Chapter 71: The Battle Between Uncle and Nephew
Dragonzel watched the choices in the arena with great interest. He could naturally guess who these two mysterious knights were. Aemond's martial skills, honed by the Red Keep's instructors and the Kingsguard—though he was young—already made him a rare warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. As for his younger brother, although his hand-to-hand combat skills were not as good as his and Valarr's, his horsemanship was excellent, and there would be no problem as long as he didn't encounter an opponent who forced him to dismount and fight on foot.
The Green Fire Knight raised his lance and gently tapped Daemon's shield. Daemon raised an eyebrow, his purple eyes seemingly able to see through the visor of his helmet. However, the prince said nothing more, clenching his legs, and his warhorse carried him slowly to the wooden stake.
"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen versus the mysterious Green Fire Knight." The crisp drumbeats, accompanied by the voice of the announcer, declared the start of the match.
"Where is Aemond?" King Viserys stood up from his seat, somewhat displeased. He hadn't seen Aemond for so long, and the king was a little worried if Aemond had gotten into trouble like his troublesome elder brother. "Arryk, Erryk, have you seen Aemond?"
The two White Knights responsible for guarding the arena and protecting the king exchanged glances and both shook their heads.
"Your Majesty, Prince Aemond said he wasn't feeling well earlier and should have returned to the castle first," Arryk Cargyll said. He and his twin brother Erryk Cargyll served in the Kingsguard. If they hadn't habitually staggered their shifts, even the king and Criston Cole probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between them.
"Was no one escorting him?" The king frowned deeply.
"Your Majesty, I was supposed to escort the prince back, but the prince refused," a hint of panic flashed in Ser Laurent Marbrand's eyes. "The prince said he didn't need my protection. After I insisted, he said he needed to go to the latrine. I watched him enter the arena's latrine before returning to protect you."
"You—" The king immediately understood how his son had slipped away from the Kingsguard's sight.
"What's wrong, my dear?" Alicent noticed her husband's uneasy mood after he stood up.
"Aemond is missing," Viserys said somewhat impatiently. Just then, Aegon the Elder stumbled out from the staircase. The king strode past Lord Loras Tyrell behind him and whispered to his eldest son, "Where did Aemond go?"
Aegon the Elder spread his hands. "How would I know? I just came down from the arena, and it hurts like hell."
"Slap!"
The crisp sound of a slap instantly drew everyone's attention to the back. Aegon the Elder clutched his face, looking incredulously at Alicent, who hadn't yet lowered her hand.
"Alicent, what are you doing?" Rhaenyra immediately stepped past Lord Beesbury's seat and grabbed Alicent's arm. "All the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms are watching. Do you want to disgrace the royal family?"
"What does it have to do with you?" Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, then angrily stared at her son. "Where is your brother?"
"I swear by the Seven Hells, I didn't do anything," Aegon the Elder raised his hands. "I just came down from the arena. How would I know where he went? I've been preparing for the tourney all afternoon."
"Your Majesty, Prince Aemond is down there." Dragonzel, who had watched enough of the drama, pointed below the stands. This drew everyone's attention back to the arena. King Viserys again strode past Lord Loras, this time running directly to the railing, breathing heavily as he stared intently at the arena.
The jousting had entered its third round, and the Green Fire Knight and Daemon had each broken two lances.
"Boy, you're still too green," Daemon slightly raised his spear tip and fiercely jabbed the Green Fire Knight's breastplate, but the warhorse beneath him let out a sudden whinny of pain. It too had been struck by the Green Fire Knight's broken spear, and scattered splinters were deeply embedded in the horse's flesh. Seeing his mount injured, Daemon immediately leaped off, rolled on the ground, and rushed toward his squire.
Thus, both fell from their horses. The Green Fire Knight rolled clumsily in the sand before quickly getting up to retrieve his sword. But Daemon was a step ahead, walking menacingly with his iron sword. Without a word, he first kicked the mysterious knight down, then forcibly removed the prince's helmet.
Silver hair fluttered in the wind, and the sapphire eye patch glittered in the sunlight.
"Seven Hells." Despite being mentally prepared, Otto still exclaimed inwardly. However, his mind quickly turned. A mysterious knight who had defeated multiple Kingsguard and renowned knights—what a great talking point. Thinking of this, the Hand of the King immediately beckoned, signaling the waiting bard to come over, and handed him a pouch of silver stags.
"You know what to do," Otto said softly. The bard nodded, indicating that he understood and would ensure songs praising Prince Aemond would be heard that very night.
"Daemon!" King Viserys shouted.
"I know," Daemon nodded to his brother, and lifted Aemond by his gorget. "Boy, do you know how dangerous it is in the tourney grounds? Didn't you see what happened to those mercenary knights earlier?"
He was referring to several mercenary knights in previous matches who had gone berserk: one had his head smashed by a shield, another had his throat pierced by a blunted sword, and two unlucky ones had their eyes pierced by flying splinters and were already dead when dragged away.
"Let go of me, let me get my sword!" Aemond struggled with all his might, but could not break free from his uncle's grip.
"Stay still, nephew," Daemon abruptly pulled him closer. "If you die, my brother will be heartbroken. Surrender now, and I'll send you back to the stands. You've already earned enough glory for yourself."
Aemond glared resentfully at his uncle, then reluctantly raised his hand to signal his surrender.
The other side of the arena also saw a winner decided.
Artys Royce and Sebastian Jieyan broke six lances before a winner was finally decided. Sebastian was unhorsed, and in the foot combat, Artys gained the advantage, pressing his sword against Sebastian's throat first.
This drew cheers from the knights of the Vale, and Artys circled the arena with satisfaction in celebration.
Lord Amos Bracken regrettably lost in his duel against Erryk Cargyll, with the winner decided by foot combat. Unfortunately, the Red Stallion lord was outmatched by the White Knight in close combat. If not for blunted swords, Lord Amos would likely have been pierced through the belly. He could only reluctantly surrender.
The Silver Crown Knight unhorsed Ser Steffon Darklyn. This unlucky White Knight was dragged several steps by his own horse, suffering the same fate as his sworn brothers. Afterwards, this mysterious knight faced Artys Royce.
The most intense duel was between Ser Criston Cole and Aslan Longdel. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Dragonzel's sworn brother charged at each other for twelve consecutive rounds, breaking nine lances, with neither gaining a decisive advantage. Finally, in desperation, both threw away their lances and opted for foot combat to decide the victor.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Cole's flail rained down on Aslan's shield, while Aslan's longsword repeatedly left white marks on Cole's armor.
"Brother, are you taking bets?" Valarr chuckled as he leaned in again. "A few of the lords behind us just placed their bets. Would you like to join in?"
"Valarr," Diana and Leira called his name in unison.
"A wager?" Diana looked suspiciously at Valarr's bulging leather pouch. "Who's putting up the capital? What are the odds, and who's betting on whom?"
Leira also added with concern, "Money shouldn't be spent carelessly. Although the family has wealth, there are too many places where it is needed right now."
"Uh—" Valarr was momentarily speechless. "Everyone's just playing around. Just now, Lord Bartimos and Lord Lyman both opened betting pools. Lord Lyman even won twenty gold dragons from Lord Hobart Hightower."
"Who is everyone betting on now?" Dragonzel turned to look at Valarr's pouch.
"Queen Alicent bet on Ser Criston—she directly put down a hundred gold dragons—and many others bet on Aslan. I also bet on the match between Aslan and Artys. The Vale and the North bet on Artys to win, while our people, and those from the Stormlands and the Reach, bet on Aslan to win."
Before he finished speaking, a deafening cheer erupted throughout the arena.
Once again, I want to clarify that this book is a long-form novel that will span the long timeline of the original work, from the "Dance of the Dragons" to the "Usurper's War." House Varezes will also continue for several generations, with distinct and unique characters taking the stage of history and riding new or familiar dragons. Neither conquest nor rule can be accomplished in a short time. One must take things step by step to achieve success. Thank you for reading.
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