The Old Giant | 100 A.C

The winds howled through the Vale, bitter and cold, carrying the scent of the mountains that loomed like silent sentinels over the land. Gunthor stood at the edge of Runestone, his massive frame cloaked in the shadows of the high walls, watching as the last traces of Daemon Targaryen's dragon disappeared into the horizon. The roar of the beast had filled the air, but now it was gone, leaving only the stillness of the morning in its wake.

Gunthor, once known as the Bronze Giant for his legendary strength and towering presence, had seen many things in his long life. He had seen battles fought, blood spilled, and seen family's in esso rise and fall. But today, as the sun broke over the distant peaks, something felt different. The boy—the son of Daemon Targaryen and Rhae Royce—was now his charge, the last hope of House Royce.

His thoughts drifted to the boy, Kirigan. The child had been born into a world of treachery and broken promises, a legacy of blood and betrayal that even the mountains could not erase. His mother, Rhae, had died giving birth, and his father, Daemon, had abandoned him the moment the child had drawn breath. Gunthor had known Rhae since she was but a girl, and her death had hit him harder than he cared to admit. She had been a daughter of the Vale—strong, wise, and full of potential. And now, her son was left with only the bitter memory of her love and the cold indifference of his father.

Gunthor's thoughts turned to the past. His grandfather, Lord Royce, had fallen in a skirmish with the mountain clans, as had his uncles, all of them fighting to protect the Vale from the bloodthirsty raiders who had long plagued the land. Gunthor had survived it all, though he bore the scars of countless battles. He was the last of his line, and now it was his responsibility to raise Kirigan. To teach the boy what it meant to be Royce, what it meant to survive in a land where even the gods could not be trusted.

The world had changed, Gunthor thought grimly, as he watched the sun climb higher, casting a pale light across the fields below. The blood of House Targaryen ran through the boy's veins, and yet it was the blood of Royce that would shape him. Gunthor had no illusions about the task ahead. The boy would need to be strong, smarter than those who came before him, and above all, he would need to learn how to fight—not just with sword and shield, but with wit and will.

And so, as Daemon's dragon disappeared beyond the mountains, Gunthor felt a sense of finality. Daemon Targaryen was gone, his promises as empty as the air around him. Kirigan, the boy born of fire and blood, was now a pawn in a game of thrones—a game that Gunthor knew all too well. But unlike Daemon, Gunthor would stay. He would raise Kirigan to be more than just a son of Targaryen—he would raise him to be a true Lord of the Vale.

The Bronze Giant turned away from the horizon, his massive form casting a long shadow across the stones of Runestone. He would see to it that Kirigan learned the old ways—the ways of strength, loyalty, and survival. He would teach the boy what it meant to be a true Royce, to command respect, not by the dragons in his blood, but by the fire in his heart.

Gunthor knew what he had to do. The boy would grow strong, just as Gunthor had. And one day, when the time was right, Kirigan would take his place in the world—not as the son of Daemon Targaryen, but as the true heir to the Vale. Gunthor would make sure of it. And in time, when Kirigan looked back on his life, he would know that it was Gunthor who had shaped him into the man he was destined to become.

For now, though, it was enough to know that the first steps of the boy's journey were already beginning. And Gunthor would walk them beside him, every step of the way.