Toying in the Morning Light

The morning in King's Landing's Landing was warm and pleasant. The arena on the west side of the Red Keep was bathed in golden light from the rising sun. The dew on the lawn had not yet dried, and it felt soft underfoot, filled with the scent of earth and grass that permeated every corner.

Daemon gripped the hilt of the Blackfyre, its tip lightly touching the grass. His long, silver-gold hair clung to his neck in the wind. Opposite him, Daemon Targaryen, unusually unconventional today, wore the black armor of a capital guard draped in a golden robe. The "Dark Sister" gleamed coldly in the sunlight. He grinned, his steps slightly unsteady. "Little Daemon, you beat me by half a move yesterday, so don't hold back today!"

"Don't worry, I won't let you lose too badly." Daemon had barely finished speaking when he moved, and the Blackfyre, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, pierced straight forward.

Daemon Targaryen dodged to the side, but the "Dark Sister" countered by striking his wrist. Their blades clashed, producing a crisp "clang," which drew cheers from the surrounding Gold Cloaks and Daemon's followers.

On the lawn beside the field, Gael was sitting on a wool blanket with Alicent, Mysaria, and Johanna.

Gael held Rhaenyra in her arms; the little princess, dressed in a light black dress, giggled as she clutched Gael's silver hair.

Alicent was holding an embroidery basket and teaching Mysaria how to embroider roses. Her platinum curls hung down on the embroidery cloth, and she looked as serious as if she were completing some important task.

Johanna sat on the edge, clutching the dagger Daemon had given her. She would occasionally fumble with the dagger, constantly drawing and sheathing it, her gaze drifting towards the figure in the center of the arena.

"Although I don't understand, look at Little Damon's swordsmanship; it looks even more refined than it did at the King's Landing tournament last year," Gari said with a smile to Allison, gently scratching Renilla's chin. "When I fought him at Storm's End in Boros, he was knocked down in three moves. I'm afraid Big Damon won't last long this time either."

Alicent looked up, her gaze falling on Daemon, her eyes filled with admiration. "Your Highness's martial arts were already unparalleled in the Seven Kingdoms, and this year you've grown even taller and more imposing. In a few more years, I'm afraid no one will be able to defeat him."

Mysaria nodded in agreement, nearly pricking her finger with the embroidery needle in her hand. "Last time in the Narrow Sea, I saw Your Highness cleave a pirate in two with a single sword strike; that was truly impressive!"

Under the shade of the trees, Alys Rivers sat alone on a stone bench, holding a yellowed parchment scroll in her hands, her green skirt swaying gently in the wind.

Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the pages of the book, but her peripheral vision kept glancing in Daemon's direction, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the edges of the pages, as if trying to catch some invisible trace.

At the entrance to the arena, Larys Strong leaned on his cane, the hem of his black robe sweeping across the grass clippings on the ground. He and Jarman Waters leaned against the stone wall. Jarman's one eye swept over the matches in the arena, and he toyed with an arrow in his hand. Harlan Hunter was not far away, instructing Little Horas on how to hold the bow. The boy's archery skills were still a bit rough, and his shyness often caused his arrows to miss the bullseye, making the two of them scratch their heads in frustration.

"Your father seems to be very busy lately," Jarman raised an eyebrow at Larys, "He's been in the Small Council Master of Ships, and he's probably almost forgotten about you, his son."

Larys chuckled, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. "My father isn't just busy with naval affairs; he's keeping His Majesty in his thoughts. Look over there—" He gestured with his cane towards Rayford Rosby and Maester Bernard, "Rayford's learning something, and Maester Bernard's willingness to teach him—it's the same thing."

Jarman looked in the direction he was pointing and saw Rayford holding a book, with Bernard standing beside him, pointing at the ground with a small stick and patiently explaining something;

Not far away, Rupert Crabb and Lyonel Corbray were practicing their swordsmanship. Rupert's silver spoon hung at his waist, and he would occasionally parry with the back of his sword, muttering, "Your sword is too fast, but speed alone is not enough."

Myles Rivers and Tybolt Crakehall were having a strength contest, both of them gripping a thick wooden pole, their faces flushed red, while the Gold Cloaks around them cheered.

Alyn Redwyne and Colin Celtigar squatted on the lawn, a nautical chart spread out in their hands. Alyn pointed to the Blackwater Bay route. "Last time we took the inner flank, avoiding the reefs. Next time we're going to Stormlands, why don't we try the outer flank? It'll save us half a day's journey." Colin nodded, the Blue Crab pattern on his silver armor gleaming. "I've heard the outer flank has Ironborn longships that are quite dangerous. We'll have His Highness take the Glutton with him for peace of mind."

The House Royce twins were practicing their teamwork, each wielding a longsword and moving in perfect unison, their sword tips pointing at the target simultaneously, drawing frequent glances from Mace Florent and Lucas Tyrell nearby.

Mace, mounted on his horse and lance in hand, smiled at Lucas and said, "Shall we have a match? Let's see who has the better spearmanship."

Lucas mounted his horse, his silver-green armor gleaming. "Alright, the loser has to drink three barrels of ale!"

The Tarth siblings stood behind Gael and the others, while Budimir gripped his sword hilt, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily.

Brienne crossed her arms, her six-foot-tall frame resembling a small mountain. Rhaenyra curiously reached for her armor, causing Brienne to reveal a rare, shy smile.

Amidst the commotion, Leonno Strong appeared at the entrance. He wore the insignia of the Master of Ships, a dark blue brocade robe, and carried a scroll of parchment. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight, clearly indicating that he had just finished Small Council and hadn't even had time to adjust his cloak.

"Little Daemon," Leonno interrupted Daemon's duel with Daemon Targaryen as he walked to the center of the arena, "His Majesty the King decreed at the Small Council that you and your followers be assigned positions—you may be to attend the Small Council to assist the Hand of the King and the Crown Prince in handling affairs of the Seven Kingdoms; or you may be accompanied by Rayford,

Colin and his men accepted positions similar to those of the capital's guards or the royal fleet.

Daemon sheathed his sword and walked up to him. "What does Grandfather mean?"

"His Majesty wishes to familiarize you with state affairs as soon as possible," Leonno said, unfolding the parchment scroll and lowering his voice. "After all, your prestige now surpasses that of many princes. Getting involved in royal affairs sooner will also calm the minds of those who are harboring rebellious thoughts." He looked at Larys. "I need Larys to help me organize the naval archives, and there are some port accounts that need to be checked."

Larys walked over, leaning on his cane, a deep meaning flashing in his dark eyes. His "malicious" gaze lingered on Daemon's face for a moment.

Daemon immediately understood and turned to Jarman, instructing, "Jarman, take Harlan with you to help Sir Leonno with his affairs. Also—keep an eye on your surroundings and protect the Sir and Larys."

Leonno shook his head helplessly, clearly used to his son's "little tricks of betraying him," but still nodded. "That's fine, with you all here, I feel more at ease."

Jarman put away his arrows and patted Harlan on the shoulder. "Let's go, don't let Little Horas dismantle the target." Harlan smiled and agreed, following behind the two towards the Red Keep.

Daemon Targaryen sheathed his sword, a flippant smirk playing on his lips as he called out to Leonno's retreating figure, "Sir Leonno, remember to tell Larys to stop 'playing around' with his Mr. Longlegs all the time. He should learn some serious business!" Leonno turned and glared at him, but said nothing more.

Not long after, a series of orderly footsteps sounded. Ser Robin Shaw, dressed in the white robes of the Kingsguard with a longsword at his waist, followed by two white-robed attendants, strode into the arena.

His white robes gleamed in the sunlight, his face radiating authority. His gaze swept across the room, finally settling on Daemon Targaryen: "Prince Big Daemon, His Majesty the King summons you to Small Council to discuss important matters."

Daemon Targaryen paused, then shrugged. "What is it now? You're not asking me to deal with some Gold Cloaks discipline issue, are you?" He patted Daemon on the shoulder. "When I get back, we'll have another match. I'll definitely win this time!" With that, he followed Robin Shaw toward the Red Keep, the white-robed figure gradually disappearing at the entrance.

Rupert Crabb lowered his sword, gazing at Robin Shaw's retreating figure with envy in his eyes. "How impressive! The Kingsguard's white robes are more magnificent than any armor! If I could become Kingsguard like my uncle, my father would definitely bring out all the wine barrels from Crab Island to celebrate!"

Lyonel Corbray nodded in agreement. "The Kingsguard swears an oath never to marry or be granted land, and to protect the royal family for life. Only those who can make such a noble vow are true knights!" Several other Daemon followers and the young man in the Gold Cloaks beside him echoed this sentiment, their eyes filled with longing.

Just then, a steady voice rang out. "If you want to be Kingsguard, you'd better hone your skills first." Everyone turned around and saw Ser Harrold Westerling standing behind them, also dressed in white robes, the Seven-Pointed Star emblem on his breastplate gleaming. He was one of the most experienced knights in the Kingsguard besides Robin Shaw and Lyan Redwyne, his swordsmanship steady, and he had escorted the king on many occasions.

"Harrold!" Rupert stepped forward excitedly, almost tripping. "Could you teach us a few moves? We want to be white knights like you!"

Harrold chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before finally settling on Myles Rivers. Myles, having just defeated Tybolt, was wiping his sweat when Harrold looked at him. He scratched his head and said, "Sir, I have no interest in the Kingsguard. I just want to charge into battle with His Highness."

"It's fine if they're not interested," Harrold walked to the center of the arena, picked up a training wooden sword, and said, "How about we have a match? Let them see how a real knight draws his sword."

Myles's eyes lit up, and he immediately grabbed the training axe that his House Dustin bodyguard had made for him during his training. "Alright! I won't hold back!"

Daemon walked to the sidelines with a smile, Gael quickly made room for him with a mat. Rhaenyra stretched out her little hand, grabbed a strand of Daemon's silver hair, and refused to let go.

Daemon sat down on the cushion, and a soft touch came from behind him - Grey Ghost had sneaked over without him noticing. Its light gray-white scales shimmered, and it lay obediently behind him like a giant plush cushion.

"Is it comfortable to lean against it?" Gael said with a smile, reaching out to touch the Grey Ghost's neck. The cowardly dragon, unusually, rubbed against her hand gently out of respect for Daemon, its golden eyes full of docility.

Daemon leaned against the Grey Ghost's back, feeling the coolness of the scales, his gaze fixed on the arena.

Myles gripped his training axe and swung it at Harrold with lightning speed; Harrold simply dodged to the side, his wooden sword lightly touching Myles's wrist, causing Myles's training axe to wobble and almost slip from his grasp.

"You're swinging the axe too hastily, using only superficial strength," Harrold's voice was steady. "True power must be hidden in the wrist, like the breath of a dragon, controlled with ease." As he spoke, he dodged Myles's second axe, his wooden sword grazing Myles's knee, causing Myles to stumble and nearly fall.

"Although I'm not particularly skilled with battle axes, many weapon techniques are actually interconnected. You have a good teacher, but he should have also told you not to rely solely on brute force without technique." Harrold turned and swung his wooden sword, easily lifting Myles off his back again.

The crowd on the sidelines was stunned. Tybolt Crakehall whispered in surprise, "That guy Myles so strong, how come he's struggling so much against the Lord?" Rupert shook his head with a smile, "The Lord is Kingsguard, his swordsmanship is far superior to ours. Myles is doomed to lose this time. My uncle is also Kingsguard, and he said that among them, Harrold is the most likely to take over as Captain Lyan Redwyne of the Kingsguard."

Daemon watched Harrold toying with Myles on the field, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his face.

The Grey Ghost gently shook its head, its golden eyes reflecting the sunlight, appearing exceptionally docile.

The distant chimes of the Red Keep mingled with the laughter and clashing of weapons from the arena, like a warm morning lullaby—the tranquility of King's Landing, though rare, was enough to make one cherish the beauty of the moment.