“I’ve no use for any of them,” Is the angered words of Runar Targaryeņ, sharp tongue akin to a blade as he lashes outwards. It does not matter that the room his study is long since empty, not when his anger— his deep seated rage— is at the forefront of his mind. Not when he bickers endlessly with Alwyn Redfort, his greatest friend. Not when he is expected to support his father and his spawn. “Fuck!” He hissed at the mere thought, shoving things half-hazardously off his desk without care. Shattering echos through the halls of Runestone, yet he could care less.

He knew this would come. When he was old enough to understand inheritance favoured male heirs as opposed to female ones— when he heard the Kings eldest daughter was to be Queen. Even when she had younger brothers that inheritance may have favoured. However, despite his loathing to his father’s side of the family— he’d always saw her claim as true. his own mother was the Lady of Runestone. And Lady Jeyne ruled over the Vale, and she he favoured especially for having a hand in raising him when he lost his mother. He believed well in a woman’s claim over land or lordship— or a crown.

He had no wish to side with her usurper brother. Yet, he had no wish to side with her either.

Alwyn had already thoroughly scolded him when the call came, and Runar made his intent known. It was not oft Alwyn argued with Runar so vehemently— typically, he would agree, even if he truly didn’t on the inside. This was something that had driven a clear rift, and undoubtedly would continue to do so until the Lord of Runestone made a proper choice.

Cowardly, the knight had proclaimed him. Runar preferred bitter.

He wanted nothing to do with Daemon. By proxy, Rhaenyra— cared not for her bastards and trueborns alike, not enough to fight for it. It felt like insult, receiving letter to pledge himself to them, and travel to Dragonstone to serve her small council. As if he’d wish to see her with his father, the smug scoundrel that he was. His loathing was not aided when he heard word that a dragonseed girl had claimed a dragon— and Daemon as her father. a bastard with the last name Stone.

Yet another affair he would have partaken in while his abandoned his wife and son for small folk women. He didn’t believe it to be true. He’s sure he would have heard would have a bastard Targ in the Vale. however he doesn’t put it past Daemon, either.

A grunt escapes his throat when he finally sinks to his chair, dust coloured hair ruffled— not at all the sight of an honourable Lordling. Sat, slumped with his hands falling to drag across his face (across slight stubble he has yet to shave). He could not care less. This war was not his to join, despite what his last name may say. He was a Royce in all accounts that mattered.

Perhaps he’d at least offer refuge to his half-sisters. For as much as he hated his family, he did not despise the girls— sweet things he’d write to when he could. He’s not sure if that would be enough to please Alwyn. Or even Lady Jeyne, for that matter. He knows well that she’s declared for Rhaenyra’s blacks, and he does not fault her for it.

Surely, he’d be accused of cowardice by more than just his knight. Yet, he’d much rather such takes spun than face his father. For if he saw him, after all these years?

Runar may very well cut him down himself.