Enigmas | Aemond Targaryen

SIX

The day of the Queen's tourney at King's landing, noble lords and great knights from all over Westeros crowded the hundred pavilions risen just outside the King's Gate beside the river. Extravagant banners they brought flew over the grassy field, some of linen, some of sandsilk, some of finely spun wool, the crowned stag of Storm's End and roaring lion of Casterly Rock dancing hoof to paw, the direwolf of Winterfell sniffing the golden rose of Highgarden, the trout of Tully leaping, the falcon of the Eyrie soaring through the white moon... and most conspicuous of course, the ancient Tower of Oldtown alongside the three-headed dragon of Old Valyria.

The queen was in her full glory today, wearing a striking satin and samite gown of peacock green, with dragged sleeves that lined with the metallic shimmer of true cloth-of-gold. An emerald tiara glittered midst her rich russet hair, and jade not found this far west around her throat and in her ears and on her fingers. To her left sat the king, my grandsire, pale as always, but in high spirits, lavishing his complacent wife adulations more than she deserved. To her right was her father, Ser Otto of Oldtown, erstwhile Hand of the King. He had a piercing hawkish glance that he oft used to judge every human creature, not excluding his own daughter and grandchildren, instinct told me to shift my gaze right away so I did.

To the king's left sat my mother. Not to steal thunder from the queen, she wore a simple gown of black silk, with deep burgundy sleeves that would dance like flames when she walked. The queen could flaunt her tasteless color like the upstart she was, but everybody knew that she was no dragon, no Targaryen princess like my mother was and could never even wish to be. My other grandsire Lord Corlys and his lady wife Princess Rhaenys sat besides my mother, dressed in classic turquoise of House Velaryon, white-gold seahorse pendants gleaming in front of their chests. The row below them were Lord Lyonel Strong, the Lord of Harrenhal and current Hand, and his crippled son, Master of Whisperers, Larys Strong. Then, there was Lord Beesbury, Masters of Coin and Lord Treasurer, and Septon Eustace, and Grand Maester Mellos...... Even the court imp Mushroom was here, weaving in and out of highborn ladies' skirts. Pandemonium broke out wherever he went.

As children, we got the front row.

I had Jace and Luke on my left and right, both in classic black and red of our House. I myself wore a demure gown of black velvet trimmed in sable, but across the chest the glistening three-headed dragon spread its wings, each head a different color, one gold, one silvery, one coppery, and the flares they breathed were studded with garnets. Upon my head I had a thin circlet, bedecked with fiery sparkles of rubies, cutting the very image of the Conqueror.

The maids presented us silver plates of candied dates and figs and plums and grapes, as well as iced milk with honey and brown sugar.

Passing down a plate to Jace, I whispered into his ear. "I hope Ser Harwin can break some of Crispin's bones today, and crown mother the Queen of Love and Beauty."

Jace tossed a grape into his mouth, shrugging. "Or maybe father can dump that lickspittle on his snowy rump and crown you Queen."

"Father's lance is mediocre at best." I demurred, clicking my tongue in disapproval. "I'd still bet on Ser Harwin."

Mirthfully chiming in, Luke shot out a volley of questions. "Are we betting? What are we betting? Whoever smashes Ser Criston into the mud? Can I have your Valyrian steel dagger, Visenya? Please?"

"Why not?" I said, tilting my head toward Jace inquisitively. "You in, Jace?"

"The chestnut filly I just got. On father." Jace smirked, twining between his fingers a stray strand of my hair, which I quickly snatched back. A slap on Jace's forearm was my retaliation.

"And my wooden castle! On father!" Luke spoke in pure excitement.

"Wait, two of you against poor me?" I cocked a brow. "Does that mean I need to add another prize?"