In the Great Hall.
Oswell Whent blocked Ser Jon Darry's path, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Between the King and the Crown Prince, you chose a green boy. Tell me, did you make that decision while you were half-asleep?"
"Watch your tongue, Whent," Ser Jon said in a low voice.
Oswell scoffed. "You successfully grasped vitality. Was it your master who provided you with special crops? Was he generous like he was yesterday?"
The sworn brothers of the Kingsguard were close, but their families were not.
Before joining the white cloaks, House Darry and House Whent were both major houses in the Riverlands, naturally positioned as rivals.
They knew each other's backgrounds inside out.
Thump!
Enraged, Ser Jon grabbed Oswell by the collar. "Let me tell you something. You can mock me all you want. For the sake of our brotherhood, I won't take it to heart."
"But if you disrespect Prince Daeron again, I won't hesitate to draw my sword on you."
Oswell sneered. "Then try it."
"You..."
Ser Jon was thoroughly provoked. He shoved Oswell back hard and drew the sword at his waist.
"Ser Jon!"
Just as they were about to fight, Daeron's voice rang out from upstairs.
Oswell and Ser Jon looked up simultaneously to see Daeron standing at the top of the stairs.
He was looking down at them with interest.
"Prince!" Ser Jon wanted to fight.
"You have defended my honor, Ser," Daeron praised without hesitation, his gaze shifting to Oswell, whose expression was dark and uncertain.
"Is he really this stupid?"
A Kingsguard openly displaying bias for one royal over another, actively seeking trouble, and offending a prince without hesitation.
Why?
Daeron couldn't understand it. He suspected someone else was behind this.
"What? Does Prince Daeron intend to stop Jon from showing off?" Oswell sneered, regaining his arrogant posture. "Or do you think just because the King granted you lands and titles, you can order people around on Dragonstone?"
His words were full of resentment.
"No!"
Daeron shook his head. "You speak insolently to me. I fully support Ser Jon's decision."
With that, he unslung the Neptune's Greatsword from his back and tossed it down to the floor below.
"Ser, defeat him with this sword."
Ser Jon caught the greatsword, turned, and unsheathed Azure blade. It reflected the sharp glint in his eyes.
Oswell's face darkened. "Jon Darry, do you really want to fight me?"
"I told you. If you disrespect the Prince, I will draw my sword."
Ser Jon took his stance, giving his opponent time to prepare.
"Then there's nothing more to say."
Oswell drew his own sword, radiating an intense aura.
If the roles were reversed, he wouldn't spare anyone who disrespected Prince Rhaegar either.
So, they would fight.
"Hah!!"
Both men roared, charging at each other. Swords clashed with full force.
Daeron remained calm, silently counting the time.
From the argument to the duel, the commotion was loud enough to be heard throughout the Stone Drum Tower.
He wanted to see who would show up.
Clang! Clang!
Below, the two White Knights fought fiercely, every strike aimed at a vital point.
Oswell and Ser Jon were evenly matched in skill, and they had grasped vitality around the same time. They were worthy opponents.
But Ser Jon had one advantage.
"Whent! Kneel and apologize to Prince Daeron!"
Ser Jon roared, pouring his vitality into his arms as he swung the Neptune's Greatsword with all his might.
Clang!
Oswell raised his sword to block. The two blades collided. Oswell's fine steel sword couldn't withstand the impact and shattered into fragments.
A shard flew past his eye, slicing the skin on his cheek.
Thud!
Ser Jon kicked him down, shouting, "Kneel and apologize, Whent!"
"How is this possible!?"
Oswell looked horrified. He couldn't believe he had been so easily defeated by a brother of equal skill. Fighting back the pain, he tried to scramble to his feet.
Ser Jon didn't give him the chance. He kicked Oswell hard in the head, tore off his white cloak, and threw it viciously to the ground.
"Well done, Ser!"
Daeron enjoyed the show immensely and shouted his approval.
He had wanted to teach Oswell Whent a lesson for a long time.
Rhaegar hadn't even said anything, yet this guy jumped out acting like he owned the place.
Talk about the emperor not worrying but his eunuchs working themselves into a frenzy.
Ser Jon fought with even more vigor. With every heavy kick and punch, he demanded an apology, threatening to keep beating him until he complied.
Oswell had lost the initiative and was pinned to the ground, unable to fight back.
Every time he tried to get up, he was ruthlessly knocked down again.
"Someone should be coming soon, right?"
Daeron watched with interest, glancing back toward the study.
The study door remained tightly shut. The person inside had no intention of coming out to stop this.
So Rhaegar hadn't ordered this!
Suddenly, a voice shouted from a corner of the hall.
"Enough, Jon!"
A massive, milky-white greatsword appeared. With a skillful upward sweep, it intercepted the Neptune's Greatsword, using leverage to force both the sword and its wielder back.
"Ser Arthur."
Ser Jon's anger hadn't subsided. He demanded loudly, "Are you with him too?"
Ser Arthur shook his head gently. "Apologies. I am only here to stop the duel."
He wasn't interested in power struggles.
"Who is that?"
Daeron leaned over the railing and asked immediately.
In the direction Arthur Dayne had come from...
Elia, supported by Ashara, was practically running toward them.
And behind the two Dornish beauties was a middle-aged man with Dornish features.
"Prince Lewyn?"
Daeron locked onto him instantly.
Lewyn Martell was handsome and carried himself with a dashing air. He was an attractive older man around forty with olive skin.
He wore the breastplate and white cloak of the Kingsguard, but leaned on a cane with his right hand. His right calf was bandaged and splinted.
This made his movements somewhat awkward, but it didn't diminish the graceful nobility of a born prince.
Prince Lewyn surveyed the situation, frowning deeply.
Before he could speak, Elia asked anxiously, "What happened? Why are you drawing swords in the Great Hall?"
Ser Jon couldn't tell who was friend or foe, so he looked to Daeron.
Oswell, beaten and battered, lay on the ground playing dead.
Ser Arthur was concise. "Oswell provoked him first. Jon taught him a lesson."
"Is that so?"
Elia looked up at Daeron too.
Daeron tilted his head. "Rather than Oswell being stupid, I'm more interested in knowing who put him up to this?"
At these words, Prince Lewyn's frown deepened.
Based on the identities of those present, the answer was already quite clear.
Daeron looked around.
Oswell was Rhaegar's die-hard loyalist. Since Rhaegar hadn't ordered it, someone else must have egged him on.
Arthur Dayne had only intervened to stop the one-sided beating and hadn't taken a stance otherwise.
He could be counted as Rhaegar's man for now.
Elia had arrived in a panic, so she likely knew nothing about it.
That narrowed down the target pretty quickly.
Seeing Prince Lewyn remain silent, Daeron smiled. "Prince Lewyn, my brother just said you were badly injured. But it looks like you're recovering quite well."
Broken bones took a hundred days to heal.
Even for a top-tier knight who had mastered vitality and healed faster than normal, bone injuries required rest.
The fact that Prince Lewyn could walk with a cane meant his injury was significantly better.
Daeron glanced at the flustered Elia, a look of scrutiny in his eyes.
To bring about such a rapid recovery, only high-quality crops could do the trick.
This Dornish woman had almost certainly given the Gold Star strawberry he gifted her to Prince Lewyn.