Gerold remembered the first time the so-called Bronze Order took to war... and it was when the snows had only just begun to melt.
The mountain clans came down as they always did when the thaw came... hungry, desperate, and wild.
Three named tribes of them were seen that spring.
The Scarred Skins from the eastern slopes... men who scarred their own bodies to show they feared no pain.
The Crowtooth Kin from the high passes... who wore talons around their necks and adorned themselves with dark feathers.
And the Stone Vultures, who made their camps upon old ruins and picked at the dead after every battle, believing they took the fallen's strength for themselves.
They came in hundreds.
Driven not by conquest, but by hunger.
The developing ports of Runestone were rich with salted meats, grains, and dried fish... all that the mountains and its wild inhabitants lacked.
By the time word reached the castle, the clans had already begun to raid the outlying hamlets.
Fires burned across the coast, and smoke rose like banners.
The alerted Lady Rhea called her knights and men... and under her command rode Ser Gerold himself, alongside Ser Gunthor, and her young son... Ronan Stone.
It was his first true battle as the known commander and builder of the Bronze Order.
In any case, the men were ready.
Their drills had long prepared them for this day.
They formed ranks upon the misty shore, shields overlapping, spears braced, their swords at the ready.
Meanwhile, the mountain clans screamed and charged from down the hills.
The ranks of Bronze met them head-on.
While Ronan's orders were crisp and simple.
No shouting. No frenzy.
Advance, brace, strike.
Every man moved as if bound to the next by a chain.
With the savages breaking before others even knew it.
Their chieftains slain, their odd pride trampled, and their wounded taken to the prisons.
Perhaps only their babes and ill were left behind... in wherever crevice of the mountains they settled.
The ports were saved, and the name Bronze Order was spoken with awe throughout the ports.
But it would not be the last time they proved themselves.
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The second came only moons later... this time from the sea.
Pirates out of the Stepstones, flying false Lysene colors, had come to plunder Runestone's trade.
Their ships appeared on the horizon at dawn, thirteen strong, their sails striped and their decks crawling with cutthroats.
Perhaps thinking that the shores of bronze were easy compared to Gulltown.
Unfortunately for them, the young Ronan had prepared for this.
He had men who could swim, who could row, who could fight upon deck and wave alike.
The Order became a Navy, using the very ships they had become the unwitting shipwrights of.
Nonetheless, the sea battle lasted only a while.
The young Ronan fought the quickest, cutting through the enemy lines with a calm no older knight could muster.
Gerold remembered it clear... the crash of ships, the ringing of steel, the smoke of burning woods adrift.
When the tide turned, the pirates tried to flee, but the waters ran red behind them.
Not one escaped.
That day, Runestone's ports became known as a trap for sea raiders.
The local bards styled it as The Day the Bronze Ruled Their Waters.
And Gerold, watching the young lord standing drenched upon the dock, thought to himself... this is what the old kings of bronze must have looked like.
Only a few years passed, and Runestone's power clearly grew. As result of the changes that he himself has observed and taken part in.
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Then came the most recent call from the Eyrie.
Lord Yorbert Royce, old and failing, still served as regent to young Lady Jeyne Arryn.
But as his health waned, so too did the loyalty and patience of lesser houses.
Meaning that a faction from the lands of the Vale rose in rebellion... distant cousins and uncles of Jeyne Arryns... who claimed no girl should rule the Vale.
Rhea answered to Lord Royce's dire call.
With the banners of Runestone riding out at once.
While the Bronze Order marched beside the knights of the Gates loyal to Yorbert, their chants echoed through the valleys of the mountainous land.
The battle was fought on the slopes beneath the Eyrie... where the waterfall's water never truly falls.
The rebel lords had thought to surprise them, but the Bronze moved like a single creature.
Shield met shield.
Steels met bronze.
By the time the sun rose over the mountains, the rebellion was ended.
Lord Yorbert lived long enough to see victory. But not the peace that followed.
On his deathbed, he called Rhea and Ronan to his side.
His voice was frail, but his eyes were still sharp.
"Runestone stands." He said. "Keep it so. Serve your liege. Honor our oath."
When the bells tolled for his passing, Lady Rhea Royce was made Lady of Runestone at last.
And with her banners still bloodied from battle, she strode to the halls of the Eyrie to bend the knee.
Lady Jeyne Arryn received them in the High Hall.
A small girl still, only a few years older than the young lad Ronan... but also composed regal beyond her years... sitting upon her rightful heritage on the Eyrie's seat.
Below her heightened throne, stood her loyalist knights and maesters... and before her knelt Rhea Royce, with her son at her side.
"You have done your duty more than well, Lady Rhea." Jeyne said, her voice soft but firm. "And I owe you my safety."
"We owe only what was agreed upon." Rhea replied, bowing her head. "The Arryns rule, and the Royces defend."
"And defend, you did," Jeyne said. "So much so that the realm must be singing of it already. But my companions tell me of a boy who led men as if he were thrice his age. A boy who fights with a mind as sharp as his blade. The boy of wonders who even amused me."
To which, her eyes fell upon Ronan. "Step forward."
So, he obeyed.
"Ronan Stone." She also stepped down and went closer, saying. "For your valor in the mountains, the sea, and the Vale itself, I would name you Ser Ronan Stone, knight of the Vale."
Yet Ronan lowered his gaze. "Lady Arryn, I am honored... but I must ask... do not knight me as Stone. You do not even need to knight me at all. Just let me bear the name of my mother, if it please you. Royce, as I have served."
The court murmured, but Lady Rhea said nothing. Her eyes only glistened.
Jeyne studied him for a long moment. Then she smiled... and relented. "Then so it shall be."
She shakily drew a sword... belonging to her father, the late Lord Arryn's... and touched it to Ronan's shoulders.
"In the name of the Seven, I charge you to be brave. In the name of your ancestral Bronze Kings, I name you Royce. From henceforth, you shall be Ser Ronan Royce."
With that, the hall erupted.
Gerold remembered the sound... the cheer that shook the high walls, the stamping of bronze-shod boots upon marble.
Ronan Stone was no more.
He rose as Ser Ronan Royce, the youngest knight ever sworn in the Vale and perhaps Westeros, the boy who had reforged the Bronze of Runestone and breathed new life into old honor.
And Gerold, standing among the ranks at present, thought that...
The mountains will be sure to remember this corrected name.
The infestations of the seas will too.
For under this young knight and legitimized Royce heir... marched an army of knights and warriors that tore through them.
And yes, before he knew it, the young squire he took in had grown... with said squire to actually be the one teaching him more than a thing or two...
All in all, Gerold Royce had quite the mix of feelings when it came to that undisputable fact.