That day, most in the royal camp wore long faces and troubled hearts.
Alicent felt anxious, unable to shake the image of Aemond storming out of the royal tent after the altercation. She didn't know whether he was truly angry—or simply playing his part. Regardless, he was perhaps the only person left in the world she could still call friend.
Rhaenyra, for her part, was seething. Jason Lannister's smug, greasy proposal had made her stomach turn. She hated being paraded like a prize pig at a tourney. Hated that she wasn't a son—if only she had been born a man, perhaps her father would not hesitate to grant her power openly, without lectures, without compromise.
And Viserys...
Viserys drank.
Goblet after goblet of golden arbor wine dulled the edge of humiliation. He had been mocked, again, in his own court—first by Jason's insult, then by Otto's thinly veiled schemes. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined Laena Velaryon's poised warning, her dragon soaring in the background, a fleet at her back.
Only one soul in the royal family seemed to be in high spirits.
---
Kingswood Clearing
"Stop! Halt, you little beast!"
Aemond's cheeks were flushed with exertion, his small body jostling as he sprinted after a wild rabbit darting through the underbrush.
Bow in hand, he nocked another arrow.
Whoosh!
The arrow soared, missing by a hair and grazing the rabbit's tail. The creature zigzagged through the grass in sheer panic, bolting faster.
"Hold still!" Aemond barked, loosing another shaft.
Thwip! The arrow struck the dirt just ahead of the rabbit, startling it into a sharp turn.
Thwack! The third arrow flew true, burying itself into the rabbit's flank. The creature flipped once, legs twitching, and fell still.
Aemond lowered his bow slowly, eyes wide. "I hit it."
He grinned. "I hit it!"
Ser Steffon, arriving on horseback, let out a low whistle. "Seven hells, you truly shot that yourself?"
"Of course I did," Aemond huffed, slinging the bow across his back and marching over to retrieve the rabbit. "Am I not amazing?"
He bent to hoist the small body, its fur now matted with blood. It was heavier than he expected.
"Exceptionally done, my prince," Ser Steffon praised, handing him a few red berries as a reward. "You must take after your lady mother."
Aemond waved a hand modestly—though his chin was nearly tilted to the sky, pride radiating from every inch of his small frame.
He popped a berry in his mouth and looked around eagerly. "Let's ride further. Maybe I can bag another."
Ser Steffon chuckled but nodded, remounting. "As you wish. But we'll circle back toward the main group. The woods grow darker by the hour."
They trotted through the trees at a relaxed pace, Aemond chewing happily and swinging the rabbit by a rope.
Squeak squeak!
A rustle in the brush drew his attention. A familiar sound.
Aemond's eyes brightened. "Mousey!"
A small, golden-nosed rat scurried from the bush, tail twitching, and bounded toward him.
He squatted and extended a hand. The clever creature clambered up his sleeve and perched on his shoulder, chirping contentedly.
Aemond scratched its head. "What've you found this time?"
The rat shoved a tuft of soft white fur into his hand.
Aemond blinked. It wasn't rabbit fur.
"Squeak!" The rat tugged his hair with one paw and pointed toward the trees with the other.
"Over there?" Aemond asked.
The rat nodded enthusiastically.
Ser Steffon leaned down from his horse, curious. "That's no rabbit's coat. Looks... deer-like."
He dismounted, inspecting the ground near a pile of fresh dung. "Definitely not a horse. White... soft... might be the white stag."
Aemond's heart skipped. "Can we track it?"
Steffon examined the surrounding brush. "There's no trail. Not even broken branches. It's vanished."
Aemond sighed. So close. "Still," he said, eyes sparkling, "at least Mousey found something."
The rat squeaked proudly, preening under praise.
Steffon helped him mount again and tied the rabbit to Aemond's belt with a length of twine. "Let's head back, my prince. You've already made a fine showing."
---
Dusk.
The shadows lengthened as Aemond rode into camp with the rabbit bouncing at his side and his bow slung across his back. The scent of roasting meat and distant laughter welcomed him, though most faces he passed paid him little mind.
"Whose kill is that?" one knight asked, gesturing at the rabbit.
"My own!" Aemond replied loudly.
Ser Steffon chuckled and left the prince to his moment of glory, returning the horse to the stables.
Aemond made a full circle of the camp, proudly showing off the rabbit like a knight returning from battle. Then, he headed toward the royal pavilion.
But before he reached the flaps, someone stepped into his path.
"Well met, Prince Aemond," came a soft, oily voice. "Might I beg a moment of your time?"
Aemond narrowed his eyes.
Leaning on a cane, one leg crooked from birth, stood Larys Strong—Lord Lyonel's second son. His pale eyes sparkled with amusement behind a mask of meekness.
Aemond folded his arms. "What is it?"
Larys bowed deeply. "Merely a conversation. I thought you'd wish to hear what transpired while you were... occupied."
"I don't like riddles," Aemond said. "Speak plainly."
Larys's smile widened a fraction. "It concerns your cousin. Princess Rhaenyra."
Aemond arched a brow but said nothing.
"She was summoned," Larys continued, "by Lady Laena. They spent the afternoon away from court."
"And?" Aemond asked.
Larys leaned closer. "In the meantime, Lord Otto and Duke Jason insulted the King again. Quite severely. I believe His Grace was less than amused."
Aemond's expression sharpened. "Did Great-Uncle finally lose his patience?"
Larys made a noncommittal gesture. "King Viserys is merciful. But there is talk of changes."
He paused, observing Aemond. "Your instincts are sharp, my prince. And your actions... decisive."
Aemond said nothing.
Larys continued. "The Princess lacks allies. The Queen is burdened by her father's shadow. But you—"
"I'm just a child," Aemond interrupted. "That's what everyone thinks, right?"
Larys's eyes glinted. "Power listens to those who speak wisely, no matter their age."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Larys offered a faint bow. "If I may, I'd like to share more. Away from prying ears."
Aemond tilted his head.
He had no illusions about Larys Strong. In the history yet to be written, this was the man who burned his own kin, whispered behind thrones, and thrived in chaos. Not a swordsman, nor a knight—but deadly all the same.
Still, information was power. And if Larys wanted to whisper into someone's ear, better it be his.
"Lead the way," Aemond said.
As Larys turned and began to limp toward his private tent, Aemond followed.
And so, the most d
angerous schemer in the realm took his first step toward the boy who might yet become the most dangerous dragon.
-----
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