The tournament stood as a beacon of the kingdom's pride, drawing eager nobles from all corners.
As Rhaegar made his way to the event, the grandstands were already teeming with spectators, their anticipation palpable in the air.
With swift steps, he approached, catching sight of his father seated prominently upon the high stage.
Drawing nearer, he observed the throng surrounding Viserys, the atmosphere charged with excitement.
Viserys occupied the central seat, flanked by Lyonel Strong on his right and his Uncle Daemon on his left.
Positioned just below Lyonel, Rhaenyra sat with a regal air, her demeanor befitting her status as heir.
Though the success of last night's banquet remained a mystery, Viserys appeared in good spirits, a smile gracing his features as he caught sight of Rhaegar's arrival.
Waving enthusiastically, he beckoned, "Come quickly, my son. You retired early last night; today, you shall sit by your father's side."
"The maester advises that children retire early and rise early, ensuring swift growth," Rhaegar quipped wryly as he approached Viserys, his tone playful yet affectionate.
Lifted into his father's embrace, Rhaegar settled comfortably on his lap, his fingers deftly plucking fruit from a nearby platter as he basked in his father's affection.
"Why don't I see the bracelet? Didn't you like it?" Rhaenyra inquired with a smile, noticing Rhaegar's bare wrist.
"It's a bit too large for me," Rhaegar replied nonchalantly, brushing off the matter.
The truth was, the bracelet's normal size was uncomfortable for him to wear, and he didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention, especially after shrinking it to conceal its magical properties.
Deciding to stow it away for later use, Rhaegar discreetly placed the bracelet in the incubator housing the dragon eggs. With no one paying much heed to the small incident, they all awaited the commencement of the tournament with a sense of calm.
In a bid to appease the tensions from the previous day, the usual events such as riding, shooting, and melee were omitted for this particular match. Instead, the focus was solely on dueling.
As the two combatants made their separate entrances into the arena, all eyes were on them.
One of them, the young man from Dorne, was undoubtedly the star of the day.
The other figure, however, failed to impress the crowd.
A swordsman with curly hair and a slight stature, he lacked the imposing armor that typically adorned duelists, instead opting for a lightweight leather attire.
"That's Syrio!" Rhaegar exclaimed, his eyes widening as he recognized the curly-haired swordsman.
Viserys cast a curious glance at Rhaegar, asking, "Do you know who that swordsman is?"
Rhaegar nodded, "We shared tea together yesterday. He's a wandering swordsman with impressive skills who wished to pledge his allegiance to me."
As he spoke, Rhaegar couldn't help but smile faintly.
Viserys subtly furrowed his brow and stroked his chin in thought. "Let me guess, you declined his offer?"
"Yes, he's a mysterious man of uncertain origins. I couldn't trust him," Rhaegar replied casually, popping a reddish candy into his mouth.
"You made the right decision. I received some news this morning that I can share with you," Viserys said, winking at Lyonel as he ruffled Rhaegar's hair.
Lyonel rose from his seat and produced a small note, reading aloud, "Syrio Friar, born to a minor noble family in Braavos, later joined a certain sect of believers and frequently undertook perilous missions."
"Two months ago, he assassinated a prominent figure in Braavos, resulting in a warrant for his arrest across the realm. He was subsequently apprehended and brought to Westeros."
"Half a month ago, posing as a wandering entertainer, he gained the trust of a nobleman's daughter and made his way to King's Landing."
"Yesterday afternoon, at the banquet following Prince Daemon's return, he enlisted in the tournament and challenged Degas Orleans to a duel."
Lyonel relayed Syrio's background in one breath, taking a sip of wine to moisten his throat before turning his gaze toward Daemon.
Daemon's expression remained neutral and indifferent.
Rhaegar listened attentively, silently impressed by Lord Lyonel's astuteness.
"To impart a lesson, remember that no wall is impregnable under the sky, and strength lies in honor and integrity," Viserys remarked, delighting in his eldest son's astonishment.
"I understand, Father," Rhaegar replied obediently, absorbing his father's words.
Viserys took pride in his son's compliance, resolving to impart more lessons and guidance to his eldest in the future.
"The duel is about to begin," Rhaenyra's clear voice interrupted the exchange between father and son.
The two contestants positioned themselves in the dueling arena.
The Dornish youth wielded his spear, cautiously circling Syrio, while the referee signaled the start with a blow of his horn.
Unlike the previous day, the Dornish youth seemed more subdued, likely wary of Caraxes's presence.
Meanwhile, Syrio remained stationary, his one-handed sword held behind his back.
"Shorty, who sent you here to meet your end?" the Dornish youth taunted, attempting to provoke Syrio.
Syrio, however, remained unfazed, replying in a calm tone, "All men meet their end eventually. But I don't believe it's my time just yet."
"Is that so? I see death in your future," the Dornish youth retorted as he cautiously approached with his weapon.
"To speak of death is to invite it. And perhaps it is you who will die."
Syrio continued to hold his sword single-handedly, unfaltering in his stance.
"Little swordsman, I'll cut off your legs and make you a true half-man," the Dornish youth threatened.
With a tentative thrust, the Dornish youth initiated the attack, his movements swift and precise.
But Syrio was even faster.
With a swift strike, he deflected the spear's shaft with his sword, causing the weapon to veer off course.
Taking advantage of the opening, Syrio swiftly stepped forward and aimed a blow at the Dornish youth's elbow, successfully landing the hit before retracting his foot into a defensive stance.
Meeting the Dornish youth's indignant gaze, Syrio remarked lightly, "Short? You'll come to know my greatness when your head rolls at your feet."
Though angered by Syrio's words, the Dornish youth exercised restraint, refraining from acting impulsively.
The duel reached a stalemate, with neither side making a move.
Unimpressed by their lack of action, the spectators jeered, urging them to continue the fight.
It was clear that the duel needed to reach a decisive conclusion soon.
Either Syrio would emerge victorious by beheading the Dornish youth.
Or the Dornish youth would swiftly dispatch Syrio, allowing a more skilled knight to execute him in turn.
Listening to the uproar from the spectators, Syrio sighed deeply. "I had intended to grant you a few more moments of life, but death is as inevitable as the flow of water."
"Quit your babbling. I'm not intimidated by a dwarf who can't even mount a horse."
Despite the Dornish youth's curses, he remained hesitant to launch an attack.
Syrio chuckled softly. "You're mistaken. I'm taller than a horse's saddle, I've measured."
Before the Dornish youth could react, Syrio sprang into action, his movements swift as the wind.
Closing the distance between them with remarkable speed, Syrio caught the Dornish youth off guard.
In a desperate attempt to fend him off, the Dornish youth thrust his spear forward in a sweeping motion.
But Syrio deftly evaded the attack, using the back of his sword to knock the spear's tip to the ground.
Seizing the opportunity, Syrio swiftly raised his sword and plunged it into the Dornish youth's chest.
A spurt of blood erupted from the wound, and the Dornish youth's resistance crumbled instantly.
Confusion clouded his eyes as he struggled to comprehend why he was dying so swiftly.
"You...sneak attacked..."
With a final glare of disbelief, the Dornish youth loosened his grip on the lance and collapsed to the ground.
Syrio, filled with a sense of pity, seized the Dornish youth's hair and exposed his neck.
"Your instructor taught you techniques but failed to instill in you the value of your own life," Syrio remarked solemnly.
With a swift motion, he raised his iron sword high and severed the Dornish youth's head from his body.
(Word count: 1354)