Chapter 228: Winter Is Coming
"Keep the music playing and the dancing going!" Rhaegar found his time in the North to be wonderfully rough and comfortable. The North was cold, but he possessed the Blood of the Dragon, making him resistant to the chill. Besides Brandon taking him on wild horseback rides, his days consisted of sparring, drinking, and sightseeing. Rhaegar was much more relaxed than Jacaerys had been; Jacaerys's time in the North was right before a major war. Unfortunately, the North truly lacked much cultural atmosphere; most people were crude, wild, and savage. Now, even the Northmen hummed a few lines of Rhaegar's song, The Answer Is Blowin' in the Wind, claiming it was the perfect song for Northerners. The girls of the North all had an aura of steel about them.
Of course, Rhaegar wasn't freeloading. He was currently a super-rich magnate, and he gifted the Northerners grain, spices, and Myrish crafts from across the Narrow Sea; the war had made him wealthy. Winter might be coming soon, and all the kingdoms needed to look after the North.
"The Northmen are stirred up. They know not only of the Dragon Prince's arrival, but more importantly, many boast that this prince is now the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms!" Even when the Dragonknight dueled Cregan Stark before, no such boast was made. In Winterfell, there were no war horns, but there was the sound of blades clashing. Those wild Lords and warriors came to challenge Rhaegar, Barristan, and his knights to duels. Rickard did not stop them. Northmen disliked the showmanship of tourneys, but when it came to fierce fighting, they were certainly counted among the best.
"Draw your sword, Lord Rickard!" On the training grounds of Winterfell, Rhaegar raised Orphan-Maker, signaling Rickard to reveal Ice. The training grounds were already covered by a dense crowd of warriors, including Winterfell's stablemaster, steward, servants, and guards who came to watch the excitement. There were also some women, and some female warriors of the North were no less impressive. Lyanna watched clearly, full of anticipation.
The sworn swords of many Lords surrounded the dueling arena, and the Lords and warriors watched intently: the crowned battle-axe banner of House Dustin; the multi-colored horse-head banner of House Ryswell of the Rills; the pink flayed man banner of House Bolton; the chained giant banner of House Umber of Last Hearth; the stone hand banner of House Flint of Flint's Finger; the moose banner of House Hornwood; the merman banner of House Manderly; the black battle-axe banner of House Cerwyn; the pine tree banner of House Tallhart, and so on.
The largest and brightest banners represented the guest of honor and the host: the direwolf of Winterfell and House Targaryen's black dragon on a silver field.
"The Northmen are truly poor and savage!" Rhaegar looked at the northern warriors. Northern courage could not escape the reality that the North was bitterly cold, sparsely populated, and poorly equipped. Northern knights wore mail or, at the extreme, leather armor, while those from the Reach wore plate armor. Such armor would definitely put them at a disadvantage in internal warfare. Spiritual weapons could not replace real weapons.
"Then I won't hold back, Prince! But blades have no eyes, so let us agree to stop before serious injury." Rickard removed his bearskin cloak, wearing only gray leather battle armor. The Old Wolf revealed Ice, which was also a Valyrian steel sword, so no one could claim an unfair advantage. Ice was the second ancestral sword of House Stark; the previous one of the same name had been lost. Rhaegar was more interested in the first one. This sword was so massive, large, tall, and wide; Ice was about as tall as a medium-sized warrior. Orphan-Maker, by comparison, was slightly smaller. The blades of both Valyrian steel swords were magically enhanced, their color dark as black smoke.
Rickard's movements were agile and swift. He had temporarily shed his duties as Lord of Winterfell and put on the mask of a swordsman. Rhaegar smiled slightly; the Prince seemed impervious to the cold.
"Be careful, Lord Rickard!" As the longswords were drawn, the spectators saw black sword light dancing wildly. The wide and tall blade was Ice, and the slightly thinner one was Orphan-Maker, which was now also being called "Crownbreaker"!
A fierce sword and a fierce man. Rhaegar felt that Rickard was one of the strongest swordsmen he had ever met, possessing the spirit of Cregan Stark. Even if he was slightly inferior to Cregan, the gap was not huge. Currently, Rickard's swordsmanship was likely in a class of its own in the North. Sword light flashed as the two used various moves—slashing, sweeping, stabbing. Rickard's swordsmanship was masterful. Rickard slowly lost his initial confidence. Could there truly be a swordsman this formidable? It felt like he was not fighting a mortal, but a dragon in human form.
"Excellent!" The warriors watching the duel applauded; they knew quality when they saw it. Combat is nothing more than a combination of strength, speed, skill, and a bit of luck. The sword light from both men was too fast, too fierce, and too steady for ordinary people to withstand. The knights felt that the images on their banners had come to life. Rickard, with his dark brown hair, gray eyes, tall stature, and stern expression, was like a wolf running across the wilderness. Rhaegar, with his silver hair and purple eyes, tall and muscular build, unparalleled handsomeness, and sword light as untrammeled as a heavenly steed, was like an untamable, roaring dragon.
"Be careful, Lord Rickard." Rhaegar smiled, his expression as gentle as melting ice and snow, with the calm confidence of someone who had everything under control. Rhaegar's sword light danced, and the blade became even fiercer. Rhaegar spun forward, his silver hair becoming a flash of light, his figure frighteningly fast. The black sword was like the waves of the sea, cresting again and again. Fortunately, Ice was a Valyrian steel sword and could completely withstand this multi-layered, high-density assault. Rickard felt the sword light coming in layers and stacks, endless peaks and ridges. The sword light was both arbitrary and perfectly executed; the subsequent flashes and force were impossible for him to resist.
"I lose! Prince Rhaegar's swordsmanship is unrivaled in the Seven Kingdoms." Rickard showed a bitter expression. The muscles in his arms were still trembling slightly. What kind of strength was that, making his arms truly ache? Rickard was such a proud man, and now he had to admit that he had been utterly defeated. This wasn't even a battlefield, and more importantly, Rhaegar seemed completely at ease, not having used his full strength. In terms of strength, inspiration, and recovery, he was significantly lacking. He hadn't lost on just one front, but was deficient in many aspects.
"You are already great, my lord!" Rhaegar smiled and said to Rickard. Rickard was considered a top-tier warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, like Ser Barristan. It was truly rare for a Great Lord to be so fierce. Mediocre figures like Roose Bolton, Tywin Lannister, and Hoster Tully should be the norm. Rhaegar was extraordinary; he had cheats, stat boosts, and superhuman physical strength and recovery derived from magic.
"Who else?" Rhaegar stroked Orphan-Maker before sheathing it. He scanned the Northmen Lords and knights surrounding him, checking if any confident master fighters had arrived. Beneath the banners, there were bound to be skilled fighters who were jealous or unwilling to submit. Rhaegar switched to a blunted sword to avoid an unfair victory.
The first to step up was a warrior from House Dustin, a Dustin warrior skilled in using an axe. The great axe had a beautiful, aggressive arc. Rhaegar's furious hacking and slashing went head-to-head with this northern champion, and the warrior lost without a word of complaint.
Next was the champion from House Umber of Last Hearth, a tough man with a giant-like physique, seven feet tall. Rhaegar suspected this family had giant blood; he was so tall and entirely muscle, the type of tank-like berserker warrior exemplified by Gregor Clegane. Normally, someone of Rhaegar's build would use a spear and kite him like Oberyn Martell, but the awakened blood of the dragon and the stamina it provided allowed Rhaegar to handle him with ease. The Umber men watched the fight in disbelief; the fierce power came from a body one size smaller. He even felt Rhaegar's body should have been several feet larger. Rhaegar still won, proving his fighting ability, greater strength, and speed.
Cheers, noise, applause. Rhaegar demonstrated the ferocity of a swordsman in the crowd; he was indeed in a class of his own. Brandon and Roose looked thoughtful. Setting aside intelligence and focusing purely on combat ability, House Stark, House Dustin, and House Umber of Last Hearth—who guarded the frontier against the wildlings—were certainly noteworthy. Yet, they all lost so completely. The Silver Prince was a swordsman and warrior too strong and powerful; those merchants from across the Narrow Sea had lost fair and square.
Amidst the cheers of the people, a maester and a messenger rushed to deliver a message to Lord Rickard: two Night's Watch men had deserted immediately after their patrol duty, having fled beyond the Wall. This was a capital offense, a violation of their sacred vows.
Lord Rickard needed to execute the men; he needed to contrast the sword light with blood, shattering the current peace and joy. But this was the duty of House Stark.
"Could winter truly be coming?" Rickard's face grew even sterner.
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