Viserys understood logically that his older brother, a knight and heir to the throne, couldn't back down from a declared trial by combat without damaging his honor. But did the others truly know what kind of man Gregor was? Pale-faced, Viserys watched Gregor accept the challenge, his gaze fixed on the giant fist clenching and unclenching, the memory of the Red Viper's head exploding playing on repeat in his mind. He was terrified of witnessing that again, and he swayed, almost fainting.
Rhaegar saw this and, while pleased by his brother's concern for his safety, felt a touch of melancholy. Did his beloved brother not trust in his martial prowess, despite his multiple tournament victories?
"My brother needs rest because of his injury," the Crown Prince said, using this excuse to explain his brother's strange behavior. He helped the ashen-faced, sweating Viserys into the inner tent, kissed his forehead, and soothed his distress. He carefully settled him onto a bed and then had his attendants remove his armor. He would stay with him to look after his brother.
Moonlight spilled across the land, the Riverlands of winter were silent, as if covered in silver frost. The royal tent was warm, and the incense burning with the charcoal was meant to calm the heart—but Rhaegar put down the parchment he was reading, his purple eyes filled with worry. He realized his beloved brother wouldn't recover this time with just rest. He was deeply shaken, anxious, and restless.
"Viserys," he murmured, calling to his brother who tossed and turned. "Does your dislocated arm still hurt?"
Viserys shook his head and got up from the camp bed, his hair disheveled as he walked towards Rhaegar. Like a small animal seeking warmth, he naturally burrowed into his brother's embrace.
Rhaegar loved to be leaned on by his brother. He comforted him, letting Viserys bury his head in his clothes, his fingers slowly combing through the soft, silver hair.
Viserys deeply inhaled the scent of Dragon's Breath Grass emanating from the supple linen, a memory of the godswood in the Red Keep, and also his brother's constant aura. He needed to be tightly enveloped in it, seeking peace of mind.
Rhaegar's cool hand rested on his head as he spoke softly, "Don't be afraid, Viserys. Tournaments are commonplace for me. I'll get you justice, and I'll win the championship at Riverrun."
…Can't we just skip the justice part? Viserys's heart pounded in his chest, remembering the Red Viper versus the Mountain, and how that quest for justice had ended. He shook his head, almost pleading, "Can… can't you just not compete?"
Rhaegar's eyes were gentle, but his tone was firm. "How can a knight break his word? A knight should be fearless, and he shouldn't waver or retreat before the battle even begins. You'll understand someday, because you too will surely become a knight who carries glory."
"But, but Gregor isn't a knight." Viserys bit his lip. "He's just an utterly ruthless, violent brute, a murderer. Brother, if you judge him by a knight's standards, you'll be at a disadvantage!!"
"Do you know what kind of person he is? Brother, Sandor, Tyrion's squire, is his younger brother, and half of his face is burned. Old Lord Clegane claimed it was a fire that caught his bedsheets when he was a child, but that's not the truth at all! When he was seven, he took Gregor's toy and was pushed face-first into a burning brazier!"
Rhaegar's expression grew more serious. He listened as his brother rambled on and on about how vicious and dark Gregor was: girls near Clegane's keep would mysteriously die, bandits, mercenaries, and prisoners in the Westerlands who were caught by him would have their limbs cut off and be fed to their companions or even eaten by him!
"Brother! I saw it today. Gregor wants to kill everyone, including you and me!" Viserys exclaimed agitatedly. "If something happens to you in the tournament, I won't live either!!"
Rhaegar was taken aback, and quickly cupped his brother's face, forcing those anxious purple eyes to look at him. He planted a warm kiss on his brother's forehead, swearing solemnly, "It's alright, I already know what kind of person Gregor is, Viserys, trust me. I won't lose the tournament, and I won't get hurt."
"Do you swear to give this man no chance at all?" Viserys gripped his wrist, his voice hoarse. "No matter how he looks, or if he seems to be losing."
"In the name of the Seven, he doesn't deserve any mercy."
Viserys calmed down slightly. After a moment, he pulled his brother closer, cautioning, "But he's very strong, exceptionally brutal. Even Robert… Robert can't beat him. Robert's warhammer is heavy, I can't even lift it."
He couldn't help but worry, because Robert wielding the warhammer was his nightmare, shattering his brother's breastplate on the Trident. If that happened…
Rhaegar sighed helplessly, still gently telling his brother, "The amount of strength doesn't have that much of an impact on dueling and swordsmanship. Viserys, otherwise, how could Queen Visenya have been a better swordsman than Aegon the Conqueror? She could completely defeat Aegon."
"Really?"
"Really." Rhaegar embraced his brother, recounting, "In Maegor's Holdfast's library, there are the queen's notes, recording how she saved Aegon on the streets of King's Landing with Dark Sister. Between the lines, there's confidence and criticism of Aegon's swordsmanship. Before I aspired to be a warrior, I loved to stay there and read all day, so I saw the most ruthless criticisms of King Aegon. She said his movements were slow, his wrist techniques were completely inadequate, his offense and defense weren't unified, and when she pointed her sword at his face, he couldn't react at all."
Rhaegar smiled slightly as he spoke, "If you read the evaluation alone, you would think it was some clumsy swordsman, completely unable to imagine it was Aegon the Conqueror, who established our Targaryen dynasty."
Viserys relaxed a little, infected by his brother's calm demeanor. He rested his head on his brother's shoulder, muttering, "So... Aegon clearly loved Queen Rhaenys more." Then, driven by some unknown instinct, he said, "Brother... we Targaryens, since Aegon, kings can only marry one queen."
Rhaegar was glad his brother had shifted his focus away from the trial by combat. Hearing the topic of queens, he thought of his beautiful dreams, and his voice became as gentle and ethereal as smoke. "Yes. There's nothing wrong with that, Viserys. Marrying one person... the one you love."
Viserys hummed in agreement. But for some reason, on this evening when they were about to arrive at Riverrun, and the trial by combat was about to begin, he had no interest in thinking about Lyanna and his brother's marriage.
The next day, before breaking camp, Viserys, unable to rest easy, went to find Barristan again. If communication had been convenient in this era, he would have also asked the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne, the same question: "If your opponent in a trial by combat is eight feet tall, immensely strong, and wearing the heaviest armor, how do you defeat him?"
Ser Barristan the Bold bowed to the young prince and frankly told him that he needed courage, patience, calmness, and agility.
...Isn't that just empty platitudes? Can you give me some practical advice?
"You don't need to worry about the Crown Prince," the experienced middle-aged Kingsguard said. "I have served three kings and have seen several princes, including Prince Duncan the Small. Prince Rhaegar's abilities are stronger than any of them."
This was still just empty talk. Viserys thought for a moment and then, steeling himself, implored Barristan, "Um, during the trial by combat, could you stand guard at the closest distance?"
If it weren't for his dislocated arm preventing him from drawing a bow, he would have done it himself.
Barristan understood what the young prince was thinking, and he frowned. "Your brother is a steadfast, sincere, and composed man. He wouldn't approve of such... thoughts. And if you were to do such a thing... it would violate the code of chivalry."
Viserys gave a wry smile. Chivalry... can it be eaten? Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the strongest knight, no exaggeration, right? He died in a duel when Ned Stark's squire ambushed him from behind, violating the knight's code.
I don't want to be that kind of knight. The swordsmanship I want... hmm, it needs to be like Queen Visenya, able to react quickly to an ambush.
He watched Barristan mount his horse, the golden-robed Kingsguards ready to depart. Their weapons gleamed with a chilling light in the winter sun, each one an excellent knight. But one-on-one duels were their style. Viserys wasn't moved. He vaguely knew where he could learn swordsmanship, the kind that could handle multiple opponents with ease and invincibility.
Should I go?
He saw his brother Rhaegar approaching him. The three-headed dragon on the black helmet's breast, crafted from ruby, blazed confidently in the morning sun. His brother smiled at him and extended his hand.
He gripped it tightly, forgetting about swordsmanship, forgetting about Robert and Gregor, only excitement remained as his brother lifted him onto the horse to ride with him.
The Crown Prince's party, along with Robert's, arrived at Riverrun the next day. It was a triangular castle, protected by rivers on two sides and a man-made moat on the west, making it surrounded by water.
Viserys looked up at the crenellations, the huge waterwheels driven by the Riverrun's current, and the linked hydraulic drawbridge gates, assessing that the place was indeed defensible. But if one were to completely disregard humanity, and refer to history, like using catapults to hurl rotting corpses into the castle, or throwing jars of animal fat into it, or forcing captives to fill the moat, Riverrun's sandstone walls wouldn't be so invulnerable. Castles couldn't withstand dragonflame, and certainly not gunpowder. What was the recipe for black powder? One part saltpeter, two parts charcoal, and three...? Or one part charcoal, two parts saltpeter, and three...? Viserys hated that he couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. Once he had his own territory, he would experiment and gather the recipe. Once he had this great weapon, coupled with his cheat-like black technology, he could expand the king's domain and centralize power for his brother, by diminishing the power of the lords.
...Then those dukes, who were forming alliances through marriage, wouldn't be able to jump around and threaten the royal authority.
Unaware that someone was plotting to strip them of their hereditary lands, the Tully family warmly welcomed the two Targaryen princes and the heir to Storm's End into the castle. The distinguished visitors would be accommodated in Riverrun's luxurious suites, while the other participating knights could only camp on the riverbank outside. Only the local great lords and the northern duke and his sons, who had just agreed to a marriage alliance, were eligible to attend the welcoming banquet: Duke Rickard Stark and his eldest son Brandon Stark, and his second son Ned Stark.
Viserys, along with his brother, received the duke and his sons' audience and greetings.
If he wasn't preoccupied with the tournament, he would have been very interested in carefully observing these unfortunate three. He couldn't be as calm as usual, so he crudely and rudely gave them nicknames in secret: the roasted one, the hanged one, and the stupid one.
His mad father had roasted Rickard like a wild ox leg on a spit at a feast, slowly and over a roaring fire. He had turned the handsome but still far inferior Brandon into a hanging swan with a noose around his neck. The extremely brother-obsessed Viserys felt no pity for their fate. They were the representatives of the local forces challenging the central royal authority: they dared to lead troops to King's Landing, clamoring to kill the brother who had abducted Lyanna?
"If they try that again, I'll make sure they don't even have a corpse to bury," Viserys thought, reaching for the red wine on the table – he wanted to taste its blood-like hue.
"No, Viserys." Rhaegar, noticing his brother's action, stopped him, whispering in his ear, "The first sip of wine is for when you become a knight."
That's a long way off, he thought, but understanding his brother's good intentions, he nodded obediently. His gaze continued to fall upon the Northerners.
Without Brandon's handsome younger brother, Ned... Viserys was grateful that Ned had raised his brother and Lyanna's orphaned child as a bastard, and he currently wanted to win him over to disrupt the engagement, so he wouldn't offend him for the time being.
He sat beside his brother. Both wore wide-sleeved velvet jackets of pale purple for the banquet, underneath which were tight-fitting silk and linen thick jackets. Their silver hair, along with the royal jewels pinned to their jackets, shone brightly. Viserys thought that, both inside and out, his brother was superior to all men, including Robert, who was favored by countless women: he was wearing a dark green jade stag head brooch, a gold-threaded black velvet cloak, and was talking to the Duke Stark, who thought he was going to be Robert's father-in-law. His blue eyes were full of joy, and it was clear that the injury wrapped under his cloak was no longer painful, completely healed.
Why couldn't the Mountain have struck a heavier blow? Like grabbing his damn iron spike warhammer and smashing it in his face----
While cursing Robert, Viserys absentmindedly poked at the honey-glazed apple-roasted chicken in front of him, pondering how to kill the Mountain. Suddenly, he thought of someone who might become his helper. So, Viserys began searching the crowd: he quickly saw the sisters Catelyn and Lysa. Both had auburn hair and wore long velvet rose-colored brocade robes, with sparkling gemstones around their necks that were very eye-catching. Especially the younger sister, Lysa, who had dimples on her delicate face and shyly held her cup, gazing at another young man standing very close—he was younger, short in stature, slim, with dark hair and a handsome appearance. His gaze flickered between Catelyn and Brandon, the heir to Winterfell, with a mixture of resentment and pain.
Him, Viserys thought.
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Viserys officially allied with Littlefinger here.