Sketch

We spent the next day at a leisurely pace through the Kingswood until we came across the recent crime scene.

A partially burnt wagon was shoved off to the side of the road, with the crest of House Buckler visible despite the charring – three brass knuckles on a blue field.

Upon our arrival, the crows scattered from their feast on decaying flesh.

Ser Ryam brushed his hand against the charred crest, leaving a trace of his hand, white through the soot.

"Survivors?" Ser Ryam asked.

"None that we found, Ser."

Ser Ryam peered his eyes like a cunning fox, "Hmph. Take me to the tree stump."

The patrolmen escorted us off the path and into the woods, eventually leading us to a small clearing.

In the centre of the clearing stood a wide tree stump with a trail of blood leading to it, clearly marking the path Lord Buckler's daughter was dragged along to her altar of corruption.

"Poor girl," I said, "Barely made it a hundred feet from the road before they caught up to her."

Laenor covered his nose. I couldn't blame him. We'd seen plenty of death in tourneys. But we never got to smell it.

"Who would do such a thing?" Laenor asked.

Ser Ryam sighed, "Men. Pray that your loved ones never experience their savage nature."

"I'm afraid I don't have that luxury," I said, "If our King is the father of the realm, what does that make me?"

"The brother?" said Laenor.

"Precisely. As we speak, my brothers and sisters are hurting each other all over the country."

Ser Ryam snorted, his gruff voice laced with wisdom earned through years of experience.

"You're not the first prince to come up with such romantic notions, and you won't be the last. But let me tell you something, boy. The world is a harsh place, and you can't save everyone.

"You'll drive yourself mad trying. What you can do is focus on the people and problems within your reach. It's a lesson every leader must learn."

I gazed upon Ser Ryam — a man who had aged in a profession where early death was commonplace — a knight who had loyally served my family for nearly the entirety of my GrandGrace's reign.

I pondered whether King Jaehaerys had entrusted Ser Ryam with fostering my development and guiding me toward becoming a capable leader.

I answered him truthfully.

"I beg to differ. When people go into the Great Hall and gawk at the mural of you and Ser Clement Crabb's legendary joust, for a moment, I see the boundaries of House and Lord dissolve, and they come together in mutual admiration."

Using my index fingers and thumbs, I created a frame and centred Ser Ryam's face within.

"Art, good Ser, can heal the world."

Ser Ryam scoffed, "I'll believe it when I see it."

"You'll see it when you believe it."

He ignored me, turning to the patrolmen, "And what of their trail?"

"They took the road south."

"Then south we shall go. But first, we must look around."

As Ser Ryam took charge of organizing the men for a swift perimeter search, I found myself distracted by the mesmerizing way the sun's golden rays filtered through the tree branches.

My mind drifted away, lost in thought as I murmured to myself,

"Hmmm..."

Suddenly, I felt my feet start to move on their own accord, drawn towards an unseen destination. Laenor looked at me with confusion as I walked away like a zombie.

"Uh... Rhaenar?" he called after me, but I was lost in my own world, unable to break free from the enchanting spell of nature.

I could hear the sound of water flowing in the distance, a gentle creek beckoning me closer.

I followed the sound, my pace quickening as I drew closer.

And then I saw it — a tranquil, shimmering stream that flowed through a clearing, a place untouched by the darkness of man.

Without hesitation, I reached into my satchel, pulling out a checkboard with paper on it and a piece of sharp-tipped charcoal.

It was the perfect scene, one that I could not pass up. As I began to scribble the scene onto the parchment, my mind cleared, and a smile curved on my face.

Bliss.

Dimensions of time seemed to pass until suddenly, a loud rustling interrupted my peace.

I looked to my side and caught sight of a stunning creature.

It was a White Hart that appeared to have materialized from the woods. Its gleaming ivory coat reflected the sunlight, making it look like a snow sculpture that had come to life and grown antlers and legs.

I held my breath, barely daring to move except for the subtle movements of my fingers and wrist, etching every outline of the gorgeous creature.

The White Hard moved cautiously, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air to catch a whiff of my scent. It seemed to be sizing me up, unsure whether I posed a threat.

But gradually, it grew more at ease, its steps becoming more confident as it got closer. I could see the curiosity in its eyes as if it was trying to make sense of me.

And then the White Hart stood directly across from me, separated only by the creek, and we locked eyes. Its dark gaze seemed to hold the secrets of the cosmos.

I couldn't help but feel drawn to it; it seemed to be studying me. They reminded me of the all-knowing eyes of the late Queen Alysanne.

Laenor arrived just in time to witness the scene unfold from a distance, his eyes filled with awe as he saw the majestic creature standing face-to-face with me.

I felt a strange connection with the White Hart as we stared into each other's eyes.

I whispered, "What are you trying to tell me?"

As I stood there with the White Hart, it almost seemed like it endeavored to answer me.

But any sense of connection was abruptly shattered by the sound of Laenor's voice echoing through the air.

"RHAENAR!!!"

I turned my head, my heart racing with fear as Laenor's urgent shout broke the stillness.

The White Hart, startled by the sudden noise, turned to run. But before it could take a step, an arrow whizzed through the air and hit it right in the heart.

"No!!!"

My scream of anguish echoed through the forest as I watched the magnificent creature collapse to the ground.

My emotions were a tempest, a vortex of rage and sorrow swirling inside me.

It was as if I was caught in a storm's eye, feeling its fury's full force as it churned and raged.

"Who did this? WHO DID THIS?!"

I flared my nostrils as I scanned the area with widened eyes, searching for any sign of the perpetrator. Finally, I spotted a shrouded, hooded figure lurking in the shrubs.

My eyes spat death as I pointed a finger, "You!"

At this moment, Ser Ryam and the men caught up to us.

"My Prince! Are you hurt?"

"Ser Ryam! I have found the criminals. I command you to apprehend them at once!"

But the poacher used that split second I took to address Ser Ryam to make a hasty escape.

There was no way I'd let him get away, "After him!"

The hunt for the perpetrator of the heinous act was relentless, continuing well into the night.

Eventually, the hounds caught a scent and led us to a small village on the outskirts of the forest, overlooking Blackwater Bay from atop a cliff.

Ser Ryam decided to station eight men to guard the camp, leaving us with a total of 35 men, including Laenor, Ser Ryam, and myself.

As we watched the village from the forest cover, our torches flickered, casting dancing shadows upon the tree trunks.

"What's the plan, Ser?"

"The village looks peaceful enough," Ser Ryam said, "Still, it pays to be careful."

"Piss on that," I said, "They can see our torches. I say we roll in there in the name of the King."

"Patience, my Prince. Recall how these men could defeat Lord Buckler's escort with ease."

"Yes, when they had the element of surprise," I retorted, "I saw one of them. They're cowards."

Ser Ryam sighed, "Fine. On me."

Ser Ryam ordered the men to spread out as we approached the village, swords drawn.

As we arrived, we noticed everyone was hiding in their houses, and an eerie silence hung in the air.

"Could it be a trap?" asked Laenor.

"It's possible," said Ser Ryam, "Proceed with caution."

The men murmured in agreement, and Ser Ryam took a moment to think.

I understood their caution, but my instincts were telling me to take action.

"Let's try to negotiate first," I suggested.

Ser Ryam nodded in agreement, and I stepped forward.

"Come out. We mean no harm," I called out to the villagers, "We're here to talk, not to fight."

There was no response.

"Come out, or I'm forced to take action," I warned, my patience wearing thin.

"My Prince, maybe we should come back at dawn—" Ser Ryam began, but I cut him off.

"Last chance," I said firmly, "We're counting down from 5. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

I took a deep breath and raised my torch towards the thatched roof of the hut,

But just before the flame could kiss its flammable straw, a voice pleaded

"Wait!!"

Then more.

"We're coming out!"

As the villagers emerged from their huts, we noticed that most were either old women or children.

The eldest of the women, presumably the village leader, stepped forward.

"Speak," I commanded, "In the name of your King. What is the meaning of your discretion?"

The village elder was taken aback by how a near 11-year-old addressed her. Still, she instinctively obeyed my authority in the presence of steel in the torchlight.

"A-.." She stuttered, "A- Apologies, m'lord. We are unaware of any discretions."

The children cowered behind her. I almost felt sorry for this timid group.

Then allow me to illuminate," I said, "Earlier this day, we came across a poacher hunting illegally in the Kingswood. We tracked him to this village. Do you deny harboring this fugitive?"

The elder looked around at the villagers, and her gaze lingered on a group of teenage boys huddled together.

"I...I assure you, m'lord, we have not seen anyone suspicious in our village," she said, her voice faltering.

But I noticed her eyes flicker toward the group of boys again, and I felt she was lying.

"Are you sure about that?" I asked, my gaze lingering on the group of boys.

The elder hesitated, then spoke in a softer tone, if that were even possible.

"To be true…"

I sighed, "Very well. Seize them."

As the troops apprehended the boys, the girls and other children gasped in shock.

"I understand your desire to protect your friends," I said gently, "But there are lives at stake here. We need to know everything so we can put a stop to these criminals."

As the boys were apprehended, one spoke up, confessing to being the poacher.

When I asked why, he explained that his family was starving and had nothing to eat.

Despite feeling sympathy for his situation, I reminded him that breaking the law was not an excuse.

The village elder pleaded for mercy, explaining that the men had been taken, leaving the children to fend for themselves.

Suddenly, it all clicked into place. I realized that the children were the band of poachers.

Laenor, eager to share his deduction, blurted out the conclusion.

The boys confirmed they had started hunting together, and other children from neighboring villages joined in.

However, they were not responsible for the murders we were investigating.

The village elder vehemently denied the accusation, insisting that the children only hunted to survive after Orwell and his men took their parents.

Ser Ryam looked at me and said, "Orwell?"

I replied, "Looks like we have our culprit."

Laenor scratched his head and asked, "Why didn't you inform your Lord? Surely they would take action if outlaws were killing men and kidnapping women in their lands."

"We have, m'lords. We sent messages to Fawnton, Felwood, Bronzegate, and even Haystack Hall," the elder explained.

"To no avail?" I inquired.

"Sadly, m'lord, they don't care for folks like us," the elder replied.

"I understand. That changes now," I declared, bowing respectfully to the village. "Thank you for your cooperation. I apologize for disturbing you. You have my word that we will put an end to Orwell's spree of misdeeds."

With determination, I turned to Ser Ryam and declared, "I am taking command of this mission."

Perplexed by my sudden enthusiasm, Ser Ryam asked, "My Prince?"

"Fear not, teacher."

The troops, still holding the poacher boys, asked, "What should we do about them?"

I paused for a moment. About a dozen boys, some younger than I, most older.

They were my peers in all aspects except for lineage, but they all looked at me with fear in their eyes.

"What's your name?" I asked the main poacher boy, the one who killed the White Hart.

The troop pushed him forward. He was a slight boy with auburn hair; I guessed he was around 14 years old.

"Fabien, m'lord," he replied.

"That's the Prince you're speaking to!" one of the troops barked.

"Fabien, my Prince," he corrected himself.

I waved my hand dismissively and said, "Fabien, do you understand that you hunted the King's game illegally?"

"I do, my Prince."

"Do you grasp the magnitude of the situation?" I asked.

He lowered his head and replied, "I do, my Prince."

"Good. Then you will do everything in your power to make this right. I want you to send word to every boy you know who can handle a bow. It's time they put their skills to proper use."

And so it was. We relocated our camp near the village, partly for convenience and partly so Orwell doesn't catch word about a sizeable force.

Biding our time until the poacher boys gathered in the next days.

One by one, they emerged from the forest, each armed with crude bows and arrows. Their number totaled around thirty.

I scanned the group and asked, "Is this all of them?"

"You're looking at the future of our villages, my Prince," replied Fabian.

"Good. Bring along your best trackers."

I allowed a smirk to cross my face, "Ser Ryam."

"Yes, Prince?" he replied.

"Come with me. It's time we see what we're up against."

As we made our way through the forest, we stumbled upon the charred remnants of House Buckler's wagon.

"Why are we back here?" Laenor questioned.

"Our patrols in the Kingswood failed to locate these criminals," I replied, "I thought we'd give a local the chance to spot something we may have missed. What say you, Downs?"

Accompanying us was Downs, the eldest of the poacher boys at sixteen.

Despite his age, he barely stood taller than I, a testament to his malnourishment.

They called him Downs because, after a lifetime of tracking, his head naturally gravitated downward, scanning the ground.

He crouched, touching the dirt, "They were here, alright. And lots of them. Surprised you managed to miss it."

I failed to hide my disgust at Ser Ryam for the men's incompetency, "As am I…"

Leanor started getting excited, the kind you feel when closing in on a mystery, "Think you can track them?"

"Does a Direwolf shit in the woods?"

As we followed Downs deep into the forest, marching in single file, the sun began to set, casting shadows through the trees. Suddenly, we heard the sound of laughter in the distance.

"Get down!" Ser Ryam hissed, and we immediately complied.

From our concealed position behind the trees, we peered out and spotted a group of men leisurely lounging in their campsite, indulging in food, drink, and sleep.

"Seven hells," Ser Ryam exclaimed, "There must be a hundred of them…"

I furrowed my brow, "How could such a large force go unnoticed for so long?"

"Especially after what happened to Lord Buckler's wife and daughter," added Laenor.

"Most people believed it was just poachers," Ser Ryam explained, "Hardly a Lord's immediate concern."

Fabien's voice was clouded with shame, "I had no idea we were helping them..."

I reassured him, "You couldn't have known. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"This is bad, my Prince. These numbers are too great for us, even with the poacher boys."

I shook my head, "The Ser Ryam I know would never cower to these cretins."

Ser Ryam let out a labored breath, "I was thinking of your safety."

"I suggest you start thinking about yours. We're doing this," I said firmly.

Ser Ryam struggled to hide his frustration behind the veil of politeness, "HOW—" He stopped himself from erupting and corrected to a whisper, "How?"

My reply was confident, "I have a plan."

Back at the village, I wasted no time in getting organized.

"Ser Ryam. Order the men to spread word to the neighboring villages: Prince Rhaenar has snuck from the Red Keep for a rebellious joy ride through the Kingswood. Make sure to emphasize how I'm ALONE."

It dawned on Ser Ryam what I was planning, "Turn the tides on the ambushers. I like it. You continue to impress, my Prince."

"Save the flattery for later. See it done," I ordered.

It didn't take long for Orwell to take the bait. The next day our scouts reported activity from his camp.

Ser Ryam came to me, "It's time."

"Good."

I readied Ser Ryam as per my squire responsibilities before readying myself. Then Laenor and I went to Fabian and the poacher boys.

Clearing my throat, I addressed them, "Listen up! For too long, you have lived in fear while Orwell and his band have killed your fathers and raped your women. For too long, the Lords of Westeros have ignored your plight."

Speaking with precision, I emphasized each word, "It. Ends. Now."

Several of the older boys stirred, voicing their agreement. "Yeah!"

I raised my hand to silence them, "Today, we take matters into our own hands," I mounted my horse, "Out there are some bad mother fuckers wanting to harm innocent people."

Then I drew my blade, "Let's go kill them!"

A surge of courage rippled through the boys, "Yeah!!"

But it was not just the boys who cheered, but the troops who accompanied us from the Red Keep. Ser Ryam tried his best to conceal a smirk of pride.

Swords unsheathed and were raised in the air,

"Yeah!!!"

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As I journeyed down the desolate path through the Kingswood, I rode alone with a turban made of luxurious silk wrapped around my head.

It appeared to be the type of poorly-conceived disguise that an oblivious prince would foolishly think could actually pass unnoticed.

I hummed a merry tune until a group of men appeared from the side of the road, blocking my path.

"Excuse me," I said, pretending to be startled, as more men emerged and blocked the road behind me.

I looked around at the snickering and lip-licking men surrounding me. Arrows pointed in my direction from the forest.

A menacing fellow stepped forward. He was tall and muscular, with a bald head. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? You're a long way from home, Prince."

He looked like my target, "Fools love the sound of their own name. You must be Or-WELL."

The men cackled. You'd think there were hyenas in the forest.

"If you know who I am, that makes it easy. Come with us quietly, and we won't harm a hair on your princely little head."

I didn't flinch and instead offered a counter, "How about you drop your weapons and surrender? I promise you mercy. You can live the remainder of your days in servitude in the Night's Watch. Think carefully, Orwell. This deal is more than you deserve."

Their laughter turned into jeers and taunts, "On second thought, chopping off a finger wouldn't hurt!" but I didn't back down.

Suddenly, I reared my horse and charged towards the men blocking my escape behind me.

They tried to stop me, but my gaze did not indicate I wouldn't run through them. They barely managed to get out of the way with a weak attempt to grab me.

"He's getting away!"

"Shoot him!"

"No!" Orwell panicked. "We gave up Buckler ransom when we killed the girls. We can't do the same with the Prince!"

His words didn't matter; they still shot crossbows and arrows at me.

Most missed, but one stray arrow hit my horse, causing us both to tumble forward. I hit the ground hard, my tooth bursting through my lip and the taste of blood in my mouth.

Despite feeling dazed, the words of Orwell's men sobered me up.

"Get him!"

"I'm gonna fuck him bloody!"

Summoning my willpower, I staggered to my feet and ran as fast as I could down the road, ignoring their provocations.

I could hear their footsteps gaining on me, but just as all hope seemed lost, Ser Ryam and the poacher boys appeared from the forest on both sides of the road.

"Loose!" Ser Ryam ordered.

The volley thinned out my immediate pursuers, but many were still behind.

The poacher boys notched their arrows again with surprising composure. Used to hunting each day with their lives on the line to make ends meet, a life-or-death situation like this was not foreign to them.

"Loose!"

The poacher boys sent a hail of arrows from the sides of the road, thinning out the immediate pursuers. However, Orwell and his men slowed down to assess the situation.

Ser Ryam seized the opportunity and shouted, "Loose at will!"

Our troops emerged from behind Orwell's men. We had them surrounded.

But even with the advantage, we couldn't thin out their numbers as much as we had hoped. The impending melee still promised to be a daunting task.

Ser Ryam drew his sword, "For the King!"

The melee that followed was brutal and intense.

Swords clashed against swords. Shields were battered and broken. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of sweat and fear.

Men screamed as they were cut down, and bodies piled up on the ground. The clatter of armor and the thud of boots mixed with the roars of the combatants. A bloody scene.

My sword arm grew tired as I fought for my life. I ducked, parried, and thrust with all my strength.

The air was thick with the sounds of clashing steel and grunts of exertion. No amount of training could fully prepare one for the chaotic reality of battle. It was a test of not only physical strength but also mental fortitude.

As I fought back-to-back with Laenor, I couldn't help but wonder how soldiers managed to catch their breath with such intensity.

"You good?" I asked, checking in with my partner.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a bandit charged me with a heavy strike.

I braced myself and deflected the blow with my sword, but the sheer force of it jolted my arm and sent shockwaves through my body. The impact rattled my bones and left my muscles trembling.

I braced for his follow-up strike, praying I could withstand it, but Laenor was one step ahead.

As if an extension of myself, he took the opportunity to swiftly stab the bandit in the heart, killing him instantly. I nodded at him in admiration, but our moment of triumph was short-lived as another bandit quickly closed in on Laenor.

He parried the first blow, then the second, but each hit from the assailant staggered Laenor. It was my turn to take down the opponent, and I did so with a swift stab.

This pattern continued, Laenor and I standing back-to-back and double-teaming any bandits foolish enough to challenge us. We had no time to celebrate our first kills.

The fighting was brutal and unforgiving, but we remained focused on defending ourselves and defeating our enemies.

No. We remained focused on survival.

As the battle raged on, the chaos slowly began to subside. The bandits were no match for our well-trained soldiers and the poacher boys had proven themselves to be formidable allies.

One by one, the bandits fell, their bodies littering the ground. The wounded cried out in agony, the air filled with the stench of blood and death.

As the last bandits fell, the only ones left fighting were Ser Ryam and Orwell. They were locked in a fierce battle, their swords clashing as they circled each other warily.

Their swords met with a loud clang, and they pushed against each other, each trying to gain the upper hand. The sweat poured down their faces as they fought, their muscles straining with effort.

Ser Ryam swung his sword with deadly precision, but Orwell was no slouch. He deftly dodged the attack and countered with blinding strikes of his own.

The two combatants seemed evenly matched, neither able to gain the upper hand. But I saw differently.

At last, Ser Ryam found his opening, patient as a viper.

With a deft move, he slew Orwell with a counter repost. To this day, it remains the greatest move I ever saw.

So it was; in the eve of 105 AC, Orwell and his band of delinquents were eradicated.

Fabien and the poacher boys approached with a visible sense of relief.

"Is it over?" asked Fabien, looking at me hopefully.

I sheathed my sword and swallowed dryly before answering, "Yes, it's over."

"I mean... Are we… over?"

Fabien's relief was short-lived as I continued, "Not quite. There are still consequences to be faced for your illegal hunting and the killing of that magnificent creature."

As one of the troops approached me with my saddlebag, I turned to face Fabien and his friends.

"However, I also saw something else in you in these past days - resolve, fearlessness, and duty. These are the marks of great men. These are the marks I see in you."

Fabien's surprise quickly turned to gratitude.

"Thank you, my Prince."

"Make no mistake," I continued sternly, "what you did was wrong and cannot be excused. But I am willing to offer you a chance to redeem yourselves. Serve me, and in doing so, serve the realm. Do this, and I will forgive your past transgressions, and you will live your days with pride."

Tears welled in his eyes as he bent the knee and placed a hand on heart, "I will."

"Good!"

I rummaged through my saddlebag, pulled out a snow-white deer hide of the White Hart, and wrapped it around Fabien's shoulders.

"Then, from this day forth, I charge you with the protection of the Kingswood.

"You will guard the forest, monitor animal populations, and promote goodwill between man and nature.

"You will lead and help foster the next generation of your order in secret.

"The bows that protect the heart of the forest.

"You are the White Rangers."

A hush fell over the clearing as I draped the white deer hide around Fabien's shoulders and charged him and the poachers with the sacred duty of protecting the forest.

The boys stood frozen, faces of awe and reverence. Then they dropped to their knees one by one as if by instinct.

The troops followed suit, their armor clanking as they dropped to one knee.

I turned to Ser Ryam, and saw tears glistening in his eyes. He approached me, his gaze unwavering.

"Kneel," he commanded, his voice booming with authority.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

He remained stern, "Kneel."

Without hesitation, I lowered myself onto one knee, feeling the soft earth beneath me. Ser Ryam stood before me, his sword unsheathed, its steel glinting in the light, his face etched with lines of experience and wisdom.

"Prince Rhaenar, never have I seen such a display in all my years.

With bravery, you inspired those around you. With cunning, you outsmarted your enemies. And with loyalty, you protected those who mattered.

"It's for these reasons that I have no choice."

Without a word, he unsheathed his sword with a ringing sound that echoed through the clearing.

And then, in a moment of grace and power, the sword lightly touched my shoulder, like a kiss from destiny.

A surge of energy rushed through me as if I had been infused with the very essence of chivalry and valor.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

Birds flew from the trees as Ser Ryam placed the blade on my other shoulder.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

My throat clogged, and I held back the tears.

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."

Ser Ryam let the sword linger on my shoulder before saying the final words. I gazed up at him, my lips quivering.

"Arise, Rhaenar Targaryen. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"

As I rose, Ser Ryam knelt alongside his fellow soldiers, resting his hand on his sword.

The road was filled with a solemn silence as if the very air was holding its breath in respect.

And I knew from the looks on their faces~

This moment would forever be sketched in history.

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Upon our return home, I did not receive the expected triumphant welcome as the youngest knight in the realm's history.

Instead, my sister leapt into my embrace, her face wet with tears.

"What's wrong, dear sister?" I asked, concerned.

"Rhaenar... It's mother," she said through sobs.

My heart sank, and I ran through the Red Keep without regard for the people in the halls, barging through with my shoulder whenever necessary.

I burst into the chambers, "Mother!"

There she was, the chamber dark from the drawn curtains, a stench of placenta and death. My mother raised a weak hand, her voice barely audible, "Rhaenar…"

I sat on the bed and held her hand tightly, "Thank the gods you're alive. What happened?"

"Just women things… We've both been in battles, it seems."

"But the baby—

"Never mind that now," she said weakly, "I'm so glad you're safe."

The tears left my eyes, "Hush, mother. You must save your strength."

She chuckled, "My darling Rhaenar, so big and strong."

She started dozing off as I caressed her forehead, a faint whisper escaping her lips

"You'll always be… my sweet little boy..."