Chapter Text
Year 86
The firelight flickered softly against the slate stone walls in the early morning sunrise. Bright yellows and fleshy oranges scraping their way from the horizon. A young girl no older than five name days sat at a simple oak desk, tapping her fingers against the wooden panels in a steady rhythm. She had brown curls tousled from sleep that were shorn just past her shoulders, and warm brown eyes which she narrowed coldly as she studied the paper sheet before her. A simple, cotton sleep shirt rested upon tiny shoulders, riding up her legs from how she sat scrunched upon the chair.
Rhea Royce gazed out where the stone battlements caught the last amber rays of dawn. A simple, well worn set of leathers sat leaning against the chair. She picked them up, studying the material as if searching for its secrets. A tiny finger rapped upon it in thought, before discarding it atop her desk and turning back to her notes. She ran her fingers absently over the runic symbols haphazardly carved into it, as if it were a comfort, each one a thread in a tapestry she weaved.
Rhea’s thoughts were heavy with plans. Four vassals were pledged directly to House Royce. Each with their own varying degrees of loyalty. Some were steadfast, like House Upcliff, whom she had no doubts about. Others, like House Coldwell, were as uncertain as the shifting waters that lapped at the edge of Runestone. Her mind circled around one possibility above all others: a match with House Hightower. The thought held more merit and uses than any other. Rhea would not be caught unaware again. This time, this life, she would be ready.
For once she had been called Albus Dumbledore.
When she first woke up, in a newborn body she held no control over that shrieked and defecated and flailed without control, she thought herself in purgatory. Surely, it could be nothing else? Albus could not deny he had not lived the best of lives, but he’d done what was needed with the circumstances he'd been given. Sometimes sacrifices were required for the greater good.
“Death is but the next great adventure,” Albus once said to Harry Potter, but he did not expect reincarnation. In another world. Within another body. Impeded by another sex.
He’d grown used to this one after five years. More than being a girl child, he was upset about how little autonomy a woman had. Especially when he himself was a girl. Herself. It was still an adjustment. She was lucky her father Lord Yorbert was flexible and followed the customs of the First Men more than the Andals. They more often gave merit to their daughters and not just their sons. After she had proved herself to him, that she was not filled with overinflated air, he now took into consideration her opinions. Especially when the maester realized her brilliance compared to other little girls.
Being a half-blood in his previous life aided him more in this life than he imagined. He had some ideas on muggle improvements that could be made without magic, and she had not realized until a few months ago the runes on House Royce’s famed armor were the same runes he once studied during class in Ancient Runes. Although there were some symbols he’d never seen before, or perhaps had forgotten after a lifetime.
His last life he’d been forced to change all his plans after Riddle's horcrux began to slowly sap him of life. Trailing up his arm, blackening his skin. A ticking time bomb of death. This time, he would not be taken unaware. He’d been given a fresh start. One where the consequences of his actions had not killed a beloved sister and turned the relationship with his remaining brother beyond frigid. Curdled like spoiled milk. The only thing left to do with it, but to throw it away. Nothing in the world was capable of crossing the gulf between the two brothers, and Albus could not blame him. Aberforth held Albus accountable for their sister's death. His foolishness and ego ruined everything.
It all changed once Ariana ended up in Gellert's crosshairs, ending in her untimely death.
This time Rhea would protect her family. She'd keep them safe with any means necessary. A lover would not hold her back, she'd long hardened her heart against such things. An overinflated sense of self importance would not impede her. Rhea was a little girl, it was true, from a middling house in the Vale.
But if she was smart about it, she had no doubts she would rise. The name 'Royce' would become renowned in Westeros just like the name 'Dumbledore' had in the Wizarding World. No one cared about the Dumbledores until he made the name important.
Especially with how uneducated the masses were. Even some nobility could not read.
In this world Gunthor and William were her cousins, but they might as well be siblings for how close they were. She had no brothers or sisters this life. Her mother and father took nearly twenty years for Rhea to finally come into existence, and her mother died in childbirth with her father showing no interest in marriage since.
Her cousins lived in the same hall she did. They shared blood. Gunthor was older than her, but it did not matter. Rhea would protect him from those that would seek to harm House Royce. Gunthor was not particularly clever, but he was promising with a sword which was worth something in this world. It was uncertain what William's strengths would be yet. He was Gunthor's younger brother. An excitable four year old wanting nothing more than to play and covet sweets.
There was always someone clawing their way desperately towards power, uncaring of who was harmed in the process. Someone who might seek to use her cousins to their advantage. House Royce was of decent standing. They gave their fealty directly to the Warden of the Vale, Lord Rodrik Arryn. The Royces had been petty kings long ago, but many families claimed such ties so it was not worth as much as she wished. Matching with House Arryn was desirable, but there was only Rodrik Arryn available. His two sons were betrothed and grown. Lord Rodrik was a man in his forties himself. Rhea would never find the power she sought out with a match from him. Not when her sons would not end up lords of the Vale of Arryn in due time.
House Hightower would be a better match.
With their influence in the Reach and connections to both the Citadel and the Faith- not to mention their trade ties- matching with House Hightower could be preferable. Yes, House Royce would be near unstoppable with a match to the Hightowers. House Lannister could offer something similar with their plethora of coin, but Lord Tymond Lannister was recently wed and there were no babes in sight.
A soft cough interrupted her reverie.
“Lady Rhea,” came the cautious voice of Maester Barin as he stepped into the chamber. His chain clinked faintly, each link a testament to years of study and counsel in the Citadel. Copper for history and electrum for astronomy; a link of gold for accounting and silver for healing. A handful of other metals adorned his neck declaring all his strengths.
She turned, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Maester Barin was long used to how early she rose. “Good morning, Maester Barin. I apologize for my dress. I was too exited upon waking and went back to work.”
He blinked, eyes narrowing as he studied her leather armor. “The runes… did they work?”
“Impenetrable,” she said with quiet pride. “Gunthor wore it in the courtyard. There was not a single scratch from WIlliam bashing at him… although I do need to make some adjustments. Bruises occurred from the flesh being pummeled. I must work on how to combat that before moving forward….”
The maester’s gaze softened, but there was awe beneath it. “I confess, Lady Rhea, I did not understand why your father sought to hide your brilliance for so long. But now I see... to be a savant, and the first to wield runes in likely over millennium, it invites a storm of attention.”
Rhea nodded thoughtfully. “I planned it with Father. To keep the armor a secret until the time was right. To hold back from announcing my mind.” House Royce could not yet afford the extra interest. Someone could steal her or worse.
He inclined his head, impressed. “And what next?”
She smiled with determination. “By the end of the year, House Royce will announce a bid for runic bronze armor. The funds from that will improve House Royce.”
The maester raised an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”
“First,” she said, voice steady, “We will outfit Runestone with proper plumbing and sewers. It’s a luxury, but necessary. Then, we double the protection. Hire more guards. Rebuild our crumbling walls. The rest will likely be taxed by the Crown and set aside for winter.”
He blinked in surprise. “To think of taxes at five name days is impressive.”
Rhea met his gaze. “To do otherwise would be foolish.”
The maester smiled, folding his hands until the sleeves of his grey maester cloak swallowed them whole. “Your cousins Gunthor and William are faring well in class. Not at your level, of course, no one is. They both excel more with the sword than the quill.”
She answered in a mild tone, “All have their uses to our House. We should not be greedy for more.”
“Indeed,” the maester agreed. “An astute opinion to bear.”
A brief silence settled between them. Any announcements House Royce may make had been held off after Princess Saera ran away to Essos to work in a pleasure house. They would give it another month before the announcement. No one would point any fingers then. “Are there any rune books at the Citadel I might borrow? I wish to study further.”
While the Citadel did not tend to be open to the populace, Maester Barin often took books out for her in his name. Ever since discovering her supposed brilliance he'd been a steadfast admirer to her mind. Providing any materials that might sharpen it further.
The maester chuckled softly. “I will inquire.”
She smiled back, the firelight catching the glint of determination in her eyes.
While being born a girl made things more difficult, she was fortunate to have a supportive family and a maester that was not sexist.
She'd make due with what she had. It was not so bad a hand she was given.
The runes shimmered faintly under the candlelight, as if alive. Rhea leaned close, ink-stained fingers brushing the parchment as her quill hovered hesitantly over a line of symbols.
"I’ve drawn them a hundred times," she murmured, frustration bleeding through her tone. Her eyes narrowed at the delicate curves and jagged angles. "Their meaning continues to evade me."
Behind her, Maester Barin stood silently. The faint crackle of the hearth was the only sound. She trusted Maester Barin with her findings. At least verbally. All her notes were written in English making any who might filch them all the more difficult. "Perhaps the rune is a... latent gift, as you say. Something that is not obvious with the plain eye."
Rhea sat back, frowning slightly. “Fiddling with these runes is like trying to listen to a song being sung through water.” Not so impossible in the Wizarding World, but here it was an asinine statement. She tapped her quill twice against her palm, then wrote her latest findings before placing them in the drawer and leaving the Maester to his studies. This room was barred to all except Rhea, Maester Barin, and her lordly father. It was done magically with carved runes above the door. It would not be easy stealing from House Royce.
"Rhea," came the deep voice of her father, Yorbert Royce. His broad frame leaned into the doorway, hair white from age and wind-tousled from being outside. His stomach was pudgy from old age, but old paintings had shown him to have the frame of a warrior. Lord Yorbert was long past his prime. "The ravens have flown. The announcements are out."
She turned toward him, already knowing what he meant. "Announcing the bid?"
"Inviting all of Westeros,” he confirmed, pride softening his weathered face. “From the Reach to the Wall.”
She arched a brow. “Can we afford to feed all of Westeros if they come?”
Lord Royce chuckled, but his eyes betrayed the truth before his lips did. “I took out a loan.”
“Father.”
“It will be paid back quickly. Once people see these runes with their own eyes… it will be worth it. Every single dragon.” He stepped closer and placed a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder. “You’re a gift, Rhea. A gift from the gods. It took so long to have you and I lost your mother for it. But the gods take as they give. Remember that. Everything in life comes at a price.”
She looked down, mind drifting to another life. Another world. “I know.”
It took Ariana dying for him to wake up. The steepest price he ever had to pay. No one ever had to tell Albus the price of anything worthwhile.
Her father turned, stroking his beard. “I’ve been thinking… should I wed you to Gunthor?”
She blinked. “Heavens, why?”
Her father barked a startled laugh. “You’ve such strange sayings, Rhea. 'Heavens why?'”
It was an improvement from her ‘Merlin's beard’ she'd managed to stop muttering. “It’s from the old books,” she said shortly. “And it still applies.”
He shrugged, half amused, half serious. “It would cement your rule. Keep things uncomplicated within House Royce."
“It is unneeded. Gunthor is loyal to me, and William too. We need matches outside the family. Ones that will help us rise.” It was not so difficult to ensure William and Gunthor would cause no issue.
He raised an eyebrow. “And who, exactly, do you have in mind?”
She turned towards the deerskin map spread on the table behind her and traced a finger to Oldtown. “The Hightowers. They control the Citadel and the Starry Sept.”
Lord Royce’s gaze hardened slightly. “Careful saying such things aloud, girl. You never know who’s listening.”
Rhea nodded, then spoke with intent. “I desire to wed Ser Bryndon Hightower.”
“He’s not the heir.”
“He doesn’t need to be. He’s sharp, respected, devout. Or—” her finger glided to Driftmark “I could secure a tie with House Velaryon? Lord Corlys has a brother in his mid twenties, Ser Vaemond I believe. Velaryon coin can move kingdoms after Lord Corlys’ Seven Voyages.”
The match would be considered problematic in The Wizarding World, a twenty something year old man betrothed to a little girl of five. But it was not so stigmatized here.
And she was not actually a five year old girl. She would not allow her age to affect her more than it had to.
Her father sighed. “What of the Lannisters?”
“Unavailable,” she said quickly. “Lord Tymond only just wed. Even if they have a son soon, he’ll be the heir. There would be too many years between us and a spare.”
And she must remain with House Royce. If she wed an heir she could not remain.
“So you're aiming for House Hightower or Velaryon, then?” he asked, arms folded.
Rhea nodded. “It will be difficult. But once we sell the runes, I believe it won’t be us chasing them. They will want to impress us.”
A flicker of pride crossed his face, tempered by something else—weariness, perhaps. He looked at his daughter, so tiny in stature, standing beneath the weight of her own ambitions. “Sometimes I worry for you, Rhea.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Worry?”
“You never got time to be a little girl. To have a childhood. Toys. Laughter. Bedtime stories. You’re only five name days but speak like a woman grown.”
Rhea’s expression shifted, a flicker of something softer passing behind her eyes. She stepped forward and clasped his hand tightly. “I have no regrets,” she said, firm as stone. “We must always be moving, Father. Wasted time is worse than death. And besides, you said the gods give and they take. Perhaps a loss of childhood is the price for House Royce to soar. I think it is a worthy trade.”
Rhea once had a childhood as Albus Dumbledore, miserable as it had been. His father had been in Azkaban and mother struggling to hold it together. It had fallen on him to become the man of the house.
Perhaps in no life she would receive a childhood.
He nodded slowly, sadness and pride mingling in his eyes. “You’re more pragmatic than I ever was when young. It is an old soul you own.”
Rhea Royce turned her eyes back to the window where she could spy her two cousins. Gunthor at nine was tall and broad for his age, like her father and uncle, his shoulders curling awkwardly in his large frame as he swung at the stuffed straw mannequin with his practice sword. William was only four, and as such was excitable and was quite difficult to keep his attention. Yet the castellan tried valiantly as he called out to Wiliam who, at current, was racing in circles around the courtyard with his wooden sword being flailed above his head. Her uncle sat watching his two sons, a thoughtful look upon his face. She rarely interacted with him. Her father was often sending him out on errands for House Royce. When he was back he tried to spend the time he could with his sons.
“He’s zealous,” her father said with quiet amusement, nodding toward William. “But there is promise.”
Rhea smiled faintly. “Let us hope he keeps such energy into adulthood.”
Lord Yorbert chuckled. “A man with such energy would be quite useful in a war. Though I pray it does not come to that."
Rhea’s fist tightened within her hand. No, she agreed within her mind, if she had her way of it they'd be in no wars at all.