The next day, as the sun rose.
Rhaegar was sleeping soundly when a goose-feather pillow struck him, forcing his brain to wake up.
With a jolt, he turned over and sat up, his sleepy eyes scanning toward the bed.
Rhaenyra sat on the bed with her head down. Her silk nightgown barely concealed her graceful figure, and her messy long hair cascaded over her smooth, delicate shoulders.
Seeing this scene, Rhaegar immediately recalled his dream from the previous night.
His spirits lifted, and his drowsiness vanished in an instant.
Rhaegar rushed to the edge of the bed, his eyes shining with excitement, unable to hold back his curiosity.
"Rhaenyra, do you feel anything unusual?"
He wanted to confirm if the dream was real.
Having just woken up, Rhaenyra's eyes were slightly red, her fair, delicate face showing a trace of grievance and helplessness.
"Are you feeling unwell?" Rhaegar immediately tensed.
"I'm starving!"
Rhaenyra muttered softly, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. Her lips pressed together as if expressing her frustration at having her food intake restricted.
Rhaegar only allowed her three full meals a day. But after indulging in some pastries at the tournament grounds the previous evening, she had still woken up in the middle of the night, starving.
If not for the fact that Rhaegar couldn't eat at that moment, she would have climbed out of bed to take a few bites herself.
"You're hungry?" Rhaegar's eyes widened.
Without hesitation, he got up swiftly and pushed open the door.
Outside, Kingsguard knight Lorent and the handmaiden Sara stood guard.
A broad grin spread across Rhaegar's face as he eagerly ordered, "Prepare breakfast—enough for five people."
He had finally figured out why Rhaenyra's emotions had been unstable lately and why she had been eating so much.
There were two little ones in her belly competing for food.
Sara was quick, and within moments, she returned with a large tray of delicious food.
Rhaegar took the tray and placed it before Rhaenyra as if presenting a treasure, his voice warm with affection.
"Eat up! Make sure you're full."
Rhaenyra shot him a doubtful glance before cautiously picking up a piece of cream cake.
Even after taking a bite, no one stopped her.
Secretly delighted, she quickly grabbed more pastries and pies, stuffing her cheeks like a little hamster.
Watching her eat so enthusiastically, Rhaegar felt both happy and distressed. Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around her as she continued to munch away.
Rhaenyra's violet eyes gleamed as she looked at him before taking a big gulp of milk to quench her thirst.
"Take your time; there's plenty."
Rhaegar gently smoothed her hair, his gaze never leaving her. He simply couldn't get enough of looking at her.
But time was pressing.
Today marked the third day of the tournament, and a grand feast unique to the Dragon Clan was expected.
A warning was needed for those restless individuals.
North Shore of God's Eye Lake – Tournament Grounds
After a night of wind and rain, the weather was unexpectedly clear. White clouds drifted lazily, and a gentle breeze swept through.
Carriages rolled through the muddy roads left by the rain, stopping at the open-air stables by the emerald lake.
Inside the tournament grounds, nobles of all ranks arrived as expected, gathering in small groups and whispering among themselves.
The main topics of discussion were the internal conflicts within House Tully and the issue of Storm's End's heir—rumors of both were spreading like wildfire.
Some observant individuals glanced toward the grandstands, trying to catch a glimpse of the king's condition.
Queen Alicent and the high-ranking ministers were all present, but not a single Targaryen was in sight.
On the high platform, Ser Jason wandered restlessly before approaching Lord Corlys Velaryon, attempting to probe for information.
"Lord Corlys, why haven't we seen His Majesty and Princess Rhaenys?"
"They'll be here soon."
Corlys' expression remained proud and distant, an air of cold indifference surrounding him.
Jason, annoyed at the lack of response, scowled and stepped away.
Corlys, however, didn't spare him a glance. His rough hand absently rubbed the armrest of his chair, his gaze deep and unreadable.
The second Stepstones War had cost House Velaryon dearly, but their wealth and foundation remained intact.
Across the Seven Kingdoms, the Velaryons of Driftmark still held prestige second only to House Targaryen.
Minute by minute, time passed.
The tournament was about to begin, yet the royal family had yet to appear, causing the nobles in the stands to murmur in confusion.
It wouldn't have mattered if anyone else was absent.
But they were eagerly awaiting the duel between Rhaegar, the Iron Throne's heir, and Prince Daemon, the rogue prince.
The previous day's display—when the dragons Vhagar and Caraxes appeared—had left an unforgettable impression on all present. Everyone was desperate to witness another battle between dragonriders.
CLANG!
The plump tournament official, dressed in a bright red robe, raised his voice excitedly, yelling at the top of his lungs:
"His Majesty is about to arrive! Let us welcome the Dragon Clan!"
The nobles exchanged confused looks, murmuring and grumbling among themselves.
Yesterday's unexpected events had already left them in awe. Today, they anticipated something even more astonishing.
"Screeeech!"
Suddenly, an ear-piercing dragon roar shattered the sky, shaking the very eardrums of those below.
All heads snapped upward, gazing at the heavens in unison.
A massive bronze dragon soared through the clouds, its broad brown wings stirring powerful gusts of wind. Its ferocious head roared with piercing intensity.
"Screeech—"
"Screeeech—"
Moments later, several dragon cries followed in succession, echoing over the vast expanse of God's Eye Lake.
A colossal black dragon skimmed over the emerald waters before vanishing into the thin veil of clouds, its enormous dark wings casting a shadow like the coming of night itself.
From several miles away, a deep, thunderous roar rumbled across the skies.
Vhagar, her massive body akin to a moving mountain, took to the air with a powerful leap, her sheer presence like a hurricane tearing through the land.
At the same time, three enormous adult dragons descended upon the tournament grounds.
"Screeeech—"
Sunfyre let out a sharp, commanding roar before swooping down low, its menacing aura searing itself into the minds of every noble in the stands.
"Dracarys!"
A voice rang out in High Valyrian, brimming with confidence and arrogance.
"Screeeech—"
Sunfyre's reptilian eyes gleamed cunningly as it twisted midair, flapping its wings and soaring higher.
A stream of emerald dragonfire burst forth, slicing through the sky, merging into the cascading flames of the other dragons—like a legendary beast reborn in fire.
From this vantage point, everyone in the tournament grounds could clearly see a lone figure with silver-gold hair seated atop the black dragon's back.
Draped in pitch-black dragon-scale armor, with a crimson cape billowing behind him and long hair flowing freely…
Rhaegar sat firmly on the saddle, unchained at the waist, laughing as he spread his arms wide to welcome the baptism of dragonfire.
Boom—
The Devourer darted into the clouds in an instant, brewing eerie green flames that scattered the thin white mist like an explosion of emerald fireworks.
Rhaegar leaped off the saddle, gripping the dark scales on its back as he gazed downward. His crimson cape flickered with tiny green flames.
"Screeech…"
"Screeech…"
From the direction of Harrenhal and the Isle of Faces, several dragon roars erupted.
The pale blue Dreamfyre, the mud-brown Sheepstealer, the light gray Grey Ghost, the cobalt-blue Tessarion…
The golden Sunfyre and the radiant Vermithor burst out of the shattered rock gardens together, shrieking as they encircled Vhagar.
"Screeech…"
On the opposing side, two crimson dragon shadows emerged.
Meleys, the fastest among them, shot across the sky in the blink of an eye. A torrent of scarlet dragonfire dispersed the lingering traces of the Devourer's presence.
Rhaenys exuded an air of pride, her silver hair braided, clad in red and silver armor, as she pursued the Devourer through the swirling clouds.
The true majesty of the Uncrowned Queen and the Dragon Prince was on full display.
"Screeech…"
A sharp cry rang out as Caraxes skimmed over the emerald-green lake, his broad crimson wings beating fiercely, his long, sinuous tail churning the water's surface into ripples.
Daemon's lips curled into a smirk as he rode his dragon closer to the circling Vhagar above.
Caraxes swiftly ascended, his slender neck twisting as he unleashed streaks of crimson dragonfire with reckless abandon.
Clang! Clang!
Inside the tournament grounds, the overweight referee pounded on a brass gong with increasing fervor, his voice nearly hysterical: "Dragons! These are the dragons of House Targaryen!!"
At the Grand Tourney of Harrenhal, an event destined to be recorded in history, how could there not be a Dragon Dance?
"Screeech…"
"…"
Before the eyes of the world, eleven dragons emerged beneath their Targaryen riders.
For the first time since Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters, the number of dragons in Westeros had grown beyond the count of two hands.
Their shadows wove across the sapphire sky, the roars of dragons echoing ceaselessly.
Vhagar, the Devourer, and Vermithor shattered through the clouds and converged above the tournament grounds, maintaining a parallel formation as they circled slowly.
Three pairs of enormous, bronze-hued eyes glowed with hostility, their riders guiding them into a tense standoff.
Just one of these massive dragons could occupy half of the tournament field.
With all three soaring together, the arena below was cast into shadow, as if twilight had fallen, with no trace of sunlight reaching the ground.
"Screeech…"
Blood Wyrm, Meleys, and Sunfyre…
Eight dragons gathered around the tournament grounds, circling the three behemoths in rapid motion, their necks stretching out as they shrieked.
For a fleeting moment, the arena seemed to have transformed into a newly-formed Dragon's Roost.
A Dragon Dance was in full swing, their blood and fire intertwined.
"Land!!"
A powerful command rang out, and Vermithor was the first to respond.
Boom!
With a dull thud, Vermithor descended onto the southern clearing of the tournament grounds, his massive body trembling as he settled, revealing King Viserys seated high upon his back.
"Screeech…"
The Devourer and Vhagar followed, landing separately to the north and west, their towering forms enclosing the white-stone tournament field on three sides.
"Screeech…"
"…"
The other riders swiftly gave orders, their dragons weaving through the clouds before descending.
Sunfyre and Grey Ghost, still young, landed directly atop the tournament's highest platform.
Dreamfyre and Meleys, larger in size, each found a suitable place to perch.
Daemon and Caraxes, due to the dragon's leaner frame, had the easiest descent, landing atop the platform with a shrill cry directed toward the spectators below.
Soon, the riders dismounted.
Vhagar, the Devourer, and Vermithor crouched low, their massive backs towering above the tournament stands like three imposing mountains.
Most of the smaller dragons took flight once again—Dreamfyre and Sheepstealer among them.
Sunfyre and Grey Ghost remained perched, staying close to the Devourer, who exuded an air of calm.
Blood Wyrm let out a warning screech at them, standing alongside Vhagar, facing off against the opposing dragons.
This subtle tension reflected the influence of their riders.
Even among House Targaryen, internal rivalries had begun to surface.
The spectators below were overwhelmed, some covering their ears, others too afraid to even look.
With over a dozen dragons under their command, the royal family's dominance was no longer something any single noble house—or even an entire kingdom—could hope to challenge.
The dragonlords descended the platform and gathered on the broad stage.
Viserys stood at the forefront, his expression alight with excitement. He was clad in black royal robes, a golden crown atop his head.
Behind him stood his entire family.
Rhaegar took position to his left, flanked by Rhaenyra and Helaena.
Daemon stood to his right, with Laena and the twins beside him.
Alicent and Rhaenys stood slightly behind Viserys, accompanied by Aegon's three brothers, the Sea Snake Corlys, and Laenor Velaryon with his wife.
Shing—
With a swift motion, the Blackfyre sword was drawn, raised high above Viserys' head.
He gazed down at the gathered lords and subjects, his voice trembling with exhilaration as he declared:
"Lords and ladies, let us cast aside past grievances and welcome the dawn of a new Dragon Age!"
As his words fell, the sound of steel rang out beside him.
Rhaegar and Daemon, both clad in armor, simultaneously unsheathed their swords and planted them firmly on the ground, standing guard beside their father and brother.
Rhaenys, ever the warrior, revealed Dark Sister, the ancestral blade of the dragonlords.
Aegon, now a grown man, did the same—raising his sword high, his face beaming with youthful pride.
With a single action, the might of House Targaryen was fully displayed for all to see.
"Long live House Targaryen!"
The first cry was all it took.
The tournament stands erupted like wildfire, filled with nobles overcome with fervor, their faces flushed as they clapped wildly and shouted,
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the Dragonlords!"
"Screeech!!"
The three giant dragons outside the tournament grounds lifted their heads and roared.
Sensing their riders' emotions, Sunfyre, Blood Wyrm, Dreamfyre, and the others followed suit—raising their heads, breathing out great plumes of dragonfire, and crying out in unison.
Beneath dragonfire, all are equal.
Upon witnessing the scene, the nobles grew even more frenzied, eager to throw themselves into an unprecedented battle where their side commanded over a dozen dragons.
Basking in the enthusiastic applause and cheers, Viserys was utterly enthralled. He turned to look at each of his family members, overwhelmed with excitement beyond words.
"Father, say something," Rhaegar reminded him with a smile.
"Alright!"
Viserys beamed brightly and nodded firmly.
Plunging Blackfyre into the ground, he grasped the hands of his eldest son and younger brother, standing tall and proud as he faced the gathered nobles below.
"Lords and ladies, this tournament at Harrenhal is about to witness a long-awaited knightly duel!"
With that, he raised the hands of his son and brother high into the air.
His eyes gleamed with fervor as he proclaimed loudly, "Rhaegar Targaryen! Daemon Targaryen! My heir and my brother—together, they will defeat all challengers and face each other in the final battle!"
His words were powerful, filled with confidence—perhaps even arrogance.
He had already decided: the champion would be one of them.
"Screeech—"
"Screeech—"
The Devourer reared up on its hind legs, stretching its massive neck as it roared skyward, spewing forth ghostly green dragonfire.
Not to be outdone, Caraxes let out a defiant cry, streaks of crimson flame cutting through the tournament sky.
The dragons had become a reflection of their riders' hearts.
Rhaegar suddenly turned his head, locking eyes with Daemon.
Uncle and nephew exchanged a knowing smile, their battle lust surging within them.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The tournament grounds erupted into thunderous applause, the cheers louder than ever before.
(End of Chapter)