"Since it's an invitation from the Sealord's son, I naturally can't refuse. However, this gift of yours is indeed a bit too valuable," Rhaegar said.
The large purple sailboat, crafted from gold and adorned with jewels and pearls, was exquisitely made, and anyone could tell it was a beloved possession of Young Master Fergo. Braavos rose to prominence through its purple dye, made from sea snails, and its seafaring prowess.
Rhaegar wouldn't normally be cautious with a common Sealord's son, but Fergo's family held great power in Braavos. The Antaryon family and the Freyga family were not new families chosen as Sealords after many years of burning incense; they were old royal families. And Fergo himself would one day become the Sealord of Braavos.
"It's no matter; even if I lose to the Prince, I'll do so willingly. However, I am a few years older than the Prince, so if I happen to win, Prince Rhaegar, please don't say I'm bullying the younger," Fergo laughed heartily.
"How can a duel between the Sealord of Braavos's son and the Dragonlord family's Silver Prince not have a wager?" Duke Tyrell, accompanied by his son Mace, also came over, ordering a three-foot golden cup to be brought up.
Ser Mace looked quite valiant and handsome, with dark green velvet paired with a golden rose, but Rhaegar always felt he was a bit empty-headed and posed no threat in terms of combat power.
Duke Tyrell's golden cup, three feet tall, was cast with eight facets, each adorned with countless jewels, and two intricately decorated handles.
"The eight facets represent the eight great kingdoms that submitted to His Majesty Jaehaerys," Duke Tyrell explained to everyone. The cup displayed the crests of the eight great families of the kingdoms: a ruby lion, an emerald rose, an onyx Stag, a silver trout, a sapphire falcon, an opal sun, a pearl direwolf, and a yellow jade kraken.
"I shall drink from this cup with Young Master Fergo first, otherwise, if I lose, I won't get to see such a beautiful golden cup and sailboat," Rhaegar praised, noting that the Tyrell family was indeed wealthy. However, if he truly lost the golden cup, Rhaegar would be heartbroken. My money.
Everyone else laughed heartily, placing their own small wagers on the upcoming duel. The Lords of King's Landing naturally bet on Prince Rhaegar to win. But in the Free Cities, there were many more choices.
The Braavosi delegation in King's Landing and the vassal states of the Secret City were not to be outdone, placing their bets on Fergo. Would the most excellent son of the esteemed Sealord of Braavos lose? They wagered gold, jewels, jade pendants, and even Braavosi purple brocade.
The beautiful girl with blue-green hair from Tyrosh smiled at Rhaegar, placing a Tyroshi gold statue on Rhaegar's side, completely disregarding the anger in her brother's eyes as the siblings each chose a side. Rhaegar once again marveled at her wealth and generosity, and the girl's figure was truly good.
Roberta placed a beautiful golden crowned doe in front of Rhaegar, then said to Robert, "Where's your golden Stag? Bring it out too."
Robert Baratheon reluctantly took out a golden crowned Stag from his Huai, handing it to his sister.
King Jaehaerys personally poured golden wine into the golden cup, then bestowed ruby cups upon the two.
Rhaegar and Fergo drank a toast, then walked onto the dueling grounds.
The knightly tournament had paused, and everyone was excited.
Whether it was the people on the viewing stands or the common folk of King's Landing, everyone was filled with excitement, anticipation, and joy. Even the knights whose matches were paused found good vantage points; such an opportunity was rare.
This was an unparalleled duel of the era, presented by two noble young masters performing a dance of swords. What could be more spectacular?
The people of King's Landing knew of Braavos's wealth, power, formidable nature, and arrogance. They yearned to humble the Braavosi's pride.
The master of ceremonies excitedly shouted, "Next, Prince Rhaegar, the Silver Prince of the esteemed Targaryen Family, and Young Master Fergo, the son of the equally esteemed Sealord of Braavos, will present a splendid sword fighting duel!"
The two dismounted to fight. Braavos was a maritime power, and its culture was at odds with the knightly culture of Westeros. The swordsmen stood on level ground, facing each other.
Rhaegar and Fergo held silver blunt swords with metal dots at their tips. The blades and tips were deeply stained with red dye, leaving marks only when forcefully thrust or struck against a body.
The only difference was that Fergo's blade was thinner, like a Braavosi Water Dancer's sword, while Rhaegar's blade was a bit wider and required more effort.
The two didn't engage in any fancy moves; sword light began to flash.
Chop, thrust, poke, slash—Fergo's swordsmanship was indeed exquisite. This man was more profound than Rhaegar had imagined. His swordsmanship blended the strengths of many schools, combining flexibility, ruthlessness, and ferocity.
The Sealord's son, like Rhaegar, came from one of the most powerful families on the two continents. The Sealord's children were born into luxury and wealth, so it was rare to find one who endured such hardship. The Sealord's family also raised a group of prodigal sons. Rhaegar still remembered how his ancestor Prince Daemon had personally killed a deceased Sealord's prodigal son to contend for Laena Velaryon, the Sea Snake's daughter.
"You're much stronger than I imagined!" Rhaegar said.
"You too, Prince," Fergo retorted, not showing weakness, but inwardly surprised and astonished. His sword style was not simply the Water Dance. Fergo had been tutored by many masters and was confident enough to be unmatched in Braavos. But this young prince before him could be considered a formidable opponent in his lifetime.
Water Dancers were ubiquitous in Braavos, but the Sealord's son had every means to hire various instructors: the Chief Swordsman of Braavos, exiled Westerosi knights, Lysene poisoners, Myrish assassins, and even the nomadic Khals of the Great Grass Sea.
Fergo's sword light began to accelerate, like a crimson viper baring its fangs. Exquisite sword moves emerged endlessly; his sword was fast and venomous, striking directly at Rhaegar's vital points.
Rhaegar had no strength to wipe away the sweat, his silver hair gleaming. Rhaegar raised his broadsword, first parrying the vital attacks, then counterattacking again.
The two swordsmen transformed into two black flames, silver sword light raining down like pitter-patter. Their sword moves were indistinguishable; only countless silver lights dancing wildly could be seen.
The Sealord and the Dragonlord danced together, a song of sea and fire.
"Go, Prince Rhaegar!" Shireen from Tyrosh shouted. The black-haired girl was just a little lass, nothing to worry about.
"Go, Rhaegar!" Roberta shouted. The two roses exchanged glances, neither acknowledging the other.
"Good!" The applause from the crowd erupted like a tidal wave. The swordplay of the two young men was truly outstanding.
"What a thrill!" Rhaegar fought with increasing vigor, having never encountered such a strong opponent. Fergo, having sought out renowned masters, possessed exceptional and versatile swordsmanship.
As the two continued to entangle for a longer and longer time, with victory remaining elusive, an uneasy expression began to appear on the faces of Fergo's guards.
Rhaegar felt the fire within him burning fiercely. He possessed the keenness of an eagle, having dodged Fergo's several vicious attacks. Then, Rhaegar's sword light grew faster and fiercer, as if countless heavy hammers were simultaneously falling on the blade.
Fergo slowly found himself unable to parry. How could his opponent be somewhat inhuman? The human body has its limits, it's impossible to entangle for such a long time; fierce, brutal fights are often over in an instant.
Fergo's face gradually began to turn pale, his expression twitching slightly.
Fergo thrust his longsword at an incredible angle, sweeping upwards, aiming directly for Rhaegar's abdomen.
Rhaegar used the force to generate his own, as Fergo's longsword came in, his own longsword went up.
The blades simultaneously left red marks on both of them.
"I lost!" Fergo said bitterly. He had been defeated by a boy several years his junior, and even if the boy was exceptional, it was still unacceptable.
Rhaegar's blade was at his throat, while Fergo's longsword, deflected by gravity, only grazed Rhaegar's abdomen. If this were a battlefield, he would already be dead.
Rhaegar looked at Fergo's pale face. He likely had internal injuries that would manifest under extreme pressure. He wondered if it was congenital or developed from long-term overexertion.
"Prince Rhaegar wins!" the ceremonial officer excitedly ran over and shouted, as horns and trumpets began to sound.
Rhaegar and Fergo dropped their longswords. Rhaegar clasped Fergo's hand, and the two first bowed together to the audience, then embraced warmly.
"Long live the iron throne! Long live the Sealord!"
"Long live Braavos! Long live Westeros!"
"Long live Prince Rhaegar! Long live Young Master Fergo!"
The scene instantly reached its climax, with laughter, applause, and cheers converging.
Everyone thanked the two golden youths for their splendid dance in the Dragonpit. They were so excellent, so perfect. The crowd was also immersed in the brief friendship between Braavos and the iron throne of King's Landing.
As they returned to the ceremonial platform, Fergo suddenly whispered to Rhaegar, "Prince Rhaegar, you know, luck doesn't always favor you. If you ever fail in the future, or encounter misfortune one day, you can come to Braavos and seek refuge with me. I can protect you from death."
"The esteemed Prince of the Titan, the same goes for you," Rhaegar said, looking at Fergo's black eyes and black attire, a sense of apprehension involuntarily rising within him.
The sea and fire, perhaps, would eventually clash.
Crown Prince Aerys beamed with joy. Although he hadn't made the Titan kneel, his son had defeated the Sealord's son. Roughly speaking, he had won big.