Chapter 41: Recruitment Attempt
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Rhaegar Targaryen POV
The early morning mist hung low over the tourney grounds, the faint light of dawn casting a pale glow on the tents and training fields.
I'd awoken early, my sleep fractured by familiar nightmares—the same relentless scenes haunted me, visions of the Stranger's touch and a fate like my father's, ending in a pool of blood and silence.
The thought knotted my stomach, a grim reminder of the path I needed to avoid at any cost. I took a steadying breath, forcing my thoughts back to the present as I gazed out over the tourney grounds.
Across the yard, the early morning training had already begun, and there he was—Galahad, the young Westerman knight, the rising star of this tourney. He was the key I needed.
Only four days ago, at the commencement feast, Galahad had been knighted, and since then, he'd captured the attention of every noble watching.
Yesterday alone, he'd put on a show that had the lords and ladies buzzing with his skill.
In the melee, he'd taken down two famed opponents: Lord Yohn Royce and a Northman, Jorah Mormont. Then, in the joust, he unseated Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Boros Blount, and even Lord Steffon Baratheon.
It was no surprise, then, that half the noble houses here were circling him like hawks.
I clenched my jaw, frustrated by how quickly Lord Mace Tyrell had moved, openly offering him titles and lands in the Reach. And Tyrell wasn't the only one. The Baratheons of Storm's End, the Tullys of Riverrun—they were all vying for Galahad's loyalty, each hoping to win over the talented young knight.
Though Galahad had been knighted by Tywin, he still hadn't made an oath of allegiance. He was, in essence, fair game to anyone seeking to recruit him.
I'd been too slow to act, and now the competition was fierce. Mace Tyrell especially had been a thorn in my side, pushing his offers with all the charm and promises the Reach could muster.
But I wouldn't let Tyrell—or anyone else, for that matter—snatch up the person who can change my fate.
With a sense of purpose, I took a step forward, my Kingsguard flanking me, their presence a subtle reminder of my rank and authority.
My eyes followed Galahad as he trained alone in the early morning light. His movements were fluid, his control precise—remarkable for one so young. He was near my age, yet already so skilled.
"Ser Galahad," I called out, my voice calm yet deliberate.
He turned, catching sight of me, and immediately made to kneel, but I raised my hand, halting him mid-motion. "There's no need, Ser Galahad."
He straightened, studying me with quiet respect. "What brings you here, Prince Rhaegar?"
"Just observing," I replied, stepping closer. "Your skill is impressive. Truly." I paused, meeting his gaze.
"Tell me, where did you learn to fight like this? From what I understand, you were only taken as a squire by Kevan Lannister last year. Yet your skill with two swords rivals that of my Kingsguard here," I remarked, motioning toward Ser Arthur Dayne.
I exaggerated Galahad skills and chose this comparison purposefully, knowing Galahad favored the same dual-swords as my kingsguard, Arthur.
He seemed almost bashful under the praise. "Thank you, it's hard to explain, my prince… It's a mix of talent and hard work," he said, choosing his words carefully.
"Every morning, I run. Every afternoon, I train and spar. I use techniques I've picked up on my own, and I drill them daily."
He went on to describe unusual training methods—things I'd never heard of, exercises that seemed more at home in an Essosi fighting pit than a Westerosi training yard.
His dedication was impressive, and it was clear he was a man who valued self-discipline above all.
"So most of your day is spent training?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes, my prince."
"Your work ethic is admirable, Galahad," I said, a thoughtful edge to my tone.
"Your skill, your dedication… They're rare qualities." I paused, studying his face as I prepared my offer. "That's why I want you to serve me. Join my Kingsguard, when the time comes."
There was a stir from Ser Barristan beside me. "My prince, there are already seven of us," he reminded gently. "The order cannot expand."
"I understand, Ser Barristan. This would be a future offer," I assured him, and he fell silent.
Turning back to Galahad, I watched his expression. I expected to see pride, perhaps even awe. But instead, he looked conflicted, his lips pressed into a firm line.
Then, to my surprise, he said, "I must refuse, my prince."
The words hit me like a blow, and I struggled to mask my surprise. "Refuse?" I repeated, hardly believing I'd heard him correctly. "Why?"
"Is it because of your loyalty to the Lannisters?" I added.
He hesitated, a flicker of something troubled crossing his face. "It's… not a matter of loyalty, my prince," he clarified. "It's that I wish to marry one day. A Kingsguard's vows would deny me that."
I forced myself to breathe, hiding the faint disappointment his words stirred. So that was it.
"As you wish," I replied, keeping my tone steady. "But know that my offer still stands." My gaze lingered on him, assessing.
"And if not as my Kingsguard," I continued, shifting the subject to gauge his ambition, "then tell me—what is it that you desire?"
He hesitated again. "I don't think it's something you can grant, my prince."
"Try me," I urged. "Whatever it is, I'll see it done."
He looked away, almost shy. "A house of my own," he admitted at last. "By the sea, with lands and holdings."
A pang of regret settled in my chest. "That, I cannot grant… not yet," I said honestly, noting the brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
"But perhaps one day," I added, leaving the possibility open.
He inclined his head respectfully. "Then, for now, I must decline, Prince Rhaegar," he said simply, his tone respectful yet firm. He granted me dignity, offering a chance for consideration, but his resolve was clear.
At that moment, Ser Arthur Dayne stepped forward, his voice sharp. "You should consider yourself honored, lad. Refusing the prince's offer isn't a decision to make lightly."
"It's his choice, Ser Arthur," Prince Lewyn Martell interjected, his tone placating.
I nodded, placing a hand on Arthur's arm to calm him.
Then, turning back to Galahad, I inclined my head, a hint of regret in my voice. "I respect your decision. Good fortune to you in the melee, Ser Galahad."
With that, I left the training grounds, feeling a quiet dissatisfaction settle within me.
…
Richard POV
I sat in my tent, fitting my armor piece by piece as my thoughts lingered on the prince's offer this morning. Kingsguard. No matter how grand he made it sound, there was no way I'd trade my family—or a happy life with Alicent—for a life bound to another man's service.
My mind shifted to my plans, carefully set in motion and nearing completion. This tourney was the final step. Soon, I'd have my noble title, whether by the Lannisters or through the Reach, Dorne, Riverlands, or Stormlands.
Ideally, it would be the Lannisters—I'd built too much in the west to abandon it now. Still, I could establish operations anywhere if I wanted, given the time. And time, I had.
With the last strap tightened, I reached into my pocket and drew out a handkerchief embroidered with the Lionheart sigil, a gift from Alicent.
She'd made it herself, her delicate handiwork filling each thread. I brought it to my nose, taking in her faint scent, and felt a rare smile pull at my lips.
She'd given it to me after our dance, and I'd kept it close ever since. I wished she could be here, that I could share the victory openly with her.
But she was still young, not yet ready for the attention this life would bring. Someday, though, when I held my title, I'd make it all up to her.
My gaze then fell to the handkerchief tied to my wrist—Elia's. Unlike Alicent's, this one unsettled me. The bond I built with Elia's were lies.
Every gesture, every laugh, every playful tease I shared with Elia had been an act, part of the plan. Yet she had fallen for me faster than I expected.
I remembered how it all began, even weeks before the feast. I'd noticed the subtle change in her, the softened heartbeat, the warmth in her eyes.
I'd seen those looks before, the same way Alicent looked at me before her confession. That softness in Elia had given me an easy way in.
Even then, I had tried to quell her affections. Before I sang to her that night, I'd told her I loved someone else.
She should have understood. But instead, she seemed to ignore the red flags and accepted my advances. Now, she was attached—a wild card in my plans, yet perhaps a powerful piece for future influence in Dorne.
My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps outside the tent.
"Galahad, you done?" Gerion called as he barged in, clad in his Lannister reds. "The melee announcements are about to start—let's go."
I looked up, a grin creeping across my face. "Alright, let's go." He led the way, and I followed.
"This round's going to be brutal," he muttered as we walked.
"Twenty of the best knights, including me, you, Tygett, and Oberyn. All of us, head-to-head," he said with a note of exasperation.
I nodded, imagining the chaos that would unfold.
My gaze shifted to Gerion, then to the thought of the other two. For them to make it this far… It made sense. Training with me had sharpened their skills, and today, I'd see just how much.
"Don't worry. You've got me, remember?" I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll team up and make it to the final seven."
"You're right, we've got this!" Gerion pumped himself up, a gleam of determination in his eyes.
I chuckled. He had become my closest ally. For his skill, his honesty, and that constant, reckless energy he brought to everything.
I respected him—and I pitied him, as well as Tygett and Oberyn. Today we may team up. But when tomorrow's final round came, I'd unleash a surprise none of them would expect.
…
Note: Finally a Richard POV to explains what he's been planning.