Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 334: Vhagar and the Blood Wyrm

Chapter 334: Vhagar and the Blood Wyrm

Rhaegar raised his chin and adjusted his wooden lance, ready for the next challenge.

"Cheer for me," he said, his voice confident.

Rhaenyra smiled and sauntered down to the edge of the arena, tossing a red garland with precision. It landed perfectly on the shaft of Rhaegar's lance, sliding down to rest at its base.

Helaena, watching from the parapet, pouted and slumped with disappointment. Noticing her sister's dejection, Rhaenyra picked up a white garland and threw it out again, her voice calm and reassuring. "That's double the encouragement. Don't let us down."

Helaena's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze darting between her brother and sister, a spark of hope rekindled.

Rhaegar retrieved his lance and smiled brightly. "I will not disappoint you."

He turned his horse and rode back to the end of the quarantine fence, preparing for the duel.

Rhaenyra beamed and took Helaena's hand as they walked to the front row and took their seats. They chose seats next to Jeyne, the tension and excitement palpable.

After weeks of indulging in her temper, Rhaenyra's state of mind had changed. She felt more open, her spirit lifted by Rhaegar's presence. His unwavering support had given her strength and confidence.

...

The duel was about to begin on the martial arts field.

Danglang--

Amidst the crowd's anticipation, the obese referee struck the gong, and the two warhorses charged forward.

With the thunderous pounding of hooves, drummers around the arena matched their rhythm to the blaring trumpets, elevating the excitement to a fever pitch.

Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with focus. His grip on the lance was steady, his body leaned forward as his horse galloped ahead.

Harwin, clad in iron armor, his face partially obscured by his helm, radiated a menacing aura.

In the next moment, the black armor and silver armor clashed. Each knight aimed for the other's chest, thrusting their long lances.

Bang...

Rhaegar's shield shattered, the force shaking him violently, yet he maintained his balance and rode on to the finish line.

Harwin, unable to land a hit, hastily raised his shield to block Rhaegar's lance. The impact nearly unseated him. His shield splintered, and his left arm took a hit, but his armor held firm.

Danglang...

The referee struck the gong again, signaling the start of the second charge.

Rhaegar turned his horse, casually grabbing a new shield emblazoned with the three-headed red dragon's emblem from an attendant. He leveled his lance and charged.

Though he was a dragon rider, his skills in horseback riding and jousting were only just above average.

"Hyah!!!"

Harwin roared, discarding his shield, and spurred his warhorse into a rapid turn, charging with reckless abandon.

From the high platform, Viserys watched with wide eyes, glancing back at Lyonel in surprise.

Not only was this tournament a significant event for his eldest son's adulthood, but Harwin's behavior seemed off.

Lyonel's brows furrowed with concern, but he could do nothing.

Back in the arena, the clash continued.

The black and silver armors collided like two meteors. Rhaegar extended his lance, aiming for Harwin's breastplate, his shield covering his body.

"Go down!"

Harwin bellowed, leaving himself open as he jabbed his lance downward, aiming to trip Rhaegar's horse.

Startled, Rhaegar abandoned his attack, pulling on the reins.

"Phew~~"

The silver warhorse reared, its front hooves lifting sharply, narrowly avoiding the blow.

Harwin turned back, disbelief etched on his face. He hadn't expected Rhaegar to evade such a sudden attack.

As the silver warhorse slowed, Rhaegar looked back, his eyes cold.

Playing dirty tricks, are we?" Rhaegar fumed inwardly, his anger flaring.

Tripping a horse's leg was a flagrant violation of the jousting competition rules. At high speeds, such a move could cause both rider and horse to crash disastrously, leading to serious injuries.

On the high platform, Viserys' face contorted with rage as he slammed his hand down on the table. Daring to use such underhanded tactics against the Heir was bold and presumptuous.

If this fight ended badly, Harwin position as the City Watch commander would undoubtedly be in jeopardy.

In the front row, Rhaenyra stared in shock, her mouth agape. Harwin, once loyal and cautious, seemed to have lost all restraint. Why would he dare attack Rhaegar so brazenly at the tournament?

"Didn't he used to listen to you?" Helaena asked angrily, her face puffed in frustration.

"I haven't been out lately, so how would I know?" Rhaenyra replied, her voice tinged with irritation.

Nearby, Jeyne and other female spectators covered their mouths, gasping at the unfolding drama. The intensity of these two rounds surpassed the previous nine sparring matches and made hearts race.

Danglong--

The gong sounded for the third time.

"Hyah!" Rhaegar shouted, spurring his horse into a wild gallop, his lance held low.

Harwin charged simultaneously, eyes bloodshot, urging his horse on.

Within moments, the two knights were again on a collision course.

Harwin, his eyes fierce, aimed his lance at Rhaegar's chest, determined to take him down with a single blow. It was his signature move, the one that had earned him the title "Breakbones" in the past.

Rhaegar, his face cold as frost, charged straight at him.

Outside the arena, thousands of spectators watched breathlessly, hoping to see the Heir lose in the first round - an historic humiliation.

Inside the arena, black armor and white helmets clashed, and suddenly an accident occurred.

Harwin brought his lance down hard, determined to end the duel with a single blow. Unexpectedly, Rhaegar hooked his feet into the stirrups and leaned flat against his horse's back. With a deft twist, he cocked the tip of his lance.

A muffled thud echoed as a figure flew through the air.

Harwin, unable to react in time to Rhaegar's unexpected move, was struck in the left shoulder by the cocked lance, sending him flying seven or eight yards.

The crowd gasped in shock as Harwin hit the mud with a thud, his heavy armor absorbing much of the impact.

"Quickly, move forward!" someone shouted.

Squires and maesters rushed to Harwin, checking his condition and lifting him from the ground.

"Get away, I'm fine!"

Harwin shoved the guard aside and staggered to his feet, his eyes glazed over with pain. He raised his right hand and found it unharmed, but when he moved his left, a sharp pain shot through his arm.

"Hiss!"

Harwin clenched his teeth and inhaled sharply. He looked down at the deep dent in his left shoulder armor and felt as if his scapula and arm bones had cracked. When he saw Rhaegar standing tall on his horse in the distance, he shouted, "Give me a sword!

A squire with a three-colored striped mark on his chest hurriedly handed him a hand-and-a-half sword. The obese referee struck the gong and announced, "Harwin Strong wishes to continue the contest with weapons!"

Rhaegar rode gracefully on his white horse, his gaze menacing as he looked down upon the enraged Harwin. He had shown mercy by aiming his previous blow away from Harwin's throat or head.

"Whatever the reason, this defiance must be quelled!"

Dismounting gracefully, Rhaegar removed his helm and waved to his squire. The squire quickly handed him his sword, Truefyre. Rhaegar glanced at it and then shouted, "Bring me the battleaxe!"

The Valyrian steel sword was formidable, but it couldn't easily penetrate heavy steel armor. He needed a weapon of more brute force.

The atmosphere on the high platform was tense. Lyman, squeezed into the back row, raised an eyebrow, handed a handful of gold dragons to a young servant with a roaring lion emblem, and whispered,"I'll wager fifteen gold dragons on Prince Rhaegar to win."

Viserys, overhearing the whisper, was tempted to bet on his eldest son as well, but his anger held him back.

Lyonel bowed his head and apologized, "Your Grace, Harwin he..."

"It's all right, as long as it's a fair match, everything's within reason," Viserys interrupted, trying to control his anger. His words emphasized that fairness was paramount, no dirty tricks allowed.

The arena fell silent as all eyes returned to the field.

Rhaegar dropped his shield and lance, now wielding a half-man-sized cold iron battleaxe in his right hand, the two garlands still on his left wrist.

"Ah!!!" Harwin roared, charging with his sword.

Rhaegar's lips curled into a cold smile. He deftly twirled the battle-axe, bent his knee, and slashed at Harwin's leg.

Dang!

The blade bit into Harwin's steel leg armor, drawing blood. Harwin screamed in agony, cold sweat pouring down his face. His injured leg gave way and he fell to one knee, his hand propping him up with the half-sword.

Rhaegar's eyes were icy as he yanked the battle-axe free with a harsh crack, then swung it at Harwin's exposed back armor. Though not a master of horsemanship, Rhaegar was unparalleled in close combat.

Danglang!

The axe blade struck deep again, cutting a groove in Harwin's heavy armor and scraping out shards as Rhaegar yanked it free. The impact rattled Harwin's spine, and despite his armor, he couldn't withstand the internal shock. A mouthful of blood spurted from his lips as he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Rhaegar kicked him over and brought the cold axe blade down on Harwin's chest. "Admit defeat!" he demanded coldly.

"Bah!" Harwin spat bloody foam, his eyes filled with stubborn defiance.

"Well done," Rhaegar sneered. He raised the battle-axe and brought it down hard on Harwin's chest armor.

Harwin grunted, his face turning red as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Before the referee could intervene, Rhaegar pulled the axe free and swung it again at Harwin's already injured leg.

**Ka-ching..

The axe bit into unprotected flesh and bone with a sickening crack, eliciting a scream from Harwin as cold sweat poured down his face.

"No, no, no, you win, prince!" the obese referee cried in panic, signaling the attendants to stop Rhaegar.

Several attendants rushed forward, but Rhaegar threw aside his bloodstained battleaxe and gasped, "No need to stop me, I know how to restrain myself."

Despite his assurance, Harwin's broken collarbone and leg would require years of healing and recovery under a maester's care.

Ignoring the squire and maester tending to the unconscious Harwin, Rhaegar mounted his white horse with the intention of riding away. Harwin's hostility seemed unnatural, and he had to consult Tormund about it.

After a tense moment, the crowd erupted in applause, cheering the victorious Heir. The sight of Rhaegar wielding his battleaxe with unstoppable power was awe-inspiring.

"Roar..."

Amid the cheers, a low dragon roar echoed from the direction of God's Eye Lake. Rhaegar frowned and looked to the sky.

A scarlet behemoth broke through the clouds and swooped down on the martial arts field with a gust of wind. It had tall horns, a slender snake-like body, and broad red wings. This was the Blood Wyrm - Caraxes.

"Caraxes, land!" A commanding voice came from the dragon's dark red scales. Caraxes stretched its neck and let out a sharp roar, descending slowly.

"Roar!"

Another dragon roar, heavy as thunder, shook the sky. The thin clouds parted to reveal a huge green dragon with cold amber eyes, scales thick as steel plates, and wings wide enough to darken the ground. It was Vhagar, one of the three first generation Targaryen dragons.

Vhagar circled the arena and descended, causing the nobles to shield their faces and skirts from the wind.

Boom!

Caraxes landed first, its hind feet touching down, followed by its broad wings supporting its weight. Daemon, clad in pitch-black dragon-printed armor with a crimson cloak, sat proudly on the dragon's back.

A month ago, Caraxes had healed from its injuries and was back in the skies with Daemon. The dragon's vertical pupils locked onto Rhaegar, who stood motionless, his silver hair catching the wind.

Rhaegar anticipated this. He pulled his scarlet cloak over his horse's head and tightened the reins to control it, remaining calm.

The roar subsided, and Caraxes' fierce eyes bore down on the unmoving Rhaegar. From the black iron saddle, Daemon's eyes narrowed as he regarded his nephew.

For a tense moment, uncle and nephew stared each other down, sparks seemingly flying between their gazes.