The morning light of King's Landing had barely crested the wooden barriers of the tourney grounds before it was shattered by a roar of voices far louder than the day before.
News of the melee had flown on wings. Not only had the lords arrived early with their entire households, but the smallfolk of King's Landing crowded the outer perimeter of the stands. Some balanced on crates, others clung to the railings, waving homemade pennants bearing the sigils of their favorite knights. The air was thick with the scent of roasted bread and ale, livelier than any festival day.
In the center of the grounds, three raised platforms stood side by side. Constructed of thick timber and surrounded by waist-high oak railings wrapped in red and black silk—the colors of House Targaryen—they were stages for combat. Above each platform hung a silk canopy to block the sun, adorned with bronze bells that chimed in the wind, a cheerful accompaniment to the clash of steel.
The stands were even more lavishly decorated than previous days. Three basins of blooming golden roses, sent specifically from Highgarden by Mathos Tyrell, sat before the royal box.
On the Westerlands stand, beside the Golden Lion, a new banner flew: the Red Lion of House Reyne. Lord Reyne of Castamere stood there, gripping his only son's pauldron, whispering last-minute instructions.
The Vale section was particularly conspicuous. The Three Ravens and Hearts of House Corbray flew alongside the Runes of House Royce. Lyonel Corbray stood by the flag, hand on his hilt, eyes darting frequently toward his cousin—the heir to Heart's Home. The air between them was as tight as a drawn bowstring.
"So many people! Much more fun than shooting arrows yesterday!" Borros Baratheon's booming voice cut through the crowd. Wearing dark green leathers with a broadsword at his waist, he dragged Brandon Stark toward the platforms. "Just wait. I'm going to knock my opponent's sword into the sky so Jeyne can see how strong I am!"
Brandon was equally eager. Though his longsword was still sheathed, the scabbard danced with his movements. "Save your breath! Last time we matched axes, you lost!"
As they bickered, Daemon Targaryen appeared behind them, the hem of his gold cloak brushing Borros's boots. He was dragging a reluctant figure—Daemon Blackfyre.
"Stop hiding!" The Rogue Prince shoved the younger Daemon toward the platforms. "You skipped the archery yesterday. If you run from the swords today, even little Jeyne will laugh at you!"
Daemon sighed helplessly. Though his cloak covered the three-headed dragon brand on his neck, he could feel the eyes of the crowd.
Rupert Crabb and Colin Celtigar stood nearby, swords in hand, locked in a silent staring contest.
Allan Redwyne, in sea-blue leathers, was gesturing wild sword moves to Meryn Florent.
Lyonel Corbray was surrounded by his cousins, discussing strategy in hushed tones.
"I didn't say I was running." Daemon straightened his cloak, scanning the platforms. He wanted to slack off but feigned humility. "I just think there are too many masters here today. My meager skills might shame me."
"Shame you?" Brandon slapped his shoulder hard enough to make Daemon stagger. "I heard you split a wildling shield in two at the Gates of the Moon! Who are you trying to fool?"
Borros piled on. "Exactly! If you lose, the three of us get to decide your punishment. Even if we throw you to The Cannibal as a chew toy!"
Rhaenyra's laughter rang out. Aemma held her at the edge of the stands, with Gael and Mysaria nearby. Gael shouted, laughing, "Little Daemon, don't listen to them! If you win, I'll make you honey cakes!"
Rhaenyra clapped her hands, babbling something that sounded like encouragement, forcing a helpless smile from Daemon. There was no escape now.
A horn blew. Ser Lorent Marbrand of the Kingsguard walked to the center. In his white armor, sword in hand, his voice carried across the field. "The sword competition has two rounds! Round one is single elimination. Blunted blades, touch to win! Victors advance to the final duel tomorrow!"
Participants flooded the registration table.
Rupert Crabb was first. His sword had an oak hilt, the scabbard carved with the swamp marigolds of House Crabb. When the registrar called his name, cheers erupted from the Reach stands—his valor at the Tourney of the Field of Roses was well remembered.
Colin Celtigar followed. His blade, commissioned by his uncle Lord Bartimos from special materials, glowed with a faint blue sheen.
As he registered, Colin caught Rupert's eye and smirked. "I won the joust at the Field of Roses. I won't go easy on you with the sword."
Rupert grinned. "We'll see who is truly Prince Daemon's sharpest blade."
When Lyonel Corbray registered, his cousin stepped forward, hand on his hilt. "Lyonel. If I win today, Lady Forlorn should go to me."
Lyonel matched his grip. "Lady Forlorn belongs to the bravest of House Corbray, not the loudest."
Their exchange drew the eyes of the Vale lords. Yorbert Royce shook his head in the stands, watching Lord Corbray stoke the fire. "The children of Corbray... always so competitive."
Allan Redwyne and Meryn Florent registered together. Allan carried a short blade suited for close quarters; Meryn wielded a slender rapier common in the Reach.
They clapped each other on the shoulder. "Meryn," Allan said, "don't hold back. I don't want my uncle laughing at me for losing."
Meryn smiled. "Same to you. You lost to me on the Arbor last time."
When Daemon Targaryen registered, he added Daemon Blackfyre's name to the list. The registrar blinked, looking between the two. "Both... Prince Daemons are participating?"
Borros shouted from the side, "One is the Red Dragon Daemon, one is the Black Dragon Daemon! Easy to tell apart!"
The crowd roared with laughter.
The first round began quickly across all three platforms. The cheers were deafening, twice as loud as the archery contest.
East Platform:
Lyonel Corbray faced the heir of a minor Reach house, Graves. The opponent wore flashy armor embossed with a double-headed eagle but was clearly nervous. His grip was shaky. Lyonel wasted no time, disarming him in three moves to advance.
As Lyonel stepped down, his cousin sneered playfully. "Don't get cocky. I'll show you real Corbray swordsmanship soon."
Lyonel ignored the jab, walking straight to Daemon and bowing. "Your Highness. I won't disappoint you."
Next up was Rupert Crabb versus Gunthor Royce. Gunthor wielded a massive greatsword with terrifying power, but Rupert stayed calm. Using agile footwork to dodge, he waited for Gunthor to gasp for breath before tapping his pauldron with his blade. Victory.
Colin gave him a thumbs-up. "Not bad. But I'll be faster."
Rupert nodded. "I'm waiting."
West Platform:
Allan Redwyne faced a knight from a Westerlands branch house, Rutger. The knight used a broadsword and favored brute force. Allan used his agility, dodging like he was riding the waves of a ship, finally tapping the man's side with his short blade.
Meryn walked over after. "Nice move. But I'll break it later."
Allan raised an eyebrow. "Try it."
Meryn Florent faced a Stormlands boy from House Estermont. The boy's attacks were chaotic. Meryn used his elegant rapier style to effortlessly parry and disarm him.
He signaled "Wait for me" to Allan as he stepped down, making Allan laugh.
Center Platform:
The Marbrand uncle-nephew duel became the first highlight.
Ser Lorent Marbrand of the Kingsguard, a master swordsman, faced his nephew Toren.
Ser Lorent didn't rush, using the "spoon-flipping" feints to confuse Toren. Toren responded in kind. Their blades danced, drawing cheers. Finally, Ser Lorent feigned a weakness. Toren bit, attacking, only to have Ser Lorent tap his pauldron.
"Good," Ser Lorent said, patting Toren's shoulder. "Much better than last time I was at Ashemark. But keep practicing."
Toren smiled. "Next time, I'll win."
Thomen Peake, who had a pact with Daemon, faced a second son from House Chambers. Thomen's style was steady—classic House Peake technique. He won easily.
As he stepped down, the heir of House Reyne, Roger, stepped up. They locked eyes. "Peake," Roger said. "If I advance, we meet next."
Thomen retorted, "My black castle awaits your red lion's challenge."
Roger Reyne faced a Waynwood knight from the Vale who used a heavy Westerlands-style sword. Roger disarmed him in three moves. He flashed a challenging hand sign at Thomen as he left.
Daemon Targaryen faced a knight from House Moreland of the Westerlands. The knight, seemingly unimpressed by the "Rogue Prince," attacked ferociously. Daemon Targaryen didn't panic. Using the agility of Dark Sister (though blunted), he easily dodged and disarmed the man, winking at Lady Lysa Tully in the stands as he did so, causing a ripple of laughter.
He walked to Daemon Blackfyre after. "Good luck. Don't lose to the small fry."
Borros Baratheon faced a knight from House Staedmon. Both used broadswords and clashed head-on. CLANG! The sound vibrated in everyone's teeth. Borros used brute strength to force the opponent's blade down, tapping his chest to win.
"Brandon! See that? I won!" he shouted.
Brandon had just stepped onto the platform against a hedge knight. His style carried the ruthless efficiency of the North. He disarmed his opponent in three moves.
"I won too," he shot back as he stepped down. "Don't get smug."
Finally, Daemon Blackfyre stepped up. His opponent was a scion of House Willum from the Reach. Unlike the Moreland knight, this boy knew exactly who Daemon was and was shaking so hard he could barely hold his sword.
Daemon didn't rush. He smiled. "Relax. Just a spar."
The boy took a deep breath and attacked. Daemon dodged effortlessly, tapping his pauldron during a recovery breath. Victory.
Gael ran over as he stepped down, handing him a honey cake. "You won! Your reward!"
Rhaenyra reached out to be held. Daemon picked her up, and she kissed his cheek, delighting the crowd.
Round One ended. The list of advancements was posted on a wooden board in the center. The matchups for the next day were set:
Lyonel Corbray vs. His Cousin (Heir to Heart's Home): Deciding the strongest knight of House Corbray and the future of Lady Forlorn.
Rupert Crabb vs. Colin Celtigar: The Battle of Prince Daemon's Followers. Who is the sharpest blade?
Allan Redwyne vs. Meryn Florent: Friends from the Reach, the Arbor vs. Brightwater Keep.
Thomen Peake vs. Roger Reyne: Heir of Starpike vs. Heir of Castamere. Reach vs. Westerlands.
Daemon Targaryen vs. William Royce: The Rogue Prince vs. his wife's cousin. A clash of family tension.
Daemon Blackfyre vs. Roland Connington: The Black Dragon vs. the Red Griffin. Warrior Incarnate vs. the Young Lord of Griffin's Roost.
Borros Baratheon vs. Lorent Grandison: The Wild Stag vs. the Sleeping Lion.
Brandon Stark vs. Ser Lorent Marbrand: The Wild Wolf vs. the White Cloak.
The stands exploded with discussion as the list went up.
Tymond Lannister nodded to Lord Reyne. "Your boy looks good. Hope he beats that Peake lad."
Lord Reyne smiled. "The Peake boy is strong. It'll come down to skill. But of course, I back my son."
Ser Horas Redwyne beamed at the board. "Allan finally gets a real match against Meryn."
Garlan Tyrell smiled. "Both are promising. Whoever wins is the pride of the Reach."
Under the goading of Lord Corbray, Lyonel walked to his cousin. "Tomorrow," he said, hand on hilt, "we decide who deserves Lady Forlorn."
His cousin, struggling to hold back a laugh at their fathers' theatrics, nodded. "Tomorrow."
Rupert and Colin walked to the center platform, drew their blunted swords, and touched blades.
"Tomorrow, I win," Rupert said.
"Not necessarily," Colin replied.
The sun dipped low. Cheers still echoed over King's Landing. The Cannibal's black shadow swept overhead, followed by Dreamfyre and Grey Ghost. Dragon roars mingled with the crowd's noise—an overture for tomorrow's duels.
Daemon stood holding Rhaenyra, surrounded by Gael, Jocelyn, and Jeyne. The brand on his shoulder warmed.
Tomorrow's duels were not just displays of skill, but a shadow play of the realm's power dynamics. And he had to protect his people and this hard-won peace.
Night fell. Torches lit the grounds like stars.
Lords walked back to the Red Keep in groups, discussing the matchups. Knights practiced by the platforms, the clash of steel ringing out.
Daemon stood in the center, looking at the Red Keep. He knew tomorrow's clash would be fierce. But he was the invincible Black Dragon.