Chapter 342: Wild Dragon’s Unusual Features

On the Martial Arts Field

Rhaegar's expression remained calm as he tugged at the reins of his white stallion, preparing for the match. At the other end, Gwayne buckled his top armor and patted the bay mare beneath him. He had deliberately chosen a mare in heat to distract and destabilize Rhaegar's stallion.

Dang!

The gong sounded and the knights' duel began.

"Hyah!" Rhaegar yelled, urging his horse forward. The white stallion raced ahead, his temper growing increasingly restless.

As the two warhorses drew closer, Rhaegar raised his spear and steadied his shield, aiming to take his opponent down with a single blow.

"Phew~~" The white stallion whinnied and swayed momentarily, breaking Rhaegar's rhythm.

Bang!

The riding spears collided, sending a spray of wood shavings into the air. Rhaegar glanced back to see his opponent galloping away, unsteady but still on horseback. Gwayne's spear had struck with surprising force, aimed directly at Rhaegar's chest. Rhaegar's quick reaction had shattered Gwayne's spear, but the impact was undeniable.

His stallion came to a halt at the end of the fence, its hooves kicking the ground restlessly. Rhaegar noticed the horse licking its wet nose - a clear sign of courtship. His gaze shifted to Gwayne's mare, panting and foaming at the mouth.

Understanding the ruse, Rhaegar grinned coldly. "Such underhanded tactics," he muttered, switching to a new lance. His eyes flicked to Alicent and Otto on the high platform, realizing they were using every trick in the book.

"Then let's see how you handle this," he murmured, his resolve hardening.

The second attack began.

Gwayne's expression, hidden beneath his helmet, was one of intense concentration. He had been a member of the City Watch since 111 AC and now served as its second-in-command. With Harwin Strong injured and sidelined for over a year, Gwayne saw this tournament as his chance to earn glory and possibly remove the "Second" from his title.

"Hyah!"

Gwayne shouted, urging his scarlet horse forward. He aimed his lance at the Prince's shoulder armor, confident and unafraid. His father was a royal adviserr and his sister was the queen, so offending the Heir Prince in the tourney seemed like a small risk.

"Hyah!"

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed and his white horse charged forward. The horse, untamed and wild, seemed to charge of its own accord, but Rhaegar didn't care. A Targaryen who had tamed dragons from a young age had little to fear from a spirited horse.

Within moments, the red and white horses collided. Gwayne's eyes lit up with excitement. He leaned forward, his arm steady, and aimed his lance at the Prince's unprotected shoulder armor. Just as he anticipated victory, a flash of cold light flickered in Rhaegar's eyes.

With a sudden burst of strength, Rhaegar straightened in his stirrups, leaned forward, and drove his lance downward with tremendous force. His lance struck first, hitting Gwayne's chest armor with a powerful impact.

In an instant, the wooden lance shattered. Gwayne grunted, thrown backward along with his horse. They crashed to the ground, the horse landing on him with a sickening crunch.

"Quick! Get the horse off him!"

The obese referee shouted, his voice desperate, his face quivering with urgency.

Rhaegar reined in his white horse, forcing it to a halt. He circled the arena, surveying his opponent's predicament. Gwayne lay sprawled, crushed beneath his horse. His legs, caught in the stirrups, were grotesquely twisted, the bones of his right leg protruding through his skin.

The maester rushed over, removing Gwayne's face armor to reveal a pale, flushed face. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

Rhaegar took one last look, then spurred his horse away from the arena. He knew the result of his strike: Gwayne's collarbone was shattered, his lungs likely punctured. The wooden lance had spared his life, but only just.

On the high platform, Alicent covered her mouth with both hands and stifled a cry of shock. Beside her, Otto rose from his seat, his face etched with concern for his eldest son.

"Otto, stay calm," Viserys said, raising his hand in a gesture of reassurance. "I will summon Orwyle to tend to Gwayne."

Gwayne's armor was removed, revealing his grotesquely deformed legs, bones protruding through his flesh. Though his life had been spared, the severity of his injuries suggested that he might never walk again.

Otto's sharp eyes took in his son's dire condition. He took a deep breath and addressed the king, "Your Grace, forgive my breach of etiquette, but I must see to Gwayne."

"Of course, go ahead," Viserys replied, looking somber.

Otto grimaced and made his way down from the high platform, pushing through the crowd with urgency.

Injuries were common in tournaments, and it was accepted that Gwayne's fall, though serious, was a result of his lesser skill.

Alicent approached Viserys, her voice filled with concern, "Viserys, don't you think Rhaegar was too harsh?"

Viserys, clearly uncomfortable, searched for words of comfort, but Lyonel interjected, "Queen Alicent, such collisions are inevitable in tournaments. The prince meant no harm."

Alicent glared at the Hand of the King, her tone biting, "Lord Lyonel, Gwayne is my brother, and this is a family matter."

Lyonel remained calm. "As Hand of the King, I oversee all matters concerning His Grace, be they family or state."

He had already suspected a connection between his second son, Larys, and House Hightower, solidifying his support for the Heir Prince's faction. In contrast, Harwin's provocations had been met with only a few blows, while Gwayne had barely survived his encounter with Rhaegar.

Viserys looked at Lyonel with approval, grateful for his unwavering support at a critical moment. Turning his attention back to Alicent, who was now in tears, he gently put his arm around her, offering her comfort.

...

After incapacitating Gwayne, Rhaegar did not immediately retire. Instead, he changed his warhorse and participated in a few more knightly duels.

There was a saying that the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms had been at peace for too long. The knights who had not experienced war were often mediocre and untested.

Rhaegar, riding with skill and determination, swept away five or six contestants, drawing enthusiastic cheers from the nobles in attendance. Realizing that his horse was starting to pant, Rhaegar took the opportunity to exit the field.

He could have continued to fight, but there was no need to dominate the entire tournament. Knights from across the realm had come to make a name for themselves, and it was only fair to give them a chance.

At noon, the summer sun cast a warm glow, and a light breeze brought a slight coolness to the air.

In the Flowstone Yard, inside a white stone palace, a golden-scaled dragon lay on the ground, its head resting lazily on its tail.

"Syrax, don't roar," came Rhaenyra's voice, like a mother scolding a disobedient child.

The dragon's throat rolled, emitting a low growl. Syrax shook its body, its golden scales rubbing against the floor as if throwing a temper tantrum.

On one side of the dragon's body, the floor was covered with many fluffy cushions. The silver-haired and black-clad Rhaegar and Rhaenyra were cuddled up together.

The two siblings had left the tournament grounds, retreating to the quiet of Harrenhal.

Rhaenyra leaned into Rhaegar's arms, wrapping her hands around her waspish waist. Rhaegar buried his head in the nape of her neck, inhaling the fragrance of Soul Restoring Orchid from her hair, and gently stroked her flat belly with his hand.

"Rhaenyra, when the tournament is over, let's return to Dragonstone to arrange the ceremony," Rhaegar said, his eyes filled with indescribable tenderness, his face nuzzling her hair, his tone joyful and solemn.

After they left the field, Rhaenyra had told him about her possible pregnancy. They had ridden Syrax back to Harrenhal Castle to discuss their future.

Rhaenyra's violet eyes sparkled with a touch of seductive charm as she smiled, "Good, according to the old Valyrian custom."

Following family tradition, they had made an "agreement" beforehand. Now that she was pregnant, they needed to hold the official ceremony to avoid having a child born out of wedlock.

"Roaring..."

Syrax tilted its head, its vertical pupils fixed on the two with a look of disbelief.

"Rhaegar, it's looking at us," Rhaenyra said amusedly, tightening her embrace.

Rhaegar rested his large hands on the small of her back and laughed softly. "Syrax is very protective of you. With the Cannibal not around, I should be careful."

"It seems to have grown quite a bit," Rhaegar observed, scrutinizing the dragon carefully.

Syrax was a third-generation dragon, roughly between 20 and 30 years old, with a body length exceeding a hundred feet. Sunfyre and Seasmoke, dragons of the same generation, were similar in size, while Grey Ghost was slightly smaller.

Rhaenyra pondered, raising her eyes. "I followed your advice and let Syrax hunt on its own. It seems to have grown up a bit."

Normally, dragons were kept by dragon keepers who fed them livestock and kept them in a dormant state in the dragon's lair. However, the three adult dragons - Vhagar, Cannibal, and Vermithor - were too large for the Dragonpit in King's Landing and had to be released into the wild.

Apart from these, only Syrax and Sheepstealer roamed freely. Sheepstealer was unique among dragons, often ignoring Aemond's commands and capriciously flying around, poaching sheep from herders.

Syrax, on the other hand, enjoyed Rhaenyra's favor, flying around carefree all day and returning to the garden of the Red Keep to rest at sunset.

"Dragons should not be kept in caves. They lose the spirit of wild dragons," Rhaegar mused, pulling out a newly acquired ancient book.

"What does the book say?" Rhaenyra asked, her head resting on Rhaegar's chest as she curiously turned the pages.

Rhaegar gently took her small hand and explained, "This is a miscellany, the record of a learned man from the time of the Freehold. It contains many references to the Dragonlord family's knowledge of raising dragons."

For example, wild dragons and tamed dragons were often raised in a loose manner, with nesting areas on the fourteen flames. One key piece of information recorded in the book was that the top dragonlord families never imprisoned young or adult dragons, only young dragons.

"The dragons and their riders would continue to refine their compatible personalities over the years," Rhaegar continued, agreeing with this point.

Compare the three wild dragons on Dragonstone: Cannibal had a cruel nature and liked to eat dragon eggs and young dragons. According to Rhaegar, Cannibal had traveled inside and outside the Narrow Sea after reaching adulthood, exploring various islands until it was about 60 years old.

Sheepstealer had a playfull personality, obsessed with lamb and the thrill of poaching. Grey Ghost was a shy dragon who hid in the clouds when it saw fishermen.

In contrast, Vhagar, Vermithor, and even Caraxes and Sunfyre, who had been imprisoned in the dragonpit since childhood, lacked the unique proclivities or habits of wild dragons. Their characters seemed ferocious, but without the special traits that made wild dragons unique.

(Word count: 1,854)