章 17: Aemond II/Aegon II/Cassandra II
Author's Note: Guess who's back?! Not for long though, I know I've said my schedule would be open again but then I had a great job opportunity, so I thought I'd take it.
So I'm sorry, it seems that it's going to be the usual chapter every once in a while, I do hope however that you enjoy them nonetheless, and that you comment as much as possible, I do read them, you know?
Enjoy the chap!
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Aemond II
He stared at the richly decorated eyepatch on his face, a gift from his grandfather, supposedly a testament to his courage and bravery in the face of their enemies, it was the first time in his life he received any praise from the man, and even with his effort at squashing the feelings of elation, he couldn't help but feel pride.
The doors open abruptly, his sister barging on the doors chased by her minders, wearing a resplendent yellow dress with green linings.
"Brother, you're still getting clothed?! Father is about to receive the Dornish in his throne room!" Helaena promptly ignores the servants making the finishing touches on his garments and pulls him by his sleeves.
Aemond couldn't help a warm smile at her antics; it is rare for his sister to be so excited after all.
He mindlessly dismisses his helpers. "Yes, let's go."
It wasn't long before they reached the throne room, the doors never closing due to the constant stream of people entering.
"Prince Aemond and Princess Helaena Targaryen!" The herald declares their arrival.
They do receive glances as befitting their station, but no one interrupts them as they approach their mother, she was standing at the front in conversation with the Hand, her father, both wearing some shade of green.
She turns at their direction, nodding. "Good, you are not late. Where is your brother?" She asks.
She meant Aegon of course, Daeron dutifully stood next to their father at his throne in his capacity as cupbearer.
"I heard he was with Lord Wylde, he should be coming with him." His sister answers.
Aemond ignores the conversation in favor of looking through the crowd.
The chamber is much more crowded than usual; any Lord worth his salt is in the city for this particular event, including the Lord Paramounts.
He quickly notices the darkly dressed Rhaenyra and Daemon, her children seem to be in conversation with the twin sisters, and he pays no heed to some of the glares that they send him.
The Velaryons, while in close proximity to the blacks, do not seem to be wearing their distinctive colors, favoring their house colors, he also notices both Lords Lannister and Tully in conversation with Lord Corlys.
Then there is the aging Lord Stark and his tall for his age dark haired son Cregan in grey colors, the Lady Arryn in sky blue, and the Baratheons in black and gold.
As is obvious for such an occasion, people seem to prefer their house colors.
Aegon arrives shortly after, distinctly sober. He separates from the Master of laws before approaching them.
"What did I miss?" He asks Aemond after greeting the others.
"Nothing of import." He answers.
Aegon just nods, he has been strangely cordial and reserved as of late…
Time passes fairly quickly as people mingle with each other, Aemond spent time speaking with his sister.
And before long, they came.
"Prince Baelon Targaryen, Governor of Kingslanding, Conqueror of Dorne, the Dragonslayer! Lord Alleras Dayne, Lord of Starfall, Wielder of Dawn, Sword of the Morning! Lord Garrison Fowler…"
The words of the herald washed over Aemond's ears in favor of the sight of the Dornish procession, at its head are the only two people aside from the Kingsguard allowed to wield a weapon in the presence of the king, probably due to their significance.
Baelon wore a luxurious doublet of Black and Red, fully representing house Targaryen, as always, at his side was Blackfyre, their ancestral sword. Right next to him was an unfamiliar man to his eyes, he was handsome in ways you'd expect from a Valyrian even if he was not one, black of hair and with purple eyes, he wore white and purple and had at his side what one could argue to be the most revered sword in history, Dawn.
His father put on an impassive mask at their approach, and beneath the his sickly visage lay a determined expression.
They stood in front of the Iron Throne, bowing the appropriate amount. ""Your Grace."" They echoed.
As they stood back up, Lord Dayne made another step. "It is a wonderful experience to stand before you, your Grace. The sight of this rightful throne does naught but bring joy to my heart." He mentions with his hand the men who stand before him. "We, the rightful lords of Dorne, come to you to finally pledge our allegiance to your fair rule, and swear to show the utmost loyalty to your dynasty."
"That." His father begins. "Brings a smile to my face." And so it does.
"It has been more than a hundred years since my ancestor's goals of uniting the realm has been unfinished, and it is most joyous that after all this time, and under leal and competent leaders and subjects, the Targaryen's claim to the Seven Kingdoms is finally accomplished. I would have your oath, Lord Dayne. Yours and those of the men who so valiantly fought for our sake, and I swear to uphold my duties as your King in a fair and just manned."
Lord Dayne promptly kneels a hand over his heart, his retinue following his actions. "I, Alleras Dayne of House Dayne, do swear in the name of gods old and new, that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Grace Viserys Targaryen, his heirs and successors, for the rest of my days."
"I, Garrison Fowler of House Fowler, do swear in the name of gods old and new…"
"I, Gwayne Yronwood of House Yronwood…"
"I, …"
Witnessing the many Lords of Dorne swearing oaths was proving to be extremely boring, despite the historic relevance of the event.
Aemond knew that he was watching history being made, it just was boring history.
"I take your oaths with dignity and my utmost appreciation, and to reward my new subjects, I declare Lord Alleras Dayne to be the Lord Paramount of Dorne with all the benefits and responsibilities that come with such a position. In addition, the town of Starfall shall be bestowed a City charter of its own, to be elevated as the center of the Kingdom, and to showcase our generosity in the face of accomplishment." He smiled down at the purple eyed lord. "I always thought it was a travesty that Dorne had no city of its own, and I hope for Starfall to grow to be a magnificent one indeed."
Lord Alleras bowed again. "Thank you, your grace."
"In addition! …"
And then it went again with the tedium, lower taxes for some houses, support in grain and foodstuffs for another… I guess it would be inappropriate to only reward the Daynes, but Aemon at this point had to consciously hold his yawn back.
He looked to his side, expecting to find Aegon fully in his cups, ignoring the incessant droning of the proceedings. But to his surprise, there was no cup in his older brother's hand, and he was fully focused on his father's words.
He turned to his sister, sharing an incredulous look that was mirrored in her eyes.
"Aegon had a hand in the negotiations preceding the ceremony." His grandfather softly comments. "Lord Wylde says that he haggled harder than a sailor."
His mother's hand, softly grips Aegon's shoulder. "He made both the Targaryen and Hightower name proud, even his Grace was impressed by him." She lightly shakes him. "I'm glad that he is coming into his own."
Aegon just momentarily stares back at both of them, his expression, which Aemond expected to light up in pride, was especially sullen. He seemed to hold some words back, but he just turned his head away.
His mother's smile twisted in an unknown expression, but she quickly gathered herself and finished staring at the spectacle.
Aemond was a young man still, so even though he tried his hardest, he wasn't able to focus completely on his father's words, but there were some things that even he was able to notice, after some clarification from his grandfather and mother, of course.
Firstly, the Houses of the Prince's pass had significantly more rewards than the other ones. That is not to say that other Lords were not given any boons, Lady Jordayne holding her tears from flowing would attest to that, but Houses like the Fowls, the Blackmonts, and the Daynes of High Hermitage received many more boons.
Secondly, the lack of land as a reward, it is usual after a war that the King would reward the lords who contributed the most to the campaign with new lands, allowing the expansion of their territory. When it comes down to it, nobles are land holders, and they value it over anything else.
Most people expected some territory to be reshuffled from unfavored lords to others more agreeable. But in this case, it seems what land could be granted would be either wholly useless stretches of desert, with no value whatsoever, or too valuable, upon which they would garner the outright hostility of those who lost such valuable assets.
Finally, there seems to be an effort by the King to shift the power of Dorne to more loyal houses, as is expected, houses along the Prince's Pass were not only granted the usual rewards of gold and such, but also taxe exemption were they to make an effort to expand their towns, support in foodstuff and materials so that they could 'rebuild', and lesser tariffs when it concerns trade through their lands.
Other Houses, like the Yronwoods, were granted more typical rewards, which created the illusion that they were more favored than they actually were, but Otto said that it was not to seem too favorable to the Daynes and their supporters.
The King finally finished granting his boons, and with a bombastic laugh, he declared the festivities to be started. "Drink and Merry, good men! For you are amongst new family now!" He exclaimed.
Everyone was moved to a larger hall, more fit to house the many, many lords while they drank and danced their worries away.
Both his Hand and his mother left them alone on their own to do their own thing, mainly to ingratiate themselves with the unfamiliar Dornish Lords.
Lord Dayne and co. gathered around Baelon as he regaled with some story and such, they seemed to be having fun, they would get joined later by Lords Lannister, Tully, and Lady Arryn.
Lord Baratheon stayed with his vassals, in conversation with Lord Wylde and –strangely- Aegon, his daughter however would separate from them and join Baelon's crowd, laughing and hawing at whatever story he's telling at the time.
Helaena already left him in favor of bothering the now free Daeron, who seemed intent in ignoring her in favor of speaking with the grandsons of Lord Tully. He'd met them the previous days, and he seemed to have developed a fast friendship with the energetic twins.
So, not wanting to be alone, he approached the only other solitary figure close to his age. The young Cregan Stark.
"Greetings, Lord Stark." He greeted the boy as etiquette dictated.
Cregan just nodded however. "Your Grace."
They stood in awkward silence for a while, neither of them finding words to speak.
"I-""How-"
They both began at the same time, interrupting each other.
"You first." Cregan urged.
Aemond just shrugged.
"I wanted to say that I was unfamiliar with the North and its intricacies, and I wished to ask you about it." He said. "I recently had… a revelation, you could say. And I found myself very interested in the North as of late, but I wasn't able to find a lot of details about the kingdom."
The Stark heir just nodded. "Understandable, most books in the old tongue were burned by the andals and their converts during the invasions, while the first men culture was eradicated this side of the neck." He spoke in a stilted and stiff manner, must be the famed northern cold blood. "But if you want to know I could indulge you."
"Please."
Cregan nodded. "The north is the largest kingdom of Westeros, as large as the rest of the kingdoms combined. In truth however, only a third of it is controlled by men, whilst the rest is ruled by the wilderness." He glanced at Aemond, noting his focus. "It is cold; our summers are as cold as your winters, whilst the winter is cold enough to freeze the spit off a man's mouth."
"It is though, to live in the north, every winter the cold or famine kills thousands of men, it is not a giving land, so the harvests are barely enough to feed our people. It is a harsh unforgiving life us northmen lead, so as product of our environments we are also harsh, and unforgiving."
Aemond almost rolled his eyes at the melodrama. "What about the wall?" He asked.
Cregan eyes light up in realization.
"That's what you wanted to speak about, huh?" He shrugs. "There's not much information I could give to you about it, just a big block of ice innit?"
Aemond arches an eyebrow. "A block of ice, is that what you call the hundred leagues long, seven hundred feet tall barrier that separates the land of civilized men from the wilds up in the north?"
"'Tis what it is, why dress it up with fancy words." Cregan replies.
"I guess so." Aemond reluctantly agrees. "What I am curious about is why? Why would Brandon the Builder build such a barrier? The idea that it was built to keep unwashed wildlings with bronze and stone weapons out boggles my mind."
Cregan turned to the prince. "You seem awfully curious about it, methinks."
Aemond shrugs him off. "Just the curiosity of an avid reader, I assure you. Plus, don't you ask yourself the same question?"
"You're not first one to do so, aye." Cregan nods. "There are legends amongst our people, most people thinks them to be but mindless folk stories and legends, about the white walkers, wargs and such. Ethereal, dark beings that live at the land of always winter."
Aemond's eyes light up in interest. "Really? Do you think that they truly exist?"
"Who knows?" He shrugs.
"I think there may be more to it than we think." Aemond says. "Per example, I've read the night's watch oath, it makes mention of 'the fire that burns against the cold', 'the light that brings the dawn', and 'the shield that guards the realms of men'. It makes no outright mention of it, but I bet it wasn't speaking about wildlings."
The stark heir lets out a small chuckle. "You really did your research! The night's watch is an honorable order, aye." He says. "Now that you mention them, I believe I heard some stories about a legendary Lord Commander who led a rebellion against the starks during the age of heroes, they say he married a woman with skin white as the moon and eyes like blue stars…"
"Truly?"
"Aye." Cregan nods. "In fact…"
Aemond spent the rest of the feast conversing with young heir, trading legend and stories about the age of heroes.
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Aegon II
He crinkles his gold cup with another's, taking a meagre sip of watered wine.
"Incredible job, Aegon! Just marvelous." Wylde turns to Borros Baratheon. "You should have seen him, my lord! The Dornish's face were twisted as if he'd robbed them of their castles!" He laughs.
Lord Borros Baratheon stood ramrod straight amidst his stormlander vassals, silent as a rock.
A whole kingdom's integration isn't a simple thing, before the dornish actually swore fealty to his father, there was much to be done in preparation, mainly the negotiation for their rewards.
Many matters had to be prepared for Dorne to join the Targaryen regime, the King has put Baelon, the Lord Hand, and the Master of Laws to the task.
While the Lord Hand was charged with dealing with the other kingdoms, both Baelon and Lord Wylde had to spend days in talks with the dornish.
And in recognition for his satisfactory service, Aegon was allowed to participate.
'It wasn't unlike dealing with mother.' He morosely thought. 'You let the complaints flow, and cajole and haw them into believing they won.'
Ever since his father's decision to make him apprentice under Lord Wylde, a whole new world opened to Aegon's world.
As Master of Laws, Lord Wylde's job was to create and implement new laws into the realm, all according to the Lord Hand's and the King's desires.
Making up new laws is easy, it is the second step where things get dirty. For every lord pleased with a new legislation, there are two who are hurt by it. And so it is their job to put them at ease, all through backdoor deals, empty promises, bribes and such.
The old Aegon, addicted to drink and women, found himself enamored with the process. He was like a fish on water, navigating through spoiled lords and greedy nobles with natural ease.
He stared at the bottom of his full cup, in favor of the intoxicating feeling of a favorable deal and the soft power of politics, the inebriation of wine seemed lacking.
A rough hand landed on his shoulder, he turned to find a tall middle aged man to his right.
'Lord Buckler' He noted.
"'Tis good news indeed! Nothing brings me more joy than knowing those vipers lost at their own game!" He laughed.
Aegon let a practiced smile paint his face. "I was only fulfilling my duty, my lord." He mentioned to Lord Wylde with his cup. "It was all thanks to Lord Wylde's skilled mentorship."
The master of Laws just waved him off. "You have a gifted mind, your Grace. You only needed the slightest guidance for you to harness it is all." He turned his gaze to the Dornish. "Although the Dornish's reputation for cunning is not unfounded, the Dayne's and their vassals were amicable through it, but the rest…" He simply shook his head and drank from his cup instead of elaborating.
"Aye! They fought like craven, they did! You should have seen them in the battlefield! When faced with Stormlander knights, they folded like feeble paper!" Lord Dondarrion was fully in his cups, he drank the most out of the stormlanders.
It is to be expected, to be honest. The Dondarrions won a lot of favor from their participation, with Baelon's men extending the Torrentine closer to his lands, their territory is set to be the channel of trade between the Stormlands and Dorne. And let us not speak of the many "gifts" he won throughout the short war.
Dondarrion's son and heir, much more reserved than his father, solemnly nods. "Indeed, but the praise goes to Prince Baelon and Lord Dayne. In the battle of the Greenblood his grace cut down enough men to fill this room in bodies, while Lord Dayne and his knights cut through the best dornish spears and captured their commanders in one fell swoop. 'Twas a battle for the ages, I say."
"The houses of the Prince's pass are famed for their martial prowess." Said Royce Caron. "They are famed for their knights, and lack the usual… treacherous reputation of the Dornish Lords." He shook his head in bemusement. "How his grace managed to befriend them, I'll never know."
"Apparently, he sailed through the Torrentine, disguising himself as a Merchant Prince, and gave food to the starving masses!" Dondarrion guffaws. "What interesting times we live in!"
They hear a light chuckle, almost a huff, from their side. And the whole group goes silent, bemusedly staring at Lord Baratheon.
Aegon wasn't familiar much with this crowd –aside from Lord Wylde that is- but Lord Baratheon is known to be notoriously stoic, there are even bets amongst many lords about which japes or stories may make him laugh.
It was why they acted momentarily surprised, but they quickly shrugged and moved on.
Lord Wylde looks at the Dornish group, which grew at this time into more of a mixed audience, watching Baelon and the Dornish Lords regale the crowd with war stories, or more specifically, his liege's daughter amongst them.
He softly nudges Borros with his elbow. "I see your daughter is enamored with our dashing prince, huh." He jokingly comments.
Borros just huffs. "I see that you have eyes."
"Who needs eyes?! One only has to have ears to hear of the courtship between Baelon the Valiant and Lady Cassandra Baratheon: They say that the Prince has been enamored with our Lady since he first saw her!" He sloppily lifts his cup for a toast, its contents spilling to the ground. "I say great! A Stormlander Queen is what the realm deserves."
""Aye!"" The lords all cheer, while Aegon just gingerly lifts his cup.
Borros waves his hand. "Keep it down!" He says. "There are… overtures concerning the matter, but until there are more final news, you are to be silent about the matter, understood?!"
They lower their cups in chagrin, but all with smiles on their faces.
'I guess it is time for Baelon to marry.' Aegon muses to himself.
His gaze inevitably turns to his sister, running around the hall with Daeron and the Tully twins, a smile on his face.
'Marriage, huh.'
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Cassandra II
If you asked Cassandra Baratheon whether she liked tourneys, she'd tell you that she finds them much too violent for her tastes.
In truth, however, she is absolutely enamored with them, duels between gallant knights, the raucous applause at the triumph of the opponent, the vindictive competitiveness, in the dull life of Cassandra Baratheon; tourneys were a distinct ray of light.
As for the bloodshed? She once saw her father bash a knight's head on the wall when he tried to rape one of the maids, and she was five at the time. Blood is not unfamiliar to her maiden eyes.
She sat with her mother on her left, and her father to her right. Her father had the privilege of sitting next to the king, spectating the tourney grounds.
For all spectators, this was the tourney of the ages, the first time in history where the best knights of the seven kingdoms gathered together, and whoever wins it is to be showered with fame and renown, attaining acclaim practically heard of.
Of course, a whopping 50 000 gold dragons for the winner can't hurt.
Cassandra had looked forward to the event, she heard many tales about the knights participating in it, and they didn't disappoint, but at the end, only four were left.
Prince Daemon, the Rogue Prince.
Criston Cole, the Commander of the Kingsguard.
Alleras Dayne, Sword of the Morning.
Prince Baelon, Crown Prince of the Realm.
Fairly enough, there was definitely some matchmaking done in order for only each of these four to be left, but you can't deny their skill, they have bested some very formidable knights, like Ser Steffon Darklyn, Ser Willis Fell, Ser Rodrick Lychester, and many more.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of the two knights getting to the jousting field on their horses.
The first, Daemon Targaryen, donned a pitch black armor with the helm on the shape of a dragon, alongside his onyx steed, aside from the handkerchief given to him by his wife, the Princess Rhaenyra, he looked like a shadow upon the sandy field.
The second, one Criston Cole, wore his usual Kingsguard armor, alongside a green scarf, showing his favor from the Queen.
This was a very anticipated event, many years ago, Criston Cole was chosen as a Kingsguard by winning against the same Prince on the Tourney of Prince Baelon's birth, and moreso, his position was granted by the Princess Rhaenyra, which he turned his back on ever since for unknown reasons.
There was a personal rivalry going on there, one that only gave more fire to the excitement.
The Herald stood on his platform, silent as the grave, as the two opponents stood in front of each other.
"Lords and Ladies!" He began; his voice was practiced, so it echoed through great distances. "Behold! The Valiant Criston Cole, the Commander of the Kingsguard, faces off against the legendary Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince! This is the second time we are privy to such an event, but will it go the same way?!"
The Herald looks to the contestants. "Let us see! May the joust commence, and may the Seven guide their lances true!"
It wasn't a moment before Criston urged his horse forward, Daemon following shortly. They charged in both sides of the tilt with formidable speed, each one neatly balancing their lances on each other's paths.
For the first pass, nothing noteworthy happened, both knights were skilled and experienced and had defended against their opponents with apparent ease.
And it went on for several rounds, the audience hawing and oohing at each connection.
As the joust continued, Criston's strength and size seemed to give him the advantage over the more slender Prince Daemon. Despite Daemon's skill and agility, Criston's powerful strikes and sturdy defense appeared to be leading him towards victory.
The audience gasped and cheered at each clash, with Criston's dominance becoming increasingly evident.
The matter was expected to be moot, as Daemon, frustrated with his situation, seemingly lost control of his horse.
Criston saw an opportunity to deliver the final blow, he charged forward with determination, aiming to secure his victory.
However, in a surprising turn of events, Daemon's apparent loss of control was a clever ruse. With a swift and calculated maneuver, Daemon regained command of his horse and expertly maneuvered his lance straight in Criston's blind point.
The commander of the Kingsguard had obviously overextended in his overconfidence and desire for victory, giving Daemon the opportunity to reverse his unfortunate situation.
The crowd erupted in astonishment, while Cassandra gasped in pleasant surprise at the surprising turnaround.
"Clever." Her father echoed.
"Indeed." Said the King. "My brother may be hot-blooded, but he can be surprisingly deceptive when he needs to be."
The queen's face momentarily scrunched in distaste before covering her expression with a stiff smile.
Cassandra noticed it all however. 'Baelon was right.' She thought. 'His family is in discord between the Queen and his Sister, and it is quite personal.'
Everyone knew about the so called Blacks and the Greens, but most people thought it to be a conflict between the traditional noble houses against the mercantile ones, an evolution of Jaehaerys the Conciliator's scheme to pit Otto Hightower and his backing against the ambitious Corlys.
'A conflict of interest can be easily resolved through diplomacy.' She thought. 'The moment personal grudges come into the fold however; the situation becomes much more precarious.'
It is maybe a blessing that the Crown Prince foresaw such an occasion, many people enveloped in this situation were doing so unwillingly, and his Grace had publicly expressed his distaste for such a separation, causing many more lords to flock toward him. Creating a more moderate, "Purple" faction that seemed to get much more traction than usual.
'Now the Blacks and the Greens are more like general leanings than actual factions.' She mused to herself. 'You could see a great amount of nobles wearing purple alongside a black or green accessory, showcasing their political leanings without committing in any way.'
Whilst she was in introspection about the political situation in Kingslanding, the next two opponents had arrived.
Lord Alleras Dayne, the newly titled Lord Paramount of Dorne was the perfect depiction of a fairy tale knight. He wore a white and purple armor –his house colors- and sat on his auburn horse with a grace unseen from any other.
He was tall and handsome, and his violet eyes almost shone through his helmet.
Baelon Targaryen, cut a striking figure as he rode onto the tournament grounds. Clad in black and purple armor, he exuded an air of regal confidence, his steed, a magnificent black destrier.
Baelon's features were sharp and handsome; his silver hair catching the sunlight as he removed his helm to reveal piercing amethyst eyes that seemed to hold the fire of dragons within them. Most embarrassing, however, was the black and gold ribbon tied to her arm, denoting her favor.
He had asked for it before the tourney, and she was glad to give it to him.
"The closest friends are now rivals! It is a clash between Ser Alleras Dayne, the Knight of the Morning, with our beloved Prince Baelon Targaryen, the Dragonslayer!" The cheers were practically deafening at the mention of these two, the prince's reputation was unmatched within Kingslanding, and stories about the Lord of Starfall who heroically sacrificed his honor in order to rebel against the tyrannical rule of Dorne was spread far and wide.
A heroic tale of two friends, almost brothers, fighting together for justice and the rightful liberation of the people of Dorne. It honestly worked like a charm, the lords and ladies of the realm reserving their scathing hatred of the Dornish in favor of grudging respect for fellow peers.
It wasn't perfect, but it created the best outcome for a Dornish conquest.
Cassandra sat at the edge of her seat in anticipation, her mother playfully chuckling at her earnest expression.
"Blessed be the winner for it is he who holds the blessing of the Seven! And may the joust begin!" The Herald declared.
In the tournament grounds, thundering hooves echoed as Alleras Dayne and Baelon Targaryen faced off over the tilt.
Baelon showed skill when he both neatly redirected Alleras' lance and stuck true his own, the sound of the clash echoed even to the stands, showcasing his great strength.
The blow brought Alleras to lean back, anyone who took such a blow would have fell from his horse, but the Lord of Dorne had overwhelming skill at riding, which was seen when he urged his chestnut horse to lean with him, keeping his center of gravity aligned in such a way as to keep him abreast.
Again, the routine kept on for several rounds, the Prince would land a heavy blow in his opponents shield while suffering none, but Alleras and his steed were like one, flowing along with the blows like water to a stone.
"My lord!" Her mother gasped. "I've never seen someone so… in tune with a horse."
The King laughed at her remark from his makeshift throne. "The Daynes are a famed knightly house, their cavalry is described to be unmatched amongst the houses of Dorne, and the Sword of the Morning is always the finest of them. It is actually quite rare for one to also be the Lord of Starfall."
"Indeed." Her father echoed. "They were a nightmare to deal with in the field, their horses were the fastest and their knight's swords held true. If there was a Dornish House to be respected, the Daynes would hold that title."
Baelon's strength and skill continued to give him the upper hand, but Alleras' unwavering composure and dexterity kept him in the fight. As the joust progressed, Baelon, sensing the need for a change in strategy, decided to forego finesse and instead rely on sheer force to overpower his opponent.
With a thunderous charge, Baelon unleashed a devastating blow that sent Alleras reeling, his lance splintering against the shield. The impact was enough to unseat Alleras and even stagger the horse below him, and Baelon emerged victorious.
Baelon approached the fallen lord, getting off his own horse and extending a hand. Dayne held that hand and lifted himself up, cheerily tapping the Prince's shoulder.
They exchanged some words, but Cassandra was too far away to hear. She was sure they were friendly, as was evident from both their smiles.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Alleras raised Baelon's lance in triumph, the victor of a hard-fought and memorable joust.
The two friends left the tournament grounds together, as the servants prepared them for the final bout.
Cassandra spent the time in meaningless conversation with her mother, the latter having unending pleasure from provoking an embarrassed expression from her.
Then the contestants came up again, two princes facing each other in the tourney of a lifetime.
There was a strange dichotomy between Prince Daemon and Baelon, Cassandra thought.
One, the second son, hot-blooded and rash from a young age, has developed a reputation for his daring and rebellious actions. Whether it was gathering fleets and armies for his brother's claim, his womanizing ways, the controversial acts committed as commander of the city watch, and his campaign on the Stepstones.
The other, the first prince, the heir, eccentric but patient, he had a reputation as a genius and a frighteningly smart child. He developed his lands, gathered an army of his own, and conquered a whole kingdom.
Whereas Daemon was old, Baelon was not. Where Daemon was treated with caution, Baelon was treated with respect. Where Daemon failed, Baelon succeeded.
One could even say that Baelon was what Daemon wished to be, beloved by the masses, having the trust of the King over anyone else.
So everyone very much expected this final joust to be very interesting, especially considering the previous ones.
The Princes stared at each other, Baelon's gaze was impassive and indifferent, his usual jovial looking smile tinged with a hint of scorn. Whereas Daemon's was fiery and rigid, filled with contempt.
Daemon said something to his nephew, something that was audible only for the two. Baelon responded, calmly, but whatever he said caused Daemon to recoil.
And that was it.
"Finally! We see two Princes facing each other in the joust of a lifetime, nephew and uncle, in a fateful journey they met at the summit, now they must test their mettle against one another!" The Herald screamed. "And without further ado, let the joust begin!"
The two contestants surged alongside the cheers of the spectators, Baelon's charge was fast but not hasty, whilst Daemon urged by anger of unknown sources, pushed his horse to gallop ahead as fast as possible.
Daemon's horse was faster, giving a much stronger impact to his lance, but strength alone cannot deal with skill, as Baelon neatly redirected the lance sideways. Unfortunately for Daemon, in his desire to overwhelm his nephew, he had put too much force behind his lance, causing him to lean too much going forward, allowing Baelon's lance to land on his shield in a perpendicular manner.
The compromising angle meant that the blow cannot be redirected elsewhere, and with his horse already galloping as fast as it could, it meant that the blow was strong enough that its shock reverberated to his teeth.
He fell, of course. The joust that everyone's been looking forward ended in a single pass, no one could believe it.
The whole grounds got silent for a while, before the cheers and applause came, the noise deafening anyone remotely close.
It was said that the sounds echoed all over the city, causing many a working man to stutter in their actions.
The Crown Prince sat on his horse in front of the royal balcony, staring at his father with a smile.
Daemon slowly stood up, looking at his back with a complicated gaze. Cassandra expected hatred or anger, but besides tightening his hold on Dark Sister, the Rogue Prince just turned around and dejectedly left.
As silence won out, the King spoke.
"Lord Governor!" He said. "Congratulations on winning the tourney! Who do you name your Queen of Love and Beauty?!" He asked.
The Prince stays silent, before his gaze turned slowly to her astonished eyes.
"I name the Lady Cassandra Baratheon, of course!" He said, holding a crown of flowers up to her from the tip of her lance.
She stares at him for a few seconds, shell-shocked, before stiffly grabbing the circlet.
Tears ran down her eyes as she wore it, a radiant smile visible for all to see.
And Cassandra was the happiest she ever was.
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