The rousing speech concluded, and the tournament officially began.
As per tradition, the opening match featured an archery contest.
On the high platform, members of the royal family took their respective seats.
King Viserys sat at the head, with his wife, Alicent, and their youngest son, Daeron, to his left. To his right sat Otto Hightower.
Below them, to the right, were Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys, seated beside Daemon and Laena Velaryon.
On the opposite side, Rhaegar and his sister, Rhaenyra, sat together, with Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie and Lady Elenna of Storm's End seated next to them.
The seating arrangement was meticulously planned, placing the day's key figures in order of importance.
Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond had no seats; they stood respectfully behind Rhaegar, signifying the hierarchy of age and status.
Similarly, the Lannister couple and the four Stormlands nobles stood behind their respective elders, adopting an observer's posture.
As the conversations began, King Viserys, filled with emotion, delivered an inspiring address.
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, catching sight of Grey Worm standing nearby. Bored, he asked, "Who's competing?"
"Robb Blackwood," Grey Worm replied in a low voice.
Rhaegar smirked. "With Robb competing, the winner is a foregone conclusion."
In archery, Robb was unmatched in Rhaegar's eyes. The man's arrows might as well bend midair to strike their target.
It was worth mentioning that after Robb was appointed commander of the Royal Guard, Samwell suggested restoring his family name, recognizing him as a branch of House Blackwood from Raventree Hall.
Thus, he became known as Robb Blackwood of the Stone Mill.
Robb gladly accepted and even commissioned a unique sigil: an arrow piercing through three bleeding ravens—symbolizing his unwavering commitment to never forget his origins and land, a subtle pledge of loyalty to Rhaegar.
Before long, Viserys concluded his speech and raised his goblet in a toast.
The seated members, including Rhaegar, lifted their cups in celebration.
After taking a sip, Viserys rubbed his temple to ease his fatigue before shifting the conversation.
"Lady Elenna, I am grateful for your arrangement of this royal marriage. I believe our two families will enjoy a long and prosperous alliance."
"The honor is mine, Your Grace," Lady Elenna replied gracefully, standing with composed elegance.
Viserys smiled warmly but then feigned curiosity. "A union between our houses is a matter of great importance. Thanks to you and Princess Rhaenys, it has been well arranged. However, I still have one crucial concern."
"Please, speak freely," Elenna replied, unshaken.
Viserys raised his hand, gesturing toward Aemond and Cassandra, his tone serious:
"My third son is still young, and their marriage is five years away. But sooner or later, they will wed. When they have children, which family name will they bear?"
Aemond was a prince. By tradition, his offspring should carry the Targaryen name.
However, Cassandra was the heir to Storm's End, and their child would be the rightful successor to House Baratheon. The Baratheons would not easily accept being subsumed by the Targaryens.
The question was delicate, striking at the heart of certain parties present.
Aemond and Cassandra exchanged glances, each reading the other's unyielding stance.
Aemond opened his mouth to speak.
Before he could, Rhaegar nonchalantly stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth and shot him a look that clearly said, Let the adults handle this.
Aemond choked slightly, begrudgingly swallowing the cake before lowering his head in frustration.
Rhaegar took a casual sip of his wine, uninterested in letting his younger brother weigh in.
Neither Viserys nor Lady Elenna missed their silent exchange.
As seasoned figures, they no longer placed much stock in emotions—only in the balance of power and mutual benefit.
After a cordial discussion, they reached a solution.
Viserys smiled generously and declared, "The children will wed in five years. Their offspring will bear the Targaryen name. However, once a child inherits Storm's End, their surname will be changed to Baratheon."
It was a fair compromise, ensuring the Baratheons retained their legacy while giving the Targaryens an advantage.
The child raised as a Targaryen would instinctively identify with their father's house, ensuring Storm's End remained loyal for at least three generations.
Lady Elenna clasped her hands together, her smile one of satisfaction. "A most generous proposal, Your Grace."
She was not a woman of politics. Ensuring her daughter inherited Storm's End and preserved the Baratheon bloodline was all that mattered to her.
If she had entertained greater ambitions, she only needed to recall the dragons soaring above moments ago.
With both sides content, the matter was settled.
Viserys turned to Lord Jason Lannister and suggested, "Lord Jason, you and Lady Jeyne are both high-ranking nobles. Would you serve as witnesses to this union?"
Jason, still shaken by the earlier display of dragon power, had been trying to remain unnoticed.
Hearing the king call his name, he awkwardly stood and forced a smile. "Of course, Your Grace."
Lady Jeyne then stepped forward, taking Cassandra's hand and speaking gently, "You will carry on your father's legacy and become the first Lady Paramount of the Stormlands."
Cassandra, visibly nervous, glanced around before summoning her courage. "I will do my best to govern well and honor my family's name."
With their words, the succession of Storm's End was publicly confirmed.
"A fine declaration! A toast to the future Lady of Storm's End!"
Viserys enthusiastically raised his glass, leading the applause.
Taking advantage of the moment, the arrangement was finalized.
Rhaegar was the second to applaud, laughing. "To this marriage! May the realm continue to flourish."
Rhaenys, Daemon, Otto, and others followed suit, clapping in approval.
Even Jason Lannister, despite opposing female succession, forced a stiff smile and joined in.
Meanwhile, nobles like Lord Dondarrion and Lord Swann, who supported bastards' rights in Storm's End, remained silent. They dared not voice their discontent.
They understood that the earlier dragon display was not just a spectacle of power—it was a warning to those testing the crown's limits.
Clang!
The tournament's bronze gong rang, signaling the end of the archery contest.
Viserys straightened, setting down his half-finished drink with excitement. "Rhaegar, Daemon, it's your turn now! The lords of the realm eagerly await your duel!"
"No problem. I'll teach my dear nephew how a true knight fights," Daemon smirked, rising with an air of confidence.
His polished black dragon-scale armor gleamed ominously under the sun.
Rhaegar propped his cheek on one hand, amused. "Uncle, there's still plenty of tournament left."
Daemon chuckled. "I'll just warm up first."
With that, he flicked his crimson cloak behind him and strode down.
Screeeech!
Caraxes spread his wings, his blood-red form soaring above the tournament grounds, letting out a piercing cry.
Immediately, the gathered nobles knew—the Rogue Prince was about to take the field.
Before the Second Battle of the Stepstones, Daemon's reputation was unparalleled across the continent—he was the Targaryens' most formidable figure.
Even now, many admiring younger sons of nobility, landless knights, and destitute wanderers are still willing to serve him.
Hiss—Screech!
The next moment, a deep, resonant roar thundered through the tournament grounds and beyond.
The Devourer raised its massive head, its green slit-pupiled eyes gleaming with cruelty and disdain. Its coal-black wings unfurled and then folded again as it struggled to suppress its deeply ingrained predatory instincts.
To the crowd, this scene was nothing short of a visual shock.
A towering, mountain-sized black dragon stood upright, exhaling a breath like a scorching torrent, oppressive as a sky full of storm clouds before a tempest—so heavy it left the spectators struggling to breathe.
Rhaegar sat calmly in his chair, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
With a casual, spectator's mindset, he reached toward the table beside him.
He felt around—empty.
Tried again—still empty.
Surprised, Rhaegar turned his head. The entire table, once filled with pastries and fruit, had been completely cleared.
Rhaenyra glanced over, her small hands clutching a piece of honeydew as she took delicate bites, her violet eyes filled with innocence.
Today, Rhaenyra was in a fantastic mood after a satisfying meal.
She had carefully chosen a black off-shoulder gown, her long hair elegantly pinned up, exuding poise and nobility.
Rhaegar chuckled, coaxing her as one would a child. "Is it enough? Do you want some more?"
"Shh~ Don't let anyone hear."
Looking slightly embarrassed, Rhaenyra stole a glance at Daemon's empty seat, clearly scheming. "I'll go find Laena later and eat her pastries."
Rhaegar sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You really are something else."
It was just two plates of pastries and a plate of fruit—hardly enough to be stuffed.
Holding the philosophy that being able to eat is a blessing, he could only accept it.
As the tournament was about to begin, Rhaegar rose from his seat to make preparations.
Before heading down, he first approached Otto and Lyonel.
One sat in the place of honor, the other in the back row—but they were seated close together.
"Your Highness."
As the crown prince approached, Lyonel forced a smile, fatigue evident in his eyes.
"Lord Lyonel, I have something to show you."
Right in front of Otto, Rhaegar extended his hand, revealing a small, gold cicada figurine no bigger than a peanut.
Lyonel's eyes widened in shock. "This is…"
He recognized it immediately—it was the ornament from his son Larys' cane.
To protect his son, he had bribed a criminal being sent to the Wall to keep watch and report back on Larys' condition.
It was only when that informant went silent that he urgently sent men to investigate, ultimately learning that Larys had perished in dragonfire.
Otto's gaze darkened—he, too, recognized the golden cicada's origin.
Rhaegar picked up the tiny cicada between two fingers and said solemnly, "I found this last night in the hidden chamber beneath Widow's Tower. Its owner has met his fate—but not by dragonfire."
Lyonel's eyes widened as countless possibilities flashed through his mind.
In less than a breath, he pieced together a likely scenario.
Rhaegar smiled, then casually flicked the golden cicada into Otto's goblet with a soft clink.
In a quiet voice, he said, "Lord Otto, the thing you never got your hands on—I found it for you."
With that, he patted Otto's shoulder, his gaze heavy with meaning before turning to leave.
Larys could die—but not under the accusation of breaking an oath and orchestrating an ambush.
Given Lyonel's intelligence and his understanding of his son, a single golden cicada was enough to dispel the misunderstanding.
After witnessing the entire exchange, Lyonel turned to Otto, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief.
He had understood the crown prince's message.
Otto's expression was unreadable. Silently, he overturned his goblet.
He didn't argue, nor did he try to explain—like a man who had nothing to do with any of it.
As he descended from the high platform, Rhaegar's gaze deepened in thought.
Larys' escape was undoubtedly connected to Otto—but he couldn't yet determine Otto's exact role in it.
He had reviewed dragon pit records and questioned informants at Storm's End.
In the days before and after the dragonfire incident at Dyke Marsh, three dragons—Dreamfyre, Sheepstealer, and Sunfyre—had all taken flight on the same day.
Sunfyre had carried Aegon from Harrenhal back to King's Landing, where he spent the night in a brothel.
Dreamfyre and Sheepstealer had both departed from their respective lairs, one at the Isle of Faces, the other from Storm's End—one in the morning, the other at noon.
Dreamfyre had returned to her lair that same night, while Sheepstealer remained out for two nights before returning to Storm's End.
Just as Larys had said, both dragons had the time and opportunity to execute the ambush.
But why two dragons?
A single dragon, moving discreetly, could have killed the Night's Watch guards and prisoners without drawing too much attention.
Otto's reaction upon seeing the golden cicada was also suspicious.
There was a steadiness to him—an unsettling composure. No trace of panic at having a conspiracy exposed.
Larys hadn't told the full truth.
Rhaegar murmured to himself, "I should find a chance to ask Helaena. That little girl doesn't know how to lie."
(End of Chapter)