In the wake of the flames forbear, the House of the Dragon stakes it rightful claim and hereditary with Fire and Blood against House Pendragon.
Upon King Jaehaerys death, the next in succession was his eldest descendant, Princess Rheanys, but instea...
THE QUEEN'S PROTECTOR: Ser Gregor the Mountain, seemed unstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style.
The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly.
The youth fell not ten feet from where Morgana was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before.
His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light.
Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.
Morgana sat with her hands folded in her lap, she ought to be crying at the sight of blood, she thought, but the tears would not come, she had always seen men die and watching them with a strange fascination was her forte.
The young knight in blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it.
And now the world would forget his name too, pity. Morgana realized; there would be no songs sung for him.
That was sad. After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed.
Morgana looks to the direction of her uncle and noticed the seat beside him was empty, she shook her head. Eleanora was late as always.
********* FOUR HORSES GALLOPED, drawing a royal wheel house to the tourney. Lady Eleanora Arryn, The King's Ward is attending the event with her friend Lady Jeyne Baratheon, a girl of two and ten just like her, already the tourney had began and she was late. Perpetually.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
The curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, she sighted the arena, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games.
The splendor of it all always took Eleanora's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd in the arena, the banners snapping in the wind ... and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.
Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, thundered past her palanquin like an avalanche. Eleanora remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Bois two years before.
"His armor is bronze, thousands and thousands of years old, engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm," she whispered to Jeyne.
Jeyne pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, the knight in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm, from the window. "Septa Mellow told me, he had cut down three of Viserys Targaryen bannermen on the Trident." She said as Eleanora widened her eyes surprised.
