"That insolent little wretch!"
Tywin's face was livid.
High above on the iron throne, he felt trapped and powerless.
"Do you know what a Trial by Combat signifies?"
Tywin had a knot in his throat; he had to speak.
Daeron met his gaze. "Someone taught me history, and I learned it well."
At those words, Tywin's thoughts grew tangled.
Who had spent night after night recounting the past, hoping the boy would learn from it?
Who had taught with such devotion that, whenever the pupil grasped a lesson, the teacher felt a pride he had never known when instructing his own children?
Now it was clear: the student had indeed mastered the essence, and he answered every provocation without mercy.
Tywin's voice was low. "I ask you one last time—do you truly demand a Trial by Combat?"
"I do."
Daeron showed no fear. Beneath every eye, the crushing weight of his immense Life Force began to spread.
In that instant he seemed a dragon of extraordinary potential, pressing indiscriminately upon all around him.
"Life Force?"
Barristan's eyes lit, keenly scenting its presence.
Ser Gerold: "A remarkably dense Life Force—though not yet fully mastered."
At their level, judging strength was as simple as eating or drinking.
Both could tell Daeron's vitality was extraordinarily rich.
Yet that very richness was why he could not quickly master its use.
Everyone's Life Force differed in strength.
The stronger it was, the harder to control.
"The last man who possessed such vitality was Prince Rhaegar."
Barristan felt a swell of pride.
The Kingsguard and the Targaryen Family were bound together; the stronger, the better.
Gerold studied Daeron in silence, words unspoken.
Unlike the seasoned Kingsguard, the assembled lords could not sit still.
"It's Life Force..."
"And he's so young..."
Apart from the front-row nobles crushed by the pressure, the rest felt electrified, secretly thrilled by the silver-haired figure at the center.
Rare as special crops or livestock might be, they could still be found across the realm.
Warriors who could command their own Life Force could be counted on one hand.
Anyone who mastered Life Force stood a cut above the age.
Should such a knight pledge to a lord, he would be honored as a treasured guest and receive the highest treatment.
"No wonder Prince Daeron dares to demand a Trial by Combat."
"Indeed, indeed..."
The lords murmured; noble daughters accompanying their parents gazed at Daeron with sparkling eyes, longing to cry out that the prince had been wronged.
Right and wrong, they would judge for themselves.
"Is this the confidence you rely on?"
Tywin, vexed and genuinely enraged, declared, "Since you want a Trial by Combat, you shall have it."
"Nobles beneath the iron throne—who will stand as champion?"
Lannister men and Westerland knights sweated in unison, lowering their heads with one accord.
Face a prince who commands Life Force? Not a chance.
"Elder brother, let me!"
"My lord, I will fight!"
Two golden-haired men spoke together.
One towered in Lannister gold plate, long curls framing fierce, heavy features—Tywin's youngest brother, Tytos Lannister.
The other, shorter and older, wore silk threaded with gold; thinning hair set off deep, steady eyes—Tywin's second brother, Kevan Lannister.
Both pressed forward, each demanding the honor.
"Brother, send me—I'll crush him flat."
Tytos was big and brash.
Tywin ignored him, turning to the brother he trusted, Kevan.
"My lord, allow me. I will win justice for Jilian and show the realm that the Lannisters always pay their debts."
Kevan stepped past Tytos and knelt before the iron throne.
Tywin inclined his head. "So be it. You shall represent the iron throne."
"Brother—"
Tytos blurted.
"Silence!"
Tywin cut him off.
Daeron watched with interest until Kevan rose, then asked coolly, "Chosen your champion?"
Instead of stepping forward at once, Kevan sent for his armor.
"Boy, take equal time to don your gear."
Tywin sat again, outwardly confident.
He had to admit that none of the current Lannister brothers, himself included, had the makings of a top-tier knight.
Tytos might come closest, but his rash temper barred him from true greatness.
Thus house resources had flowed chiefly to Kevan; years of training had awakened his Life Force, granting him strength far beyond ordinary men.
To Tywin, warriors who wielded Life Force were no longer mortal—perhaps closer to the demigods of legend: Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, Garth Greenhand, or Bran the Builder.
Daeron glanced at Kevan being armored, then looked away; he disliked the weight of plate in what was no open battle.
After a quarter-hour Kevan stood ready in practical yet ornate bronze.
"Come—let me collect your debt."
He drew his longsword and set his stance.
"Your Highness—"
"Ser Barristan, lend me your sword—"
Daeron and Barristan spoke at once.
Boom—rumble—
The great doors swung open; a herald's voice rang out.
"King Aerys II of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm..."
It was Ser Jon.
He pushed the doors wide, proclaiming while guarding his king.
Daeron turned, startled.
Father Aerys entered, face ashen, emaciated frame swaying as though a breeze might topple him.
Aerys had come in haste, still in his purple bed-robe, a crown set atop disheveled hair.
"Your Grace—"
"The King—he's finally come..."
To the lords the monarch was a beast of calamity; they shrank back in sudden, collective silence.
Moments earlier they had rejoiced that the king had stayed away and matters remained under control.
Now that he was here, no one could guess what would happen.
"Father?"
Daeron frowned, glancing toward Ser Jon.
Ser Jon looked away, sheepish behind his king.
"Imagine my surprise—while I slept, someone thought to bully my son."
Aerys's eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse and hollow.
This time Tywin could not remain seated.