Finals

Aerion sat a few seats away from Lord Bracken, watching the jousts. His interest was piqued as Daemon Targaryen came riding out on a dark horse, his armour pure black, a dragon helm standing out starkly.

The black plates were inlaid with hints of crimson, a red and black lance in his hands as he did a lap around the arena. The nobles clapping politely, the smallfolk seemed of a more mixed opinion.

It makes sense, Daemon Targaryen and his Gold cloaks had recently slaughtered dozens of criminals, taken off hundreds of hands without trial, stirring quite the chaos in Flea Bottom.

Aerion had only heard about it in passing, two servants were discussing it. 

He eyed the Prince, he was picking his opponent to joust. Seven other knights were mounted, among those was his uncle.

The Prince was still the most likely candidate to be his father. But Aerion couldn't reconcile that possibility—It made his stomach churn oddly, and yet…the thought lingered, impossible to fully dismiss.

The sudden excitement of the crowd caught his attention, his thoughts being discarded as he eyed The Rogue Prince, who had picked his opponent. A Hightower knight, he heard whispers erupting through the noble part of the crowd as he leaned forward in interest. 

Both opponents lined up, the other knights riding into the tents, Prince Daemon would be the first joust of the day. A sudden horn blasted through the grounds, both horses rushing forward at the sound.

Both lances crashed into each rider's shield with a powerful crack, The Prince almost being thrown from his horse, Hightower remaining steady as they turned. The crowd shouting in appreciation, the nobles whispering between themselves.

Another horn blast.

The two horses charged at one another again, Aerion blinked and leaned forward as Prince Daemon aimed his lance at The Hightowers horse. The lance smashed into the animal, the horse releasing a pained squeal as it crashed into the ground.

The Hightower was almost crushed by his mount as he fell with a thud, Aerions eyes widening, the man could easily be injured if not worse.

Aerion hissed, the crowd around him acting similarly, the smallfolk shouting in disbelief. 

That was dishonourable. 

Aerions eyes shot back to Prince Daemon, a slight hint of unease settling in his chest, a scowl building on his face as he eyed the celebrating prince.

The Hightower could have been crippled by that move.

Eventually the next joust occurred, his uncle versus a Tarly. A joust that his uncle won within three passes, without any dishonourable tricks. 

The next few Jousts passed quickly, the next joust shouted out by the herald.

"Prince Daemon will joust versus Ser Garth Bracken!" The voice shouted, the crowd clapping loudly. A pit of dread filled his stomach as his eyes locked onto the form of Prince Daemon, the man arrogantly sat atop his dark steed.

His uncle exited the tent, a large yellow coat of arms on his shield. His silver armour gleaming in the sun, his visor already down as short yellow fabric was tied around his shoulders. 

They lined up, his uncle slightly leaned forward clearly tense, Daemon however looked oddly calm. Aerion felt his jaw clench as the feeling of unease only grew.

The horn blasted, both horses taking off towards one another. Both fighters' lances raised as the crowd quietened in anticipation.

Garth lowered his lance at the last possible moment, striking at the edge of Daemon's shield. The force caused the shield to twist in Daemon's grip, and though he remained mounted, the Rogue Prince's body swayed dangerously in his saddle.

The crowd roared, the noise deafening. Aerion himself stood from his seat in excitement as he clapped loudly his eyes on the form of his uncle preparing for another pass.

A horn blasted. 

Both horses charged at one another again, Aerion couldn't help the sudden tension that filled his still standing form, what if the Prince tripped his uncle's horse?

The fighters closed in on one another, only metres away their lances raised steadily, their shields lifted, covering most of their body.

With a twist of Garths arm, he deflected the blow just enough for Daemon's lance to glance off, sending splinters flying. Meanwhile, Garth's own lance found its mark on Daemon's shoulder.

The Prince was sent flying off of his horse, the crowd once again roaring in excitement. The Prince rolling across the ground unsteadily, his uncle had won!

Aerion himself was clapping, his grin wide as he looked down at his uncle, not noticing the searching look Lord Bracken was giving him. 

He didn't notice Daemon grabbing his infamous sword, Dark Sister until the announcer mentioned it.

"It seems Prince Daemon will continue in a show of arms!" The man shouted loudly, Aerion blinking in confusion as he eyed the Prince. His uncle had clearly taken this in stride as he grabbed his longsword from his new squire.

The Prince aggressively approached, twirling his sword once before swinging down at his Uncle. Garth deflected the blade, unleashing a kick that sent Daemon stumbling back. 

Garth approached, his sword swinging up at the Prince. Daemon avoided it simply and struck back with a lightning fast thrust that stabbed in between the plate on Garth's plated arm. 

His body itched to move, to intervene, but Aerion knew better than to leave his seat. Even so, he couldn't shake the sense of helplessness gnawing at his insides. If Garth fell, if the Prince did something rash, what would he do?

What could he do?

Prince Daemon had nearly crippled the Hightower, who is to say he wouldn't carelessly try the same here. 

Garth stepped back, quickly assessing the wound before deflecting another swift strike from Dark Sister. The Valyrian steel chipped his sword with each blow.

In the short opening he had after deflecting another blow he stepped forward into the Prince's guard. His leg kicked out at the man's armoured shin. Daemon stumbled, not hurt but unbalanced.

Garth's armoured fist then smashed into Daemon's helm, the Prince stumbling backwards again. Garth went to follow the man but had to avoid a flailing Dark Sister. 

Daemon's grip tightened on Dark Sister, the leather of his gloves creasing as his eyes locked onto the Bracken, frustration burning behind his purple eyes.

They clashed again, steel ringing loudly as the crowd watched in tense silence. Garth was holding his own, deflecting each rapid strike from the prince, but Aerion could see the wear showing in his movements. 

Every parry cost him. His sword, chipped by the unrelenting blows from Valyrian steel, was weakening. Then Daemon's leg kicked out at Garth's knee.

His uncle staggered, and in that split second, Daemon struck. Dark Sister flashed, its edge skimming just between Garth's thigh plate, a precise cut that was enough to unsteady him further.

Garth stumbled to one knee, his sword raised defensively, but Daemon was already there. His boot slammed against Garth's shield, knocking it aside. Dark Sister hovered just above Garth's exposed throat.

The crowd erupted into cheers, though Aerion felt none of the excitement. His uncle was on the ground, defeated, but not dishonoured. 

He had fought well—anyone could see that. But Daemon was a different breed, and today, the Rogue Prince had proved it.

That didn't stop the snarl rising on his face, nor the clenching of his jaw. It wasn't just the fact his uncle lost, it was the person who did it.

Something about the Prince rubbed him the wrong way.

Daemon raised his fist, the crowd shouting in excitement. Nobles surrounding him seemed to whisper to one another as they clapped politely. Except the Bracken retinue.

But Aerion sighed, sat back down. His eyes on his Uncles retreating form, the man back atop his horse as he rode into the tents. His back straight as clapping and cheers followed him. 

The Jousts continued, occasionally Aerion saw his uncle watching the jousts from the tent. Aerion clenched his fists, his uncle had won the Joust. The test of arms just felt…wrong.

His uncle should be jousting, his eyes flicked back to the current Jousters. It was the final, Prince Daemon was across from an unfamiliar knight that wore dulled silver armour. 

They rode towards one another, their horses rushing at extreme speeds. With a crack both of their lances crashed off one another's shields. Neither rider falling.

Then came another pass, both riding connecting but neither falling once more. The crowd was shouting in excitement as the next pass was the same.

Both riders clearly skilled as several more passes occurred.

Until the unfamiliar knight tilted his shield at the last second, Daemons lance reflecting off, and allowing the Knight to get a clean hit on the Prince that sent him flying from his horse.

The crowd screamed in excitement, the noise louder than he's ever heard it. Every man and woman seemed to be celebrating at the fantastic joust, Aerion however watched in slight anticipation.

Waiting for Prince Daemon to grab his sword and continue in a show of arms, but the Prince never did. He took the loss, much to Aerion and quite a bit of the crowd's surprise. 

As the shouts of the crowds continued the unfamiliar knight took off his helm, the crowd quietened at the sight of the man. He was handsome, but the main thing was that he was dornish.

"Winner! Ser Criston Cole!" The announcer shouted, the crowds momentarily shock over as they roared at the words. 

Aerion blinked as the wind suddenly shifted, he turned his head in confusion. The crowd now sounding muted, everyone still celebrating. Aerion winced as an odd ringing filled his ears.

His head turned again, the confusion filling him but he wasn't in the arena anymore. The sound had stopped, he was in a large hallway, the faint screams of a woman echoing through the almost empty halls. 

He tried to take a step forward but felt himself wake, the screams of the smallfolk once again filling his ears. He was panting harshly, his hand shaking slightly as he clenched his jaw.

What was that?

—-

God I found this chapter boring, sorry but it had to be written lol