Undercurrents at the Autumn Hunt

In the autumn of 108 AC, the Red Keep smelled of old stone dust mingled with anxiety.

On the stone walls of the Small Council chamber, tapestries depicted Aegon the Conqueror's glorious victories as he conquered the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros during the War of Conquest, but the mood around the long table stood in stark contrast to those triumphant scenes.

The Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, gently slid the parchment dispatch brought by raven from the Stepstones across the table to the king, his movement as precise as moving a piece on a chessboard.

"News from three days ago. Prince Daemon fought a 'single combat' against the Myrish prince Craghas Drahar on the beach of Bloodstone Island."

Otto's voice was steady, but every word seemed steeped in ice water. "According to our intelligence, the two met at sunrise on sand washed by the waves.

Prince Daemon cut off his opponent's head with Dark Sister."

Viserys tapped his fingers against his chair's armrest, a habit whenever he was anxious.

"Craghas Drahar... that 'Crabfeeder'? The Myrish prince?"

"Indeed." Otto nodded. "He was also the Triarchy's supreme commander in the Stepstones.

Daemon imitated his methods of dealing with enemies and mounted his head on a spear atop the fortress on Bloodstone Island. They say crows can still be seen circling there."

Admiration and concern mingled on the young face of Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships. "This means the Triarchy will retaliate furiously.

The Myrish will spare nothing to avenge their prince, and Tyrosh and Lys will send more troops as well-

Cruel as Craghas was, he was their most effective commander.

With him gone, the Triarchy has no choice but to expand the war."

"Expand the war?" Viserys raised his voice. "From 106 to 108-the fighting in the Stepstones has gone on for nearly three years!

Daemon wants to call himself 'King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones,' Corlys Velaryon has sent his fleet to support him, and now half the landless knights and second sons in Westeros are flocking there-"

"That is precisely the problem, Your Grace."

Otto interrupted, then bowed slightly as he realized his discourtesy. "Prince Daemon is building an army, one loyal to him rather than the Iron Throne.

He controls more and more islands, and his renown continues to grow.

Now that he has slain the Crabfeeder with his own hands, the common people no longer see him as The Rogue Prince, but as a hero who slew a demon."

Silence fell around the long table. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the dust drifting in the air.

The Master of Laws, Earl Lyonel Strong, spoke slowly. "Lord Otto has a point, but we must also acknowledge that Prince Daemon is indeed eliminating a scourge that has plagued trade in the Narrow Sea for decades.

The pirates in the Stepstones have reduced tax revenues from coastal trade by forty percent, and merchant fleets throughout the Seven Kingdoms have even had to pay protection money on top of that-"

"So he is doing the realm a kindness?" Ser Tyland's tone was sharp. "Lyonel, forgive my bluntness, but Prince Daemon has never acted for anyone but himself. Everything he is doing now serves a single purpose: to amass enough strength and prestige, and then..."

He stopped, his gaze passing over Rhaenyra, who sat below the king in her place as cupbearer.

Rhaenyra's hand remained perfectly still around the silver wine jug, but her knuckles whitened slightly.

She wore formal court attire, her silver-gold hair arranged in the fashion of a grown woman, though she was only eleven.

Since her mother's death, her father's remarriage, and her brother's birth, she had continued to be permitted to attend the Small Council as cupbearer-

Viserys dressed it up as "an heir's education," but everyone knew the king was making a display for the court:

Look, my daughter is the lawful heir. I still stand by that decision.

"And then what?" Viserys asked, a trace of weariness in his voice.

Tyland hesitated.

Otto, however, took up the thread. "Then he will return, Your Grace.

With his army, his renown, and perhaps even the crown of the Stepstones.

What will he want then?

Will he be satisfied with the title of 'prince'? Or will he demand more?"

Viserys rose and walked to the fireplace. The flames lit his figure, which was beginning to grow stout.

"My brother..." he murmured, almost to himself. "When we were children, he always wanted to follow me around. The first time Mother took him riding on a dragon, he clung to my waist and screamed in terror as we flew over Blackwater Bay. Yet once we landed, he begged me to ask Mother to take us up again."

"People change, Your Grace," Otto said.

"Perhaps."

Viserys turned. "But the war has already lasted three years. What harm is there in waiting another three days?

The hunt in the Kingswood begins tomorrow, to celebrate Aegon's name day-

A little late, perhaps, but the season is perfect for an autumn hunt.

Let the messenger rest, and let the ravens wait. We will discuss the Stepstones again in three days."

"Your Grace-" Tyland started to speak, but a look from Lyonel stopped him.

Otto bowed slightly. "As you wish.

The hunt is indeed a fine opportunity. Nearly all the important vassals have arrived.

They wish to see the prince, and...

His dragon."

The last few words were light as feathers, yet they landed heavily in the room.

On the morning of the first day of the Kingswood hunt, a thin mist shrouded the Godswood on the northern side of the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra sat quietly beneath the weirwood. The ancient tree's red leaves looked like burning flames in the morning light, and the face carved into its trunk seemed to weep eternally.

A book lay open on her lap, but her gaze was not on its pages.

In her arms, a silver-gold-haired boy was trying to catch the falling red leaves.

Her younger brother, Aegon Targaryen, was a year and three months old, and could already say simple words fluently:

"Sister," "dragon," "fly."

To others, this was astonishing precocity, but to Rhaenyra, whom he pestered every day, the child's intelligence was almost unsettling.

"Book..."

Aegon put on an innocent expression and reached out a little hand to pat the pages. "Rhaenyra... read?"

"I am reading, darling," Rhaenyra said softly, her fingers unconsciously combing through the boy's soft hair. His hair was just like hers, pure Targaryen silver-gold, and his purple eyes were like violets in high summer.

Every feature of this child reminded her that he was a legitimate prince, male, with an indisputable right to inherit.

Though her father had publicly reaffirmed her status as heir after Aegon's birth, though he had sworn before the Seven in the sept, though he had stood firm in the Small Council-

The whispers at court had never ceased.

Especially now that news of Alicent's second pregnancy had spread.

"Once your stepmother bears a son, your position will no longer be secure."

The words Princess Rhaenys, her father's cousin, had once spoken echoed in her ears.

She had been only nine then, hiding in the Dragonpit and weeping after her mother's funeral. The "Uncrowned Queen" had found her and offered no comfort, only cold reality.

"Men will not let a woman rule unless they have no choice."

Now they had two alternatives.

Aegon, and the unborn child in Alicent's womb, whose sex was still unknown.

Aegon keenly sensed her mood from within her arms and tilted his little face up. "Sister... unhappy?"

"No." Rhaenyra forced a smile.

"Yes," Aegon insisted, then turned his head and called indistinctly into the depths of the Godswood. "Sunfyre!"

A streak of gold cut through the thin mist.

Sunfyre flew in from a clearing, the beating of the dragon's wings startling a flock of crows.

The dragon had already grown to the size of a pony. Golden scales glittered in the morning light, and the shadow of those outspread wings could cover most of the weirwood.

Sunfyre hovered before Rhaenyra, fire glowing faintly deep in the dragon's throat, then-

Breathed a slender stream of golden flame.

The flame traced a circle in the air, then a figure eight, before scattering into sparks and vanishing.

Aegon clapped and laughed. "Look! Sunfyre... tricks!"

Rhaenyra's attention was indeed caught.

Dragons did not usually perform such "tricks." They were born hunters and destroyers, not entertainers.

But Sunfyre was different-

The young dragon, which had hatched in Aegon's cradle after only three days, seemed unusually intelligent. Sunfyre understood Aegon's wishes and could even carry out complex instructions.

"The dragon only listens to you," Rhaenyra murmured.

"Listen to Sister!" Aegon suddenly said, then turned to Sunfyre. "Sunfyre, listen to Rhaenyra!"

The Gold Dragon tilted its head, fixed golden eyes on Rhaenyra, then lowered its head like a knight saluting a lord.

An inexplicable thrill stirred within Rhaenyra. Dragons were the symbol of Targaryen power, and this dragon was showing her favor. Was it because of Aegon's command, or because...

Before she could work it out, Aegon did something else.

The little boy cupped her face in his soft, warm hands, then planted a firm kiss on her cheek.

"Kiss... Sister happy."

Rhaenyra froze.

A child's kiss should have been pure and innocent, but in this moment laden with political significance, on this morning when her heart was full of doubts, the kiss touched something deeper.

Perhaps it was loneliness-

Her mother had died too soon, her father was consumed by his new family, and her former closest friend had become her stepmother.

Perhaps it was longing-a longing for a family member who would not compete with her, but simply love her.

She hugged Aegon and buried her face in his soft hair.

"How touching."

Alicent's voice came from the edge of the trees.

Rhaenyra lifted her head.

The queen stood ten yards away in a dark green hunting outfit, her belly already slightly rounded.

She was four months pregnant. The court physician said it might be a girl, but who cared?

If she could bear one child, she could bear a second, and a third.

And every son would challenge Rhaenyra's position as heir.

Alicent approached, her gaze shifting between Rhaenyra and Aegon.

Her expression was complicated-pleasure, wariness, and a barely perceptible trace of jealousy.

"Aegon is very fond of you."

"He is a good child," Rhaenyra said, without loosening her embrace.

"The hunt is about to begin."

Alicent said, "Your father hopes you will join us. After all, you are the heir to the realm. You should appear before the vassals."

"Is that the king's command?" Rhaenyra asked calmly.

Alicent's smile stiffened. "No, it is an invitation. I thought... perhaps we could walk through the woods together. Like before."

Before. The word was a little knife.

Before, they had been friends, sharing secrets, reading together, running and laughing through the corridors of the Red Keep.

Before, Alicent had been her most trusted lady-in-waiting, her closest companion.

Before, the world had been simple and clear.

"Then let us go, Your Grace." Rhaenyra closed her book and rose with Aegon in her arms.

Alicent reached out to take Aegon. "Let me carry him. You still need to get ready-"

"I can carry him." Rhaenyra turned aside. "He likes me holding him."

"Rhaenyra..."

Alicent lowered her voice. "You need not act like this.

Truly, we do not have to be this way. I know you are angry and hurt, but I also..."

The beating of wings cut her off.

Sunfyre flew down from the weirwood, not toward Rhaenyra, but to circle Alicent.

The Gold Dragon neither breathed fire nor hissed, merely flew quietly, golden eyes fixed on the queen's rounded belly.

Alicent went pale.

What did Sunfyre's interest in her unborn child mean?

Approval? A threat? Or simple curiosity?

"Sunfyre, come." Aegon held out his little hand.

The Gold Dragon immediately flew back and landed at Rhaenyra's feet. That immense body contrasted with her slender figure, yet the two looked strangely harmonious.

Rhaenyra held Aegon, Aegon held her around the neck, and Sunfyre stood beside them-

The scene remained frozen for several seconds. Then Rhaenyra turned and walked toward the castle gates.

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent called after her.

The princess did not look back.

Morning light filtered through the red leaves onto her silver-gold hair, onto the boy in her arms, and onto the Gold Dragon following her.

Her steps were steady, as though she carried not a child, but a decision.

Alicent stood where she was, her hand unconsciously resting on her belly. Wind passed through the woods, and the weirwood's leaves rustled. Its carved face seemed to be silently telling ancient secrets.

Beyond the distant gates, horns had already sounded. The hunt was about to begin.