The air of King's Landing was filled with the excitement of a new tournament. Bright colors waved across the field, and the roar of the crowds was already filling the air, even though the sun was still low on the horizon.
Daron Snow adjusted his armor as he watched from the upper stands. Knights and their retinues were preparing for the grand event, lances gleaming, swords clinking. At that moment, Viserys Targaryen arrived at the arena, accompanied by his court in a procession of nobles and guards.
The king seemed nervous, perhaps aware of the tense atmosphere looming over his court. Queen Aemma, who was expecting the birth of her child, was also present, though more distant in the royal podium.
Daron couldn't help but observe him. The king was a man who sat upon a throne of thorns. His gaze was fixed on the knights lined before him, but his mind likely wandered into the dark corners of Westerosi politics. It was not hard to tell that the stakes of the day were measured not only in swords but in power.
Daron was called to enter the arena. His time had come.
The jousting field was filled with knights and lords preparing for the tournament. Daron approached the competitors' area, where Rhaenyra was watching attentively.
"Are you not afraid that your skills will be tested against the best in Westeros?" she said, smiling mischievously.
"No, princess. I fear nothing. Unless they put me against Daemon Targaryen. And if that happens, he better be ready," Daron replied with a confident smile. The tension between them was always in the air, like a flame waiting to ignite.
Rhaenyra stared at him. There was something about him that she couldn't stop being drawn to. His confidence, his presence… his intelligence. But there was also something else. Something dangerous.
Daron, aware of the way she was looking at him, couldn't help but be attracted to her strength. However, he did not reveal his thoughts, only maintaining his defiant attitude. The competition was beginning, and there was no time for distractions.
"I hope to see you in the final," she said with a challenging smile.
"Do you doubt that I'll be there?" Daron responded, his voice soft but firm.
In the arena, the knights lined up for the first jousts. Daron mounted his horse with grace, showing a skill that impressed even the nobles watching from the stands. When the horn sounded, lances clashed, and the tournament began.
The first opponents were easy to defeat, as he had expected. Daron moved quickly, his sword and lance in perfect harmony, not only demonstrating his skill in combat but also enjoying the admiration of the crowd.
But everything changed when Daemon Targaryen made his entrance.
The prince had returned from war, and his presence felt like a storm. His determined and fierce gaze swept across the arena. When his eyes met Daron's, there was no surprise—only intensity. They had met before, and in that glance, unspoken truths resurfaced. Both knew what the other was capable of.
Viserys, standing beside his brother, seemed uneasy but maintained a facade of calm. The murmurs of the court grew louder, especially when Daemon took his place in the arena.
"Daemon," Viserys said as Daemon looked at him, somewhat distant, as if seeing beyond his brother. "Are you ready for this tournament?"
Daemon stared at him for a moment, his eyes fixed on Viserys with a mix of respect and defiance.
"I'll be more than ready for whatever comes, brother," Daemon replied, with a barely perceptible smile.
Daron watched everything from his position, noting the tension in the air. He knew that beyond the tournament, a much larger war was about to unfold—one not fought only with lances and horses, but with power, secrets, and blood.
That night, as the lights of the tournament camp flickered, Daron once again encountered Rhaenyra, this time out of the court's sight.
"It seems Daemon Targaryen is a man to be wary of," Rhaenyra commented while watching Daemon from a distance.
"Daemon knows what he's doing," Daron responded, his voice deep and confident. "He is not an easy man to read. And he is not someone who lets himself be ruled by anyone, not even his own brother."
Rhaenyra looked at him with intrigue, and for a moment, the silence between them was uncomfortable, yet full of an unspoken understanding.
Daron decided to break the ice.
"Don't you fear that all of this is just a farce, princess?" he said, looking at the ground before lifting his gaze to meet hers.
"A farce?" she asked, surprised.
"A tournament, a celebration, and everyone dancing to the tune of whoever beats the drum…" Daron paused. "Only the king and the dragons truly know what is at stake here."
Rhaenyra observed him, understanding his words.
"And what do you think, Daron? Are you here only for glory, or for something more?"
Daron smiled, but it was a reserved smile. It was not the time to give answers.
"I don't know yet," he replied, then turned away.
The sun began to set, and the tournament gave way to the excitement of what was yet to come. The knights lined up, the nobles took their seats, and the wind blew with the promise of what was about to unfold.
The roar of the crowd rose into the air; the first match was about to begin. Daron prepared himself for a series of jousts that would test his skills. But beyond the lances and swords, his mind was fixed on something far greater.
Something that was approaching quickly.
Daemon Targaryen was in King's Landing, and the war—though not yet visible—had already begun.