Jason's face turned red from the reprimand, and he stammered, unable to utter a single coherent word.
Otto seized the moment. "Your Grace, it appears many are attempting to second-guess your intentions."
"No! That's not what I meant at all," Jason gulped, hastily denying it.
At that moment, Lyonel entered the tent with a stern expression. "Your Grace, Lord Borros' party has arrived at the camp nearby."
Seeing an opportunity to escape, Jason mumbled, "If you'll excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to," and hurriedly slipped away from the main seat, retreating quietly.
Viserys snorted in irritation. "If Borros is here, he should come to see me immediately. I won't go out to greet him."
The king's stance was firm and unyielding.
Lyonel responded calmly, "I'll send one of the Kingsguard to receive him."
Given Borros' status, sending a Kingsguard to greet him was appropriate.
"Wait," Rhaegar interrupted. "Since Lord Borros was invited, it's better if I go to greet him."
"You?" Viserys raised an eyebrow.
Rhaegar's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Not just me—I'll bring Aegon and the others along."
Viserys, recognizing the mischief in his son's eyes, chuckled. "Very well, take your siblings with you."
Rhaegar nodded and turned to leave.
Just then, Grand Maester Mellos approached the platform, carrying a satchel. "Your Grace, it's time to change your bandage."
"Of course," Viserys extended his injured left hand.
Mellos carefully unwrapped the bandage, removed the caked ointment, and applied a fresh layer of medicinal salve.
The process was routine and unremarkable, but Rhaegar, on his way out, noticed the wound on his father's hand had festered slightly. It had been a month since the last treatment, and it was not unexpected for the wound to have worsened.
However, something about Mellos' methodical movements caught Rhaegar's attention. His purple eyes flickered with suspicion before he strode out of the tent.
...
It didn't take long for Rhaegar to find Aegon and Aemond in the picnic area near the main tent. Meanwhile, Helaena and Daeron were with Alicent in another tent, mingling with some noblewomen.
Rhaegar walked calmly into the ladies' tent and explained his intentions to Alicent.
Alicent, holding a cushion and a glass of wine, looked surprised. "Daeron is only seven years old. Is he going too?"
"There's nothing he can't handle. I was riding dragons when I was six," Rhaegar replied, not giving her a chance to object. He called Helaena and Daeron, who were both eager to leave.
Alicent's brows furrowed in concern as she watched her children leave, clutching her wine glass tightly.
Rhaegar, already on his way out with his siblings, didn't look back. Outside the tent, Daeron cheered and bounded ahead, relieved to escape the company of middle-aged noblewomen who wore overpowering perfume.
Rhaegar pressed forward, indifferent to Alicent's thoughts. This queen indeed loved her children, but her love was stifling. Under Otto's stern influence, she constantly repressed and disciplined their every move, treating them like pets in captivity.
...
Outside the camp, on the dirt roads, several luxurious carriages rattled along, flanked by two teams of Storm Knights adorned in armor and shields bearing the crest of the Stag.
"Damn broken road, it really needs to be widened and repaired!" Borros grumbled inside one of the leading wagons, his words coarse and filled with annoyance.
Beside him sat Lady Elenda, accompanied by their four daughters of varying ages.
"Borros, we are already late," Elenda said, her tone exasperated as she held her forehead, trying to persuade her husband to speak less.
"So what? Should we still have to wait for that old man?" Borros retorted, his eyes rounding with frustration. "The king is looking for trouble with me over the supply issues. It's not like I'm going to just take it lying down."
Elenda sighed at her husband's arrogance and haughtiness. "The king has specially organized this Kingswood hunt; he won't let this go easily."
Coming from Night Song City in the Dornish Borderlands, Elenda was acutely aware of the potential for crisis. But Borros dismissed her concerns and grew even more smug. "The king is weak. He organized this hunt because he wants his second son to marry our daughter and secure Baratheon support."
The four Baratheon girls exchanged glances, each showing a touch of disdain. None of them wanted to marry the king's second son. At the last funeral, they had secretly admired the king's eldest son, Rhaegar Targaryen—a powerful and skilled warrior, tall and handsome.
Elenda scanned her husband and daughters, then sighed and lowered her head. "I hope you're right."
Not far from the camp, the party quickened their pace, soon seeing the fortifications at the camp's outskirts. Borros straightened his silk robes over his bloated figure and said solemnly, "We're almost there. Show the pride of House Baratheon."
The carriages halted at the gate, with no space inside the camp. The coachman lowered a small stool for the family to alight. Borros stepped out first, holding his potbelly, his head tilted high in pride.
A deafening dragon roar resounded, and the sun was momentarily blotted out. Startled, Borros looked up. A massive black dragon soared from the direction of the Kingswood, its wings casting a shadow over the entire camp. The dragon's green vertical pupils locked onto the group below.
In the next instant, the dragon bare its fangs, and green Dragonfire misted from its mouth. The horses panicked, struggling until their legs buckled. Borros, standing on the stool, was thrown into a muddy puddle, screaming in terror.
Dragonfire did not descend. The dark green flames cut through the sky, the black dragon flapping its wings and stirring up a gust of wind. Following its roar, several more dragons of different colors rose from the Kingswood, each spitting Dragonfire as they flew over the camp.
"Roar..."
Aegon rode on Sunfyre's back, his hair flying wildly in the wind.
Nearby, Tessarion, carrying the slender Daeron, flapped his wings excitedly, spewing azure Dragonfire. Helaena rode Dreamfyre, the second largest dragon after Cannibal, with an excited Aemond squeezed into the saddle behind her.
"Roar!" Dreamfyre, known for her nasty disposition, roared and swooped down, her light blue scales glinting as she passed over a wagon, sweeping out a scorching gale. The carriage shook violently, its wheels creaking in the howling wind. The white horses pulling the carriage frothed at the mouth, convulsing and collapsing from stress.
"Alert!" commanded a stalwart-faced middle-aged man, his armor depicting dense nightingales on a yellow background. He was Royce of House Caron of Nightsong, Borros' father-in-law. Royce unsheathed his longsword and quickly stepped forward to protect Borros, his lord and son-in-law.
The Stormlands Knights followed suit, drawing their swords, picking up their shields, and quickly forming a formation. Unfortunately, their horses were too frightened by Dreamfyre and fell to the ground, forcing the knights to gather on foot.
As the Stormlands Knights prepared, the guards at the camp's entrance responded by drawing their swords.
"All stop!" A commanding shout came from inside the camp, filled with an unyielding authority. Borros, casting his gaze in surprise and anger, saw Rhaegar striding forward, flanked by two silver-armored Kingsguard.
Seeing Rhaegar, Borros immediately recognized this as a challenge. Humiliated in front of his wife, daughters, and knights, his anger boiled over. He pushed away Royce and yelled, "Prince Rhaegar, is this how Targaryens show hospitality, by attacking with dragons?"
"Lord Borros, mind your words," Rhaegar replied coldly. "As we all know, dragons are dangerous beasts and sometimes lose their temper."
The implication was clear—Targaryens could also lose their temper. Borros, missing the deeper meaning, let his anger cloud his judgment. "Who do you take for a fool? It's obvious your siblings are deliberately riding those dragons to provoke us!"
Rhaegar glanced at the dragons soaring in the sky and said indifferently, "You misunderstand. They're still learning to ride properly. They were just practicing."
Looking at the Baratheon family's carriage, Rhaegar added with a faint smile, "I apologize if they frightened your family."
The message was clear: this was just a small warning.
Borros, enraged, was about to lash out, but Royce quickly intervened. "Don't be impulsive. It's a felony to challenge the Heir."
"This is a setup," Borros fumed.
Rhaegar's smile widened. "Lord Borros, the dragons will soon be calmed. Please pardon us."
As if on cue, the sky resounded with Cannibal's roar. The massive black dragon shook its body mid-air, then slowly flew away, its vast wings spread wide. As Cannibal left, the remaining dragons ceased their roars, circling low in the sky, their vertical pupils locked onto the Baratheon group.
"Sunfyre, a little lower," Aegon urged, stillunsatisfied. Sunfyre shook its head, its golden scales shimmering in the sunlight, its pink wing membranes brilliant and colorful.
Without waiting to land, Sunfyre's wings flapped fiercely, sending a gust of wind mixed with the smell of sulfur across the camp's entrance. The wind ruffled Rhaegar's silver hair and made his lapel flutter. Even Rhaegar, standing with his back to the wind, felt its force, while Borros and his group struggled to stay on their feet and keep their eyes open.
As the wind died down, Rhaegar turned his head silently, his eyes fixing on Sunfyre and Aegon, who had just landed in the camp's open space.
(Word count: 1,552)