To honor Queen Alyssa Velaryon, the king had the girl named after her grandmother. The late Queen Alyssa had also been Boremund's mother, a woman who, through her blood alone, had bound the houses of Targaryen, Velaryon, and Baratheon tightly together.
"I've turned into a living target!" Rhaegar grumbled in frustration.
Watching the sparring match were the king himself, seven Kingsguard, officers and soldiers from the Dragonstone garrison, and a gathering of nobles from the Stormlands. Forced to stand there and take the blows, Rhaegar felt that if he had to "hold back," he might as well do it in the most dramatic way possible.
"Careful, Alyssa! Someone holding a shield can strike back too!"
Rhaegar shoved her sword aside with his shield and sprang backward, his eyes already fixed on the wooden training dummy behind her.
He bent his knees and leapt high into the air. His body straightened as he spun sideways in midair. Using the momentum of the twist, Rhaegar hurled the round shield from his arm.
With a loud whirr, it shot toward the training post.
The shield skimmed past Alyssa's head.
Startled by the unconventional move, she froze, sword still raised, momentarily unsure how to attack next.
The shield slammed into the wooden post and ricocheted upward, spinning wildly. Rhaegar knew the training shield lacked proper bounce, so the moment he threw it, he was already sprinting toward the post.
He judged the landing point precisely.
Just before the shield hit the ground, he leapt again and snatched it out of the air.
"Ha!"
With the shield strapped to his right arm, he smashed it hard against the ground, dropping to one knee with a fierce shout, a perfect hero's landing.
Rhaegar was quite certain every move he had just performed deserved full marks.
"Whoa!"
A chorus of astonishment rose from the spectators.
Rhaegar was equally certain they had all been stunned by how impressive he looked.
Boremund burst out laughing.
"Haha! Look at that! Rhaegar's copying the way I throw weapons!"
"So what if I am?" Rhaegar shot back cheerfully. "Compared to your bull-headed hammer tossing, my technique is a hundred times cooler!"
Grinning broadly, Rhaegar leapt once more, spinning his body sideways before whipping the shield in a wide arc and hurling it straight at Alyssa.
"Ah!" Alyssa screamed when she saw the shield flying toward her.
"Ooooh!" the crowd roared excitedly.
Rhaegar had never imagined Alyssa would try to catch the shield with her face.
The shield struck her square in the nose.
Blood sprayed instantly as she toppled backward like a felled plank.
The light wooden training shield bounced aside. Fortunately, the practice yard was dirt rather than stone, so Alyssa's head didn't strike anything hard when she fell.
People rushed toward her at once. Being closest, Rhaegar reached her first, lifting her into his arms. He tore off part of his clothing to wipe the blood from her face while shouting:
"Fetch a maester! Quickly!"
The girl proved sturdier than expected. Alyssa regained consciousness before long.
Cradling her head, Rhaegar asked anxiously, "Why didn't you dodge?"
Alyssa didn't cry, but a blow to the nose brings tears whether one wants them or not. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shouted back at him with absolute certainty:
"I did shout!"
"You think shouting is how you dodge a shield?" Rhaegar decided it was safer not to argue further.
Her nasal bridge had been broken. Her entire nose had swollen grotesquely, blood smeared across her lips.
In an age of cold steel, bumps and bruises were common on training grounds. Most of the men present had been injured during their own childhood training; it was hardly a serious matter.
But Alyssa was a girl.
She had never been particularly pretty to begin with.
Now that her nose had been broken, her face was likely ruined for good.
The maester soon arrived. Together with the queen, he carried Alyssa back into the castle for treatment.
The onlookers now turned their attention to Rhaegar and King Jaehaerys.
Would the king punish him?
After all, everyone present had heard Jaehaerys shout earlier for Rhaegar to "give it his all." Had Rhaegar merely followed the king's command a little too faithfully?
"Well done! That's the spirit!"
Jaehaerys laughed and clapped Rhaegar on the shoulder before hurrying into the castle to check on Alyssa.
From the king's tone and expression, Rhaegar was quite certain the praise was nothing more than good-natured mockery for striking a girl.
Applause erupted.
Clearly the king of the Seven Kingdoms was wise and fair, rewarding merit and holding no grudges. Even after the incident, he praised Rhaegar. The watching nobles felt reassured that the realm was ruled by such a magnanimous monarch.
Soon they were discussing the shield-throwing technique Rhaegar had just displayed. One man even picked up the fallen shield from the ground and began examining it closely.
Baelon rubbed his forehead and said to Rhaegar, "You really took Father's words seriously, didn't you?"
Rhaegar looked thoroughly ashamed.
"I truly didn't mean to do it! The king probably won't allow me to visit her right now. Could you help me apologize to Alyssa?"
"Why not teach me that shield-throwing trick?" Boremund came over as well, wrapping a powerful arm around Rhaegar's neck as if he were still a child.
He knew full well that if he didn't bully Rhaegar while he still could, once the boy grew taller he'd never get another chance.
*
Dragonstone — Great Hall
The feast had already begun.
The betrothal ceremony between Prince Aemon and Jocelyn had been conducted according to the traditions of the Old Valyrian Empire. Because of this, the king had invited only a single septon of the Faith of the Seven to serve as witness. The guests were limited to a handful of close retainers.
The grand wedding itself would not take place until the couple reached sixteen years of age, when it would be held in the Red Keep.
Among those invited to attend the ceremony were three houses: House Celtigar of Claw Isle, House Velaryon of Driftmark, and House Baratheon of Storm's End.
All three families possessed Valyrian blood, and thus felt no discomfort with a betrothal conducted in ancient Valyrian fashion despite their adherence to the Faith of the Seven.
The hall, built from black obsidian, glowed beneath countless candle stands. Musicians played lively melodies while more than a dozen long banquet tables overflowed with food and wine.
On the raised dais stood the king's table, placed crosswise above the others.
King Jaehaerys sat at the center. At his sides were Queen Alysanne and Queen Dowager Rhaena.
Clad in black royal garments, the three Targaryens raised their cups again and again, exchanging greetings and congratulations with the guests.
Beside them sat the betrothed couple, Aemon and Jocelyn, along with Baelon, Alyssa, and their three younger siblings.
Alyssa wore a veil across her face to hide her swollen nose.
When she noticed Rhaegar watching her, she made a slicing gesture across her throat with her fingers, like cutting a sausage.
"Gods… what have I done?" Rhaegar muttered miserably, his legs tightening involuntarily. How had he managed to provoke Alyssa of all people?
After the flying-shield incident earlier that afternoon, Rhaegar had immediately asked Baelon about Alyssa's temperament.
She loved riding horses, climbing trees, fighting, and swearing like a sailor.
"Rough" seemed the most fitting word for her.
The only question was whether she held grudges.
Seats closer to the royal table signified higher rank.
Boremund occupied the seat of honor at the nearest table to the king, surrounded by the nobles he had brought from the Stormlands.
Each house had arrived with far more than a handful of attendants. A duke of Storm's End traveled with an entire retinue—castle officials with noble titles, knights, and retainers.
More than a hundred people had managed to fit inside the dining hall alone.
Down at the harbor, countless soldiers, squires, and sailors waited outside the castle walls, lacking the rank to enter.
Beside the golden crowned stag banner hung another flag: a white field covered in red crabs, the banner of House Celtigar of Claw Isle.
At the head of another table sat the young Lord Bartimos Celtigar.
He had inherited the title as a second son after most of his family had died in the plague brought by Rhaegar.
His father, Lord Edwell Celtigar, had become the first named noble lord in the Seven Kingdoms to die of the disease.
Bartimos had brought only a small retinue with him. All the members of his house had brown hair.
Though House Celtigar had once been ancient Valyrian nobility, their bloodline had long since thinned. They had lost the privilege of marrying into the royal family's most important branches.
Rhaegar's seat lay near the great doors, the furthest possible place from the king.
The knights seated around him were men of little family standing.
The nobility of Westeros observed strict hierarchy.
At formal banquets, bastards were not even permitted inside the hall.
Rhaegar was a bastard openly acknowledged by the royal family. At private family gatherings he could sit at the royal table, but at occasions like this, even being allowed inside the hall was only thanks to Rhaena's favor.
Rhaegar was no fool.
Unable to sit at the high table and relegated to the far end of the hall, he swallowed his frustration the only way he could-
by venting it mercilessly upon the food before him.
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