Born to the neglected Bronze Bitch of Runestone, Rhaella Targaryen Royce is the best-kept secret in the Vale until discovered and brought to King's Landing. Intended as a pawn meant to keep the unpredictable Rogue Prince in line, those who play the...
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RHAELLA
A salty breeze tore at the once glossy mane of a proud chestnut mare. In its wake, a dense fog began to creep inland from the tumultuous Narrow Sea. Rhaella leaned over in her saddle and peered over the cliff to watch the sea disappear from view after securing her bothersome hair with a thin strap of leather. When the last white-capped wave disappeared from sight, she kicked her heels in and urged her horse to return home.
It was a long-standing rule that she was not to be out riding in low visibility. Anything could spook a horse when its sight was limited. She could be thrown from her mare and crack her skull open upon the jagged rocks, or so she was repeatedly warned.
It would be a pity to meet the same fate as the late Lady Royce, women in this part of the Vale often cooed as they stepped into their padded wheelhouses.
Rhaella had a terrible tendency to roll her eyes at that warning when she thought no one was watching. She found it irritating that so many people who'd known Lady Rhea Royce believed her to have been thrown from her horse. Some, she suspected, only spoke of it in hopes that the truth of it would never haunt their stone halls again. Claiming murder would only lure the murderer back to finish them off. Rhaella had been taught to nod her head in agreement and say nothing if she could not verbally acknowledge the lie. She had no wish to bring fire upon them all.
The fog was just starting to engulf the castle when Rhaella stormed through the outer gates at a speed that sent the stationed guards lunging out of the way. Runestone was an ancient castle built on the edge of the precarious cliffs north of Gulltown. It had once been the seat of the Bronze Kings of old and runes from the Old Tongue were still etched into its outer walls for protection. They were meant supposedly meant to protect against ancient foes that might march down from beyond the Wall, but what good were they in this time of dragons?
The castle wasn't built to be admired, but to be reliable. Sturdy stone quarried from the Mountains of the Moon had kept it proudly standing since the days of the First Men. It had never fallen or been breached, though no one residing there today held any allusions that it could stand against the beasts brought from Old Valyria. A dragon would only have to land wrong on one of the high-reaching square towers for it to crumble and be claimed by the sea below.
The men and women of House Royce were proud of their heritage and could never make it through a feast without mentioning at least once that their ancient King Robar II united the First Men of the Vale and forced the invading Andals to retreat to the Narrow Sea for a time. It was inevitable that a brawl would break out if someone saw fit to mention the fact that the Andals eventually defeated the First Men and House Royce set aside their runic crown when they bent the knee to House Arynn.
House Arynn yielded to the dragons, forever diminishing the value of stone.
Waiting for her near the entrance of the stables with his arms crossed over his broad chest was Ser Gerold Royce, a staunch believer in their house words—We Remember. He remembered, his father had remembered, every one of his ancestors had remembered, he'd made sure Rhea Royce had remembered, and he was doing his best to ensure Rhaella remembered the history of their house.
