Late last night, a great bonfire had blazed in the center of the camp.
Viserys, who had just unleashed "The Young King's Wrath," had not joined the nobles in their drunken revelry. He sat on a low stool a little way from the fire, with Alicent beside him.
The queen wore a thick cloak, her hands resting on her swollen belly, her face bearing the weariness and softness peculiar to expectant mothers.
Firelight illuminated their profiles. Laughter, singing, and the clinking of cups drifted over from a distance, but it was relatively quiet here.
"I nearly lost my temper with Jason Lannister today," Viserys said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.
Alicent gently took his hand.
"I heard."
"He actually called Rhaenyra's position as heir a 'loss'..." Viserys shook his head. "Sometimes I truly don't understand what these people are thinking.
"They support me and obey me, yet whenever they see an opportunity, they try to sway my decisions and dictate my children's lives."
Alicent said nothing, merely stroking the back of his hand.
After a moment of silence, Viserys continued in a lower voice. "Alicent, you know dragons are important to House Targaryen. But do you know what matters even more than dragonriders?"
"Dreamwalkers," Viserys said, turning to look at her, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Because Dreamwalkers can foresee the future. As far as I know, there have been two confirmed Dreamwalkers in our family's history."
He raised one finger. "The first was Daenerys the Dreamwalker, known throughout Westeros (also translated as Daenys in some versions of the original). She dreamed of the Doom of Valyria and insisted that the family leave before it happened, saving all of House Targaryen."
He raised a second finger. "The second, however, was a man better known for his strength of arms-Aegon I, the Conqueror.
"According to the accounts passed down orally by generations of kings, he dreamed that winter was coming, and that the legendary White Walkers would cross the Wall and descend from the north.
"Though it has yet to come true, that dream was one of the chief reasons, besides ambition, that drove our ancestor Aegon I to conquer the Seven Kingdoms."
Alicent listened quietly.
This was a secret of House Targaryen, a mysterious part of its bloodline. As a member of House Hightower, she still felt a certain distance when she heard it again today, even though she was now House Targaryen's queen, and had already learned something of it from the late king while serving as his attendant in the final years of his remarkably long life.
"And I, too, once had a 'dream.'"
Viserys's voice grew distant. "When Aemma was pregnant, I dreamed that our son was born. He wore the Conqueror's crown and sat upon the Iron Throne, with the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms kneeling below him. He brought an end to the doom our ancestor Aegon had dreamed of...
"That dream was so real, so bright..."
His voice caught. "And it was that obsession that led to Aemma and Baelon...
"Back then, I was certain I was a Dreamwalker. Certain that dream was a prophecy. And what came of it?"
He gave a bitter smile, tipped back his head, and took a long swallow of wine.
"From that day onward, I believed I wasn't a Dreamwalker. I was merely a fool who'd had an absurd dream."
Alicent tightened her hold on his hand. "Viserys..."
"But," the king interrupted, turning toward her with his cup raised. His eyes held confusion, hope, and a deep inner conflict. "Even I never expected to marry again. I married you. And then we truly had a son-Aegon."
He paused, his voice growing softer. "And during the hunt in the Kingswood, when I summoned the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms to celebrate his name day, the white hart appeared-a symbol of kingship."
The flames crackled. In the distance, someone began singing a melancholy song about a knight and a maiden.
"Could the son I dreamed of... have been this son?"
Viserys seemed to be asking both Alicent and himself. "Could I truly be a Dreamwalker? Could I really have to... change my heir?"
He shook his head and swallowed another mouthful of wine. "I never thought I would remarry. Never thought I would truly have a son.
"When I named Rhaenyra my heir, I meant it with all my heart. I swore before the Seven, before the spirits of my father and grandfather, that I would stand by that decision.
"But what if I was wrong? What if that dream was real, and my stubbornness leads the realm down the wrong path?"
Alicent watched him.
In the firelight, the edges of her chestnut hair shone gold, and her green eyes held a tangle of emotions-maternal love, ambition, and worry.
"Viserys," she said at last, "whatever you decide, I will support you. But please remember, Aegon is your son, and Rhaenyra is your daughter. They are both your own flesh and blood."
The king did not answer. He stared into the bonfire for a very, very long time.
Aegon's birth had stirred his heart after it had finally settled. Though he staunchly supported Rhaenyra in his words, inwardly he remained deeply torn.
So, unwilling to admit it outright, he pretended to be drunk and shared these "drunken ramblings" with Alicent.
At that moment, Rhaenyra and Aegon were asleep in each other's arms in a nearby tent, entirely unaware of the conversation beside the bonfire.
Rhaenyra was exhausted by the day's conflict and her father's hints, while Aegon was caught up in the excitement of his system finally responding. Both were deep in dreams.
Perhaps Aegon knew-
As someone who had transmigrated into this world, he might have remembered this scene from the original show.
But on this night, in this body, he was merely a one-year-old child, held in his sister's arms, breathing evenly, a faint, contented smile still curving his lips.
He had forgotten.
Or rather, his infant instincts had made him choose to forget those complicated politics for a while and simply enjoy this moment of warmth and peace.
The mist of memory cleared completely, and time returned to the present.
The hunting party came to a fork in the road.
The path on the left led deeper into the oak woods, toward the place where traces of the white hart had been found yesterday;
the path on the right was wider, following a stream toward an open valley.
The hounds hesitated at the fork, sniffing in both directions.
Lyonel dismounted and carefully examined the ground. A few minutes later, he stood.
"There are hoofprints on the left. Older ones, perhaps left by the white hart yesterday. On the right... there are fresher tracks, but they aren't from a deer."
"What are they from?" Viserys asked.
"I'm not certain. It could be a boar, or perhaps..." Lyonel frowned. "Something larger. The prints are very deep and spaced far apart."
Otto also dismounted to inspect them.
He crouched beside Lyonel and exchanged a few quiet words with him, then rose. "Your Grace, I suggest we split up. Take the main party left and continue pursuing the white hart. Let someone else lead a small group to the right to investigate what animal it is. If it is a dangerous beast, it would be best to deal with it beforehand and ensure the hunt remains safe."
Viserys hesitated. He looked toward the left-hand path-the direction of the white hart, of a favorable omen, of the conflict within his heart.
Then he looked to the right-
the unknown, a possible danger.
Morning light filtered through gaps in the leaves, cutting patterns of light and shadow across the woodland clearing.
The wind passed through, and the treetops rustled like countless whispering voices.
"Your Grace?" Lyonel prompted softly.
Viserys drew a deep breath and made his decision.
"Ser Harrold, take ten men to the right. Be careful. If it is a bear or another dangerous beast, do not engage it head-on. Return and report." Then he turned to the party. "The rest of you, follow me to the left. The white hart awaits us."
The horn sounded, and the party split into two groups.
As Viserys reined his horse toward the left-hand path, he glanced back at the road on the right.
Harrold had already set off with his men, his gray figure soon disappearing among the trees.
For some reason, a flicker of unease crossed the king's heart.
But he shook his head and urged his horse onward.
The white hart awaited him.
The prophecy awaited him.
And somewhere in the forest, fate had already spread its net, waiting for them all to step inside.
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