Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The days at Runestone passed in a blur of discovery and new friendships. Daeron spent countless hours buried in the archives, poring over crumbling scrolls and forgotten tomes.

Rhea Royce and Jeyne Arryn proved to be more than just allies in research—they were companions who made even the most mundane moments lively.

Rhea's sharp wit kept Daeron on his toes, while Jeyne's natural curiosity and quiet humor added a softer balance.

Together, they uncovered more about the ancient magic of the First Men. Runes, they learned, were more than symbols—they were keys to forces deeply intertwined with nature, drawing from the land, the wind, and the icy breath of winter.

One evening, as they examined a scroll, Jeyne pointed to a passage. "This one mentions a rune of fire—a counterpart to the rune of cold on your blade. If it still exists, it might hold the power to counteract FrostMourne's abilities."

Rhea smirked. "A rune like that in the wrong hands could turn your pretty sword quite useless, Daeron."

Daeron leaned back, considering her words. "Then it seems I'll need to find it before anyone else does. Or destroy it."

A few days later, Rhea extended an invitation that Daeron couldn't refuse.

"You've been buried in those dusty archives long enough," she declared. "Join me on a hunt. Let's see if you're as skilled with a bow as you are with a sword."

Daeron grinned. "If nothing else, I can ride Acnologia. That should make the hunt quicker."

"Absolutely not," Rhea said firmly, though her lips twitched in amusement. "This is a traditional hunt. No dragons allowed."

The next morning, they rode out into the Vale's rugged wilderness, accompanied by a small group of retainers. Jeyne stayed behind at the castle, waving them off with a smile.

The Vale was breathtaking, its rolling hills and dense forests untouched by the chaos of war. Daeron found himself enjoying the hunt more than he expected.

Rhea was a skilled tracker, her knowledge of the land evident in the way she moved through it.

But the peaceful outing took a turn when they stumbled upon a group of mountain clan raiders. The ragged men emerged from the underbrush, weapons gleaming in the sunlight, their eyes filled with malice.

"Stay back," Rhea ordered, drawing her sword, its bronze blade catching the light.

Daeron unsheathed FrostMourne, its icy glow an unsettling contrast to the warmth of the day. "Back? I thought we were here to hunt."

The raiders charged, but they were no match for the dragonrider and the Lady of Runestone. Daeron's blade flashed with lethal precision, cutting through their ranks like a cold wind through brittle leaves. Beside him, Rhea fought with the strength and ferocity of a seasoned warrior, her movements fluid and deadly.

In the midst of the chaos, Daeron couldn't help but admire her. There was a wild and strong charm in her that was as compelling as it was intimidating.

When the last of the raiders fell, Rhea wiped her blade clean and surveyed the carnage. "Not bad, Dragon Prince. You can hold your own."

"I should hope so," Daeron replied, grinning. "Otherwise, this would have been embarrassing."

Rhea laughed, a sound that echoed through the quiet forest. As they began to gather their horses, she spoke absentmindedly, her tone more reflective than teasing. "If you were ten years older, you might've been a better match for me than Daemon."

Daeron blinked, caught off guard. "I'll take that as a compliment,my lady " he said, trying to mask his surprise. "But who says I'd need to be older?" He added with a sly grin.

Rhea rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, boy."

She nudged him playfully, but the motion caused Daeron to lose his footing. He stumbled and landed unceremoniously in the dirt.

"You fight dirty," Daeron complained, brushing himself off as Rhea smirked.

"Only when it's deserved," she replied, walking ahead with a confident sway in her step.

Daeron muttered under his breath, "Unfair doesn't even begin to cover it."

What Daeron didn't see as Rhea strode away was the flicker of emotion in her eyes. Her smirk remained, but there was a sadness there, a shadow of something unspoken.

For all her strength and resilience, there was a loneliness that lingered beneath the surface. She had spent years enduring a marriage to a man who saw her as nothing more than a stepping stone. And while her pride wouldn't allow her to show it, the weight of that isolation was undeniable.

Even the strongest women, Rhea thought bitterly, crave something more. Affection. Care.

But such luxuries, she reminded herself, weren't for women like her. Not in this world.

By the time they returned to Runestone, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson. Jeyne met them at the gates, her relief evident.

"What happened to you guys?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Daeron assured her, though he winced slightly as he dismounted. "Rhea did most of the work."

Rhea snorted. "Don't let him fool you, Jeyne. He handled himself well enough."

As the trio walked toward the hall, Rhea's laughter echoed behind them, light and unguarded.

But as Daeron glanced back at her, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the Lady of Runestone than met the eye. For all her strength and wit, there was a vulnerability hidden beneath the rough exterior.

The morning after their skirmish with the mountain clans, Daeron allowed himself a rare luxury: rest. He lingered in his chambers, savoring the quiet. Runestone had an unusual charm, its cold walls and bronze motifs offering a strange sense of comfort.

The fight had left him invigorated but also introspective. Rhea's offhand comment about their compatibility lingered in his mind. He admired her strength and intelligence, but he also sensed the loneliness behind her sharp humor. Daeron had grown adept at reading people—one didn't survive in Essos without understanding the hidden emotions of others.

However, today wasn't about Rhea or the knowledge he had found here. He had another purpose, one that had weighed on his mind since he arrived in the Vale.

After his exploration of the runes at Runestone, Daeron's next goal was far more personal. His mother had spent part of her late years in the Vale when she gave birth to him.

From the vision in Volantis, he could see a hint of her face and her apparent demise here. The odds of finding any meaningful information were slim—more than fifteen years had passed, and record-keeping in Westeros was often an afterthought. Still, Daeron felt compelled to try.

He could almost hear Orlen , his strategist, scoffing in his mind. "Wasting time on sentimentality, Daeron? That's unlike you."

But sentimentality wasn't the right word. This was about understanding the past that shaped him—a puzzle he couldn't ignore.

Daeron found Rhea and Jeyne in the solar, engaged in a lively discussion about politics in the Vale. When he announced his departure, Rhea raised an eyebrow.

"Leaving so soon? Have we bored you already?"

"Quite the opposite," Daeron replied with a grin. "Runestone has been fascinating, but I'd like to see the Vale from the skies. Acnologia grows restless if I stay in one place for too long."

Jeyne nodded thoughtfully. "It's true. Dragons are creatures of movement. Where will you go?"

Daeron shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "No specific destination. Just a flight to clear my head."

Rhea smirked. "Don't crash into the Eyrie. I doubt Jeyne would appreciate that."

"I'll do my best," Daeron said with mock solemnity.

As he turned to leave, Rhea called after him. "Don't get yourself killed, Daeron. The mountain clans might not be as easy to handle next time."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Daeron replied, offering a casual wave as he walked away.

The orphanage was located in a modest village nestled in the foothills near Gulltown, surrounded by lush greenery of mountains and winding streams.

It took Daeron half a day's flight to find it, the structure smaller and more worn than he had remembered. Acnologia landed softly on the outskirts, ensuring his arrival didn't cause a commotion. Daeron got on a horse and rode towards the town as he was accompanied by a few guards.

Daeron dismounted and approached the orphanage on foot, his expression calm but his heart heavy with anticipation. Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and damp stone.

A middle-aged woman greeted him with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

"Milord," she stammered, her eyes flicking nervously to the sword at his side. "How can I be of service?"

"I'm not a Lord," Daeron said kindly. "I'm just looking for some old records, if they still exist. About an orphan named Daeron and his mother who left him here. She would have been here... almost fifteen years ago."

The woman's brow furrowed in thought. "Daeron and his mother? The name sounds familiar, but I can't say for certain. We don't keep many records here, milord. Children come and go..."

Daeron sighed inwardly. He had expected this. "Would there be anyone left who remembers them?"

The woman hesitated. "Perhaps not milord. Most of the people who worked here have moved on or passed away. Maybe some of the locals might have known them."

Daeron thanked her and left, his steps brisk but measured.

That evening, Daeron sat by Acnologia's side, the dragon's massive form a comforting presence against the night. He stared into the campfire, thinking about his origins in this world.

Daeron's mother had been here, walking these same paths, singing songs, making flower crowns, or perhaps just struggling to make ends meet. Perhaps she lived as an ordinary person barely surviving, just as he had been forced to navigate a life shaped by forces beyond his control.

But unlike her, Daeron wasn't content to be a pawn of fate . He would carve his own path, no matter how many obstacles stood in his way.

As the fire crackled and the stars glittered above, Daeron whispered, "I don't know if I'll ever understand everything about you, or can even call you mother when I'm not really your actual son. But I'll make sure your story isn't forgotten. That your existence meant something."

Acnologia rumbled softly, as if in agreement, and Daeron allowed himself a rare moment of peace before the journey ahead.