Chapter 4: Beneath the Cloak of Night

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and darkness now blanketed the land like a heavy, oppressive cloak. Arthur Dayne rode silently through the night, his body tense under the weight of responsibility and exhaustion. Each step of his horse echoed through the stillness, while his thoughts circled relentlessly around the mission he had accepted. In his arms, nestled against the cold steel of his armor, rested the last hope of a fallen dynasty: Aegon Targaryen.

The boy was asleep, miraculously undisturbed by the jolts of the journey, but Arthur knew they couldn't continue like this forever. They needed rest, food, and shelter—basic needs that even a prince could not escape. Though Arthur was a knight of legendary skill, he had never tended to an infant before. Every soft whimper from the child brought him crashing back to reality: a prince was still a child, fragile and utterly dependent on those who guarded him.

Fatigue gnawed at him, but it was the constant vigilance that truly drained his strength. His finely tuned instincts told him that danger lurked around every corner. The horse's rhythmic pace was the only sound, but Arthur felt the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on him, as if the night itself were watching. They had barely escaped the mercenaries at the inn, but the threat remained. There would be others, waiting in the shadows, listening for any whisper of Targaryen blood still running through Westeros.

The cold of the night bit into Arthur's skin, and he knew they had to find shelter soon. Aegon wouldn't survive much longer in this chill without proper warmth. An inn was a risk, but they had no other option. Arthur was no stranger to discomfort, but a baby couldn't endure such hardships. The risks were unavoidable, yet necessary. He would need to find somewhere discreet, a place where they could vanish, even if only for a few hours.

Guiding his horse down a narrower, rougher path, Arthur's mind sifted through his limited options. The woods thickened around him, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to stretch out with dark fingers. He didn't fear the darkness itself; he had learned long ago that the true threat came from those who moved within it.

Hours passed before he spotted the faint flicker of lights in the distance—a small town nestled among the hills, its presence marked by a few scattered torches glowing weakly against the vast black sky. An inn stood near the town's entrance, its sign swaying gently in the wind. A simple place, modest and unremarkable. It was exactly what Arthur needed.

He slowed his horse as he approached, scanning the surroundings with a sharp, practiced eye. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few shadowy figures hurrying home. Tying his horse to a post outside the inn, Arthur adjusted his cloak to better conceal the baby's face. Aegon stirred in his arms, but remained blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding them. Arthur pushed open the inn's door.

Inside, the warm glow of the hearth cast flickering shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the smell of stew and unwashed bodies. Arthur moved toward the counter, his stride deliberate, doing his best to blend in with the scattered patrons. The innkeeper, a stout man with graying hair, barely glanced at him before gruffly nodding in acknowledgement. He had the wary but indifferent look of someone accustomed to strangers passing through.

"One room for the night," Arthur said, his voice steady and low. He slid a small purse of coins across the counter—just enough to pay for the room without raising questions.

The innkeeper took the money without a word and motioned to the stairs. "Up there. First door on the left."

Arthur gave a curt nod, relieved that the man didn't pry further. He ascended the narrow, creaking staircase, moving with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior who knew how to avoid unwanted attention. He found the room and slipped inside.

It was a small, sparse space with a straw-filled mattress and a rickety table. A single window overlooked the street, but nothing stirred outside. Aegon shifted restlessly in his arms, his face scrunching up in discomfort. Arthur placed him gently on the bed and tried to settle him, though he could tell what the child really needed was food.

With an anxious glance at the window, Arthur knew he'd have to go downstairs again. The child needed to eat. He wrapped the prince warmly in his cloak and descended the stairs with careful haste.

The inn's atmosphere had changed. Three men now sat near the fire, their low voices carrying a casual menace. Their clothing, worn but functional, and the way they surveyed the room betrayed them as soldiers, or worse, mercenaries. Arthur instinctively tensed, his hand unconsciously drifting toward the hilt of his sword. He hadn't seen them before, and while there was no reason to assume they were after Aegon, he could not afford any risks.

The innkeeper reappeared with a steaming bowl of stew and a jug of milk. Arthur took them quickly, trying to remain calm. The men at the table glanced his way, their conversation faltering for a heartbeat before resuming in hushed tones.

Arthur returned to his room as quickly as he could, his senses on high alert. Aegon's faint cries greeted him as he stepped inside, the baby's hunger making itself known. He fed the child slowly, dipping cloth into the milk and letting the boy suckle it. The cries faded, replaced by the contented quiet of a child soothed by warmth and food.

But outside, the tension continued to build.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway beyond the door. Arthur froze. The three men from below were moving about, their boots scraping across the floorboards as they approached the neighboring room. Murmurs, too low to be clearly understood, filtered through the thin walls.

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what was coming. A fight was brewing, not aimed at him perhaps, but it was enough to disturb the fragile peace he had hoped to maintain. He couldn't afford to be drawn into it.

A thud against the wall, followed by a muffled shout, shattered the quiet. Arthur stood, every muscle coiled like a spring. He wasn't ready for a confrontation, not here, not with Aegon in the room.

Another thud. The fight had started. Voices rose as the sounds of a struggle grew louder.

Arthur made his decision. Wrapping the baby securely, he slipped out of the room, using the commotion to mask his exit. He moved silently, descending the back stairs, each step calculated and quiet. The brawl downstairs intensified, with crashes and yells drowning out all other noise.

Outside, the cool night air hit him like a wave of relief. Aegon remained silent, as if sensing the need for discretion. Arthur quickly mounted his horse and, with a final glance at the chaotic inn, urged his steed onward. The town disappeared behind them as they rode into the night once more, heading for safety—or whatever version of it they could find.

Arthur knew he couldn't stop now. The road to the coast would be long and perilous, and every moment spent in Westeros heightened the risk of discovery. They had to keep moving.

The cold night seemed endless as Arthur Dayne pressed onward, the wind biting into his skin. The sky above began to shift from deep black to pale gray as dawn approached, yet he had no time to enjoy the beauty of the morning. Every passing hour brought new dangers. Though they had escaped the chaos of the inn, Arthur knew that danger was never far behind. He had to keep moving, but exhaustion was creeping in, both for him and for Aegon.

Just as the first light of morning touched the horizon, Arthur spotted a small, isolated farmhouse nestled between two hills. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney, promising warmth and the possibility of shelter, even if only for a short while. It wasn't an inn, but it could offer temporary refuge. He had to find somewhere safe, where they could both rest and Aegon could be fed again.

Arthur guided his horse toward the farmhouse, slowing to a halt as they neared. Dismounting carefully, he approached the door, cradling Aegon against his chest. He knocked three times, each sound loud and ominous in the pre-dawn quiet.

The door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged woman with gray hair tied in a loose knot. She eyed him warily, her sharp gaze taking in every detail of his appearance—the fine armor, the travel-worn look, and the bundled child in his arms.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice gruff and tired.

"Just a place to rest," Arthur replied, keeping his tone calm but authoritative. "And something for the boy to eat. We won't stay long."

The woman's eyes flicked to Aegon, then back to Arthur. She hesitated, but eventually stepped aside, opening the door wider. Arthur stepped into the warmth of the small home, grateful for the reprieve from the bitter cold.

The inside of the house was simple but clean. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with much-needed warmth. Arthur moved toward the fire, setting Aegon gently on a bench near the flames. The woman disappeared into another room, returning moments later with a bowl of warm milk and a loaf of bread. She handed them to Arthur without a word, but her curiosity was palpable.

Arthur began feeding Aegon, dipping a cloth into the milk and letting the boy drink. The baby's soft cries quieted, and the room fell into a tense silence. The woman stood nearby, watching with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, as though trying to piece together the puzzle of why a knight, dressed in armor, would be traveling alone with a child in the dead of night.

The silence stretched on, becoming almost suffocating. Arthur knew they couldn't stay long—even here, in this isolated farmhouse, rumors could spread. He had to remain vigilant.

"Is he your son?" the woman asked suddenly, breaking the silence with her blunt question.

Arthur hesitated. No, he wanted to say. But the truth was too dangerous. A lie would keep them safer. "Yes," he said simply, not meeting her eyes.

She accepted the answer without further inquiry, though her expression betrayed a flicker of doubt. Arthur could feel the weight of her gaze as he continued to feed Aegon. This wasn't safe, not for long. He needed to leave before anyone came looking for him, or worse, for the child he carried.

"You should leave before sunrise," the woman muttered, her voice softer now. "There are men in the hills, dangerous sorts. They've been roaming around more frequently. It's best not to be caught out here when they're about."

Arthur nodded, his sense of urgency growing. She was right. They had to leave. The longer they lingered, the more likely they were to be discovered.

After ensuring that Aegon was fed and calmed, Arthur stood, adjusting his cloak to shield the boy's face once more. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small bag of coins, offering them to the woman. "For your kindness."

She took the money with a nod, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. "Be careful, Ser," she said quietly. "It's no time to be traveling with a child."

Arthur thanked her and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, signaling the approach of a new day. He mounted his horse, securing Aegon safely against him, and urged the animal into a steady trot.

They had to reach the coast. Essos was their only chance, and though the road ahead would be long and fraught with peril, Arthur was determined. He had sworn an oath to protect the last of the Targaryens, and as long as he drew breath, that oath would not be broken.

The wind howled, cold and unforgiving, but Arthur pressed onward. Aegon's future depended on it.