The Crownlands ― Kingswood…
Nighttime in the kingswood was cold and the unknown kept Criston on high alert, especially with Rhaenyra and Daemon nearby. He somehow couldn't fathom how two Targaryen royals were related to each other given their respective personalities. Rhaenyra treated Criston like a friend, yet Daemon continued perceiving him as an annoyance. Perhaps the Rogue Prince was still sore over his defeat years ago? Criston would have figured a warrior of his stature would accept his loss with dignity, not act like a sore loser. All he could do now at a time like this was to gather more wood to keep the makeshift campfire burning so everyone could stay warm.
"Hae hunē kirine Zaldrīzdōrot īlō vestretas, kepus. (You seemed so content on Dragonstone, uncle.)" Rhaenyra said to Daemon. "Ao sydlivas ēdas olvie dorolvie vestriarja ivestretan. (You must have quite a few stories to tell.)"
Daemon looked at his niece with a sense of amusement. "Aye. Angez Iksan jiōrinna ao skorȳso rit aōla. (A few, as I'm sure you've no doubt heard yourself.)"
"Sīr… Dāri ej Dekuragon dōra Ȳrda. Olvie pa eglives. (So… King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. Quite the title.)"
"Ñuha menti nȳmagon nykebona tolī īlon ērinagon vīlībāzma. Yn olvȳni dōronrizmon lōragon nyke. Sizi konir mēre Dārys. (My troops called me that after we won the war. But a bunch of rocks and sand bored me. Besides, there is only one king.)"
"Bona mēre Dārys sylutan liortān yne hen naejot Lānisa Jason. Ziry ñuho līqrīdrūdan nyke mērī. (That 'one king' tried to sell me off to Jason Lannister. He would not leave me alone.)"
"Gaomagon ao jāeltan yne asēntan zirȳla? (Do you want me to kill him?)"
Rhaenyra could not help but hold in a chortle. First Ser Criston, now you? Gods, you're funny when you choose to be, uncle. She listened to the insects chirping and the flames crackling as they continued to burn brightly.
Criston arrived with more sticks, placing them beside the campfire. "Princess, I must make a final plea that we return to the camp," he recommended once more.
"Leave her be, Crispin," Daemon scoffed.
"I rather prefer it here," Rhaenyra agreed.
"His Grace is certain to be worried by your absence."
"His Grace can worry himself to death if he so likes." Rhaenyra refused again.
"But what about the queen―"
"Fuck the queen."
Well, at least I have tried. She is even feistier than I thought – much different than her calculating brother. Criston simply complied with the princess's request and threw in more wood for the fire. But the sound of the horses' neighs and twigs cracking in the underbrush caught everyone's attention. Turning to the side, Criston's sense of awareness heightened, and he instinctively reached for his scabbard.
Daemon heard the noise too and was quick to unsheathe Dark Sister. The Rogue Prince had been out in the kingswood for a long time, so he suspected a lone animal had somehow gotten lost or they were being targeted by someone or something. "Stay here," he warned his niece.
But it was too dark to see what was in front or behind them. Seven hells everywhere were dark aside from the only source of light they had in their makeshift campsite. Ser Criston slowly moved south; sword raised in anticipation of an attack. Daemon, meanwhile, crept eastward while he too prepared for the unexpected. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, merely stayed still as both men had their guard up. If whatever was making those noises were out there in the kingswood bypassed either Ser Criston or Prince Daemon, then Rhaenyra would be left with no defense. She was vulnerable. More twigs snapped and the rustling of the underbrush grew louder, causing both men to turn in the direction of the source.
Suddenly, emerging from the kingswood's flora, an enormous wild boar squealed loudly as it charged into the campsite, knocking aside Criston and momentarily surprising Daemon. The Kingsguard grunted and the Targaryen prince growled in annoyance as the animal circled them for another pass. Daemon knew this pig was different than the one he was hunting earlier this morning. This boar was of monstrous size at seven feet long, five-and-a-half feet tall at the shoulder, weighed approximately 810 pounds, and had tusks as long as swords. One lucky swing from one of those tusks could result in severe injury or death. After the initial attack, the wild pig turned around, stepped back, and charged again.
Daemon swung Dark Sister, barely scratching the hog's right flank as it rushed at Rhaenyra. The princess panicked and huddled backward in an attempt to get away before Criston quickly got in front of it and slashed at one of its tusks. The wild boar growled and squealed as it swung its tusks left and right, forcing Daemon and Criston to occasionally jump back to avoid being gored. Rhaenyra again moved to get away but tripped back which caught the hog's attention.
"Princess!" Criston shouted.
"Rhaenyra!" Daemon moved.
Rhaenyra's breathing quickened when she found herself backed into a tree as the boar squealed and charged again. However, before the hog could reach her, a hooded figure suddenly dropped from high above in the trees and landed on the wild boar's backside, forcing the animal to lose its balance and fall over, squealing as the assassin sprung out two small hidden blades from hits gauntlets and pierce its back. Although still having enough energy left to fight back, the boar swung its head. However, the assassin pulled his left hand away and swiftly unsheathed one of his two longswords before plunging it deep into the inner ear leading directly to the brain. One loud squeal and all was silent once again. Rhaenyra gasped and panted in shock, yet relieved that it was all over. But she couldn't see the man's face, only his hood and face mask covered it.
Criston moved forward, still gripping his sword, ready to engage only to be held back by Daemon.
"Stand down. He's with us," Daemon reassured. Even without looking, he could tell who the assassin was. "Skokydho bōsa gaomagon ao kȳvagon ruartan isse sȳndrorro, tresy? (How long do you plan on hiding in the darkness, nephew?)"
'Tresy?' Then… that means… Rhaenyra's mind started to slowly piece together what her uncle had said. Redirecting her attention from the dead boar towards the figure, she saw him pull back his hood and pull down his face mask. The princess saw it was her older brother, Prince Aeonar, who somehow tracked her down deep into the kingswood. The crackling fire, still burning brightly, made it seem as if Aeonar's pale lilac eyes had a hypnotic hue. "A-Aeonar…?" But how did he know where to find her? More importantly, how did she not see or hear him coming?
"You have a knack for getting into trouble, little sister," Aeonar looked down.
Criston was amazed at what had occurred. But his mindset was nearly similar to Rhaenyra's. He was certain that it was just him, Daemon, and the princess. So how did the crown prince know where they were? He did not see Aeonar coming, nor did he hear his approach. The Kingsguard approached and examined the damage inflicted on the boar. Glancing up at the trees and back down at the dead hog, Criston analyzed the methodology and proficiency in a stealth attack. Given the height of the trees, he couldn't have been more than 20, 45 feet up. Combining the prince applying the full force of his body weight into his feet with the velocity of impact from leaping from the trees onto the pig, would have been enough to at least fracture if not break the spinal cord. And the skin surrounding the inner ear is the thinnest, so a blade is driven deep enough into the brain, that would cause internal bleeding if the arteries were severed. The Kingsguard again looked at the prince. And here I thought he was tough when we last sparred.
Rhaenyra was quick to get to her feet. "If you came out here to take me back to camp, then you can forget it," she brushed her dirty outfit.
"If I wanted to take you back, I would have dragged you kicking and screaming, Rhaenyra," Aeonar retorted.
"Then why'd you come out here?"
"Because you're my sister. Didn't it occur to you that we'd notice that something was bothering you?"
Rhaenyra's eyes slowly softened. She briefly diverted her gaze from her brother's before eventually returning them. "You didn't come to take me back by force?" she inquired again.
"No," Aeonar shook his head. "Besides, you're not the only one needing some time away from that bitch."
"'Bitch'? Pfft! Hehee!" Rhaenyra knew who he was referring to. "Well," she looked down at the boar, "I suppose I should be thanking you. All three of you. That was the biggest pig I've ever seen."
"No doubt," Daemon knelt to examine the stab wounds. "Much different than the one I was looking for out in these woods." He glanced up at Aeonar. "Well, since you made it this far, why not simply enjoy yourself here?"
Aeonar looked at his uncle, sister, and Criston. They were going to be here for quite a while. Knowing his sister, Rhaenyra would have backed up Daemon. Reaching into his horizontal carry sheath, Aeonar pulled out one of his daggers and offered it to Rhaenyra. "You look like you need to relieve some stress," he offered. "Vent your frustrations."
Rhaenyra looked at her brother, then back at the dagger. She's been having a bad morning and with the boar trying to attack her, the princess didn't hesitate to accept Aeonar's offer and quickly took it to stab the dead wild hog in the neck repeatedly in a wrathful frenzy, shouting, yelling, and often crying until she felt satisfied and wore herself out. Blood splattered across the ground, some of it covered parts of Rhaenyra's face but it didn't faze her. Until she felt her pent-up frustration fizzle, Rhaenyra dropped the blade and stared at the wild boar.
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As the dark of night continued sweeping the kingswood, it was just the four of them beside the campfire. Aeonar had taken a small cloth to wipe Rhaenyra's face of pig blood and sat next to her to keep her company, with Daemon seated to Rhaenyra's left and Criston to Aeonar's right. From there, they traded stories.
"Were you ever betrothed, Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra asked.
Criston smiled. "Oh, I had an adventurous youth when my father served at Blackhaven, to be sure. But my station was never high enough for a formal betrothal," he answered. "Before I spoke my vows as a knight of the Kingsguard, I could've married a common-born girl had I wished."
"How lucky you are to have a say in your own life."
"Many in the realm would gladly trade positions with you."
Aeonar shook his head. "If only they knew what life was really like on the inside, Ser Criston," he replied. "Spend so much time on the outside trying to get in, and once you do… it's not what one would expect. I can't explain it well since it's all we've ever known our whole lives."
"At least you have the power to sway lords," Rhaenyra interjected. "I may be a princess, but I'm practically toothless."
"That's not true. One day, not so long ago, you held enough power to write my name into the White Book. And when your father named me to his Kingsguard, it was the highest honor any Cole has ever known. All that I have, I owe to you. Now I'd hardly call that toothless, princess."
"He's right, Rhaenyra. You give yourself too little credit. You do the best you can with what you know. Other times, a little improvising is required to get things moving. It's no different from our time in the small council chamber."
"Who are you and what did you do with the brother I knew?" Rhaenyra teased.
Aeonar sighed. "And once again you've ruined the moment," he shook his head.
Criston glanced back and forth. "Are you two… always like this?" he asked curiously.
"She enjoys getting a rise out of him," Daemon interjected. "They've been this way for as long as they were still in their smallclothes. It's not something one without any siblings would understand, Ser Crispin."
"It's Criston Cole. Criston!"
"Now look who's getting a rise out of who. You two sound like an old married couple," Rhaenyra chimed in. "I think you two should just kiss and get it over with."
"P-Princess!"
"In your dreams." Daemon shook his head. "Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas. (Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.)"
"Valo syt, idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla sagon kostus. (For men, marriage might be a political arrangement.)" Rhaenyra scoffed. "Ābro syt, vējītsos. (For women, it is like a death sentence.)"
"Hegnīr iksos jaelan. Nyke hen ñuho Brāedāzmo Bratsiot ēlio ono gō dāerēdoks. (Would that it was. I would have been rid of my Bronze Bitch ages ago.)"
"Ābrazŷrys aōhys biare istas; ziry lēdetō daor. (Your wife has been fortunate; you have not put a child in her.)"
Daemon laughed. "Keso qrinuntenko tolālŷti ūbriljagon rūs nājumban.(I doubt a child could grow up in such hostile environs.)"
Criston was once again confused. "Why is it they always talk like this?" he asked Aeonar.
"It's been our mother tongue since the time of Old Valyria," Aeonar explained. "One of the discreet ways of keeping any conversations amongst ourselves private."
"But why not simply use the Common Tongue?"
"We'd rather not sometimes, Ser Criston. High Valyrian is not an easy language for outsiders to learn overnight. If they did, then everyone would be eavesdropping like no tomorrow. It was only after my ancestors conquered Westeros did the Citadel obtain permission from Aegon to study our language."
"Khim kesy īlonkostos daor ryptan ao drējior issa? (You do know that we can still hear you, right?)" Daemon inquired with a hint of smug arrogance.
Aeonar rolled his eyes. "Daorys ȳdratan ao issa ryptegon, kepus. (No one said you had to listen, uncle.)" He retorted. "You see, Ser Criston, 'kepus' is High Valyrian for 'uncle.' If we want to address our father, we say 'kepa.'"
"'Kepus' and 'kepa'," Criston listened.
"Yes, and it's easy to confuse them at first."
"Then how do you say mother?"
Aeonar and Rhaenyra paused for a bit. For a while, silence filled the camp. But then they both addressed the answer. "It's 'muña'," they explained. "'Muña' is what we… what we say to mother."
Daemon shook his head. "Aōhe muñe imassitas līr mundāzma istas, yn kesy mundāzmo vŷs issa. (What happened to your mother was a tragedy, but this is a tragic world.)" He spoke plainly. "Glaeson aōhon zūgose glaesagon kostō daor, iā jāhī albijossa āzālilā.(You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it.)"
Rhaenyra shook her head. "Zūgose glaesilun jaelon daor. (I have no desire to live in fear.)" Before long, she scooched a little closer to her brother.
Aeonar felt his sister sitting next to him as a gesture of seeking emotional comfort. He then turned to Criston. "Our mother died three years ago," he explained. Reaching into his pocket, he unveiled a small trinket. Pressing his thumb on the little lock, the trinket opened to show a portrait inside. "Our father, the king… ordered Grand Maester Mellos to cut directly into her womb to get the child inside her out and she bled to death."
"She was our whole world. And yet mother was made to produce heirs until it killed her," Rhaenyra added. "But in the end, it didn't matter because our newborn brother died in a matter of hours." She rested her head against Aeonar's shoulder. "When Alicent had Jaehaerys, I was so scared it would happen again."
Criston looked at the small painting inside the locket. She is incredibly beautiful. Now Criston understood why both the prince and princess were so distant from the king. "I'm sorry for what happened. No one should ever have to endure that," he said sympathetically.
"No, it's fine," Aeonar replied calmly. "It hurts, but we'll endure as we've always done."
"I understand you and His Grace used to be so close. So that explains why you haven't seen eye-to-eye."
"To put it mildly." Aeonar wrapped his left arm around Rhaenyra and pulled her close to him. The princess hugged her brother in reciprocation. He turned to his sister. "But we still have each other. Even if we have our own lives to lead, you know that you can always talk to me. Yet I don't envy you."
"Envy me?" Rhaenyra raised a brow.
"It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path. You have more freedom than you realize, Rhaenyra. I don't."
"So does that mean we can run away to the Free Cities on dragonback and only eat cake?"
"Ha, tempting – but no."
"Aw, you're no fun."
"And you're still a pain in the ass." Aeonar kissed her head. "You're lucky I love you, sister. I wouldn't trade you for any sibling in the world."
"I love you too, brother," Rhaenyra murmured. Maybe in another life, if circumstances were different, I would have had no problem with marrying Aeonar. It is in keeping with the traditions of our house. Except there is another. You are a lucky girl, Alicent. Take loving care of my brother, you hear? The same goes for you too, Aeonar. Be good to Alicent. Because if I hear differently, I won't hesitate to kick your ass.
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It was finally morning. The four had spent the entire night camped out in the middle of the kingswood with no one to disturb them. Four people, two horses… and a crate carrying the dead wild boar on it. So far, the hunt has been going well. Rhaenyra and Criston oversaw the main campsite from the peak of the tallest cliff. Daemon and Aeonar were hidden somewhere nearby in the underbrush, waiting, looking, and listening to the wind breezing by.
"It's nice that we could spend a moment like this," Rhaenyra felt relaxed.
"Indeed, princess," Criston agreed. "I haven't felt this more solaced in a long time since I donned the white cloak. Or having to worry about when the next Dornish raid will happen."
"You take your duties too seriously, Ser Criston. Learn to let yourself go and go with the flow!"
"I'll try to do better next time, princess. Look. You can see the main camp from miles away from where we're at."
"It's so small down there." Rhaenyra grimaced with the realization that eventually she would have to return. She didn't want to be in the same room as Beatrice, but at least she wasn't alone. Not anymore. Not after a little heart-to-heart last night. Her ears perked up at the faintest sound of rustling and a low bellow. Both Rhaenyra and Criston turned right to catch a rare white hart staring at them beneath a nearby tree. Wow… It is so beautiful. She heard Criston unsheathing his sword, but she stopped him. "No," she whispered to not warn the white hart. The princess heard that sightings of an exceedingly rare stag like this are often mythical, depicted as a sign of good fortune and great potential. The white hart was a beautiful sight to behold.
But just as the wind suddenly changed direction, an arrow shot from beneath the underbrush to pierce the white stag in the eye. A brief shriek was bellowed before another arrow pierced it through the neck near the base of the skull. As the white hart slumped to the ground dead, Rhaenyra and Criston turned to see Aeonar and Daemon emerging from cover. She could see her brother holding the Yi Tish longbow in his hand and had already deduced that he was the one who made the kill.
"Nice shot," Daemon complimented.
"Indeed," Aeonar agreed. He noticed how Rhaenyra was looking at him. "Come now, don't give me that look. We're still in the middle of a hunt." He pulled out the arrows.
"We should use the other horse to cart this thing back to the main camp. The more we have on our side, the faster we can show off our prize. Best demonstrate to everyone back there that we are the mightiest house in the realm. Take back power from those who seek to weaken the House of the Dragon."
Aeonar's eyes burned with the flames of ambition. No one makes a fool out of House Targaryen and gets away with it. We are the blood of Old Valyria. "Just help me get it onto the cart. This stag is heavier than it looks."
The Kingswood ― Grand Hunt Main Camp…
"We've sent out riders to find Rhaenyra, Your Grace," Lyonel informed. "Ser Criston went after her, so the hope is that they are together. But we've yet to find Daemon or Aeonar. I assume that they went after her as well."
Viserys slumped in his chair while his Master of Laws Lord Lyonel Strong gave his report. Today's hunt was a lousy one. Reports indicated a white hart, but all he ended up catching was an ordinary brown stag. Large, yes, but not a white one. Although there were congratulatory calls, the king could not help but feel as if this was somehow a bad omen. His second wife, Queen Beatrice, on the other hand, was far less inclined to be as understanding.
"It's shameful that both children can be rather rebellious just to spite their king," Beatrice replied. "They need to learn it's disrespectful."
"With all due respect, Your Grace, wouldn't also be disrespectful to press on the matter when the topic has already been turned down?"
"How dare you speak to us in that manner."
Viserys decided to intervene. "No, Beatrice. It is all right," he dismissed. "I swear my daughter is a heedless contrarian. If I instead forbade her to wed a Lannister, she would've run off with Lord Jason out of spite." He sighed. "Perhaps my son was right when he suggested the arrangement as a poor choice. A truly great Targaryen King I am. Powerless over my own daughter of eighteen."
Beatrice's face scrunched. "We've made every accommodation possible, my love, but it will never be enough to satisfy Rhaenyra no matter how much of an effort we make," she replied. "If she is unable to find a suitable match or continues to outright ignore these proposals, then it should be appropriate that the crown choose one for her as befitting a young woman of her status."
"I don't know… I've made too many mistakes that drive my children away."
Lyonel cleared his throat. "King Jaehaerys ruled over half a century of peace while his children drove him to the edge of madness… his daughters, in particular. It is tradition, Your Grace," he added.
That relatable comment made Viserys laugh. He vaguely remembered hearing stories of his grandfather's thirteen children with his sister-wife, Queen Alysanne: seven daughters and six sons – including his father Baelon, and uncle Aemon. One ended in a miscarriage, but three boys and six girls all made it to adulthood. From what he could remember from his father that his mother Alyssa and his aunts Daella, Saera, Vissera, and Gael nearly drove the Old King to the brink of insanity with their wild antics growing up.
"Do you wish to hear my opinion on the matter?"
Beatrice shook her head. "We can discuss this some other time, Lord Strong," she tried to refuse.
"No. I'll hear him out," Viserys waved her off. He then turned to his Master of Laws. "Should I guess? You believe that your son, Ser Harwin 'Breakbones,' the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, is the best match for Rhaenyra."
"You flatter me, Your Grace, but no," Lyonel shook his head. "It would seem to me the best match for Rhaenyra is the son of the Sea Snake, Ser Laenor Velaryon," he answered. "Some years ago, Prince Aeonar and I counseled you to take his sister to wife. My reasoning remains the same. Laenor is of pure Valyrian descent. He shares blood with your cousin, Princess Rhaenys. And he is the heir to the wealthiest house in the realm. The breach between your houses has not narrowed since I last spoke of it. It would do much to assuage Lord Corlys of any slights real… or imagined. Since they've returned from the fighting in the Stepstones, Laenor has a well-earned reputation as a capable military commander, is a man of honor, and rose to command by your son's side as his second."
Viserys contemplated Lyonel's advice. He remembered his son proposing the idea of taking Laena Velaryon as a second wife to mend the rift between the crown and Driftmark. When he instead chose Beatrice Peake, both Lord Corlys and Aeonar resigned from the small council. Relations had since deteriorated not just with House Velaryon, but also with his children as well. Only Alicent was playing a mediator and peacekeeper in the hopes of reconciliation, yet only she could do so much. But before he could answer, he heard a faint commotion from outside growing increasingly louder. "What's going on out there?" he inquired.
The king moved past his Kingsguard, with Beatrice and Lyonel accompanying him. Once outside the royal pavilion, Viserys saw many in attendance gathering around the encampment as Aeonar, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Ser Criston rode before them with a dead hog and the legendary white hart atop a cart pulled by two horses.
"Look. There it is," a hunter pointed.
"A white hart," another commented.
"The gods seem to favor the Young Dragon this day."
"Look at that…"
"A pig and the white hart…"
Beatrice frowned deeply at the attention her stepson and stepdaughter were receiving. Moments earlier, she gloated to her noble ladies-in-waiting about the famous mythical creature she was bound to receive as a gift for her son Prince Aegon, only to be disappointed when Viserys returned with a normal stag instead. To see Aeonar return with a white hart as his prize, her internal animosity only grew.
Aeonar looked at the rest of the party. Daemon nodded in silent acknowledgment; Rhaenyra smirked triumphantly. The Targaryen royal family had strengthened and displayed their prowess for all to see. Aeonar could see Otto with Alicent and Jaehaerys, all watching him. Grasping his Yi Tish longbow, he raised it high in the air. "To Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen!" he called out.
"To Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen!" the call echoed.
"To Prince Aeonar the Young Dragon!"
"Hail to the Prince of Dragonstone!"
As the party applauded, Aeonar held his sister close. He nodded in acknowledgment until he noticed Beatrice staring directly at him. The Young Dragon's eyes met hers – as if engaging in a political power struggle. Do not enter the dragon's lair, stepmother. Not unless you're willing to understand the risks that come with it.