The news spread eventually... from whispers... to murmurs... to gossip.
That the Lady of Runestone and her bronze-clad son were granted a private audience with the King...
Or so it was meant to be... only for the entire Small Council to remain present.
A curiosity that set half the court aflame.
Why were the Royces called specifically?
What business could the King possibly have with that rugged Vale lady and her bastard son?
The more the lords and ladies questioned, the grander their imaginations became.
Some said the King wished to make amends for the wrongs done to House Royce.
Others whispered that he might have meant to name the bastard his brother's trueborn heir... a scandal of royal proportion.
Though, that was most unlikely... as Prince Daemon said so… that the Bronze Bitch was a bitch that was in heat with somebody else. The late King Jaeherys backed those claims and the new King Viserys himself had the marriage annulled.
Most likely to be truth... are those whispers who claimed it was all about the boy's inventions... to talk about those wooden discs and spinning toys and all else after that...
With the King chastising the young knight as a true bastard for overshadowing him since the start of his reign.
Whatever the truth, it made for perfect gossip to fill their hours.
And as the royal city swelled with guests for the tourney... every tavern, keep, and corner of the Street of Silk hummed with humorous rumor.
But for every voice that speculated in curious neutrality, there were two that spoke more envy and many that spat contempt.
A bastard taking much fame, a bastard elevated to legitimacy, a lady made ruler of a House, a mere boy turned knight... they had much to dither on about.
Much more so when the King extended great favor and made sure to have an audience with the two.
Making them hatefully criticized that the Lady Rhea should have shame for parading the child that ruined her marriage to royalty... the sheer audacity!
And those same mouths that cursed her name could not help but speak it out aloud with each other.
For nothing livened a peaceful realm like scandal makers... especially the mother and son of Runestone.
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Lord Lyman Beesbury, however, did not lend his ear to the gossipmongers. He had little patience for whispers... but numbers?
Those he adored.
And the figures coming from the Vale lately intrigued him.
He had heard of Runestone's curious resurgence, the sudden profitability of their fishings and animals, their improved trade, and the clever toys that fetched coin even in King's Landing's market squares.
All traced back to that very boy that the King had given odd looks towards during the audience.
In any case, the Young Bronze, as they called him, seemed to have a knack for making even dull metal shine.
Lyman's beeswax merchants had dealings with the Waxleys that made candles, and through them, with the Royces... and all reports painted the same tale.
A young knight who could turn idle labor into enterprise.
A rare sort of mind, thought Lyman, one better suited for ledgers than lances.
If such a boy could work wonders in the Vale, what fortune might he bring to the Crown's coffers?
It was a question worth pondering. Perhaps the boy's worth lay not in his dubious blood, but in his balance sheets.
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Lord Lyonel Strong, meanwhile, weighed heavier thoughts.
The Master of Laws had seen enough of the realm's tempers to know that one revelation, true or false, could shake kingdoms.
The King's most obvious attempt to give recognition to the boy... even tentatively... was enough to embolden enemies and unsettle friends.
He foresaw the ripple before it reached the shore.
If Daemon truly had a son, the matter of succession would be raised again, and every ambitious lord would whisper of legitimacy, of precedence, of rights.
The royal line, once doubted, would be doubted anew.
Lyonel sighed. It was a familiar story... and always, always the realm became unsettled for it.
Yet even so, he could not dismiss the boy himself.
He had read of the lad's deeds in the Vale... the suppression of a rebellion, the rise of a disciplined force, the clever construction of toys, and the development of ports and ships.
Principle of which is the bronze giant he himself had seen from the docks.
Clearly, Ronan Royce is a leader in miniature.
Harwin had strength, and even Larys had his cunning... but this one, this Young Bronze seemed to hold both in balance.
Perhaps too much so.
It was a strange feeling… for Lyonel to slightly envy another person's supposedly bastard of a child... for being everything one hoped his own would be.
Then again, he was a rational one and just continued to ponder more on the implications than anyone else.
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Lord Corlys Velaryon saw it differently still.
The boy's name and deeds stirred not only jealousy, but also curiosity.
The Master of Ships eyed new vessels, thicker-hulled and bronze-banded, strange designs that withstood wind and wave alike.
Ships that turned as quickly as a gull, yet carried the weight of a warship.
Corlys had dismissed it… until he laid eyes on that tide-squashing beaut.
It was enough to make the Sea Snake pause. Regardless of the boy's bastard existence or the King's unique attention...
Perhaps there was worth in reaching out to the Young Bronze... in binding him to Driftmark's interests before others took even more notice.
Which begs the question of how was he to do it... but his identity as the Master of Ships of this realm seemed to be one his decision is leaning towards.
Using influence to make the boy part with what he knows... and mayhaps serve the Velaryons using all of his potential.
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For his part, Lord Otto Hightower was neither shocked nor pleased.
He was satisfied.
For all unfolded as he had hoped... though not precisely as he intended.
As he had made a gamble...
And even orchestrated the talks about the Bastard of Runestone being so much alike to Daemon when young.
When whispers of this supposed resemblance first reached the King's ear... it had also been Otto's soft-spoken machinations that urged the man to see for himself.
But Otto's intention was not to prove Daemon's claim nor was it to clear Lady Rhea's honor...
Seven save him, but no...
Otto's goal has been to sow just enough doubt to weaken what was already forming. Mixing truth with lies and lies with truth.
The Hightowers had long ago learned that uncertainty served them better.
So long as the King's gaze turned inward... toward family, toward scandal, toward self-doubt... the realm would stay steady under Otto's quiet hand.
And so it did.
With a seed of chaos already planted.
For he and the maesters of the Citadel had long debated that the boy is Daemon's... and chances are that such truth will come to light in time.
But why should Otto wait for that finality... when he can twist the process to serve his needs.
And given the Lady Royce's hating eyes and the boy's presumably exasperated countenance at Viserys's painfully awkward accommodating... any chance of reconnecting should have been severed.
Otto even hoped that a deep-seated grudge is already formed. With an already seated grudge being deepened. Worsened and festered.
Enough to officially tear the Bronzes away from the House of the Dragon... crippling Daemon's possible contingencies... and strengthening the chance for the beacons of Old Town to infiltrate the Iron Throne.
For Ronan Targaryen was a variable that was calculated to be hard to take down.
So, Otto Hightower is more than pleased with this turn of events... and how he manipulated the supposedly formidable Young Bronze as a mere piece in this game of thrones.
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As for Grand Maester Mellos, he just found the whole affair to be a drag.
The Citadel had long whispered of the matter... the bastard of Runestone whose birth coincided too neatly with Daemon's assertions.
There had been debates, studies, theories... all very scholarly, all very dull. Especially when the bronze's brilliance was shining and shining.
And now that the truth had almost come to court, Mellos just felt detached.
Especially as the King's response and reactions were so... uncertain.
Viserys had seen the boy and hesitated.
And Mellos, ever the loyal servant to crown and Citadel alike, said nothing.
He might have spoken... might have told the King that blood will show, that the boy's bearing, his manner, his gaze all might speak of dragon ancestry. Especially when tested with any dragon at the Dragonpit.
But alas, Mellos did none of that.
The Hightowers had their claws deep in Oldtown and the maester's foundations, and Mellos knew which way the wind blew.
Besides, he was old and had grown weary of all this.
Better to leave the boy's parentage for everyone else to scheme and ponder on...
His duty now lay with the Queen's swelling belly, and the child within it... a new heir, a new hope, a new distraction.
Hopefully, it would be a talented dragonblood that can actually overshadow that Young Bronze.