Chapter 15: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 3
125
-Prince Aemond Targaryen-
His lance exploded on contact with his opponents chest, a knight of the Vale heralded in the black ravens and red hearts of House Corbray, sable and gules for the more pretentious, and the Prince doubted the man felt particularly pretentious right now flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. As the crowd cheered him on he raised his visor and his eyes sought out a small section of the crowd, a private box. He didn't look toward the luxurious box seats of his mother and father and the rest of their kin, instead he rested his pleased gaze upon a box containing a dozen ordinary women who held in their arms a dozen white-golden haired children, his contribution to his brother's dream of one day replacing the vulgar Andals with a renewed Valyrian race. After seeing the evidence of his efforts in around the Blue Keep and Old Town, Aemond knew it to be just another way in which he would ever remain in Aegon's shadow, but with such a wide shadow cast there is more than enough room for him to spread his own wings and achieve his own greatness.
He idly wondered how his brother's cock had any skin left with all the breeding that horde took to create, but then grimaced as his thoughts turned to their sister, and the many many many times he found her in the throes of wonton ecstasy since he came to Dragonsreach fifteen moons prior. He could only imagine the rawness of rod and aching of balls those women put Aegon through over the years as training so that he might survive the appetites of their sister, and though she became beautiful as she aged, Aemond felt incredibly grateful that his brother shielded him from her. He very much liked walking under his own power.
The downing of the Corbray knight solidified the agreed upon outcome of the tourney for him, even if he didn't win another joust, he earned his spurs already, this was just the needed excuse to finally end his days as a squire, first under Ser Criston Cole, and then under his brother's mentorship. Their younger brother, Daeron, would soon follow in his footsteps , travelling from Old Town where he served as a page in the court of their mothers kin. Perhaps the large Valyrian Quarter in Westeros's oldest and greatest city may have prepared him for Dragonsreach, but he knew such thoughts were folly. Nothing could ever prepare his younger brother for the sight of their sister's inventive ways of dousing with seed whatever fire burned in her womb.
As Aemond guided his zorse away from the tilting lane, Aegon came forth to the field atop his legendary stallion, Seethancope. A mouthful of a name, but a fitting one, for against his brother atop his zorse there is no chance of victory, so all must seethe and cope with their inadequacy. He cut the most intimidating knightly figure in the Kingdoms atop that armored zorse. The heinous relief work on his plate mail, and the excessive and exaggerated feature created a visage brutal to look at directly and in silhouette, only becoming more terrifying the closer he approached. Aemond knew the armor for its magic, the occult power radiating a dread making it hard to look upon without a supernatural fear weighing down on your shoulders and belly, foreshadowing the pointlessness of resisting against such a force of nature.
The knight scheduled to tilt with his brother withdrew, and the viewers in the stands booed the decision as craven, but Aemond knew and respected the strategy behind it. The tourney was held in the Dragonsreach style, a new ruleset in which participants form teams of eight and compete against each of the other teams tallying up each individual win to track who advances. So many men came to participate this year that many were turned away to prevent the event from taking a full moon to complete, but it still numbered over five hundred participants, split into sixteen brackets of four teams. Each of those four teams faced each other and the team with the most wins advanced to do it again.
The system allowed for far more strategy than standard tourney rules, as the team captains toss a coin at the start of each set of matches called a game, and whoever loses must put forth the first name on the schedule, to which the winner names his champion next, and this continues until the advantage switches for the last four matches. Savvy teams such as the one they just faced sought advantage in these placements, such as what just occurred. The other team placed one of their weakest offerings against his brother, and the man withdrew to avoid injury. This prevented his brother from taking one of their stronger competitors off the winning column, and preserved their strength for further games.
It didn't matter that they got the advantage in the schedule, not with the team he rode with that contained, two princess, three Kingsguard, and three of the strongest knights sworn to Dragonsreach, a place that achieved an almost mythic reputation since its inception as a gathering ground of heroes, a martial paradise where the best stand amongst the best.
"You should have had him down on the second pass." his brother's voice filled his ears and he grit his teeth, biting back a pointless response, "You hurt his shoulder on the first pass, his aim was shaky. You had the opening. Do better, or I'll call your sister down to show you how it's done."
Hollow threat, his sister may train with arms and has enough talent to make a man jealous, but she simply can't get the reps in to ever make something of it, considering she spends five moons out of every ten too bloated with pregnancy to move properly. He still felt she trained too intensely during those times, but at least she didn't practice full contact. The idea of a pregnant woman getting hit with a sword, blunt or not, made his skin crawl.
The brothers returned to their assembled team and the eight of them exited the stadium to an attached pavilion added by Aegon after the initial construction. Only select teams enjoyed the privilege of similar structures, the shaded and breezy spaces a fine location to relax between games, of which each team competed twice daily to finish the tourney within seven days, with the finals splitting the winning team into an eight man single elimination bracket to determine the final tourney champion.
Everyone expected his brother to win the finals despite the dearth of elite and legendary competitors on the lists, one such legend in the pavilion with them, Ser Criston Cole. Aemond smiled as his mentor relaxed into a stool with a mug of weak wine as the servants brought the men refreshments. It felt good to participate as a peer with the man, even though Aemond had no expectation of beating him should they match in the finals. He wanted to speak to the man, but he noticed Ser Criston only had eyes for his brother.
"My prince, this tourney shall live on in the annals of history like few others. Never have I seen a gathering of such quality men, let alone in a format that allows them to test themselves so thoroughly." Ser Criston complimented the host, and his brother's Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Willis Fell nodded their heads in agreement.
"It is an honor to ride in such a grand event." Ser Thorne added as he assembled a treat from a tray with cheese, crunchy flatbread, and honey.
Aemond helped himself to some as well, knowing the combination to be a fine one for athletic performance, easy on the stomach, and providing a quick pick-me up to the body. While Ser Criston helped guide his eating in his youth, his time with his brother explained the why behind the choices, the Prince possessing a much more in depth knowledge of the body's inner workings and how to maximize performance.
No form of exercise or wise choice of diet would ever close the gap between him and his brother, Aemond accepted that begrudgingly during the last year and a half, but that gave him no excuse to not explore the heights of strength and beauty his own body is capable of, and he'd come to understand that though Aegon may be blessed by the gods in ways others are not, he himself took some benefit having shared the same womb as him. Though Aemond compared poorly to his brother, he outperformed most others in body composition, power, appearance, and fertility. His dozen bastards and the dozen more on the way proved it, all born healthy and looking just like him. Aemond relished his own small blessings, and believed their brother Daeron to possess similar enhanced features. He thanked the gods that despite not making him his brother's equal, that they did not scorn him for love of his brother.
"Aye, we've accomplished much this time." Aegon accepted the praise with a nostalgic look on his face.
"I've noticed that your uncle's team was placed on the opposite end of the lists from us." Ser Criston brought up.
"It wouldn't do to defeat them early in the tourney." Aegon explained the placement, "They've a strong team led by a kinsman. They'll make it to the end, and we'll show them the difference between us and them distinctly."
"The Rogue has spread rumors for years that your matches are fixed. He willfully sullies the reputation of a kinsman. Should you not have sought to put the insult to the harsh light of truth early, so as not to let it ferment here in your home?" Ser Criston's words put a frown on the faces of the other knights, but Aegon's lips turned up at the corners.
"Words, Ser Criston. Words, soon enough to meet the harsh and hard reality." Aegon's amusement didn't put the knights at ease, all of them offended on behalf of their prince, "Let the controversy fester, all the more satisfying the lancing."
"Have care, my Prince, Daemon is a notorious cheat, unafraid to aim for the horse instead of the rider, using hardwood lances, and all manner of dishonorable practices most are too afraid to face his fury than take him to task for." Ser Criston counseled, the man the victim of Daemon's misdeeds in the past.
"It matters not. Seethancope remains the finest horse in the world, agile, hearty, and disciplined. No matter Daemon's schemes, my mount and I shall overcome." on anyone else that confidence didn't belong, but coming from his brother, a man who would one day be remembered as 'The Great', it fit.
The easy comradery of the pavilion ended when a servant arrived to announce the arrival of King Viserys Targaryen, the crippled man assisted in transit by the remaining members of the Kingsguard. With him came the Queen, their sister, the Crown Princess, and her heirs, the Strong Boys. Aemond felt his stomach twist at the sight of them, his good mood ruined. He'd managed to keep them from his presence for years, so that their arrogance could neither stoke his wrath nor rise his bile in disgust. At only a dozen years old, Jacerys 'Velaryon', walked, talked, and breathed as a mockery of good sense and of their illustrious dynasty.
He turned his head away from the boy, and to his father. The King cut an imposing visage these days despite the continued wasting and rotting away of his flesh. Aegon now supplied the King's wardrobe, and personally trained the servants that prepare their father for his days in public. Their father now faced the Seven Kingdoms behind a gold filigree mask housed within a scarlet silk head wrap draped as if to mimic a fall of red hair coming down around his crown. This wrap also covered his neck blending in with a red and gold stole, the wrap dipping into the collar of his layered black brocade robe carefully constructed to make his diminished form look larger without adding too much weight for him to bear. Black silk gloves covered his hands, tucked into his rings. Every inch of their fathers skin hidden from the world, and never had he looked more kingly.
Their mother came, always the dutiful wife, her form far more fitting of a queen than their fat half-sister who likely only came to run interference as she usually did when Aegon and their father interacted these days. They all only came together at these tourneys held to celebrate the family, and otherwise gladly went their separate ways after. If only their sister could satisfy herself with ruling the dumpy little island their family called their ancestral home, then they could at last be at peace with each other. Her refusal to relinquish the unnatural burden of rule their father mistakenly placed on her during his morose morning period for his first wife condemned the House of the Dragon to strife, her refusal to comply with a married woman's virtue took it from a matter of principle to a matter most personal, the audacity to place herself over their brother compounded by the audacity to put her bastards over her brothers. Intolerable.
The gods themselves made the trueborn Targaryen brothers greater than other men, greater than her Strong Boys, and they made Aegon first among the best. How their half-sister could look upon their brother and not submit to his rightful authority, his authority granted to him by the laws of both gods and men, astounds Aemond. Only the unworthy bolster her false claim, refusing to let the embers of her role in the wider politics in Westeros die out. For her own sake, she should make her retreat from the court to Dragonstone permanent and leave the Seven Kingdoms to her better. Just the look in her eyes when gazing upon Aegon confirmed it, her lust plain to see.
He didn't blame her for it. It is only natural that the primal need of her cunt override the capabilities of her brain. Her soft feminine spirit longed to moor itself properly to the righteous masculine hardness of Aegon's cock, yet her corrupted upbringing caused her to war against herself, her disordered desires ruining the proper harmony of her womanhood.
Helaena met his gaze next, his beautiful sister having seen the same as him, as he'd seen a number of times in the past and reported to her. She nodded, and Aemond gave her a small nod back. To save their family from disaster, the pair conspired to guide their half-sister to her proper place in submission to the next Head of House Targaryen. Though stubborn, willful, vain, and arrogant, neither sibling believed her beyond salvation, both ardent believers in the holy teaching 'Spare the rod, condemn the child' but in this case the child already grew up and thus a new rod is needed. For the stability of their House, for the peace of the realm, and for the sacredness of the bloodline, they needed their brother to fuck the stupid out of their half sister.
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