Away from annoyances that remind him he's a bastard and his mother a whore...
And secluded enough from the hypocritical politicking...
Ronan eventually settled back to the usual.
The groove he casually has whenever he's back home... and maybe even start preparing for that campaign that Jeyne requested before the whole Targaryen tourney tragedy.
It was kind of a big deal... and maybe his debts will be erased when he gets it done.
Cause, he's decided that the golden dragons he just acquired are to be used on other stuff.
So, he was quite looking forward to it.
What he wasn't looking forward to, however... was a raven that brought one of those rolled-up little letters.
Missives, from his dismissive uncle of a King once again.
Talk about timing. That was too little too late.
Cause Daemon spilled all the tea apparently... and Viserys was now open to the idea of actual fact-checking. A more thorough one.
Even when it should have been done then and there during that farcical audience... after all those special invitationals that really just wasted their times.
And at this point he really couldn't care less... especially when he mostly got that bastardy complaints out of his system.
It just was the rumor-mill atmosphere and the obvious Karen attitudes of King's Landing peeps that got under his skin... and since he's at the comfort of home, he was over it already.
Mostly...
And given that he is once bitten, he'll probably be twice shy. Or just playing shamelessly hard to get.
Consequently, his mother must have arrived at the same conclusion... wherein she ordered the maester to set aside any letter from the King or anything else in relation.
No replies are to be sent back, and she even requested that they be burned directly without reading any of their contents. As long as they have that royal seal or any Small Council indicators.
Of course, Ronan just let her do what she wants... and even found it funny. Cause her actions were the raven-messaging equivalent of blocking and ghosting certain contacts.
Contextually, it could actually be perceived as a rebellious move or something along the lines of disregarding the Crown.
But the Targaryens should at least allow the woman to throw her tantrums. It's the least they can do, after all that fiasco... and many years prior of wrongings.
So, with all that left to its devices, he just continued to go back to his routine... and prep for what is about to come next.
-------------
The Heir's Tourney had ended in ill omen, or so Lady Jeyne Arryn came to judge it at the earliest.
From the first boast of the King... that the babe in Queen Aemma's womb is to be a son... she had felt unease stirring.
Pride and unfounded certainty often led men to folly... and now it seemed the same spirit of hubris had killed her dear aunt.
Jeyne had not been in attendance. The Vale could ill afford her absence for long, not when lords still murmured over the matter of her rule.
Yet tidings of the tourney and all that followed came swiftly to the Eyrie, carried by ravens and tongues alike.
Her aunt, Queen Aemma, was dead in childbed. While the long-awaited son, though not stillborn, was still not able to make it past a day.
And though the King had named his daughter Rhaenyra as heir, many whispered that it was done in grief… not in foresight.
To Jeyne, it was a cruel twist of fate.
Aunt Aemma had been among the few of her kin who spoke kindly of her right to rule.
The very Queen who had lent her words of encouragement in the days when the Vale still wavered with the decision to seat her as a Paramount.
But she was gone now. All the relatives that remained were men of Arryn blood… circling like hawks, awaiting their chance to strike at her.
A bunch had already raised up arms in a failed rebellion… while even the docile Arryns of Gulltown seemed to be scheming something with ambition.
Now, with her support from the Iron Throne fallen into the Stranger's hand… Jeyne's standing had become more fragile.
The death of Queen Aemma, the King's folly, and the ascension of a young girl as heir... each echoed her own struggle.
Rhaenyra Targaryen was kin, even if distantly, yet Jeyne could not help but see the shadow of her own plight in the princess's fate.
Both were women in seats meant for men. Both were destined to be tested for it.
Still, Jeyne had her duties.
When the summons for the oath-giving came… she had sent not herself but her bannerwoman, Lady Rhea Royce, as her representative.
Time constraint and distance-wise… it seemed a prudent choice…
Another woman whom she thought would have her troubles resolved during their trip away.
Her late aunt's earlier attention and scrutiny of the Runestone lady and the Young Bronze through her wasn't exactly secretive, after all.
And Jeyne easily surmised what it was for...
For the blood and truth of Ronan Stone, whom she herself turned into Ronan Royce. About the hidden reality that he should have been Ronan Targaryen all along.
But alas, none of it was resolved due to the many complications that had arisen.
Alas.
An heir of the dragon dismissed once again. Dismissed of his birthright all this time. As Jeyne herself did not doubt the honor of the Royces... due to her care under Lord Yorbert.
They, as falcons of the moon, may have ousted the Bronze Kings... but that has become old history at this point… with the years of relations that they cultivated.
For what it's worth, the Young Bronze can now ensue with the campaign they had agreed upon...
And as ambitious as it was, Jeyne felt that it could be done... given that it was Ronan himself that guaranteed it.