Hey guys I'm back and I got my new phone regular uploads will continue soon probably next week at the latest. Anyway, enjoy the new chapter.
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111 AC
King's Landing, Tourney Grounds
Third Person POV,
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The crowd cheered at the announcement of the Queen's pregnancy and the birth of the new heir to the Iron Throne. Seeing this Viserys smiled brightly while sitting back down.
The tourney resumed swiftly as the announcer garnered the attention of the lords and began to speak.
He didn't announce the next March instead he announced the arrival of a special participant.
"NEXT UP THE PRINCE OF THE CITY! LORD OF DRAGON STONE! PRINCE DAEMON TARGARYEN!"
When the words reached the crowd's ears the small folk cheered wilder than ever. That lords did so as well but more so out of baseline loyalty to the crown than true love for the rogue prince.
If one had to judge by the people of King's Landing it was clear that Prince Daemon Targaryen was a man loved by the people.
Above almost any other Daemon had the love of the small folk and hatred of the nobility. The people loved him and his son for a multitude of reasons. Their respective reputations had spread quickly from the day both were born.
Daemon was a man who lived amongst the people, who didn't mind getting his hands dirty, and didn't scoff at the small folk who simply did what they had to do to survive. He and his son had brought justice to the city and reduced crime to a new low.
Never in the history of King's Landing had the city watch been so effective and his new gold cloaks had already earned them a permanent new epithet.
Meanwhile, his son was considered a truly honorable man. He brought prosperity wherever he went and spread joy and good health to the people. He brought justice just like his father and cared for the weak and downtrodden.
Even this glorious festival that had spread through the city bringing joy and life to all from the elistrius red keep to the dirty alleys of flea bottom was said to have been orchestrated by the two of them.
The two had reached a level of fame and infamy in the streets only rivaled by the king himself and his only daughter.
So when Daemon rode into the arena, all pomp and pride of a dragon in fierce black armor and an open-faced winged helm that showed off his sharp features. The small folk went absolutely wild.
Daemon loved the cheers, he loved the attention, and for the first time in quite a while, he felt truly appreciated for being the blessed son of old Valyria that he was.
His armor was impeccable and his spirit was unmatched. He was even widely considered as arguably the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros alive today with only a few others considered as true competitors for him.
Rumors had spread that his own son had caught up to him in skill, and others said that the lord commander of the Kingsguard Ser Ryam Redwine was still the greater blade.
Daemon would prove those rumors incorrect today.
[Image Here]
After taking a lap around the arena Daemkn quickly began causing his usual mischief. He rode past the line of his fellow competitors his royal sat at us giving him his own pick of the litter for his first opponent.
After a few moments, he paused in front of Gawain Hightower and looked up at his father in the royal box. With a rogueish grin, he tapped his lance on Gawain's armor and rode out into the field to take his place.
Up in the royal box, Otto scoffed at Daemon's actions already predicting the childish route he would take. Daemon and Otto had never gotten along since the moment he became the hand of the king. They were never friendly before that either just neutral at best, but when the old king passed and Viserys didn't replace Otto with him that's when their true feud had started.
It had always pained Viserys that his best friend and his brother had never gotten along but he had hoped with time, that they might form a bond. He was wrong of course, in fact their dislike of each other only deepened into true hatred.
It was so deep that Daemon had planned a magnificent show for today. First from the line of lords and knights, of all men in the seven kingdoms, Daemon soloed out just one.
He treated along the line swaggering like the edgy black dragon that he was and stopped before a knight armored in silver-white and green.
"Gwayne Hightower! The youngest son of the hand of the king!"
The crowd cheered, the lords clapped, and the royal box grew eerily silent as the choice of opponent had been made.
Daemon had planned nothing less than full humiliation for House Hightower on this day. He would make it quick and show no mercy at all, and to ensure his victory he even cheated.
The two lunged forward at each other at full speed. Daemon with the pride of a dragon on and the Fury of fire in his blood while Gwayne rode as the representative of the hoghtower itself. The two met but at the last moment Daemon dropped his lance aiming for the younger knight's horse and felling him deftly down.
Instantly the smallfolk cheered for the Prince of the city. To them, he was their Prince and maybe even their next king. A man who was loved and hated in equal measure and feared by nearly all.
Then to add insult to his family's injury Daemon rode past Gwayne and towards the royal box. Then before the eyes of the entire crowd and all of the realm's greatest nobility Daemon asked for Alicent's favor.
He was cocky at best, all Valyrian pride, smiles, and smugness as if his petty display had been the height of comedy. Otto nearly rolled his eyes but instead, he narrowed them in subtle contempt for the rouge prince.
Alicent, young lady that she was, knew better than to deny a prince and after a few words of exchanged banter, the rouge Prince rode off with his trophy on his lance.
That alone brought a glorious grin to Daemon's face. From then on Daemin had one more goal besides victory. Eliminating the other remaining Hightower brother.
The match came safely enough and the crowd shifted and cheered with each crossed lance. Bryndon was more than his brothers' equal in the saddle and unlike last time the rouge Prince had no intent to fight dirty. He was at the end of the day here to prove his martial might superior to all the other lords in the tourney.
So rather than cheat and let others doubt his strength Daemon crossed lances with Bryndon over and over until then Hightower fell from his steed.
He rose quickly and considered his options. At first, he'd wanted to take it to a contest of arms but Bryndon was better with a long axe than a blade and the prince's talents in such areas were well known. So rather than humiliate himself or risk causing further trouble for his house Bryndon reluctantly accepted his defeat.
And with his victory, Daemon swerved around quickly and began enjoying the jubilation of the crowd around him. A strange sickly feeling permeated the nobility. Not hatred or anger or even jealousy though there were those feelings as well, but rather a sense of odd doom. To many of them for the past several years since the death of the last king the man before them was their next one.
To many of them, he still is. The queen had had stillbirths before and many of them thought it might happen again. But none would suspect the tragedy that would occur before the end of the day.
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111 AC
King's Landing, Tourney Grounds
First Person POV,
Aemon Targaryen
XXX
My eyes rolled at my father's display. Prince or not nobody can doubt that my father has an ego bigger than the very dragon he rides, or in this case, a stallion. As he rides around the arena a small smile crosses my face as the thought of how I'm totally going to steal his thunder.
Daemon makes another lap around the tourney grounds arms raised in triumph his glory is palpable.
Looking away from the show I looked down at my squire. Little Arnold watched eagerly with joy.
'It's a shame I might have to crush that smile oh well.'
It was finally my time to shine and I wasn't going to miss out on all those little lord's faces. It was the first time in a little while I'd get to cut loose a bit. Sure there was the whole thing with the city guard but that honestly just wasn't enough for me. So I was quite ready to have some fun today.
"Arnold fetch my armor and lance it's time," I said as I crossed my arms and closed my eyes.
The boy jolted as if struck.
"Y-yes of course, my prince." He nodded with a bow at the same time.
"There's a good lad." I smiled ruffling his hair with one hand. Then he turned to run for my thing when I stopped him.
"Arnold."
"Y-yes my prince?" He said confused and his voice was so surprised that I felt a little bad. Was I truly that scary to the lad?
"My helm." I pointed down at the helmet still coiled in his grip.
"O-of course my prince!" He handed it reverently and left as swiftly as he could. It made me chuckle and wonder how such a cute kid could grow up to be the leader of a rebellion.
Then I call for my horse with my mental link.
The psychic yell that returned was almost deafening.
"AAAAAEEEEEEMMMMMMMOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!!!"
The black beast yells back at me and it is only moments before yelps and shouts fill my ears along with the thunder beat of hooves behind me. I sigh in fond exasperation as I slip on my helm.
Turning what greats me is not a horse. It is a dragon in a horse's skin. Balerion is easily the largest stallion in all the seven kingdoms and his aggression is surpassed by none. I'm not sure if that's an advantage or a disadvantage but I know for a fact that it's true. Only I have been able to tame and ride him and even then the black beast has started rumors and legends of his own.
Many of the smallfolk of the Vale truly believe he is the black dread reborn and I don't blame him. The few times I've ridden him into battle he's more than proved himself as a friend, a warrior, a steed, and my very first attempt at a super soldier.
I've seen this stallion bite the head off a grown man and kick at least three other horses to death in one battle.
But now he rides in a tourney, so we're going to have to hold back a lot.
All it takes is a firm hop and I'm on his back already. What can I say? I have great vertical even in armor. He without it I could easily give LeBron James a run for his money.
But enough about that because now I'm dressed head to toe in my hero armor and the time has finally come for the show to begin. I'd assure you that you won't be disappointed but I'll let my actions speak for themselves.
Then Arnold came sprinting back lance and shield in hand, he tossed them up to me with all his small might. Catching them deftly I waited a moment more before I heard the words.
"The final arrival and the newest participant in today's events! PRINCE AEMON LORD OF RUNESTONE!"
The words grow louder as I get closer. Then, when I enter the arena, the music hits my ears like a blessing upon my arrival.
The song comes from groups of a dozen hidden hooded men with trumpets in hand. I had them hidden in the crowd in advance for this moment. The sound wave is something almost physical and I can feel the vibrations all throughout my body armor. I take a moment to drink in the sight.
Thousands of men, women, and children all celebrating my arrival is nothing less than glorious. But that was nothing compared to the shouts of joy and grand cheers that emerged upon my next move.
I center myself in the arena as best as I can. Then when I raise my lance high into the air I release my aura in a shock wave like conquerors' haki at the same time.
It is a roar of noise a sound wave of effect and intensity that rocks the entire tourney ground. They cheer again but this time it's not an absent cry of affection. This time it's my name they call out with joy, desperation, hope, and love. I can feel it all around me. These people I might be enhancing it but I can't create emotions. They actually love me, they admire me, they think of me as their hero, their prince champion.
"AEMON AEMON AEMON AEMON AEMON"
They all cry out my name at the top of their lungs as if each word were a prayer to their gods. The sight and the sound steal my breath away. The feeling alone is almost enough for me to lose my balance but I don't.
The people of King's Landing. No. My people. They love me, they admire me, and now they celebrate my arrival above all others.
'I wonder what mother would think if she could see me now?'
[Image here]
The thought of the good queen fills my heart with a kind of pain no amount of time can repair. Grief fades with time but anyone who has lost someone knows that it will never truly go away. There's always that faint aching feeling of soft pain and sorrow that hits from seemingly nowhere.
But now is not the time to grieve, for today is a good day, a glorious day, a tragic say soon enough but not quite yet. I close my eyes breathing in the experience and making sure that I will never forget this glorious moment.
'I really ought to participate in tourneys more often. Wouldn't want to end up like Balor though. Speaking of premature deaths.' I look down from the crowd and nobility and to my competition to lock eyes with one man.
My father.
The prize for this tourney is most people are just a whole bunch of gold, a potential spot in the Kingsguard, and a boon from our oh so generous king. But for me, it means so much more.
Dameon and I had one particular bet riding on this moment for quite a while. Even before we arrived in the capital a deal was struck.
In exchange for my complete cooperation with his plans for opposing Otto Hoghtower and helping with the city watch, he would grant me something rather simple.
He would publicly apologize to my mother before the whole kingdom and court at the tourney if I bested him. He would also cooperate with the rest of my plans as well.
A deal ever so slightly skewed in his favor, after all I already have been holding up my end but his part requires that I best him in combat. Something that a man like him believes is impossible.
A viewpoint which I have carefully cultivated over the years on purpose of course.
Oh sure, Daemon is a great warrior nobody can deny that. After today I even plan on him reviving a dragon knight body akin to my own. I bought an extra one using some of the points I've gained since the night of the gold cloaks.
I know it won't be easy to defeat him though. He's the first enhanced opponent I'll be going up against in my whole life. He's already received the Dragon Warrior body, as he once did but it's far less noticeable on him. For some reason, he didn't get any taller than before even if his muscles and such became far more defined. His features also became sharper as well.
Part of me regrets giving him the upgrade myself but a much larger part of me is eager for the challenge.
But when we lock eyes that's when I know it's on. I won't challenge him first though. No, I need a few more wins to build up to the main event.
So a take Belarion around the line. Looking each of the other lords in the eye as I pass. They look up at me from the backs of their horses and I can feel the fear and anxiety wafting off of each of them, except two.
'MASTER I ASK ONLY THAT YOU CHOOSE QUICKLY SO THAT WE MIGHT DISPLAY OUR GLORIOUS MIGHT IN COMBAT SOONER THAN LATER!' Belarion shouted in my mind almost making me flinch. I could feel his impatience and lust for battle, which, in hindsight, may have infected my own feelings a bit.
'Yes yes, I'm on it.' I put the mental shouts of my steed to the back of my mind once more and focus back in on the future lord of Winterfell. I almost picked the Greyjoy seated next to him but even he was a little nervous to face me so I let him go. Besides I figured Rickon and I could have a nice chat about this later over a drink or two with the rest of our friends.
Rickon sat in his saddle weirdly calm and content and I could feel the firm bond of our friendship still there. I locked eyes with him through his wolf helm and his cerene grey met my crystalline purple. I was going to pick him and when I tipped my lance to him he didn't even flinch.
The crowd went wild and the northern section cheered for their young heir. It honestly makes me feel kinda bad so I guess I'll go a little easy on him.
Wiping Belarion around and getting set in the lanes I wait for Roickon to take his place opposing me. The thought pattern is simple, hit him, but not too hard.
So when we're finally ready and the announcer is done with his little speech, the crowd with their cheers, and I could feel the lord's focus in. It was just me, Balarion, and my goal.
The launch is swift and the kick from Belarion's full-speed dash is something that everyone who's seen it will always remember. My partner can go from zero to one hundred faster than any other horse in the seven kingdoms and probably the world.
It's only my enhanced reaction time and changed vision when I activate my eyes that allow me to keep balance and aim my lance directly at Rickon's chest.
The impact was. Hmmm, I suppose the best word would be jarring. Not for me though but for him. I could feel the vibrations from the lance run up my arm as it broke and I
In just one pass I sent the young Stark flying to the floor, never mind that he was older than me by a few years.
I wasted no time, tossing my broken lance and calling for another one only to find him face down on the floor. I hoped that he would last a little longer since I pulled the strength of the blow. It was rather disappointing really. Particularly I remember thinking the words.
'Vome on little wolf, I want a fight.'
He stayed there on the floor for a while and he was motionless long enough for the crowd to grow less enthusiastic before he groaned in pain. I could feel that calm filling before him evaporate like snow in a volcano.
He did manage to get up without help though which I found to be quite commendable. Unfortunately, my dragon aura skill easily told me he wouldn't dare challenge me now. Not without my help anyways.
This may be my only chance to ever clash blades with the legendary great sword Ice itself and I would not deprive myself of the opportunity to do so.
So I did everything I could with my aura to boost his fighting spirit and bravery. Still, he noticeably hesitated before looking up at the Stark box. I could only guess who he was staring at as before I could follow his gaze, he turned back to look at Belarion and me.
Soon enough though he howled the words that I wanted to hear.
"SWORD!"
I dismounted as the young wolf held out his hand for his ancestor's sword. I switched my vision to the sky dragon eye eager to see what pattern it would reveal to me.
The greatsword's aura was a stunningly beautiful blue covered in drifting white stars like snowflakes. They flowed in a perpetually shifting pattern of movement that shifted from peaceful snowfall to raging blizzard but even in all that blue and white they were still there. The red marks, the lines of blood, faintest hint of a dragon's flame.
I didn't know how to feel about that but it was still quite the sight. Unfortunately, I didn't have too much time to keep admiring the ancient blade and a thought occurred to me as my own blade reached my hands. Little Arnold passes me the blade with reverence and swiftness before passing me a fresh shield. I didn't truly need one but I appreciated it.
"Good luck my prince," he says before scampering off. Seeing lamentation in hand I wondered if it was time to unleash the blade. I shook my head slightly I'll save the reveal
'I wonder if it's the dragon steel blade wielded by the last hero?' I didn't have time to ponder that though as Arnold eased out of the way and the heir to Winterfell stalked forward.
Lords and ladies all leaned in eagerly to see the oncoming brawl. I'd let them witness just how wide the gap truly was, but humiliating Stark is not my intent.
I weave his first blow, a resting strike of course, we both know he had no intent of landing it. He tries another, and another, and one last one to see if he can catch me while my guard is still relatively down.
I don't even bother unsheathing my sword instead I weave to more overhand strikes using my eyes to quickly predict his movements.
I wait for the right moment and when the time comes I strike. Lunging like an Olympian, I strike out not with my blade but my shield. The blow lands hard on his wrist and knocks the trajectory of Rickon's swing completely off.
I'm not done yet though as a series of three quick shield bashes hits him. The first stuns him the second steals his balance away. But the third opens the true opportunity by knocking him to the floor.
Frankly, I feel like I've already wasted enough time on him so I head down after him kneeling on his chest and taking out a danger at my waist. The killing edge is pressed to his throat faster than he can even blink and it's only a moment before I say the words I wanted to hear.
I'd wanted a legendary battle of Valyrian steel but I realised that wasn't going to happen the moment he tested those blows against me. Rickon was good but just not good enough to truly challenge me.
"Yield" I said pressing the blade closer. Soon enough he yielded and I moved off of him. Offering my hand I calmed his more violent emotions just in case and he took it.
The crowd practically sang at the victory but I didn't let it take my focus. Can't allow myself to get carried away, not yet. So after I helped Rick
We shook hands and it only took a few minutes before I was ready to face my next opponent.
[Chapter image]
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And thus through the power of antidepressants and sheer procrastination-ahem, I mean determination this chapter is finished! I have returned!
This chapter would have been longer but I had to go to work so the next chapter will be the other half I didn't finish yet. I also didn't get the chance to finish editing this one so let me know if there are any issues I'll go back and fix them later.
Ps in my head Belarion sounds exactly like Battle Beast.