Jaehaerys had decided to participate in the jousting tournament. Half a million gold dragons. He could obtain them with a fair degree of certainty. The matches would be one-on-one.
The first and second days had been the most boring for Jaehaerys. His opponents were not the best and posed no challenge. That day, the tournament ended. There were 32 participants left. On the first day, he knocked down three men, and on the second, only one, Edmure Tully, Eddard Stark's good brother.
Edmure was a much more capable man than the TV show made him out to be, where he was little more than a buffoon. He managed to withstand three lances before falling from his horse. The red-haired man did not give him a second glance; probably, thanks to his father, he did not have a good impression of him. And since the affair with Sansa, even less so.
On the third day, more interesting names remained. Ser Arthur, Ser Garlan, Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Balon Swann, who was a knight of whom his mother had a somewhat favorable impression. There were other names, none of which Jaehaerys remembered as being impressive. They were good, but not on the same level as those mentioned.
Ah, there was also that big monster who seemed to salivate when he saw him. Gregor Clegane. Jaehaerys expected the man to lunge at him at any moment. The Mountain jousts had been anything but honorable. The man played dirty, as if nothing mattered to him but winning.
Jaehaerys felt a little touched that he was the reason the man was so focused on winning.
"The Prince of Scrolls, Jaehaerys Targaryen," they announced. His first battle would be against "Garlan the Gallant," a terrible nickname if you asked Jaehaerys.
His rival was one of the best. Jaehaerys could see him winning the tournament above all others. He was everything Loras was, but better. Without that arrogance and desire to show off. And much more skilled.
Jaehaerys thought he might lose to him.
"I need to climb the mountain, my prince," the man said, as if apologizing for fighting seriously.
The mountain had wounded Garlan's brother, Loras. His injuries were not serious, but they were enough to make him angry. It was a simmering anger. He was serious and focused, his emotions serving as fuel.
Jaehaerys found his desire to win the gold inferior to Garlan's desire to avenge his brother. But that didn't mean he would let him win. No way.
Ser Garlan was a different opponent than those he had faced before. He felt it on the first pass. Garlan's blow hit him in the chest, dodging his shield. The prince had practiced for the first time two days ago; the Tyrells had been practicing for years.
The prince looked at his chest. The blow almost knocked him off his horse; on land, it would never have moved him. But while riding, inertia did not favor him when receiving a blow. The prince threw down his shield. Honestly, he couldn't concentrate on blocking the lance while riding.
He grabbed his horse's reins, holding on so he wouldn't fall. Good old Coal groaned a little.
The second spear hit him in the chest again, but his also struck, shattering the shield decorated with roses. Both were now on equal footing. Not for long, though, as Garlan asked for a new shield.
The third and fourth were similar. Jaehaerys struck the shield and broke it, receiving blows himself. The steel of his armor cushioned most of the damage, but it was starting to hurt a little.
On the fifth, Jaehaerys changed hands mid-stride. His left was not as strong as his right, but it was enough. He found a new angle, striking Ser Garlan in the stomach. The man fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. Jaehaerys breathed a sigh of relief. He expected a challenge, but Garlan just shook his head.
"The horse..."
"You can keep it," said the prince; if he had been more selfish, he would have had five extra horses at that moment.
"No," Garlan said. "It's yours," he said gallantly.
It was tradition that during jousts, the winner would obtain the other's belongings. Jaehaerys had refused when his rivals offered him their belongings. For most, their horse was a large part of their belongings.
In the end, the prince kept the horse. Although Garlan kept his armor. The prince allowed him to pay for the animal when he realized that the man would not let him "give" it to him.
"You can think of it as a gift from the domain. In fact, it is your horse's brother," it had been House Tyrell who gave him the horse he was riding at the time.
"Really?" The prince was a little surprised.
Garlan's horse, now his, was dark brown with white speckles. It was large and imposing, the same size as his own.
"Yes, same mare, same stallion," the man nodded. "My grandmother... she invites you to the domain; she hopes you will be able to come at any time," the man said, then walked away. He seemed a little embarrassed.
Jaehaerys rode his new horse toward his squire. He had initially planned for Brandon Snow to be his squire; that would have been quite amusing. Unfortunately for him, another, smaller Bran had latched onto him from day one. Ned had allowed it.
Bran Stark was not his page, nor his squire. But during the tournament, he would serve as one. He did not believe Lord Stark would be willing to leave another of his sons in his hands. However, the prince would like to annoy the bloody Bloodraven a little more.
"Here, order them to take him to the stables," he said, handing him the reins. The young Stark obeyed quickly.
Behind him, the tournament continued. Arthur passed, as did Ser Gregor. Jaehaerys' next opponent was Ser Balon Swann.
The man was burly, but not as fast and agile as Garlan. He didn't want to offend the royal guard, but after facing Garlan, competing against him didn't seem so difficult.
The next round was against Ser Addam. A friend of Jaime Lannister, he was described as someone with a good head on his shoulders. His spear was good, but again, he was not as good as Garlan.
Then he faced Ser Arthur. Of all the men he recognized at first, he faced each of them individually. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he realized everything.
In the final round, if he won against Arthur, he would face Gregor Clegane, who had destroyed a knight from the Stormlands. The Joust was brutal. Ser Gregor broke his lance in the poor man's neck.
Ser Gregor faced weak opponents. Meanwhile, Jaehaerys went up against the best in the tournament.
"Ser Arthur," he nodded in the man's direction.
The knight nodded without saying a word.
That joust was... surprisingly easy. Ser Arthur seemed tired, or rather, he seemed unwilling to fight. He fell on the third lance. The crowd went wild, while others began to shout that it was unfair, that it was rigged.
Jaehaerys couldn't help but agree with them; it was rigged.
Finally, he looked at the mountain in front of him. The man seemed impatient.
"I will destroy you," said the man.
"First, you need to touch me," replied the prince, going to the other end of the arena.
The commentator didn't even say a word before the Mountain that Rides began to charge at the prince. His spear went straight for the feet of the prince's black horse. The prepared prince jumped. The spear grazed the ground as the prince struck the mountain's shield.
Jaehaerys laughed loudly. He watched the mountain charge again, this time the spear aimed at his chest. The prince's shield exploded, and he felt his hand go numb.
The prince didn't bother to ask for another shield. Just a spear. His horse reared up.
Ser Gregor went for the horse's legs again, trying his luck once more.
To do so, he had to lean his body slightly, and Jaehaerys struck his helmet as his horse jumped. The prince heard the metal bend and, for less than a blink, listened to the mountain's muffled groan of pain. The tip of the spear entered through the eye socket and exited through the back of the head.
The prince let go of the reins and quietly dropped to the ground. His body hit the ground with a thud.
Silence reigned; his brother was probably screaming with joy in his head. He heard footsteps approaching and tensed.
"I'm here, Jaehaerys," he heard Brandon whisper.
Jaehaerys just closed his eyes, making an effort not to move a finger.