The tourney drew nearly half the city.
Every joust, with hedge knights and noble knights competing on the same field, sent cheers roaring into the sky.
At a tourney, it was always the jousting and the melees that drew the crowds.
Archery offered far less spectacle and was usually rather quiet.
Baelon had no idea what had possessed Ser Swann.
During the archery contest, the man hesitated for quite a while before finally taking off his shirt.
Bare from the waist up, he nocked an arrow and drew his bow.
As he pulled the string taut, the muscles of his back rose and tightened like a sculpture carved by a master.
Knights in tourneys were usually sealed inside armor from head to toe.
The “conservative” people of King’s Landing had never seen anything like Ser Swann’s display.
Screams and cheers erupted at once, coming from men and women alike, and the atmosphere instantly came alive again.
Many noble maidens flushed scarlet, frantically fanning themselves or hiding their faces behind their fans with only their eyes peeking over the top.
The noblewomen were considerably bolder.
What troubled Baelon was that quite a few men were blushing as well, screaming themselves hoarse.
Baelon: …
What in the world are you lot blushing for?!
Amid the cheers, Ser Swann’s back seemed to straighten more and more.
But he was not finished.
Before the eyes of the entire crowd, Ser Swann loosed an arrow trailing a long red ribbon.
It flew cleanly through ten small rings before striking the suspended red ball.
The ball burst with a bang.
Tiny scraps of colored paper scattered through the air.
That did it.
Men and women, young and old alike, began screaming and roaring Samwell Swann’s name.
The mild expression on Ser Swann’s face gradually transformed into a rather unsettling, roguish grin.
With the crowd cheering him on, he confidently began striking the bodybuilding poses Baelon had taught him, provoking fresh waves of shrieks.
Baelon: …
At that moment, the gentle, refined knight he had first met died completely.
In his place arose a fiery eccentric who delighted in showing off his muscles whenever the mood struck him.
Fortunately, Ser Swann still had some sense of restraint.
He only behaved this way while training in the yard.
Baelon sighed deeply to himself.
It was all his fault for lacking discipline and allowing himself to be corrupted by damned wealth and luxury!
A perfectly respectable knight like Ser Swann had been reduced to this!
Every time Baelon saw Ser Swann strike one of those bodybuilding poses, his toes curled from sheer embarrassment.
The awkwardness was enough to restore him to his senses every time.
He focused, drew a deep breath, and loosed an arrow.
Good!
That was better!
Right on the edge of the target!
Baelon rolled his aching shoulders and arms.
Drawing a bow truly was exhausting work.
He pulled out another ash-wood arrow.
The practice arrows he used were maintained only with beeswax and an oilstone, leaving the wood a pale yellow. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Unlike arrows meant for actual battle, they had not been blackened all over and soaked in tar.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure appearing around the bend of the corridor.
Rhaenyra approached at an unhurried pace.
Her lips were pursed as her interested gaze traveled slowly over Ser Swann, inch by inch.
From top to bottom.
From his broad shoulders to his powerful waist, over the solid masses of muscle and the deep contours running across them.
Beneath the left side of his chest, his heart beat strongly enough to make his heavy pectoral muscles rise and fall faintly.
A silver swan necklace rested against his chest.
Rhaenyra made no effort to hide her gaze as she openly admired the young, powerful body before her.
The longer she looked, the wider her smile became.
“Ser Swann,” she said softly, admiration plain in her voice, “I’ve heard you fought the Dornish in the Marches. Would you tell me about it?”
So young.
So strong.
Behind her, Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard stared grimly at Ser Swann, his expression distinctly hostile.
Under Rhaenyra’s predatory gaze, even Ser Swann seemed uncomfortable, drawing his arms closer to himself.
Baelon handed his bow to Ser Uther, then stepped forward and placed himself between Rhaenyra and Ser Swann.
Ser Swann quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
After spending a year with him, Baelon had discovered that hidden inside Ser Swann’s enormous frame was the temperament of a chameleon.
He was easily swept away by admiration and cheering.
Surrounded by worship and applause, his confidence swelled and flourished like a vigorously growing tree.
But the instant someone with genuine authority turned a scrutinizing eye upon him, all that illusory confidence and glory withered away.
Baelon had no idea how Ser Swann had developed such a personality, but he understood one thing perfectly well.
All it took was praise and recognition from the heir to the throne, and Ser Swann would become so elated that he could scarcely see anything else.
He would disregard everything and swear to serve Baelon unto death with his life and sword.
Baelon asked, “Rhaenyra, what brings you here?”
Rhaenyra’s gaze remained fixed on Ser Swann as she replied without even looking down at Baelon.
“Father sent me to tell you that your companion dragon is finally large enough to carry a rider.”
“So, do you want to go to the Dragonpit and see him?”
Baelon frowned slightly.
“He isn’t my companion dragon.”
“He hatched in the Dragonpit.”
As soon as Baelon had been old enough to speak, he had ordered the dragon egg returned to the Dragonpit.
“I already know which dragon I want,” Baelon said, refusing her suggestion.
“Besides, I have to inspect the factory outside the city today.”
Rhaenyra tried to persuade him.
“Father worries about you. Even for a Targaryen, dragons are not without danger.”
“That little dragon formed a bond with you while he was still sharing your cradle. He poses no danger to you. Why not try accepting him and give him a name?”
“You could have a dragon of your own immediately.”
Baelon remained unmoved.
“I already know which dragon I want.”
“Just go and see him,” Rhaenyra urged.
“The Dragonkeepers all say he’s a fine dragon. Clever and fierce.”
Baelon shook his head.
Throughout Targaryen history, no one had ever tamed two dragons at the same time. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Not even Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, a hundred years in the future, would prove an exception.
To give himself the best possible chance of taming an adult dragon, Baelon refused to complicate matters by forming any connection with a young one before he had claimed an adult dragon.
Especially not a young dragon that had once shared his cradle.
He glanced meaningfully at Ser Uther.
Ser Uther slipped away without a sound.
To reassure Rhaenyra, Baelon carefully softened his words, presenting the matter in a kinder way that people would find easier to accept.
“The bond between a dragon and a Targaryen goes both ways. My heart is already set elsewhere. If I go to see that little dragon and leave him clinging to some uncertain hope that I might choose him, would that harm me in any way?”
“No. Quite the opposite. It would benefit me. Even if I failed to tame an adult dragon, I would still have a young dragon waiting for me.”
“But…”
He sighed.
“If he truly is a good dragon, doesn’t he deserve a rider who chooses him wholeheartedly?”
“A rider who gives him everything, rather than treating him as a second choice.”
Rhaenyra fell silent for a moment.
“So you believe that either you give him your whole heart, or you give him no hope at all?”
Baelon nodded.
“Of course. The people of Westeros may see dragons as calamities, but dragons are extraordinarily loyal to their Targaryen riders. They never betray them.”
Then he told a well-intentioned lie.
“Even the sincere heart beneath a dragon’s scales should not be tormented by half-hearted affection and uncertain hope.”
Behind Baelon, the five knights looked at his back with open admiration.
Rhaenyra, however, suddenly grew angry.
“Yes, yes, that all sounds very noble!” she snapped, cutting through Baelon’s thoughts.
“You simply want an adult dragon!”
“And you’re willing to pay any price for one!”
“You’d rather leave your father and sister frightened for you every single day, terrified that you’ll sneak off to Dragonstone alone and die beneath dragonfire!”
Baelon emphasized yet again, “I know the responsibilities I bear. I would never gamble with my life.”
There was no one in this world who valued Baelon’s life more than Baelon himself.
Sometimes he even wondered whether his determination to preserve his own life made him seem craven and weak by Westerosi standards.
“Rhaenyra, I’ve promised you this more than once.”
“I won’t recklessly run off to Dragonstone. I won’t approach a dragon alone. Before I even attempt to tame one, I’ll spend at least a month or two feeding it and letting it grow accustomed to me!”
“Why do you both think I would act so irrationally?”
“Because you’ve always been bold and reckless!” Rhaenyra shot back angrily.
“The Prince ‘Beloved by the Gods’! Baelon the ‘Just and Wise’!”
“You possess wisdom granted by the gods themselves!”
“And because of that, you never listen to me, and you refuse to listen to Father either.”
Baelon stared at her in bewilderment.
“In six years, I’ve never once considered going to Dragonstone in secret, even though the island belongs to me.”
When Baelon had first made his determination to claim Vermithor clear, Viserys had gripped his hand tightly and called his name.
“Baelon, have mercy on a king. You bear the weight of the Seven Kingdoms. If you die trying to tame a dragon, the peace of the Seven Kingdoms will descend into chaos.”
“If a king cannot earn your mercy, then have mercy on your father. If you die, he will have no joy left in this life.”
Rhaenyra, meanwhile, had clung tightly to him with tears streaming down her face.
To reassure them both, no matter how desperately Baelon longed to claim a dragon, he had never once tried to sneak away to Dragonstone.
So why were Viserys and Rhaenyra still unwilling to believe him?