Chapter 6: The Fated Day

111 AC

This part of the city was more quiet, despite its proximity to the wharves. Many tall buildings made of bricks and timbers huddled close to one another, offices for various guilds and companies who called King's Landing home.

"I invested ten gold dragons under the name of Corwyn Velaryon to fund your expedition eight months past. I heard Lady Martha made port four days ago laden with spices, and I'm here to claim my share."

The clerk who manned the table was large and portly, with a thick moustache. He only gave me a polite smile before asking, "Do you bring a letter of proof, my lord?"

I handed him the letter with the company's seal. "I have it here, dated and signed."

The man took the letter and read it promptly before taking his ledger and comparing the two. Soon after, he summoned a younger clerk to fetch something from the vault, and we waited for a few minutes before he returned with a sturdy pouch of linen.

The portly man spilled over the content and counted it one-by-one with the quick ease of someone who had done it many times before putting it back inside the pouch. "Your share of the profits counts to forty-four gold dragons and nine silver stags, my lord. Feel free to check the amount yourself before you leave." He said as he handed the pouch to me.

I opened the pouch and made a brief count. My parents might scoff at seeing their son counting coins, but old habits die hard. I made sure it didn't take too long before I tied the string close again. Decorum must be maintained.

"I didn't expect more than four times the profit. What has come to pass?" I asked him.

"It's a blessedly bountiful trip, my lord. The steel and lace we brought to Qarth were in high demand, and the saffron, cloves, and cinnamon were especially cheap this year. Good harvest in the east, I took it." He said.

I hummed at that. I was right to listen to my instincts, then. "Your company proved itself competent. Perhaps I shall invest again at another time."

The man puffed his considerable girth at the flattery. "Of course, my lord of Velaryon. Please remember that we also provide other services, such as moneylending and insurance, should you have a need for them. Have a pleasant day, my lord."

I walked outside the building and found a bored Harrold Darke standing outside, right hand playing with the pommel of his sword. "You done yet?"

I nodded. "Aye. The profit is even bigger than I thought. Spice trade is usually a safe investment, but over four times the profit? That's rare."

He followed me to where we tied our horses. "I still fail to see how this is any different from gambling. That cog you paid might fall to pirates and storms, and your money with it. You won't even hear of the news until a year turn!"

"You embellished the danger. The risk is not so high as long as they keep to the better known routes." I said. Even with war in the Stepstones, ships could still skirt around with few problems. Even the Triarchy had more pressing use of their fleet than harassing every single ship who passed nearby, if the news of them sending a large reinforcement to the Stepstones was true. "Spice trade is a generally sure investment. As long as you're willing to wait somewhere between half and a full year, you should be able to double your coins. If only you listened to my advice back then, you'd likely be a few golden dragons richer by now."

He snorted. "Not all of us can part with our coins for months at a time without problem. I need mine for my expenses. Besides, I don't trust these copper counters. I knew someone who was tricked by them."

I idly combed my hair with my left hand. "That's why it's important to do your due diligence. Make sure your investment is in good hands. Don't invest more than you're willing to lose, and make sure to listen to other common wisdom."

Harry scrunched his face. "I still don't understand why you even bother with all that. If you have a need for money, you can just send a letter home."

I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with earning your own coins or participating in the economy. Money earned felt much better than money given."

We rode together to the Red Keep, passing through men in the half-crowded streets. The Void was being blessedly calm today, and the peace gave me time to think.

It was a mere whim that led me to even try such an investment. A trading cog was looking for funds to travel further east and trade there, and I happened to have some coins to spare; the remains of allowances barely touched. What I said to Harry was true. As long as everything goes smoothly, investing in the spice trade is guaranteed to turn in twice the profit, though even I didn't foresee just how profitable it could be. Small wonder so many wars were fought over spices.

I was honestly surprised at how advanced the financial institutions in Westeros were. Insurance, banking, investments—they were all already present. Yet for all their advancement, what they lacked was proliferation. These institutions barely existed outside the places where merchants frequented, which limited their reach. Perhaps because a strong middle class was uncommon outside of cities. Peasants rarely have money to spare for investment. Even their lords were hardly better. Too many highborn and well-educated lords saw accounting as something akin to black magic or else thought copper counting was beneath them.

Whatever the cause, it gave me an advantage. Someone with a decent knowledge of finances and the wealth of the Velaryons backing him could go far.

It was time for me to consider what to do for my future. Three-and-ten might be young by any standard, but children grew faster in Westeros. I would never inherit Driftmark, yet that didn't mean I shouldn't make something of myself.

The beginnings of ideas were starting to take shape. I was thinking of building a merchant fleet and starting a trading company of my own. That shouldn't be too difficult given my house's history of seamanship. I was also planning to start my own enterprise. My knowledge of another life would be advantageous here, as it provided me with knowledge rare or even unknown in this world.

When I heard that glassmaking was considered a secret, I thought I could start my own glassmaking business to rival Myr, as I know how to make glass. To my utter disappointment, almost every city worth the name in the known world had glassmakers. The problem was that Myr could outcompete them all through quality and quantity. I doubt my cursory knowledge of glassmaking could surpass that of Myr.

Even if I couldn't make glass to surpass Myr, I still have some memories of many more useful products. I knew how to make liquors which were unknown to anyone in the world. Brandy and whiskey, for example, despite how common wines and beers were in Westeros, were unheard of. I only knew the broad strokes of their production, but with enough manpower and some trial and error, it shouldn't be too difficult to recreate them.

Liquor would be a good product to start with. The Lords of Westeros drunk as much as sailors, after all.

That wasn't even my most ambitious plan. I had often entertained the idea of building a bank of my own. I would need to study banking more if I tried to seriously implement the plan, however, and that would be a plan for the far future still.

"Rather than coin counting, I might've heard something better." Harry said it out of nowhere.

I felt a strange presence and looked to my side, where Harry was grinning like a man possessed.

"What?" I asked.

His grin didn't subside. If anything, it got bigger. "Would you know it? I think our time has finally come."

I exhaled. "Harry, if I want to hear vaguely ominous nonsense, I'd ask a soothsayer."

"Oh, it's an omen, true, but a good one." He leaned in closer and spoke in a lower tone. "The King is planning to hold a great tourney soon to celebrate the fifth anniversary of his marriage with Queen Alicent. Many lords will be in attendance, and they will hold a squire's tourney. Something that we'll be old enough to participate in."

Well, that was interesting news, to be sure. "And what's the reason you didn't tell me this until now? You must have known this for some time, unless someone just told you while you were waiting outside of the office."

He shrugged. "I thought you might need good news to lift your spirits in case the merchants stole your money."

I thought it over for a while before smiling. "Hey Harry, you know what I think?"

Harry's face was smug. "That, as I said, our time has come? I suggest you think this over a bit more. Another year and an inch will help you."

"I'm five feet and a half. There are shorter knights." I said, perhaps a tad defensively. "And you're only three inches taller. I don't think it will be a problem."

There was nothing more that needed to be said. As we rode closer to the Keep, I couldn't help but think its red walls looked almost glistening under the sunlight.

The Great Hall was warm and filled with merriment. So many lords and ladies of distant lands and young knights seeking to test their mettle gathered in King's Landing. Scarcely a day passed without a new lord coming to the Red Keep for the past month. The music played by troupes adds to the revelry.

The opening feast was a grand affair. There was a dish of creamy cauliflower soup and buttered dough, cut into thin strips and rolled full of spring onions. Freshly hunted boar, roasted and peppered, salt-baked pheasant and red capon with plates of blood sausage and steak of ray fish, among others.

We were blessed with a mild winter, which only lasted for two years. The new harvest was already trickling in, and I suspected this tourney was as much to celebrate the end of winter as it was the King's marriage.

The king sat on the high table; his robe was black and red, with the three-headed dragon of his house sewn over the sleeves. Queen Alicent was seated to his right; her dress was a deep green colour, with long sleeves and embroidered silver trims. Meanwhile, Princess Rhaenyra was seated on the king's left, wearing a dress in Targaryen colours—black with red accents. Both were obviously attempting their best to ignore each other. The other royal princes and princess, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond were also present on the table, along with several of the Lords Paramount.

There was a hush of silence in the hall as the king rose from his seat.

"My lords and ladies, and brave knights of the realm." Viserys lifted his goblet. "Once again, the gods bless us with a summer, and with it, may we savour a more prosperous future. To the realm!"

The lords and ladies followed his example and raised their own goblets.

"The gods' blessings are truly uncountable, and should we toast for each of them, none of us will be able to find our rooms." There were some polite laughs given for the jest. "And yet I will have a few more toasts to make. To my beautiful queen! And to the valour of the sons of Westeros!"

I noted that this toast was more divisive. Rhaenyra's face was soured as her father made the toast, and she lifted her goblet half-heartedly. As for the other lords and ladies in the room? Some mumbled their toast under their breath, while others roared it.

After that, the feast finally started.

I and Harry sat on the squire table. Despite the common reputation of squires as young boys, a sizable part of us were older men. Though I doubt those men would be jousting on the tourney later. The squire's tourney was mostly an excuse for young, highborn squires to show off.

Harry was busy attacking a rib like it was his sworn enemy, while on my plate was a slice of whale steak, a new fare I hadn't tried before. Around us, men and women talked, japed, and laughed.

At some tables, lords and knights bragged tales of their latest spar, hunt, and joust, while the ladies shared about their families, or gowns, or gossip. Typical discussions for the highborns. In a few quiet corners, the more conscientious people shared news about politics and the economy that could have an impact on future developments in the realm.

Once the feast was done, the king excused himself and returned to his solar. However, His Queen and Princess remained in the room to mingle with many of the men and women inside. Each was surrounded by many of their own ladies, lords, guards, and maidservants. Practically a small army unto themselves.

I doubted there was any chance of avoiding factionalism anymore. With this feast, lords near and far could see with their own eyes what was happening.

Men and women ate and drank as the wine flowed and servants trickled in and out carrying trays of dishes small and delectable. The musicians played a quicker tune, a sign for the dance to begin, and I rose from my seat.

The factionalism of the court was far from my concern and not something I could affect at this juncture besides. Instead, I focused on something I could actually influence. Namely my plan for the future.

I approached the Bar Emmon's table and bowed as I offered my arm to their blushing maid of a daughter.

"My lady, if I may have this dance?"

The first step to accomplish my future plan was to forge connections, and what better chance to forge a connection than at a feast?

"Someone was busy last night." Ser Steffon said with a smirk.

I was checking the clasps of his breastplate when he spoke. "I don't know what you're talking about, ser."

"I was there in that hall last night, lad. You don't think I missed how you danced with five maids, do you?" His tone was oddly smug, I noted. "I suppose you are at that age."

"Nothing so untoward, ser. I'm just preparing for my future." I said.

"Ah, a betrothal, yes? It spoke well of you to think of the future." He nodded sagely.

I sighed, though I didn't correct him. It seemed everyone in Westeros was obsessed with marriage, men and women alike.

Though he was right in one case, last night had truly been productive.

"If only my kin here shared your forward-thinking." He turned his head toward Harry. "You know well that your father was trying to set up a betrothal between you and the Sunglass girl. Why didn't you approach her last night? That was a rare chance, boy."

Ser Steffon was in the mood to nag. Harry was looking at me and making a silent plea for help. I answered him with a stoic nod.

"I still think you ought to join in the joust, ser. It's the more prestigious event." I said as I clasped his white cloak. "The melee was good, but you know how it is. Show the realm the glory of the Kingsguard."

Ser Steffon shook his head. "Think about it, boy. I am a Kingsguard knight. What use is the jousting skill for me? Do you think the enemies of the king will come at him with lances ahorse? My sword arm is more important than my lance, and it's nigh time for a few turns on the whetstone to keep it sharp." He said, swinging the arm in question. "And many more of my sworn brothers will be participating in the joust. They will show the glory of the Kingsguard well enough."

Ser Steffon took his helmet from Harry's hands. "I must spend the rest of the day on the king's side. Have the day to yourselves, lads. Enjoy the festivities."

With that said, he left us as he made his way to the king.

I felt the bite of cold on my skin, the last remains of winter, as we walked the tourney ground outside the city wall, watching the many people hard at work. Lords and knights and their retinue were busy sharpening their skills, tradesmen set up their stalls, and jugglers, pipers, and singers entertained the passersby.

Most of the preparations had been finished before the feast last night. The viewing stands raised. Fences set, measured and marked. Tents and pavilions pitched and arranged. Smiths were busy fitting armours and shoeing horses. Woodworkers brought freshly made lances here and there to be inspected. There was no shortage of work for the smallfolk when a tourney took place, and this one was greater than most.

There were many different kinds of tourney, which usually followed the whims of the host. It was said that each region in Westeros had a form of tourney they favoured and each lordship had a variation they liked the most.

In this tourney, the king had chosen a more straightforward form for the joust, where there was no standing champion as such. Each knight would joust each other until one was unhorsed or yielded, and the sole final victor would be considered the champion. The squire's tourney followed the same form, except that the number of tilts was limited to three. Breaking your lance on the opponent's shield was counted for one point, breaking it on their armour was two points, and unhorsing them was an immediate victory. There would also be no ransoming of horses and armour.

As for the melee, it was organized as a wild, free-for-all battle where the winner was whoever left standing in the end. Five batches were to fight on the second day, and survivors of each batch would fight on the fourth day. A more brutal kind of mock battle, and Ser Steffon Darklyn had chosen to join in. As his squires, I and Harry would be attending to him.

The tourney would last for five days in all. The jousting would be spaced through all five, and the melee would be done on the second and fourth days. There was also a wrestling contest on the first day, a horse race and a bard's tourney on the third day, and an archery contest on the fourth.

The squire's tourney would be done on the fifth day, before the final tilt. Perhaps meant to be an appetizer before the final of the Joust.

Despite Ser Steffon's words, I found myself too anxious to properly enjoy the occasion. Living in the Red Keep meant I've seen more tourneys than most, but this would be my first time participating. Watching men tumble and roll each other on the ground didn't help, and there would be a few more hours before the joust of the day began.

I turned my head to Harry, who seemed to be equally anxious.

"...Want to try a few tilts at the quintain?"

"...Sure."

We made sure to clasp each strap carefully and checked thrice each just in case. Mail, breastplate, pauldrons, gorget, sabatons, piece by piece, until every inch of him was covered in shining steel.

"The Seven with you, ser," I said to him.

Ser Steffon smiled glumly at us as he donned his helmet. "The Seven with us all, squires."

We accompanied him to the melee ground, which was a fancy name for a fenced-in circular area. The second day's melee was mostly to trim down the number of contestants. Several batches of men would cross swords several times throughout the day, and the last five men standing on from each batch would continue to the fourth day melee.

King Viserys raised his right arm and swung it down with a cry of "Let the melee begin!"

The trumpets blared, and all around us, the cheers of the crowd filled the air as the clash of steel and the shouts of knights charged each other. I and Harry hollered as Ser Steffon lunged at his first enemy, a hedge knight with colourful interlocking chains on his shield, and battered him. Thrusting with his sword, he stepped in inside his guard and rained him with precise strikes from all directions until he fell the knight's axe and forced him to yield.

On and on, they went, and the steel sang with them. Ser Steffon's next opponent was a Darry, who was young and green and lost his footing after the fourth exchange. His third was a stubborn Osgrey man who refused to yield no matter how many times Ser Steffon struck and slammed him, though even he fell eventually, and a dagger to his eyeslits forced him to yield. Fourth, fifth, and sixth, Ser Steffon's longsword forced all his opponents to surrender, and the herd of knights was much thinned.

The trumpet blared once again, and the knights stood down.

The crowd roared at the display. Ser Steffon stood tall and proud as the dust began to settle, his white armour unblemished by defeat, and he raised his sword in salute to the royal family. Harry and I cheered him on as he made his way out of the melee ground.

"Finely fought, ser. You took down the most knights. I believe the honour of the day belonged to you." Harry said, being genuine for once.

Ser Steffon merely chuckled. "The day barely began, lads." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I am to return to my post now. You two, feel free to stay and watch. There are things you can learn just by observing."

As Ser Steffon walked to the royal box, I looked at Harry.

"Shouldn't he see a maester first?"

Harry shrugged.

The winners from the second day were lined up on the melee ground, with more than two dozen men clad in mail and plates. I noted Ser Steffon first. He was the only Kingsguard knight participating in the melee; his white cloak fluttered proudly in the wind. Other notables included the wickedly quick Lord Humfrey Bracken and the massive Ser Harwin Strong, the Captain of the Iron Gate.

The king stood tall on his dais, overlooking the ground. His eyes swept through the contestants as he raised his arm. "May the realm witness your valour, my brave knights. Let the melee begin!"

The trumpets blared, and the crowd roared. The knights began circling one another, sizing up their opponents, when suddenly the tension was broken by a loud cry. The swords sang, and their dance began.

"I'm surprised how far the Lannister twins made it." I said as I spied the brothers fighting back-to-back, one of them—I couldn't tell which—was ably fending off Ser Harwin. "The rumours only mention their handsome looks, but rarely their martial prowess."

"They fought well together, and with both of them already unhorsed in the tilts, there's no risk for them to give it all here. I count Ser Harwin as their superior, but he needs to joust later today, and he can't take risks."

"That's the peril of competing in both the melee and joust." I said. "Oh, and Ser Steffon just took down the Templeton." I noted as our ser defeated his first opponent and stalked toward Lord Swann.

However, just as we had spoken, one of the Lannister twins fell down to Ser Harwin's hammer, and he yielded.

I raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Did you say something?"

Harry looked sheepish. "I shouldn't underestimate the strength of that man. He's, what, seven feet tall and built like an ox. That counts for something."

"Six feet and eight inches, I think. Hard to say." I said.

Harry scoffed. "Meh, close enough. Must you be so pedantic?"

There was a loud yell, and we saw that the other Lannister twin had fallen to Ser Harwin as well, who continued to the Fossoway. Ser Steffon was pressing the Swann knight hard, though he persisted. In the distance, I saw a knight fall.

It's surprising how fast they fall. It's barely started, and yet already only a third remains. I mused. Is a real battle like this too?

I realized Ser Steffon had defeated his latest opponent—a Redfort—but now he and Ser Harwin were the only ones left standing. Both were worn out, and it showed as Harwin's warhammer and Ser Steffon's sword were swung with more desperation than skill.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the two dueling knights. "Well, this may be a difficult one. Ser Steffon is the better warrior of the two, but Harwin is stronger. With both of them weary, strength will matter more than skill."

"Want to make a bet on it?" I asked, though I knew what his answer would be before he even shook his head.

"I will not wager against my ser, much less a kin. Unless you want to wager on Ser Harwin?"

"I'll pass on that."

We continued watching the battle before us as both knights attacked each other in wild abandon and grappled and wrestled on the ground. Yet Harry and I were vindicated in the end, as Ser Steffon emerged after he menaced a dagger under Ser Harwin's helmet, and he rose victorious amidst the cheering audience, even if he looked more ragged than triumphal.

"Today is your turn for glory, lads."

Despite his victory, Ser Steffon came up with a considerable amount of bruises and injuries, enough that the Maester suggested that he take more rest days before returning to duty. King Viserys had graciously granted Ser Steffon three days of leave until his wounds were better healed.

Thank the gods for King Viserys' generosity. We knew Ser Steffon would be too proud to ask for a leave himself.

It still didn't explain why he was here on the tourney ground instead of his room, where he ought to be.

"Because I want to see how my squires fare, of course. Remember, any failing of yours would reflect badly on me too."

Harry and I exchanged looks. Ser Steffon was in that mood today.

"You shouldn't have pressed yourself so hard, ser. Winning is good and all, but remember, you still have your duties ser. Who would guard the royal family when you're wounded? You should be on your bed recuperating instead of here." Harry chastised in a light tone.

Ser Steffon just looked bemused. "Boy, it's not a squire's place to advise his knight. Back in my day, we used to get cuffed for such insolence."

We saw several squires begin filling up the benches. Most of them looked our age. It was strange to think that I almost dreaded them a few days ago. However, after Harry and I rode at the rings and quintains or watched others do so many times, the thought almost felt absurd. They were all just men, and our opponents would be boys still. There was no cause to fear. And just like that, I found my anxiety blessedly lessened with each passing day.

"Any piece of advice, ser?" I asked Ser Steffon. The man was a seasoned knight; surely he had his pieces of wisdom to share.

"Not much. There is no certain magical advice that can guarantee you victory every time. The best I can give is to remember not to spur your horse too early, as timing is most crucial, and to try to slide your opponent's lances aside if possible."

I rose from my bench as I heard the herald call out my name to show my valour against a certain Alfred Buckler.

"Alright then. I guess it's my turn for now."

Ser Steffon eyed me. "Are you worried?"

I smiled.

"Nay, ser. I shall win."

I cantered The Void to one end of the list as the Buckler did the same. A page brought me my lance, twelve feet long and made of ash. I calmed down the Void as I waited for the signal.

As the herald gave the signal to go, I began spurring my horse forward, building up speed until the third point before raking him hard to a full gallop with both spurs. I made an attempt to feint for his shield, only to veer my lance slightly at the last second, aiming somewhere between his shield and his lance arm.

The Buckler's aim hit true and he broke his lance on my shield, though in exchange I broke mine on his breastplate. The advantage belonged to me. However, as I demanded another lance, I heard an outcry from the crowd above and turned my head.

Alfred Buckler was on the ground, not far from the midway point where I passed him. The crowd cheered loudly for my name as the herald announced my victory.

"Huh."

The jousting went on for hours.

The Squire's tourney had fewer competitors than the main tourney, but that still meant seven rounds of tilts before we could name a champion.

Harry did well enough, riding down one foe after another: Terrence Waynwood, Robert Rivers, Brynden Caswell, and Hugh Cockshaw; they all fell to his lance. We might face each other if we kept this up, I thought, before Harry faltered against his fifth opponent, the giant Clarent Crakehall, two against four, who proceeded to unhorse Marvyn Wendwater later and advanced to the final.

I myself defeated Jon Morrigen five to two before unhorsing Myles Yarrow on the second tilt. Afterward came Edgar Chelsted, the squire of Ser Rickard Thorne, whom I defeated in a narrow victory of four to three. I unhorsed Roy Paege on the first tilt and won against Raynald Brax three to one, leaving me to face the boar who bested Harry.

As we approached each other, I had to stop myself from openly gawking. We should be close in age, yet he already stood over six feet, a full head more than me, with thick bones and broad shoulders.

I banished the doubt from my mind. Size didn't matter as much in jousting as in the melee, as precision always triumphed over strength, with both of us ahorse and armed with the same weapon. As long as my lance struck true then he would fall, no matter how large he was.

We ambled our horses to each corner of the list and saluted the king. I noted the crowd was near silent as we rode our horses, and I almost felt their bated breath as I couched my lance. Lowering my visor, I focused myself entirely on the foe before me. Lance, shield, and horse. Everything else was superfluous. He spurred his charger to race forth, and I did the same. We maneuvered our shields while carefully aiming our lances, and wood shattered on impact, spraying splinters every which way, and the crowd cheered.

I huffed. Both of us broke our lances on shields. I tossed my broken lance aside and accepted a fresh one. Crakehall rounded the barrier at a canter, slowly building up his speed as I did the same. I pushed my horse at a hard gallop before him, aiming my lance slightly lower to his left before raising it toward his gorget just before impact. Yet by either luck or skill, he met my lance on his shield again, and both lances splintered once more as I blocked his lance to my stomach simultaneously.

Last tilt, I thought as I couched my lance once more. The man's defense was impeccable, so I thought to try another move. I spurred the stallion to burst forward down the length of the lists. My strategy was simplicity itself; if I couldn't beat his defense, then the only thing I needed was to beat his attack. As we met each other in the middle, I tilted my shield and pushed his lance aside as gently as possible.

This time only one lance exploded on impact, as Clarent Crakehall's lance slid off my shield whole and unbroken. I raised my right arm in triumph. The cheers were deafening to my ears, and I basked in them as I rode back to where Clarent Crakehall was.

I lifted my visor. "Well fought." I said earnestly as I offered him my hand. His skill was beyond doubt, and that deserved praise.

Clarent also lifted his visor. While his body looked as large as an adult, his face was still that of a boy, plump and red. Disappointment was etched clearly on his face, but he accepted my hand with a smile nonetheless. "You're the better rider still, my lord of Velaryon. The glory of the day belongs to you."

"At least until the final of the joust is done." I said as we walked off of the lists together amidst the cheers.

"You should've asked for a favour." Harry said, nursing his horn of ale.

With my joust done and the king having given me the reward and his praise, I joined Harry and Ser Steffon in one of the stands meant for nobility. While nothing truly changed in the way they treated me, I couldn't help but notice the respect in their eyes that was different than before.

Westeros is a land of warriors. I repeated in my head. The only thing that earns you respect in this land is your martial prowess. Even just winning a tourney for boys will show the difference.

I stretched my back. I was uninjured, but my body felt sore regardless. "I forgot you could ask them. Besides, no one I knew to ask for a favor."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really? Not even Princess Rhaenyra?"

"Or any of the girls you danced with at the feast?" Ser Steffon added.

"Princess Rhaenyra has already granted her favor to Ser Criston. As for the other girls? Asking for their favor is pointless since the victor of Squire's tourney doesn't get to crown a queen of love and beauty anyway. There's nothing for them to gain."

Both Harry and Ser Steffon looked at me strangely, but left the matter be. Did they think I was planning to court any of them? Unless I was mistaken, all marriages were determined by the parents.

Of the four Kingsguards who participated in the joust, two advanced to the final day. Ser Arryck had the misfortune of drawing Ser Criston on the third day, while his twin Ser Erryck was unhorsed by Lord Walys Mooton after six tilts on the fourth day. Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Criston Cole were resplendent in their enameled plates and immaculate white cloaks. Following them were the other semifinalists, Ser Ormund Hightower, the heir of Hightower and the only Hightower left after Ser Criston unhorsed two of his cousins the days before, and Ser Harwin Strong.

"Ser Harwin looks well." I voiced. "After your battle with him yesterday, I was expecting him to be more injured."

"Ser Harwin is blessed with great strength." Ser Steffon answered. "Many of the Strongs are. Their house name is aptly chosen."

"And yet their second son is thin and clubfooted." Harry said.

"Mind your tongue, lad." Ser Steffon admonished lightly. "The boy hardly chose his own body. What the gods give, men can only accept."

"It was not meant to be a mockery." Harry said, though he was interrupted before he could say more.

Horns and trumpets blared from every which. The knights rode a slow circle across the tourney ground, lances raised and shields thumped.

"If you ask me, I think Ser Criston has this." I said.

Harry swallowed his skewered venison. "Not Ser Harrold? The Lord Commander is not to be underestimated."

"I'm not underestimating him. He remains formidable, and the chance of his victory isn't bad. Nothing is certain. I just think Ser Criston rode better in this tourney, that's all."

"True, Ser Criston looks unstoppable lately. That said, as a fellow Harrold, I feel honor-bound to support him."

"Ten silver stags for it?"

"Make it fifty, and I'll consider it."

"Deal." I said as we shook hands on it.

However, there was a sudden disturbance just as Sers Harrold and Harwin entered the lists. A commotion was apparent, with many in the crowd pointing upwards. A large shadow, faster than any cloud, soaring high above the tourney ground.

The shadow of a dragon.

A blood-red dragon flew high overhead, one with wide wings and a long serpentine neck. It circled the tourney ground a few times before landing on the empty ground, far more smoothly than any creature of that size should be able to. The horses were startled and neighed at its sudden presence, and the watchers were similarly unsettled.

Caraxes has grown noticeably larger since the last time I've seen him. His horns grew thicker and his jaw larger.

The man who dismounted the blood wyrm couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. With his rich purple eyes and Valyrian silver hair, fine and straight. His cuirass was finely carved and polished to a shine, with a red silk cloak draped over his left shoulder and a golden circlet decorated with rubies atop his head, in imitation of Aegon's crown.

Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince and the King of the Stepstones.

No one was expecting or inviting him, and his presence had brought a certain surprise to the onlookers. There were hushed whispers among the nobility and quite a considerable cheer among the smallfolk watching. Daemon had endeared himself to the commons during his time as the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, however brief his tenure had been.

He walked forward slowly and leisurely as he approached the royal stand. Unlike his dragon, he didn't look any different from what I remembered, though he seemed to be more dignified somehow.

He stopped before the king's box.

"Is that you, Daemon?"

"Indeed, Your Grace. It has been a long time."

The air was thick with tension as both men stared at each other.

The tension was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, as both men were beaming.

It had been five years since the two men last spoke to each other. Despite the less than amicable way of their separation, both seemed to be happy about finally seeing each other. If there was ever a trace of hostility, they had hidden it so deeply that no one could see it.

No, they had genuinely no hostility toward each other. Neither had in them to hold a grudge against each other for long. Viserys was too kind, and Daemon was too mercurial.

"I heard you name yourself a king, brother. Perhaps I should feast you as a foreign dignitary? No feast would be complete without a guest of honour." King Viserys jested.

Daemon smiled mirthfully at Viserys' joke. "Ah, that."

The rogue prince removed his crown and, to the shock of many, took a knee as he presented his crown to his brother. "Let me present this crown to a worthier king. My loyalty is always to you and the Iron Throne, forever."

There was a hushed silence as many in the audience whispered between themselves. I found it curious as well. What game is he playing? He fought for so many years for a crown of his own, and now he's just giving it away?

Without a word, Viserys descended the stairs of the royal box and made his way to where the rogue prince kneeled unmoving.

Viserys took the offered crown into his own hands and looked at it for a moment before speaking loudly enough for all to hear, "You have accomplished a great many things, Daemon. May all present know how you fought bravely against the enemies who seek harm to the subjects of the throne and have earned much glory."

The audience clapped and roared in approval at the king's words. Whatever his failings were, Daemon was still a royal prince who fought against the tyranny of the slaver cities who had sorely vexed good, honest Westerosi citizens. It wasn't hard to see why the citizens would cheer for his return once the king listed his accomplishments in such a way.

"Everything I do, I do it for the realm, brother." Daemon answered with a smile as he looked up.

That's an obvious codswallop, if I ever heard one. I thought. Prince Daemon never struck me as one for the pageantry, and yet he was seemingly preening as a peacock at the attention. Was he doing all of this just for the sake of making a spectacle?

King Viserys grabbed Daemon by the arms and raised him. I noticed that Daemon had a few inches over King Viserys, even though at six feet, Viserys was hardly a short man himself. "Come with me to the royal box, Daemon. We still have some events left for you to enjoy."

Prince Daemon graciously accepted the offer, and he followed King Viserys back into the royal box, where the Queen and Princes and Princesses were waiting.

The difference in reaction between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra couldn't be any more different. Whereas Rhaenyra was openly excited at seeing her uncle—no doubt imagining exotic souvenirs and tales of adventure—Queen Alicent was watching him sharply with a carefully guarded face. Perhaps I imagined it, but I thought she was hugging Prince Aemond tighter when Daemon came near.

"Now that was a spectacle." Ser Steffon commented, breaking the reverie. "The prince knows how to make his entrance. Poor Ser Harrold and Harwin are forgotten."

"I've not seen him since the first time I visited the Keep." I said, as I observed the prince climbing the stairs to the royal box. "Perhaps I should greet him later. He and my father are close."

Our seats were close to the royal box, and yet we still couldn't see and hear everything clearly. The King seemed to be introducing Daemon to his newest children with a face full of fatherly pride. Prince Daemon's face was rigid as he curtly nodded to each royal prince and princess, and whenever he spoke to Queen Alicent and her children, his expression was patronizing.

Once Daemon was seated, King Viserys gave a signal for the jousting to be resumed with a clap. Trumpets blared once again as Ser Harrold Westerling and Harwin Strong couched their lances and spurred their chargers forward.

The white cloak's lance was steady in each pass, finding its target in Ser Harwin's shield, bursting to splinter with each thrust. There was no sign of Ser Harwin staggering, and he answered for each lance he received. For most of the exchange, they looked every bit each other's equals, but the equilibrium must be broken eventually. On their tenth tilt, Ser Harwin was finally sent tumbling to the ground in a rain of splinters as Ser Harrold's strike found its purchase.

We clapped as Ser Harwin walked off of the list and Ser Harrold rode a lap around the lists before Ser Criston and Ser Ormund entered the lists.

Ser Criston had already defeated two Hightowers in previous days, including the Queen's own brother, and would likely beat the third today. Ser Ormund jousted well, but after the first exchange, it was obvious Ser Criston was the better jouster. After the fourth tilt, Ser Ormund slid off his charger after a strike to his shoulder.

The Queen stood in alarm, but her cousin merely stood and saluted Ser Criston before walking away, seemingly unharmed.

For the final bout, Lord Commander Harrold Westerling faced Ser Criston Cole, to the great cheer of the crowd. Between the two of them, it was difficult to tell which one was the crowd's favourite. Already, many in the box had named it the battle of the white cloaks. The two sworn brothers accepted their lances and saluted the king before taking their positions.

With the blast of a trumpet, both knights galloped towards each other, lances lowered, and both shattered. They passed at each other for a second, third, and fourth time, and each pass their lance splintered against the other. However, on the seventh and final pass, Ser Criston finally unseated Ser Harrold, sending him crashing to the ground below.

I and Harry found ourselves on our feet, clapping at the fine display of chivalry. The crowd roared at his victory, and Ser Criston raised the arm where Rhaeyra's favor was knotted high in the air in salute to the thundering of trumpets declaring him the victor. Pages and maidens threw flower petals into the tourney grounds from above.

The master of ceremonies brought forth a wreath of flowers and gave it to Ser Criston. Ser Criston rode his charger past the many highborn and beautiful ladies to the royal stand. All eyes were on the Kingsguard Knight as he offered the flower wreath to Princess Rhaenyra as the queen of love and beauty.

Author notes:

One of the perks the MC took was a good feel for business opportunities. That's why his instincts screamed for him to BUY BUY BUY that time. As long as he wasn't planning to do something utterly moronic like selling ice cubes beyond the wall, he should do pretty well.

By the way, I finally binged a few episodes of the show. I find myself neutral about it. Most of the changes don't really mesh well with me, though I must admit I'm pleasantly surprised with the occasional hidden gem, like Ser Criston's more nuanced characterization. I thought he would be written as a straw misogynist like I assumed before watching the show.

Not going to touch show Larys with a 10-foot pole though. WTF is he even lel. How Larys will end up in this fic, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. He's already in the Red Keep by now, he just doesn't appear much.

The Kingsguards' timeline is so ambiguous to the point of absurdity. Really, most of them have no date of birth or the year they're inducted into the order. For simplicity's sake, I kept the members similar to the ones at the time of the dance.

Also in case people wondered, Corwyn didn't ask for a favor because he thinks girls only give it if they have something to get, like a courtship or being named queen of love and beauty. He doesn't know that many girls just like having knights fight with their favor. That's why Harry and Steffon looked at him weirdly.

As always, reviews are always welcome!