The surface of the Wall was split into two by light and shadow. Sunlight reflected a brilliant halo from the upper part, as crystal clear as a glacier, while the lower half was shrouded in a mist of distinct layers.
Amid the gradually thinning morning mist, the sound of clashing blades suddenly echoed across the square.
Clang!The longsword slipped from Grenn's hand and crashed into the trampled mud. Clutching his wrist, he cried out in pain, "Ah! I lost. Your Majesty, you're so strong!"
"Hmph, if you had been fighting with a real, unsealed sword, your head would've been split in two by now," Aliser loudly mocked the burly Night's Watchman. "What a dumb ox — after ten rounds against Her Majesty, you got hit on the head twice, your shoulder once, your chest and stomach stabbed once, and now your wrist is 'broken.'"
A puff of white breath escaped from behind Dany's black iron helm as she commented, "Grenn, your strength is greater than mine, greater than Jon's too, but your coordination and agility are lacking. Against a skilled swordsman, you're finished."
"I was even worse two years ago," Grenn said gloomily. "I trained hard and made slow progress at first, but over the past six months, I feel like I just can't improve anymore."
"You're using the wrong weapon," Dany said, lifting her visor and exhaling a long breath of white mist. She stuck her longsword into the ground, resting her left hand on the hilt, and pointed with her right hand toward the weapon rack at a warhammer. "You should be learning hammer techniques — wear full armor, have companions guarding your flanks and rear, and swing that hammer with all your strength.
You might not become invincible like Robert, but you'll at least be much better off than now, where you can barely drag someone down with you."
"I might give it a try," said Ser Alliser, once the master-at-arms of Castle Black, looking thoughtful.
"Alright, next. Who's up?" Dany lowered her visor again and raised her sword, addressing the Night's Watch brothers.
"Me! It's my turn to spar with Her Majesty!" an old man raised his hand excitedly.
Seeing that he was hunched, with graying beard and sagging skin, Dany couldn't help but ask suspiciously, "Old man, are you sure you can handle it? Don't blame me if I break your bones with one strike."
"Your Majesty, don't look down on me," the old man chuckled, twirling his sword deftly. "I'm one of the finest rangers of the Watch! But what about you? You've already fought four Night's Watchmen. Aren't you tired?"
"Have you heard of the concept of 'lifting something heavy as if it were light'?" Dany asked.
Though she hadn't completely mastered it yet, her endurance had improved by at least half compared to before.
The old man's smile faded, his eyes flashing with surprise and suspicion. "I didn't expect it. Truly didn't expect Her Majesty's swordsmanship to be so advanced. Looks like this old man will have to get serious."
As he spoke, he lunged straight at Dany's chest with astonishing speed that belied his aged appearance.
Dany was slightly surprised but swiftly sidestepped the thrust, twisting her body while channeling power into her sword, then slashed rapidly at the old man's waist and abdomen.
Clang!The clash of metal rang out, louder than the murmurs from the sidelines.
The old man moved nimbly, his eyes sharp. He halted his left step mid-movement, spun lightly on his foot, dropped his stance, and caught Dany's powerful slash by gripping his sword in reverse with one hand and steadying it with the other at mid-blade.
Dany's blow was solidly blocked, sending a jolt through her arm that left her right hand numb, nearly losing her grip on her sword.Noticing her predicament, the old man immediately stepped forward, lifting his sword in a wide arc to strike down at her head.
The blow came like a thunderbolt!
"Ahh!" Jon, Ser Alliser, Maester Aemon, and the others gasped in alarm.
"Ulmer is still going strong with age. His swordsmanship has only grown sharper," Barristan Selmy thought to himself, astonished.
"Haah!"Just as everyone thought Dany was about to be struck, she gave a sharp shout, bending her waist backward like a flexible willow. Her iron boot precisely kicked the old man's descending right hand.
Bang!Thud!Whoosh!
The longsword was kicked over ten meters into the air, finally plunging into the muddy ground, burying itself a finger deep.
Even before the sword landed, Dany herself had crashed into the mud, sending clumps of it flying everywhere.
Yet she didn't cry out or stop moving. Like a nimble little pig, she quickly rolled half a circle through the muck, as if dodging invisible arrows.
In the blink of an eye, she went from lying flat to pouncing forward. She tackled the stunned old man to the ground. The weight of her armor crashed down with a crack, dislocating his right arm.
"Awooo!"The old man howled in pain.
Dany's mud-covered iron glove still gripped her sword tightly, the blade pressing against the old man's throat. Breathing heavily, white mist pouring from her lips, she growled, "Surrender or not?"
Clang!The longsword, kicked into the sky earlier, finally fell.
"I surrender, I surrender!" the old man cried out.
"This... this isn't a sparring session!" the one-armed blacksmith muttered in shock. "She... she must have fought in countless battles. No, she's only sixteen. It's impossible she's so battle-hardened. This must be pure talent — perfect battlefield instinct, exactly like Robert's."
"What's going on? Why was Her Majesty so aggressive?" Tod looked around, confused.
"That was a conditioned reflex," said Ser Melisandre of Shadow Tower, his face grave.
Pomegranate Marcy nodded. "After she fell, Ulmer should have either pounced on her or thrown a dagger with his left hand. Even though Ulmer did nothing, she instinctively rolled to avoid it. What terrifying battle instincts!"
Barristan Selmy said proudly, "Her Majesty had barely touched a sword before the age of fifteen. But with her natural talent and a year of grueling training under me, she's achieved what most knights can't reach in a lifetime."
"What? Only a little over a year of training?" Ser Melisandre exclaimed in disbelief. "That's unnatural! We all started training at the age of five, and even Prince Rhaegar, who was extraordinarily gifted, only started at twelve and needed four years before he showed decent skill."
Barristan gave a bitter smile and asked, "For the past fourteen years, she barely had enough to eat, wandering from place to place with Prince Viserys. Who could have possibly taught her martial arts or swordsmanship?"
"Uh..." Everyone fell into a complicated, uneasy silence.
"She now has strength, speed, and skill. In a few more years, Her Majesty might even make a name for herself at a tournament," Maester Aemon said warmly. "Perhaps she could compete under the identity of a mystery knight."
Perestan glanced at him woodenly and said oddly, "No need to wait a few years. Her Majesty has already become the first female knight in Westeros' history to win a tournament championship."
"Seven above!"
The Red Pomegranate steward cried out in shock. "When did that happen?"
The red-nosed old man said, "Just a few days ago, in Oldtown. To recruit free riders to fight off pirate attacks, House Hightower and House Tyrell jointly held the 'Mead River Tournament.'
Her Majesty entered under the alias 'Laela Waters,' with Ser Barristan acting as her knightly squire. When they arrived in Oldtown, they stumbled upon the event, and she signed up as a mystery knight."
"Laela Waters," Maester Aemon mused thoughtfully, "Her mother was named 'Rhaella.' 'Waters' is the surname for royal bastards born in the Crownlands."
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"Did anyone recognize her?" Master Donnel asked curiously. "She looks quite like both Queen Rhaella and Lady Rhaelle. Even an old man like me would notice something odd."
"She dyed her hair black and changed her brows and demeanor," the old maester shook his head. "She defeated 'Gallant' Garlan, Laughing Baelor, and Dickon of Horn Hill one after another — a championship well-earned.
When she won the Crown of Love and Beauty, she took off her helm right there and crowned herself with a golden rose, haha. Thousands of people were present, myself included, and none of us had ever been more shocked — yet no one suspected her true identity."
"There's even a Crown of Love and Beauty? Gods, what a legendary experience. The people of Oldtown will never forget that sight," Maester Aemon said dreamily, longing deeply to have witnessed a Targaryen descendant dazzling in the tourney grounds.
"Indeed," said the red-nosed old man sourly. "Once the news spreads, the whole world will know the true identity of 'Laela who crowned herself.' Every tavern in every town will have bards singing her story every day."
Jon listened with both envy and admiration. He had grown up on Old Nan's stories — of "Foolish" Florian and Jonquil, Nymeria, "Clever" Lann, "Brandon the Builder," "Simeon Star-Eyes," and "Bael the Bard."There was no doubt that before long, Queen Daenerys, who had claimed the crown for herself, would become one of those legendary heroes.
It was the dream he once shared with Robb, Bran, and even that chameleon Theon when they listened to Old Nan's tales — to become a legendary hero themselves.
Heroes always seemed distant, but he had truly once dreamed of making his name at a tournament.
He even used to imagine that, after winning the Crown of Love and Beauty, he would give it to his "little sister" — (Jon's personal name for Arya) — perhaps then his father would look upon him more kindly. Maybe Lady Catelyn wouldn't speak so coldly to him anymore, wouldn't drive him away in tears before all the others.
But in the end, it was only a dream. He became a man of the Night's Watch, forever barred from entering tournaments, while Robb, Theon, and Bran...
"Perestan, Perestan," came the Queen's distant call.
"I'm here," the red-nosed old man stretched his neck from the stone steps above and asked doubtfully, "What is it, Your Majesty?"
"Can't you see? Get down here and treat this old man's injuries!"
"Ah? Oh, I'm coming!"The old man froze for a moment, finally remembering that he had become part of the Night's Watch now.
"Old man, your swordsmanship is impressive. If it weren't for your age slowing you down, I wouldn't have been able to beat you," Daenerys said as she wiped the mud from her body, speaking to the hunchbacked old man groaning on the ground.
"Ulmar was actually better with a bow," Barristan said, approaching with a half-filled wooden bucket, helping Daenerys clean the mud off her armor himself.
"Didn't think you, 'White Raven,' would still remember me," the hunchbacked old man grunted, glancing at the white knight.
"And I didn't expect you, old bandit, to still be alive and not taken by the Stranger," Barristan shot back bluntly.
"You two know each other?" Daenerys asked with interest.
Barristan paused in his movements for a moment, then said in a complicated tone, "Ulmar once shot an arrow through Ser Garth the White Bull's hand. He was a bandit of the King's Landing Brotherhood, somewhat similar to the Brotherhood Without Banners of the Riverlands.
Decades have passed in a flash, and none of our old companions remain."
"Your Majesty, I'd much rather you remember me for stealing a kiss from a Dornish princess," the old man lying on the stretcher said with a grin, winking at Daenerys as he received a maester's examination.
"Woooo—"
"Woooo—"
As they spoke, a long, resonant horn blast echoed from the Wall.
"Two blasts. Wildlings are coming."
(End of Chapter)
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