Suddenly—
"Hisss—Gaaah—!"
A deep, resonant dragon roar echoed from afar, its long and singular tone carrying a strong warning.
Daemon's brows furrowed. He recognized that the roar came from the wild-born beast.
"Uncle, are you here at the tournament grounds to challenge me as well?"
Rhaegar was the first to speak, calmly observing both the man and the dragon before him. With composure, he asked, "Will it be on horseback or dragonback?"
"Hisss—Gaaah—!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a massive black dragon shadow tore through the sky and landed with a thunderous impact just outside the eastern edge of the tournament grounds.
The gluttonous beast planted its feet firmly on the ground, its sinister head lowered to glare at the man and dragon in the arena. Its enormous black wings spread wide, casting a shadow over half the tournament field.
"Hisss—Gaaah..."
Another sharp screech echoed from the direction of the God's Eye Lake. Moments later, the thin clouds in the distance stirred, revealing the faint silhouette of a pale gray dragon.
The arrival of four dragons in quick succession sent a surge of excitement through the audience.
A colossal beast lurked menacingly outside the white stone structures, one to the east and another to the south. The infamous Blood Wyrm lay coiled within the arena, while a fourth, unknown dragon hid in the shadows.
Many nobles found themselves drenched in sweat, overwhelmed by the undeniable truth of why the Targaryens were known as the "closest to the gods."
On the high platform, Viserys cast a wary glance at Vhagar, straightening his attire to maintain his regal composure.
After all, no one could remain indifferent with the largest dragon in the world standing behind them.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder—why hadn't Vermithor, like the gluttonous beast, come out to protect his rider?
Rhaena dismounted, walking forward slowly while cradling her slightly swollen belly.
To accommodate her pregnancy, she wore a simple white gown with a red vest draped over her shoulders.
"Your Grace, Daemon was preparing a gift for you, which caused our delay," Rhaena said with a slight curtsy, her tone apologetic but tinged with helplessness.
Viserys forced a sincere smile. "It's no matter. You're expecting—please, take your seat."
Rhaena gently placed a hand on her belly, smiling as she stepped back to sit beside her mother, Rhaenys.
With her arrival, the previously tense atmosphere on the high platform eased significantly. There was no longer any fear of a confrontation between uncle and nephew.
### Within the Arena
Daemon caught sight of the gluttonous beast and the lurking gray shadow, realizing that his provocation of his nephew was nearing its end.
Though unwilling, there was nothing he could do.
Just as he had once aspired to inherit his brother's throne, only for his brother to sire six children, effectively shattering his claim—this, too, was beyond his control.
Rhaegar stood tall, his gaze intrigued.
He enjoyed seeing his uncle back himself into a corner with no way out.
"Heh..."
But Daemon had already thought ahead. He arrogantly looked down at his nephew, sneering, "Rhaegar, since when did you take up wearing makeup when going out? Have you found yourself a new lady companion?"
Rhaegar's heart skipped a beat, his focus snapping to the words "lady companion."
For a moment, he thought his roguish uncle was about to expose his secrets in front of everyone.
Aside from that one incident in Volantis, he had carefully arranged for the Daniella sisters to be well taken care of, ensuring they had no further private contact.
But clearly, he had misunderstood.
Daemon raised a finger and gestured toward both sides of Rhaegar's face, his tone mocking. "Lip prints before a duel? It seems they brought you good luck."
Rhaegar blinked in surprise, recalling the lipstick marks Margaery had left on his cheeks.
*Clang!*
A rotund referee suddenly appeared out of nowhere, striking a bronze gong and proclaiming loudly, "It seems our Prince Rhaegar is quite popular with the ladies—kissed at every turn!"
Rhaegar turned in shock, his eyes narrowing at the plump fool.
Damn jester—ruining his reputation.
"Hahahaha!"
"....."
Daemon was the first to laugh, followed by the many nobles who had overheard, their amusement filling the arena with hearty laughter.
Rhaegar forced a smile, though his jaw tightened.
Still, it wasn't a real loss—after all, being flirtatious was practically a noble tradition.
His gaze flicked toward his uncle, the tension in his heart slightly easing.
Both were male heirs of House Targaryen, and Daemon had certainly been far more promiscuous. It was only fair to maintain a certain level of decorum between them.
But then, he noticed something lurking in Daemon's eyes—an unmistakable glint of mischief.
Realization struck Rhaegar, and he cursed inwardly, *Damn it. He deliberately misled them.*
Daemon, looking pleased with himself, nonchalantly rose from the saddle and climbed down the dragon's flank.
He and Caraxes had near-perfect synergy—most of the time, he didn't even need the stabilizing chains attached to the saddle.
And today, clad in armor, he had been too lazy to fasten them at all.
Rhaegar dismounted as well, sweeping aside the crimson cloth covering his horse's head before leading his white steed toward the resting area.
Despite the intimidating roars from multiple dragons, the white horse had managed to hold its ground rather than collapsing in fear—a true testament to its quality.
A squire came forward to take the reins, and Rhaegar gave a rare word of instruction. "Take good care of him. He won't be entering the field again anytime soon."
"Hisss—Gaaah…"
Caraxes let out a cry, flapping its wings and swiftly ascending into the sky, its long, serpentine crimson body twisting through the air.
Rhaegar paid it no mind and instead made his way toward Tormund, who had been waiting.
Daemon brushed past him, grinning smugly as he searched for his royal brother.
### In a Corner of the Tournament Grounds
Rhaegar stood with his arms outstretched as two Unsullied warriors helped him remove his armor.
Behind him, Tormund spoke in a regretful tone. "Your Highness, there have been many rumors circulating these past few days. I've managed to confirm two things—one good and one bad."
"The bad news first," Rhaegar said indifferently. He wanted to gauge just how bad it could be.
"It's about Storm's End. Two bastards are attempting to restore their names and claim the Baratheon inheritance."
Tormund was direct.
"Fools chasing a dream," Rhaegar scoffed, frowning.
The restoration of a bastard's name was an exceedingly rare occurrence. Once legitimized, a bastard gained legal inheritance rights.
For now, Storm's End was under the joint governance of Lady Elenna and Rhaenys. The bastards had no say in its rule.
Tormund elaborated, "These two bastards are not ordinary. They—or the forces backing them—have secured the support of more than half of the Stormlands' nobility, as well as a small faction from the Vale and the Reach."
**"The Targaryens of Black Harbor and the Swanns of Windblown Point?"** Rhaegar asked in confusion.
These two families had a long history in the Stormlands and wielded significant influence, though their reach shouldn't extend to the Vale or the Reach.
**"Besides those two, there should also be a small, unorganized group involved."**
Tormund gave an example: **"Duke Jason of Casterly Rock publicly criticized Lady Jeyne's governance of the Vale and even suggested to the king that a bastard should inherit Storm's End."**
He then revealed the origins of two bastards.
The elder one was named Boron Storm, the illegitimate son of old Duke Beaumont. He was born from an illicit affair with the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Black Harbor, Dondarrion.
Boron had always served the Dondarrion Earl, with three years of infantry experience, and had participated in battles on the Dornish frontier.
The younger one was named Arno Storm, the illegitimate son of Duke Borros, born from his affair with the wet nurse of the Swann Earl's eldest son.
As a child, he was an apprentice blacksmith, but due to his formidable physique, he was later taken in as a squire by the Swann Earl. He even fought in the Second Stepstones War.
**"No wonder that old fox Dondarrion and the Swann Earl would support these two bastards."**
Rhaegar sneered and then changed the subject. **"What about the good news?"**
Aemond's eyes darkened, and he spoke in a low voice. **"Larys Strong is dead."**
Rhaegar was slightly taken aback. He calculated the time in his head and muttered, puzzled, **"It's been a month. He should be dead by now."**
After his trial, Larys was supposed to be exiled immediately.
However, Lyonel, worried that his son might die from his injuries on the way, had him held in the dungeons of the Red Keep for two months until he fully recovered. Then, Larys was sent north in a prison wagon alongside a dozen other prisoners bound for the Night's Watch.
At the slow pace of the prison wagon, it would have reached the vicinity of the Neck in about a month.
In Rhaegar's mind, the Neck—with its swarms of mosquitoes and vermin, high risk of disease, and lurking predators—was the perfect place for Larys to die from illness or a wild animal attack.
Tormund shook his head. **"Larys didn't die the way we planned. He was burned to death by dragonfire."**
Rhaegar was stunned.
Tormund continued, **"A few days ago, our spies lost contact. I took the form of a raven to investigate and found a scorched patch of land in the Neck. Alongside our informants, over a dozen charred corpses were found, all accounted for."**
**"Larys was a cripple. Who would ride a dragon to kill him?"** Rhaegar sifted through potential suspects in his mind.
**"Judging from the burn patterns on the ground, the dragon was at least a fully grown great dragon. It wasn't a young adult like Sunfyre that could cause such destruction."**
Tormund analyzed the situation logically and boldly. **"I suspect it was Vermithor, the King's dragon."**
Rhaegar fell silent.
The term "great dragon" was broad—any dragon over sixty years old could be considered fully matured, both in size and temperament.
Excluding the untamed dragons, the fully grown ones within the family were Dreamfyre, Sheepstealer, Blood Wyrm, and the Red Queen…
And then there were the true behemoths—Vhagar, Cannibal, and Vermithor.
After a moment, Rhaegar asked, **"Are there no other suspects?"**
Tormund responded, **"There are a few possibilities, but the King remains the most suspicious, with the strongest motive."**
**"Helaena rides Dreamfyre daily, and Aemond takes his fiancée on dragon rides for fun."**
**"After recovering from his injuries, Daemon took Rhaenyra on a journey beyond the Narrow Sea with their dragons."**
**"As for Viserys, the novelty of dragonriding wore off after the first month, and Vermithor was left to roam free in the Dragonpit on the Isle of Faces. Occasionally, the King would take him out for a solitary flight."**
**"Given the distance between Harrenhal and the Neck, Vermithor could have easily completed a round trip in half a day, pausing mid-flight to unleash a single burst of dragonfire."**
**"Larys had committed grave crimes and held damning secrets about the royal family."**
**"Viserys had more than enough reason to have him killed en route."**
Rhaegar pondered carefully and then cautiously asked, **"Are you certain Larys is dead?"**
That cunning snake—he had been willing to lose a leg just to survive. Unless Rhaegar saw the body himself, he wouldn't be at ease.
Tormund thought for a moment and then replied gravely, **"Among the ashes, there was a charred corpse missing a leg. In its severed hand, a single gold bead remained."**
Larys always carried a cane with a golden cicada carved into the grip. When melted, it would turn into a small golden sphere.
Rhaegar's violet eyes flickered with suspicion. **"Then why do I feel like he isn't actually dead?"**
The more he thought about it, the more something felt off.
Now, he understood why Harwin Strong had tried to kill him in the training yard.
Harwin must have believed Rhaegar had broken his word—burning to death a brother who was supposed to be exiled instead.
But Rhaegar's father wasn't an idiot. Why would he orchestrate something so blatant?
Tormund lowered his gaze, also sensing something was amiss.
**"If such a treacherous snake managed to escape death, where would he go?"** Rhaegar asked pointedly.
Tormund replied, **"That depends on who saved him."**
Larys was an ally of Alicent, and their relationship ran deep.
That put Helaena, Aemond, and Aegon under suspicion.
Daemon, whose whereabouts were uncertain, was also a potential suspect.
Rhaegar pondered for a moment and thought of several possible hiding places.
The Strong family's seat at Harrenhal, the Hightower in Oldtown, or even Casterly Rock under Duke Jason, who seemed to have his hands in everything.
But each location had flaws.
Harrenhal was the least likely—if Larys were there, Harwin wouldn't have been so enraged, risking his life for a mere act.
The Hightowers and Lannisters were too cautious to entangle themselves with a condemned criminal.
Then, Rhaegar's eyes gleamed as he looked at Tormund.
Tormund, sensing the same realization, lifted his head.
At the same time, both men spoke in unison: **"The Red Keep!"**
If someone had saved Larys, then Alicent and Otto were the prime suspects. And the Red Keep, right under their noses, was the perfect place to hide him.
After months of maneuvering, Rhaegar's influence had already infiltrated the castle.
If he ordered an immediate search, there would be nowhere to hide.
(End of Chapter)