooms, dear sister, if you would be so kind as to show the knight to father's solar, they have some business to discuss."

"I would ask you be careful with my saddle bags, ser." Jon said, handing the man the hilt of his sword, then hoping off his saddle. "I carry important documents meant for the Lord Arryn."

"Iunderstand, worry not, I will guard the 'documents' with my life." The Royce said, almost wiggling his eyebrows at Jon.

Has Brynden told them of my plans?Jon wondered, moving over to the other Royce who awaited him and responded to his bow with a curtsey.If so, I question his judgment, Robar is even worse at subtlety than I am.

"My betrothed speaks very highly of you, ser." Ysilla said as he followed behind her, her hands on her lap and her back straight.

Mychel.Jon realized; she was the girl Redfort was forced to break his promise to Mya for. I cannot resent her for it, I can only resent Mychel's spinelessness.

"Mychel is a good… acquaintance." Jon said. "I may have some…strongwords for the man he squires under, but I do not imagine it was his choice."

"Very little is his choice, ser, Lord Redfort is rather authoritative with his sons." Ysilla said. "Father hopes our union can still mend whatever rift has been caused in the Vale."

Which I may have been caused.

"Sorry about that." He said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

"Neither I nor my father consider it your fault ser, but Lyn Corbray's for his unnatural perversions, and his lord brother who yet protects him."

It was then that they passed a garden of some kind in the center of the castle, surrounding a great stone nearly fifteen feet tall and ten feet wide. It was dusted and cracked in the middle with countless more fissures and breaks running along it, but still,Jon could not help but stop and stare upon the countless sigils and runes that were engraved upon it.

"Ser?" Ysilla said, noticing he was no longer behind her, until she spotted him and turned to stand beside him. "Ah, I forget the impression the runestone can have on those who are not used to it."

"The runestone, my lady?" Jon asked. "Like the castle?"

"The castle was built around it and named for it ser," she said. "It's written in the sigils of the First Men, which I cannot read, but the maester says it details the ancient saga of house Royce and the first Bronze King. It is how the First Men recorded their histories, in the Vale at least."

"I wonder if there were any Winterfell that were destroyed over the millennia." Jon said, turning to her.

"Most likely, so much is lost ser." She said, a somewhat melancholy look descending on her. "Do you still hold the old gods?"

"I do." Jon said. "My time in the Vale has warmed me to at least some of the Seven, but I cannot deny the gods of my homeland."

"If we are to meet again, I would ask you tell of them." She said, gesturing for him to follow once more.

"It would be my pleasure." He said, a smile upon his face.

The lord Royce's solar looked as ancient and prestigious as the rest of his castle. The old lord sat behind a heavy Mohagany desk and looked up at them as they entered. Behind him was a large window of painted glass that illuminated the room, while the walls were lined with shelves of books and scrolls, as well lockboxes, pots of ink and wax, tapestries of Royce's heraldry and portraits of all colors and styles.

"Snow, daughter of mine." The Lord said a warm smile crossing his face. He still looked much the same as he did at the Gates and even in Winterfell, his hair and beard were still white, his face leathered and worn, the only thing that betrayed his incredible prowess was the straightness of his back. "Thank you for escorting him here, and thank you for answering my summons, please, take a seat."

"Thank you, my lord." Jon said, bowing his head in respect, as Ysilla curtseyed and left them, his curiosity as to what the lord wanted with him gnawing at his chest. "Your castle is extraordinary."

"A castle is only as reputable as its denizens, and I would like to think I keep a decent lot about." Lord Royce said with a smile, then he reached into the drawers of his desk, looking for something or other. "But enough with the pleasantries, they are not why I sent after you."

"I was curious about that myself, my lord." Jon said. "It is not every day I receive a summon from a Lord of the Vale."

"And it is not every day that a man like yourself comes into our kingdom." The lord said, seemingly finding what he was looking for as he pulled out a long rolled up map. "I already knew of your skill with steel in your hands, but recently you've proven yourself to be a man of great bravery and respectable administrative capacity, if the stories of Willowbrook and what Ser Tully tells me of your work rebuilding the mines is true."

"I did down a clansman chief and I have rebuilt some mines, though the latter came with some great difficulty." Jon said, he was not in the habit of feeling self-conscious, he regrated very little and cared even less about what people thought of it. But under the scrutiny of a man as respected the Bronze Lord, he allowed himself some insecurity.

"I have also written to your father, and given what he tells me about you, that seems about right." The Royce said, and suddenly Jon felt even more self-conscious, the feeling was unfamiliar to him, and he hated it. "Besides him and Ser Tully, I even wrote to my cousins at the Gates of the Moon, and all had nary a poor thing to say about you."

"To what end?" Jon asked, the old lord only smiled and spread open the map in his hands.

It took Jon a second of narrowing his eyes to figure out what lands the map painted. It was very detailed, with every creak and farmstead, even every small bundle of trees or bushery being depicted. It should have been impossible for him to guess, but he had spent the last few nights flying over the same lands inside of Zephyr.

"The lands surrounding Runestone?"

"Yes! Good eye, son." The lord said, nodding his head, then he pointed to a spot on the map that laid at the very western edge of the Royce's domain. Further west were the lands of Lady Waynwood, to the north was the Narrow Sea, and to the east and south were Lord Royce's lands. "As to why I've taken the effort, it concerns this castle here, Veridian Falls, it is a castle build atop a great waterfall."

"What about it concerns me?" Jon asked, not ready to assume anything.

"The castle is thousands of years old, but it has belonged to the knightly house Wycliffe for the last hundred years, their grandsire Ser Willem Wycliffe earned it for his heroism in the Battle of the Redgrass Field a century ago." The old lord said, nodding his head with pride. "But Ser Willem's only son went on to only fathered one daughter, and she has held it for the last forty years. A good and honorable woman by every measure, but none of her children survived, all were lost to plague or to war, and the Lady Wycliffe passed away a month ago, leaving her house no heirs and Veridian Falls no master. I would have you to become its new master."

"My lord?" Jon asked, his voice almost cracking in surprise. "A keep is far too generous to give away so freely."

"Generosity has nothing to do with it, boy. Just as a castle is only as reputable as it's people, a fief is only as strong as it's petty lords and landed knights. I am left a leaderless castle and before me sits the son of the Lord Stark, the squire of the Blackfish, a warrior with few equals and a knight of compassion, I can think of none who could better bolster Runestone." The lord said with a sternness in his voice, one that Jon could only hope to emulate someday, he was rather taken aback by the offer, so the lord continued, moving his finger across the map again. "You would have three villages under your protection, a humble costal hamlet producing only fish and salt, then there is a bigger, but yet modest farming village producing grain, olives and cattle.

"But by far the largest and most valuable is Hallowpeak, it is a town that feeds the rest of my holdings with pottery and furniture, the Wycliffes have spent decades gathering skilled craftsmen from across the kingdom and beyond, erecting lumber mills and clay pits to feed its blossoming industry, and I would hope you would have the administrative foresight to not undo a century of their hard work."

"No iron mines?" Jon asked, with a small smile. "It is the only thing I have experience with."

"I imagine the expertise might transfer well enough." Lord Royce said with a smile of his own. "So, what say you son? I'll give you until the end of the tournament I wish to hold to decide, but should you choose to swear allegiance to my house, you would become the knightly master of the Veridian Falls."

"I do not need time to think my lord." Jon said, he had dreamed of Winterfell since he could walk, but that castle would never be his. What the lord Royce described, however, a small holding in some corner of the Vale? He could make ithis."I accept, though I cannot assume ownership of it yet, I need to travel to deliver... documents to Lord Arryn in King's Landing."

"Brynden has told me of your axe, son." Yohn said, almost rolling his eyes.Perhaps I am not much better at subtlety than Robar.The lord then took another document from his drawers, though this one a much smaller parchment, before he rolled it up, dripped wax to seal it shut, then stamped it with his sigil. "It is too valuable a bounty to trust the safety of petty merchant vessels, when you arrive in Gullstown, find the captain of theGunthar Royceand hand him this letter, he will take you to King's Landing and back."

"Thank you, my lord." Jon said honestly, taking the parchment from his hands. "I will swear my oath when I return then?"

"Aye, and I will escort you to Veridian Falls personally." The old lord said, firmly nodding his head. "May the waves be kind to you son."


I will say I really enjoyed the first season of HOTD, but the runestone they chose to include was so depressingly small and grey, and also really boring, it looked like the castle of a petty lord

anyways thats the chapters for now, join us next time when jon gets up to some chicanery in KL