The sun had barely risen over the edge of the Kingswood when the royal camp began to stir. Servants rushed about lighting fires, preparing meals, and saddling horses. Tents rustled as noble lords and knights roused themselves from slumber to prepare for the day's hunt.
Aemond Targaryen, however, was already awake—begrudgingly. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. Today wasn't just any day. He had plans, and they couldn't begin with him dozing like some sluggish noble child.
He splashed cold water onto his face, muttering, "One day, they'll write songs about how great I looked first thing in the morning…"
He tugged on his boots and, as was now habit, opened the glowing Magic Essence Panel hovering within his mind.
> [Aemond Targaryen]
Talent: Dreamer (Gold)
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (23%)
Skills: High Valyrian (Mastery), Archery (Proficient)
Magic Cards: None
Pet: Golden-Snout Rat (Blue)
Evaluation: "A healthy, developing human child... slightly overweight."
Aemond's brow twitched.
"Slightly overweight?" he repeated indignantly. "I either am or I'm not—what kind of vague insult is this?"
Still, he couldn't argue too much. He'd been sneaking sweets, and his mother had warned him not to let his dragon eggs distract him from running laps around the camp. Shrugging it off, he flipped to the next tab: the card inventory.
Card List:
[Beast Feed Pill]: Enhances pets and mounts. Improves intelligence, fortitude, and loyalty.
[Steel Longsword]: A basic weapon. Reliable and durable.
[Solid as a Rock]: Temporarily hardens the body. Boosts defense, strength, and resistance.
Aemond's eyes lit up at the last one. "There you are."
The blue-bordered card shimmered with a light gray glow, depicting a stylized figure bulking up with magical resilience.
> Cost: 150 Essence Points
Without hesitation, Aemond tapped the icon. The card shattered in his vision like a pane of glass, and a stream of magic rushed into his chest. His muscles tensed as a surge of power coursed through him. He let out a short gasp.
The panel updated again.
> [Solid as a Rock +1]: Constitution increased. Minor boosts to strength, stamina, and base-level physical resistance. Can withstand basic impacts, falls, and shallow weapon strikes.
He glanced at his arms. His skin looked the same, but felt firmer, tighter.
Grinning, he reached for a fruit knife on the nearby table and gently dragged it across his forearm. The blade left only a faint line, no blood.
"I really am turning into a little rock," he muttered, eyes wide. "Forget armor—I'll be a walking fortress."
The thought filled him with pride, until his gaze drifted to the Essence Counter beside the golden hourglass: 67 Essence Remaining.
He sighed. "Back down from 268 already… These cards are expensive."
Still, he wasn't about to sulk. The investment was worth it.
He packed his belongings quickly and emerged from the tent, his golden-silver hair catching the morning light. He had a hunt to attend.
---
The Kingswood
The air in the forest was crisp and filled with birdsong as the party moved through the trees.
Aemond rode at the front on a white horse, seated in front of Ser Steffon Darklyn, while the rest of his Vale escort—a retinue of ten knights armored in silver and green—flanked them. Behind them came Ser Gonsal and two additional members of the guard.
It was an impressive formation.
They arrived at the clearing where Rhaenyra had agreed to meet them. The princess, already mounted and dressed in leather riding attire, looked surprised at the military turnout.
"Aemond," she said with a half-smile, "you planning to start a war or catch a deer?"
He swung off the horse, assisted by Steffon, and brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves.
"We're hunting the white hart," he said matter-of-factly. "Royal beast, royal escort."
Rhaenyra laughed, but her smile faded slightly as she glanced at the crowd behind Aemond.
Behind her stood a small contingent of young lords. They were clearly present to impress—not hunt. Elaborate cloaks, polished boots, and bejeweled hilts gleamed in the filtered sunlight.
At the center of this peacock parade was a familiar figure.
Lord Jason Lannister.
Hair golden as sunlight, shoulders squared with exaggerated nobility, and an expression that could be mistaken for smugness—or constipation.
Aemond wrinkled his nose. "Why is he here?"
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "He invited himself. Apparently, I'm in need of guidance through the woods."
Aemond's eyes scanned the group. "They're here for you, not the hart."
She gave a rueful nod. "I noticed."
"Well, I brought people who'll actually do their jobs."
He turned and gestured to the Vale knights, who saluted.
"Spread out. If that white stag is near, find signs—tracks, droppings, anything."
The men nodded and dispersed with practiced grace.
From his shoulder, a tiny rustling sound chirped.
"Squeak squeak."
Aemond grinned and reached into his satchel, where the golden-snout rat poked its head out.
"Ah, you're up. Breakfast?"
He handed it a plump grape. The rat sniffed, stored it, and leapt off to scout ahead.
"Your little friend never fails to amaze me," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head with a smile.
"He earns his keep," Aemond said proudly.
As the party began moving deeper into the woods, Aemond took note of one particular member of Rhaenyra's group. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered young man stood polishing a longsword. His eyes kept drifting toward Rhaenyra—intently.
"Who's that?"
Rhaenyra followed his gaze and groaned. "Harwin Strong. Lord Lyonel's son."
Aemond narrowed his eyes. "Looks like he's waiting for a wedding invitation."
"Be nice," she scolded gently.
But Aemond was already stepping closer, eyes locked on Harwin. "What are you looking at?" he said loudly.
The clearing went quiet.
Harwin froze mid-motion, looking stunned.
Rhaenyra gasped and immediately tugged Aemond back by the sleeve. "What are you doing?" she hissed.
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking," he replied with an innocent shrug. "That guy's been gawking for half an hour."
Harwin said nothing, though the tight line of his jaw said plenty.
"Come on, before you challenge him to a duel."
Rhaenyra hoisted Aemond onto her horse and took the reins herself, guiding them deeper into the woods. Her cheeks were flushed—not from anger, but from barely contained laughter.
"You're going to get me in trouble one day," she muttered.
"You're already in trouble. May as well enjoy it."
As the group ventured deeper into the Kingswood, Aemond's mind drifted.
Between his newfound defensive strength, his loyal pet, and his private Vale escort, he was beginning to feel… formidable.
The white
hart, wherever it was, wouldn't stay hidden long.
And once he found it—well, then the real game would begin.
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