The song of ice and fire

The Stag

Jon

The hunt was quite a fruitful one. The boys caught a few quails, rabbits and grouses using their arrows. Wild boars, deer and rabbits were abundant in the forest. Still the stag was something Daeron had wanted and the hunting scouts with their dogs tried hard to track one. When they finally saw it, it was a magnificent creature. A large beast, its brown hide appeared golden in the sun’s rays, its antlers looked like a tall crown on its head. Jon let his son, the Crown Prince to take the first shot. Daeron pulled the bow and just stared it for a while, as if mesmerized.

“Just breathe and let it go…” Jon said softly as he leaned close. Daeron blinked and the arrow flew and hit a tree instead. The Stag heard it and hurried off, realising that it was being watched and hunted.

“We can still spear him Your Grace before he runs away.” One of the servants in the hunting party said and Jon looked at his son.

Daeron shook his head. “Let him go Father…” He said quietly. 

Jon nodded to his son and looked at his men and they placed the spears away.

“It’s alright…” He told Daeron and tapped the boy’s shoulder as they walked away back to their horses. “We’ll get it next time.”

Aemon followed along carrying the rabbits he caught. Jon saw the prince and smiled, pushing him forward as he walked next to his brother. He didn’t want his sons to walk behind him, he needed to see where they always were and keep his eye on them.

“Can we catch some butterflies later Father?” Aemon asked. “We brought our nets with us.”

“Maybe after supper,” Jon said. They rode back to the camp by the river and he smiled seeing his wife and daughter. He got his sons down from their horses before heading to where Daenerys was standing

“The hunt looks good Your Grace…” Daenerys said, looking as the men brought the animals ready to have them washed and cut. Jon smiled at her, pulled her into his arms, kissing her lips that he so missed despite being only hours away from her.

Jon felt someone tugging his sleeve and he looked down, it was Lyanna, wanting her father’s attention as always. He carried the little princess up and she laughed softly as his beard tickled her face. They had a good supper, luxurious by any standards. Meat, fresh from the hunt roasted by the fire, cakes and puddings since the royal cook, Hot Pie had prepared some food and had it delivered to camp. The boys got their nets and started chasing butterflies by the riverbank, their minders watching them from a safe distance.

A commotion happened and Jon stood up from his chair. One of the princes had fallen, stumbling on a rock and cut himself. The King bolted, running to the river and Aemon was crying while Daeron held him. Jon took the boy in his arms and held Daeron’s hand while the servants apologized profusely. It wasn’t a deep cut and a Maester attended to the prince.

“You have to take care of your brother Daeron…” Jon said to the prince when he was in their tent. “He’s the only one you’ve got.”

“I know Father…” Daeron replied, dark eyes looking at Jon and he sighed. He didn’t mean to make the boy feel guilty.

“I tried to carry him but he’s too big for me.” Daeron explained

“Someday you’ll be strong enough to carry him Son, and he’ll carry you too.”

Daeron nodded and lied next to his brother on the cot. Jon watched his sons as they fall to sleep and kissed their heads. He then headed back to his own tent. Daenerys was in bed, Lyanna sleeping soundly next to her.

“She wants to be close to her father.” Daenerys told him as Jon walked closer, bending to kiss her lips and pressing kisses on Lyanna’s face and head. He changed into his sleeping clothes, got into bed and pulled his wife closer to him.

“How were the boys during the hunt?” Daenerys turned to ask him.

“They did well. Caught a few rabbits and grouses. We saw a Stag and Daeron almost got him…” Jon said.

“You can try again tomorrow.” Daenerys said softly, gently rubbing his hand that held her.

“I think Daeron missed the shot on purpose…” Jon said when he realised what happened earlier and breathed.

Aemon

I watch the Stag from a far, careful as I pull the bow. The hunting party looks on, standing still like stoned statues hiding among the trees and shrubs, afraid to make a move, for fear that any small sounds or movement may scare the animal away. I release the crossbow and watch as the arrow hit the Stag’s neck, wounding him as he starts panicking. A dozen arrows whiz and hit him and someone throw a spear and that was a death knell. The Stag falls to the ground.

“Good hunt Your Highness,” A courtier tells me and I only give a nod. They all know that empty praises and sycophantic smiles won’t work on me, and most refrain from that.

It’s strange to be hunting without my brother. Months has passed, and I have done many things without him. Hunting, sparring, riding, drinking even. It hurts, it still does, like a dull ache in my heart and gut but life does go on. Daeron would probably be annoyed if I had spend all my time moping about and mourning over him. And knowing my brother, he would laugh and shake his head.

So I do that, I think about what Daeron would do or say to me every morning when I wake up to start my day. I break my fast and head to the Sept in the palace where my brother’s sarcophagus lies interred, waiting for his grand tomb to be completed in Dragonstone’s ancient crypt. I stand there for a while just soaking in the silence. I didn’t talk or say anything. It would be silly because no one would be there and the Dead can’t talk back. And I wouldn’t want anyone passing by to assume that I had inherited the Targaryen madness that plagued many of my ancestors in the past. 

Lyanna doesn’t speak to me, still annoyed that I was cold to her and it suits me just fine. Rhaelle will smile at me and speaks to me in that soft dreamlike voice of hers. She tells me of how Mama is doing and that Father still refuses to speak to anyone, other than Mama or the Hand. The Hand acts as an intermediary between my father, the King and I and every morning I will go to his chambers in the Tower of the Hand to meet with him. 

“Your father, His Grace still doesn’t feel well enough to return to court.” Lord Tyrion said and I only nod, hearing it many times before. 

“You will act as Prince Regent for the time being.” He said. “And carry out the responsibilities of the realm as your father, His Grace, King Jon the Great, First of his name…and the list goes on… in the manner that he would want them to.”

“Why not Lyanna?” I asked him. I was getting annoyed by the stalling nature of my father. It has been four months already. He can’t hide in his chambers forever.

“She is not the heir.” Lord Tyrion said, green eyes looking right at me

“I still won’t sit on that ugly chair.” I said, adamantly, grinding my teeth even.

“You know you’re more like him than both of you would ever admit to.” The Hand told me and shook his head.

“Your brother, the gods bless his soul, a perfect, pretty prince that he was, he didn’t have your father’s resolve but you do, Your Highness. ” 

“Is that all?” I asked him, impatient to leave the Tower of the Hand as quickly as I could. I did not need to hear anymore of his pearls of wisdom.

Lord Tyrion gave a nod and I walked off. “Good Luck on the Hunt!” 

I heard him call in a cheerful voice but I didn’t say anything and walked off. I had a Stag to hunt.