The road from Gulltown to Runestone wound through the remnants of the Mountains of the Moon.
The further north they went, the colder the air became. Trees on both sides of the road gradually thinned, revealing grey-brown rocks like the exposed tendons of a giant.
Daemon pulled on the reins, gazing at the winding column ahead, his brow slightly furrowed. Since leaving Gulltown half a day ago, they had already encountered three waves of people heading to Runestone: first, two minor knights with squires; then, a dozen landed knights carrying spears; and finally, a group of farmers with packs on their backs and rusty weapons in hand. The leader said they were soldiers levied by their lord.
"What's going on?" Rayford Rosby leaned in to ask, his warhorse pawing the ground restlessly.
"Prince, it seems even livelier ahead," Rupert Crabb pointed to the dust rising in the distance. "Judging by the commotion, there are quite a few people."
Daemon nodded and urged his horse forward.
After another hour of travel, the outline of Runestone finally appeared in the mountain hollow—a grey-black castle with walls built of massive cobblestones, faintly visible runes carved upon them. The banner of House Royce flew from the castle top: on an orange field, a pile of runic pebbles between two lines of runes snapped in the wind.
The plain outside the castle was actually covered in tents. Smoke from cooking fires rose between them, interweaving with the mist of distant mountains like a surging grey cloud.
"This isn't receiving guests; it's clearly assembling an army," Mycah Rivers whispered, his hand unconsciously resting on the short sword at his waist.
When the retinue approached the castle, the guards stopped them. But upon seeing Daemon's banner and The Cannibal and Dreamfyre circling in the air, the soldiers' expressions changed, and they quickly let them pass. "Lady Rhea is assembling the troops in the square. Please proceed directly, Prince."
Entering Runestone, everyone truly grasped the scale of this assembly.
In the square, knights were checking armor, infantry drilling in formation. The clang of the smithy, the shouts of commanders, and the neighing of warhorses interwove into a rough war song.
In the center of the square, a woman in full armor stood on a dais, pointing at a map. The armor was the unique bronze color of House Royce, covered in ancient runes, gleaming coldly in the sun. It was Daemon Targaryen's wife, Rhea Royce.
Standing beside her were two people:
A giant of a man also wearing bronze armor, nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders and a thick back. The runes on his armor were denser than Rhea's, and he held a massive greatsword.
The other was a youth in silver armor, about ten years old, with delicate features and gentle eyes, though simple runes were also carved on the scabbard of the longsword at his waist.
Hearing footsteps, Rhea turned around.
Her helmet lay aside, revealing a chiseled face. Her chestnut eyes held no warmth, like the ice of the Mountains of the Moon. "I have no time to host noble guests of Targaryen." Her voice was colder than her armor. "The wildling riots of the mountain clans are sweeping the Vale; I have no time for idle chat."
Gael subconsciously hid behind Daemon, Mysaria clutching her skirt tightly.
Daemon's followers looked somewhat unhappy, especially Jarmen Waters from Antlers. This outwardly cold one-eyed bastard was the most fiercely protective. He stepped forward immediately, anger in his voice: "Then why didn't we see Lord Grafton gathering troops in Gulltown?"
Rhea's mouth curled into a sneer. "The nobles of Gulltown? Just a bunch of merchants who only know how to count..."
"I am William Royce, Lady Rhea's cousin." The silver-armored youth quickly stepped forward, interrupting Rhea. He bowed to Daemon with a gentle smile. "My Lady didn't mean to offend; the situation is urgent."
"Distant cousin," Rhea added coldly, a trace of awkwardness in her tone.
William smiled helplessly and continued to explain: "The situation is this—a few days ago, the wildlings of the mountain clans somehow united, openly crossed the Mountains of the Moon, bypassed the Bloody Gate, and besieged the Gates of the Moon from the direction of Redfort. Unfortunately, Lord Yorbert happened to be at the Gates of the Moon with Lady Jeyne inspecting affairs. A raven only arrived the day before yesterday calling for the Vale lords to send aid. Lady Rhea is acting out of concern and spoke harshly; please forgive her, Prince."
"William, you talk too much," the bronze giant said in a booming voice like rolling boulders. "Get to the point."
William quickly introduced him: "This is Gunthor Royce, son of Lady Rhea's cousin. He looks serious, but is actually an upright and good man."
Gunthor didn't speak, simply nodding slightly to Daemon as a greeting.
Daemon looked at this slightly awkward scene, suddenly feeling that Rhea's "inability to speak" carried a sense of straightforwardness.
He smiled, his tone softening. "No matter. Since the Vale is in trouble, as a Prince of Targaryen, I naturally cannot stand by. Though my retinue is small, The Cannibal might be useful, just like when avenging Lord Arryn last year. We are willing to set out with you."
Rhea opened her mouth, probably wanting to say something mocking again, but Gunthor and William covered her mouth from behind, one on the left and one on the right. "Mmph..." She struggled a couple of times, finally glaring but staying silent.
In the distance, The Cannibal, resting on a hillside with Dreamfyre, conveniently spewed a mouthful of dragonfire into the sky toward the castle.
Released, Rhea glared fiercely at William and Gunthor but didn't speak again.
She turned and walked back to the dais. The runes on her bronze armor flowed in the sunlight, as if light were crawling along the lines.
"Many thanks, Prince!" William quickly expressed his gratitude. "With your help and two giant dragons, the siege of the Gates of the Moon will surely be broken!"
Gunthor also nodded rarely. "Correct." His gaze toward Daemon held a bit more approval—perhaps thinking of the other Daemon Targaryen, but this one clearly had more responsibility than the cousin-in-law who "fled back" to King's Landing.
Daemon could feel Rhea's undisguised glare and chuckled inwardly: No wonder my namesake great-grandfather "cousin" couldn't stand it. This temper is indeed like a piece of bronze that can't be warmed.
He didn't make a fuss, turning to Rayford Rosby. "Have everyone rest here and check weapons. We move out in half an hour."
"Yes, Prince!" Rayford accepted the order and turned, his boots clicking clearly on the flagstones amidst the noisy square.
Daemon's followers sprang into action—Corlin Celtigar checked his spear tip; Rupert Crabb polished his sword and adjusted his armor; Mycah Rivers squatted to wipe the longsword he was always teased about being "more suitable for bashing heads"; and Jarmen Waters leaned in a corner with his bow and short spear, his single eye vigilantly scanning the surrounding Vale soldiers like a wolf ready to protect its master.
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