In the year 268 AC, the Vale.
The winds of the Vale brought the scent of wheat waves, wildflowers, and sunlight.
A long column of knights moved slowly along the high road, their destination: Runestone.
Runestone lay north of Gulltown, along the coast of the Narrow Sea.
Rhaegar let the standard-bearer ride fast at the front, banners snapping in the wind like a painting.
In the massive procession, Rhaegar rode at the head; the White Knight Ser Barristan, Ser Brynden, and the others followed close behind.
The soldiers' armor gleamed, morale high. Most knights were young but had now seen blood and weathered wind and snow.
Among them was even a wildling; the mad Tholim swore to follow the Prince, calling him the King of Fire. Lord Jon thought him mad but, for justice's sake, cut off Tholim's sword hand to curb his violence. No one expected him to survive, yet the man lived, convincing the Lord that the Seven had spared him, so he was assigned to Rhaegar's train.
The Eagle Guard had grown to three hundred; besides sons of Vale lords and wealthy Gulltown merchants, many excellent youths from famous families had joined their ranks.
Rhaegar's army flew two flags: the traditional red dragon on black of House Targaryen, and his own Eagle Guard banner—a red dragon and red eagle on black.
When the flags rose, the people of the Vale knew Prince Rhaegar's party was coming—the Prince and his handsome, tough guards.
Most striking was the Dragon Prince: silver hair held by a simple steel circlet, wearing black scale armor, riding amidst the wagons.
Peasants, merchants, and minor lords in the villages looked up, vying to glimpse the Silver Prince's smile and style.
"After so many years, I still remember Grandma telling stories of the Wise King Jaehaerys and the Good Queen visiting the Vale," an older peasant said.
A royal progress was both privilege and bond; people would rather face a true dragon than the cold Iron Throne.
During the Dance of the Dragons, many Riverlanders fought for the Queen, still fondly recalling young Queen Rhaenyra's tours in her early years; how much she remembered them was another matter.
Commoners, lords, and knights offered fruits, grain, and meat to show their love for the Prince and Dragonlord.
Some fanatics even begged for Prince Rhaegar's blessing; how the title "Lucky Rhaegar" spread, no one knew. Barristan rejected them all.
Rhaegar forbade certain gifts—including pretty maidens or daughters.
But if his guards wanted to marry, he was happy to let Brynden and the others arrange it, provided the soldier's parents agreed.
Such a large party was too much for minor lords to handle. The group could only stay with House Arryn's high vassals, sometimes camping with lesser lords, knights, or commoners, though few could house so many, so sleeping under the stars was common.
Rhaegar didn't get angry, and his men didn't complain.
He left honor and legends for the nobles, and wealth for the common folk.
A handsome, approachable, charismatic Targaryen.
His Vale tour was nearing its end; after visiting all lords great and small, he would sail to Dragonstone's Dragonmont to try waking the Dragon Nest.
The last stop in the Vale was Runestone, seat of House Royce.
Besides House Arryn, two families in the Vale left a deep impression on Rhaegar: House Corbray and House Royce.
House Royce styled themselves Bronze Kings, an ancient and powerful family among Arryn vassals.
House Corbray, though declining, still possessed a long history; their family sword was the Valyrian steel blade "Lady Forlorn."
Only these three families had intermarried with dragons—a great honor, but also a bitter memory.
Seeing Rhaegar's cavalry, a smile appeared on Lord Royce's face.
A true dragon descending was indeed an honor.
Lord Royce had already sent his heir, Yohn Royce, into the Eagle Guard; he was tall and strong, a model warrior.
After weeks of effort, he had figured out the Prince's preferences.
Rhaegar was skilled in arms but despised tourneys, loved travel but disliked luxury—very much like his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror.
He demanded no exquisite dishes, only clean food and beds; barley beef, roast goose, or steak satisfied him equally, but he disliked heavy spices.
He loved ancient sites and treasures; it was said he had a passion for relics and heirlooms, especially family collections. At Heart's Home, he had studied Lady Forlorn for hours.
Lord Royce warmly welcomed him to Runestone.
Rhaegar watched the Lord walk proudly ahead, recounting the history of Runestone and the Royces—they were once Bronze Kings until the Winged Knights overthrew them.
In fact, House Royce had a painful marriage alliance with Rhaegar's ancestor Prince Daemon—perhaps never a good match.
Rhaegar observed Runestone closely, feeling it differed from other Vale strongholds—older, more resonant.
House Royce was one of the few Vale families with First Men blood; they were once kings.
Rhaegar saw the banners again; Runestone's sigil was strange—orange field with pebbles between two rows of runes.
Do those runes still work? he wondered privately.
Whatever outsiders said, House Royce always devoutly guarded their bronze armor.
A grand mansion easily accommodated Rhaegar's elite guard of three hundred.
After being treated to fine wine and food, Lord Royce became tipsy and cheerful.
He dragged Rhaegar to the Bronze Gallery, where rows of bronze armor stood neatly, each engraved with the same protective runes.
This was the moment Rhaegar had waited for—time to explore, perhaps find something interesting.
The armor exuded history, as if carved from the river of time; the runes added to its ancient charm. The oldest piece was thousands of years old, revered by Lord Royce.
However, it seemed useless; Rhaegar heard those suits hadn't saved the Royces from many beatings.
"My Lord, may I touch them closely?" Rhaegar asked.
"Certainly, Your Grace!" Lord Royce replied.
Rhaegar scrutinized the armor, running his hands over it; he was tempted to test it with a blade to see if magic remained.
The runes were short and strange—perhaps just obscure symbols—he couldn't guess their purpose.
"As you see, Prince, we Royces once had three treasures: Bronze Armor, Valyrian Steel..." Lord Royce paused. "Alas, there was one more thing."
"Was there?" Rhaegar knew that during the Dance of the Dragons, King's Landing had lost Lamentation; House Royce still searched for it in vain.
The loss of Valyrian steel swords grieved House Targaryen, House Royce, and even House Lannister together; the royal family's own Blackfyre and Dark Sister had also vanished—proof of royal decline.
Lord Royce was a Vale warrior, blunt and honest; he wouldn't lie about a third treasure.
He mysteriously led Rhaegar to the end of the gallery, taking a small box from a niche in the wall.
Rhaegar's eyes lit up: a crown. How had House Royce kept this all these years?
This simple bronze circlet was engraved with the same runes, no gold or gems, only symbols, yet it exuded a cold, mysterious charisma.
Rhaegar examined the almost smooth surface, stroking it carefully.
Then he noticed a change in his Tree of Life template:
(Explorer: You have encountered a great creation of the First Men; your Fire of Life burns bright enough to ignite the "Shield" rune!)
Before his eyes, the runes danced, rearranging into a bronze shield standing before him.
He felt the shield merge into his body; when danger came, the Bronze Shield would rise to protect him.
So the rune armor and crown were powerful—yet later generations lost the skill to use them.
(Achievement: Rune Binder: Blood of Fire Awakened, Summon and Use Runes.)
Another major discovery; the trip to the Vale was not in vain.
There was a previous achievement gained from Lady Forlorn:
(Achievement: Path of Precision—Lady Forlorn, Sword of Slaughter, Increases Attack Accuracy.)
Rhaegar still thought of Lady Forlorn; Valyrian steel was extraordinary—sharp, mirror-bright, lighter than steel, almost cheating in battle. If the Dragonlords hadn't fallen, he should possess Blackfyre and Dark Sister now—why envy others' blades?
And Lady Forlorn didn't let him handle her for nothing—Lyn Corbray was also forced upon him.
Rhaegar thought of the Stark's Crown of Winter; it must have been larger, also bronze, but with nine black iron spikes shaped like blades. That crown also had runes, yet after the King Who Knelt yielded it to Aegon the Conqueror, it vanished, perhaps melted down.
Rhaegar felt the vitality in his body—it had never been so wonderful.
The Eagle God's Blessing gave him precognition; the Bronze Shield could avoid melee damage; the Fountain of Youth kept him vibrant against poison and disease—he was practically a Targaryen mutant, a true Fire Dragon King.
Perhaps it was time to go to Dragonstone to hatch the egg.
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