Lady Rhea Royce had lived long enough to know that children of six namedays old did not write books.
They barely held quills properly, much less filled pages with sense.
And yet, her son had done just that.
"A Book of Old Tongues" as he titled it.
A strange little thing she had the maester bind in simple leather, written in her boy's own careful hand.
The maester swore he had only guided the boy through the first pages, then watched, baffled, as Ronan took to the rest on his own.
Rhea read it in full one night while her son slept in the next chamber. The words were written clean and certain, with the surety of a man twice... no, thrice his age.
He not only translated the coarse Old Tongue phrases but expanded upon them, drawing lines between meaning and sound, between rune and speech, as if he saw the shape of the language rather than simply learned it.
It made her uneasy. And proud. And frightened, all at once.
The Royces were of the First Men.
That much was beyond question. They had kept the old ways longer than most of the Vale, had clung to the runes and the stones when the Andals came with their steel and Seven.
Every boy and girl of Runestone was taught the Old Tongue enough to trace their lineage.
But none... not Rhea, not her forebears, not even the learned maesters had ever spoken it with the fluency her son now showed.
It was as though the words came to him with ease.
And then came High Valyrian.
Rhea had not wanted him to learn it at first. That was Daemon's tongue, not hers.
But the maester insisted it would serve the boy to be versed in both tongues of his supposed blood, and Rhea relented... partly from duty, partly from that quiet, dangerous hope she never quite let die.
Perhaps, she thought, if the gods were kind or if those dragons finally realized... then her son might yet find one willing to bond.
The Targaryens could consider him a bastard all they wished, but the fire in his blood should not lie.
To her surprise, Ronan's progress in High Valyrian was much the same as before... swift, sure, near unnatural.
He read aloud with perfect pitch after days, not moons. His notes grew longer, his understanding sharper. The maester said it was a gift. Rhea was not so certain.
There was something in him... some hidden spark that the rest of the world had overlooked or forgotten.
She saw it clearest when it came to the runes.
When she could steal time from her duties, Rhea would take Ronan to the old vaults beneath Runestone, where relics of their ancestors were kept.
Chipped blades, cracked shields, and the most prized of all... sets of bronze plate armor etched with runes so old their meaning had been lost to every Royce for generations.
It was said that those who wore them could not be cut or pierced. The maesters called it a myth. But Rhea had her doubts.
She would watch her son kneel before those relics, tracing the symbols with small fingers, eyes alight with the same curiosity that drove him to words and books.
He would hum softly to himself as if the runes were speaking back, and sometimes the air around the bronze would seem... different.
Once, she swore she saw faint lines shimmer where the old carvings caught the light... like embers that refused to die.
At first, Rhea was worried but she did not panic.
Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to keep his studies of these quiet.
The world had grown wary of things it could not explain.
And the Royces had no wish to draw the eye of those who feared sorcery as much as they hungered for it.
"Keep this between us, my son." She told him. "Some knowledge must live in shadow, or it will not live at all."
He nodded, solemn for one so young.
Rhea did not know what manner of force had stirred in her child... First Men craft, dragon's blood, or something born of both... but she knew it was real.
The runes, the words, the fire in his blood.
In her heart, she believed this. Whatever gods had denied him his silver hair and royal heritage... mayhaps have given him something else in turn.
And beneath the cold stones of Runestone, that gift had begun to wake.