The crisp wind of early spring swept over the high ridges of the Kingswood, tossing the manes of horses and fluttering the cloaks of nobles. Rhaenyra Targaryen urged her steed forward, the hooves kicking up wet clumps of grass and mud as she galloped across shallow streams and winding trails. Her silver-blonde hair streamed behind her like a banner, a brilliant streak of light against the forest's green.
At the edge of a sharp drop, she reined in the horse with expert control. The beast neighed, pawed at the earth, but stopped. Rhaenyra glanced down, her violet eyes gleaming with joy as the breathtaking view stretched below them. Miles of dense trees glistened in the sun, a sea of green stretching toward the horizon.
Nestled in front of her in the saddle, Aemond shivered and tucked himself closer into her arms. His shorter silver-gold hair was windswept, partially obscuring his youthful face. "If I catch a cold, you'll be responsible for nursing me," he muttered, trying to sound indignant despite the smile tugging at his lips.
"Anything you say, my brave patient," Rhaenyra replied with a grin, brushing some hair from his face.
She hadn't felt this free in a long time. Not even flying on Syrax over the Blackwater gave her this kind of clarity. It wasn't just the fresh air or the thrill of the ride—it was the sensation of moving forward, finally choosing to embrace the role the realm kept thrusting upon her.
Behind them, Ser Criston Cole appeared on horseback, visibly tense.
"My lady," he called, "we should slow down. We're far ahead of the others."
Glancing back, Aemond saw a cluster of nobles and retainers struggling to keep up. Lord Jason Lannister, red-faced and panting, was at the rear. "Your riding is as swift as a dragon, Princess," he called breathlessly.
"You flatter me, my lord," Rhaenyra said flatly. She gave a brief nod. "Let's set up camp here. The view's worth it."
Lord Jason pounded his chest in mock valor, nearly knocking the wind from himself. "As you command!"
Aemond dismounted and wandered to a particularly large tree, the bark thick and dark. His brows furrowed. "This tree…" he muttered, running his hand across the grooves. "It looks like the one from my dream."
He had dreamed of a tree like this—under which he unearthed piles of gold. Was this some omen?
A familiar squeaking interrupted his thoughts. Goldnose, his faithful golden-snouted rat, scurried up his boot and tugged at his pants with urgency.
"What is it, boy?" Aemond whispered, crouching.
The forest rustled.
Then silence.
And then it stepped into the clearing—a stag the size of a small house, with a pure white coat that shimmered in the dappled sunlight. Its wide antlers spanned like outstretched branches, and its steady amber eyes held an unearthly wisdom.
Gasps erupted from the nobles. Guards raised their blades.
"Princess! Stay back!" Cole shouted, shielding Rhaenyra.
"Wait!" she ordered, stunned by the majesty of the creature.
Aemond took a cautious step forward, eyes wide.
"Is it… looking for you?" he asked Rhaenyra, unable to tear his gaze from the stag.
"I… I don't know," she whispered, her breath caught in awe.
"Then maybe it's looking for me."
Something inside Aemond stirred—like the crown from his vision had just gleamed in the stag's eyes.
Lord Jason, ever the fool, saw something else. "It's a sign from the gods!" he yelled, rallying a handful of overeager nobles. "Surround it! It's an omen of kingship!"
Ropes flew, tangling around the antlers.
The stag roared in fury, bucking hard, throwing several men into the dirt. It surged forward and rammed Lord Jason directly in the chest. He crashed to the ground with a wheeze, groaning in agony.
"Don't hurt it!" Aemond shouted. "It didn't come to fight!"
Goldnose squeaked and leapt onto Aemond's shoulder. The rat tugged frantically at his hair, squeaking in panic.
"You stole something, didn't you?" Aemond accused the rat. "Give it back."
Goldnose tried to play dumb, but under Aemond's pressing fingers, he gave in and produced a wilted white blossom from his pouch.
Aemond threw it toward the stag. "There! That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
The stag sniffed and chewed slowly, visibly calming.
Lord Jason stirred and groaned. "Catch it—!"
Thud.
The stag's back hoof sent him flying again.
"Prince, it's trying to run!" Ser Steffon warned.
"No, it's not," Aemond muttered. "Lift me up."
Steffon obeyed.
Aemond clambered onto the stag's back, one hand gripping its mane, the other offering it a fresh bunch of Ula grass. The beast nuzzled the offering gently.
The ropes snapped.
With a thunderous cry, the white stag leapt into the forest, Aemond clinging tightly to its back.
"Prince!!" Rhaenyra screamed.
The nobles and guards stood frozen in place. Rhaenyra's face went pale. Ser Gunthor cursed and mounted his horse. "Follow him! Now!"
They vanished into the trees.
—
Back at the camp, King Viserys arrived on a tired palanquin, dragging a slain brown deer behind him. Tyland Lannister walked at his side, gushing flattery.
"An impressive beast, Your Grace. Likely the finest of the season!"
Viserys grunted noncommittally. He didn't care. Not truly.
He hadn't seen the white stag. Part of him was relieved—no proof for Otto to exploit.
But another part… a part he tried not to listen to… felt a pang of disappointment.
Until—
A gust of wind.
A ripple through the crowd.
The guards drew swords. "Protect the King!"
A flash of white burst from the trees.
Aemond rode astride the white stag, his short silver hair flowing, his young frame tall and straight in the saddle. Sunlight poured behind him like a halo.
"Gods…" Ser Harrold whispered. "It's the prince."
The stag chewed contentedly on Ula grass, Aemond patting its neck.
And then it happened.
Ding.
A glowing panel appeared before his eyes.
> [You have discovered a special magical creature. Reward: Magic Essence +X]
> [You have unlocked a new card: Kingly Demeanor]
The purple card floated in his palm:
Kingly Demeanor: Bestowed by the White Stag. Grants a commanding aura, increasing respect, obedience, and admiration from others.
The card shimmered, then shattered, turning into pale light and sinking into his chest.
The change was immediate.
Viserys stared, eyes wide. The white stag. The boy on its back. The knights rallying behind him.
The King's fingers trembled.
He looked just like…
Like the boy in my dream.
Gunthor and the Vale knights arrived at last, their armor gleaming, circling Aemond in formation.
The prince sat still on the majestic stag, bathed in light.
The people watching from the camp gasped in reverence.
And Aemond, quiet and
thoughtful, whispered to himself:
"Let them see what true royalty looks like."
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