Rhaenyra's silver-blonde hair streamed behind her like a comet's tail as she galloped through the Kingswood. Hooves thundered against the soil, scattering loose stones into the underbrush. Streams and gullies were crossed without hesitation, the narrow forest paths no challenge for the spirited princess on horseback.
She finally slowed atop a cliff ridge overlooking a sea of green. Below, the vastness of the forest stretched unbroken, kissed by spring's faint golden hue. The wind tugged at her sleeves, cool and playful. She turned back and grinned at the boy bundled in her arms.
"Get down and take a look at the view," she said, brushing hair from his eyes.
Aemond squinted through wind-lashed lashes, his voice muffled as he grumbled, "If I catch a cold, I'm making you nurse me."
Rhaenyra only laughed. "I'll even bring you soup."
Despite the gusts, she felt lighter than she had in moons. Not even flying Syrax had left her feeling so free. There was something exhilarating about defying courtly weight, even for a moment—no thrones, no expectations, just the road and the wind.
Behind them, armored riders emerged one after the other from the brush. Ser Criston Cole rode closest, always wary, and behind him followed nobles, squires, and attendants. Among them, Lord Jason Lannister struggled to maintain pace, sweat beading along his temples.
"Princess," he called between gulps of air, "your riding is... swift."
Rhaenyra only nodded, her expression unreadable. "We'll rest here. The view's worth the stop."
Lord Jason thumped his chest in approval, though he looked ready to collapse. Aemond dismounted, unimpressed. He wandered off alone, letting the others fall into the rhythms of setting camp.
As he walked deeper among the trees, a familiar image stopped him.
He approached a large, gnarled tree, its bark thick and ancient. His fingers brushed the bark's rough grooves as if trying to confirm a memory. "This… looks like the one from my dream."
In the dream, he'd dug beneath this tree and unearthed gold—literal gold—and the promise of a crown. Something stirred deep in his chest.
A rustling sound snapped him back.
"Squeak, squeak!"
Goldnose, his golden-nosed rat companion, scampered toward him, tugging insistently at his boot.
"What is it, Mousey?" he asked softly.
From the foliage ahead, a figure emerged—graceful, slow, immense.
A white stag.
Its coat shimmered in the dappled light, and it walked with a proud, deliberate gait. Towering antlers arced like branches toward the sky. Aemond's breath caught. Even Syrax paled in majesty next to this beast.
The camp stirred. Blades hissed from sheaths. Shields raised.
"Get behind me, Princess," Ser Criston shouted.
"Wait!" Rhaenyra protested, stepping forward.
Aemond felt the tension thickening. This wasn't just a rare creature. This was the white hart—a sign of kingship, of divine favor. Long before dragons ruled Westeros, the stag had crowned the worthy.
"Is it coming for you?" Aemond asked, glancing at Rhaenyra.
"I… I don't know," she whispered.
"Then it's coming for me," Aemond decided.
In his dream, the stag appeared near gold and a crown. This was no coincidence.
Jason Lannister shouted, "Surround it! It's a sign! Don't let it go!"
Ropes flew. The stag reared, furious, slamming into several young lords. Jason tried to command the chaos, only to be knocked to the ground by a violent kick.
Aemond frowned. This wasn't right.
"Mousey," he hissed, watching Goldnose climb onto his shoulder. "Did you steal something?"
The rat froze, then sheepishly produced a withered flower from its pouch.
"Really? A flower?"
The stag's eyes locked onto it instantly. It stepped forward, trampling over Jason without a care.
Aemond hurled the flower down.
The stag halted, sniffed, and calmly nibbled.
The crowd held its breath.
Then Jason groaned, dazed and embarrassed. "Catch it! Don't let it go!"
The stag, irritated, kicked again. Jason flew two yards.
This time, the ropes held.
"Ser!" Aemond called to Ser Steffon. "Lift me!"
Confused but obedient, Ser Steffon picked the boy up. Aemond mounted the stag with surprising ease, stroking its fur. He drew out a few blades of Ula grass and offered them. The stag munched contentedly.
Then, with a mighty shake, the beast broke the ropes and bolted.
"AEMOND!"
Rhaenyra's scream rang through the woods.
Ser Criston and the guards gave chase, but the stag vanished into the green.
Only the echo of Aemond's voice remained, shouting from the trees:
"Take care of Lord Jason! Tell him I saved him!"
… …
Later that day, Viserys returned to camp, dragging behind him a slain brown stag.
Tyland Lannister tried to flatter. "Your Majesty, this is still a fine prize—"
Viserys said nothing.
He had wanted a sign. A divine favor. And instead, he'd received a normal beast. He wondered if the gods had spoken—and if they had, to whom.
Suddenly, the camp erupted.
"Protect the King!"
Guards surged forward.
But there was no attack.
There was only awe.
Out of the forest burst the white stag.
Riding atop it, clutching the reins, sat Aemond.
His silver-gold hair gleamed like starlight. His black tunic flared behind him. His violet eyes were steady and radiant.
Behind him, knights of the Vale rode in formation.
The stag slowed to a graceful stop before the royal pavilion.
Aemond exhaled, muttering, "Finally."
A soft chime echoed in his ears.
> "Discovered a magical creature. Essence acquired."
Essence: +8
New Card Unlocked: [Kingly Demeanor]
"Bestowed the aura of a true monarch. Charisma, leadership, and innate dominance increased."
The card shattered.
A glowing light merged with Aemond's chest.
And then, without effort, Aemond sat straighter, eyes colder, gaze firmer.
The aura of a ruler radiated from his very being.
Viserys froze, wine glass slipping from his hand.
Sunlight framed the boy. The stag bowed its head. The soldiers stood in awe.
He had dreamed of such a son.
And it had not been Aegon.
Nor Daemon.
It w
as Aemond.
-----------------
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