Dinner the night before with his family had been… tense. It had grown wearisome to watch his wife and daughter take turns glaring at each other or sending veiled barbs. Viserys had decided that he would break his fast with a smaller and less frictional group. To that end, he had invited Aegon and Helaena, both of whom had comported themselves respectfully, along with Elaena, Kevan, Laenor, as well the newly arrived lords Corlys Velaryon and Humfrey Lefford.
"Who do you think will win the melee today?" Viserys asked the group.
"Ser Criston, most like," Aegon replied to his father. "He seems to defy the years with ease and only grows more skilled. I fear I will never possess even a fraction of his ability."
Viserys knew that Ser Criston had played a pivotal role in instructing his sons in the art of arms. Aemond, despite being much younger, was already surpassing Aegon. This was not to say that Aegon was incompetent, but he was unlikely to ever emerge as a tourney champion.
"Ser Harwin is in the mix, as is Lord Boros," Corlys added, "I do not think Cole will have as easy a time as he normally does."
Elaena nodded. "Lord Corlys is correct; the competition will be fierce. I have seen Ser Jon Roxton, and he is indeed formidable. I understand that he and Ser Medrick will be among the attendees."
A few other knights were named, and Viserys leaned back, savoring the discussion as his breakfast companions contested with each other on the most likely to win. What a marvelous event to witness – disagreement without rancor!
During a lull, Viserys said, "It is a pity your wife is in Tyrosh, though it was gracious of her to allow Daemon and Laena the opportunity to attend court. I greatly look forward to her return."
Corlys nodded graciously. "Rhaenys would do anything for her children." He gestured toward Laenor. "And Laena was dearly looking forward to the wedding. When one has a wife as fierce as Princess Rhaenys, one avoids arguing!" His tone made it half a jest.
Laenor looked to Kevan. "Advice you should consider well, Kevan. Don't argue with your future wife, ever."
That tone was not in jest. It had a serious depth to it that took Viserys back a bit.
Helaena giggled, "Ser Kevan, you better behave with my sister or the Dark Storm will get you!"
"Don't scare the poor lad," Viserys admonished Laenor. "That is my duty!" Viserys stared hard at the young man until his expression could no longer be held straight. His belly laugh was soon joined by the others in the room, to varying degrees.
Kevan took it in good grace and then leaned forward to ask, "Are things still dire in Tyrosh? I am surprised."
Corlys swallowed a bite of peppered fish before answering, "Not exactly. Daemon is paranoid, and perhaps with cause. Essos has seemed oddly… peaceful and ingratiating of late. He fears it's a ruse and that they're plotting a surprise attack on his city."
Humfrey looked at the Sea Snake curiously. "But surely any attempt would fail? The walls are intact and a goodly portion of your fleet is still in the area."
"I believe so, but Essos has large fleets of their own, and Daemon has no trust for our Dornish allies." Corlys replied.
"Aye, my brother does not trust Prince Qoren. The Prince arrived yesterday and will be feasting in our hall tonight after the melee." Viserys thought for a moment. "That reminds me, we'll have another great knight within the melee. Ser Artyr, the Sword of the Morning, will be present to display his prowess." He paused, searching for what he had been about to say. "Ah, what was I saying? Oh yes, Prince Qoren will be here and I hope some more face-to-face time with my brother Daemon will build trust. Qoren will be seated next to Daemon and your daughter, so please put in a word with Laena to try to keep things peaceful."
"It shall be done, Your Grace." Corlys inclined his head while replying formally.
"Elaena, you must be eager for the second day of events, mayhaps ready to crown more Knights of Victory?" Viserys asked his daughter.
"I am, Father. The knightless jousts and melees are quickly becoming a favorite among the smallfolk. There have been some unexpected sapphires found in the dirt; many of the Knights of Victory have proven themselves worthy of their knighthood and have secured gainful employment."
Kevan nodded, agreeing with his betrothed. "Several are at Golden Tooth, and I have been impressed with their valor and competence."
"I can also vouch for these knights," Corlys added. "My grandnephew, Daemion, has been impressed with their service."
"Oh right, he was one of the first suitors for Elaena's hand. I understand Lyman invested a tidy sum in a small fleet expedition to the far reaches of Essos? Is he expected to return soon?" Viserys asked.
Corlys stroked his chin, a hint of nostalgia quirking his lips. "He's retraced much of my own journeys. He made it to Leng, and as of three weeks ago, according to the raven, he should soon be docking in Qarth for the return journey. Assuming the weather holds and he is not accosted by pirates, it will have been an incredibly successful expedition."
Aegon asked, "They use ravens in Essos too? Without Maesters?"
Corlys nodded. "Yes, though it is not as common. They use pigeons at times as well. There is no grand secret to training a bird to send a message, it is just a matter of convenience that we let the Maesters handle it all."
"The birds he returns with will sing, but they won't carry messages," Helaena said in an airy voice. The table glanced at her questioningly, but Aegon quickly steered the conversation back on course.
"Pigeons? I would not have thought them intelligent enough, but that is fascinating. If you have some time, Lord Corlys, I would love to hear more of your journeys to Essos."
Viserys saw Corlys consider his words carefully, a slight furrowing of the older man's brow telling the King that Aegon's invitation had caught the lord by surprise.
"I should have some time while I am here, my prince, and would be honored to do so."
Viserys was beaming. This is what the realm needed!
"My boy, there are also quite a few dignitaries from Essos who have newly arrived. I am sure they will be happy to speak with you, and most speak our tongue fluently," Viserys suggested.
"It was strange to see ships docked from Qarth and Volantis in King's Landing." Corlys admitted. "Were they expected?"
Viserys nodded. "They were. I was taken aback as well. When I wed Alicent, only Pentos, Braavos, and Myr sent representation. Now Myr is absent, but among the cities you mentioned, we also have Lys, Lorath, and even guests from Norvos. Two royal weddings in unison must have been too great an event to ignore!"
General agreement around the table met his comment and Viserys took another sip of the well-watered wine he was drinking. He was proud of his reign, and this grandiose occasion would most like mark the height of magnificence during his rule, well-attended beyond all else before or still yet to come.
"Myr has people in the city as well on business with the Dragon Bank." Elaena remarked.
"Oh?" Viserys asked, intrigued.
"Yes, there was a project to create glassworks in the North that sought financing from the Dragon Bank. I believe the plan is sound, and as a gesture of goodwill, I offered to have Myrish consultants invest in a stake of the burgeoning enterprise."
Viserys frowned. He now knew his daughter wasn't completely innocent or naïve to the ways of the world, but she was still young and far too trusting.
"That may have been a mistake," he said softly, keeping his voice light. "I know Lyman has been busy arranging the various financial aspects of this wedding, but you will want to review those specific plans with him. It's likely the Myrish do not intend to be good partners in any such enterprise."
Laenor coughed, and Corlys gave him a few sturdy pats to the back. Viserys was idly amused that such a puissant warrior could still choke on a glazed sausage.
Kevan was vainly trying to hold back a smile. Viserys wondered why. Surely, he wasn't pleased that his betrothed was being reprimanded, albeit in the slightest and lightest way possible. Elaena always wore a confident mien, and one of Viserys's fears regarding suitors was the difficulty some men had in marrying intelligent and powerful women.
I like you Kevan, but while I jested earlier, you had best treat my daughter well!
"The meeting was very productive, but we have yet to get to the signing stage. I will review it with Lord Beesbury later today before final arrangements are made."
Good, Lyman will set things to right. Most like, Elaena would have checked in with him before any final agreement; I worry over nothing. Those two have worked hand in glove for several years now. And it is right and proper that my darling daughter still has her innocence.
***
It felt odd to Medrick to once more be in the south. The death of Rickon Stark could not have come at a worse time. With the Wall howling that something dangerous was stirring in the North, the last thing needed was a new overlord. Already, there were some concerns about his rulership, and the young Cregan Stark, still not of age, had spoken out against his uncle. It was a fine mess, and it felt wrong to set sail once more for King's Landing.
However, the North needed representation. Lord Bennard Stark had chosen not to attend the royal wedding, and so his vassals had to go in his stead. Medrick was here with his father, Lord Desmond Manderly.
Elaena's ideas had taken root in the North, and already tests, or 'experiments,' were being done with differing farming methods and seeds. They were minor in nature, and assurances were made that food would be shipped to make up for any failures, but if they succeeded... it would do much to increase the North's food stocks prior to winters.
Thoughts of that were put to the side as his squire finished fastening the last pieces of his armor. The grand melee would be fought on foot. That had become more frequently the style of late in King's Landing. Medrick also intended to compete in the joust, assuming he suffered no great injury.
Nearly two hundred knights would take the field. Tourney weapons were provided, so bludgeoning weaponry was favored. If a knight yielded, they were honor-bound to retreat from the field with their hands upraised. There were no rules regarding working in tandem, but there could be only one winner.
The crowd was lively and in a jovial mood. Free food and entertainment, and a celebration for the ages – for the smallfolk, this would likely be one of their most cherished memories. Medrick recognized a goodly portion of the heraldry from these southern houses, but did not know much of their details. As the King instructed the tournament to begin, Medrick focused on a knight bearing the heraldry of a broken wheel.
Waynwood.
Medrick came in confidently with an overhand strike that the other knight tried to parry aside, but the momentum of the blow was more powerful than his foe had anticipated. The blade clipped the pauldron, and Medrick seized the momentum in the fight. Bashing strike after bashing strike had the Waynwood knight on the back foot. He feinted to the head, only to curve downward and land a blow to the side. The jarring strike knocked the other knight off balance, and Medrick was about to ask if he yielded when another knight crashed into him.
Medrick kept to his feet and shoved him aside and then chaos reigned. The crowd evidently enjoyed it as their cheers grew louder and louder as Medrick fought with precision as well as he could. When he had the opportunity, he backed toward the side of the arena so that he could at least avoid being blindsided.
He heard Lord Borros Baratheon's roar and the howl of his warhammer, glancing over to see the man smash aside the purple unicorn of House Brax. The heavy wooden shield had shattered, and no doubt the bones in the arm that had held it had as well, such was the fury and raw might in every strike from the Lord of Storm's End.
Medrick also saw Ser Criston wield his morning star to great effect. It smashed into helms and wrapped around the hafts of weapons. His armor was no longer pristine white, but his white cloak caught the sunlight.
Over half of the competitors had been laid low, and Medrick found himself crossing blades with Ser Rickard Thorne, also of the Kingsguard. The two went at it, and Medrick found them to be of near equal skill. This was a duel worthy of the name, and Medrick found himself thrilled with the contest. By the grace of the Seven, no one interfered, and when they both disengaged to draw breath, they saw the numbers had dwindled even further.
Medrick caught a glimpse of Ser Harwin bodily lifting another knight and slamming him to the ground. Only for Ser Criston to nearly brain him with the morning star. Harwin had managed to get an arm up and took the blow on his gauntlet. It sent him to the ground, but Criston could not follow up as another knight came upon him in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. Criston had to yield ground from the onslaught, and then Medrick's own foe charged back into him and he lost sight of the battle.
The fight came down to who had more endurance. As Ser Rickard's movements slowed, Medrick was able to seek an advantage and soon had the man on his back, yielding. Medrick looked around warily and saw only a handful left. Harwin approached him with a blunted tourney blade, and Medrick was forced back by his absurdly powerful blows.
He would have gone down if two other surviving knights had not charged into Ser Harwin, bringing him to the ground instead. Medrick's sense of honor prickled and he slammed down his tourney blade onto one of the men squirming to hold Harwin down. The blow struck him in the helm and the knight collapsed as if a puppet whose strings were cut. Harwin wrestled in the churned earth and Medrick saw a knife fall from their struggle.
Had they been trying to knife him in the pit, eye, or neck? What even-?
Medrick again did not have time for thought as Borros called out a challenge and advanced on him. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the onslaught. The hammer was everywhere and Medrick couldn't even properly block it without suffering a similar fate as the Brax knight had. Being as winded as he was, he failed to move in time and the hammer struck him hard across his sword arm. Shooting pain went up his side and his blade dropped from his hand.
"I yield!"
Borros nodded and shouted a war cry, looking around for who was left. It was just Harwin, and Medrick got a front-row seat as the two titans clashed. Harwin was larger and stronger, but Borros moved with a fluidity that was impressive. Borros was probably the third-largest man on the field, so the difference between Breakbones and Lord Baratheon was not that great. Ser Harwin gave it a go, but he too was felled by the Baratheon hammer.
Storm's End had triumphed, and the smallfolk screamed their approval. Medrick was well pleased with his performance. He had bested a Kingsguard and had only been defeated by the eventual victor of the entire melee. Medrick moved his arm; he would have a nasty bruise, but he should still be able to compete in the joust.
***
Listening to Lord Borros boast during the feast had grown tiresome to Rhaenyra. It was made worse by the fact that his final victory had been over her Harwin. She had screamed like one of the smallfolk when it had come down to just the two of them. She was mildly embarrassed about that, but it had been so exhilarating, and she had been sure he would prevail!
At least Ser Criston was also vanquished. Pity that he didn't suffer a major wound. It would be justice after what he did to Ser Joffrey. When I am Queen, that matter will be rectified.
Daemon, who had watched the fight with her, had been contemptuous of Baratheon. He had said that his wild swings and savage attacks had left him exposed, but with the rules of the melee only allowing blunted weapons, his opponents couldn't exploit the myriad openings he had.
"In a real fight, Dark Sister would have crippled him in the first minute." Daemon had said confidently.
Laenor had shrugged, saying, "He employed the rules of this contest in his favor when selecting his weapon and fighting style. A warrior like Borros would act differently against edged weapons."
Her thoughts returned to the matter at hand today. Her father had been most eager for this event prior to the joust. Syrax crooned as Rhaenyra stroked her scales and then stepped up into the saddle to mount. Today, the people of King's Landing would behold something that most like would never be seen again in their lifetime.
Syrax rose into the sky and joined the other dragons. She saw Laenor on Seasmoke, Laena on mighty Vhagar, and Daemon on Caraxes. Below her, she saw her son, Jace, on Vermax. Her other children's dragons were yet too small to fly. She hadn't noticed at first, but soaring even higher than the rest was Elaena on Viktoriya.
Why is she flying so high?
Then came the Greens. Aemond on Vermithor, whose sheer size was startling. Not quite as large as Vhagar, but easily the second-largest dragon in the skies. Then came Aegon, and Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat; the way the sun glistened and reflected from Sunfyre's scales was resplendently beautiful. Behind him came Dreamfyre. Not nearly so radiant, but the dragon possessed an elegant and serene beauty.
Tessarion came next, a swift and agile dragon. Blue and copper were her coloring, and Daeron rode his mount with effortless grace. Finally came Silverwing, who flew next to Vermithor. They soared in the air, awaiting the bevy of trumpets that would signal them to fly over the city and awe all of King's Landing.
Rhaenyra saw Caraxes glide closer to the Greens. Vermithor winged around and interposed himself between Silverwing and Caraxes. For a terrifying moment, Rhaenyra thought Daemon was about to do something mad, but Caraxes veered off. Vhagar let out a cry, and Rhaenyra saw Laena shout; what she said was impossible to hear over the roar and the wind, but beyond continuing to circle the skies, naught happened.
The signal was finally heard and they proceeded down in order of size.
I should have been first, but like always, father wished to avoid conflict. By defaulting to the length of each dragon, he forestalled arguments. I will not be so meek when I am Queen.
Laena dove down first, and Vhagar let out a triumphant roar. She idly wondered if dragons had pride the way their riders did. Was Vhagar pleased to be going first? Either way, Vermithor descended soon after with his own resounding roar.
After the Bronze Fury came Silverwing. The dragon moved slower than either of the two larger preceding ones, and Rhaenyra thought it must be due to how fresh Daenora's bond as a rider yet remained. The loss of Silverwing was concerning, Daemon had raged that the balance was growing too close for comfort.
His repeated insistence that the Greens have six dragonriders is infuriating.
But he was right in terms of Silverwing being a grievous blow. Despite being younger than Dreamfyre, she was larger, which most like meant that, eventually, she very well may reach Vhagar's size – though that would be many decades away.
Behind Silverwing came Dreamfyre, and then almost instantly Daemon and Caraxes, flying less than a wingspan behind Dreamfyre. Rhaenyra frowned. She normally wouldn't be opposed to her lover intimidating her enemies, but Helaena was but a young girl, and this was her wedding celebration. There was no need for such base behavior.
Tessarion gave a roar and almost moved out of order, but Sunfyre gave an answering reply, flying crossways and cutting the younger dragon off. Shouts she barely heard were exchanged, and Tessarion winged away. Irked by the whole affair, Rhaenyra spoke to Syrax in High Valyrian, and her dragon descended in a stately manner behind Caraxes.
She looked behind, and Sunfyre followed at an appropriate distance. She knew the order from there. After Sunfyre would come Elaena on Viktoriya. Her sister had been blessed with a fast-growing dragon; Viktoriya was already larger than Laenor's older dragon, Seasmoke, who would thus follow her. Following Seasmoke would be Tessarion, and then, finally, her own son's Vermax.
Eleven dragons flew over the skies of King's Landing. Only Meleys was absent, due to the need for at least one battle-ready dragon to remain in Tyrosh. The dragons winged over the tourney area and then flew past the Red Keep. They circled the city and flew over all the gates. A few of the dragons flew concerningly low in Rhaenyra's estimation, but the people seemed to revel in it. Cheers and clamor were awash throughout the entire capital, the earth and sky seeming to tremble with the uproar of celebration from so many at once. For a few moments, Rhaenyra imagined them cheering for her alone, their next Queen.
She knew her father would be grinning broadly at this display. She hoped that all the visitors from Essos that had arrived for the royal wedding were also watching. This was the power of the House of the Dragon. With it they could reduce any city to ash, something that would hopefully make those Essosi powers wary of attempting to contest them in Tyrosh and the Stepstones!
***
Daeron had missed the opening preliminary jousts, as had the other dragonriders, the distance from the Dragonpit making attendance impractical. Not that there was much to see; the field had been swiftly winnowed down to the great knights of the realm. Yet his uncle's actions still irked him. Dragons were perilous creatures, and stalking Dreamfyre so closely could most like only have ended in calamity.
His sister Helaena hadn't seem bothered though.
"It was like a race!" she had said.
The Septons say that Daemon may well have sired dozens of baseborn children. He frequents dens of ill repute and deflowers maidens, many of whom never had another option before being sullied.
Sadly, even his Hightower kin were not free of that particular sin. Gunthor frequented such establishments as well, laughing off any reproach and declaring that, in time, Daeron would better understand such desires. Yet, for all Gunthor's indiscretions, they paled in comparison to Daemon's. To shame oneself in relative privacy was one thing; to serve as a poor example to others and disgrace one's lady wife with public debauchery was quite another.
Tyrosh is a good place for him, let us hope he visits Westeros rarely!
Daeron sat in the stands near his mother, his gaze wandering over the arrangement of seats. To his father's right were Rhaenyra, Laenor, and their children, alongside Daemon, Laena, and their twin daughters. To his mother's left sat his full siblings. Elaena and Kevan had chosen seats a row below the King and Queen. He had hoped to sit next to Elaena, but that spot was already claimed by a blond-haired lady he did not recognize, and of course Ser Kevan was on her other side.
He settled in to observe the jousts. He watched a member of House Arryn unseat a Frey and then a member of the Kingsguard vanquish a hedge knight. The bouts were quite lopsided. He said as much and Aemond glanced at him.
"Of course they are. You didn't think the lots were truly random, did you? The tournament organizers ensure the best knights avoid facing each other until the round of sixteen. Even then, they claim it's random, but I have my doubts. It will be Ser Criston against our uncle Daemon."
Daeron had not known that. "Either could be unhorsed before then."
Aemond shrugged. "Unlikely. Perhaps if the Dark Storm had chosen to compete... but he hasn't entered a joust in years. The twin Kingsguard brothers are skilled jousters, yet neither is likely to triumph over those two."
"I will say a prayer for Ser Criston to prove triumphant, then," Daeron replied, briefly lowering his head. He barely caught the sneer on Aemond's face and was about to ask the cause of it when an upset occurred on the field.
One of the hedge knights had unseated Gwayne Hightower! His uncle was a bit battered from the fall, but raised his hand which indicated that he was not seriously injured.
"Poor showing." Aemond commented.
Helaena gave him a look. "Be nice, brother. Uncle Gwayne is always kind to us."
"You should ask him for a wedding present then."
"Oh?" Helaena asked, seemingly curious at the unexpected response.
"Yes, ask him not to joust anymore and embarrass the family."
Their mother glared at Aemond. "My brother is a valiant warrior; everyone has a poor showing every now and then."
Aemond snorted in derision, but did not argue further.
Losing a joust does not shame a family. No, what shames a family is passing bastards off as trueborn sons. How the Velaryons bear it, I'll never know.
Daeron glanced at Jace, Luke, and Aenar. Their features made it plain – they were Strongs, the resemblance to Ser Harwin, Rhaenyra's sworn shield, was undeniable. Yet curiously, Aelyx bore the unmistakable traits of a proper Targaryen. The Septons in Oldtown claimed that Rhaenyra had taken lovers beyond Strong, fueling rumors about Aelyx's parentage. Some whispered it was Daemon, others a Targaryen bastard, and a few even speculated it was the Sea Snake himself.
It is possible even Rhaenyra does not know.
The thought of a bastard one day claiming the Iron Throne made Daeron sick. Lord Ormund Hightower had assured him that godly men would never allow such a vile thing to come to pass, though he insisted Daeron was far too young to concern himself with such matters. Yet it always rankled when he was excluded from knowledge. He might be six years from formal adulthood, but he was a dragonrider and had already surpassed some Citadel apprentices twice his age. The Maesters continued to urge him toward their vows, but he did not think that was the path the Smith had in mind for him.
The next match saw Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard take down Ser Amos Bracken. The jousts continued, and Aemond's prediction proved true. Ser Criston laid low a knight from House Manderly to win the semi-final round.
That is a noble house, stuck in the North with the savage heathens and their Old Gods, the Manderlys still proudly pay homage to the Seven. Perhaps one day they will convince their neighbors of the true path.
His sister, Daenora, cheered loudly for Ser Criston. Daeron vaguely recalled seeing Ser Criston often in the Royal Apartments. His main charge was the Queen, Daeron's mother.
"Do you think he will win?" He asked his brothers.
Aegon immediately answered yes, but Aemond gave an unusually diffident shrug.
"Daemon is blood of Old Valyria. I suspect that he leans on his natural gifts and does not train so rigorously as Cole. Either can win," Aemond answered.
They settled in to watch and the jousters shattered four lances upon each other's shield. Daeron noted the skill in horsemanship. These two knights were the pinnacle of martial prowess.
And yet, what purpose does martial glory in this life serve when you are damned for your sins to the Seven Hells? Come on, ser, show the court that virtue and honor mean as much as skill!
Daeron was pleased to see his prayers answered as Cole's fifth lance struck inwardly and Daemon failed to adjust his shield properly. His uncle careened off his steed and lay still for a moment. The smallfolk cheered, and Daeron heard the twins cry out in unison, joined by Rhaenyra and Laena. Squires rushed to the field, but Daemon stirred, removed his helm, and spat blood onto the ground.
"COLE! Dismount and fight me. Give the people here a worthy spectacle." Daemon shouted his challenge.
Ser Criston looked to Daeron's mother, who nodded her head. Ser Criston dismounted and a squire ran up with a morning star while Daemon's bore to him Dark Sister.
In front of Daeron at the lower seat, Elaena rose. "Ser Criston has won, had you wished to face him afoot, you should have joined in the melee, uncle." Elaena's soft voice somehow seemed to carry through the noise of the crowd.
"It is no matter, princess," Cole replied, "I would be happy to face the Lord of the Stepstones."
"It matters to me, ser, you two mislike each other, and I will not have those who love me weeping over you or him at my wedding," Elaena replied.
Ser Criston looked back over to the Queen, while Daemon began striding forward toward him. Daeron's father finally stood up.
"This is my daughter's wedding, Daemon, stand down."
Daemon obeyed, but even Daeron could see the look of loathing on his face. His gaze wasn't directed at Daeron, but just based on the angle, Daeron could clearly see it and feel the weight of the hate behind it. He shivered.
Do not look at my sister that way!
Tension rose among his siblings, but Daemon turned away in anger and left the arena. Ser Criston, as was his wont, declared the Queen of Love and Beauty to be none other than Queen Alicent herself. His mother accepted the flower crown with good grace, but she looked troubled.
Daeron leaned over to Aemond, "Why isn't she happy?"
Aemond eyed him and then answered in a lowered voice. "Ser Criston accidentally slaying Daemon in a duel would rob the Blacks of the power of Caraxes. Pay attention, little brother, because this was our mother acting upon her own volition and signaling Cole to not just accept the duel, but to kill. Turning a joust into a bloodsport at a wedding celebration? Neither Elaena nor Helaena would approve. Even our grandfather was displeased by it, and he despises Daemon.
Daeron swallowed thickly. That was not how a knight should behave! Slaying a vicious degenerate like Daemon Targaryen was an act of goodness, but only if it was done with open intention. Attempting to turn a wedding celebration duel into an act of murder was base and loathsome.
I will light seven candles at the sept this evening and give thanks for not having all my 'formative years,' as Elaena calls them, occur here in King's Landing. For while I miss her daily presence, this place twists the heart and imperils the soul!