The tourney opens, the dragons dance
The morning light in King's King's Landing had just pierced through the clouds when it was scorched by the clamor of the arena.
The Blackwater Bay arena was no longer the flattened gravel it had been the day before. The stands, stretching from the Red Keep to the Blackwater Rush, had all been renovated. The front row of the royal stands was covered with soft cushions of silver fox fur, and above it hung a huge black silk curtain with three red dragons. The golden bells hanging from the edges of the curtain jingled softly in the morning breeze, like an overture to the fiftieth anniversary celebration.
The flags on both sides of the stands were so dense they blocked out the sunlight.
The Direwolf banners of the the North ice plains are covered in morning dew, and the wolf claw marks gleam coldly in the sunlight;
The Crowned Stag banner of the Stormlands billowed in the sea breeze, its black and gold embroidered antlers almost bursting through the fabric;
The red lion flag of the Westerlands and the golden rose flag of the Reach side by side, the red and gold intertwined with the green and gold, as if they had swept the heat of the Sunset Sea and the fragrance of the Mander River into King's Landing.
The lords arrived even earlier than yesterday. Taimond Lannister of the Westerlands sat in the west wing of the stands, his red and gold armor gleaming, whispering something to Earl Marbrand beside him. Marbran's second son beside him occasionally shook a silver spoon in his hand, clearly still thinking about his duel with Daemon Targaryen.
Mathos Tyrell of the Reach, unusually, wasn't late. His gold and green brocade robe's belt was half an inch loose, and his round face was full of unease.
Garlan, dressed in silver-green armor, was discreetly adjusting his father's clothes beside him, but his eyes darted toward the Kingsguard, where Lyan Redwyne and Clymont Crabb stood, their white robes like two snowflakes in the morning light.
"They're here! The royal procession is here!" The crowd suddenly stirred. Following the direction everyone was pointing, a clear horn sounded from the Red Keep. The Kingsguard rode white horses to lead the way, their white robes sweeping across the stone pavement, and the Seven-Pointed Star emblem on their sword sheaths gleamed coldly.
At the head of the procession was the carriage of King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne. The old king wore a black robe embroidered with golden dragons, held a scepter inlaid with rubies, and his long, silvery-white hair was tied up with a golden crown. Although he was over seventy years old, his back was still straight.
Queen Alysanne, draped in a white fox fur shawl, her pale white dress embroidered with the outline of Silverwing, glanced at her family in the stands as she lifted the carriage curtain. The smile in her eyes was like melting honey Vaegon stood beside Baelon, his grey robe stained with ink, but he no longer displayed his usual harshness.
Viserys held Rhaenyra in his arms, Aemma leaned against him, and the little princess, dressed in a pale pink dress, clutched a seashell in her tiny hand, looking curiously into the crowd;
Jocelyn held Rhaenys's hand, followed by Laena and Laenor, with a little boy carrying a golden rose that Gangduo had picked, skipping and hopping along.
"My children, my grandchildren—" Alysanne sighed softly, reaching out to grasp Jaehaerys's hand, her voice trembling with barely perceptible emotion, "Fifty years... I never imagined I'd see so many relatives gathered together again."
Jaehaerys patted the back of her hand, his gaze fixed on the distant Dragonpit's lair, his tone tinged with satisfaction. "Things will only get better. Today is not only a celebration, but also a chance for the entire Seven Kingdoms to see that the bloodline of us Targaryen has never been broken."
The carriage had just stopped in front of the royal viewing platform when a deafening dragon roar suddenly came from the sky. It was not the ferocity of the Glutton, but a calm and majestic boom.
Everyone looked up and saw a bronze-colored dragon shadow flying from the direction of the Dragonpit. When the dragon's wings were spread, they looked like dark clouds that blotted out the sky. It was none other than Vermithor of Jaehaerys!
The old king rose with a smile, and with the help of his attendants, slowly climbed onto the dragon saddle, flipped over and leaped onto the dragon's back. Though his movements were slow, they were steady. Vermithor obediently lowered his head, allowing him to land steadily on his neck. The bronze dragon scales gleamed with an ancient luster in the morning light.
"It's Silverwing! Queen Silverwing!" Another cheer rang out, and the silver-gray dragon shadow followed closely behind Vermithor. Queen Alysanne climbed onto the dragon's back, gently lifted the hem of her skirt, and gracefully sat on the dragon saddle on Silverwing's back. The silver-gray dragon wings fluttered gently, and the resulting wind swept across the stands, causing the cloaks of the lords to billow.
Silverwing's movements were exceptionally elegant, unlike the flamboyant movements of other dragons. Instead, it resembled a flowing cloud, slowly coming to rest beside Vermithor.
Immediately afterward, Prince Baelon appeared riding Vhagar. The azure dragon's wingspan was wider than Vermithor's, and its aged scales bore the scars of battle, yet it remained majestic. Baelon wore dark gray scale armor, held a longsword, and nodded slightly to the lords below. Vhagar let out a low growl, its voice filled with the pride of a king—this dragon, which had witnessed countless battles, seemed to be proclaiming the authority of the Targaryen.
"Look over there! It's Blood Wyrm!" Daemon Targaryen appeared on the back of the crimson dragon. Caraxes as fast as a shooting star, and his crimson scales looked like burning blood in the sunlight. He rode the dragon and circled once above the stands, deliberately exhaling a puff of white vapor towards the Westerlands, which made the House Marbrand boys cheer.
After bidding farewell to her mother Jocelyn, Rhaenys arrived riding Meleys. The crimson dragon scales seemed to have been tempered in fire. Rhaenys was dressed in a black and red riding outfit today, gripping the dragon saddle tightly. Laena and Laenor sat behind her, the two children waving excitedly. Meleys flew low over the stands, causing the House Velaryon servants to bow.
Daemon, holding Rhaenyra, stood at the edge of the royal stands. He saw Gael riding up on Dreamfyre, its pale blue dragon wings shimmering softly. Gael, wearing a pale blue rose cloak, smiled and waved at him, "Hurry up! Glutton and Grey Ghost are getting impatient!"
Daemon chuckled as he handed Rhaenyra to Jocelyn, then leaped onto the Glutton's back. The Black Dragon immediately let out a low roar, its jet-black scales gleaming coldly in the morning light. Grey Ghost followed beside it, its small, light gray body like a little shadow, occasionally rubbing its head against the Glutton's claws.
Above King's King's Landing, eight dragons gathered— Vermithor (Bronze), Silverwing (Silver-Gray), Vhagar (Azure), Caraxes (Crimson), Meleys (Scarlet), Glutton (Black), Dreamfyre (Pale Blue), and Grey Ghost (Light Gray). The sound of their flapping wings drowned out all other noises, and their roars echoed through the clouds, causing the people below to kneel in worship. Even the lords couldn't help but rise, their eyes filled with awe.
"Westeros —never before have so many dragons gathered together," murmured Lord Ellard Stark. William Dustin, pushing his wheelchair, stared intently at the dragons in the sky. "In the legends of the the North, only the Age of Heroes has witnessed such a sight."
Boremund Baratheon patted Brandon beside him, his voice full of excitement. "Look at the Glutton! The aura of that Black Dragon is no less than that of Balerion back then!" Brandon nodded vigorously, his hand gripping the battle axe so tightly that it turned white, wishing he could have a match with Daemon right away.
The dragons began to fly around the arena, with Vermithor and Silverwing at the forefront, like a pair of guardian elders;
Vhagar and Meleys followed closely behind, their green and crimson hues intertwined;
Caraxes and Dreamfyre chased the dragon's shadow in the air, their crimson and pale blue breath condensing into white vapor;
The Glutton, accompanied by Grey Ghost, skimmed low over the stands of the feudal lords. The Black Dragon's breath sizzled on the sand, while the Grey Ghost called out twice to Jeyne in the stands, making the little girl clap and laugh.
Queen Alysanne sat atop the Silverwing, watching her family reunite below and the giant dragon circling overhead, and suddenly her eyes welled up with tears.
She recalled the days when she and Jaehaerys rode dragons through the Seven Kingdoms in their youth, and the children who had passed away. Now, looking at her living relatives and so many dragons, she suddenly felt that all the hardships of the past fifty years had been worthwhile.
"That's about it, time to land." Jaehaerys's voice came through the wind. Vermithor was the first to swoop down and landed steadily on the open ground in the center of the arena. Its bronze dragon claws gently scratched the gravel, as if laying the foundation for the celebration.
The other dragons landed one after another, forming a huge circle that surrounded the arena. When their wings spread, they resembled a wall made of scales, plunging the entire King's Landing into a brief silence—only the white vapor of dragon breath slowly rose in the morning light, intertwining with the clouds.
One by one, the royal family members dismounted from the dragons' backs. Jaehaerys walked to the high platform in the center of the arena, gently tapping the surface of his scepter. His voice carried throughout the arena on the wind. "Fifty years ago, when I received the Iron Throne, Westeros was still struggling in war; fifty years later, we have peace, unity, so many loved ones, and so many dragons."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled lords. "Today's martial arts tournament is not to flaunt our strength, but to commemorate this peace, and more importantly, to let the Seven Kingdoms know that as long as we are of one mind, there is no obstacle we cannot overcome."
Alysanne walked to his side, took his hand, and said in a gentle yet firm voice, "What I'm most proud of isn't having so many dragons, but that my family is still here, and that the people of the Seven Kingdoms are safe and well."
Her gaze fell on Rhaenyra, the little one being held by Viserys, waving at the Grey Ghost in the air. "This is our great-granddaughter, the future of the Targaryen, and the future of the Seven Kingdoms."
The lords bowed, Taimond Lannister of the Westerlands was the first to shout, "For the King! For the Queen! For the peace of the Seven Kingdoms!"
The sound spread like thunder, Ellard in the the North, Boremund in the Stormlands, and Mathos in the Reach joined in, the cheers shaking the flags in the arena.
Jaehaerys smiled and raised his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet: "The tournament officially begins! The first event is a jousting contest with spears—today's champion will be crowned the best spearman of the Seven Kingdoms," and will also receive a Valyrian steel dagger personally bestowed upon him by me!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than a commotion came from the direction of the Kingsguard — Lyan Redwyne and Clymont Crabb simultaneously mounted their horses, Lyan dressed in white robes, his spear gleaming silver.
Clymont gripped a long oak spear with a red cloth wrapped around its tip. The two men exchanged a glance, both seeing the fighting spirit in each other's eyes.
"Ser Lyan! Clymont!" Borros Baratheon suddenly shouted, "You'd better compete well! Don't let us down!"
Brandon joined in the jeering, waving his battle axe. "Whoever wins, I'll buy them some the North ale!"
Daemon stood beside Gael, watching the two facing off in the arena. The three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder was slightly warm. He knew that this duel would become a legend in Westeros. Thirty broken lances and a draw would be the glory of these two knights.
Gael gently tugged at his cloak, her pale purple eyes filled with excitement. "Who do you think will win? I saw Sir Lyan's marksmanship when I was a child, it's fast and accurate; Sir Clymont is not bad either, I heard from Rupert that when he was young, he was a squire in the Vale and once shot down three Wildlings from the Mountain Clans with one shot."
"Perhaps, there are no losers." Daemon smiled and shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the dragon beside him—
The Glutton lay sprawled on the ground, Grey Ghost nestled beside it, while Dreamfyre gracefully groomed its dragon wings;
In the distance, Vermithor and Silverwing nestled together, while Vhagar closed his eyes to rest. Caraxes and Meleys chased each other across the sand like two flowing flames.
Queen Alysanne walked to Jocelyn's side, looked at the dragons in the sky, then at the lively scene in the arena, and suddenly laughed, "Look, this is what Targaryen should be like—dragons, a home, and peace."
Jocelyn nodded, her gaze falling on Daemon, her eyes full of tenderness. "Yes, perhaps this is the future that Aemon and I want."
The arena horns sounded once more, and Lyan Redwyne and Clymont Crabb's warhorses simultaneously reared up, their lances pointing directly at each other.
Sunlight shone on them, making their white robes and gray armor gleam. The surrounding lords held their breath, waiting for the first crisp sound of clashing spears.
Daemon held Rhaenyra in his arms, Gael leaned against him, Jocelyn and Rhaenys stood not far away, and Laena and Laenor lay on the edge of the stands. All eyes were focused on the center of the arena—this celebration of Jaehaerys' fifty-year reign, this grand gathering of dragons and knights, had finally begun its most spectacular act amidst the cold glint of spears.