Shadows in the Morning Dew

Autumn, 108 AC, before dawn on the second day at the Kingswood camp.

The colors of night had yet to fade completely. Deep blue and pale gray still mingled above the camp, while faint threads of gold and red glimmered along the eastern horizon, like candlelight hidden behind a heavy curtain.

On the other side of the sky, the moon had not yet vanished, and a few bright stars still shone faintly. Together with the sun that had yet to fully rise and the starry night that had yet to fully recede, they traced a hazy dawn that dimly illuminated everything in the camp...

The camp lay silent, save for the occasional crackle of the watch fires and the restless stamping of horses in the distant stables.

A single candle burned inside Rhaenyra's tent, its dim yellow light flickering.

The girl stood in the middle of the tent. She had already taken off her nightgown and was awkwardly pulling on a coarse black hunting outfit.

The cloak she had prepared, however, had clearly been borrowed through one of her maids-

It was far too large for her. The cuffs needed rolling several times, and the hem almost reached her calves.

Irritated, she cinched a leather belt around her waist, her anger making her movements rather rough.

Aegon lay quietly on a low, fur-covered couch nearby, watching her with open eyes.

After pretending to sleep yesterday afternoon, he had barely slept all night. Partly because he was unused to the hard ground of an outdoor camp, and partly because he was excited-

That "damned useless" bloodline system of his had remained unresponsive ever since Sunfyre hatched and bonded with him. Apart from its cryptic panel, it had offered only a few large red notices reading "Locked."

When news of the White Hart arrived yesterday afternoon, it had finally reacted. With so little he could do in his young body besides sleep-and having already slept more than enough-how could he possibly drift off?

Yet now, watching Rhaenyra change in the dim candlelight, he could not help feeling that the whole thing was absurd.

What a strange notion of fate this world of ice and fire has, he thought. Even with my interference delaying the hunt from its original timeline, shifting Rhaenyra's solitary trip into the forest from afternoon to morning, this stubborn "silly girl" still insists on running off in a huff.

At eleven, Rhaenyra was both a sensitive, precocious heir to the throne and a girl who sulked, acted willfully, and thought that "sneaking away" would let her "escape reality," "draw attention," and "be loved."

Just then, however, the rustling of fabric suddenly stopped.

Rhaenyra turned and discovered Aegon watching her with his eyes open.

Candlelight danced in those purple eyes, which looked far too alert for a toddler who had only just woken.

Her face flushed instantly, red all the way to her ears.

"Aegon!" She struggled to keep her voice low, embarrassed and angry. "Close your eyes! No looking!"

She hurried to the couch and covered his eyes with her hand. Her palm was warm, carrying the scent of soap pods and the faint fragrance peculiar to a young girl.

Resigned, Aegon closed his eyes.

Even setting aside my memories of my previous life and my mental age, he thought, with the education I received back then, how could I be interested in an eleven-year-old girl whose body hasn't even begun to develop?

He was neither his father in this life, Viserys-the king who married a young female attendant shortly after his wife died in childbirth-nor his uncle Daemon, famed for his amorous exploits.

In matters of taste, though, he did share something with the original Aegon II:

A preference for more mature women.

Still, like the original Aegon II, he was not so indiscriminate as his future younger brother Aemond in the original story, who embraced the belief that "women are like fine wine-the older, the better"...

What he liked were "older girls" in their prime, with youthful faces, of course, and figures...

Ahem. This is rather damaging to my image as the wise and mighty Emperor Aegon. My reincarnation as an unborn baby must not have been complete. Aegon II's "sinful soul" must be "influencing" me...

Yes, it must be Aegon II's fault. I'm a wise and mighty transmigrator...

As for my future "rebellious little brother" Aemond, once he's born, I'll have to give him a proper "education" as his elder brother. As for that "woods witch" of uncertain age, let his big brother bear that burden for him...

Ahem. How did my thoughts wander so far off track? All Aegon II's fault! Back to the point: why is Rhaenyra "slandering" me like this...?

Who could blame her, when their "silly Delight of the Realm" always forgot to keep out of sight of her "little brother of just over a year" while changing?

"Are you done?" Aegon asked, coming back to himself and making his voice sound muzzy, as though he had just woken.

"Almost... Don't open your eyes!"

Rhaenyra peeked outside the tent, then hastily retreated to its center and continued dressing in a fluster.

She pulled on an inconspicuous old woolen cloak. It was dark red and frayed around the edges, but thick enough to keep out the cold.

Finally, she tugged on a pair of sturdy leather boots and tucked a small dagger into the side of one boot-

It had been a gift from her father, Viserys, on her Name Day last year. With a blade only a palm long and rubies set into it, it was more ornament than weapon.

Once dressed, she turned to look at Aegon.

The boy still had his eyes "obediently" closed. His silver lashes cast tiny shadows in the candlelight, and his little face looked unusually soft in the dim glow.

Outside the tent, the sky had grown a little brighter. Deep blue faded to gray-blue, and the gold and red in the east had begun to stain the clouds.

The first birdsong sounded in the camp, followed by a second and a third, soon swelling into a chorus.

Rhaenyra bit her lower lip, torn.

Should I bring this "little rascal"?

If I leave him, he'll definitely cry and fuss. Once he alerts a maid or a guard, my whole "escape" plan will be ruined.

But if I bring him...

A child barely over a year old, in the forest-what if something happens...?

She turned to look at the brightening sky through a gap in the tent flap, then looked back at Aegon on the couch.

As though sensing her hesitation, the boy opened his eyes.

Their gazes met.

In the dim candlelight, Aegon's eyes resembled two amethysts, clear and bright, gazing at her imploringly.

They looked like the two brightest little stars in the night sky, shimmering with a plea that softened her heart.

But when he pushed out his lower lip slightly, his expression became an outright "threat"-

If you dare leave me behind, I'll start crying right now.

Rhaenyra glared at her "rebellious little brother," and Aegon glared back. After a few seconds, the girl closed her eyes in defeat and drew a deep breath.

"Come here," she whispered, her voice full of resignation.

Aegon immediately clambered up, moving with an agility utterly unlike that of a one-year-old.

Rhaenyra wrapped him in her cloak and held him in her arms, leaving only his little face exposed.

The boy's body was warm and soft. He rested obediently against her shoulder, his small hands circling her neck.

"Not a sound," Rhaenyra warned. "No squirming, and no trouble. Otherwise, I'll never take you out again."

Aegon nodded and buried his face in the crook of her neck to show his absolute obedience.

Rhaenyra lifted a corner of the tent flap and peered outside. The camp was still only half awake. A handful of early-rising attendants were adding wood to the fires, and cooking smoke rose from the kitchen tent in the distance.

She pulled her hood low and slipped from the tent with Aegon in her arms, like a dark red shadow.

The moment she emerged, the cold morning air struck her face.

Colder than I expected. Rhaenyra shivered and wrapped Aegon more tightly. Keeping close to the tents, she avoided the main path and circled toward the rear of the camp-

It was actually closer to the forest there, with fewer guards.

But she had forgotten one thing.

She had barely gone a dozen paces when a golden shape rose from the shadows. Sunfyre had been curled on an open patch of ground not far from Rhaenyra's tent, like a small sleeping hill. Now the dragon lifted its head, its golden eyes like two little lamps in the morning light, fixed squarely on the siblings.

Rhaenyra froze.

Aegon saw Sunfyre through a gap in the cloak and sighed inwardly. This silly girl. How could she forget the "bodyguard blocking the door" when she left?

Sunfyre stepped closer, moving lightly and silently.

With its "absurd growth," it had gone from the size of a small pony's foal a few months ago to that of a medium-sized horse's foal, perhaps even a large horse's. Yet it still walked like a big cat, its feet making almost no sound as they touched the ground.

It lowered its head and brought its nose close to Aegon in Rhaenyra's arms, its hot breath smelling of sulfur.

Rhaenyra looked at the golden dragon, then at the innocent-faced Aegon in her arms, and finally made a resigned decision.

She raised her free hand, holding her forefinger to her lips. Aegon, still in her arms, made the same "shh" gesture at the same moment.

Then she pointed at Sunfyre, made the "shh" gesture again, pointed toward the forest, and finally mouthed in Valyrian:

Follow. Us. Quietly.

Sunfyre tilted its head.

The intelligence of dragons was difficult to gauge, but this golden dragon, which had hatched in its master's cradle within three days, was clearly extraordinary.

It seemed to understand. Its golden eyes blinked, and then-

It did something that nearly made Rhaenyra laugh aloud.

Sunfyre tucked up its foreclaws-the forelimbs joined to its wings; the Valyrian dragons of ice and fire were all wyverns, since Martin, the original author, considered four-legged dragons merely lizards with wings-and "stood on tiptoe" like a cat, supporting itself only on its hind legs.

It pressed its wings tightly against its sides and even lifted its tail, curving the tip slightly as though struggling to keep its balance.

It looked for all the world like a child trying to sneak into the kitchen to steal a bite of food, creeping along, comical and adorable.

Unable to suppress her amusement, Rhaenyra lowered her head and planted a big kiss on Aegon's forehead as a reward for his "excellent training."

Aegon rolled his eyes in her arms. This silly girl. She's the one who misled Sunfyre with her gestures, and now she's giving me the credit.

And the way she stroked his hair felt exactly like someone rubbing an obedient puppy's head.

Never mind. For the sake of the bigger picture, I'll put up with it.

The two humans and one dragon moved silently toward the rear of the camp in this peculiar fashion.

Rhaenyra carried Aegon, while Sunfyre tiptoed three paces behind, its golden scales glimmering in the strengthening daylight.

None of them noticed the figure behind a tent at the edge of the camp, silently watching it all.

Ser Criston Cole stood beside his mount, wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard beneath a dark gray cloak for disguise.

He should have rested after his watch ended at dawn, but yesterday, after hearing the report of the White Hart, he had also heard about the clash at the princess's tea gathering and the farce of Jason Lannister's proposal. With the princess "on his mind," sleep had proved elusive.

So he had risen early, ostensibly to patrol, but really to sort out his thoughts.

Then he had seen Princess Rhaenyra, the very person who occupied them.

The princess was carrying the prince, her hood pulled low, sneaking toward the forest.

Sunfyre's ridiculous gait behind her should have made Cole laugh, but he could not.

He saw the stubbornness in Rhaenyra's profile when she turned to gesture at the dragon, the strength with which her arms held her brother, and the resolve in her steps as she headed toward the forest.

Without hesitation, Cole swung into the saddle.

His mount was a fine dark gray horse. He had just wrapped its hooves in cloth, making its movements almost silent.

Keeping his distance, he followed far behind the siblings and the dragon, his watchful gaze sweeping the surrounding forest.

Though nominally the royal hunting preserve, the Kingswood was vast. Wild boars and wolf packs still roamed its depths, and rumor even spoke of shadowcats. Letting the princess and prince enter alone was far too dangerous.

And just as Rhaenyra, carrying Aegon with Sunfyre behind her and Cole trailing at a distance, slipped through a gap in the fence at the camp's rear gate, clumsily "borrowed" a white pony, and entered the oak woods at the edge of the Kingswood-

A horn sounded at the front of the camp.

Bwooo-bwooo, bwooo-

The deep, powerful horn calls shattered the morning quiet, startling countless birds from the trees. Then came a second call, a third, seven long blasts in all, announcing that the king was riding out to hunt.

Viserys I's hunting party departed through the camp's main gate.

The king himself rode a gentle white mare, dressed in magnificent hunting clothes, even his cloak bearing the black and red of House Targaryen.

At his left, naturally, was Ser Otto Hightower. Their Lord Hand had also made a point of changing into hunting clothes today, his gray hair immaculately combed and a longsword at his waist. Though he had not personally hunted in years, his bearing remained upright.

With Ser Otto on the left, the king's other side-his right-naturally belonged to another friend of His Grace, Earl Lyonel Strong. Judging by appearances alone, the Master of Laws was a true hunter, his keen gaze sweeping the forest.

The party included the great lords:

Borros Baratheon rode a spirited black horse, his laughter booming;

Mathos Tyrell's eldest son, Garlan Tyrell, handled his mount gracefully, speaking quietly with his mother beside him;

Beside Tyland Lannister, Jason Lannister still looked rather sullen. Evidently, after the princess rejected him yesterday afternoon, someone else had displeased him as well. Nevertheless, under his twin brother Tyland's "urging," he had changed into light hunting armor;

Old Grover Tully sat on a docile old horse, its reins held by his grandson Elmo.

Every member of the Kingsguard except Cole accompanied them, six white figures spread around the king.

Attendants, hunters, and hound handlers followed in a grand procession, numbering a hundred or so in all.

The hounds barked excitedly, hoofbeats rolled like muffled thunder, and banners fluttered in the morning wind-

The three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, the crowned stag of House Baratheon, the roaring lion of House Lannister, the golden rose on green of House Tyrell...

"Today's quarry is the White Hart!" Viserys declared loudly, his voice carrying far through the morning air. "An auspicious sign granted to us by the Seven, the king of the Kingswood! Whoever brings it back shall receive a thousand gold dragons!"

The crowd cheered. The horns sounded again.

Like a vast, brightly colored python, the party slowly wound into the depths of the Kingswood, heading northeast toward Oak Vale, where the white hart had been spotted yesterday.

Behind the camp, at the edge of the oak woods, Rhaenyra heard the horns and cheering too, and paused.

She looked back. Through gaps between the trees, she could faintly see the departing banners and the dust rising behind them.

In her arms, Aegon felt her body stiffen for a moment.

"They've gone to find the white hart," Rhaenyra said quietly, her voice laden with tangled emotions-

Anger, hurt, and perhaps a trace of the loneliness of being left out.

Then she turned back and continued riding the white pony deeper into the forest, its steps quicker and more determined.

Sunfyre stopped tiptoeing and resumed its normal gait behind her, though it remained silent.

Not far away, Criston Cole reined in at the edge of the woods.

He watched the princess disappear deeper into the shade, then glanced back in the direction of the king's departing party. After a moment's hesitation, he nudged his horse's flank and chose to follow Rhaenyra.

Three threads stretched in different directions through the Kingswood that autumn morning.

Rhaenyra and Aegon, toward Sunfyre, toward the forest's peace and freedom.

Cole, toward duty and watchful protection in secret.

Viserys and the nobility of the entire realm, toward legend, auspicious omens, and a symbol of power.

At last, morning light spread fully across the land, staining the eastern sky gold and red.

The mist among the trees began to disperse, and dew sparkled like diamonds on blades of grass. Birdsong rose and fell, and the murmur of a stream drifted from afar.

The forest had awakened.

And in the shadows deeper within, something else was waking too.

Aegon rested against Rhaenyra's shoulder, watching the trees slide past and the light brighten beneath their branches, when the system interface deep within his consciousness suddenly flickered:

[High concentration of residual magic detected...]

[Location: Deep within the Kingswood]

[Attributes: Nature/Prophecy/Fate]

[Related event: White Hart (Omen of Kingship)]

[Warning: Approaching...]

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of the forest's morning air.

Cold and fresh, it carried the scents of earth, decaying leaves, and some indescribably ancient presence in the distance.

The game had entered a new map.

And the first true challenge awaited ahead, deep within the mist-shrouded forest.