On the first day of the eighth month, the tourney at Riverdale began.
An oval-shaped tourney ground had been erected within the white city walls, and a massive crowd was pouring through the gates. By ten in the morning, as the bells of the clock tower rang out, the grandstands were filled to capacity.
In the high lords' box, a tall, coolly beautiful woman with long chestnut hair arrived, accompanied by a retinue of noble ladies.
"Lady Jeyne," Rhaenys Targaryen, dressed in a striking dark blue gown, greeted her politely.
As the tourney at Riverrun had been announced throughout the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Lady of the Eyrie, had naturally been invited. It was a political necessity; with the simmering rivalry between the Eyrie and the lords of Runestone, not attending would be seen as a sign of weakness.
"I thought you would be in the Stepstones, Princess Rhaenys, dealing with the pirates of the Three Daughters," Jeyne remarked, her tone feigning surprise, her tongue as sharp as ever.
"That is a matter for men," Rhaenys replied flatly, taking a sip of wine. "I am merely a spectator, wherever I may be."
Their mutual assessment had been swift and unforgiving: an old maid with nowhere to channel her energies, Rhaenys had thought. Jeyne, for her part, found the Princess confrontational with everyone she met. The barb having failed to find its mark, Jeyne gave up with a bored sigh, arranged her skirts, and sat.
Time passed. More and more dignitaries filled the VIP seats, and the knights in the lists below were ready. Yet, the Prince of Runestone had not yet arrived. An impatient murmur rippled through the crowd, with many casting glances toward the empty seat of honor.
Boom!
Suddenly, a deafening roar, like wind tearing the very fabric of the sky, thundered from above. The assembled lords and ladies looked up in astonishment.
"Hiss—"
A majestic dragon with scales of burnished bronze broke through the thin clouds, diving from a thousand meters high. The noble lords gasped. The bronze dragon was over a hundred meters long, its rock-like wings blocking out the sun as it swooped over the tourney grounds. From their vantage point, the lords were like frogs in a well, seeing nothing but an overwhelming expanse of bronze.
"Land, Vermithor!" a deep, magnetic voice commanded, echoing in every ear.
"Hiss—"
Vermithor raised his head and roared. He folded his wings and landed with a ground-shaking crash. The sound was deafening, and for a moment, the crowd saw only the smoke and sparks kicked up by his impact.
"Hiss!"
A topaz-colored dragon followed, banking sharply in mid-air before landing with nimble grace on the high wall bordering the arena. The crowd now had a clear view.
Clad in a slim, practical dragon-riding suit, Rhaenyra jumped from Syrax's back. Her long, silver-gold hair was plaited neatly down her front. Two small boys with bright auburn hair scrambled down after her. Rhaenyra took each by the hand and walked directly to the VIP box. After several days of travel, they had arrived. Out of Alicent's sight, the two half-brothers had grown much closer to her, and her own quiet authority over them grew stronger by the day.
Boom!
Vermithor crawled toward the arena's edge, his folded wings like twin guillotines, making a rumbling sound as they scraped against the ground. The noble lords cried out in awe. The dragon's broad back was now parallel to the high wall of the viewing box. He lowered his head, leaned sideways, and pressed his shoulder blades against the wall, creating a stable platform for his riders to dismount—a gesture born of long practice.
Aemon unfastened his safety chain and dismounted with ease. "Careful, Uncle," he said, turning to help Viserys, who was stiff and sore.
The King, holding his young daughter, struggled to move his legs. Controlling and riding a dragon was no simple feat. "I'm fine," Viserys said, forcing a smile. "Riding a dragon is exhilarating, but I don't think I shall be doing it again."
Aemon shrugged helplessly and led the way to their seats. My uncle is simply not built for this.
"Aemon!" Laena Velaryon stood to greet him, relief washing over her face to see him safe at last.
"Thank you for all your hard work," Aemon said, earning a playful roll of her eyes.
"Hush and sit down," she whispered. His Highness was not feeling talkative. His voice had recently begun to change, and he was trying to take care of it.
With the arrival of the king and the prince, the tournament officially began. First, Viserys offered a few regal words to affirm his dignity and build excitement. Aemon spoke next, his voice magically amplified to carry across the grounds.
Meanwhile, backstage, Johanna, his castellan, and Maester Muntor oversaw the presentation of three suits of armor hanging on a rack. The central suit was of a deep orange-red and bronze, fashioned like heavy plate that looked like a mountain of iron when worn. The two suits flanking it were of a striking white and emerald green, lighter and simpler in design to allow for greater flexibility.
Before Aemon had left for King's Landing, the weirwood tree had produced a third bronze bell. This bell, along with the shards of the broken rune sword, had been used to forge two new sets of rune armor.
"The top three champions of this tournament will have a choice," Aemon announced, his voice booming with a binding spell, "they may don this armor and swear an oath to become my Rune Guard!"
A prince required a grand retinue. And now, in the year 115 AC, the same year his mother, Lady Rhea, had died, it was more important than ever. With a sworn guard, Aemon could better protect those he loved.
"Rune Guard?"
The assembled knights murmured amongst themselves, their gazes fixed on the three priceless, mysterious suits of armor. While the tourney in the Vale was smaller than those held in King's Landing, the number of participants was still significant. In addition to the local lords of the Vale, many had come from the Crownlands, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands. A few had even made the journey by sea from the Reach, the Westerlands, and the North. His Highness now controlled half the Vale, and news of his tourney had spread far and wide.
Soon, Aemon finished his speech. The terms were generous: the top three could choose to join the Rune Guard or receive a substantial prize of gold.
"Why don't you four give it a try?" Aemon teased his own guards.
Gunthor and Ser Ryan smiled at each other and headed for the lists. William and Adrian Redfort followed, their expressions more solemn. The first two were landed men with families; they were reluctant to swear an oath that forbade them from marrying, holding lands, or having children. The two younger men, however, were second sons. They had less to lose and a greater hunger for glory.
"Aemon, isn't this too ostentatious?" Laena leaned in to whisper.
Aemon glanced at his uncle, who remained silent. "Runestone is in need of strong men," he smiled. "This is an opportunity to select a few of the best."
Half the nobles of the Vale had already raised his banner; their rule was effective. Each family was required to contribute to the prosperity of his domain, aligning their interests with his. At the same time, he intended to recruit the second sons and bastards of noble houses from across the Seven Kingdoms, forging them into an elite force. With these two groups, his power would be solidified.
Laena looked worried, fearing he would anger the king.
"Since you are forming your own guard, I will withdraw Ser Steffon," Viserys said, his expression complicated, though his words were a tacit approval.
Steffon Darklyn was stunned. Was his eight-year assignment to this remote corner of the realm finally over?
"You will protect my daughter and heir," Viserys commanded.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Steffon responded crisply and took up a position behind Rhaenyra. The prince and princess will be a family sooner or later, the honest knight thought to himself.
For three days, the tourney was a riot of color and sound. The number of contestants dwindled from hundreds to dozens as the ultimate prize drew nearer. The influx of people boosted the economy of the entire region. Even the eliminated knights did not leave, choosing instead to stay and explore the lands of Runestone. The Prince's Household had promised to provide all contestants and their servants with seven days of rich food, and inexpensive lodging was made available for those who needed it. For a time, the city was flooded with noble second sons and wandering knights.
In the arena, Aemon leaned over and spoke quietly with Johanna. At that moment, Lady Rhea Royce arrived from Runestone, making her appearance on the final day.
"My lady," Jeyne Arryn said, her pride evident even in a simple greeting.
Lady Rhea's eyes flashed with a hint of pity. The tourney at Riverrun heralded the end of the Eyrie's undisputed rule over the Vale.
"Lady Rhea," another woman, Jensina Redfort, greeted her. Dressed plainly, she could not show too much warmth given the political sensitivities.
Lady Rhea noticed and addressed her directly. "It will not be long before you can return to Redfort."
Jensina's face turned pale, and she glanced nervously at Lady Jeyne.
"You dare say this in my presence!" Jeyne's eyes narrowed with vigilance and hostility.
"My name day is approaching," Lady Rhea said calmly, ignoring the outburst. "Your father and brother will be in attendance."
Having dealt with Jeyne Arryn, she turned to the king. "Your Majesty."
Viserys stood and smiled. "Long time no see, Lady Rhea."
"Indeed," she replied coolly.
Viserys's scalp tingled. He forced a smile. "About Daemon's matter…" He wanted to offer some comfort, to say something kind.
"Do not speak of him!" Lady Rhea interrupted sharply. "If you wish to apologize, then grant me a divorce."
"That is impossible. Your marriage was blessed by the Seven Gods!" Viserys could never agree.
"In that case, if you have anything to say, speak to my son," Lady Rhea glared at him, ending the conversation.
Viserys's face fell. He sighed helplessly, feeling the familiar trauma of their encounters. Every time they met, she demanded a divorce within the first three sentences. But there was no tradition of divorce in Westeros. To grant one would be to admit that he, his father Baelon, his grandfather Jaehaerys, and even his grandmother, Good Queen Alysanne, who had arranged the match, had all been wrong. The dignity of the crown would be shattered. He sat down in a foul mood and took a long drink of wine. Damn you, Daemon!
Time wore on. At two in the afternoon, the referee struck a gong, announcing the final champion: Ser Gerold Corbray of Heart's Home. While Aemon went to find the victor's chaplet, Gerold presented Laena with the crown of love and beauty.
"This crown belongs to you, my lady Laena," he said, mounted on a white charger.
"Thank you, Ser Gerold," Laena accepted it with grace, then turned back to shoot a proud, triumphant smile at Aemon. The prince remained expressionless. Seeing this, Laena's smile widened, and she returned to her seat to tease the jealous man beside her.
Soon, the top three champions of the tournament came forward to receive their rewards. To the surprise of many, only one was from the Vale. The final ranking was Ser Gerold Corbray of Heart's Home, Robb Rivers—a bastard of the Riverlands—and Adrian Redfort of the Redfort.
"Well done, brother!" Jensina flushed with pride, cheering for Adrian.
Adrian smiled shyly, though his eyes shone with pride.
"Are you willing to don the rune armor and swear your allegiance to me?" Aemon asked, his gaze sweeping over the three men.
"I am!" Robb Rivers was the first to kneel, excitement on his serious face.
"Very well. Swear your oath," Aemon said, a slight smile on his lips. He remembered this resolute young man with black hair and eyes. Robb was a bastard of House Blackwood, one of the most prominent families in the Riverlands. He was known there as "Robb the Archer." During the Dance of the Dragons, Robb would lead 300 archers for the blacks. It was said he shot down more than a dozen ravens sent from Harrenhal to the greens, earning him the title of the finest archer in Westeros. A rare talent, and a commander in the making.
Robb placed a hand on his chest and recited the oath of the Kingsguard. Aemon drew his ancestral sword, Lamentation, accepted his fealty, and presented him with one of the emerald suits of rune armor.
"Prince, we are willing to join the Rune Guard!" Ser Gerold and Adrian took a deep breath and knelt as one.
Aemon completed the ceremony for Adrian first, presenting him with the second suit of emerald armor. When it was Ser Gerold's turn, Aemon sheathed his own sword and instead took up the Valyrian steel sword, Lady Forlorn. He placed it on Gerold's shoulder.
Ser Gerold looked at the familiar ancestral sword of his own house, and the corners of his mouth twitched. But the result was what mattered. Aemon presented him with the bronze armor and said solemnly, "You are the champion of this tourney and the eldest of the three. I name you the first Captain of the Rune Guard."
"Yes, Prince!" Gerold put on the bronze armor and knelt once more. It was surprisingly light, far lighter than the steel he had worn in the lists, yet it felt immensely strong.
The appointments were finished. Gunthor and the others returned. William looked at his older brother, Adrian, with envy.
"Do not be discouraged," Aemon encouraged him. "Your time will come." William was a skilled warrior, but he had lost due to his youth and inexperience. A few more years of honing his skills, and he would be a formidable knight.
That evening, a banquet was held in the Summer Hall. Aemon called the three newly-appointed Rune Guards to his side.
"Adrian, you will take command of the eight hundred city watchmen of Runestone."
"Gerold, you will command the three hundred knights of the Vale."
Aemon made his appointments one by one. When he came to Robb, he said seriously, "Many noble second sons and bastards have shown their willingness to serve. You will select those of good character and clean repute and form them into a company of 'Second Sons'."
"Is there a limit to the number, my prince?" Robb asked.
"The more, the better. But they must be loyal."
"Yes, Prince!" Robb's face was solemn, his new emerald armor gleaming. He was the bastard son of the previous Lord of Raventree Hall and had been raised as a commoner until his teenage years. Now, he had a chance to prove his worth. He had come to the Vale upon hearing that Prince Aemon intended to claim his mother's lands, and that his own biological father, Prince Daemon, was fighting in the Stepstones. Now, he was the tourney's runner-up and archery champion. He burned with ambition.
"You are dismissed," Aemon said, enjoying the act of command. The remaining 1,200 longbowmen of Runestone would remain under Gunthor's temporary command. Though Robb was a master archer, he was better suited to forging the Second Sons. In the future, when Aemon looked across the Narrow Sea, they would be a sharp blade, eager for glory.
"Aemon! Aemon!"
Laena's voice, sharp with anxiety, cut through the noise of the hall.
Aemon turned in surprise. "What is it?" For her to be so rude in front of so many distinguished guests, it must be something important.
"A letter from the Stepstones!" Laena looked distraught. "Mother received a raven. Father was seriously injured in an encounter. He is unconscious."
"Where is Aunt Rhaenys?" Aemon asked, his own shock rising.
Laena replied, her voice trembling, "Mother has gone to Meleys."
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