10: Chapter 10: CaveLeather “Prince—are you all right?” Erryk crossed the ridge in three long strides.
Baelor’s breathing had turned uneven.
The boy’s face now held the healthy color of any ordinary child, yet his hands radiated heat like meat left too long above a fire.
Baelor leaned against a tree and smiled.
“I have never felt better, Ser.” Targaryens were born with a measure of resistance to flame.
What Erryk saw—ragged breath and unnatural heat—looked like the edge of death.
Only Baelor knew the truth.
The moment the white hart’s blood entered him, his slow, sluggish heart had begun to beat with real strength.
A steady, inexhaustible fire now moved through every limb.
Erryk’s face remained grave.
“Forgive my bluntness, my prince, but by every sign I know, your present state is mortal.
We must return to camp at once and let the maesters examine you.” He was a sworn brother of the Kingsguard.
The king had placed the boy’s life in his hands.
Any mishap would cost him both honor and the future of his house.
Baelor nodded without argument.
“Your concern is justified, Ser.
We return.” Relief flooded the knight’s features.
He had not expected such ready obedience from a child.
He lifted Baelor into the saddle and set a hard pace toward the camp.
… Dusk had settled over the royal pavilion.
Rhaenyra sat by the fire, clothes and half her silver-gold hair still dark with blood.
Behind her, Ser Criston Cole ordered servants to carry a massive boar to the cooks—its heart reserved for the princess alone.
She looked around, frowning.
“Where is Baelor?
Why has he not come to greet his sister?” A servant bowed.
“Prince Baelor rode west with Ser Erryk to view the ridges, Princess.
They are not expected back until morning.” Rhaenyra rose at once.
“That little idiot.
The Kingswood is full of beasts.
If anything happens—” She did not bother to change.
She seized the reins of the nearest free horse, ready to ride west herself.
Ser Criston stepped into her path.
“Princess, the hour is late.
The woods are dangerous after dark.” “Stand aside, Ser Criston.
I am going to find my brother.” “I cannot allow it.” His duty was the same as Erryk’s: protect the princess at any cost.
Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and one of Rhaenyra’s most persistent suitors, added his own weight.
“Ser Criston is right, Princess.
And the prince has a Kingsguard of his own.
He will come to no harm.” Before the hunt Jason had already approached the king more than once, offering the West as the strongest possible ally through marriage.
Viserys had refused.
In the king’s mind the only proper husband for his daughter remained his own firstborn—Baelor.
The match would honor tradition and prevent another Velaryon entanglement.
Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed.
“If there is no danger, then I may ride out and bring my brother back to safer ground myself.” She knew Criston’s motives were duty.
Jason’s were different.
The Lannister would not mind a convenient accident that removed the true heir and left the princess free for his suit.
Jason recovered quickly.
“I never said you could not fetch him, only that riding alone at night is unwise.
If I accompany you—” The Seven, it seemed, had other plans.
“Even if you rode with her,” a tired but clear voice said, “your thoughts would not stay on her safety.” Baelor dismounted with Erryk’s help, still breathing hard.
Rhaenyra spun and closed the distance at once, hands already checking him for injury.
“Baelor!
What were you thinking, vanishing into the woods at night?” “Nothing happened, sister.
I met the white hart—the king of the forest.
Its blood has healed me.” He held out his arms, inviting inspection.
Rhaenyra’s eyes widened.
“Truly?
The white hart is an omen of fortune and kingship.
That it came to you means the Seven themselves have blessed you.” Baelor shook his head.
“Or perhaps the creature simply recognized what I am.” He preferred the second explanation.
Erryk cleared his throat.
“Princess, forgive the interruption, but the prince must be examined.
I have already summoned a maester.” The maester arrived with quiet authority.
“Prince Baelor, please come into the tent.” Baelor walked in without protest.
He intended the entire realm to learn, before the night was out, that the king’s firstborn was no longer the frail child they remembered.
Outside, Rhaenyra ordered a raven sent to the king and pressed Erryk for every detail.
“We rode, we looked at the view, and I never saw any white hart, Princess.” “Are you calling my brother a liar?” “I report only what I saw.” Rhaenyra glanced toward the tent.
She knew Baelor did not invent stories about his own body.
Final judgment would wait on the maester’s word.
… On the eastern side of the camp Queen Alicent moved among the lords and ladies with her three children, smiling, listening, and quietly binding alliances.
Those who had accepted Hightower gold were happy to praise young Aegon as the more promising heir.
Helaena sat alone by a smaller fire, cradling her jars of insects.
Suddenly her hands loosened.
Fragmented images flickered behind her eyes.
“Blood and fire,” she whispered, “will make the great dragon rise again…” CaveLeather