Corlys squinted at Rhaegar through drunken eyes and chuckled.
"Heh… how come you still haven't grown taller? I'll give you half a palm's advantage, otherwise people will say I'm bullying a child!"
"You said it!" Rhaegar replied instantly.
A bargain like that was not something to refuse.
Rhaegar might possess a near-endless stamina reserve, but his strength itself had no special enhancement. Until his body fully matured, there was no way to push his power far beyond normal limits. Once he finished growing, however, he fully intended to subject himself to brutal strength training, and only then would he see whether he could surpass ordinary men.
Corlys loosened his grip and shifted his hand, clasping Rhaegar's wrist instead.
The two locked eyes.
Muscles swelled along their arms.
"Begin!"
With the shout of a nearby spectator acting as referee, the contest began.
"Ahhh!"
Both men roared as they strained against each other, faces turning red with effort.
The first burst of strength ended in a stalemate.
Neither could overpower the other.
Now it would come down to endurance.
"Push! Push harder!" the crowd shouted excitedly.
Neither Corlys nor Rhaegar was the sort to yield easily. The struggle remained deadlocked.
Almost simultaneously, both men reached out with their free hands and grabbed the edge of the table.
"Hah!- Ha!"
With a point of leverage, they could exert themselves more easily. Their toes dug into the floorboards, veins bulging along their necks as their entire bodies flushed crimson.
"Push! Push!"
"Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!" Corlys grimaced, his tongue unconsciously rolling around inside his mouth.
"Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!" Rhaegar's features twisted together as the air trapped in his lungs forced its way up his throat.
Gradually, Corlys's stamina began to drain.
But as long as Rhaegar's endurance held, his strength would remain at peak output.
Slowly-
one arm began to descend.
With a final shove, it slammed against the tabletop.
The makeshift referee leapt to his feet and shouted:
"Victory goes to Rhaegar the hard rod!"
"I won!"
Rhaegar jumped up, throwing both arms into the air in celebration.
"Hahaha-!"
But as he laughed, the alcohol surged violently through his system.
The arm-wrestling match had drained his body, and standing up too quickly sent his stomach into turmoil.
"Blaaaaargh-!"
The cheering crowd instantly fell silent.
Still seated, Corlys remained in the exact same position, rubbing his wrist.
His silver hair and sea-green clothing were now splattered with yellow-green stains and reddish bits- vegetables, wine, and small chunks of meat that had just erupted from Rhaegar's stomach.
Corlys slowly raised his head and stared at Rhaegar.
He didn't dare open his mouth.
If he did, the mess dripping from his hair would run straight inside.
Rhaegar sobered a little.
Spreading his hands, he forced an awkward grin.
"Heh… that was absolutely an accident!"
From the high table, Alyssa suddenly stood up and waved her fist.
"Corlys! Beat Rhaegar senseless for me!"
"Ahhh!"
Fueled by both alcohol and rage, Corlys wiped his face violently and roared.
His fist shot forward and smashed into Rhaegar's eye.
"Hey! You dare hit me?!"
Rhaegar clutched his eye, then leapt forward with a flying kick aimed at Corlys's stomach.
But the alcohol had drained his strength.
Instead of sending Corlys flying as he imagined, Rhaegar slipped on the vomit beneath his feet and crashed onto the floor.
Corlys staggered a few steps but regained his balance.
He rushed forward, jumped on top of Rhaegar, and raised his fist-
Then suddenly his expression changed.
His throat convulsed.
His mouth opened.
"Blaaaaargh-!"
"Run!"
The spectators scattered instantly.
Across the hall, the dancers continued sweating on the floor.
The musicians kept playing.
Conversations carried on from one end of the hall to the other.
No one rushed over to cheer them on.
No one tried to break up the fight.
No one offered help.
Everyone simply kept their distance, watching with disgust as Rhaegar and Corlys rolled around in a puddle of vomit, grappling, wrestling, and occasionally throwing up on each other.
*
Three Days Later — Dragonstone
Three days after the betrothal feast ended, the guests' ships had gradually departed.
Only a few small fishing boats remained in the harbor of Dragonstone.
Jocelyn had returned to Storm's End with Boremund.
A noblewoman's marriage involved countless formalities. For someone destined to become a future queen, the preparations were even more elaborate. She would need to select many maidens from among the Stormlands nobility to serve as attendants, and new gowns, dresses, jewelry, and other dowry items all had to be commissioned.
Rhaegar and Corlys's drunken brawl had caused no lasting resentment.
After sobering up, the two even arranged a rematch, this time with real weapons on the training ground.
Dark clouds covered the sky, blocking the sunlight.
On Dragonstone, that was considered good weather. The rain that would soon follow would bring precious fresh water, the island's most vital resource.
Dozens of Dragonkeepers, dressed in gray hemp robes and carrying long wooden staffs, marched in two rows from the castle.
They escorted the king down toward the small fishing village by the shore.
Following the ceremonial procession arranged by the Dragonkeepers, the king descended the long staircase.
Behind him walked Aemon, Baelon, and Rhaegar, along with two Kingsguard.
King Jaehaerys wore the traditional black attire favored by House Targaryen. Over it he had donned an ornate silver suit of armor decorated with golden dragons spreading their wings.
A black cloak trimmed with red embroidery and bearing the three-headed dragon sigil flowed behind him.
In his hand he carried a golden crown set with seven differently colored gemstones.
At his waist hung Dark Sister.
His short hair had been combed neatly upward, and his beard carefully trimmed by serving girls.
As Rhaegar and the others followed behind him, they caught a faint fragrance in the air—perfume imported from Volantis.
Rhaegar still had a dark bruise around his right eye.
He couldn't understand why Jaehaerys had summoned him along while he was still sporting a black eye.
And judging from the king's elaborate attire, was he attending a wedding feast or something?
Soon they arrived at the entrance of the village.
Sure enough, a native family of Dragonstone was holding a wedding.
Jaehaerys stopped and spoke to Aemon.
"Every native wedding invites us to attend. Aemon, after you are married, this responsibility will pass to you."
"They're all families of the Dragonkeepers," Aemon replied. "It's only right that House Targaryen looks after them."
He had not yet grasped his father's true meaning.
The bride and groom were already waiting outside their home to greet the king.
Dragonstone's native inhabitants lived simple, ancient lives. They paid little attention to luxury or personal care. Though the newlyweds were only in their early twenties, they looked closer to forty.
"By custom," Jaehaerys continued calmly, "a Targaryen man who attends the wedding must spend the night in the bride's home."
Rhaegar immediately understood.
The king hadn't come merely to congratulate them.
Tonight, he intended to exercise the right of the first night.
Rhaegar felt a surge of contempt.
Jaehaerys himself had once decreed the abolition of this practice throughout the realm—yet here on Dragonstone he was maintaining a double standard.
Not only that, he even expected Aemon to inherit this "tradition" after his marriage.
Perhaps Queen Alysanne had nearly exhausted the old man these past years. Or perhaps he simply disliked the appearance of the island's women and was eager to pass the duty on to Aemon.
Old white-haired hypocrite, Rhaegar thought with silent disdain.
Baelon, only half understanding, asked bluntly:
"Isn't that just the lord's right of the first night?"
Jaehaerys answered patiently.
"For the brides of this island, offering their maidenhood to a Targaryen is considered a blessing from the gods. And if it results in a child of dragon's blood, it is the highest honor imaginable."
"But… wasn't the practice abolished long ago?" Aemon asked, stunned. "Does Mother agree with this?"
Across Westeros, the custom had existed for centuries.
Only male nobles benefited from it, of course.
Commoners rarely welcomed the idea of sharing their wives with their lords, and many women were equally unwilling. Some couples even married secretly to avoid the practice.
At Queen Alysanne's urging, Jaehaerys had issued a law abolishing the custom in 58 AC.
Aemon had been only three years old at the time. But as he grew older, he learned that abolishing the right of the first night was one of the reasons the queen was so beloved by the people of the Seven Kingdoms.
Jaehaerys lifted the red cloak behind him.
"These clothes… this armor… this cloak… even the perfume-"
He smiled faintly.
"-were all prepared for me by Alysanne."
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