Chapter 11

My attention was drawn to Lord Hoster Tully, seated at one of the tables, deep in conversation with other lords. Even before arriving in the Reach, I considered him a key figure in securing my position. He had a beautiful daughter, and marrying her could be a significant step forward. The Martells were also of interest, but an alliance with them would complicate relations with the Reach. The Starks were too distant, consumed by their perpetual troubles—wildlings, winter, or lack of food. The Lannisters were a daunting challenge for negotiations.

Approaching closer, I began the conversation politely:

"Lord Tully, it's a pleasure to see you."

"Prince Aeryon, the honor is mine," Hoster replied with a nod. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with short chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes. Only the gray in his hair and beard hinted at his age.

"Would you care for a stroll through the beautiful gardens of Highgarden?"

"With pleasure," he answered.

Leaving the noisy hall, we made our way toward the nearest garden, chatting as we walked.

"I've heard you have two daughters, Lord Tully. They must be quite the ladies," I cautiously began, steering the conversation toward the desired topic.

"Indeed," Hoster replied with a slight smile. "My eldest, Catelyn, is a true beauty and the pride of our house. She is, by the way, already betrothed."

I frowned involuntarily upon hearing that. Rumors had reached me about negotiations, but I hadn't expected them to be concluded already.

"Betrothed? To whom, if it's not a secret?"

"To Brandon Stark of Winterfell," Hoster replied with evident pride in his voice. "The agreement was reached recently, and the wedding is already being planned."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to mask my displeasure. This news was far from pleasing, but I maintained my composure.

"The Stark heir," I mused aloud. "Certainly a venerable and ancient house. But wouldn't it be more advantageous to choose an alliance with a more… promising family?"

"The North is vast and holds considerable power, my prince," Hoster replied with a slight frown. "An alliance with them strengthens our position and secures House Tully's safety."

"Of course," I continued with a polite smile. "But what if I were to offer you something more than just safety?"

Lord Tully looked at me intently, clearly understanding that I was leading to something important.

"What do you mean, Prince?"

"An alliance with House Targaryen could bring your house benefits beyond measure," I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "As you surely know, your house rose to its current heights thanks to timely support from the dragons. Consider, Lord Tully: a marriage of your daughter to royal blood could elevate your house to a level previously thought unattainable."

Hoster fell silent for a moment, weighing my words. His eyes revealed a struggle between ambition and caution.

"It's a tempting offer, Prince Aeryon," he finally replied. "But Catelyn is already betrothed, and breaking this union could have serious consequences."

I nodded, realizing that convincing Tully wouldn't be easy.

"I understand. But the fate of future generations lies in your hands, Lord Tully. Besides, it's no secret that our house practices marriage between close relatives. And the best match for Rhaegar's children would be mine. It's crucial to preserve the purity of the bloodline of the first dragonriders over the past century. Sometimes, to secure a great future, difficult decisions must be made, wouldn't you agree?"

Lord Tully nodded silently, clearly weighing all the options. Knowing it was time to retreat, I decided to end the conversation:

"Thank you for the conversation, Lord Tully. I hope you make a wise decision."

"Of course, Prince Aeryon. Though, if I may, I should mention that I also have a younger daughter—Lysa. She is equally talented and—"

"That's wonderful, Lord Tully," I interrupted him with a polite smile. "Perhaps she'll make a suitable match for the northern wolf. Until we meet again."

I left Tully in slight confusion. He undoubtedly appreciated my words, but he also understood the difficult choice before him. The celebration continued, but this conversation was just the beginning. Greater trials lay ahead, and I needed to be ready for them.

The next morning greeted me with little warmth. The first rays of the sun pierced through the windows of my chambers, mercilessly striking my eyes. My head, feeling impossibly heavy, throbbed with pain as if it had been hammered all night.

The wine, which had seemed a divine gift the night before, now vengefully reminded me of itself with every breath. I slowly turned, feeling the cold sheets brush against my skin. Next to me, half-covered, lay a young servant girl with whom I'd spent the evening. I had to admit, she was a true beauty: her hair spread across the pillow, a contented smile frozen on her lips. For a moment, I allowed myself to savor the sight before reality once again took over.

"Wake up," I said quietly, gently touching her shoulder.

The girl opened her eyes, still half-asleep, but quickly nodded and began gathering her things. I rose from the bed, feeling the world spin around me.

After she left, leaving behind a faint scent of citrus, I walked over to the pitcher and splashed cold water on my face with effort. It was unpleasant but refreshing at the same time. It was time to pull myself together; the day of preparation for the tournament awaited.

Soon, there was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a reply, Ralf entered with a maid carrying a tray with a goblet of wine and a plate of bread and cheese. He smiled reservedly and said:

"Good morning, Prince. I trust you're ready for today's challenges."

"It seems you're more confident of that than I am," I replied, reflecting on the day ahead. When the servant left my chambers, I asked the important question:

"How's our plan progressing?"

"Everything is on track. I spoke with those responsible for the draw: your brother will face Quellton, Ser Barristan, and Prince Liven Martell if he reaches those rounds."

"A tournament isn't just about skill. Sometimes, simple luck decides everything—one wrong step, and it's all over," I remarked, fully aware of how treacherous the day could be.

"In any case, your opponents will be Connington, Robert Baratheon, and Ser Whent. We could have arranged for weaker ones, but…"

"No need," I interrupted sharply. "My victory will only matter if I defeat those whose names speak for themselves. Jon is my brother's close friend; Robert is very strong and heir to Storm's End, but inexperienced. As for Oswell Whent… we'll see whose side he's on. If he knows to bow his head, that would be a good sign."

"Willing to risk the entire tournament to test his loyalty?" Ralf squinted, clearly disapproving of my confidence.

"Victory isn't guaranteed anyway, as the final round will be against an outstanding opponent regardless."

After a light breakfast, I donned a dark red tunic with golden patterns, tied my hair into a high ponytail, and stepped into the corridor leading to the courtyard, where preparations were in full swing. Squires scurried about, knights checked their armor, and horses shifted nervously, sensing the approaching battle.

When I reached my tent, the armorer met me. Not yet being a knight, I had no squire of my own. His rough hands carefully inspected every detail of my gear, from the greaves to the breastplate, as if ensuring everything was in place. He cast a quick glance at me, perhaps gauging the tension on my face.

"First competition, Your Highness?" he asked with a good-natured smile, knowing that his experienced eye saw through any armor.

"First, but far from the last," I replied while pulling on my gloves. The armor was crafted in deep black tones. The polished plates elegantly hugged my form, giving a menacing grace to my appearance.

The helmet was adorned with massive dragon wings curving along the sides, while on the chest of the armor proudly shone the Targaryen sigil—a three-headed dragon, forged from pure gold.

The golden symbol against the dark armor looked particularly imposing, a reminder of the dragons' power and majesty. I ran my hand over the crest, checking its attachment, determined to ensure everything was perfectly prepared.

At that moment, Jon Connington approached me, dressed in his own armor bearing the white griffon. His gaze was sharp, and a mocking smirk played on his lips.

"Does our prince hope to impress everyone with his dazzling outfit?" he asked, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Oh, you were with my brother yesterday… Sorry, I forgot your name," I responded calmly, and just as he was about to reply, I added, "Apparently, it just doesn't matter."

We exchanged brief glances as if preparing for a duel. Confidence grew within me, despite the weight of the armor and the pressure of the upcoming trial. Finally, I headed toward the exit. In the distance, the loud sounds signaled the start of the tournament. My heart beat faster—the roar of the crowd, the hum of voices, the anticipation of battle—all merged into one. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling the fresh air mixed with the scent of dust, sweat, and metal.

"The first tournament," I thought, gripping the shaft of my lance. This was just the first step on my long journey. The crowd roared as I stepped into the arena, a wave of sound and excitement crashing over me. The sunlight blazed down from a cloudless sky, casting sharp shadows and making the colors of the banners and armor seem even more vivid. My heart pounded in my chest, but my mind was focused and clear. This was my moment.