By the time the morning light had cleared the treetops and flooded the woodland clearing, Viserys's hunting party finally caught up with the quarry they had spent half the day pursuing.
It was not the White Hart.
At least, not the White Hart everyone had imagined.
A stag stood drinking beside a stream in the clearing. It was indeed larger than an ordinary stag, and its antlers had twelve points, just as the witnesses had described, magnificent as a crown.
But its coat was not the pure, snowy white of legend. It was a deep brownish black, with only a little pale gray along its belly and the insides of its legs. Morning light gleamed on its damp hide like black satin.
"This..." Young, hotheaded, and impatient, Borros Baratheon was the first to break the party's silence, his voice thick with disappointment. "This is the so-called King of the Kingswood? Isn't it just an ordinary black stag?"
Lyonel Strong dismounted and approached slowly. The stag heard him and raised its head, but did not immediately flee. Its eyes were a gentle brown, wary but not panicked.
"Its coat is certainly dark," Lyonel said, studying it closely. "But its size and the number of points on its antlers match the description. And look-"
He pointed at the stag's hind leg. "There's an old scar on its left hind leg, with a distinctive shape. The tracks near the droppings we found yesterday were shallower on the left than the right. An old injury must have kept it from putting equal weight on both legs."
Viserys remained in the saddle, silently watching as attendants and guards rushed forward to bind the stag with ropes and bring it to the ground.
Sunlight struck his face from the side, illuminating the shifting tangle of emotions in his eyes-
First anticipation, then confusion, followed by... relief.
A deep relief that almost made his shoulders sag.
"So," the king said slowly, his voice calm, "this is the White Hart."
It was not a question, but a statement.
Otto Hightower stood beside the king's horse, his gray eyes fixed on the stag.
He controlled his expression remarkably well. Only an almost imperceptible tightness at the corner of his mouth betrayed his feelings.
For two days, he had carefully laid his hints, deftly guided expectations, and planted a seed in Viserys's mind about omens and destiny-
Now, before this black stag, all of it seemed so feeble, so... absurd.
"Perhaps," the disbelieving Hand of the King finally said, striving for the tone of a man reassuring an old friend to conceal his true feelings. His voice was steady, though a little faster than usual. "It's a trick of the light. Or perhaps it's shedding its coat and will grow white fur in winter-"
"Otto," Viserys interrupted, turning toward his dear friend with what was, surprisingly, a faint, easy smile. "It's a stag.
"A handsome, healthy stag that has lived in the Kingswood for a long time. Nothing more."
Otto fell silent.
He bowed slightly and stepped back half a pace, shifting his gaze from the black stag to the distant trees, as though reassessing something, planning something.
Just then, Jason Lannister urged his horse forward from the rear.
After his twin brother Tyland's reassurances and counsel along the way, the lord of the Westerlands had finally recovered his spirits. His face once again wore that Lannister smile, an equal blend of arrogance and charm.
"Your Grace!" Jason called loudly, taking the ornate spear he had presented the day before from an attendant and offering it to Viserys with both hands. "White or black, it's a fine quarry!
"Allow me to offer you this honor-finish the hunt with your own hands!"
Viserys looked at Jason's ingratiating smile and remembered the foolish things the man had said in his tent the night before. He remembered Rhaenyra's disgust for him, and the name he had long since crossed off his mental list.
Still, he accepted the spear.
The king dismounted, his movements somewhat clumsy-
He was no true hunter, after all.
Holding the spear, he approached the stag, which the ropes now held against the ground beside the stream. Sensing danger, it strained with its hind legs and lowered its antlers in defense.
Lyonel started to speak, but Viserys raised a hand to stop him. He went forward alone, his boots crunching softly over the gravel beside the stream.
Sunlight, tree shadows, the burbling stream, the stag's breathing, distant birdsong-everything was unusually clear in that moment.
Viserys stopped two or three paces from the stag. He raised the spear, took aim, then-
Thrust.
The spearhead pierced the side of the stag's neck. The wound was shallow, but fatal enough. The stag gave a brief, mournful cry, buckled onto its forelegs, and fell onto its side.
Blood stained the pebbles beside the stream, trickling slowly in stark contrast to the clear water.
The hunting party erupted in cheers.
Jason Lannister led the applause, his voice the loudest. "A fine thrust! Your Grace is truly valiant!"
The others joined in.
Borros Baratheon laughed along with the crowd. Mathos Tyrell smiled and nodded. Garlan Tyrell carefully studied the king's movements. Old Grover Tully opened his eyes, a flicker of understanding passing through their clouded depths.
Viserys pulled out the spear and handed it to an attendant. He watched the stag's spasms gradually cease, looking at its crownlike antlers and its dark brown, almost black hide.
A White Hart? A Kingly Omen? The child of prophecy?
It was merely an ordinary deer, slain by an excessively ornate spear.
He drew a deep breath. The morning air in the woods was cool and real.
"See to it," the king said, turning away, his usual composure restored. "Take the antlers back to the Red Keep. We'll have venison with supper tonight. As for the hide..."
He paused. "Give it to Aegon. A memento of his first hunt, though I did not hunt it myself."
Otto bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Grace."
Viserys mounted and turned his horse. "Back to camp. I could use a drink."
The party began the return journey. Attendants stepped forward to deal with the carcass, expertly binding and lifting it. Jason Lannister rode beside the king, continuing his flattery, but Viserys only nodded occasionally. His thoughts had already drifted far away.
Otto hung back a little, riding alongside Lyonel. They rode in silence for a while.
"A pity," Lyonel finally said quietly. It was unclear whether he meant the stag's color or something else.
"Indeed," Otto replied evenly.
But deep within his gray eyes, something sharper and colder was gathering once more.
One failure meant nothing. This game of power had a long way to go. The board was still vast, and there were plenty of pieces.
And the White Hart?
Perhaps it existed. Perhaps it did not.
Either way, he had already planted the seed in the king's mind.
Colors would fade, and memories would grow dim, but once doubt took root, it would creep and grow like a vine.
The party rode through the woods, sunlight filtering through the branches in dappled patterns.
In the clearing they left behind, the stream flowed on, washing away the blood and carrying off that brief, illusory hope of an omen.
As for the White Hart, who could say whether it truly existed?
At the same time, deeper in the Kingswood.
Rhaenyra reined in the little white horse she had "borrowed" on her way out of camp, stopping beside a clear stream.
The trees were denser here, allowing almost no direct sunlight to reach the ground. Only scattered flecks of light danced on the water.
The air smelled of damp earth and moss, and the faint roar of a waterfall drifted from the distance-they had ventured into a seldom-visited part of the Kingswood.
"We should be safe now." Rhaenyra dismounted, somewhat awkwardly with Aegon in her arms. She set the boy on a flat, bluish stone beside the stream and stretched her aching back.
Sunfyre followed close behind.
The Gold Dragon stopped pretending to creep quietly along. He strode to the stream and lowered his head to drink, his tongue sending up splashes as he rumbled contentedly.
He looked especially large amid the dense woods, his golden scales seeming to give off their own light in the gloom.
Aegon sat on the stone and looked around. It was beautiful here, wild and peaceful.
The stream was clear to the bottom, revealing little swimming fish and colorful pebbles below.
Across the water rose a steep rock face, thick with vines and ferns. The sound of the waterfall came from behind it and could not have been far away.
Soon, however, a practical problem arose.
Rhaenyra untied the small bag beside the saddle-she had taken it when she "borrowed" the horse, assuming it contained provisions.
When she opened it, there were indeed things inside:
A half-full leather waterskin;
A small flask of ale;
And, wrapped in coarse linen, a piece of...
Black bread.
She took out the bread and hefted it in her hand. It was hard as stone, black on the outside, and smelled faintly of mold when she brought it closer.
She drew the little dagger from her boot and tried to cut off a piece, but the blade only left a shallow mark on the surface.
Brother and sister exchanged a look.
Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose. "Is this... edible?"
Aegon reached out a little hand to touch the bread. It felt like a block of wood. He looked up at Rhaenyra, his purple eyes full of doubt. "Hard."
"Perhaps we could soak it?" Rhaenyra suggested uncertainly. But as she looked from the stream to the bread, she clearly had no confidence in the idea herself.
They fell silent for a few seconds. Then, almost simultaneously, Rhaenyra offered the bread to Aegon, and Aegon pushed it back toward her.
"Why don't you try it?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Sister first," Aegon insisted.
Rhaenyra stared at the bread and took a deep breath, as though preparing to make a great sacrifice.
In the end, however, her shoulders slumped, and she set it on the stone. "Never mind. I'm not hungry."
Aegon nodded. "Neither am I."
But the faint rumbles from their stomachs, almost perfectly synchronized, betrayed them. Nearly four hours had passed since they slipped out of camp at dawn, and children needed food.
Rhaenyra bit her lip and turned her gaze toward Sunfyre. The Gold Dragon had finished drinking and was basking beside the stream, eyes half closed in contentment.
"Sunfyre," Rhaenyra asked tentatively in Valyrian, "are you... hungry?"
Sunfyre opened his eyes, his golden pupils turning toward the black bread on the stone.
Rhaenyra picked it up and carefully tossed it over. The bread traced an arc through the air and landed on the ground before Sunfyre.
The Gold Dragon lowered his head, brought his nose close to the bread, and sniffed. Then he lifted his head, his eyes actually showing a trace of... disdain?
Next, Sunfyre opened his mouth, and golden light flared deep in his throat. A small tongue of flame shot out-not an attacking pillar of fire, but a precise, focused jet that struck the bread squarely.
Hiss-
The bread did not burn. It instantly carbonized, turning into a hard, blackened lump from the outside in before crumbling to powder in the open air. The morning breeze scattered it, leaving nothing behind.
Rhaenyra and Aegon stared, dumbfounded.
A few seconds later, Rhaenyra burst out laughing. She laughed harder and harder until she crouched on the ground, clutching her stomach.
Aegon could not help grinning too. It was a waste of food, but Sunfyre's disdainful expression and precise "disposal of the evidence" were far too human.
"Even he won't eat it!" Rhaenyra laughed until tears came to her eyes. "Bread that even a dragon won't touch!"
Seeing the look Rhaenyra gave him, Aegon had no choice but to clap along. "Sunfyre... picky!"
Their laughter echoed through the woods, startling several birds into flight.
For that moment, the tension of her escape, her worries over the succession, and her father's disappointment all seemed to recede from Rhaenyra's heart.
There were only a sister, a brother, and a dragon, deep in the forest, laughing over a piece of bread that even a dragon disdained.
Not far away, behind a dense clump of bushes, Criston Cole reined in his horse and quietly watched.
He had followed them all the way, keeping a safe distance.
He watched the princess dismount to rest, watched her embarrassment when she took out the black bread, watched her interaction with the prince, and watched her profile as she threw back her head in laughter-
Sunlight fell through the treetops onto her silver-gold hair and lit her purple eyes. In that moment, she was neither princess nor heir, only a girl having an adventure in the forest.
Cole rested a hand on his sword hilt.
He had provisions in his bag-
Dried meat, cheese, and fresh bread, all specially packed before leaving King's Landing in case he needed them.
He wanted to step out, to approach her, to say, "Princess, I've brought food." He wanted to see her delighted surprise, to do something for her.
But he hesitated.
Rhaenyra had slipped away in secret. She clearly did not want to be found.
If he suddenly appeared, what would she think? Would she be angry that he had followed her? Or would she accept his help?
While Cole hesitated, Sunfyre moved.
The Gold Dragon suddenly stood, his ears-
If dragons had ears-pricking up as he turned his head deeper into the forest.
A low rumble rose in his throat. It was not threatening, but more like...
The excitement of spotting prey.
Then, under Rhaenyra's and Aegon's astonished gazes, Sunfyre spread his wings. Though the dense woods left too little room to extend them fully, he gave a powerful beat, and his pony-sized body sprang into the air, skimmed the treetops, and vanished into the depths of the forest.
"Sunfyre?" Rhaenyra stood, a little worried.
Aegon, however, was relatively calm.
He sat on the stone with his chin propped in a little hand, deep in thought.
Sunfyre in the original story...
He had been grievously wounded in the battle at Rook's Rest, one wing nearly torn off. After falling, he could only remain where he was and recover.
Yet even then, he had later driven off the "dragonslayers" who tried to kill him, and eventually flown back to Dragonstone to reunite with Aegon II.
To survive, he had even hunted alone and killed another dragon, Grey Ghost.
With a dragon possessed of such survival instincts and battle sense, and a rider smarter than Aegon II, how could he possibly let his rider go hungry?
Sure enough, less than a quarter of an hour later, the sound of wingbeats approached from the distance.
Sunfyre had returned.
He carried something in his mouth-
Not one, but two fat wild rabbits, their fur white and gray, both already dead.
The Gold Dragon landed lightly, laid the rabbits at Rhaenyra's feet, and raised his head. His golden eyes watched her as a faint, almost smug rumble sounded in his throat.
Rhaenyra's eyes widened. She looked at the rabbits, then at Sunfyre, then at Aegon.
Once again, Aegon had no choice but to play along. He smiled at Rhaenyra and raised a little thumb. "Sunfyre... amazing."
Rhaenyra crouched and carefully touched the two rabbits. Their bodies were still warm, with precise bite marks on their necks. Each had been killed in a single strike.
She looked up at Sunfyre. The Gold Dragon tilted his head, as though saying, "Go on, praise me."
"You..." Rhaenyra's voice was almost choked with emotion. "How did you know we were hungry?"
Sunfyre could not answer. He merely nudged the rabbits with his nose, then turned his head toward the stream and rumbled.
Rhaenyra understood. She drew her dagger and began dressing the rabbits-
This was not her first time. When she was younger, on Dragonstone, she had learned the basics from an old hunter.
Her movements were rusty, but enough to get the job done.
Aegon watched quietly. Rhaenyra concentrated on skinning the rabbit and cleaning out its innards, her silver hair slightly disheveled and a little blood smeared on her cheek, but her gaze was intent.
At that moment, she was neither a princess nor the heir to the throne, just an older sister doing her best to look after her little brother in the wilderness.
He suddenly remembered the cruel future in the original story-Rhaenyra fleeing back to Dragonstone, being captured, and, on Aegon II's orders, being engulfed in Sunfyre's dragonfire and devoured in six bites.
Aegon closed his eyes and drove the image from his mind.
No. Since he was here, since Sunfyre had hatched early, since Rhaenyra was holding him while preparing a rabbit here-
The future had already changed. It had to change.
He only hoped his "silly sister" would never learn about any of this...
"Done." Rhaenyra's voice brought him back to reality. She had finished cleaning one rabbit and skewered it on a branch. Looking up at Sunfyre expectantly, she asked, "Sunfyre, could you... start a fire?"
The Gold Dragon understood this simple request.
He took a few steps back, aimed at the little branches and dry leaves Rhaenyra had piled on a dry rock, and breathed out a small wisp of flame.
The flame lit the tinder precisely, neither spreading nor burning any of the surrounding plants. Rhaenyra carefully set the rabbit over it and began roasting.
The aroma of meat soon filled the air. Aegon felt even hungrier.
Rhaenyra turned the rabbit over the fire, her gaze drifting toward Aegon from time to time, a gentle smile on her lips.
Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves onto her, and firelight illuminated her face. At that moment, the forest, the stream, the roasting meat, her little brother, and the dragon formed a scene so peaceful it seemed almost unreal.
Behind the bushes, Cole released his hold on his horse's reins.
He watched the princess deftly turn the rabbit over the fire, watched her smile at the prince, watched her stroke Sunfyre's head, watched the firelight dance in her eyes.
He did not need to reveal himself. She could take care of herself and her little brother, and she had her brother's dragon to protect her.
But he would not leave. He would stand guard here, in the shadows, making sure no danger came near.
That was his duty as Criston Cole.
And it was also a choice that he, Criston Cole...
Made of his own free will.
Before you continue