'If one does not wished to be tracked, make a trail in all directions.'
-Take from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers.
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'Under the Dragon's eye
'Under the Dragon's eye~'
The harp player finished the song while Rhaenyra sat beneath the weirwood, absorbed in her book.
"Again," she said sternly.
"Perhaps the Princess might like to hear something else?"
"She would not. Again."
The harp player stretched his fingers and cleared his throat.
'She fled with her ships and her people
'Her heart broken for those–'
The music cut off.
"Your Grace."
"Did I say to stop?" Rhaenyra said.
The Queen regarded her stepdaughter, one hand resting on her swollen belly. Out of respect, the musician fell silent and turned back to the Princess.
She said, "From the beginning."
Given his orders, he began singing once more.
"Rhaenyra," Alicent called.
"Yes, my Queen?"
"Your presence is wanted in the outer courtyard. The royal hunt readies to depart."
"Ive decided to remain here and read instead."
This was going nowhere. "You may go, Samwell," Alicent instructed.
The musician breathed a sigh of relief.
"You are to stay by order of the Princess," Rhaenyra said.
"The Queen commands you to leave the Godswood at once."
With the hierarchy made plain, Samwell bowed. "Princess," he said, and took his leave.
Alicent watched him go, then regarded the distance that had grown between herself and her former friend. Memories of simpler days returned—when she, Rhaenar, and Rhaenyra were thick as thieves. The three of them against the world.
"The King wishes for you to join us," Alicent said.
"The King has much to celebrate. He does not need me."
"He wants for us all to be together," Alicent insisted. "Perhaps the hunt could be… fun."
The hunt—held to celebrate the second nameday of her brother. Three days of men fawning over his male claim.
"Is it the King's command?"
"Yes, but–"
Rhaenyra closed her book. "Then at once, Your Grace."
The exchange left Alicent heavy with sadness. "But it needen't be. None of it needs be this way in truth, Rhaenyra."
To no avail. Rhaenyra sauntered past her Queen with contempt.
The carriage ride to the Kingswood was awkward at best.
The King wished to play at family. Alicent, with a woman's intuition, saw the distaste plain on Rhaenyra's face.
Viserys — gods bless the man — kept trying, and with every effort only widened the silence between the two women.
Once, they had been sisters in arms against a man's world.
Why could Rhaenyra not see they stood on the same side still? Alicent fought the system as she could, Rhaenyra as she would. Was that not reason enough to stand united, if only in spite of it?
Rhaenyra saw through her father's hints, his willful blindness to her gloom. Whatever Viserys said landed wrong.
When you marry. When you have children. You are my daughter. You have duties...
Each word only pressed the truth deeper: she was alone.
It would be a long three days. The strain made the King thirsty. It was scarcely past noon and his second cup was nearly empty.
The hunting camp stood ready when they arrived. Hundreds of lords and ladies clapped like trained fools as the King stepped down from the carriage.
The loudest cheers came from Lord Hightower, Ser Otto's elder brother.
"Hail, hail, Aegon, the Conqueror-Babe. Second of his Name! Here's to His Grace, on his second name day!"
Rhaenyra heard each syllable.
A great tent had been set aside for the highest lords. She waved away a servant offering wine and prowled the room. Lord Jason Lannister licked his lips and drank deeply.
When she reached the knot of ladies, their talk was as expected.
"To think Lady Johanna was abducted when one of Lord Swann's ships sailed through the Stepstones," Ciera Lannister was saying.
"What will happen to Lady Johanna?" said Queen Alicent.
"She is to be sold to a pillow house, if the rumors are true."
That was when Larys Clubfoot came hobbling in.
"Not if Prince Rhaenar has a say." He took note of the unease his arrival stirred and added mildly, "The gods did not make me for hunting, I fear. Might I sit with you, my ladies?"
Queen Alicent inclined her head.
"Of course. Please, join us. Larys Strong, youngest son of our Master of Laws, Lord Lyonel."
"Three of my sons have answered Prince Rhaenar's call," one lady said, in support of his words.
"And all of my late husband's bastards," said another, with open relief at their absence.
"And what of the fleets?" Ciera Lannister asked. "You should have seen how many sailed from Lannisport."
"In time, with the Prince's support, the war should be done."
"My lord husband says no King has ever held the Stepstones for long," another said. "It is an inhospitable place, fit only for savages."
"Perhaps the Princess might give us some insight," Ciera Lannister said.
Rhaenyra moved through the circle.
"I doubt I can. I have never been to the Stepstones."
"But your dear uncle is the mind behind this war, is he not? And your beloved brother—on his way, with what they say is twenty thousand men?"
"I would not know. I have not spoken to Daemon in years. Nor my brother."
"Since you supplanted them as heir."
"Daemon and Rhaenar made their choice, Lady Ciera," Alicent said. "The Princess was better suited to the role."
"Daemon is lucky the Prince Rhaenar has sailed to mend this mess," Lady Redwyne said. "Else the King himself would have had to send ships and men; and clear out the Triarchy for good."
"But the Crown is not at war," Rhaenyra observed.
"The Crown is at war, Princess, though your father refuses to see it. We have been dragged into it by your uncle and the Sea Snake."
"And how have you served the realm of late, Lady Redwyne, by eating cake?"
Larys Strong observed how the Princess delivered the barb with far less grace than might be expected, then smoothly interjected,
"I hear it is more than twenty thousand who have answered the Call. Mayhaps I would stand at Prince Rhaenar's side myself, were it not for my affliction."
Larys did not mention the letter he had received from the Prince, beseeching him to join the campaign.
Also, in truth, he believed none of the numbers being whispered. He suspected many were seeded by Rhaenar and his agents.
Lady Redwyne, however, could believe it. She remembered well the days when Rhaenar had visited her court.
The closeness between Rhaenar and Ser Ryam Redwyne was the stuff of Arbor legend. It was hard not to feel pride in that bond, and rarer still to hear the two names spoken apart.
Her sons were enamored with Rhaenar, and it had taken all her effort to keep her heir from marching off to war — summer children, green as grass!
Lady Redwyne seized the last word. "In any case, the sooner this trouble in the Stepstones is over, the sooner our boys can come home."
All of this nonsense bored Rhaenyra, and she took her leave.
As she walked the camp she was accosted by Lord Jason Lannister, who promptly shot himself in the foot by declaring he would build a Dragonpit in Lannisport should they marry.
Rhaenyra stormed off. She and her father argued loudly, and in full view of the court. Then she stormed off again.
Suffocated, Rhaenyra mounted a horse and made to quit the camp entirely.
She would have gone unaccompanied, had Ser Criston Cole not seen her depart. In those days he took his Kingsguard vows with utmost seriousness, and he gave chase without a second thought.
Thus it was that Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Criston rode through the Kingswood, speaking of this injustice and that slight, of family and station.
Criston spoke of his humble origins. Not of rank enough to wed a noblewoman, though he might have taken any common girl he pleased.
Rhaenyra lamented his freedom. He answered that many would gladly trade places with her.
Their ride continued at an easy pace until they came upon a hill that rose through the canopy.
From its summit they could look out across the Kingswood. The evening sun turned the leaves into a sea of green and gold.
Then something extraordinary occurred.
Upon the hill stood a White Hart, rare and sacred, the very quarry of the hunt. Ser Criston reached for his sword.
"No," Rhaenyra said, stilling him.
Together they watched the creature in silence, until it vanished back into the wild.
Rhaenyra was still absorbing the wonder of it when a voice spoke.
"Amazing. Like brother; like sister."
Only then did she realize they were surrounded.
A dozen men stepped from the trees, clad in hunting leathers. Across their backs hung white cloaks. Kingsguard? No..
Ser Criston reached for his sword again.
The leader of the band tightened the draw on an arrow aimed squarely at his head.
"Another step, Ser, and it will be your last."
Outnumbered, arrows knocked, the Princess's safety foremost in his mind, Ser Criston relented.
His world went black a heartbeat later as the butt of a crossbow struck his temple.
Rhaenyra gasped.
Robbers? Poachers? Thieves? Rapers…
"Be at ease, Princess," the leader said. His cloak was shoddier than the others, more hide than silk, a poor cousin to that worn by his companions. "We swear you no harm."
"Who are you?" Rhaenyra asked, forcing the words through fear.
The leader bowed. One by one, the others followed.
"My name is Fabien. Years ago, your brother cloaked me in the hide of a White Hart, much like the one you just saw, and bid us guard the wood in his stead. Through him we have our name. We are the White Rangers, and we are at your service."