Viserys spoke earnestly, baring his soul to his daughter.
His words hung in the air, laden with hope, as he looked at her with anticipation.
He prayed silently that his words would touch her heart, guiding her back to her true self.
But Rhaenyra's eyes welled up with tears, her gaze meeting her father's with a mix of sorrow and determination.
It was evident that she was wrestling with her inner turmoil, her emotions in turmoil.
Finally, in a choked voice, she confessed, "I never considered it. All I want is someone who will protect me and love me sincerely."
For the first time, she laid bare her true feelings, albeit in a veiled manner.
Ever since her mother's passing, Rhaenyra had been haunted by a sense of emptiness and fear.
She dreaded the idea of marrying someone she didn't love, becoming nothing more than a tool for bearing children.
She couldn't forget the day her father, out of love for her mother, had chosen to save her brother at the cost of her mother's life.
The memory of commanding Syrax to cremate her mother's remains with dragonfire still haunted her.
Rhaenyra feared that she would meet the same fate, trapped in a loveless marriage and subjected to the same tragic end.
In her mind, the ideal husband was a tall, gentle man who would cherish her with every fiber of his being.
It was this elusive dream that had led her to harbor a faint affection for the ever-gentle Cole.
Unaware of the depth of his daughter's emotions, Viserys responded with surface-level reassurance.
Thinking he had understood her concerns, he suggested, "Perhaps you can take some time to get to know each other first. There's no rush to marry; you're both still young and have plenty of time to develop feelings for each other."
But Rhaenyra was resolute, shaking her head vigorously. "No! You don't understand. We can't dictate his future for him."
As she spoke, Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for herself, her words also reflecting her concerns for Rhaegar's fate.
Undeterred, Viserys attempted to continue persuading her, but Rhaenyra couldn't bear to listen any longer. She covered her ears and fled from the room, unable to bear any more of her father's attempts to sway her.
She couldn't stand the way he always seemed to force her into submission.
As he watched his daughter's retreating figure, Viserys felt a surge of frustration. He slammed his cup down heavily, feeling indignant and unappreciated.
Despite his efforts, everything he did seemed to be met with ingratitude, even though it was all for the sake of his daughter's future.
...
Time flew by, and three days later, the martial arts competition site was bustling with activity.
Viserys sat in the main seat, a smile playing on his lips as he listened to Hand of the King Lyonel's report.
"Your Majesty, the Dragon's Pit has been thoroughly investigated and cleaned up. Through the testimony of an elderly dragon keeper, it was confirmed that Maester Bass of Oldtown took the initiative to replace Dreamfyre's chains."
"The reasoning provided was that Dreamfyre's short temper often led to aggressive behavior when the other dragons brought livestock. Thus, shorter chains were installed to restrict her movements and ensure the safety of the keepers."
Viserys raised an eyebrow at Lyonel's report. "Do you truly believe such a simplistic explanation?"
Lyonel shook his head. "I do not, Your Majesty. The explanation seems rather contrived."
"And what of the illegitimate child imprisoned in the dungeon? Could he be involved in this matter?" Viserys inquired, recalling Maynard, whom Rhaegar had pleaded to spare.
"At present, there is no evidence linking the man to Prince Rhaegar's attempted murder. Maester Bass has stated that he harbors disdain for his own birth," Lyonel replied honestly.
After a moment of consideration, Viserys waved his hand dismissively. "Since it seems inconsequential, let us leave it be."
"Prince Rhaegar's injuries were promptly treated by that lad, otherwise they would not have healed so swiftly," Lyonel remarked with a gentle smile. "The prince's resilience is truly remarkable, a testament to the blessings of the Seven."
However, his tone turned grave as he added in a hushed tone, "Maester Bass's involvement remains suspicious. I am unsure of how to proceed."
A cold glint flashed in Viserys's eyes as he responded, "The maesters of Oldtown are meant to serve the people. When a servant oversteps their bounds, what is the appropriate punishment?"
"Is severing his hands sufficient?" Lyonel asked, his voice matching Viserys's severity.
"It shall be so. And if he desires to take the black and join the Night's Watch, do not hinder him," Viserys decreed.
Lyonel bowed respectfully and took his leave, his mind already occupied with the political matters that awaited him.
Once the Hand of the King departed, only Daemon and Rhaenyra remained by Viserys' side. Today marked the final day of the tournament, and most members of the royal family were expected to attend.
Rhaenyra, who had been listening in from the sidelines, turned back and voiced her discontent. "That deceitful maester nearly cost Rhaegar his life, and you're just going to forgive him so easily?"
Viserys furrowed his brow. "Maesters are answerable to Oldtown, and we cannot pass judgment on them arbitrarily. Severing their hands or consigning them to the Night's Watch is no trifling punishment."
"But Rhaegar nearly died because of him. He deserves to pay with his life," Rhaenyra insisted, her resolve unwavering.
"You cannot let your emotions dictate justice. Power is not a weapon to wield recklessly; a king's duty is to uphold justice," Viserys replied, quelling any further argument from Rhaenyra with a stern look.
"Hmph," Rhaenyra huffed in frustration, her suggestions once again brushed aside as she shifted her position.
Meanwhile, Daemon observed the father-daughter dispute in silence, a smug, disdainful smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He had long been acquainted with his brother's weak disposition and indecisive nature.
Viserys remained oblivious to his brother's disdain, fully absorbed in the proceedings below. In his mind, he saw nothing amiss in his handling of the situation. A king, he believed, must exercise restraint and refrain from indulging in selfish desires or bending the law to suit his whims.
...
The battles within the tournament arena raged on fiercely, with various contests like charges, melees, and mounted archery already concluded, leaving only the pivotal dueling event to determine the champion. With thousands of eager spectators watching intently, the two final contestants stepped into the dueling arena for their ultimate showdown.
On one side stood a towering warrior hailing from Casterly Rock, clad in imposing heavy armor and brandishing a broadsword. Opposite him stood the unexpected underdog of the tournament, the Water Dancer - Syrio Friar.
Syrio's swordsmanship was nothing short of exceptional, his lithe body moving with the fluidity of a snake and the agility of a rabbit. With each graceful strike, he deftly dodged his opponent's attacks, aiming precisely for the weak points in his adversary's armor and drawing forth splashes of vibrant blood.
In less than a quarter of an hour, the duel reached its conclusion, with Syrio emerging victorious in a display of unparalleled skill and finesse. As the cheers of nobles and commoners alike filled the arena, the moment arrived for the king to bestow the rewards.
One by one, the top finishers received their prizes and accolades from the king until it was Syrio's turn. Kneeling before Viserys, Syrio received a genuine smile from the monarch.
"I remember you," Viserys remarked warmly. "You spoke of decimating the champion, and it seems you were not merely boasting."
With all due respect, Syrio replied, "Your Honorable Majesty, Syrio does not dare to boast before the kingdom."
Viserys nodded in approval. "Very well, as I promised, you may make your request known."
Without hesitation, Syrio expressed his desire, "I hail from distant Braavos, with no family, no honor to my name... I humbly request to remain at the Red Keep and serve, perhaps as a dance teacher."
Viserys arched a curious brow. "Why stay at the Red Keep when you could pursue knighthood?"
Syrio's response was swift and unwavering. "For your eldest son, Prince Rhaegar."
"Rhaegar?" Viserys echoed, taken aback by the unexpected mention.
"Prince Rhaegar embodies both virtue and wisdom," Syrio continued earnestly. "It is a blessing for the realm to have such a prince. I wish to remain at the Red Keep and impart my knowledge of swordsmanship to him, ensuring he becomes a peerless warrior and valiant knight in his adulthood."
(Word count: 1434)