'I could lie and make up a score of reasons why men followed me.'
-Taken from 'The Later Musings of Rhaenar I Targaryen'
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The fire crackled in the Kingswood. Shadows leapt and wavered between the trees.
Rhaenyra sat with the dozen rangers around it. Ser Criston slept nearby, lost to the dull fog of his concussion.
"Tell me how you came into my brother's service."
Fabien chuckled. "We did not begin on the best of terms, he and I. The first day we met, Prince Rhaenar threatened to burn my home."
"He what?!"
"I know now it was bluster. But at the time we were terrified. Some lord had passed through these woods — Buckler, I think his name was. His host was ambushed. What remained was a bloody mess. His daughter was... I'd rather not say."
Rhaenyra hummed. "I remember it. Father sent Ser Ryam to investigate. My brother talked his way into riding along, and my cousin Laenor went with him. That was when Rhaenar was knighted."
"Aye. Well, the boys and I grew up in these woods. Times grew lean, and we had to eat. We knew it was wrong — the game here belongs to the King — but whole people depended on us. When the Prince and Ser Ryam rode through, they took we poachers for those villains."
"My brother was eleven then," Rhaenyra said. "You don't look much older than us. It's hard to believe he saw you that way."
"It was rotten luck," Fabien said. "Or perhaps the Mother's mercy. I was half-starved when I came upon it — aye, I know, a sin beyond sins — a white hart. The largest I'd ever seen. It stopped to drink from a stream. I loosed my arrow and struck its neck. Then came a roar. The Prince was suddenly there, shouting, 'Who did this? WHO DID THIS?'"
Rhaenyra laughed, "Sounds just like him."
Fabien shuddered. "Shat myself the whole way. No wonder they found us, with the trail of brown and all. I near ran myself to death. But the Prince was set on finding who killed that magnificent creature, and it did not take long for him to find us.
"The elders hid me in a basket. No one dared speak or step from their hut. So Prince Rhaenar took up a torch and ordered the hamlet put to flame. That was when we decided it best I came clean, before anyone else was hurt. I thought I'd lose a hand, or be sent to the Wall.
"Instead, he told me to kneel. Took the hide of the White Hart I had killed, laid it over my shoulders, and bade me rise a better man, protector of the wood. A White Ranger.
"Since then we've had no need to poach. Rhaenar has always provided for us. We spend our days patrolling, driving out poachers and keeping the balance. For that reason, I'm sorry to say the King will find no White Hart on his hunt.
"You can imagine our surprise when, keeping watch to be sure none crossed the hunting party, we found you atop that hill. And here we are. That is why we had to put your valiant protector to sleep for a time. The fewer lords who know of us, the better we can guard these woods."
For a time, Rhaenyra let the silence of the wood settle around her, the quiet cricketing of life as she weighed the tale she had been told. Then she said,
"Your secret is safe with me, Fabien. Should you ever want for anything, all you need do is ask."
A tear slipped from Fabien's eye. "You are more beautiful than any image Rhaenar ever painted with words, Princess. Thank you."
Just then, Ser Criston Cole stirred in his sleep. Fabien rose to his feet.
"We should be on our way. Walk in that direction and you'll find the path you came by. And if ever you wish to find us, follow the river into the wood that runs from the Blackwater. We will find you."
The Rangers faded into the dark of the wood, white cloaks billowing like ghosts between the trees, and then they were gone.
Before long, Ser Criston stirred.
"Huh? What? Where…"
"Easy, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra said. "Don't rush to rise. You took a fall."
"I had a dream you were in danger—"
She laid a gentle hand over his. "Only a dream."
They sat together for the better part of an hour while Ser Criston found his strength again. Just as they were about to mount and return to camp, a rustle sounded nearby.
'Fabien?' Rhaenyra was about to call—
The undergrowth exploded. A monstrous boar burst forth, reeking, tusks long and gnarled, curving like hooked blades.
It was upon her before Ser Criston could even clear his sword. It would have torn her apart, but for her ferocity.
Rhaenyra seized her dagger and struck again and again and again.
Each thrust carried something more than fear — her father, her brother, Alicent, the men of the realm, all of it poured into the blows.
Ser Criston had to wrench the knife from her hands to make her stop.
"It's over, Princess. You're all right."
From a distance, the Rangers watched.
"That could have been bad," said Downes, second among them, a man who could read any trail. He spent so much time bent to the ground that his eyes rarely lifted from it, hence the name. "What would the Prince think if we let his sister get ripped to shreds?"
Fabien unknocked his arrow. "We've been together too long for you to lose faith in our aim. Still… any of us could have taken the shot. I wonder what stayed our hand?"
"Just like when she stood face-to-face with the White Hart," Downes said. "We waited for something amazing to happen."
"…Just like with the Prince," Fabien replied. He turned away. "Seems Rhaenyra has no need of our escort after all. Let's go."
The next morning, Rhaenyra returned to camp with the boar lashed to a sled, Ser Criston beside her, sheepish in his armor as the court gawked at the Princess streaked in blood.
It was roasted and seasoned, and that night she relished the taste of freedom — and of newfound friends.
Meanwhile, King Viserys drank himself blind.
In his stupor, he confided in Alicent the dream that still haunted him: a son of his loins, destined to wear the Conqueror's crown.
Yet when he tried to focus, to fix the face of that promised heir in his mind, he could not see Rhaenar.
There was only a blur — a muffled haze of a faceless stranger~