Rhaegar took the two books gifted by Oberyn and mused, "Whether I am wise or not, I have already taken up arms and stand in the midst of the crowd." He sought the lost Targaryen heirlooms to restore the glory of the Dragon Kings.
"Relax, brother. Hotha is no match for Prince Rhaegar; it is merely a matter of how fast he will be defeated. Can't you see? The Silver Dragon is always holding back, just toying with us!" Oberyn said teasingly. He had sparred with Rhaegar and had confidence in him.
In terms of martial talent, the current young experts in Dorne were Oberyn, Arthur Dayne, and Hotha from Norvos. The elder experts included Prince Lewyn and Arthur Dayne's father. However, Hotha was an Attendant and guard, unlike the combative and attention-seeking Oberyn, yet Hotha possessed immense strength that was formidable. Oberyn wanted to see the full extent of Prince Rhaegar's strength.
Seeing that both Rhaegar and Oberyn were insistent, Doran agreed. Oberyn appeared violent and sharp-tongued, but in reality, he was highly intelligent; most people were simply misled by his penchant for wielding weapons. Oberyn was deep in thought, studied many subjects, was erudite, and skilled in the use of poison, making him an anomaly among first-class experts.
Rhaegar watched the two brothers with interest; one was grass, the other a viper. Oberyn was dangerous, lethal, and unpredictable—no one dared to step on him, like a viper; Doran was the grass swaying in the wind, attentive, gentle, and fragrant. The grass concealed the viper's tracks, covering its strike against enemies, yet the viper also protected the grass; they protected each other and complemented one another.
But there was no doubt that the three Martell siblings were very close. Otherwise, Doran's succession would have faced challenges; in terms of appearance, talent, and personal charisma, The Red Viper was superior to him, and he also had popularity. Moreover, Doran had taken a foreign wife, which meant he had even less support from local Lords. Yet, no one had heard of The Red Viper overstepping his bounds, and the brothers remained on intimate terms.
Rhaegar appreciated this quality in The Red Viper—he cared for his family, was more charming, and more vibrant. The Red Viper had not yet been ignited by the fires of vengeance; he was currently in his unburdened golden age. As for Doran, he was cautious enough, but his main issue was his lack of resources and room for maneuver. However, he treated others as chess pieces without considering that every piece had its own thoughts and could not all be as absolutely patient and rational as he was; this was the origin of many of Doran's tragedies.
"Brother, do you know that the old Lord of House Yronwood wants to give me a very valuable gift?" Oberyn suddenly whispered.
"A gift?" Doran was somewhat stunned, not understanding why his brother mentioned it.
"Yes, and it concerns you. His gift is very valuable, and I will repay the Lord." Oberyn said. Oberyn was not worried about Rhaegar knowing; Rhaegar was not as indiscreet as Prince Aerys. Oberyn felt a certain mutual appreciation with Rhaegar. Moreover, Rhaegar was the main line Red Dragon, the blood nobility. The Earl of Yronwood and Warden of the Stone Way had supported the bastard Black Dragons many times; that the Iron Throne hadn't wiped out House Yronwood was already giving them face, and Rhaegar would be more than happy to see House Yronwood wail.
Rhaegar looked at the old Lord of House Yronwood chatting in the distance. It seemed the old man was still plotting something sinister, most likely instigating The Red Viper to take action and seize the succession. House Yronwood could be considered one of the sources of chaos in Dorne. In another dimension, they had similarly instigated Doran's son. However, how Oberyn dealt with the old man was not Rhaegar's concern; perhaps he would die by poison.
Rhaegar then noticed Hotha opposite him, who remained silent and eternally loyal, showing no reaction to their conversation. He sharpened his sharp axe every day, as taught by the Bearded Monk. Daily, day after day.
"Then it is decided! Tomorrow, the duel between Hotha and Prince Rhaegar." Prince Doran agreed.
The next day at the Dornish tournament grounds, the crowd was thick, with Lords and knights watching together. Seated in the front were the leading figures of the Seven Kingdoms: Princess Elia and her eldest son Doran, the daughter-in-law from Norvos, Prince Aerys, Lord Tywin, Steffon, and Ser Mace.
Lord Mace was very excited; the people of The Reach were most fond of knightly culture, though he was truly a bit lackluster. The most famous knight of House Tyrell was still one of Mace's ancestors, Leo the Longthorn.
Closest to the tournament grounds were Oberyn and Arthur Dayne; they could not miss a wonderful match and wonderful swordsmanship, and they wanted to see if the Prince had truly reached that realm atop the high mountain.
Hotha had already sharpened his great axe and wrapped it in thick felt. After all, this was just a duel, and his opponent was of high status, so it was merely a sparring match.
Rhaegar had also swapped to a blunt sword, a thick, wide, and heavy one, and Rhaegar and Hotha saluted each other.
Areo Hotha walked toward Rhaegar, stepping into the sunlight with his long-handled axe in hand, the axe head wrapped tightly, resembling a warhammer.
A sharp glint flashed in Oberyn's eyes. In terms of physique and strength, Hotha had broad shoulders and naturally followed the path of strength. But what surprised Oberyn was the thick Longsword in Rhaegar's hand; with such weight, he would exhaust his strength before long. He had thought Rhaegar also followed the path of swiftness and agility, but now it seemed he also possessed astonishing divine strength, which was highly unreasonable.
Hotha gripped the axe with both hands, delivering a powerful, heavy hack—this was his specialty. Among those present were many knights and warriors who knew their stuff. Seeing this guard from Norvos strike, wild, fierce, and masculine, they realized he was indeed a first-class expert; House Martell was truly full of hidden talents.
Rhaegar swung his Longsword and met him.
Powerful forces collided, producing a violent clashing sound in the air. An inch longer, an inch stronger; the long axe's sweep was superior to the sword, and the Longsword was at a disadvantage in the fight! To everyone's surprise, Rhaegar still met it with ease, shocking the crowd.
As they traded blows, Hotha's expression grew increasingly grave. His long axe had always been invincible, but he had not expected the silver-haired Prince before him to be so troublesome. He knew Prince Rhaegar was a skilled fighter, but his realm far exceeded that of a mere skilled fighter; it did not seem like the limit of human power at all. The Bearded Monk's teaching methods were extremely harsh, and furthermore, those axes seemed to possess mysterious power; those who were branded with the axe mark at sixteen were, without exception, strong and powerful. Hotha was not a man who cared for fame or showing off, but he needed to polish his axe at all times to protect the Prince and his lady; this was the sincere way of the axe-slave soldiers.
Hotha's iron axe was infused with immense power, as if a mountain were collapsing; every axe stroke represented his year-after-year efforts and the harsh training he endured in Norvos. The axe was his wife, his everything.
Rhaegar remained as relaxed as a stroll in a garden. He was the King of Flame, forged by fire, destined to become the strongest Dragon King; the embers and runes of the past still danced in his blood. His blade was free and unrestrained, not bound by objects; it moved when it should, stopped when it should, dancing in an incredible way, appearing in mysterious and unfathomable ways. This was the inspiration brought by the Fire of Dawn. Flowing like clouds and water, moving as one wished—this was the true realm of swordsmanship.
More and more sweat appeared on Hotha's brow. The axe's power was immense, but it also consumed a great deal of strength. His arms began to ache; this burst of power could not last long. His opponent seemed not to be a mortal; Rhaegar's strength, agility, vigilance, and the natural variety of his moves made Hotha increasingly unable to parry. The Prince was a cat playing with a mouse, but he could not bear this sense of powerlessness.
"This axe, let's end it!" Hotha roared as he charged forward, the long axe like a beast devouring everything. Everyone was startled, as if they had returned to the time of the Trial of Seven, Prince Maekar's hammer blow that destroyed the kingdom.
But Prince Rhaegar still wore a smile as he unleashed his Longsword.
Oberyn, Arthur Dayne, and even Princess Elia held their breath, watching this volcanic eruption.
The two crossed positions, the long axe and the heavy sword colliding, emitting a piercing roar that even shattered the felt on the long axe. Blood flowed from Hotha's nose, and Hotha stumbled backward.
Rhaegar shifted his stance, and after exhausting the force on his sword, he turned quickly, the glint of his sword appearing at Hotha's throat.
"You are a flame!" Hotha looked at Rhaegar in terror, his axe striking the ground. He had never imagined being defeated so miserably, as if facing the scorching desert of Dorne, impossible to overcome. He remembered that day at sixteen when the Bearded Monk pressed the branding iron into the center of his chest, his hair scorched, the pain like a mountain-shaking tsunami—a time in his life he did not wish to recall. He had never forgotten that day, that raging fire, burning everything.
"I am a flame, and you are a sharp axe!" Rhaegar shook hands with Hotha. In terms of strength, Hotha was indeed a master, a first-class master, but Rhaegar possessed the flame, the True Dragon of awakening magic; this was the terrifying aspect of the forty Dragon Kings of the past—they exceeded mortals and began to step into the realm of low magic.
Even among first-class, there are gaps!
Rhaegar's innate talent was first-class, but in the original timeline, it could not be called peak. The reasons were diverse; first was passion. He never loved weapons like Robert or Jaime Lannister. What Rhaegar truly loved was perhaps the harp and books. Rhaegar took up arms more due to custom; Westeros was a land that valued martial virtue, and the Lords would rather admire a warrior than tolerate a weak scholar. Second was training time and intensity; Rhaegar learned to fight late, and his training intensity was hard to say, nor was he obsessed with the bloody games of group tournaments like Robert, for jousting was not war after all.
"Triumphant Prince!" "triumphant silver dragon!" Applause rang out in the arena, with the Dornish people offering applause and praise.
triumphant silver dragon—this title was not bad, Rhaegar thought. He and Hotha held hands and gestured to the crowd, his smile enough to melt all ice and snow, making young maidens yearn.
The expressions of Oberyn and Arthur Dayne changed. Could it be that there were truly mountains in the world that were insurmountable?
Hotha, with his thick black hair and brawny build, was undoubtedly a respectable opponent. The Norvos monks who trained them most likely held many secrets.
The duel between Rhaegar and Hotha reminded him of The Mountain. Hotha could be considered a mini version of The Mountain.
That seven-foot-tall, thick-skinned, and durable Mountain was a nightmare in close combat, but that was all. Flesh was, after all, flesh, while the True Dragon had already merged with the flame.
(Alias: triumphant silver dragon: People praise you as the triumphant one, the undefeated, and also call you the Silver Dragon.)