"I'm doing just fine. I don't need allies," Alicent retorted, her voice sharp with frustration.
Larys's gaze fell to the Queen's feet, barely visible beneath her skirt. "It's not that you don't need allies," he replied calmly, "but that you haven't found the right ones."
Alicent's annoyance flared. "Rhaegar sits high on his pedestal. My children are just pawns for him. Where do you expect me to find an ally who can compete with that?"
As heir, Rhaegar's power and reputation were indisputable. No one dared to challenge him openly.
"Don't be in such a hurry," Larys said, his eyes fluttering with a mix of patience and calculation. "I've already chosen my allies. We just need a bit more leverage."
Alicent noticed his gaze and tugged her skirt to cover her feet. "My father has his own plans," she said dismissively. "He prioritizes family interests."
When Otto returned to King's Landing, he had been entangled in the street rectification program for three years. Now that he had regained some influence in the Small Council, he focused solely on benefiting himself and his house, with little thought for her struggles.
"No, I'm not counting on the cunning Lord Otto," Larys smiled apologetically. "His sophistication isn't what I'm banking on."
"Get to the point. I need to rest," Alicent said impatiently.
Larys remained composed, his eyes gleaming with precision. "Prince Aegon rejected the Four Storms. Given the king's character, he will likely choose another prince for the marriage."
Alicent's eyes widened as she picked at her nails, suddenly realizing the implications. In her anger, she had overlooked Viserys's cautious nature. Aegon had refused the Four Storms, and she had been pleased, thinking she could pair him with Helaena. But now, she saw that Aemond was the next likely candidate for the union.
"It seems you've thought this through," Larys said, resting his chin on his scepter. "House Baratheon is stronger than they appear. If Prince Aemond marries one of Lord Borros's daughters, then—"
"Impossible," Alicent interjected, regaining her composure. "Borros is reckless and selfish. Even if Aemond marries one of his daughters, he will only serve those on the Iron Throne."
Rhaegar's position was unshakeable, and her son would be nothing more than a tool in this alliance—a reality well understood by any noble.
Larys gazed at her silently, then spoke softly, "Queen, what if the person in charge of Storm's End is not Lord Borros?"
"Lord Borros is the sole heir of the Baratheon lineage," Alicent retorted sharply. "He is the de facto ruler of Storm's End."
Larys's eyes twinkled as he responded, "Yes, everyone knows Lord Borros has no brothers or sons. But if something were to happen to him, who would take over Storm's End?"
Alicent felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the implication. Her nails dug into her palm. "What... what are you suggesting?"
Larys smiled faintly. "Queen, I suggest you encourage Prince Aemond to marry one of the Four Storms, preferably Cassandra, the eldest. That way, the succession would be most secure."
"You're insane!" Alicent hissed, her eyes blazing. "Borros is a formidable lord with countless guards. How could we even consider such a thing?"
"How?" Larys remained unfazed. "If you trust me, simply persuade Prince Aemond."
Alicent's heart pounded as she asked, "Even if this succeeds, who are the allies?"
Larys stood, using his scepter for support. "After hearing Lady Swann's accusation, I had my little birds investigate Prince Daemon's movements. He has indeed been plundering Triarchy ships and has been seen in Volantis."
"What does that mean?" Alicent was confused.
Larys lowered his voice. "Someone is planning a war, and a war needs an army. A sea fleet from Storm's End would be invaluable."
With that, Larys smiled slyly and hobbled away, his iron shoes clinking softly.
He had made his intentions clear: seize control of Storm's End and ally with those plotting the war.
Alicent stood frozen, contemplating the feasibility of Larys's plan. She did not utter a word to stop him, realizing that his scheme, though risky, could significantly bolster her power.
...
Rhaegar glanced around at the crowd gathered around the fire, the flames casting flickering shadows. He tightened his lapels and headed for his tent, eager to escape the raucous shouting and the pungent smell of stale wine that permeated the air. His father and the advisors would revel all night, but Rhaegar preferred solitude.
As he passed a dimly lit, secluded area, two figures caught his attention: Alicent in her green gown and Larys Strong, leaning on his scepter. Rhaegar stopped and hid behind a ribboned column, watching them discreetly. He knew they had been meeting in secret for some time, and had always rebuffed Larys's advances.
Curiosity piqued, Rhaegar watched as Larys struggled to leave, using his scepter for support. Alicent lingered for a moment before quickly walking away in a different direction. Once they were out of sight, Rhaegar stepped out from behind the column, a probing look in his eyes.
"What moves is Alicent up to again?" he muttered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
He pondered for a moment, then continued towards his tent. Alicent's recent annoyance stemmed from the complications around Aegon and Helaena's marriage. She probably blamed him for beating Aegon and was disgruntled, but beyond that, he couldn't fathom her motives.
"I'll need to bring Tormund back from the Mushroom Set," Rhaegar mused silently. "His eyes are sharper than mine."
With this thought, he quickened his pace.
...
Several days passed in the blink of an eye, bringing the Kingswood hunt to its final day.
It was still early morning, and the sun's rays filtered through the dense canopy, casting a serene glow over the silent forest.
"Rhaegar, wake up."
Inside the tent, Rhaenyra, already dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, gently shaking Rhaegar. His brows were furrowed, lost in a vivid dream.
In his dream, he wandered through rolling hills and dense forests, with streams gurgling and birds chirping merrily on the branches. Suddenly, a majestic White Hart emerged from the shrubs, gracefully leaping over a stream and landing on the rocky shore opposite.
"Yooooo..."
The White Hart tilted its head and bleated softly, lowering itself to drink from the stream.
Whoosh—
A dark arrow shot through the air, striking the White Hart's neck with deadly precision. The arrowhead, gleaming with an ebony light, pierced deep into its flesh.
"Yooooo..."
The White Hart let out a pained wail, collapsing to the ground and thrashing its hooves. It soon lay dying in a pool of blood.
The dream shattered.
Rhaegar groggily opened his eyes, his face blank with the remnants of the dream. Rhaenyra frowned, pinching his ear playfully but firmly.
"Today is the last hunt, Rhaegar. Don't make Father wait."
Rhaegar rubbed his eyes and groaned. "Got it, I'm getting up."
He rose, bare-chested, and suddenly wrapped his arms around Rhaenyra's slender waist, planting a kiss on her cheek.
"Rhaegar!"
Rhaenyra's face turned a deep shade of red as she playfully slapped him a few times. After a brief moment of teasing, Rhaegar donned his black hunting clothes and stepped out of the tent.
He looked up at the rising sun, exhaling a deep breath.
"I dreamed of the White Hart," he murmured, shaking his head in wonder. "It was killed."
Determined, he added, "I need to find it before some noble hunts it down for real."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Rhaegar set off into the Kingswood.
...
After a busy day of hunting, nightfall brought the nobles back to camp for one last grand bonfire. The central bonfire illuminated the camp, casting a warm glow over an open-air table laden with food and wine, enhancing the revelry.
Rhaegar reclined in a quieter corner, resting his head on Rhaenyra's lap. Rhaenyra sliced a piece of sizzling lamb and fed it to him, casually asking, "What did you catch today?"
"Nothing," Rhaegar replied, accepting the bite and rubbing his head. "I spent the day watching. No game, but that's alright."
The White Hart from his dream had not appeared, leaving the vision unconfirmed.
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. If Rhaegar said it was fine, she trusted him. She turned her head slightly, observing the chaotic celebration by the bonfire.
Nobles gathered there in high spirits. Viserys stood by the flames, a bottle of Summer Red in hand, laughing heartily with his brother Daemon. Daemon, looking slightly exasperated, patted Viserys on the shoulder and helped him to a seat at the table.
"My lord, let me refill your wine," came a soft, charming female voice.
Daemon glanced over and saw Borros Baratheon, seated at a neighboring table, boasting loudly with his bannermen. His dinner plate was piled high with food.
A voluptuous woman approached Borros's table. She had flaming red lips, black wavy hair, green eyes, and moved with a seductive grace. As she poured Borros another drink, he laughed, mistaking her for a maid and reaching out to grope her. She deftly dodged his hand, giving him a playful wink before turning away.
Her eyes caught Daemon's interested gaze. She smiled and made her way over, her hips swaying.
"Prince, you are so handsome," she said, winking as she drew closer.
Daemon, ever the connoisseur of beauty, couldn't help but notice her generous curves. Even for him, accustomed to the company of many women, her figure was remarkable.
(Word count: 1,575)