"Hyah!"
Daemon's voice was deep and dangerous as he spurred his pitch-black warhorse into a gallop. The uncle and nephew duo charged at each other like two bolts of lightning, one silver and one black. Their red cloaks fluttered behind them as they advanced, and their lances were aid at each other's chests.
Bang!
The shields, both emblazoned with the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, shattered simultaneously, sending shards of wood flying. Rhaegar steadied himself, gripping the reins and holding his seat as his horse trotted to the other end of the fence. Daemon, less fortunate, struggled to stay upright, his black armor clanking loudly.
Rhaegar's strength prevailed. His ancient Valyrian blood coursed with vitality, fortifying every inch of his body.
"Nephew, you impress !" Daemon's voice was cold as he quickly replaced his shield and charged again.
Rhaegar composed himself and replied, "Uncle, it's not over yet!" The magic in his blood surged, the air around him heated as veins bulged at the corners of his eyes.
Once again, silver and black armor clashed. Daemon's lance was aid at Rhaegar's chest, and he tossed his shield like a frisbee.
Boom!
Rhaegar blocked the flying shield with his own, then thrust his lance at Daemon's stomach. Both lances hit their targets, and the two combatants were knocked down.
"Phew~~"
The warhorses whinnied in panic, veering off course and out of the arena.
The collision sent the crowd into a frenzy. The nobles stood, their eyes fixed on the fighters sprawled on the ground. The match between the Regent Prince and the Rogue Prince would be the talk of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Roar--"
A pitch-black dragon swooped into the clouds, its massive wings beating the air, green vertical pupils surveying the arena. Other dragons scattered to avoid this fierce and dominant creature.
"Roar..."
A scarlet dragon, serpentine and swift, swooped around the arena, not to be outdone. The fighting fervor of its riders seed to ignite the dragons' own instincts.
On the platform, Viserys watched intently, his face grave. Though not a warrior, he had seen many thrilling matches. Rhaegar and Daemon, clashing fiercely, seed determined to unseat each other.
Alicent, beside her husband, looked tense, subconsciously picking at her fingernails. The uncle and nephew fought as if they were mortal enemies, not blood relatives.
On the field, two figures slowly rose from the mud, ready to continue the fight.
"Hiss!"
Rhaegar pushed himself up with one hand, the other gripping his aching shoulder. He took off his helt and inhaled sharply. The fall had been hard and his left shoulder throbbed painfully.
Across the field, Daemon rolled several tis before staggering to his feet, his head spinning. Their fierce exchange had taken its toll on both of them.
Attendants rushed to bring their weapons, and uncle and nephew faced each other once more. Blood trickled from the corner of Daemon's mouth as he picked up a one-handed sword and shield, his preferred weapons even after losing Dark Sister. Swift and ruthless swordplay was his path to victory.
"Uncle, rember the family motto?" Rhaegar grinned, twirling Truefyre, the ruby at its hilt flashing crimson as if fire danced within its core.
Daemon sneered, a cold smile curling his lips. "What trick are you trying to pull?"
"Oh, it's Fire and Blood!" Rhaegar declared, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. The blackened Truefyre glowed with heat, the air around it shimring.
He hadn't intended to display his pyromancy in public, but Daemon deserved a taste of his true power. He called upon his inner strength and felt his bloodline stir.
[Rhaegar Targaryen]
Talents: Drear (Gold), Pyromancer (Purple), Longevity (Green)
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord ( 48%)
Runes: Serpent (Blue), Bronze (Green)
Blood Sorcery: Enchantnt Spell (Blue), Dragonstone (Blue)
Relics: Blood and Fire, True Dragon Blood, Dreamscape
Evaluation: "Ancient and noble bloodline, looking forward to the day when the fla is rekindled."
His bloodline purity had been stagnant at 47% for a long ti, despite his contact with Cannibal and other dragons. But now, with Rhaenyra's pregnancy, this duel with Daemon, and the looming war, emotions surged within him. His blood suddenly boiled, showing signs of revival.
"Hooooo~~"
Rhaegar panted heavily, his breath hot and burning, eyes fixed on his uncle. In a flash, he moved like lightning. Truefyre descended with the force of a million pounds, aid directly at Daemon.
"Roar!"
Cannibal roared repeatedly, its pitch-black wings blotting out the sky as it hovered just below the clouds.
Bang...
Daemon didn't dodge, raising his shield to block. The thick wooden shield cracked instantly under the force.
Seizing the mont, he swung his steel-forged one-handed sword across Rhaegar's waist, showing no rcy.
A green dragon pattern flared in Rhaegar's eyes as his aura peaked. He was more ruthless than Daemon, allowing the sword to cut into his side, slicing through his silver armor and grazing the skin beneath. He knew the armor's thickness well and trusted it could withstand a typical steel sword without issue.
"Uncle, you're getting old!" Rhaegar shouted coldly, kicking Daemon square in the chest and sending him staggering backward.
Taking advantage of Daemon's unsteady retreat, Rhaegar slashed with Truefyre, each strike heavier than the last.
Dang! Dang!
Daemon retreated hastily, his shield already useless. He could only raise his one-handed sword to block, but it was no match for Rhaegar's hand-and-a-half sword. The powerful swings erupted repeatedly, and with a final heavy slash, Rhaegar's blade rubbed with flas and heat waves.
Ka-chow...
The slender one-handed sword shattered, pieces flying everywhere. Daemon's face twisted in grim determination as he drew a dagger from his waist, ready to continue the fight.
"Daemon, admit defeat!" Rhaegar commanded, slashing the dagger away and pressing his sword to Daemon's brow.
In an instant, the winner was decided.
Daemon's body stiffened, his face dark with anger.
"Roar..."
Caraxes, Daemon's dragon, rose into the air, spitting scarlet dragonfire in fury. Cannibal's green vertical pupils flashed with hostility as it swooped down, ghostly green dragonfire blazing.
Boom...
The green flas filled the sky, but Caraxes dodged nimbly, disappearing into the clouds.
"Roar--"
Cannibal landed on the north shore of God's Eye Lake, his head held high in disdain. It announced a truce; now was not the ti for a hunt. Caraxes, hidden above the clouds, left a faint scarlet trail across the white clouds.
In the martial arena, the brief clash between the dragons was a stunning spectacle. The nobles watched in fear, knowing they would be the first to suffer if a dragon fight broke out.
On the platform, the Targaryens were equally alard, standing and staring at the duel below.
Rhaegar stood over Daemon, sword poised, demanding his surrender. His cheeks were flushed, and his forehead glistened with sweat, but his violet eyes shone brightly.
Daemon, with Rhaegar's sword pressed to his forehead, forced a smile. "Not bad, you are strong."
"Enough to deal with you," Rhaegar retorted, his tone devoid of manners. Trained by Syrio in the art of fast swordplay since childhood, his speed and strength had reached an impressive level.
Dang!
The portly referee struck the gong with vigor, his red robes fluttering as he announced loudly, "Congratulations to Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen! He has defeated all his opponents and is the champion of this tournant!"
Drumrs beat a lively rhythm and trumpeters played celebratory tunes, filling the air with joy. The nobles in the audience erupted into cheers, their excitent palpable.
"Prince Rhaegar..."
"Long live the Hier Prince..."
The nobility of Westeros, known for their admiration of strength, couldn't contain their enthusiasm for the victorious prince.
In the arena, Rhaegar smiled and raised his hands to acknowledge the cheers. Though he didn't like the noise, he accepted it as his reward for winning.
The referee, still in high spirits, continued, "Prince Rhaegar has triumphed! This sumr belongs to him. The land flourishes, wisdom and wealth greet all!"
His words, full of praise, resonated with the crowd. Inspired, the nobles began chanting Rhaegar's titles, each more grandiose than the last. Known as the Good Prince, Breaker of Shackles, and Ruin Maker, Rhaegar's accolades echoed across the Narrow Sea.
Yet, none seed fitting for the mont. The title "Young Dragonlord" felt out of place. As thoughts turned to the lushness of sumr and the promise of a bountiful harvest, soone rembered Rhaegar's grandfather, Baelon Targaryen, known as the The Spring Prince.
In the midst of the seasonal shift from spring to sumr, a voice called out, "The Sumr Prince!"
Sumr, representing the height of June and the blazing sun, seed perfect. Rhaegar accepted the title with a nod, mounting his silver-white warhorse and riding slowly around the arena.
The cheers grew louder, with the nobles embracing the new title.
"The Sumr Prince..."
"Long live the prince..."
On the high platform, Viserys clapped his hands and laughed, overjoyed at his eldest son's victory.
Hearing the title of "Sumr Prince," his joy was palpable, and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. His father, Baelon, had been known as the Spring Prince, a symbol of hope, glory, and the coming of the spring. Baelon was also a remarkable Targaryen, having tad the largest dragon of his ti, Vhagar.
Viserys caught a glimpse of Alicent and suddenly rembered sothing. He motioned for the Kingsguards, the brothers Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, to enter the field.
Rhaegar was still basking in the cheers when the Cargyll brothers approached, one carrying a wooden lance and the other holding a crown of flowers.
"Prince," Arryk said, his face alight with excitent as he offered the lance.
"Thank you, Ser," Rhaegar replied, smiling as he took it.
"Your laurels, Prince," Erryk said solemnly, presenting the flower crown woven with purple stans.
Though the flower crown was simple, it symbolized the highest honor. Rhaegar smiled brightly and declared, "I will give it to my loving and beautiful queen."
"Roar!" Cannibal soared above the arena, letting out a high-pitched roar, sensing the emotions of its rider.
"Haha, thank you partner," Rhaegar laughed, raising his lance high. He urged his silver-white warhorse into a gallop, circling the arena to bask in the glory.
The shadow of the dragon swooped down, spraying ghostly green Dragonfire that dotted the blue sky, creating a dramatic backdrop.
Finally, he reined in his horse beneath the high platform. His handso face, frad by silver-gold hair, glead in the sunlight, his violet eyes sparkling. The black dragon hovered above, his shiny silver armor gleaming and his red robes billowing.
The fence of the high platform was lined with figures-exquisitely dressed noble ladies, eyes bright with admiration, hoping to receive the "Crown of Love and Beauty".
Rhaegar held his lance high, his gaze fixed on one person. Her long silver-blonde hair flowed to her waist, pulled back in a thin braid. She wore a light purple gown and a Valyrian steel pendant with three dragon heads around her neck, the simplicity of the ensemble accentuating her beauty.
Rhaenyra leaned against the fence, hands in front of her, watching him with a smile. Rhaegar approached, offering the purple flower crown at the tip of his lance, and said sincerely, "Rhaenyra, you my true queen of love and beauty."
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