111 AC
King's Landing, Tourney Grounds
First Person POV,
Aemon Targaryen
XXX
The next match came as quickly as I hoped it would. While Father defeated another random fodder knight, I went up against the Lord Reaper of Pike.
It was much easier than I was expecting to knock him down from his horse. It only took two passes and boom he was on the floor laid out.
Honestly, it was anti-climactic that way but it didn't matter much to me. So I moved forward to my next battle I didn't really even care about what was going on around me at this point.
My disappointment at my duel against lord Greyjoy was immeasurable. Luckily for me my day was not ruined as I still had several other opponents I could face.
Despite my excitement to face my next opponent, I found myself incredibly bored during the weight time. It wasn't that I was feeling impatient but more that I just wasn't interested in any of the other matches besides Daemon's. From what I could tell Chiston Cole wasn't here so he was probably going to be in tomorrow's matches.
My only worry was that if Aemma dies, the whole tourney will be canceled. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised at that outcome but I'd like to avoid it if possible. I'd poured more money into this event than I had into anything in a long while, and although I'd already made a significant profit there was definitely more money to be made.
Still, there were other things I hoped to achieve during this tournament. First and foremost was winning this joust which was pretty much guaranteed unless I got too arrogant and was caught off guard or something. The reward was not only a significant purse of golden dragons but more than that the true reward was a boon from the king.
I wasn't sure what exactly most people were hoping to get from the boon but my own choice had been decided long ago.
My second goal was establishing myself as the undisputed strongest warrior of the age or at least the day. As of right now there are very few in contention for the title my father being one of them and if he were here Ser Christon Cole would be another. I suppose that you could consider Borros and Rickon for it as potentially Leanor as well in the future but as of right now he was too young to be a true competitor.
Plus I could feel the jealousy coming from him. I wadger it was because I was allowed to participate in this tourney and he wasn't but maybe it's something else. The only thing that disturbs me about him is the obvious feelings of attraction projected towards me whenever I'm near him. At first, I thought it was just Leana, since they're always together, but then I realized I wasn't feeling anything different from him, and, knowing his nature, I suppose it's only natural for someone like him to be attracted to me.
I have no plans of reciprocating his feelings of course and at the end of the day Laenor is my rival. I do however think I should provide him with an upgraded body as well since he probably won't be having any children either.
So it should be fine it didn't really matter much to me though as my attention switched to my name once again being called up.
"PRINCE AEMON TARGARYEN VS LORD BORROS BARATHEON!"
I grinned at that, Borros has been wanting to have a proper fight with me for quite a while now according to most of our correspondence. The only real changes to him I've made to him through our relationship are that he's a tiny bit smarter most like and that he also favors the use of hammers more than swords.
Nevertheless, there was no point in thinking any harder about what I needed to do. The rest from here is straightforward. I sighed as Balerion and I took our places across from each other.
He roars in my mind like he always does. "YET ANOTHER FOOLISH CHALLENGER APPROACHES TO BE HUMILIATED BY OUR GREATNESS MY MASTER! SHALL WE GRANT HIM THE MERCY OF A SWIFT DEFEAT?"
The game is simple and Balerion knows the intent better than I could explain it to him. So a nod is all it takes to deliver the message to my raging companion.
Victory, and a swift one at that.
Soon enough the storm lord and I take the expected course of action. A simple charge is what it appears as on the outside.
This is not entirely true.
The blow that lands on each of us is a combination of force given by the mass multiplied by the acceleration. When combining the mass of the horses themselves, their armor, our armor, our shields, our body weights, and the lances themselves. Fueled by the sheer speed of our dark mounts below us.
But there is a key difference between the two of us. Unlike him, I ride upon the back of the greatest stallion to have ever been born in the mortal plain. A normal pass could crack shields, dent armor, dislocate shoulders, and break ribs.
But that was not the goal here. No, I want something else and so it is a delicate balance of keeping Borros intact while simultaneously launching him from his horses back. Yet, I manage to accomplish just that.
I watch as the stag knights' sun-kissed armor shimmered in the air and heard the clatter of metal as it reached the rough ground knocking up a shifting cloud of dirt.
Yet there is no break of bone, no shatter of plate mail, there is nearly even a few grunts of pain rising from my old friend's jarred body.
A man like him, whose pride is like a whirlwind and his fury a pure storm of wrath, you might think he'd hate me for the loss he's suffered so effortlessly at my hands. But from a simple read of his emotions, it's clearly not what he feels.
Instead, when he rises there is a simple desire in his heart, one that is reflected in my own. The desire for a true challenge. Unlike me however, Borros has already met his match this day.
At this point, a regular man poses little danger to me in direct combat. I hesitate to say no, however, as most people have hidden depths to them and are both more clever and more foolish than most realize them to be. Nevertheless a single knight in plate armor, no matter how good is ultimately just a human.
I, have already transcended such a flaw, as have many of my kin. Perhaps this time I should truly make the difference clear to the audience.
I imagine it would not be too hard for me now to punch through a concrete wall like Batman in the Arkham games.
I grin, dismounting my black steed once again to do battle. Balerion waits and watches the contest of arms with eager anticipation, savoring every moment of the violence for as long as he can.
I've always wondered if his rampant bloodlust would taper off when I finally grant him access to mares or with age. Time has a way of changing all things after all, and it is my firm belief that change is simply the way of the world, though I do theorise that it is simply the way of man.
By the time Arnold has delivered my sword to my hands, it's too late. Borros has already called for his hammer and is charging me in a muscled sprint. I pay more attention to the tiny wasp passing my vision through my helmet's visor.
He lifts the great war hammer heavily into the air as if trying to poke out the eyes of the gods above in a telegraphed move I see coming from an age away.
My sword has reached my hand. I could attack. But should I? What would be the point in that?
On one hand, I could defeat him handily while showing proper sportsmanship. On the other I could humiliate him, make him see the error in his ways forever even daring to charge me like the lowly Andal filth that he is.
But that's the inner dragon talking. At least that's what I tell myself as a casual side step sends me just out of his striking distance.
He pulls back the weapon and plunges it back at me in a spear-like maneuver that would make even Orys Baratheon proud and speaks of the inherited prowess Robert Baratheon will receive.
As the warhammer dives towards me I take the time with enhanced sight to study its make. The head of the hammer hurtling towards me is pointed rather than flat. A true stag's horn, ready to gore my royal flesh. It's funny because unlike most people here who would absolutely hesitate to try and hurt a prince, Borros does not, not at all, in fact.
If it's because he simply doesn't care or if he's too dim to understand the political implications of such a course of action I do not know. Nor do I truthfully care in any real sense.
Instead, I study the hammer, it's beautiful really, in that brand new freshly forged sort of way. The side of the hammer head was inflated with golden patterns in the likeness of a crowned stag and the long thick handle of the hammer was painted black and looped with gold. Truly a display of expert craftsmanship.
[image]
Borros howled forward like the wind, hammer in hand. His heart beat thunder in his ears and excitement played like lightning in his eyes.
'If only he were stronger.'
Alas Borros is not. He is just a man, and being only a man is not enough. He attacked again nothing held back.
Three masterful killing blows hurdler at me one from above once more the other two from the sides quick as lightning. Each strike would be a killing blow if it landed on any other man, but as I've eliminated earlier I am no mere man, not any longer.
Again a few small steps were all that was needed to dodge. I could feel his frustration growing from the missed strikes and so too humor him I threw out a quick blow, a stunner nothing more but it buys me time.
Once again I consider drawing my sword.
No, not yet. I shall save such a show for the finale of today's events.
Again and again, he comes at me perhaps the only lord in the seven kingdoms fool enough to do so with nothing held back. He is a master of combat already at his age. A twenty-year-old warrior, well-trained, in his prime or soon to be, and genetically gifted with the diluted blood of the storm gods and old Valyria even if polluted by the andols themselves.
The man, the young lord, was a wind that raged and howled at any of the glancing blows that came his way. He was a storm of blows slamming into the air at lightning speed. He had grown to be a warrior any father would be proud to see do battle and any knight would fear to face.
Lords leaned forward in intrigue and the royal box grew all but silent as they watched. Viserys gripped his chair tight enough for the arms to creak, Rhaenyra bit her lip in anticipation of the outcome, while Alicent clutched her dear friend's hand tightly in worry, Laenor bounced his leg in anxiety, Laena folded her hands together tying to hide the worry in her core, her parents shared glances hide an unspoken conversation, but Otto, his eyes narrow, his teeth gritting in both hope and restrained fury.
Any single one of the storm's heir's blows could kill a man, render his skull into nought but meat and pulp and fractured bone. He throws them unrelentingly, not even the slightest bit discouraged that he has caught nothing but air with them. That same air cracks and crackles like a campfire at night with each swift swing of the stag's war hammer.
Again the blows rain down like pellets of reckless water in a storm, Borros is that storm. But the dragon does not fear the storm, for he is the master of the sky and rises high above the clouds, all those below him shall kneel or burn. Even the descendant of theoretical gods and arrogant lords. Even if that storm, that stag, wields a small percentage of the dragon's blood itself.
He may rage against me, but in the end, it is pointless. He is a man with a man's limitations, I am not. He swings again, another overhead blow slightly diagonal swinging down from his left shoulder with all his efforts and training within it.
It was an admirable level of effort if not utterly pointless. Again and again and again he tried and failed to hit me until now I allow it. It's not the clean blow he's been hoping for though. His hammer meets steel but not my chest, shoulder, or head. Instead, it meets an outstretched gauntlet-covered hand. A hand that closes quickly around the long black handle of the weapon.
My fingers wrap around the handle of the hammer and snap closed like a dragon's jaws. Then with a wretched pull, I free the stag steel from his fingers and launch it across the tournament field.
Then I sent the pommel of my still sheathed blade directly into the visor of his helmet. There was a spray of jewel red blood and a wicked crack as the stag knight staggered backwards. Then my other hand launched forward, not in a punch or some other blow but a grasp of his antlered helm's horns.
Gripping the steel I pulled him back towards me and swept my foot beneath him. He tumbles forward and to the ground but despite his metal horns he managed to turn it into a roll before standing up. Then he rushes at me like a bull seeing red, the thought makes me grin and I hold out my cape just long enough to be funny before turning like a matador.
I think the fun has gone on long enough though. I turn twerling Lamentation in my hand and take it in a two-handed grip. Then without taking off the sheath I smack the paulmel into the back of Borros's head once. His helmet dips in like a single finger pressing into clay or Play-Doh. It was easy and yet so debilitating to the older warrior and as his consciousness fades so does all that admirable martial might.
He collapses to the ground like a stringless puppet, a puffing cough of orange-brown dust flailing into the air as he does so. The storm has fallen to the ground and I'm one step closer to my goal. Before the crowd can realise he's unconscious I walk over picking up my friend and helping him over to his squire.
I dust off my undirtied gauntlets as I watch him walk away. Soon my gaze drifts to the royal box and I watch as Viserys stands up in celebration and announces something or other that I don't bother listening to.
Instead, my eyes drift back down to the entrance tunnel where a figure waits for me. I stalk towards him and along the way, Balerion joins me at a steady pace. As we enter the tunnel, I face the dark figure brushing a hand against Balerion's muscular neck.
"Seems we truly are meant to face each other boy."
"Seems so, I do hope you're not thinking of backing out on our deal old man," I said tilting my head with a small smile.
"Unless you're scared that you'll lose?" I questioned, Daemon scoffed crossing his arms.
"I suppose you think that display of yours out there was impressive enough to beat me then. Well sorry to alarm you, but you'll have to actually draw your sword to defeat me." He smirked stepping closer to me. I could feel the pride radiating off of him. At first, I thought it was his usual arrogance, but it's not.
In fact, it's not as shocking as it could be albeit a bit rare. He's proud of me, I can feel it, but there is also great turmoil and excitement within him. Truthfully it's a little odd to know that I have the man's approval without any visual sign of it or any words to indicate that.
But then again I do not need the man's approval. I already had a father in my last life and I don't crave this one's attention. Still I suppose it's nice to know that your favorite character thinks of you fondly. In the end that's all he is really, all any of them are. Just characters in my story, but I best not fall into the habit of thinking of them as nothing but NPCs.
Daemon places his hand in my shoulder in a motion I could only call sickeningly fatherly. His eyes stare in to mine and I lift a brow in mild confusion. I considered turning off my emotional sense for a little while just to save some mana but now I'm to curious where this is going.
"Listen." he looks away from me over my shoulder at Belarion. His smirk fade slowly as he continues on after licking his dried lips.
"There a are… things, of which we must speak later. Private things, but more than that I have decided that… win, or lose. No matter what happens, I will help you with whatever it is that you've been planning to do." He grimaces as he looks at me nearly eye to eye me being slightly shorter of course.
The words almost stun me. Daemon? Being generous? Such a thing seems practically impossible, which means he wants something.
"Okay then let us set up a time then, not tonight though. Soon after I plan to… well you'll find out when I win I suppose." I say before smirking slyly it's my fathers smirk reflected at his own face. I try not to use it when my mother is around though, it makes her a little angry.
I love my mother of course and she loves me back, but the problem remains the same. Whenever she sees me she sees him first.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had resembled her instead of him. A little boy or girl with Auburn hair and cognac brown eyes. Perhaps she would see her son first instead of the dragon rider. I try to include her in my plans and such sometimes but there's always been this distance between us ever since Mother Alysanne died, a certain disconnect that can't seem to repair itself.
Perhaps our relationship would be better if I hadn't been born a Targaryen at all. But that is another life and it's only a matter of moments before what I have now hits me.
The allies of made, the animals I've tamed, the skies of flown in. More than that there's the preternatural draconic gifts.
So then I shake my head, not in concentration but in focus. I look back up at my father now step back from me and streaching out his hand.
Quickly I take it once again and shake.
[Chapter image]
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Hey guys sorry it's been a while. I've been working on some other stuff mainly as a test for future projects.
Right now I have a question to ask you all regarding Aemon as a character.
Personally, I feel like his characterization is a bit too inconsistent and I really want to firm up his personality a bit more. Sometimes it feels like every time I write him he's completely different in nature.
Also, I'm super sleep deprived so let me know how if there's something to come back and fix.