Time flew like a white horse passing a gap, and in the blink of an eye, the year 281 of Aegon’s Conquest had arrived.
In the training yard of the Red Keep, two figures—one large and one small, elongated by the morning sun—crossed paths on the sandy ground, and the crisp sound of wooden swords clashing rang out rhythmically.
Ser Barristan executed an exquisite sidestep, skillfully parrying the oncoming slash, a trace of unperceivable appreciation flashing in his eyes.
Viserys Targaryen before him was only six and a half years old, his height barely reaching his shoulder, yet his offensive carried a sharpness and precision that surpassed his age.
After more than a year of unremitting bitter practice, that young body had now begun to show a strength not to be underestimated.
“Stop.”
Barristan stepped back, putting away his wooden sword, “Today’s training ends here, Prince Viserys.
Your progress has been swift, far exceeding my expectations.”
Viserys nodded while panting, sweat dripping down the tips of his silver hair.
He took off his training armor, feeling the soreness in his muscles, yet his heart was filled with a sense of accomplishment.
Over the past year or more, not only had his swordsmanship advanced by leaps and bounds, but his mastery of the Greenseer abilities had also become increasingly proficient.
The seven dragon eggs obtained previously were still safely hidden under his bed; through continuous perception, he could sense that the energy inside them was surging slowly beneath the hard eggshells like a sleeping volcano.
“His Majesty the King has officially issued an order,” Barristan wiped the sweat from his forehead, mentioning it casually, “A grand tournament will be held in Harrenhal in the second half of this year, and I will also participate.
What do you think, Highness?”
Viserys’s heart gave a fierce thump.
The Harrenhal tournament—this was a crucial point in time.
He knew that this grand event was the fuse that would ignite everything; Rhaegar Targaryen would crown Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty here, subsequently triggering a series of tragedies.
“All the knights of the realm will go, won’t they?”
Viserys tried his best to make his voice sound like a curious child.
“Yes, Highness.”
Barristan’s gaze turned firm, “Those noble knights and landed knights who desire fame, as well as the unlanded knights thirsting for opportunity and appreciation…
This will be a grand event unseen for many years.”
Just then, a burst of brisk footsteps broke the tranquility of the training ground.
A petite figure ran over stumbling, followed by a nervous-looking maid behind her.
“Brother Viserys.”
Princess Rhaenys, who was over two years old, opened her arms and cried out in a milky voice.
She was the daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell; she inherited her mother Elia’s dark hair and also possessed the violet eyes unique to House Targaryen.
When he had first time-traveled over, Rhaenys had just turned one year old.
Viserys squatted down and caught the little niece who lunged forward.
Surprisingly, upon hearing this, Rhaegar and Elia not only did not correct it, but instead were happy to see it happen.
In this family that regarded pure bloodline above all else and where incestuous marriage was commonplace, they perhaps had long regarded these two children of similar age as future partner candidates.
“Rhaenys, why did you run over here?”
Viserys asked softly while wiping away the breadcrumbs on her cheek.
“I want to play with brother.”
Rhaenys replied while grabbing the corner of his garment.
Looking at the innocent little girl in his arms, a surge of complex emotions welled up in Viserys’s heart.
He knew this girl’s future fate; she would be brutally murdered by Amory Lorch when King’s Landing fell.
A cruel western hound no less vicious than the Mountain, Gregor Clegane.
Perhaps he should change her ending; after all, adding one person wouldn’t be much of a burden, and there would be one more Dragonrider in the future.
He just didn’t know whether The Mad King would let them go and leave with him when the time came; The Mad King seemed to keep them in King’s Landing to coerce Dorne into supporting King’s Landing.
A few days later, news that pleased Viserys arrived: Lady Ashara Dayne had arrived in King’s Landing.
This noble lady of Starfall, the younger sister of the legendary figure “Sword of the Morning,” Arthur Dayne, was renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms for her breathtaking beauty and unique melancholic temperament, hailed as the “Pearl of the Marches.”
Her trip was nominally to visit her elder brother and pay respects to Princess Elia Martell from Dorne.
Viserys still remembered the first time he saw her, which was in the garden of the Red Keep.
At that time, he was playing with Rhaenys, and the little girl was darting back and forth among the flowers chasing a butterfly.
To prevent her from falling, Viserys had to keep a constant eye on her movements, reaching out to steady her from time to time.
“What a heartwarming scene.”
A cold yet melodious voice came from behind.
Viserys turned around and saw a young lady in a light blue long dress standing beside the rose bushes.
She had pale violet eyes and waist-length jet-black hair, and her beauty was enough to make the blooming roses nearby lose their luster.
He immediately recognized that this was Ashara Dayne.
“Lady Dayne.”
Viserys nodded slightly while reaching out to steady Rhaenys, who had almost tripped—at that time, Rhaenys had just started clinging to him.
Ashara stepped forward and curtsied gracefully: “Prince Viserys, Princess Rhaenys.”
Her gaze fell on Rhaenys, who was tightly clutching the corner of Viserys’s garment, a trace of gentleness flashing in her eyes: “You seem very good at taking care of others, Highness.”
“This is what I should do.”
Viserys replied.
After this chance encounter, Viserys met Ashara many more times in the Red Keep.
Sometimes it was in the garden, where he found that this young lady was very fond of flowers; sometimes it was in the corridor, where she would exchange a few polite words with him.
The most profound exchange took place one afternoon.
Viserys was practicing alone in the training yard at the time when he suddenly felt a gaze.
After turning around, he saw Ashara standing under a distant colonnade, looking at him with deep eyes.
“Did I disturb you, Highness?”
Seeing that Viserys had noticed her, Ashara walked forward.
“Not at all, Lady Dayne.”
Viserys put down his wooden sword, “Are you interested in swordsmanship?”
Ashara’s lips curved into a smile as she replied: “I have two brothers, remember?
Arthur told me that a true knight must not only be skilled in martial arts, but also understand what they are fighting for.
Hearing about it so much, I naturally developed some thoughts of my own.”
Viserys gazed at her, signaling her to continue.
He realized that this might be an opportunity to deepen his relationship with her.
“Then what do you think a knight should fight for?”
Her reply came without hesitation: “For honor, not glory—the honor of a knight.”
In the original work he knew, this young lady ultimately ended her own life due to a broken heart, but the person standing before him at this moment was someone with profound insights and firm convictions.
“I’ve heard about the tournament at Harrenhal,” Ashara suddenly changed the subject, “Will you participate?”
Viserys shook his head: “I am still too young, but my elder brother Rhaegar will participate, and I will go to watch.”
“Oh, he is a handsome and valorous prince; everyone expects him to win the championship.”
Ashara said softly: “Sometimes I wonder what these grand tournaments are really for.
Men fight for glory and the favor of ladies on the field, risking their lives, yet often forget the original intent of a knight.”
This remark was almost like a prophecy, making Viserys’s heart give a jolt.
In the days to come, more and more knights in Westeros would taint the honor of knighthood as a whole, and their actions would run completely counter to the oaths they swore when taking their vows.
This made Viserys all the more convinced that Ashara Dayne was by no means as simple as she appeared on the surface.
After all, the original work hadn’t even concluded, and her death had never been confirmed.
Who knew whether she was truly dead, or if she had faked her death to conceal herself and make her escape.