The next day.
The stands of the tournament arena were packed with people, and the atmosphere was even more lively than the day before.
Many noble heirs who had little interest in the tournament had been drawn in by Crown Prince Rhaegar and the Rogue Prince Daemon, coming to witness the spectacle.
Unfortunately, they wouldn't be seeing the uncle and nephew's knightly duel just yet.
On the grand and spacious viewing platform sat a small group of the kingdom's most powerful individuals.
Viserys sat in the central seat, flanked by Alicent and Otto, with the members of the Small Council positioned behind him.
On either side of the lower seats sat Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys on one side, while Daemon and Laena occupied the other.
Both groups were elders and were seated closest to Viserys.
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra arrived a bit later and naturally headed toward the front row.
The view there was excellent, with small tables thoughtfully arranged for tea, fruits, and snacks.
Two little ones trailed behind Rhaenyra like shadows. She gently patted their heads and smiled. "Go find your mother and play."
"Mmhmm!"
The twins eagerly nodded and ran excitedly toward Laena.
They were foster children, raised under Rhaenyra's care until adulthood, and rarely saw their biological parents.
Rhaegar was still choosing a seat when he suddenly realized that the person next to him had disappeared.
Turning back, he was met with a sight that left him completely stunned.
In the front row, on the left, Rhaenyra was gracefully approaching. Jeyne stood up to greet her.
After exchanging a few words, the two women actually embraced—albeit lightly.
Rhaegar froze, unsure if he should step forward or stay put.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, an invisible battle was already underway between the two women.
Still holding the embrace, Rhaenyra leaned in and whispered, "It's been a while, Jeyne."
"It truly has," Jeyne replied, gently stroking Rhaenyra's back with a hidden edge to her words. "You didn't even greet me yesterday—I didn't dare look you in the eye."
Rhaenyra didn't hold back and retorted, "That just means you know you were in the wrong."
Jeyne chuckled but didn't back down. "Rhaenyra, do you know that Rhaegar and I have still been in contact these past three years?"
"Of course."
Rhaenyra released the embrace and tilted her head slightly, meeting her old friend's gaze. She said candidly, "If it weren't for my generosity, you wouldn't even get the scraps left at the bottom of the pot."
Jeyne's face instantly darkened, and she clenched her teeth in anger.
Scraps?
She barely had the chance to meet Rhaegar once every few months, and yet, in Rhaenyra's eyes, it was something so pitiful.
Rhaenyra blinked and lowered her voice. "You're really useless—I was hoping to see the great Lady of the Vale carrying a bastard."
"Rhaenyra, you're insane!" Jeyne's face changed instantly, and she hissed in anger.
How could she say something like that in a setting like this?
Her governance of the Vale had nurtured her ambitions, and she had indeed considered having a bastard to secure an heir.
Rhaegar, as the Crown Prince, had the power to legitimize a bastard's name.
Even if that child bore the name Arryn.
Rhaenyra's face returned to calm after her remark, her sharp gaze locking onto Jeyne. She saw the flash of embarrassment and frustration at having her hidden thoughts exposed.
She wasn't so ruthless as to truly scheme against an old friend by forcing her into an unwanted pregnancy.
Allowing Rhaegar and Jeyne to meet was just her way of indulging her brother—better to let him vent his feelings in the open rather than in secrecy.
Yet with just a simple test, she had managed to draw out Jeyne's intentions.
Realizing she had fallen into a trap, Jeyne hesitated, then went silent.
She owed Rhaenyra and had always dreaded the day they might completely fall out. Every time they met, she found herself unsettled.
Rhaenyra sighed, smoothed her dress, and took her seat. "Jeyne, return to the Vale. If you do, I'll turn a blind eye to all of this."
They were bound by blood, once allies who had supported each other through their hardest times.
Three years had passed, and Rhaenyra's desire to fight had waned—she didn't want things to turn too hostile.
Jeyne's gaze flickered. Was she imagining it, or was there an underlying message in Rhaenyra's words?
Without responding, she sat down in a seat slightly apart.
Both women, in unspoken synchronization, crossed their legs and turned their faces slightly away, closing their eyes.
To Rhaegar, the scene was enough to make him frown deeply.
During their conversation, the noblewomen seated nearby had instinctively cleared the area, wary of getting caught in the crossfire.
Now, with an empty seat beside each woman, it was as if an invisible choice had been placed before him.
From his seat at the top, Viserys noticed the scene and watched with an expression of uncertainty, inwardly sweating for his eldest son.
He had had many lovers in his youth.
...Even in recent years.
His first wife, Aemma Arryn, had received a traditional Arryn upbringing—she was a soft-spoken yet strong-willed woman.
She had many virtues—righteousness, resilience.
She had openly scolded Daemon for his disrespect toward his former wife, Lady Rhea, and had also shown compassion for the starving orphans of Flea Bottom.
But she also had flaws—she was devoted to a fault.
She had forced Viserys to abandon his habit of frequenting brothels and had held absolute authority within the Red Keep.
Rhaenyra, as Aemma's firstborn daughter, had inherited her mother's dominant nature.
As far as Viserys knew, Rhaegar—aside from Lady Jeyne of the Vale—had never been involved with a third woman.
Rhaegar: …
At the same time, Laena had also noticed what was happening. Her sharp gaze settled on Rhaegar, curious to see how her cousin would handle the situation.
Daemon had countless lovers, but Laena's family was far more liberal. As long as they didn't flaunt their affairs in her face, she usually didn't care.
As if sensing something, Rhaenys glanced at her daughter. A flicker of disappointment flashed in her eyes.
Of all the men in the world, why did she have to choose Daemon?
She had been married to Corlys for many years. Whether he had taken a mistress or not, she didn't know, but she had never heard the slightest rumor about it.
A woman who couldn't even manage that much didn't deserve a happy marriage.
At this moment, Rhaegar slowly walked toward his seat, his gaze sweeping over the two women who sat with their eyes closed in silence.
Reaching his seat, he turned and sat down heavily.
Almost simultaneously, Rhaenyra and Jeyne opened their eyes and glanced at the seats beside them.
Empty.
Turning their heads, they saw Rhaegar sitting in the empty seat between them. He gestured for a servant and ordered, "Bring a table."
The servant moved quickly, bringing over a moderately sized square table and placing various pastries on top.
Rhaegar poured three cups of tea, placing one on each side before lifting the last cup for himself.
He had no way to resolve the conflict between the two women, but at the very least, he could serve as a buffer.
The tea was hot. As he silently savored it, he mocked himself for his unusual boldness today.
A soft look flickered in Jeyne's eyes as she picked up her cup, blew gently, and took a sip, watching the tournament in silence.
Rhaenyra glanced sideways at Rhaegar, then downed her tea in one gulp before picking up a piece of pastry and nibbling on it.
"They're putting on a pretty good fight down there," Rhaegar remarked, attempting to start a conversation. Under the table, he quietly reached for Rhaenyra's hand.
His heart still favored his older sister.
"It's not bad," she replied.
In an instant, Rhaenyra pulled her hand away and shot him a warning glare.
If he wanted to hold her hand, he should do it openly. Otherwise, it would seem as though he thought she was jealous and trying to compete for dominance.
She was the natural victor here—if anything, she was being generous by allowing Jeyne a chance.
The small interlude passed, and the tournament officially began.
After the previous day's knightly duels, today's event was a team melee— a chaotic battle with multiple fighters.
Clang!
As the judge struck the bronze gong, fifty armored knights stepped onto the battlefield.
Most of them were impoverished knights who couldn't afford the full set of armor, a warhorse, and proper weapons.
Or, they were those who had been defeated in the duels.
High up in the stands, Rhaegar observed the participants, recognizing a few familiar faces—such as Elmon Tully and Edmure Tully.
Lord Tully had previously declared that his two sons and grandson would compete fairly, and whoever achieved the best results in the tournament would inherit Riverrun.
All three had eagerly signed up.
The previous day, however, the second son, Milof, who lacked skill in mounted combat, had been unseated in a single round.
The youngest son, Edmure, and his nephew, Elmon, fared slightly better—until they ran into Daemon, who effortlessly defeated them.
By the end of the first day, House Tully had been entirely wiped out.
With no other choice, Edmure and Elmon each gathered a group of followers and entered the team melee, determined to make one last effort.
On the battlefield, two particularly striking figures stood out.
One was Aric, clad in silver armor and a white cloak. The other was Cregan Stark of Winterfell.
After losing to Cole, Cregan had no choice but to enter the team melee to sharpen his skills.
Aric, on the other hand, had been sent by Rhaegar's father, Viserys, to assist the ever-persistent Lord Tully.
The old lord clearly favored his grandson, Elmon, and was even willing to give up thirty percent of the profits from the Mushroom Market in the Riverlands, along with half of Riverrun's earnings for the coming year.
Clang!
The portly judge struck the bronze gong once more, signaling the start of the melee.
Squelch!
The moment Elmon drew his sword, he was stabbed from behind.
The blade slipped through the gaps in his armor, piercing into his lower back.
"There's a traitor!"
One of his followers shouted, immediately cutting down the turncoat and dragging the pale-faced Elmon toward the corner.
Edmure burst into laughter, leading his men in pursuit. In just one clash, he had his dear nephew backed against a cliff.
From his seat, Rhaegar frowned.
He hadn't expected the usually straightforward Edmure to be so adept at deception and trickery.
"That's Lord Boros's bastard son, Arno Storm," Jeyne spoke up, pointing to a figure on the battlefield.
Rhaegar followed her gaze and saw a heavily armored knight wielding a warhammer with astonishing force.
Wherever he passed, his opponents were sent flying, coughing up blood.
Surprised, Rhaegar asked, "Why is he in the team melee?"
"His riding skills aren't great, so he's using this match to make a name for himself," Jeyne explained softly.
Rhaegar nodded in understanding.
"Elmon isn't going to hold out much longer," Rhaenyra interrupted, chewing on a piece of pastry.
Rhaegar suppressed a smile and wiped the cream from her lips before returning his attention to the battlefield.
On the field, Edmure pressed his advantage, forcing Elmon back. Aric joined the fray, rallying Elmon's followers to counterattack.
Suddenly, from across the battlefield, Arno Storm let out a roar and charged forward, swinging his warhammer.
With one powerful strike, he sent Aric's sword flying.
The crowd gasped in shock—no one had expected a Kingsguard knight to be disarmed.
Aric's face darkened as he rolled aside, retrieved his sword, and engaged the towering, heavily armored knight.
The melee was brutal, and fighters were eliminated at a rapid pace.
Seeing that Aric was under siege, Cregan, who had no immediate opponent, stepped in to assist, wielding his massive sword to cut down three foes in succession.
By the final stretch, the battlefield was in utter chaos, filled with the sounds of clashing steel and agonized screams.
Edmure broke through the mayhem and lunged at his nephew, Elmon.
Somewhere along the way, he had lost his sword. With a swift motion, he pulled a black-glinting dagger from his belt.
The uncle and nephew chased each other across the muddy field until they tripped and rolled into a tangled heap.
Desperate to survive, Elmon bit down on his uncle's fingers, snatched the dagger, and pressed it against Edmure's throat.
Edmure struggled, but as soon as the blade nicked his neck, he froze.
The melee raged on, and by the end, out of fifty men, none were left standing.
Cregan, the bastard Arno, Alric, Aelmon, and Edmure.
Clang!
The drums and gongs sounded, signaling the end of the team competition.
One in ten makes it through—it has always been this way.
Aelmon was carried away on a stretcher by attendants while a maester treated the wound on his lower back.
Fortunately, his armor had stopped the longsword from cutting any deeper—otherwise, his kidney would have been lost.
Edmure suffered a crushing defeat. His face was dark with frustration as he staggered forward, unwilling to accept failure.
Splurt—
Suddenly, he coughed up a mouthful of black blood and collapsed straight to the ground, convulsing twice before going completely still.
"Guards! Guards!"
The referee was startled and quickly called for the fearless soldiers responsible for maintaining order.
They turned Edmure over—he had already stopped breathing.
Poisoning in a duel—chaos erupted instantly.
Rhaegar shot to his feet, unable to believe that someone would dare to assassinate a duke's son in broad daylight.
At the high table, Viserys also rose, whispering a few words to Otto before addressing the audience to calm the growing unrest.
(End of Chapter)