The Heir of the Dragon: A Rhaenyra Targaryen Quest

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You would spend the rest of the day ransoming back the armor of the men you had defeated. It was a rather awkward affair. Standing there in full armor, not far from the Tourney grounds, and waiting beside two piles of armor, the reins of two different horses in your hands. Instead of mere hedge knights or thirds sons, you were waiting for two future lords paramount to come and pay you for their stuff.

Well. One future lord it would turn out, as one of the Baratheon servants came out to meet you. The man was a scrawny looking, meek fellow, who seemed oddly nervous around you. He apologized, repeatedly, for Borros being unable to come collect his armor in person. The Maesters had insisted he remain in bed for the time being. The servant was evasive on his master's health, only saying the Maesters believed it would be another month before he was fit to travel, but that he would make a full recovery in time. The man handed you a small stack of gold, tossed the plate mail onto the the horses back and all but sprinted away with both.

Shortly after, Elmo Tully met you in person. He was civil, even downright nice. Though there was something about his attitude, and his remarks on "how well spoken" you were, that gave the impression you were a simple, if clearly talented, hedge knight looking to make a name for yourself. Maybe it was the mismatched armor. It was functional enough for what you needed, but it did look rather awkward in truth. You had to admit you were privately glad he seemed to think you were someone of lesser birth. The fewer people even remotely suspected who you might be the better. Elmo gave you a similar stack of gold dragons, wished you luck against Ser Criston Cole, and took his leave.

You stared at the small bundle of gold you now had, tied up in a sack. Between this and the winnings you were promised once the tourney was over for coming in second in the melee, you had earned a fair stack of coins even if you lost tomorrow. They meant nothing in comparison to even your earnings from Dragonstone, but it was interesting to realize that this small stack of gold had been earned purely through your own skill and talent, not because of who you were.

You snuck out of the tourney grounds and made your way back to your accommodations. Even though you all but collapsed into your bed from exhaustion, sleep did not come easy. Your mind raced with thoughts of tomorrow. Your biggest challenge yet lay ahead of you. Ser Criston Cole. You had to defeat him, or all of this would have been for nought. Defeat a man who had beaten you twice already. But if you did that and somehow won everything? The glory you'd earn tomorrow would bring you so much closer to your dream, perhaps all the way. There would be scandal of course, and Lord Manderly wasn't high ranking enough to do the honor himself, but even your father would be hard pressed to deny you knighthood after all you would have accomplished here and in the months before.

Other thoughts distracted you as well. You could see Alicent sitting there, watching as you competed. A coy, almost hidden smile across her face as you knocked those men off their horses. Asking for her favor had been risky, but what a thrill it had been. Just the memory of it brought a grin to your face.

Eventually, sleep found you and you woke up the next morning rested, if still sore, and as ready to face the day ahead of you as you were ever going to be. There was no time to speak with Alicent or Raylon. You had to sneak out early to get ready in time and you could not afford to be seen as Rhaenyra. As far as the Manderly's household was concerned, you were incredibly ill right now, and even so much as a hint otherwise would lead to a great many questions as to why you weren't going to join Lord Manderly on the stands.

You snuck into the abandoned inn once again and the Silver Falcon emerged a few minutes later. You left early, your horse carrying you through cold morning of Whiteharbor, making your way to the tourney grounds. But things seemed to move so fast that it felt like just a heartbeat later, you were side by side with Cole, the two of you bowing before Lord Manderly.

Cole's armor had changed considerably since you saw him back in King's Landing. Gone was the dented and ill-fitting armor of the man who brought your uncle low, replaced with simple yet clearly expertly crafted armor. He wasn't even a landed knight, but one glance at him was enough to tell that he had been living well on his tourney winnings.

"Well met, Silver Falcon," he spoke with courtesy and an easy smile before donning his helmet. " I must admit it is quite the welcome suprise to see a Mystery Knight ascend so far in such a major gathering. You are clearly quite the talented warrior."

"Thank you good ser. I have quite the skilled instructor. He would be disappointed with anything less than complete victory," you replied.

"You sell yourself short, Falcon. I'm sure your mentor was excellent, but you fight as though you were born for the blade," Cole assured you. "But I am afraid I will have to leave both of you disappointed today."

"We shall see," you declared as you made your way to your starting position.

You inhaled deeply as the drums filled your ears. This man had beaten your uncle and dozens of other skilled knights before. Knights with decades more experience than you had been knocked off their horse by this man as if they were mere children. The next few minutes would be some of the toughest you ever experienced and they could change so much.

You spared a glance at Alicent and you could see the worry in her eyes as she stared back at you, her facade of unknowing indifference threatening to crumble before you. You couldn't allow yourself to lose today. Not now. Not in front of your lady.

The drums stopped and with the barest hint of a command from you, your horse raced forward as Cole raced towards you like a thunderclap. You shoved your lance forward at the last moment, only to watch as it barely grazed his arm while his lance hit your side hard. You felt the air driven from your lungs in a loud gasp as the pain from the impact surged throughout your body.

The crowd let out a gasp in surprise and somewhere in the distance you could here the faint voice of the announcer declaring that the first tilt went to Cole. But you could not and would not give either any attention. You were still on your horse. You could still win.

You raced towards the attendant at your end of the field and grabbed a new a lance out of his hand before racing off to meet Cole for a second round.

You leaned forward, giving yourself a lower profile for him to attack as you readied your lance. Only at the last moment did you realize you had left yourself wide open for a strike at your shoulder. Before you could blink, Cole's lance struck hard once more, and the next moment you were gazing up at the clouds as your horse dragged you along the fence.

For moment you could swear you heard Syrax roar defiantly. The noise almost lost over the din of the crowd.

The pain in your arm was nothing short of agonizing and it took every ounce of will for you to keep yourself from screaming as you forced yourself back upright in the saddle. You felt like someone had nearly ripped off the limb at the shoulder.

You looked down to see your second lance broken in your grip. You had struck him as well, though you had barely noticed as his blow nearly threw you from your horse. He barely seemed phased of course, making this an easy victory for him.

Two defeats now. You had to do more than just defeat him now. Only knocking him off his horse would now be enough. One last chance to win, or all of the previous victorious would be rendered meaningless in defeat.

'Still on your horse,' you reminded yourself as you tested your arm, gritting your teeth from the increased pain as you did so, but you could still move it. Nothing was broken at least.

You grabbed a new lance and turned your eyes back towards Cole. Neither of the first two rounds mattered in your eyes right now. All you had to do was knock this man off his horse in one tilt. And you had done so twice already. You could manage a third. You were certain of it.

Your horse race forward, the lance feeling like lead in your hand, though you ignored it. A yell escaped from your lips as you and Cole reached each other. His lance glancing off your shield as yours hit him hard in the shoulder, causing him to fall from his horse and tumble, almost rolling as he hit the ground before coming to a stop on his side. Cheers and surprised yells echoed through the crowd as you were declared the winner.

Your breath was labored and heavy as you pulled yourself around back towards Cole, who by now was standing up, trying to scrape away some of the mud now caked to his armor.

"Well fought," he declared, seemingly holding no bitterness over his defeat. "I suppose I should be grateful you yielded in the melee. At least I can walk away with one victory from this event."

"You sell yourself short," you turned Cole's words back on him. "You came quite close to beating me there."

"And yet I didn't," he replied. "The better man won today."

Thankfully, no one could see you smirk at his choice in words, nor could they see you wince in pain a moment latter as shoulder saw fit to remind you of the massive blow it had just taken. You glanced back at Alicent once more, the relief on her face obvious. As was Gwayne's frustration as he sat next to her. It seemed he was beginning to notice that Alicent was far from as indifferent to the Silver Falcon as she had pretended.

You wearily made your way off the field, to find someone quiet and hidden spot to rest for a bit.

Later you would learn that Unwin Peake had beaten Lord Dustin in two rounds, setting things up for the grand finale of this tourney.

Winners of the Third Round: Unwin Peake and The Silver Falcon.

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You waited in the shadows of the entrance for the announcer to give the cue for you to step forward. The runner up match had already been held, Ser Criston easily securing his position in third place against Lord Dustin. Now all that was left was your match with Ser Unwin Peake.

You couldn't help but be feel surprised at how things had turned out. While you had always been confident in your victory, a small, treacherous part of your mind had expected you to falter in the first round. And yet here you were, in the final round, having unhorsed three men.

When it came to your opponent, you were pretty sure no one predicted Unwin would get this far save for perhaps the man himself. He clearly had some talent, even if he had nearly lost to a child, but you had never heard anything remarkable about the man before today. Indeed, you had not seen him in any tourney before now. It was if he had shown purely to cause grief for his house's ancient enemy. Something the people of White Harbor seemed to realize, judging by the boos and sounds of rotten food being thrown filling the tourney grounds as he made his entrance.

As much as you held the man in utter contempt for the vile things he said about you and Alicent that first day, you were more than grateful he would be your final opponent. What better way to cap off your victories then by defeating a man so reviled by those around him. Maybe Lord Manderly would be able to knight you after sending the Peake heir tumbling to the dirt, and even if he wasn't, he certainly would be willing and able to encourage your father to do so. That, combined with all your victories so far, even before the tourney, should be enough to convince your father. It should be.

Your heart leaped as the announce called your title. The waiting was over. The finale match was about to begin.

The moment your horse trotted forward, the crowd switched from booing to cheering. The mood had changed in a heartbeat, both on the stands and on your opponents face as Unwin Peake grinned broadly. "You had good luck so far," he called over to you, "but luck will only get you so far. I would have preferred to prove my skill by unhorsing Cole myself, though another Mystery Knight will have to do. I wonder if I will find another Manderly under that helmet."

Your hands clenched, the dull throbbing in your shoulder where Ser Cristons lance had struck you flaring again. It was hard to tell if he truly believed it or if Peake just wanted to rile up you and the crowd even more. Nothing seemed to matter to him quite as much as being hated by everyone here.

In return though, you said nothing. You had no interest in playing along with his silliness. The sour face he made as you wordlessly rode to your starting point made it clear that this had annoyed him more than any carefully crafted insult could have.

The lance felt light in your hand. Peake was no Ser Christon Cole. It would have been folly to underestimate him, to risk everything now through carelessness, but there was no longer doubt and worry in your mind.

Victory was within reach. A victory so much greater than the tourney alone. All you had to do was grasp it.

As the drums stopped, your horse surged forward and your eyes narrowed on Unwins exposed shoulder. At the last moment, he managed to jank up his shield, but his lance went wide and your strike took it's toll. The crowd was roaring in joy by the time you reached the other side of the list.

The volume was deafening and it redoubled again when Peake's shield dropped from limp fingers. The man was shouting at his squire the entire time it took for the boy to hand it back up to him.

No more words were exchanged as you took position again. No more taunting or insults. Peak held his shield at an awkward angle, trying to cover his weakened should as much as possible.

Ser Rhaenyra Targaryen. For a moment, as the drums sounded over the silent tourney grounds, you felt like all those years ago when you first climbed on Syrax' back.

A moment later, a lance bounced from your shield while yours shattered on a breastplate. Unwin Peake landed face first in the muck, trying and failing to get up with shaking limbs. Around you, the crowd was roaring with shouts and applause, all the anger that Unwin had caused in them turning into cheer as the Maester coaxed him onto a stretcher.

But you could only see one thing. Despite all the countless faces around you, it took a mere heartbeat to find your fair maiden. Her hands clasped before her face and tears in her eyes, Alicent looked all but ready to jump from the stands and into your arms. For all the hopes and dreams that had brought you to this tourney, the joy in her eyes was the greatest price by far.

"I see our valiant knight has no attention to spare for an old man," Lord Manderly's voice boomed over the tourney ground, followed by a hearty laugh. "Come here lad! Crown her already!"

Briefly you tore your eyes from Alicent, just long enough to take the crown of flowers from Lord Manderly's hands. Liverleaf and tufted vetch were woven carefully into each other, making a crown of blue and faint violet.

As your horse trotted over to her, Alicent was waiting for you, glancing nervously between the cheering crowd and you. "It seems my favor did bring you luck, ser knight," she said nervously, gripping the railing between you tightly and no longer able to keep her emotions hidden.

There were a thousand and one things you wished to say to her at that moment. A hundred poems springing from your soul at the soft giggle she let out as you placed the crown on her head. A dozen songs straining in your chest as she bowed her head in thanks. You yearned for only one thing. To sweep her off her feet, like in the stories.

You could not. Under no circumstances. But even the calls of Lord Manderly to present yourself to him to receive the honors of victory sounded so very, very distant. There would be consequences to this. Yet your heart was so much louder than the doubting voices in your head. The Silver Falcon could get knighted another day.

Winner of The Grand Northern Tourney: The Silver Falcon

Your Prowess Has Significantly Improved

What Do You Do?

[] [Defiant] [Romantic] Extend your hand to Alicent. "Will the lady grant me the honour to join me on a ride?"

[] [Defiant] [To Become A Knight] Face Lord Manderly and reveal yourself to the crowd as Rhaenyra Targaryen.

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QM's Note: I need to make clear the Ser Criston Cole Fight was dice rolls, the dice decided to be narratively dramatic as hell. Special Thanks to @Azel for writing the finale section of the update and the fight with Unwin. Also providing an actual choice to leave things on since I had been struggling to think of something to end this on. To make clear there's no backing out and just leaving without Alicent, Rhaenyra's not a coward, the only thing that might deter her from her best chance at becoming a knight is an incredibly romantic moment with her girlfriend. So yeah, either way this update is gonna have massive consequences.