13 Chapter 13: Remembrance. 120 AC

[3rd POV]

[Gulltown, The Vale]

Ser Willam Royce rode through the port of Gulltown as he gazed upon the shops and houses that resided beside the street. He wore a brown cloak, with the signature Royce runic armor beneath it, on his waist, a sword, with a pummel that is carved with unknown runes. He was looking for a specific place, or rather, a specific someone, as he needs to bring a message to the person.

It's hard to ride a horse through the streets. Crates and handymen were passing through, loading and unloading the ships that docked at the port. He was looking for a blacksmith that is located in the middle of the place, but it's harder to find than it sounds.

He approached a boy who was selling some flowers beside the street. "Pardon me boy, do you know the location of the nearest smith here?" he asked.

"M'lord, you just have to turn right, it's hard to miss." said the boy. "It has a big sign on it, and lately the smithy's been bothering the smallfolk and merchants."

"Why?" asked Ser Willam curiously.

"Shouts m'lord." said the boy. "Apparently the master smith took a reckless apprentice since last year."

Ser Willam nodded. "Thank you for the direction, boy." said Ser Willam, throwing a silver stag towards the boy, shocking him.

"M'lord! You are too kind!" the boy bowed repeatedly.

"Keep it." continued Ser Willam. "Stay safe out here."

"I will m'lord."

Ser Willam continued onwards, following along the streets, then turning to the right. As soon as he did so, he could already hear the sound of a hammer hitting the anvil and the smell of smoke and molten metal. He approached the smithy, tying his horse to a pole, before entering the place.

Inside, he saw a couple of blacksmiths, standing around, crossing their arms, doing nothing. Ser Willam Royce was confused at first, but then he saw what they were watching.

There was a young boy, his hair golden silver, working in the smithy. He was topless, revealing his pale yet sweaty skin, and he was wearing leather pants, tightly hugging his bulky legs.

The boy was hammering a glowing sword with his left arm, with each touch seemingly mesmerizing the smiths around him. The peculiar thing that Ser Willam saw is that the boy's left arm is filled with Runes, tattooed to his delicate skin.

The boy kept hammering, the sounds of the hammer hitting the metal seemingly echoed to Ser Willam's head, it was uncanny to see and hear.

After a couple of minutes, the boy stopped. The sword no longer glows, but the boy didn't put the sword back on the forge, instead, he took a carving tool from his bag nearby, then he continued to… carve the forged sword…

Because of the intense silence in the room, Ser Willam can't do anything but watch, afraid that he will offend the smiths nearby.

Ser Willam watched the boy carved the sword's side, rune by rune, seemingly ignoring the hot metal touching his skin.

Once he's done, he grabs the sword's unfinished hilt using his left arm, and raises it, seemingly inspecting it, before dipping it to water, cooling it rapidly.

Steam started to fill the room, raising the temperature even higher, but with the exception of Ser Willam, no one was bothered.

"I think it's finished master." said the boy, turning to the rightmost smith in the room.

"You haven't polished it." said the master.

"That can be done later."

The master sighed in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell you that polishing is important!"

The boy seemed to ignore it. He placed the half-made sword on the anvil, for all the people could see.

Ser Willam seems to be interested in it, and once he saw it, he frowned. "Black Steel."

The smiths turned to him, finally noticing his presence there.

Seeing their gaze, Sir Willam continued. "A hard metal, but easy to break if you want to bend it."

Silence filled the room, before the master spoke again. "The knight is right. Why choose Black Metal as a material for a bastard sword?"

"Because it will not matter," said the boy confidently. "No one will bend it."

The master just scoffed. "How would you know?"

The boy raised his brow to the master. He grabbed the unfinished hilt of the sword again, before swinging it to the anvil.

Once it made contact, the sword passed through the anvil like butter, and it split it in half.

And once again, the entire room turned silent.

"What kind of sorcery did you put on the sword's tapestry, boy?" the master frowned.

"The point is the sword is done," said the boy, ignoring the master's question. "I will just need to decorate it and finish the hilt, and my apprenticeship here is done, isn't that right, master?"

"I will not be a part of this." scoffed the master. "If the faith heard that you used magic, your head would be on a spike."

"Okay, that's enough, goodmen." said Ser Willam, intervening.

"Who are you?" the master finally asked. "What do you want?"

"I'm here for him." Ser Willam pointed at the boy.

The master turned to the armor and frowned. "Why's a knight from Runestone looking for this Bastard? Did he escape a crime?"

"Bastard?" Ser Willam raised his brow, turning to the boy. "That is none of your business, so I suggest you release him, I will need to bring him to Runestone."

The Master scoffed. "Fine, boy, pack your things, I don't want to see you in my smithy any longer."

The boy just hummed as he took the sword with him, walking towards his bag nearby. He tied the sword to it, and equipped the bag, still topless.

He went out of the smith with Ser Willam, walking side by side with the knight.

"Ser Willam, what brings you here?" Asked the boy calmly, passing through the streets of Gulltown. He looked at the knight top to bottom, before noticing the sword on his waist. "Is that what I think it is?"

Ser Willam nodded. He unstrapped the scabbard, before giving it to the boy. "Lamentation."

The boy unsheathed the sword, examining the runes on the sword. Ser Willam then continued. "It was supposed to be yours."

"I told mother that I don't want it." the boy said. "Besides, the runes are dead, I'd rather used mine."

"Indeed." Ser Willam hummed, looking at the unfinished black sword strapped on the boy's bag. "Do you have a name for it?"

"Remembrance." the boy said. "So, you haven't answered my first question Ser, what brings you here?"

Ser Willam's expression turned serious. "My lord, something happened to your mother."

The boy frowned. "What?"

"She fell off her horse during a hunting trip," said Ser Willam. "She's crippled."

"What of her health?"

"Steadily decreasing."

The boy turned silent. "So to Runestone then."

Ser Willam nodded solemnly, arriving at the horse.

"Alright Ser. bring me to the outskirts of the city." said the boy, climbing to the horse with Ser Royce. "I will travel by myself once we're there."

"Very well my lord."

—

At the outskirts of Gulltown, where pastures are in sight as far as the eye could see, the boy, Maegor Targaryen, stood quietly, with Ser Willam behind him, still on his sword. He took out something from his bag, it was a horn, carved with intricate runes and tapestry.

Maegor then blew the horn, but it made no sound at all.

Instead, a dragon's roar echoed throughout the sky.