*Chapter 190 Explanation (Thirteen) The Tournament at Harrenhal*
Rhaegor and his party arrived at Harrenhal, dusty from their journey.
Long before they reached the castle, Rhaegor saw the massive fortress, its five towering turrets reaching for the sky like five fingers.
But the moment Rhaegor saw the castle, he felt uneasy; his blood seemed to stir, though he didn't know why.
Sensing Rhaegor's discomfort, Legan and Ailarion exchanged a glance. Ailarion nodded, gently nudging his horse to slow down, positioning himself between Rhaegor and the three wandering knights. Legan moved closer and whispered,
"Your Highness, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Rhaegor shook his head vigorously, expelling the thoughts that had flooded his mind. "Let's keep going."
Legan nodded, not pressing further.
Rhaegor couldn't help but recall what he had just seen.
Everything was burning.
Rhaegor had seemingly seen five blazing fingers and swollen people wailing.
But it all happened in an instant; when he closed and then opened his eyes, everything returned to normal, and even the abnormal stirring of his blood felt like a mere illusion.
Meanwhile, in the distant Dragon Nest City.
Dragonzel sat panting beside Vermithor, letting his companion's drool cover his head. He leaned against the dragon's head, feeling the change in his son's blood.
"It seems that brat has reached Harrenhal."
Vermithor let out a low growl.
"Alright, alright, Vermithor, that's my son." Dragonzel smiled bitterly, patting Vermithor's head, which could swallow an elephant. "I won't let anything happen to him. Harrenhal is just Viserys's political game; it won't hurt the boy to see it."
Dragonzel suddenly chuckled. Valarr, who had just jumped off Silverwing, shirtless, looked at his elder brother strangely: "Brother, what are you laughing at?" He had been leaning against Silverwing for a while before turning to ask.
"I bet that kid will soon taste a lesson," Dragonzel said with a laugh. "I hope he enjoys his father's love."
Valarr couldn't help but shiver, offering a silent prayer for his nephew before returning to tend to Silverwing.
Back in Harrenhal.
Gold was the passport to success.
With ample funding, Kermit quickly built a sizable tourney ground in front of Harrenhal, and more and more knights arrived upon hearing the news.
Rhaegor carefully observed the fluttering banners and the sigils on the shields of the passing knights.
The arrivals were mainly nobles and knights from the Riverlands and the Crownlands.
Rhaegor thought to himself.
"Your Highness, what should we do?" Legan moved closer to Rhaegor, who was observing the camp's banners from a high ground. "Should we participate?"
Rhaegor scanned the knights who had already pitched their tents, his hands itching.
I am a knight. Rhaegor told himself. No knight can resist the allure of a tourney.
And participating in a tourney is also part of training.
Rhaegor made up his mind and said, "Yes, but tell Ailarion that we are not aiming for the championship." Rhaegor said, noting something amiss as he surveyed the fluttering banners.
Many of the arriving knights were from the Crownlands, few of them from great noble houses, but Rhaegor recognized several of the banner owners from encounters in the Red Keep. Especially one particular banner.
A large bat on a field diagonally divided in gold and silver.
"Lucas Roxton?" Rhaegor was very familiar with this sigil; its owner, Lucas Roxton, was Aegon's Red Keep master-at-arms. He was once a member of the King's Landing Gold Cloaks and earned Prince Daemon's favor for his loyal service, being promoted to master-at-arms of the Red Keep. When Dragonzel took control of King's Landing, he retained his position.
However, his title as Red Keep master-at-arms was somewhat nominal, as Aegon and Viserys had already completed their martial training by the time they returned to King's Landing, no longer needing the Red Keep master-at-arms' guidance.
While Rhaegor was somewhat naive in some matters, he was very sharp on issues like this.
A bat flew to the Riverlands? Without the Dragon's permission, the bat in the Red Keep would never covet the Seven Kingdoms' foremost castle.
Rhaegor had some suspicions.
"Ser Legan, I just heard Hago say you plan to enter the competition?" "The Handsome" Albin suddenly bypassed Ailarion and approached, the young man hesitantly saying, "Ser, could you... help me register? Or vouch for me that I am a true knight?"
Rhaegor looked at Albin with some confusion, then smiled with understanding.
He understood Albin's situation.
This young man, who claimed to be a knight, was different from Kane and Jaime; the latter two had proven their identities in war, while Albin lived in an era of peace. Perhaps someone knew the knight he always spoke of who knighted him, but no one would know a greenhorn like him.
And the condition for participating in the tourney was that one must be a knight.
Although Rhaegor was also very young, his warhorse and equipment were enough to prove his wealth and ability, and his shield... the hunter on his shield would immediately make people think of House Tarly.
People wouldn't question his identity, but they would be suspicious of Albin's.
So Albin needed a guarantor.
"Certainly." Rhaegor agreed. It wasn't for any other reason, simply because Albin was now his companion, and as the leader of this small group, he had an obligation to provide Albin with some support.
Being his guarantor was one of them.
Registration went smoothly.
The fellow in charge of tourney registration saw the rapier at Rhaegor's waist and registered them without even looking at their shield sigils.
"You two are knights too?" Albin looked at the smiling, silent Legan and Ailarion with a shocked expression, as if he had been deceived.
By the seven gods, he had always thought they were Rhaegor's squires.
"Does it matter?" Legan grinned, making a funny face, "Anyway, we're registered, and so are you."
"Don't worry, if you lose your equipment, I'll win it back for you," Ailarion said with a smile. After getting to know Albin better, Ailarion could tell he was indeed a very simple young man.
Completely unlike those two old soldiers.
But Albin quickly accepted it all.
After all, he was the one who had been beaten up by Ailarion.
Being beaten up by a knight who was excessively young was much better than being beaten up by a squire, right?
That's how Albin comforted himself.
The group pitched their tents near the camp.
Just as night was falling and they were preparing to rest.
Rhaegor suddenly looked up at the sky.
The dragon has arrived.
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