Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The salty wind whipped through the cliffs as Acnologia descended, the dragon's vast wings stirring the sea into a frenzy. The sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks below mixed with the sharp cries of seagulls.

The ancient seat of House Royce, Runestone, loomed ahead, its bronze-and-stone fortifications weathered but defiant. The sight of Daeron's dragon had drawn a crowd to the courtyard: guards clutching spears, smallfolk whispering in awe, and children pointing at the beast with wide eyes.

The dragon's mighty wings churned the air, sending waves crashing against the rocky shoreline far below. The ancient seat of House Royce stood proud and unyielding, a testament to the Vale's storied past.

Daeron leapt lightly from Acnologia's saddle, his silver hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. The dragon gave a low rumble as if to announce its rider's arrival, smoke curling from its nostrils.

His presence had already drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers, but his attention was focused on the two women awaiting him at the courtyard.

Lady Rhea Royce, clad in a bronze armor adorned with runic etchings, stood with her arms crossed, her expression sharp enough to cut steel, her sharp features set in a look of intrigue. Her black hair, streaked with hints of brown, was tied back in a braid, and her eyes gleamed with amusement and skepticism.

Beside her was Jeyne Arryn, the future Lady of the Eyrie, poised and regal even in her youth. Her long black hair, greyish black eyes, and delicate features gave her an ethereal air, but her piercing gaze hinted at a shrewd mind showing a young woman with the graceful poise of one destined to lead.

Daeron approached with a warm smile and a bow. "Lady Royce, Lady Arryn. It's an honor to stand before two of the Vale's most remarkable women. And may I say, Runestone is as breathtaking as its legends.The tales hardly do it justice."

Rhea snorted, unimpressed. "Tales from who? Southerners who think a hill is a mountain? Flattery won't earn you favor here. We're not so easily charmed. Save your honeyed words, Penndragon. What brings a dragonrider to our doorstep?"

"Good thing I'm not here to charm; I leave that to the bards." Daeron met her gaze without flinching, his tone light. "I guess curiosity. And perhaps the hope of finding knowledge lost to the ages. Also," he added with a slight grin, "to witness the famed strength of the Vale in person."

Jeyne interjected, her voice soft but curious. "And does it live up to your expectations?"

"Exceeds them, my lady," Daeron replied smoothly. "Though I suspect I've yet to see the full measure of it."

Rhea smirked. "Clever words. Let's see if there's a clever mind behind them."

As they walked toward the great hall, Rhea turned suddenly. "Tell me, Prince Daeron, do you share your cousin Daemon's disdain for this place? He couldn't stand Runestone or me. Couldn't flee fast enough."

Daeron chuckled lightly. "He fled because he couldn't handle the strength of a Royce woman. Strength intimidates the weak." His smile widened. "I, on the other hand, appreciate strength when I see it. I'm not Daemon, nor am I weak. "

Rhea's eyes narrowed, but there was a glint of approval in her expression. "A sharp tongue and flowery words, I see. Perhaps you're not entirely insufferable."

Jeyne laughed softly, cutting in before the exchange grew too barbed. "Do all dragonriders speak in riddles, or is it just you?"

Daeron grinned. "Only the charming ones."

Rhea blinked, then threw back her head and laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"Well said! You might not be as insufferable as I expected."

"High praise indeed," Daeron said with a mock bow, grinning. "Though I must point out, I'm not a Targaryen anymore. I am Daeron Penndragon."

Jeyne tilted her head curiously. "Why would you shed such a famous name?"

Daeron turned to her, his expression shifting to one of dramatic flair. "Ah, a tale of daring, adventure, and dragons. It begins in the far reaches of Essos, where I faced treachery, conspiracies, and betrayal. He launched into a theatrical retelling of his exploits, emphasizing his victories and brushing past his losses with self-deprecating humor.

By the time he was done, Rhea and Jeyne were both laughing, their initial wariness melting away. They laughed and joked as they made their way to the main hall.

The two women led Daeron on a tour of the castle, showing him the ancient carvings and relics of House Royce. Despite its harsh exterior, Runestone had a unique charm with its intricate bronze motifs and echoes of a time long past.

The great hall of Runestone was adorned with banners and carvings depicting the history of the First Men. Seated at the high table was Lord Yorbert Royce, a broad-shouldered man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes. He watched Daeron approach with measured interest.

"Prince Daeron, is it?" Yorbert rumbled. "What brings you to Runestone? No Targaryen has bothered to visit us since Daemon sulked off."

Daeron met his gaze evenly. "I'm not a Targaryen, my lord, and I have no interest in following Daemon's footsteps. My purpose here is quite simple,to find out more about my sword " he said, unsheathing FrostMourne and laying it on the table.

The blade caught the light, its Valyrian steel glinting with an almost otherworldly blue sheen and a hint of chill. The faint etchings of a rune shimmered along the steel.

"My sword, FrostMourne, bears a rune on its blade. I was told that the knowledge of such things might be found here." "This sword bears a rune—one I believe your house might understand."

Yorbert's expression shifted, "A rune, you say? That is rare indeed." Yorbert leaned forward; his curiosity piqued. He traced the markings with a weathered finger, muttering to himself.

"A rune of Frost and Ice… rare and ancient. You have my attention, boy. The records of House Royce hold many secrets, though not all are easy to decipher."

Rhea stepped closer, inspecting the blade. "Runes are the language of the First Men. They were said to harness the power of nature itself—fire, ice, storm, earth. But much of that knowledge was lost during the Andal invasion."

Her cousin, Gerold Royce leaned in as well. "This one... it doesn't just mean 'cold.' It's more specific. 'Absorption of cold,' It suggests the blade can take in and neutralize certain magics or elements related to cold."

Daeron tilted his head thoughtfully. "That would explain why it's unnaturally cold to the touch—and why certain… things seem weaker when faced with it."

Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Certain things?"

Daeron offered a faint smile. "Let's call them unpleasant surprises. Though I wouldn't mind knowing more before I encounter them again."

Yorbert stroked his beard, nodding. "You may have access to our archives, Prince Daeron. But be warned—our knowledge isn't for sharing with others. You better not spread the secrets of our house."

Daeron inclined his head. "You have my word."

"Very well, you may search our records. But," he added with a sly smile, "it seems my daughter and Lady Arryn are already set on accompanying you."

Rhea rolled her eyes but smirked. "What can I say? Daeron here is twice the man Daemon ever was."

Daeron raised a brow, intrigued by her biting remarks. "Perhaps one day you'll tell me more about your charming husband."

Rhea laughed. "Perhaps."

The archives of Runestone were a maze of stone shelves and aging scrolls, illuminated by the flickering light of lanterns. Daeron walked alongside Jeyne and Rhea, combing through tomes and deciphering fragments of ancient texts.

The trio delved into Runestone's archives, pouring over ancient scrolls and crumbling tomes. Jeyne proved adept at deciphering old texts, while Rhea guided them to key documents with surprising familiarity.

Rhea proved surprisingly well-versed in the old lore, her sharp wit making the hours pass swiftly. At one point, Daeron quipped, "You're far more charming than I was led to believe."

"Flattery again," Rhea replied with a sarcastic smirk. "Careful, or I might think you're aiming for my favor."

Daeron smirked. "And if I were?"

"Then you'd better try harder. I don't think I'd fall for the charms of a boy of 15 name days old that easily, despite my lackings in marriage ."

Jeyne chuckled at their banter, shaking her head. "You two are like siblings clashing over toys . It's a wonder we're getting anything done."

After hours of study, they pieced together a clearer picture of FrostMourne's rune.

"The runes," Rhea explained, tracing a passage with her finger, "were once the source of the Royce family's power. But after the Andal invasion, their magic faded. This particular rune—'Frost'—is said to absorb and counteract ice-based magic."

"This rune," Jeyne explained, pointing to an illustration in a crumbling book, "was used by the First Men to guard against the White Walkers. It doesn't just absorb magic—it turns it into strength for the wielder."

Rhea's replied with snort, "A blade like that could change the tide of a war, if we were living in a fairy tale. Runes have stopped working since thousands of years ago, if they ever worked at all. It's only a family tradition at this point."

Daeron ran his fingers over the rune, his mind churning with possibilities. "Absorbing magic... that would explain a few things. The past holds more answers than we realize, Lady Rhea. and reality can be more shocking than a fairy tale. Thank you both for your help. I'll remember this."

He looked up at Rhea and Jeyne. "Would you mind if I explored these records further? There may be more to learn."

Rhea waved a hand dismissively. "By all means. Just don't start breathing fire down here."

Daeron chuckled. "I'll do my best to behave."

Jeyne smiled warmly. "And if you uncover more secrets, you know where to find us."

As the moon rose over Runestone, Daeron stood alone on a balcony, FrostMourne in hand. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he didn't feel it. His gray eyes scanned the horizon, his thoughts heavy.

The knowledge he'd uncovered had unearthed more questions than answers. The blade, the rune, the past—all tied to something larger, the long night that came thousands of years ago.

His mind was filled with whatever knowledge he gained about them from the tv show. Something he couldn't yet see but could feel in the depths of his soul.

In the distance, Acnologia roared softly, as if sensing his unease. Daeron tightened his grip on FrostMourne, the faint glow of the rune casting a pale light across his face.

"Whatever comes, whenever it comes" he murmured to the night, "I'll be ready."

As Daeron settled in for another round of research, he couldn't help but feel a kinship forming with the Royces and Jeyne Arryn. Their strength, resilience, and wit reminded him that not all alliances were forged in fire and blood. Some were built on shared respect and understanding.

For now, he would delve deeper into the mysteries of the runes, but he couldn't shake the thought that his visit to Runestone might lead to something far greater than he had planned.