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High Tide, Chapter 48: The Tourney
🕑 Added 2023-11-13 13:55:51 +0000 UTCSeventh Moon, 113 AC
Baela
The tourney that was thrown in celebration for her and her twin sister’s wedding was as grand as the wedding ceremony that preceded it. Apparently the tourney was greater and grander and even more expensive than the one which had been thrown to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of her late grandfather’s reign in 98 AC. Not that Baela remembered that particular tourney though, she had only been a one-year-old at the time.
The day immediately after her wedding had been a day of rest and preparation, mostly occupied by more feasting and some mummer’s troupes. The tourney began properly on the third day, with a series of mixed competitions. Various athletic games and tests of strength such as javelin throwing and also archery and horse racing. One particularly skilled archer by the name of Allard from Massey’s Hook had emerged victorious in the archery competition, after hitting the bull’s eye three times at a hundred paces.
Baela had herself won the horse races after she had convinced, or rather bluntly informed her new husband – and wasn’t that still strange – that she would be taking part. His only reply had been to raise his eyebrows and inquire if she had recovered from her soreness from the wedding night already. Baela had proceeded to win the race and rode something else altogether that night in celebration, showing her husband just how sore she was.
If she was being honest with herself, she very much enjoyed taking Jacaerys to bed or vice versa. Even if she still didn’t know what to make of the rest of their marriage, that part at least was greatly enjoyable. She was still in shock that he was apparently as inexperienced as her at the age of twenty-four. Even if he had kept to the traditional expectations of chastity in a betrothal – which men almost never did – he had already been twenty before he was betrothed to her.
He had been rather dismissive when she had inquired after his reasoning, especially after she had learned that his brothers Lucerys and Daeron were not similarly inexperienced. When she had poked at his manhood and virility, he had growled at her and claimed her again to prove just how manly and virile he was; that had been a particularly enjoyable round. It was still strange to think about at times but it did leave her with no small amount of pride that she was his first and had hence ruined him for any other woman.
A great melee had been held on the fourth day. A great melee was held on the fourth day. Thousands of knights and warriors from across the realm had battled it out in a free for all. The final victor was Ser Jaremy Gottwell, the Lord Commander of the elite Tide Guard that guarded House Velaryon, and now Baela herself.
Apparently Ser Jaremy had become beloved to the smallfolk by a different moniker; the Knight of Orange. Not only was his personal banner an orange on a teal background, but he also wore a large orange badge on his belt buckle and proudly shouted ‘Orange is the name of my loyalty’ as his battle cry.
The fifth day was made up of a series of mock battles between teams of knights, a little similar to the contest on the fourth in some aspects. With the Kingsguard not competing in that contest, the detachment of Tide Guard had claimed the victory on the fifth day, led by their commander Ser Jaremy, her goodbrothers Lucerys and Daeron, and her husband Jacaerys. In the hands of the Velaryon brothers, the Valyrian steel weapons Seafang, Allegiance, and Aeglos had proven a terror to their enemies.
Befitting the pageantry and splendor of the tourney, the grounds were decorated in rich satins and silks and velvets and the entertainment and all other aspects such as the seats and tents prepared were of fine make and quality. The prizes were also exceedingly generous. Baela was two thousand gold dragons richer after her victory in the horse race and Allard from Massey’s Hook and Ser Jaremy had won ten thousand each for their own victories. The victorious team of the mock battle had also received twenty thousand gold dragons, divided between each member.
At last on the sixth day began the most prestigious and anticipated event. At such a grand occasion, not hundreds but thousands of knights had gathered in the capital and had joined the lists in the pursuit of glory and the exceedingly generous prize her uncle was promising the victor and the runner-up, forty thousand and twenty thousand gold dragons respectively.
Only the first rounds of the joust had been held on the sixth day however. As her father had put it, they had needed a way to weed out all the chaff. Only the last fifty remaining after those first rounds would be allowed to continue on to the seventh day where they would have a chance to prove their worth against the finest knights in the realm, among whose ranks could be counted the Kingsguard, her father and cousin Aegon, and many of the great lords and their heirs, including the three Velaryon brothers, the eldest of whom was her own husband, Jacaerys.
It was now the seventh day, the grand finals of the joust. Baela made her way to where the Velaryon tent had been set up. Inside, she saw her goodparents, Lord Corlys and Aunt Viserra watching as the pages and squires helped their sons put on their armor. Her sister Rhaena was there as well. In fact, the only member of the Velaryon family that seemed missing was her goodsister Laena.
“Daeron, where is Laena?” Aunt Viserra asked.
“She’s in the Targaryen tent with Aegon,” Daeron replied as the squire strapped his breastplate onto his chest, a fine piece of smooth blued steel etched with delicate patterns and silver trims and embossed with a seahorse made of aquamarine and sapphires.
“Alone?” Lord Corlys questioned, with some alarm.
“Ser Jaremy is with her,” he reassured. Both of her goodparents noticeably relaxed.
Baela frowned. “I am certain that my family would not allow any harm to come to Laena,” she said.
The Velaryons stared at her, realizing she had entered. They seemed apprehensive about her words but did not say anything. Baela simply shrugged. If they wished to believe the worst of her family, so be it. She couldn’t really do anything much about it.
Instead of dwelling on that, Baela looked at Jacaerys instead. “Ready?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Just about,” he said as he looked down. Every part of his body had been armored in blued plate from head to toe. Each piece had been meticulously and finely crafted and much like his brother Daeron’s armor, etched and trimmed in silver. His helmet, a great helm crested with seahorses, was being held by his squire beside him. On the table next to him laid his shield, a kite shield made of ironwood and reinforced with steel bands and borders; it was painted all in sea-green save for the silvered steel device of House Velaryon at its centre.
“Hmm. I still think something is missing,” Baela said.
To his credit, Jacaerys picked it up fast. He bowed his head toward her. “May I have the honor of wearing your favour Princess Baela?”
Smoothly, Baela unravelled the ribbon she had tied around her own wrist and tied it on Jacaerys’. “The favour of a princess is not lightly given, even to her husband. Wear it well Jacaerys, and bring it honor,” she told him.
“I will,” he reassured her. “And you really should call me Jace now that we are wed.”
“Hmm, no, I don’t think I will,” Baela responded.
“Why ever not?” he asked lightly, though she could see the curiosity in his deep purple eyes that so always enthralled her.
Recovering, Baela answered, “It seems so dreadfully common and boring. I like Jacaerys, it’s an elegant and handsome Valyrian name.”
Thankfully Jacaerys accepted her answer. “Well, I guess I can’t complain if that is your reasoning,” he said with a charming smile and once again Baela had to shake off the feelings of captivation. She was not going to allow Jacaerys Velaryon to hold her in such sway and cursed her disobedient heart which was still beating faster than it should.
With a final nod to her, Jacaerys put on his helm and took his shield and walked outside with his brothers. The three of them mounted their white and silver-grey stallions, armored with strong and silvered barding, and waved at them before they rode off to the waiting grounds for the lists.
Baela watched Jacaerys ride away with mixed feelings in her heart. She’d only partly told the truth. Calling Jacaerys by the nickname his friends and family all used felt oddly intimate and Baela didn’t think they were that close, and sometimes she wondered if she actually wanted to be that close to him. She didn’t know how to feel about it, there was just so much that was uncertain, so much tension between her husband and his family and her parents and the rest of her family by birth.
Her goodmother spoke up beside her after that. “Well then, we best be off now Baela, Rhaena. We’ve been invited to sit in the main box with the royal family.”
Baela nodded curtly. Aunt Viserra was yet another person who gave her pause. Her mother had come to Rhaena and her a few days ago and informed them of a conversation that she had had with her on their wedding day. Rhaena had dismissed it but it had given Baela pause and made her wonder on her relationship with the Velaryons. If becoming a true part of House Velaryon meant no longer being the daughter of Daemon and Gael and the elder sister of Jaehaerys and Helaena, was that really something she wanted?
“Aren’t you coming?” her twin asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.
“Of course,” Baela answered. No matter what happened, she could rest assured that Rhaena would always be by her side. She happily took her twin sister’s arm into hers, interlocking them as they walked toward their seats.
When they finally arrived at the royal box, Baela greeted her mother with a kiss on the cheek and sighed to herself when she noticed her glaring at Aunt Viserra as usual. She then greeted her younger sister Helaena, her cousin Rhaenys and her Uncles Aemon, Baelon, and Viserys before taking her seat. She also waved to her cousin and goodsister Laena when she arrived and took a seat beside her parents.
The tourney of 113 AC began with a bang. The drums rolled as the herald announced the competitors of the very first match.
“On the left, we welcome Ser Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock! The eldest son and heir of Lord Tymond Lannister!” the herald announced and the crowd cheered eagerly as Ser Jason rode into the jousting grounds.
Ser Jason was certainly dressed for the part, his armor was gold, with pauldrons and a gorget patterned to resemble a lion’s mane and a crimson gambeson beneath his plate. His mount was a fine red warhorse with gilded ringmail for its barding and his lances were made out of goldenheart. Considering how rare that wood was outside the Summer Islands and how often lances would be breaking in a tourney, that was no small expense.
“To the right, enters Ser Lucerys Velaryon! The second son of Lord Corlys Velaryon and husband of Princess Rhaena Targaryen!”
The smallfolk cared not for the games of the great lords and cheered all the same when Lucerys rode in, but Baela noticed that many of the nobles were much more restrained in how they cheered for her goodbrother, even if the allies of House Velaryon cheered him on with greater exuberance than any one man would ever cheer for Lannister.
For his part, Lucerys was armored in much the same style as his brothers though there were noticeable differences between the three of them to distinguish them. On his right wrist, her sister’s purple favour was worn with pride. Rhaena squeezed her hand, both in excitement and nervousness as her husband rode into position for the joust.
At the horn blast, the two knights spurred their mounts into a furious gallop, pointing their lances at each other across the dividing fence as they charged forward at full speed. The lances burst into splinters as the two reached each other but both knights remained ahorse and so the match continued.
Riding furiously back to their squires, the two knights took their next lances and they were off again. Once more the two’s lances found their mark, though Ser Jason’s did not splinter while Lucerys’ did. Once more neither were unhorsed. Each time Ser Jason’s lance hit against Lucerys’ armor, Rhaena would squeeze her hand in both worry and excitement. Lucerys would soon put her worries to rest because after breaking two more lances, he finally unhorsed Ser Jason in the sixth tilt.
“A fine tilt,” she heard Uncle Aemon say aloud.
Rhaena smirked and cheered loudly at Lucerys’ victory and he bowed his head in acknowledgement to her and blew her a kiss before riding off. The commons cheered all the louder at the display of romantic affection and knightly chivalry toward ladies, or princesses in this case.
Baela watched rapturously as the tilts continued throughout the morning after that. Their mother, Rhaena, Helaena and her all cheered loudly when their father defeated Ser Gwayne Hightower, the son of the Governor of the Stepstones. A short while later, they were joined by Laena to cheer on Aegon as he broke three lances against Ser Arnold Arryn before unhorsing his opponent.
There were many fine displays of chivalry and pageantry as each knight rode in with the pride of their houses adorned upon themselves and their mounts in their armor and tested their mettle against each other. The Kingsguard were out in force today, with six out of seven white cloaks in the lists. Only Ser Rickard Thorne was not taking part in the joust, instead remaining dutifully by the royal family’s side. The Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole, and the Cargyll twins, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, made particularly fine showings, trimming out many lesser knights with ease.
Another noteworthy knight was Ser Harwin Strong, whom she had heard many call ‘Breakbones’ and whisper that he was the strongest knight in the realm. He was pitted against her goodbrother Daeron.
“This is a particularly unfortunate match-up for our goodbrother,” Baela said to Rhaena.
“It matters not. If he should lose, he will lose with honor and grace.”
As expected, Daeron was indeed defeated by Harwin but to the crowd’s amazement and cheers, he managed to break three lances against him before finally being unhorsed. Daeron had overall made a fine showing in the tournament thus far, having defeated six foes in the joust and having been on the winning team in previous events, and thus could withdraw knowing he had done House Velaryon proud.
He was not the only one. Lucerys and Jacaerys also trounced most of their opponents though Baela could tell whenever they had difficulties. Lucerys barely remained ahorse when he defeated one of the Kingsguard, Ser Lorent Marbrand, and Jacaerys’ match against Ser Ormund Hightower, the son and heir of Lord Hobert of Oldtown, drew particular attention for the particular persistence in which Ser Ormund continued to fight on against Jacaerys, refusing to yield no matter what, even continuing on foot until Jacaerys forced him to surrender with Seafang at his neck. It seemed the rivalry between House Hightower and House Velaryon continued, even if it looks to be exceedingly one-sided on the part of the Hightowers.
Throughout all his matches, Baela noticed that Jacaerys had a habit of overly adjusting his lance. A minor imperfection but one that could cause him trouble against an experienced enough foe. Luckily for Jacaerys however, most of those were clearing out each other instead of him. Even her father, who would have so loved to challenge Jacaerys again, was unhorsed by Ser Criston, who was in turn unhorsed by her cousin Aegon. Lucerys also avenged his brother’s defeat by unhorsing Ser Harwin Breakbones after a very hard fought joust, breaking eleven lances against him only to then be defeated by Ser Erryk Cargyll.
Finally, as noon approached, the competitors had been whittled down to twenty and many who had been expected to have made it to the final brackets had been eliminated in a shocking surprise to the spectators. Only one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk, remained now, as did her husband Jacaerys and her cousin Aegon, who were now the crowd’s favorites to win.
When the next match was announced however, she noticed her goodparents and goodsister Laena, as well as both of her goodbrothers, Daeron and Lucerys, who had both cleaned up and come to watch the rest of the tourney with them, all seemed to shuffle in their seats uncomfortably. Baela was confused.
Why? Wasn’t House Grafton ally and kin to the Velaryons? By all metrics, the match between the heirs of Gulltown and Driftmark should have been an exceedingly light-hearted and friendly one, but there was a tension in the air Baela noted as she saw Jacaerys stare piercingly at his opponent before placing his helm back on.
______________________________________
Jacaerys
“On the right is Ser Addam Grafton of Gulltown, the heir of Lord Gerold!” the herald cried and the crowd cheered predictably. “And on the left is Ser Jacaerys Velaryon, eldest son and heir of Lord Corlys Velaryon and husband of Princess Baela Targaryen!”
Jace would have normally felt enormous pleasure at seeing the crowd truly go wild at his name. He had become rather popular with them over the course of the joust, the common folk at least, the nobles continued to stare balefully at him and clap politely at best. But not against this opponent.
Addam Grafton approached him with his lance raised upright, indicating he was not tilting. The crowd quieted. “Ser Jacaerys,” he began, taking off his helmet.
Jace took off his own helm and greeted him. “Come now cousin, we have known each other for a long time. There need not be such formalities between us,” Jace said, trying to smile, but he was probably failing miserably.
He was being honest at least. Whatever he thought of Addam now, he had been a friend to him once, and there was much more that bound them together than tore them apart. They were second cousins as their grandmothers, Prudence and Primrose Celtigar had been sisters. They also shared an aunt, as Addam’s aunt, Alys, had married Jacaerys’ uncle, Aurane, and their five sons were their shared first cousins.
And more than just kinship, there was familiarity and friendship as they had somewhat grown up with each other and played together as boys whenever they had met in their childhood, and that had been more often than not. There had been numerous cordial meetings and friendly visits between their two families, be it in Gulltown, High Tide, or even Castle Celtigar. Their families had been allied for decades now, working together in all manner of things, from politics and economics to trade and innovation, and Jace counted House Grafton among one of his family’s most steadfast and truest allies.
There should have been nothing at all that gave them any reason to be opposed to each other and this match should have been nothing more than a friendly tilt between allies and kin. But Jace’s eyes drew to the white ribbon on Addam’s wrist and his heart grew bitter and his mood soured.
Cassandra’s prophecy had come true indeed. In the four years since he had let her go, Addam Grafton had wed Cassandra, taken her maidenhead, and filled her with his child. They had a toddling son now, Jaime, if he recalled the name correctly.
Addam noticed his gaze. “I am sorry Jace. I do not wish to rub salt in the wound, but it was no easier for her to watch you wed than it was for you her. Or I. It is not a fate I would wish upon any man to know that they are and always will be their wife’s second choice.”
Jace stared at Addam. “What do you want Addam? There is only so long we may speak before the herald and the crowd demand we tilt.”
“I would like to propose a mutual withdrawal.”
Jace raised his eyebrow. “And potentially endanger our chances in the rest of the competition? This is quite unlike you Addam.”
Addam smiled bitterly. “This is not my request in truth. It is Cassandra’s. She was terrified of the idea that either of us would do grievous injury to the other out of some wounded pride due to the affection we both hold for her.”
His eyes scanned the crowd briefly, careful to not let it slip who exactly he was searching for to those he did not wish to know. He found her seated in the box directly opposite him, with the rest of Houses Grafton, Royce, Celtigar, Tarth, and Jace’s kin from the lesser branches of House Velaryon.
Cassandra locked eyes with him and her expression was pleading. Jace scowled and turned his attention back to her husband. “Does she think so little of me that she believes I would harm you out of some misplaced anger?”
Addam did not answer but his expression told Jace all that he needed to know.
Jace steeled his resolve. “I will not withdraw Ser Addam, and neither do I think that you want to either. This match is as important to you as it is I. My wife expects much from me, and said as much when she granted me her favor. As for you, you must honor the favor that you wear in whatever way that you think best.”
Addam Grafton steeled himself. “Very well. We shall ride against each other today then Ser Jacaerys.”
“If that is your will, then so be it,” Jace replied before he rode off to his starting position.
He stared at Addam Grafton and his wife Cassandra once more before he put on his helm. There was a time once that he and not Addam would have worn that white favor, but those days were long gone now and he could not cling to the past anymore.
The horn blasted and Jace spurred his mount into a furious gallop as he charged straight for Addam, pointing his joust at him across the tilt. His lance found its mark, smashing into Addam furiously as he was thrown off his horse and landed on the ground, bruised but otherwise unharmed.
“A fine match! Ser Jacaerys Velaryon has unhorsed Ser Addam Grafton with a single lance!” the herald proclaimed and the crowd cheered.
Unable and unwilling to continue on foot, Addam yielded the match to him and withdrew, leaving Jace the victor. He stared at Cassandra briefly as Addam was helped to his feet by his squire but he soon shook it away and nodded instead to his new wife Baela, locking eyes with her.
It was strange at times to think that he was wed to Baela Targaryen. For so long he had dreamed of marrying someone else entirely, but Baela was not a bad wife by any metric. She was comely to look at, witty with a sense of dry humor, provocative, and such a minx in bed, that last trait was rather mutually enjoyable for the both of them.
Yet despite the physical intimacy, there remained a distance between their hearts, a result of the tense relations between him and her parents, and unbeknownst to her, his still present grief for the first love he had given up. But Jace could not dwell on the past forever. He remembered well his father’s words to him. He meant to win this tourney, and he would be crowning Baela Targaryen when he did. He believed it would go a long way to winning him her affection.
Once the crowd’s cheers and applause died down, Jace rode away back to his tent, to rest and prepare for his next match. He rode two more times after that, even managing to defeat the last Kingsguard, Ser Arryk Cargyll, in an exceedingly tiresome tilt in the semi-finals.
Then at last came the grand final itself. “Ladies and gentlemen, highborn and low, at last has come the match you have all been waiting for; the grand finals of this tourney!” the herald announced.
The crowd went wild, cheering enthusiastically. Jacaerys smirked despite himself, letting his focus drop temporarily. The herald certainly knew how to get the crowd excited.
“The victor’s prize is exceedingly generous, forty thousand golden dragons are at stake here, yet even the runner-up would have a mighty consolation of twenty thousand golden dragons. But there is only one crown of flowers and only one contestant’s lady love may be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty. Who then shall emerge as the victor of the grand Tourney of 113 after Aegon’s Conquest? Our finalists have battled it out, challenged and defeated the finest knights of the realm, even the Kingsguard themselves, to reach this esteemed finale!”
“To our left rides in Prince Aegon! The grandson of the King and the son of Princess Rhaenys of Dragonstone! Second in line to the Iron Throne!” the herald announced as his cousin rode into the grounds to an enormous cheer from the crowd.
“Aegon! Aegon!” the crowd chanted with fervor.
“To the right rides Ser Jacaerys, eldest son and heir of Lord Corlys Velaryon!”
The crowd roared once again, chanting his name eagerly. “Jacaerys! Jacaerys!” they cried.
Soon the crowd became divided between supporters of Jace and supporters of Aegon. Cries of ‘Jacaerys!’ and ‘Aegon!’ began to meld with cheers of ‘Fire and Blood!’ and ‘Velaryon and Victory!’.
For his part, Jace steeled his resolve and calmed his nerves as he focused. It would be a tough tilt to win that crown of flowers and his opponent would be none other than his sister’s love.
Aegon’s family had spared no expense for his protection. He rode atop a great black destrier, armored in black and grey steel barding. There were rubies set in his breastplate, a device in the shape of the three-headed dragon. His armor resembled that of the Targaryen Dragonkeepers and was crested with rows of dragon scales. His great helm had three dragon heads rising from its crest and scaly dragon wings protruding from its cheeks and he bore a large kite shield with the sigil of House Targaryen emblazoned on it.
Altogether, it looked quite dramatic and perhaps even a tad impractical, but tourneys were for show as much as they were for practical tests of one’s skill at arms and Jace could hardly claim to be any better in this regard. His armor was no less ostentatious or decorative after all.
Jace lined up at the tilt, ready for the horn to sound at any moment. His anticipation grew with every moment that passed feeling like an eternity. There was much at stake here, much more than just a simple flower crown or the glory and gold of the victory. As the principal heirs of House Velaryon and House Targaryen, Jacaerys and Aegon represented not just themselves but their houses today, and neither of them had been raised to ever dishonor that representation.
The horn sounded. Jace spurred his horse onward with an eager shout. His lance found its mark, slamming into Aegon’s breastplate while Jace took care to deftly evade Aegon’s own lance, using his shield to help him deflect it.
Unfortunately, Aegon stayed ahorse and Jace could feel his arm protesting at his abuse of it as it ended up taking much of the force of the impact from the lance through the shield. As he rode furiously back to his squire, Jace temporarily switched his shield to his right hand so he could stretch and shake his bruised left arm.
Taking up a new lance, he set off into another tilt, riding to meet Aegon, still using his first lance, once again. This time, both of their lances hit true and Jace almost felt himself thrown off his horse from the force of the impact, dropping his lance as he desperately clung onto his horse. The crowd gasped and oohed at the spectacle before Jace rode to his squire to take up his third lance and Aegon took his second.
Again and again they rode against each other, breaking lance after lance. After they had broken nineteen lances between them, ten for Jace and nine for Aegon, the King attempted to intervene and call a draw but both of them refused it and made clear their desire to continue the match. There was too much pride and glory at stake here for either of them to accept a draw.
However, their strength was beginning to falter. It had been a long day of jousting and both of them had grown exhausted even as they held onto their horses with the last of their strength, stubbornly refusing to give up.
On the thirteenth tilt, as Jace adjusted the grip on his lance for what he hoped would be a finishing blow, his strength failed him and the lance dipped at the last moment, slamming straight into the chest of Aegon’s destrier.
The poor beast’s barding protected it from an otherwise certain death as the lance splintered, but it nonetheless tripped and fell, bringing Aegon down with it. The crowd gasped in shock and some booed at what seemed like a dirty move on Jace’s part.
Jace hurriedly dismounted his horse and went to help Aegon. It had been an accident but if he had gravely injured or Seven forbid, killed Aegon, there would be hell to pay. To his relief, Aegon seemed perfectly fine, if battered and disoriented and with his pride bruised.
His poor horse was lying on the tourney grounds, and might never recover enough to be ridden in tourneys again. Jace winced at the sight and offered his arm to Aegon. “Sorry about your horse. It wasn’t my intention.”
“Fuck off,” Aegon spat as he slapped away his hand, insisting on getting to his feet himself.
The crowd, which had been unable to hear their exchange, cheered seeing their prince was in good health. A general feeling of relief filled the tourney grounds and knowing he needed to dispel any rumours of foul play as Aegon bent down to tend to his wounded horse, Jace walked up to the herald and spoke to him.
“To apologize for his mistake and render compensation for the Prince’s horse, Ser Jacaerys has declared his intention to yield the match!” the herald proclaimed and the crowd cheered and clapped at Jace’s show of chivalry and sportsmanship.
Looking up to the royal box, he could see the approving nods from his parents and brothers and the gratitude from his wife and sister and the rest of the Targaryens.
“NO!” a voice suddenly cried out and Jacaerys turned to see that Aegon had risen from where his horse had fallen. “I refuse to win like this!”
“SWORD!!” he demanded and his cousin and squire Prince Jaehaerys came rushing to his side. In a single fluid movement, Aegon drew forth the sword from the sheath his cousin held and the crowd gasped in shock, for the weapon in his hands was none other than Blackfyre, the Sword of Kings.
The herald recovered quickly however. “Prince Aegon has refused the yield and wishes to continue on foot, in a contest of arms!”
Hurriedly, Jacaerys called up his own squire and drew out Seafang as Aegon gained on him. He had barely drawn his sword when Aegon was on him, bashing at his helm with his shield.
‘Looks like I made him mad,’ Jace thought as Aegon continued slashing at him. He deflected a blow with his shield and fought back, slamming Seafang against Aegon from above and below as he nimbly blocked with his sword.
It was times like this that Jacaerys remembered just who had trained Aegon because this all felt very familiar to him. The finesse and technique in his sword blows was almost identical to what Jace had encountered when he had duelled Daemon four years ago. And the rage, the rage was exactly the same as well.
Aegon growled as he moved Blackfyre in for another blow and Jace blocked and deflected it, making use of the movement to smoothly lead into a strike against Aegon’s side with Seafang. Blackfyre and Seafang were both Valyrian steel and so evenly matched but the rest of their equipment was not of the same make.
Aegon’s shield, already battered and bruised from the jousts and the earlier blows from Seafang, broke apart entirely when he blocked Jace’s strike. Jace wasn’t sure what it was made of, but it clearly wasn’t ironwood because his own shield was good still… at least he hoped so.
If he thought that losing a shield would dampen Aegon’s rage however, Jace had to think again. Readjusting both hands onto the hand-and-a-half grip, Aegon began wielding Blackfyre as a two-handed sword. His blows gained greater strength and with Valyrian steel, that was very dangerous.
Jace found himself on the defensive as Aegon bludgeoned away at him, his shield seemingly useless compared to how fast Blackfyre was weaving in and out at his defences, whittling him down. Jace’s heart beat faster in shock when Aegon slipped through his defences and Blackfyre carved a gash across his breastplate, not quite breaching it yet but certainly compromising it. One more blow on that same area and the Valyrian steel could cut through the gambeson below like a hot knife through butter to reach Jace’s heart.
He looked to Aegon and though they could not see each other’s eyes properly through their visor, Jace felt like their eyes met nonetheless. He could sense the bloodlust in Aegon’s movements. This was no ordinary tourney match.
As Aegon slipped through his defenses once again and halfsworded his blade with his steel gauntlets to prime for a thrust that would punch right through his compromised armor, Jace knew that this duel had turned into one of life and death and reacted accordingly.
He turned his chest to the right to evade the thrust while his left hand swerved forward to meet Aegon’s helm and bashed into it with all his strength. Not letting Aegon recover, Jace backhanded him in the face with his ironwood shield again and then slashed at his breastplate in the next moment.
The armor, battered after taking dozens if not hundreds of direct hits from jousting lances all day, gave way to the hard bite of Valyrian steel as a gash as deep as the one on Jace’s own breastplate was carved. Some of the rubies that had been set in Aegon’s breastplate were cut out and went flying from the force of the blow like drops of blood.
Pouncing on his still disoriented foe, Jace bashed his shield at his sword arm to weak his grip on his sword while he aimed Seafang at the gaps in his armor on that same arm. The combined move wrenched the blade of his namesake out of Aegon’s hands in a not dissimilar way to how Jace had disarmed Daemon all those years ago.
Stomping down on Blackfyre, Jacaerys pointed his blade at Aegon, making sure he knew it was aimed at the weak spot in his breastplate that he had created. Reluctantly, Aegon raised his hands up in surrender and pulled off his helmet throwing it to the ground as he said, “I yield!”
He saw no bloodlust in Aegon’s pale lilac eyes, only a grim acceptance of his defeat. It made Jace wonder whether he had read his movements correctly or not but he was gravely wary of Aegon now. He kicked Blackfyre away and kept his eyes on Aegon as he moved backwards toward his horse.
The crowd cheered while all of this was happening, none of them realizing just how close either of them had come to death, only enjoying the spectacle of a fight that seemed brutal and real… maybe because it had been.
“Prince Aegon has yielded! People of the realm, lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike, I present to you our champion! Jacaerys Velaryon!” the herald cried in excitement and the drums rolled and beat eagerly.
Somewhere in the crowd, some eager bard or ministrel played the opening tunes of ‘Rule Velaryon’ on his harp and the crowd began to sing the song happily as they celebrated his victory more than Jace was himself.
He would have otherwise basked in the adoration of the crowds and the glory of his win, but the duel with Aegon had left him unsettled. Had he simply imagined that bloodlust? Or had it really been there?
Regardless, he would have time to worry about that later. Jace mounted his horse and rode it about the stadium in a victory lap, going to boxes where he knew his support was strongest and thanking them loudly for their cheers and support throughout the day. “Velaryon and Victory!” he chanted at each box as he rode and they chorused back.
As he passed by the box where the Graftons and the rest of his family’s noble allies were seated, Jace nodded in acknowledgement to Addam Grafton but he did his best not to let his eyes dwell on Cassandra, riding past her as he made his way back to where the herald stood beneath the royal box. There Jacaerys, still mounted atop his horse, bowed in respect.
His uncle, the King, rose from his seat and quieted the crowd’s music and cheers before he continued speaking. “Ser Jacaerys Velaryon, my nephew, you have fought well and proven yourself to be a fine and chivalrous knight, most deserving of the prize you are now to be bestowed with,” his uncle said as some of the Targaryens’ men presented him with the heavy chest full of forty thousand golden dragons and opened it for him.
Gold did not matter as much to Jacaerys with how rich his family was, so he paid little attention to it. Instead his eyes drew to the other prize that had been brought out, a wreath of scarlet frostfires and purple lavenders.
Jace took off his helm and tossed it into his squire’s arms before he bowed again to his uncle and graciously accepted the prizes. After he had called for a new lance, the tourney men held up the wreath of flowers and Jace poked his lance through its empty middle to let it rest near the rounded dulled point, almost like tilting at rings. There was no need to ride anywhere else. He raised his lance and the wreath with it up to the royal box and placed it before his wife.
“Princess Baela Targaryen, my dear wife, I would crown you my Queen of Love and Beauty!” Jace declared.
And that was the moment when all the smiles found new life as the cheers grew even louder. Baela beamed at him as she rose from her seat and walked up to the edge of the box, taking the crown and placing it atop her own head in full view of the crowd. A thunderous applause filled the stadium then and the crowd began to chant.
Jace realized with a start that they were chanting his name, even those who had previously opposed him were playing along to fit in. For the first time in his life, Jace felt like he was actually welcome in Westeros as the crowds shouted, “Jacaerys! Jacaerys! Jacaerys!”
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Daeron
“She wears the crown well,” Laena observed as she looked over to their goodsister. They had come to stand in a corner in the Great Hall once they had finished eating to drink and converse in private away from onlookers.
Daeron followed her eyes to a sight he had seen many times that night already. Baela Targaryen, beaming to all who spoke to her with an unshakeable cheer. A wreath of frostfires and lavenders adorned her head, and her hair fell loosely to her neck.
It was a very fair sight, and one that made him hopeful that his brother and goodsister could find happiness in their marriage despite their mutual misgivings. Both Jace and Baela had always had mixed feelings about their marriage, Daeron could sense the awkwardness between them in all their previous interactions, but the past week had been promising indeed.
He had no concerns for the other pair whatsoever. For all that he had joked that they were identical to their elder twins, Luke and Rhaena were as different from Jace and Baela as night and day. They had gotten along exceedingly well, to the point that their marriage was almost a formality by now. Their personalities suited each other a lot.
“She does indeed,” his best friend spoke up in response to what Laena said. “I hope that it is a sign that your brother will treat her well.”
Daeron turned back to Aegon. “Of course he will,” he insisted. “Jace has never mistreated anyone.”
“Really? What about my horse?” Aegon jested but Daeron could see the bitter look in his eyes he tried to hide.
“That was an accident Egg.” Daeron was unimpressed. “He even offered to yield the match as an apology, it’s not his fault. You acknowledged that by refusing his yield.”
“Fair enough,” Aegon backed down sighing, but Daeron was still left feeling unsure.
Aegon’s relationship with Jace and Luke had never been truly cordial again after Jace’s duel with Daemon. Sometimes he wondered just how much Daemon and Gael were influencing him. His friend always dismissed his concerns but still Daeron worried. Aegon’s overprotectiveness of Baela and to a lesser extent Rhaena, his coldness to Luke and especially Jace, it all started to add up.
His duel with Jace in the finals was also strange. Certainly he could see why he would be angered by the apparently foul play but Jace had made clear that it was an accident and had been willing to concede the match. Why had Aegon felt the need to duel him on foot? And the way he had been fighting that duel… there had been too much aggression in it.
‘Almost like he was aiming to kill,’ a treacherous corner of his mind whispered but Daeron dismissed it. The relationship between Aegon and Jace might have soured, but they were still cordial enough to hold friendly conversations. More than that however, Daeron refused to believe that Aegon would ever do that to him, to Laena, no matter how much he might grow to dislike Jace.
Presumably wanting to change the topic to something less potentially divisive, Laena turned all of their attention back to Baela who was now laughing with Jace over some jest or jape. Daeron found the sight adorable and he hoped that Jace could find love again with Baela. It couldn’t have been easy for him to ride against Addam Grafton and see Cassandra’s favor on his wrist, Daeron knew. He wanted Jace to be happy, it was the least his brother deserved after all his service and sacrifices for their family.
“When do you think that will be us?” Laena turned to ask Aegon, who was still looking at Jace and Baela, an unreadable emotion in his gaze.
Aegon smiled and turned to Laena to answer, “I had hoped it would be tonight but unfortunately your brother beat me to it. Still there will be other tourneys and I will make sure I win next time.”
Laena shook her head. “It wasn’t the crown of flowers I spoke of.”
If it was possible, Aegon’s smile grew even brighter. “Sooner rather than later,” he promised.
“Truly?” Laena asked, her voice almost breaking.
There was love and longing in her voice, but also something else as well. Daeron hoped Aegon didn’t notice, but he knew that Laena felt uncertainty and fear as well. After delaying for four years, the idea of marrying Aegon was almost as strange for her as not marrying him at this point. In private, Laena had confessed, to Daeron and their brothers and parents, that her greatest fear was that it would do nothing. She would marry Aegon but peace could not be attained between their families and she would become estranged from them as surely as Baela and Rhaena would be from the Targaryens.
Laena’s fear was why his parents had rejected any proposal that she marry Aegon without the matter of the Stepstones and Tyrosh being resolved. If the core causes of tension between their families were not settled, Laena’s marriage to Aegon would only make things even more complicated tragic if the worst came to pass.
Aegon nodded. “I’m tired of waiting. I’ve given my mother an ultimatum. She has until my twentieth nameday in the fifth moon next year to come up with a proposal that satisfies both her and me. If she doesn’t, I intend to bypass her entirely and go straight to my grandfather and ask for his permission to marry you. I’m sure it will be forthcoming.”
Laena was speechless. Seemingly overcome with emotion, she hugged Aegon tightly, doing her best to not cry.
Aegon was surprised at first but his face softened and he held her tightly. “Everything is going to be just wonderful Laena, I promise,” he said as he ran his hand down her back comfortingly.
Daeron looked around to see if anyone was watching them and intruding on his sister and friend’s privacy before he turned back to them. “I’m sorry Aegon,” Daeron said. “I know it must be hard for you to oppose your mother.”
His friend’s smile was a little sad. “Thank you. It is… but sometimes you have to know what’s worth fighting for,” he said as he looked to Laena again.
Seeing the tenderness and love in Aegon’s pale lilac eyes as he held Daeron’s sister in his arms, Daeron wondered what he and Laena had been so worried about. Aegon had been their best friend since they were children, he had never let them down. He let his worries fade away. Aegon had always been a true friend to Daeron and a devoted admirer of his sister, and Daeron felt confident that he always would be.
His worries about Aegon put aside, Daeron turned back to look at Baela and Jace. They had moved from their table and were opening the dance in the middle of the Great Hall now, Baela still wearing the crown of flowers.
“The dance has started,” he said aloud.
“Brilliant,” Aegon said before he broke away from his sister’s embrace and bowed to her dramatically. “May I have this dance Lady Laena?” he asked with his hand outstretched.
There was mirth in Laena’s eyes as she accepted. “You may Prince Aegon,” she said as she took his hand.
“Oi. What am I going to do now that the two of you are ditching me?” Daeron jestingly demanded.
“Look around Daeron. I’m sure there’s plenty of ladies who’d be willing to dance with you,” Aegon said.
“Maybe you could finally find a lady love of your own, oh daring knight? Jace and Luke are wed and it sounds like I will be too soon. It will be your turn next, best get a move on it,” Laena teased.
Aegon chuckled with her as they walked away and Daeron sighed in fond exasperation. The teasing could be frustrating, but they were not wrong. He was nine and ten and while his father had promised him that there was no rush for him to wed, Daeron knew it was still expected of him.
Who could he marry he wondered as he watched his siblings and parents dance. Daeron didn’t think it would be bragging to call himself a catch for any lady. He was by all accounts a dashing and charming young lad, so he certainly had the looks and personality. He might only be a third son but he was a third son of House Velaryon, the richest family in the world, and had been promised a portion of that wealth as his inheritance in the form of vast estates and businesses. He would have no difficulty supporting any wife and children he might have.
Nor was he lacking in reputation or prestige. Daeron had been a knight for two years now and he wielded a Valyrian steel weapon, Aeglos. He had distinguished himself well in the recent tourney so his skills and manliness would not be in question. And perhaps most impressive of all, he rode a dragon.
Neither was he lacking in options for brides. His eyes drifted over the crowd, searching for the houses his parents would prefer he choose a wife from, the same houses that made up the Narrow Sea League, a trading bloc and alliance led by his family that had been formally established last year.
With the sanctions removed by his Uncle Aemon, his family had made tremendous progress in rebuilding their influence and alliances in Westeros. The League was made up of their traditional allies, Celtigar, Grafton, and Tarth, and also the new addition of Royce through Cousin Vaemond’s marriage. Various other houses along the Narrow Sea had been pulled into the league as well due to their economic and political power. Houses such as Sunderland, Upcliff, Pyror, Elesham, Estermont, and Whitehead. Darklyn might soon join as well, as the economic benefits were too great and the disadvantages of remaining apart too dire to resist the offer.
The Starks and several of their vassals on the east coast of the North had also intended to join the League. It had caused an uproar in the court as many had been unhappy with how powerful the league would become as a result when it was already so strong. His Uncle Aemon had interfered with that, offering the Starks and the North back the New Gift under the table in exchange for not joining the League.
He remembered that Jace and Aegon had both had words to say about that. Jace had of course complained about their uncle’s interference with their allies, and he had complained even more when the Starks took the deal but Aegon had been exceedingly approving of his grandfather’s actions. Aegon had never really liked the idea of the League, especially since King’s Landing wasn’t invited to join, but Daeron wasn’t too worried about that. Once he and Laena wed, King’s Landing and the North could both join the League and there would be no trouble.
Maidenpool had also been extended an offer to join the League though Daeron doubted they would. While it would no doubt benefit Maidenpool, the ruling House Mooton was quite literally joined by the hip to House Arryn now and the Arryns very much despised the League. In their eyes, the League was a tool in the hands of the Graftons and Royce-Arryns to undermine their rule of the Vale and Daeron couldn’t exactly disagree.
With Gulltown, Runestone, and the various islands in the Vale in the league, the Graftons and Royce-Arryns had a stranglehold on the Vale’s trade and navy and they were using that stranglehold to grow their influence in the region. They were slowly working to strengthen the support and claim of Ser Arnold Arryn, the nephew of Lord Jasper and the husband of Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone.
Not that Daeron particularly cared about the troubles of the Arryns of the Eyrie, who had never really acted like they recognized their kinship. Still, it would be worth keeping all of this in mind in case he ended up marrying a Grafton like his Uncle Aurane had as that would likely draw him into the whole mess that was the Vale’s internal politics.
Or he could marry a Tarth like Uncle Rhaekar, but that would just entangle him in the Stormlands’ internal politics instead and maybe even set him against Rhaenys and even Aegon. On second thought, maybe Tarth would be worse than Grafton.
Of course, while his parents would prefer that he wed amongst their allies, he did have other options. Aegon had spoken true, there would be no shortage of ladies that would be willing to dance with him tonight and he could easily charm most any of them and their parents into giving him their hands in marriage. The question was, did he want to?
He might have postponed his plans to adventure and voyage, but Daeron still meant to go. He would see Aegon and Laena wed, and then he would be off within a few years. His ship was already being built, and his mother had begrudgingly given her permission for him to go once he was twenty. Not long from now, the Dawn Treader would sail the high seas.
As his father had realized, Daeron knew it would not be ideal to leave a wife behind when voyaging. It would be unfair to the wife to leave her for so long, though perhaps she might come with him? He had yet to find a lady who was interested in voyaging but perhaps he could if he looked harder.
As his eyes scanned the crowd, his eyes met his sister’s. She smiled and waved at him before returning her focus to her dance with Aegon. Unbidden his treacherous mind suggested that maybe, maybe he had found that lady.
Laena was fierce, daring, and adventurous. She had been by his side his entire life, egging him on into stupid dares or running around exploring Tyrosh and Driftmark with him when they were young. She loved to fly and explore and had even expressed somewhat of an interest in accompanying him on his voyages in the past whenever he had spoken of it to her.
And she was beautiful, truly beautiful and lovely beyond compare. Despite his efforts, Daeron could not name a single woman he had ever met apart from their mother and the Targaryens who could rival Laena’s beauty. The Pearl of Tyrosh had no rival for her luster and light.
For a brief moment, Daeron let his mind dwell on the idea of it. Of Laena being his lady wife and accompanying him on his voyages across the world. By day they would sail and fly and enjoy the sights and represent their elder brothers in their family’s holdings, and by night they would lay together and he would hold her gently, caressing her skin, kissing her like one kissed a woman. She would moan ever so softly and delightfully and then they would –
‘She’s not yours!’ the rational part of his mind screamed. Shamefully, Daeron crushed the obscene thoughts and tried to push them away. Guilt wormed its way into his heart, as it always did whenever he let himself dare to think of Laena in this way.
Ever since his father had first brought up the idea years ago, a part of Daeron had latched onto it and refused to let it go. It was shameful. It was only to be a last resort in the event that Laena didn’t marry Aegon but now that that looked unlikely, he had to crush these thoughts and make sure they never returned.
Every time they came to him, they would almost possess him and drive him mad with longing and arousal. On one occasion in the past, he had even touched himself to the thought of Laena and he had been unable to look her in the eye for weeks after that, drowning in his guilt and shame until he had confessed to his mother and father in private and been consoled by them. Laena did not know, nor would she ever if Daeron had anything to say about it.
Aegon was his best friend and Daeron cared for him dearly as a brother and as a friend. Aegon loved Laena and she loved him. They had loved each other for years and clung onto hope that they could marry, duty alone had kept them from simply eloping. Every time these forbidden thoughts came, it felt like it was a betrayal of them both. As their best friend and brother, Daeron was supposed to support them and their relationship to the end, not lust after his own sister, and certainly not be hoping deep down that she didn’t marry Aegon.
His best friend and siblings spent the rest of the night happily dancing in their partner’s arms but Daeron would spend it lost in a war in his own mind.
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Author’s Note: Glad you guys liked this chapter, please lmk your thoughts! Quite a lot of juicy stuff happened this chapter lel.
Comments
Tertius711
Aegon was 15 when Daemon did his shit with Jace so even if he was reassigned to another knight, it would probably not have done much to remove his closeness to Daemon. As for the rest of your point, well, now we shall see ehh?
Kolek
As far as I can tell, a big mistake everyone is making is leaving Aegon as Daemon's squire and keeping them close. After reading the duel, I don't think a marriage with Laena can really fix things. At this point, it feels more likely that it will just result in her being trapped on the Targaryen side as the conflict gets hotter.
Tertius711
Well part of Daeron certainly hopes that he does marry Laena lol. Let's see how it goes.
Tariel Khalvashi
Still, I believe that Laena should remain in the family through her marriage to Daeron. I really don't like Aegon's thinking and aggression towards the Velaryons. It's unlikely that anything worthwhile will come out of a potential wedding with him other than the loss of Laena's dragon. And given that everything is heading towards conflict, it is better for the Velaryons to remain united against the Targaryens. This is the case when I hope for the stubbornness and pride of the Targaryens, which will not allow them to give the Velaryons a future queen.
