Red Keep
The air in Aemma Arryn's chambers was warm and scented with lavender. Princess Gael sat across from her, the two young women surrounded by bolts of silk and samite. A pair of maids dutifully held up gowns for their consideration, the rich fabrics rustling with every movement.
"The silver thread on the neckline," Aemma suggested, her finger tracing the air an inch from a gown of deep blue. "It would catch the light in the hall beautifully. More subtle than gold."
Gael nodded, her own fingers brushing the sample of silver-embroidered samite. "It is lovely," she agreed, her voice soft. "Not too bold."
A comfortable silence settled as they both considered the choices. After a moment, Aemma set her own swatch of cloth aside on a cushioned stool, her expression turning gently curious.
"And how is Aegon?" she asked. "Truly, I mean. And…" She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone. "What was it like? To ride a dragon?"
A faint, genuine blush colored Gael's pale cheeks. She glanced down at her hands, folded in her lap, a small, private smile playing on her lips. "It was terrifying, at first," she admitted. "I had only ever seen Dreamfyre from the cliffs of Dragonstone, or circling high above. But up close… she is so immense. You feel you could vanish into her shadow and never be found."
She looked up, her lilac eyes growing distant as she recalled the memory. "But Aegon… he was patient. He took my hand and led me to her. Had me touch her scales first, to feel that she was warm, like sun-baked stone, not cold. Then he helped me climb. The seat is not like a saddle, it's more like… a niche in a mountainside. And when we were settled, he fastened a broad leather belt around us both, to keep me secure against him." She mimed the gesture at her own waist. "He said it was so I would not fall, but I think… I think it was also so I would not be afraid."
Aemma listened, rapt, her earlier preoccupation forgotten in the face of this wonder.
"The wind is a roar," Gael continued, her voice gaining a little strength. "A constant push that wants to steal your breath. But the world… Aemma, the world becomes a painting. The sea is a sheet of hammered silver, the land a patchwork of green and gold and brown. Castles are like toys a child might build from blocks, and people are no larger than ants. We flew so high we passed through a cloud. I reached my hand out…" She held her own hand up, gazing at it.
"What did it feel like?" Aemma breathed, leaning forward. "The cloud?"
Gael laughed then, a light, happy sound that seemed to brighten the room. "It is just damp air! A cool mist on your skin, like the spray near a waterfall. But to be inside it, to see the white all around you and feel the dragon's wings beat through it… it does not feel like being on the ground at all. It feels like being somewhere else entirely. Somewhere between sky and land."
The maids holding the gowns had their eyes wide. They were trained to be invisible, to hear and see nothing of their betters' conversations, but even they could not hide their awe at the description of a sight few mortals ever beheld.
Aemma's own expression had softened from wonder into a wistful melancholy. She sat back against her cushions. "It sounds… magical. Truly. Viserys and I… we never had such a chance. Balerion was gone before we could." She gave a small, sad sigh, her hand resting on her lap. "It is a closeness I will never know with him."
Gael's smile turned sympathetic. She opened her mouth, searching for words of consolation that might bridge the gap between the sister who flew and the one who watched from the ground.
A firm, polite knock at the chamber door interrupted them.
"Enter," Aemma called, smoothing her features back into a pleasant, composed mask.
The door opened to reveal a middle-aged maid in a sensible grey dress. Standing half-hidden behind her skirts was a small girl of eight or nine. She had a serious, pretty face, large, observant eyes, and a cascade of carefully brushed dark auburn hair that fell nearly to her waist.
Aemma's face lit up with surprised delight. "Alicent!"
The girl, Alicent Hightower, stepped forward with a careful grace, beyond her years. She offered a perfect, practiced curtsy, her gaze lowered respectfully before lifting. "Lady Aemma," she said, her voice clear and measured. The words emerged in the high, sweet tone of an eight-year-old, making the formality seem both earnest and charming.
The maid smiled apologetically. "My pardons for the intrusion, my lady. Lord Otto sends his compliments. The Lady Alyrie is feeling unwell lately, and he wondered if you might kindly spare a little time for Alicent? He recalls you were so kind to her at the last feast, and she has been asking after you."
"Of course!" Aemma said, her warmth genuine. She extended a hand toward the girl. "It is no trouble at all. Please tell Lord Otto she is most welcome here."
The maid bowed and departed, leaving the small girl in the room full of women and finery. Aemma took Alicent's small, cool hand in hers. "We were just talking about flying," she said, guiding the girl to a stool near her own. "Have you ever seen a dragon up close, Alicent?"
The girl shook her head, her large eyes moving from Aemma's friendly face to the other princess in the room. She looked at Gael with open, quiet curiosity, this was the princess she had seen walking down the sept in a shaft of sunlight, betrothed to the prince with the silver-gold hair, brother of Prince Viserys.
Gael met the child's steady gaze and offered a warm, gentle smile of her own, meant to put the serious little girl at ease in the unfamiliar chamber.
Rosby Road
The midday sun was warm on the Rosby road. A party of riders moved at a steady trot north of King's Landing. At the front, Prince Daemon shifted in his saddle, his expression one of bored impatience.
"Hah…how much longer is this going to take?" he asked, his voice carrying over the clop of hooves.
Around him rode fifteen Targaryen household guards in their distinctive red-and-black armor, and six men of the City Watch in their cloaks and mail. To his left, his elder brother Viserys kept an easy pace.
"Patience, brother. It's only been a few hours," Viserys said, adjusting the strap of his own light black armor.
"We'd be there already if we rode faster," Daemon grumbled, his eyes scanning the empty road ahead.
"And tire the horses and the men before a fight," Viserys interjected. He glanced over his shoulder. "Isn't that right, Ser Jeremy?"
Behind them, Ser Jeremy of the City Watch was riding beside the third prince, Aegon. The knight pulled his attention from the wooded roadside. "Aye, Prince Viserys. But don't fret. With fifteen of the royal guard and six of my watchmen, any bandits will beg for their lives, tired or not."
"Exactly what I meant," Viserys said with a satisfied chuckle.
"No, you didn't," Daemon muttered, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
Aegon observed his brothers from a few paces back. Viserys was playing the part of the conscientious leader, making conversation to keep morale up. Daemon slouched lazily in his saddle, but Aegon could see the sharp, eager glint in his eyes, a coiled spring waiting for a fight.
"Ser Jeremy," Aegon spoke up, his voice calm. "Could you remind me of the details from Lord Darklyn's letter?"
Jeremy nodded, glad for the focus. "Of course, my prince. Lord Darklyn wrote that two moons ago, two merchant ships docked at Duskendale. The men who disembarked sold no goods. Instead, they hired a carriage and left for King's Landing. When the lord's men investigated the abandoned ships, they found evidence they were refugees from the Essosi chaos, traveling under false colors."
He continued, "They found the coachman's body and the wreckage of the carriage on the Rosby-Duskendale road. Since then, there have been frequent bandit attacks on merchants using that same stretch."
"Essosi refugees turned bandits," Daemon surmised from the front, his earlier boredom replaced by a sharper focus.
"They're only six to eight men, right?" Viserys asked, turning slightly in his saddle.
"That's the estimate from the survivors' accounts, my prince," Jeremy confirmed. He pointed up the road ahead. "We'll cross near Rosby castle soon, then onto the Rosby-Duskendale road. The attacks have all been along there. The bandits strike from the dense woodlands and rolling hills to the west of the road, then vanish back into them."
Aegon frowned. "Did Lord Rosby not send his men to sweep the woods?"
"He did, Prince Aegon, as did Lord Darklyn," Jeremy replied. "They combed the area. But the terrain is rough, full of gullies and thickets. The bandits are clearly adept at hiding. They've been clever."
"They've built a proper camp, then," Viserys concluded. "Somewhere deep in those woods." Daemon and Aegon nodded in silent agreement.
Daemon smirked, his earlier boredom gone. He gestured broadly at the column of well-armed men around them. "Seems a lot of fuss for a few measly bandits."
Viserys couldn't resist teasing him. "Yes, yes, the great Daemon could surely handle it alone. And if anything went wrong, Aegon could always bring you the Red Tempest."
Daemon shot him a sour look.
Aegon chuckled. "Just follow what grandfather arranged. Find the bandits, defeat them, present their heads, and get knighted by the King himself, with the Valyrian swords bestowed."
"And when do you plan to get your knighthood?" Daemon asked, turning his challenging gaze on Aegon.
"In a year, perhaps," Aegon said easily. "I'd prefer to earn it as a tourney champion, knighted amid the cheers of a crowd."
Daemon snorted dismissively, but Viserys smiled. "Not a bad idea, brother."
"You could have stayed back at the Red Keep, instead of coming along to watch," Daemon said to Aegon, though there was no heat in it.
Aegon offered a light, teasing smile. "Let's say I was worried for the safety of my brothers."
Both Viserys and Daemon snorted at that, the tension breaking into shared, if brief, amusement.
The road began to bend, and the sturdy, familiar silhouette of Castle Rosby appeared on the horizon ahead.
The road grew busier as they approached the castle. Farmers' carts, a merchant's wagon, and small groups of peasants on foot gave their large, well-armed party a wide berth. The castle itself came into full view: a solid, functional keep of dark grey stone.
As they neared the crossroads to its gates, two knights bearing the three red chevronels of House Rosby rode out to intercept them. Ser Jeremy trotted forward to meet them and returned moments later.
"My princes," he said. "The knights extend an invitation from Lord Rosby. He would be honored to host you."
Viserys's face lit with polite interest. "A courteous offer. A chance to rest the men and horses, and we could speak with his guards. They know these woods better than any map."
From beside him, Daemon let out a sigh. "Speak? We came to fight, not talk. Every hour we sit in a hall is an hour we have to search deeper into the hills."
Viserys glanced at Daemon, then at Aegon. Aegon considered. The sun was already past its peak. Searching miles of dense, unfamiliar forest before nightfall was impossible. Camping on the bandits' doorstep was asking for a night attack.
"Daemon is right that we cannot feast," Aegon said, his tone measured. "But Viserys is right that we need a base. We accept Lord Rosby's hospitality, but as a command post, not a respite. We rest the men and horses behind walls tonight. We send scouts with his foresters to find fresh tracks before dark. And at first light, when we can see, we sweep the woods properly."
Daemon scowled, but even he could not argue with the sense. Charging blind into those woods with dusk approaching was folly.
Viserys nodded, relieved. "Well said." He turned to Ser Jeremy. "Please inform the knights we gratefully accept Lord Rosby's hospitality. Tell him we come on the King's business and would appreciate his counsel and that of his master of the hunt at once."
Jeremy nodded and rode back. The Rosby knights offered deep bows and wheeled their horses to lead the party toward the castle gates.
As they turned off the main road, Daemon cast a last, restless look at the dark line of trees to the west.
Viserys clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll have the tracks by morning."
The bandits had eluded local lords for moons. They were clever. A night of planning was not a delay; it was the first move.
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