The party moved slowly along the road southwest of Storm's End. It was one of the Stormlands' main roads, linking Storm's End to the castles of the Dornish Marches. The road was not particularly wide, but two carriages could travel abreast. Broad stretches of moorland and farmland lay on either side, with rolling hills covered in gorse and heather in the distance.
Rhaenyra flew overhead on Syrax, but she kept low and moved slowly. At least this time, she remembered Viserys's parting instructions-match the party's pace and do not fly too fast.
Syrax clearly disliked flying so slowly. She beat her wings a few times, glided for a stretch, then beat them again. Several times she tried to pick up speed, only for Rhaenyra to rein her in. On her back, Aegon leaned against Rhaenyra's chest and looked down.
The procession below resembled a slowly crawling snake, the carriages its body and the riders its scales. Sunfyre flew low at the rear, occasionally stopping to land on a carriage, his tail trailing behind as he trudged along listlessly.
"Sister," Aegon said, "Sunfyre isn't happy."
"He'll have to get used to it," Rhaenyra said. "Once he's a little bigger, he'll have to live in the Dragonpit."
Aegon said nothing more. He merely looked down, watching Sunfyre's little golden figure follow the procession one step at a time. The wind blew in from the sea, cool and tinged with salt. Rhaenyra tightened her arms around him and had Syrax circle while they waited for the carriages.
And so Syrax circled above the head of the procession. Rhaenyra sat on her back with Aegon in her arms, looking down as the carriages slowly advanced. The strong wind blew Rhaenyra's hair into Aegon's face, tickling him. He reached up to brush it aside, and Rhaenyra glanced down at him.
"Stop fidgeting."
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You were moving just now."
"I was brushing your hair aside."
Rhaenyra huffed and said nothing more. Syrax flew so slowly that Aegon thought she might fall asleep at any moment. But Rhaenyra would not let her speed up-she had to match the procession's pace, make sure Sunfyre stayed obediently among the carriages, and ensure Aegon did not slip out of her arms. She was doing many things, but Aegon felt she was only keeping herself occupied so she would not think about how far away Laena had already flown.
The young men of the Stormlands rode on either side of the procession, accompanying them along their shared route.
Harvest Hall lay northwest of Blackhaven. Erich Dondarrion rode a dark brown horse beneath Aegon, occasionally looking up to wave at Syrax. His father, Lord Dondarrion, had returned to Blackhaven several days earlier.
Andrew Estermont rode a white horse beside Michael Mertyns. Their routes also coincided with the party's, though they would not be able to travel together for long. They were talking about something, and Mertyns gave a faint smile.
Astan Selmy rode a short, sturdy horse at the rear. After all, the party's final destination in the Stormlands was his family's seat, Harvest Hall.
Byron Swann was also among them. His route actually coincided with Estermont's and Mertyns's, but he still rode alone on a tall horse, his expression aloof. His father, Lord Swann, thought his son needed to meet more people, especially important figures such as princes and princesses. Thus, two days earlier, he had traveled part of the way with Lord Roland Clinton and his brother, who were returning to Griffin's Roost, before heading back to Stonehelm.
What gave Aegon a headache, however, was that Harvest Hall lay just northeast of Nightsong. Bryce Caron and Robin Beesbury rode side by side at the very back, so close they hardly looked like ordinary friends. Bryce was saying something, and Robin was laughing, looking very happy.
Aegon leaned against Rhaenyra's chest and looked down at them. Erich looked up and seemed to spot him, even waving at him. Aegon waved back.
After noticing Erich's gesture, Estermont and Mertyns glanced up and nodded slightly in greeting, so Aegon had to nod back.
Astan looked up as well and blushed. Aegon smiled at him. Byron did not look up, but Aegon did not mind.
Bryce looked up and shouted something to him, but the wind scattered his words before Aegon could make them out. Robin also glanced up at him, a smile on his lips.
He ran through those names once more in his mind.
Harvest Hall stood on a gentle slope on the southern bank of the Shipwright's River. It was neither as imposing as Storm's End nor as elegant as the Red Keep, merely a square stone castle with gray walls, black roof tiles, and a round tower at each corner. Vast wheatfields surrounded it. The wheat had already been harvested, leaving only golden stubble glittering in the sunlight. In the distance, the Shipwright's River wound westward, its waters like a silver ribbon in the afternoon light.
At the same time, it looked more like a vast manor than a castle, standing on a gentle slope on the southern bank of the Shipwright's River. The surrounding fields also seemed freshly harvested, their golden stubble looking like scattered fragments of gold in the sunlight. Several granaries stood taller than the main building, with domed roofs and stone walls. Freshly threshed bundles of wheat were piled by their doors. The air smelled of dry grain, mingled with earth and livestock.
Lord Selmy greeted them at the gate. He was a stocky man with a round, ruddy face and eyes that narrowed to slits when he smiled. He wore a plain dark coat without a sigil, with only a golden wheat-ear brooch pinned at his collar.
His wife stood beside him, an equally stout woman whose face glowed with the joy of the harvest.
Syrax circled the castle once before landing in the open space before its gate.
Rhaenyra jumped down from the dragon's back with Aegon in her arms. Lord Selmy approached and dropped to one knee. "Princess, Prince, welcome to Harvest Hall."
Rhaenyra helped him up. "There is no need for such ceremony, my lord. We're merely passing through. Sorry for the trouble."
"No trouble at all, none at all." Lord Selmy smiled until his eyes narrowed to slits. "Harvest Hall may be humble, but we have food aplenty. Your Highness may stay as long as you wish."
"Your Highness!" he boomed, offering another awkward bow. "Welcome to Harvest Hall. We've just finished harvesting the wheat, and the fresh bread is still baking. You've arrived at just the right time."
"Then we really are imposing," Rhaenyra replied once more.
"Not at all, truly." Lord Selmy rubbed his hands together, his gaze lingering briefly on Aegon. "So this is Prince Aegon? He looks even livelier than I've heard."
The procession arrived shortly afterward. One carriage after another rolled into the castle courtyard, with Sunfyre bringing up the rear. As he entered, he looked around, his golden eyes filled with curiosity.
He had never seen wheatfields or a mill, much less such a vast golden expanse rustling in the wind. He approached the wheat stubble, sniffed it, and sneezed.
Aegon peeked out of Rhaenyra's arms and could not help laughing at Sunfyre.
Seeing Aegon laugh, Lord Selmy assumed the prince was smiling at him.
He smiled even more broadly and turned to call toward the procession. "Astan! Has Astan come home with you?"
Astan squeezed out from behind the crowd, his face still red. "Father."
"Take His Highness to see our horses. Didn't you say you wanted to show him that pony?"
Astan glanced at Aegon, who nodded. The two headed toward the stables, one behind the other. Erich, Estermont, Mertyns, and Byron had all taken their leave along the way. Of those who remained, Bryce Caron and Robin Beesbury had long since vanished somewhere.
Sunfyre squeezed out from among the carriages and followed Aegon, his tail held high. The Cargyll brothers exchanged a glance. Erryk followed them, while Alec stayed beside the princess.
The stables were enormous, more spacious than Harvest Hall's main building. Several dozen horses were kept inside, most of them stocky, solid draft and plow horses with broad hooves. A few fine horses occupied the stalls farther in. One chestnut pony stood out in particular, with a thick mane and bright eyes. At the sight of Astan, he came over and nuzzled his palm.
"This is Mane Sun," Astan said, stroking the pony's neck. "I raised him."
Aegon reached out to stroke Mane Sun's nose. The pony snorted, blowing warm, damp breath against his palm. Sunfyre poked his head forward from behind, his golden eyes fixed on the pony. The pony took a step back, and Sunfyre did the same. Then they stared at each other across Aegon, neither moving.
"Sunfyre," Aegon called. The golden dragon glanced at him, then turned and lay down at the stable entrance, curling his tail around the doorframe.
Astan watched, opening his mouth without managing to say anything. Behind them, Erryk said helplessly, "You'll get used to it. You'll get used to it."
Willem Fell stood outside the stables without coming in. He leaned against an oak tree with his arms folded, the sword at his waist polished bright. Today he had changed into a dark gray coat without a sigil, with only a strip of white embroidery at the cuffs. Aegon saw him as he came out of the stables and walked over.
In truth, this was what pleased Aegon most about their visit to Storm's End. Those days spent winning favor and making himself familiar had not been wasted. He had successfully "talked" the young, spirited Willem Fell into joining the party.
After discussing it with his elder brother, Ser Good Fell, and his cousin, Lord Lorent Grandison, Willem had said he wanted to travel and seek adventure with the princess's party, then find a position in King's Landing when the time came.
He was a second son, after all. Such was the tradition in Westeros...
But only a second son could do this without causing much concern.
After all, not every eldest son was Erich. If a family's firstborn heir met with an accident while traveling, they would have nowhere to turn.
So when Willem proposed it, Ser Good immediately said he would inform their father and mother when he returned home. Lorent also offered to write to his uncle and aunt on Willem's behalf.
Of course, this had nothing to do with Aegon's promise that Willem could learn from the Cargyll brothers along the way.
At least in Aegon's own mind, he believed Willem had been won over by his charm.
In reality, though, what young noble second son in Westeros did not dream of becoming a noble, glorious White Knight? Personal instruction from two members of the Kingsguard was an opportunity that could hardly be sought out.
There were only seven members of the Kingsguard in all of Westeros, and they generally remained in King's Landing guarding the king. Thus Willem had been persuaded, joining the party as Aegon's swordsmanship sparring partner and personal guard.
"Why aren't you going inside?"
"I don't know much about horses," Willem said, the tips of his ears reddening.
"Then what do you know about?"
"Swords," Willem said, then added, "And riding."
Aegon smiled. "There'll certainly be opportunities for that later."
Viry glanced at him and smiled as well.
That evening's feast was held in Harvest Hall's great hall. The hall was small, but warm.
A roaring fire burned in the hearth, and the long tables were laden with bread, cheese, roast chicken, and several large barrels of ale.
Lord Selmy sat at the head of the table, continually telling the serving girls to fill Rhaenyra's plate. As he directed them, he said, "Eat more, Your Highness. This bread is made from this year's freshly harvested wheat. This is our own home-brewed ale. These chickens came from the neighboring farm, slaughtered only yesterday..."
The food on Rhaenyra's plate rose like a small mountain. She glanced at Aegon, who lowered his head to hide his laughter.
Halfway through the feast, the castle steward entered to announce that another group of guests had arrived.
Lord Selmy rose and went to the door to greet them. In came Lord Dondarrion and Erich, who had bid them farewell only a few days earlier, along with several attendants.
Lord Dondarrion looked much more energetic than he had at Storm's End. He had changed into a clean coat and shaved his beard. Upon entering the hall, he first bowed to Rhaenyra, then slapped the back of his son's head.
"Bow!" he said under his breath.
Rubbing the back of his head, Erich bowed to Rhaenyra, then quickly slipped into a seat beside Aegon.
"Why are you here again?" Aegon asked.
"It's on our way," Erich said. "Blackhaven isn't far from Harvest Hall. My father and I have been invited to Nightsong." He glanced at the plate in front of Rhaenyra, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Can the princess finish all that?"
"No," Aegon said. "She's already moving some of it into my bowl."
They exchanged a glance and laughed together.
Early the next morning, the party set off again.
Lord Selmy stood before the castle gates to see them off. Astan stood behind him, looking reluctant to part. Yesterday, he had spent a long time chatting with our "precocious and learned" Prince Aegon, ranging from the wheat harvest to the weather in the Stormlands, from whether Sunfyre's dragonfire was bright to whether bread was expensive in King's Landing.
Aegon thought he was a good person, a genuinely honest soul. Unfortunately, honest souls did not live long in this world. But he did not say that aloud. He merely patted Astan's hand and said, "I'll come visit you at Harvest Hall again when I have the chance."
Astan smiled, showing his two front teeth.
Lord Dondarrion and Erich, along with Caron and Robin, also parted ways with them here. Nightsong lay to the southwest, while the party was heading north to board ships on the Shipwright's River.
As Erich said goodbye to Aegon once again, he clasped his hand firmly. "Take care, Your Highness," he said.
"You too," Aegon said.
Erich swung into the saddle and rode west after his father. After a few paces, he looked back and waved at Aegon. Aegon waved back.
Then he turned to look at the party behind him. The Cargyll brothers still rode at the front, their white cloaks fluttering in the morning wind. Tyland Lannister followed on horseback, still clutching his map.
Larys and Floris were still seated in their carriage. Floris lifted the curtain for one last look at Harvest Hall's wheatfields outside.
Garwin Hightower still rode at the rear, even his luggage still tied in perfectly neat bundles.
Willem Fell rode a small gray horse beside Aegon's carriage. He wore a coat bearing House Fell's white-and-green heraldry, the sword at his waist polished bright, his steady gaze fixed on the road ahead.
Syrax circled once overhead, then landed beside the carriage. Rhaenyra climbed onto her back again with Aegon in her arms. Sunfyre crouched on the ground, looking up at them, the tip of his tail tapping softly against the earth. Today, he made no aggrieved rumbling sounds. He simply waited quietly.
"Let's go." Today, Rhaenyra allowed him to fly high with them.
Syrax spread her wings and rose into the air. Sunfyre sprang from the ground and followed her. The two dragons flew one behind the other over Harvest Hall's wheatfields and the course of the Shipwright's River, heading north toward the mooring where advance word had been sent to have ships prepared. Below, the carriages moved slowly onward, their wheels rumbling dully over the stony road.
The wind blew in from afar, carrying the scent of wheat straw and a distant chill. Aegon leaned against Rhaenyra's chest, watching the fields and rivers below, the hills and forests in the distance, and the procession threading through the golden stubble like a slowly crawling snake.
Once again, he thought of Storm's End's walls. Once again, he remembered Laena's silver-gold braids, Willem Fell's steady gaze yesterday, and the way Erich had waved goodbye yet again just now.
The party continued north. Ahead lay the Shipwright's River, then downstream to the southwest, the Mander River and Highgarden. Rhaenyra's tour to find a husband in the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands had only just begun.
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