The omen of the White Hart

In truth, just as Rhaenyra had stepped out of the tea tent's shade with Aegon in her arms, squinting against the sunlight,

the camp had already regained its outward semblance of order-

noblewomen murmured in small groups, servants cleared away the remains of the tea party, and knights returning from the hunt stripped off their equipment in the distance, their hounds panting at their feet.

But everyone's gaze strayed, deliberately or otherwise, toward her, toward the boy in her arms, and toward the Gold Dragon curled up nearby.

"Princess."

The voice came from her left. Rhaenyra turned to see Lord Jason Lannister approaching.

The Warden of the West wore lavish hunting clothes, with golden lions embroidered on his crimson coat. His blond hair was almost dazzling in the sunlight.

He held a half-full cup of wine, and his face bore that distinctively Lannister smile, a blend of arrogance and charm.

"Duke Jason." Rhaenyra nodded in greeting, her voice polite but distant.

Jason stopped before her. His gaze settled first on Aegon, lingering for roughly three seconds-

long enough to convey appraisal, but brief enough to avoid giving offense-

before returning to Rhaenyra's face.

"I saw the commotion earlier." Jason sipped his wine. "That dragon... Sunfyre, was it? Quite the loyal guardian.

But when I returned, a servant told me he had terrified a whole tentful of ladies, including my poor cousin."

He tilted his head toward the tea tent. "She was as white as milk when she came out."

"Sunfyre simply overreacted."

Rhaenyra's arms tightened unconsciously. "He's as gentle as Syrax. He doesn't usually behave like that."

"Usually." Jason repeated the word, his smile deepening. "Interestingly, I hear he seems to obey only your brother.

A one-year-old child...

In the Westerlands, we would call that a miracle.

Of course, in the illustrious House Targaryen, perhaps it is merely... a sign of pure blood."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Aegon's silver hair and purple eyes once more.

"Speaking of which, I'm curious, Princess.

Was your second name day this grand as well? Lords from almost every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, three days of hunting, and enough wine at the feast, they say, to flow all the way from the Arbor to Casterly Rock."

Rhaenyra felt a familiar sting.

Her second name day?

"To be honest, I don't remember any of it."

Rhaenyra spoke slowly, her voice calmer than she had expected. "And Aegon won't remember this either. What can a child barely over a year old remember?"

In her arms, however, Aegon silently objected. Not necessarily.

He remembered every moment of his birth with perfect clarity, the scent of the holy oil on the High Septon's hands in the sept, and the sound of the dragon egg cracking when Sunfyre hatched.

But for now, all he could do was remain silent. He buried his face in Rhaenyra's shoulder and played the sleepy toddler.

Jason seemed taken aback by her answer. He froze for half a second, then laughed loudly. "Honesty! I like honesty. So many noble ladies offer nothing but pretty pleasantries, but you... you have the bluntness of a steel sword."

He stepped closer, close enough for Rhaenyra to smell the wine and perfume on him. "Allow me to speak honestly, Princess.

The Westerlands are the richest lands in the kingdom, and Casterly Rock is the strongest fortress on the continent. Our gold mines run deep, their wealth inexhaustible;

our fleets guard the coast against any invader. The only thing we lack is a dragonpit."

He paused to gauge her response. Rhaenyra remained expressionless.

"However," Jason continued, lowering his voice slightly, "a dragonpit can be built.

Stone can be carved, caverns expanded, and gold can buy the finest craftsmen.

For my future queen... for my future wife, I would gladly build the grandest dragonpit in the Seven Kingdoms."

He looked straight into her eyes. "Of course, you might also take that to mean I would do anything for my queen, or rather... anything for my wife."

Silence fell around the tent. Several passing servants slowed their steps, and the noblewomen chatting nearby stopped talking.

Everyone had heard-Jason Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and one of the kingdom's most powerful unmarried lords, was proposing to Princess Rhaenyra.

No, not proposing. His implication was more direct than that: a marriage alliance, a union of Lannister gold and Targaryen dragons.

Rhaenyra felt Aegon stir in her arms. Looking down, she saw the boy's purple eyes fixed on Jason. That look was nothing like a toddler's. It was more like...

appraisal.

Then Aegon looked away, buried his face in her shoulder again, and gently patted her back with his little hand.

It seemed both an attempt to comfort her and a message: Handle this yourself. I won't interfere.

Rhaenyra drew a deep breath and raised her head to meet Jason's gaze.

She accepted the wine cup he offered-

a gesture that made Jason's eyes light up-

but she did not drink. She merely held it, watching the dark red liquid sway inside.

"Thank you for the wine, my lord."

Her voice was clear enough for everyone nearby to hear. "And thank you for your... compliments. The Westerlands are indeed wealthy, and Casterly Rock is indeed strong. But do you know what? My father often says that true strength lies not in gold or stone walls, but here."

With her free hand, she tapped her temple, then lightly touched the place over her heart.

"As for a dragonpit..." She handed the cup back to Jason. "Dragons need not spend their lives in man-made nests. They belong to the sky, to volcanoes, to the free winds. Anyone who tries to keep a dragon locked in a stone house will only end up consumed by dragonfire."

She inclined her head slightly and turned away, her steps steady and Aegon secure in her arms.

Jason remained where he stood, holding the rejected wine, his smile frozen. A few seconds later, he snorted and tossed back the entire cup.

Just then, Sunfyre stirred nearby.

The Gold Dragon rose from where he had been curled up and spread his wings—not fully, only halfway, in a threatening display.

He lifted his head, a deep rumble sounding in his throat, then breathed out a stream of fire.

It was not an attacking pillar of flame, but a golden arc that swept across the sky like a rainbow, passing exactly three feet above Jason Lannister's head.

The blast of heat sent the lord's blond hair flying. He instinctively ducked and covered his head, looking like a startled crab.

Stifled laughter rose around him-

several young knights hastily turned away and pretended to cough, while noblewomen hid their mouths behind their fans.

Sunfyre folded his wings and made a sound somewhere between a hiss and a purr. It sounded almost like...

mockery.

Then he trotted after Rhaenyra, his body the size of a small horse yet light and soundless.

Jason straightened, his face turning from red to white and back again. He stared at Rhaenyra's retreating figure, then at the Gold Dragon, before viciously smashing his empty cup on the ground. The shattering glass sounded especially harsh in the suddenly silent camp.

"My lord?" his servant asked cautiously.

"Nothing." Jason forced the word through clenched teeth, turned, and strode away.

Rhaenyra did not return to her own tent. Carrying Aegon, she headed straight for the largest tent at the center of the camp-the king's pavilion.

Sunfyre followed ten paces behind, like an enormous golden guard dog.

The guards outside hesitated briefly when they saw her, then lifted the flap. Rhaenyra stooped and entered with Aegon in her arms, while Sunfyre remained outside. Though he was still small enough to fit inside, word of the earlier incident had reached the Kingsguard at the entrance, and they dared not let him in.

Inside, Viserys was speaking with Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws.

The king sat in an oak chair brought there for the occasion, a map spread before him and a wine cup in his hand. Lyonel stood opposite him, pointing to a spot on the map.

Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, sat to one side, looking rather embarrassed-

clearly, he had heard the commotion outside and learned from the servants what had just happened to his twin brother.

"-so if Prince Daemon can hold Bloodstone Island," Lyonel was saying. He looked up, saw Rhaenyra enter, and stopped. "Princess."

Viserys turned. Seeing his daughter's expression, he frowned. "Rhaenyra? What's wrong? You look as though you've just swallowed a live frog."

"Have you sold me off to someone?" Rhaenyra asked bluntly, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed anger. "Jason Lannister just... made an offer outside. To build a dragonpit for his wife. His wife!"

Viserys and Lyonel exchanged a glance. Tyland Lannister lowered his head and studied his boots.

"He has made no formal proposal," Viserys said, trying to soothe her. "He was merely... showing his interest. And Rhaenyra, you must marry sooner or later. Duke Jason is Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, and one of the kingdom's most eligible unmarried nobles. He is... a decent man."

"He is not!" Rhaenyra raised her voice. "He's arrogant and conceited, and all he cares about is gold and his own standing. Besides, he's several years older than me! Father, surely you don't truly think-"

"Age is not the issue," Viserys interrupted, rubbing his brow. "Many marriages have an age difference. What matters is the alliance, the politics, the stability of the kingdom. You are the heir. Your marriage is no trivial matter."

"I'm still a child!" Rhaenyra clutched Aegon tighter. The boy rested quietly against her shoulder, but his eyes were wide open, watching everyone in the tent. "I'm only eleven! I don't want to marry. I don't want to marry Jason Lannister. I don't want to marry anyone!"

Viserys sighed and set down his wine. "Rhaenyra, look at me."

She stared at her father.

"This hunt," the king said slowly, "is indeed a celebration of Aegon's name day. But it is also an opportunity. The great lords and important vassals of the Seven Kingdoms are all here, along with their brothers, sons, nephews, and heirs.

You can look around, get to know them. There need not be an immediate betrothal, but at least... begin considering it."

A chill shot up Rhaenyra's spine. She looked around the tent-

Lord Lyonel avoided her gaze, Ser Tyland stared at the ground, and her father watched her with apology in his eyes, but even more determination.

"So that's the truth."

Her voice was low. "You invited the entire kingdom not just to celebrate my brother, but to... put me on display. Like livestock at a market."

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys rose, anger finally entering his voice. "Watch your words! You are a Targaryen princess, the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Your marriage concerns the kingdom's future!

Do you think I want this? Do you think I enjoy treating my own daughter as a political bargaining piece?

But that is responsibility! That is the price of sitting on the Iron Throne! Even I must submit to tradition and duty!"

The tent fell deathly silent.

The fire crackled. Aegon felt Rhaenyra's body trembling-not with fear, but with anger, despair, and the pain of betrayal.

He decided to do something.

The little boy squirmed in Rhaenyra's arms, whimpered, and then-burst into tears.

Tears spilled instantly. His little face flushed red, and his cries rang out, loud and pitiful.

But Aegon, absorbed in his award-worthy performance, had failed to realize he had forgotten something...

Everyone's attention shifted at once. Rhaenyra instinctively rocked him. "Aegon? What's wrong? Don't cry, don't cry..."

Viserys's expression softened. He approached and reached out to stroke his son's head. "Did I frighten you? Father wasn't angry with you-"

But Aegon cried even harder, flailing his little hands and "almost" striking the king's face.

Just then, the tent flap lifted.

Otto Hightower entered, his expression somewhat grave.

He first bowed to the king, then glanced over the crying Aegon, Rhaenyra holding him, and the awkward Lyonel and Tyland, before returning his gaze to Viserys.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace," Otto said, a deliberately restrained excitement in his voice. "But there is news I must report at once. The hunting party has sighted a White Hart to the northeast."

The atmosphere in the tent changed.

The White Hart.

In legend, the White Hart was a sacred creature, an incarnation of the king of the forest.

In the Kingswood, he was known as the "King of the Kingswood," a sight seen once in a hundred years.

And legend also held that the White Hart appeared only before a true ruler.

"A White Hart?" Viserys repeated, his eyes brightening. "Are you certain?"

"Beyond any doubt." Otto nodded. "Three hunters saw him together, drinking beside a stream just before sunset. Pure white as snow, with twelve points on his antlers, like a crown."

Lord Lyonel drew a breath.

"Your Grace, this is an auspicious omen. For the White Hart to appear during your hunt..."

"During the hunt celebrating Prince Aegon's name day," Otto gently corrected, his gaze settling on the boy in Rhaenyra's arms.

Aegon's crying had dwindled to sniffles, his wet purple eyes watching Otto.

He had also remembered this incident from the original House of the Dragon series, though he had not expected Otto to be quite so direct...

Otto continued, "Your Grace, forgive my frankness. The White Hart is an omen of kingship. That he should choose to appear during the prince's celebration is... extraordinary."

He stopped, but his unspoken words echoed through the tent: This is an omen of kingship on Prince Aegon's name day. Not Rhaenyra's, not Viserys's. Aegon's.

Wasn't he all but telling Viserys to change his heir?

Rhaenyra's arms stiffened. She looked down at Aegon, and the boy looked up at her. Tears still filled his eyes, but his gaze was clear. He understood. She knew he understood.

A one-year-old child should not have understood such a political insinuation, but Aegon... Aegon had always been special.

Viserys's expression grew complicated. Joy, pride, doubt, guilt-all those emotions flickered across his face. He looked at Aegon, then Rhaenyra, and finally Otto.

"Gather the best hunters," the king said at last, his voice regaining its customary decisiveness. "I want that White Hart. The hunt begins before sunrise tomorrow. I will keep him at the Red Keep."

"Yes, Your Grace." Otto bowed. "And tonight's feast..."

"Will proceed as usual."

Viserys waved a hand. "But add an announcement: tomorrow we hunt the White Hart, and every noble taking part will have a chance. Whoever brings him back will be richly rewarded."

Otto bowed again and left the tent. As he passed Rhaenyra, their eyes briefly met. His face betrayed nothing, but something flashed in those gray eyes, too quickly to catch.

The tent flap fell.

Viserys turned toward Rhaenyra, intending to say something, but in the end he only sighed. "Take Aegon to rest. He's tired, and so are you. As for tonight's feast...

if you don't wish to attend, you need not come."

Rhaenyra said nothing. Holding Aegon-who had stopped crying and now rested quietly against her shoulder-she turned and left the tent.

Her steps were steady and her back perfectly straight, but Aegon could feel her heartbeat, fast and heavy, like a trapped bird battering against her chest.

Outside, the setting sun had sunk below the treetops, and the sky was shifting from gold to deep blue. Torches were being lit around the camp, servants bustled about preparing the feast, and the aroma of roasting meat drifted through the air.

Sunfyre approached and lowered his head to nuzzle Aegon's calf. A soft purr rumbled in the Gold Dragon's throat, as though he were offering comfort.