Time flew like a white steed passing a gap, and in the blink of an eye, it was 281 AC.
On the training grounds of The Red Keep, two figures, one large and one small, whose shadows were stretched long by the morning sun, moved across the sand, the crisp, rhythmic sound of wooden swords clashing echoing in the air.
Ser Barristan executed a masterful sidestep, deftly parrying the incoming chop, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. Viserys Targaryen, standing before him, was only six and a half years old, barely reaching his shoulder, yet his attacks carried a ferocity and precision beyond his years. After more than a year of continuous, arduous practice, the small body now displayed strength that could not be underestimated.
"Stop." Barristan took a step back and sheathed his wooden sword. "That concludes today's training, Prince Viserys. Your progress is rapid, far exceeding my expectations." Viserys nodded breathlessly, sweat dripping from his silver hair. He removed his training armor, feeling the soreness in his muscles, yet filled with a sense of accomplishment.
Over the past year, not only had his swordsmanship advanced by leaps and bounds, but his control over his Greenseer abilities had also become more proficient. The seven dragon eggs he had obtained were still safely hidden beneath his bed. Through continuous perception, he could sense the energy within them, slowly surging beneath the hard shells like a dormant volcano.
"His Majesty the King has officially decreed," Barristan mentioned casually, wiping sweat from his brow, "that a grand tourney will be held at Harrenhal in the second half of this year. I will also be participating. What are your thoughts, Your Highness?"
Viserys's heart skipped a beat. The Tourney at Harrenhal—this was a critical point in time. He knew this grand event was the fuse that would ignite everything, where Rhaegar Targaryen would crown Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty, subsequently triggering a chain of tragedies.
"All the knights in the realm will go, right?" Viserys tried to make his voice sound like that of a curious child.
"Yes, Your Highness." Barristan's gaze became resolute. "The noble knights and landed knights seeking fame, as well as the hedge knights yearning for opportunity and recognition... This will be the grandest event seen in years."
Just then, a flurry of light footsteps broke the tranquility of the training ground. A small figure stumbled over, followed by a nervous-looking maid.
"Big Brother Viserys." Rhaenys Targaryen, just over two years old, opened her arms and cried out in a childish voice. She was the daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell; she inherited her mother Elia's black hair but also possessed the violet eyes characteristic of the Targaryen Family. When he first transmigrated, Rhaenys had just turned one.
Viserys squatted down and caught his little niece as she rushed into his arms. By lineage, he was Rhaenys's uncle, but the little girl stubbornly insisted on calling him "Big Brother." Surprisingly, Rhaegar and Elia not only didn't correct her but seemed pleased by it. In this family, where blood purity was prioritized above all else and incestuous marriage was commonplace, they might have already regarded these two similarly aged children as future marriage candidates.
"Rhaenys, why did you run all the way here?" Viserys asked softly, wiping a crumb of bread from her cheek.
"I want to play with Big Brother," Rhaenys replied, clutching his tunic.
Gazing at the innocent little girl in his arms, a surge of complex emotions rose within Viserys. He knew this girl's future fate: she would be brutally murdered by Amory Lorch when King's Landing fell. Amory Lorch was another Western Dog whose cruelty was no less than that of Gregor Clegane, The Mountain.
Perhaps he should change her outcome. After all, adding one more person wouldn't be a burden, and in the future, there would be one more Dragonrider. He just didn't know if The Mad King would let them leave when the time came. It seemed The Mad King kept them in King's Landing to force aid from Dorne's reinforcements.
A few days later, news that pleased Viserys arrived: Miss Ashara Dayne had reached King's Landing.
This noble lady of Starfall, the sister of the legendary "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne, was famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms for her stunning beauty and unique melancholic temperament, earning her the title "The Pearl of The Marches." Her stated purpose for the trip was to visit her brother and pay respects to Princess Elia Martell of Dorne.
Viserys still remembered the first time he saw her, which was in the gardens of The Red Keep.
At that time, he was playing with Rhaenys, the little girl weaving through the flowers, chasing a butterfly. To prevent her from falling, Viserys had to constantly watch her movements, occasionally reaching out to steady her.
"What a heartwarming sight." A cool, pleasant voice came from behind.
Viserys turned and saw a maiden in a pale blue gown standing beside a rose bush. She had pale violet eyes and waist-length dark hair; the beauty of her countenance was enough to make the blooming roses beside her pale in comparison. He immediately recognized her as Ashara Dayne.
"Miss Dayne." Viserys nodded slightly, simultaneously reaching out to steady Rhaenys, who had nearly tripped. Rhaenys had only just begun clinging to him around that time.
Ashara stepped forward and curtsied gracefully: "Prince Viserys, Princess Rhaenys." Her gaze fell upon Rhaenys, who was tightly gripping Viserys's tunic. A hint of tenderness flashed in her eyes. "You seem very caring, Your Highness."
"It is my duty," Viserys replied. He could sense that Ashara was always enveloped in a faint aura of melancholy.
After this chance encounter, Viserys met Ashara multiple times within The Red Keep. Sometimes it was in the garden, where he noticed the maiden had a fondness for flowers; sometimes it was in the hallway, where she would politely exchange a few words with him.
The most meaningful exchange occurred one afternoon.
Viserys was practicing alone on the training grounds when he suddenly felt a gaze upon him. Turning around, he saw Ashara standing beneath a distant colonnade, watching him with deep concentration.
"Did I disturb you, Your Highness?" Seeing that Viserys had noticed her, Ashara walked closer.
"Not at all, Miss Dayne." Viserys put down his wooden sword. "Are you interested in swordsmanship?"
Ashara smiled slightly and replied, "I have two brothers, remember? Arthur told me that a true knight must not only be skilled in combat but must also understand what he fights for. Having heard it so often, I naturally developed some thoughts of my own."
Viserys watched her, signaling for her to continue. He realized this might be an opportunity to deepen their relationship.
"Then what do you believe a knight should fight for?"
Her answer was immediate: "For honor, not glory—the honor of the knight."
In the original work he knew, this maiden eventually ended her own life due to heartbreak, but the person standing before him now was someone with profound insight and firm conviction.
"I heard about the Tourney at Harrenhal," Ashara suddenly changed the subject. "Will you be participating?"
Viserys shook his head: "I am still too young, but my elder brother Rhaegar will participate, and I will attend as a spectator."
"Oh, he is a handsome and valorous Prince; everyone expects him to win the championship," Ashara said softly. "Sometimes I wonder what these grand tourneys are really for. Men fight desperately on the field for glory and the favor of ladies, often forgetting the original intention of knighthood."
These words hit Viserys like a prophecy. Subsequently, more and more knights in Westeros would tarnish the honor of knighthood, their actions completely contradicting the oaths they swore.
This made Viserys increasingly certain that Ashara Dayne was far more complex than she appeared on the surface. After all, the original work hadn't concluded, and her death hadn't been confirmed. Who knew if she was truly dead, or if she had faked her death to escape and conceal herself.
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