The Tourney Grounds, King's Landing.
A grand tourney was held in King's Landing.
Nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms and hedge knights desperate to make names for themselves flocked to the capital to register and participate.
Currently, the tourney grounds were bathed in the late morning sun.
The stands were packed to capacity; High Lords sat in shaded pavilions while commoners squeezed onto open-air benches.
Clever street vendors wove through the aisles, hawking their wares.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and horse manure, and every crack of a splintering lance triggered a tidal wave of cheers or sighs.
Suddenly, the entire arena fell silent for a moment.
Then, the cheering exploded like a storm.
Aemond Targaryen stood in the center of the field. His left hand gripped the edge of a splintered shield, while his right held the remains of a shattered lance.
He stood beside his mount, a massive black destrier that snorted and pawed restlessly at the sand, its black trappings covered in dust.
"Prince Aemond!"
"Prince Aemond!"
The shouts surged from all directions. The commoners shrieked with fanatical fervor.
In the noble section, the younger scions joined the cheering while the elder Lords rose to applaud.
The noblewomen half-hid their faces behind their fans, yet their eyes remained fixed on the silver-haired Prince in the center of the lists.
Aemond let go, and the broken lance clattered to the ground.
He did not leave the field immediately. Instead, he turned toward the royal box on the main stand and threw his arms wide.
This gesture triggered an even more frantic roar from the crowd.
In the sunlight, his eyes shone like purple flames. He was just a few months shy of sixteen, and his physique had completely shed its adolescent slenderness.
His shoulders were broad, his waist lean, and he was clad in custom-fitted Qohorik steel armor.
Squires ran onto the field. One helped him remove his helm, exposing his sharp, youthful face to the sun and eliciting a collective gasp from the female spectators.
Another squire brought a fresh horse, while a third handed him a waterskin.
Aemond took a drink, his gaze sweeping over the cheering masses to land on the royal box.
Princess Helaena stood there, her hands resting on the railing.
She wasn't as animated as the others; she smiled, her purple eyes watching him with a quiet sense of pride.
Surrounded by his attendants, Aemond finally exited the field.
Inside the King's box, Queen Alicent watched the scene before turning to King Viserys I.
"What Aelyn said the other day..." she began in a low voice.
"It won't happen," the King interrupted her. He sighed before continuing, "We should give Aegon more support now. We must maintain a balance between the two of them."
Alicent nodded. She was currently the Regent, and although Aemond controlled the military, she had done her best to involve Aegon in matters of state.
She loved both her eldest and her second son dearly, but the warning Aelyn had given her filled her with dread.
Viserys, I watched in silence as his second son walked away with a straight back, noting the crowd's adoration and the undisguised admiration in the eyes of the young nobles.
-----
The Prince's Box.
In the adjacent box, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Aelyn Rogar stood at the railing in a pale gold gown.
Her silver hair was intricately braided in the Lysene style and secured with a fine pearl net.
Her hands rested elegantly over her slightly protruding belly.
She watched Aemond leave, watched the crowd go wild for him, and watched the noble maidens whispering with flushed faces.
Then, she turned to look at her husband.
Aegon Targaryen was half-reclining on a cushioned lounge, his head resting on the lap of a serving girl.
The girl was young, with chestnut curls and a generous bust, exactly Aegon's type.
She was using her slender fingers to peel grapes, feeding them into the Prince's mouth one by one.
Aegon chewed with his eyes closed, a satisfied smirk on his face, while his other hand rested carelessly on the girl's thigh beneath her sheer dress.
"Is it sweet, Your Grace?" the girl cooed.
"Sweet," Aegon mumbled, "but not as sweet as you."
The girl giggled.
Watching her utterly shiftless husband, Aelyn felt a surge of rage. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.
Years of high-born upbringing served her well in this moment. A cold sneer touched her lips.
"Aegon."
Her voice wasn't loud, but the box went silent instantly.
The servant's hand froze mid-air.
Aegon opened his eyes to see his wife's silhouette against the setting sun, which cast a golden halo around her.
She was beautiful, but she felt incredibly cold.
"Ahem." Aegon sat up, waving the servant away.
"Go on, leave us."
The girl scrambled up, offered a hasty curtsy, and fled the box.
Once the door closed, Aegon put on a serious face. He knew a lecture was coming.
Since marrying Aelyn, he had actually grown to love her. Although she criticized him constantly, he knew it was always for his own benefit.
In a way, she was like a strict mother to him, and he found he craved that feeling of someone actually caring about him.
Aelyn rarely showed jealousy over his dalliances with servants, and though Aegon couldn't control his lower half, he tried his best not to break her heart too often.
"My dear," Aegon said brazenly.
"What's wrong? Isn't it tiring to stand so long? Sit down, you're carrying our child."
"I am not tired." Aelyn turned to face him, her hands still guarding her belly.
"I was just thinking that those cheers... they should have been yours."
Aegon's expression stiffened. He scratched his head and gave a dry laugh.
"Well... you know I'm not good at that stuff. Lances, swordplay... It's too exhausting. Besides, I have a dragon; why should I fight for glory with these knights? If Aemond likes the spotlight, let him have it. He's my brother; I'm just being a generous elder sibling."
"Generous?" Aelyn's voice remained calm.
"Aegon, some things cannot be given away, nor can you retreat from them. Right now, the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms are sitting out there. What do they see? A brave, battle-hardened second son, and a shiftless, idle eldest son. What do you think they are thinking?"
Aegon's face darkened. He stood up and walked to his wife's side, lowering his voice.
"Aelyn, don't be like this. Today is a celebration. It's a tourney; everyone is just having a good time."
"A good time?"
Aelyn interrupted, taking her husband's face in her hands.
"Tell me, Aegon, how do you plan to inherit the Iron Throne? By making everyone 'have a good time'? By waiting for your brother to let you sit on it?"
Aegon opened his mouth but found no words. He didn't want to make her angry, so silence was his best defense.
Aelyn said sadly, "Dragons are important, but the hearts of men matter too. Your father hasn't officially announced the change in succession yet. If, in the future, every Lord in the realm looks to Aemond, what authority will you have left?"
Seeing the flicker of panic and struggle in her husband's eyes, her tone finally softened.
"Aegon, I'm not trying to pressure you. I am trying to help you, to help our child."
Her hand pressed gently against her stomach.
"I am unwilling... I am unwilling to see my child live in the shadow of his uncle. Do you understand?"
Outside the box, another roar of cheers erupted. Another tilt had begun.
-----
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