King's Landing
The Red Keep

The day after the King and his brothers had all returned to the city, the sky was overcast, the air had a slight chill. Autumn was in full swing, and winter fast approached. Despite this, the castle was lively. Gold cloaks and Targaryen men-at-arms and servants in black and gold armor and livery were about their business. In one of the keep's many courtyards, the Sapphire Prince was at his daily practice. A number of young knights, lordlings, and squires stood by and watched as Aemond, in a black and gold leather jerkin with minimal training pads over it, sparred with a youth around his age bearing the Serrett colors.

 A number of the young maids of the court watched nearby from comfortable chairs and refreshment nearby, most of them making doe eyes at the group of young, handsome men and more than a few of those looks reserved for Aemond as he fought his opponent. 

The young Serrett fought admirably, but was clearly getting the worst of it. Aemond dodged and parried every swipe of the man's blade while he himself pressed the attack and kept the knight on the defensive. After several moments of this, Aemond caught Serrett's overhand cut, swiped to the right, and cut the sword from his hands. Serrett raised his hand in admission of defeat and Aemond sheathed his sword, grinning arrogantly as the watching knights all voiced their admiration. 

Aemond called out, and a squire came bearing water. The Prince took a healthy swig and addressed the group, "You ought to be quicker on your feet Gerold. Any slower and I'd have mistook you for an aurochs." The men all chuckled at that at Gerold took it with grace, as expected. Aemond continued, "No more challengers for now, I'm expecting my brother any moment now. We can wait for him in good company. If he even shows up." 

They all laughed at that and Aemond stripped off the pads, walking over to the relaxing maidens and striking up conversation with his coterie of lordlings all around. 

Daeron had ample time all to himself since his talk with Aegon, and he spent much of it with Tessarion. Nothing was better to calm him down than to soar through the skies atop of his dragon. There would be a day in which he would meet his betrothed, and he hoped that he wouldn't become flustered infront of her. There were times in which he wished that he could become as comfortable with women as Aemond was, though at all other times, he was glad that he wasn't [i]that[/i] comfortable with them. Daeron liked to believe that he had a great level of respect for women, and could never imagine himself ever utilizing a brothel for his own personal pleasure. Aemond on the other hand... that seemed to go without saying.

He had other business in King's Landing other than brooding over his own love life. On the day in which Daeron would become a knight, his father had the best armorer in King's Landing prepare a custom set of armor to give him once he had been given the honor. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Daeron had learned of it by eavesdropping mere days before he had been sent off to serve Lord Ormund Hightower in Oldtown. Now, Daeron assumed that most of the work on it had to be completed on it, besides the exact measurements of his body so that it could be fitted properly. He knew that he'd likely have need of that armor much sooner than anticipated, and went to the Street of Steel as soon as he was finished brooding over his soon-to-be Dornish love.

The shop had been the largest building on the street, with two stone knights in exquisite plate armor guarding the entrance. His father had clearly spared no expense when it came to the cost or quality of the armor that he had intended to gift Daeron. The armorer himself was either from Lorath, Lys, or some other Free City within that general area- Daeron had never been entirely familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the Essosi cities. With the actual fitting soon dealt with, Daeron arranged for the armor to be sent to him at the Red Keep by morning.

Having no intention to avoid Aemond's passive aggressive offer to meet in the training yard, Daeron took no time to slip into his armor after he had a hearty breakfast in the dining hall. Of course, he had a small servant boy help him into it, and it proved to be a mostly odd experience. As a mere servant, the boy didn't seem to have a lot of practice when it came to placing a man into a set of armor. Fortunately for the both of them, Daeron had plenty of experience as a squire while he tended to Lord Ormund, so he guided the boy along as best as he could. Whether it was due to the armor itself, or his tutelage, Daeron's armor ended up fitting even better than he could have possibly hoped for. It was a mix of light plate and scale, colored black and red, with a large three-headed red dragon embossed on the front.

Daeron was trailed by Ser Arryk, who seemed to be permanently assigned to him until his mission to Dragonstone was finalized. It was still an odd feeling to be constantly trailed by a knight of white at nearly all occasions. Things were hardly as intense only two years ago, when he last lived within the Red Keep. With war upon them, Daeron figured that he should be as surprised, and he didn't exactly mind the extra company, either. By the time the both of them reached the courtyard that Aemond was training in, any fighting that had occurred had already finished, though Daeron did hear more than enough of Aemond's words echo down the halls as he neared. 

Walking into the training yard proper, Ser Arryk took his place to guard the entrance that the both of them had already walked through. Ignoring all the ladies who had assembled to watch the young knights, Daeron brushed a strand of silver hair out of his eyes, and looked up to visibly recognize the dreary weather. His silver-gold hair was growing long, so he had tied it back to it'd be out of the way so that it would better fit inside of a helm, and especially if he ended up doing any truly intense fighting. With Aemond here, that seemed to be a guarantee. "So, Aemond," Daeron said aloud, interrupting any chance for his brother to fraternize with any young maidens, "are you ready to beat me bloody or did you already tire yourself out?" He gave his brother a cheeky smile as he looked beyond at the others, refreshments in their hands.

Aemond looked up, away from the girl he had been chatting to, and grinned at his brother, though not in a friendly manner. He excused himself and stepped forward, "I can always make time for you little brother. If I went a round with every man here, I still wouldn't refuse the chance to further your education."

The Sapphire Prince looked Daeron up and down, with a smirk, then said, "Our father's gift to you. It fits you well. Not the scrawny little boy any longer, are you Daeron? When you left for Oldtown, that armor would have slid right off. Now you really do look like a man." Aemond strolled forward, his followers looking on as he stopped a short distance away from Daeron. Aemond said, "But with that handsome armor, I assume you mean to fight with an edge."

Aemond chuckled, "Are you sure about that brother? I'm just as happy to beat you with a blunted blade and pads. But if you mean to face me like a man, than don't expect me to go easy on you. Wouldn't want to spoil your good looks before you're wed." 

The One-Eye stood tall, his posture lazily arrogant and assured, as he spread his hands, "Still want to do this Daeron?" 

Aemond had always been a better fighter than Daeron, and he probably still was. Even after all the padding that his mother would put him, he'd still end up very sore afterwards. If a curious person were to ever ask, Daeron would likely say, with little hesitation, that most of his scars was from Aemond's tough love, if you could even call it that. However, Daeron was hardly about to back down now, he was here for a fight, and he knew that Aemond would be happy to oblige.

After Aemond's posturing, he put on his matching helm and turned to Ser Arryk, who was holding onto another sword and scabbard other than his own. Daeron had chosen the sword that had felt most balanced to him from the armory itself, all under the nose of the master-at-arms. He had decided that it would probably be best if others didn't immediately know that he had intentions of using live steel on his own brother. If there was any way to show Aemond that he was truly serious, this was it.

He unsheathed the blade and handed the scabbard back to Ser Arryk, to do with as he pleased. He felt it in his hand, and it seemed to serve him as well as any other new sword would have. He picked up a shield that was leaned against many others, and strapped it to his left arm, now truly ready for battle.

"I didn't come here for friendly conversation. But if you're having second thoughts, you should let me know now, before I plant you on your arse." With those words said, he angled his shield infront of him, and assumed a stance that he had practiced a thousand times before.

Aemond smiled and said, "You can't say I didn't warn you." 

The One-Eye held out his arms and stood straight. Without even being told, a few squires came forward to begin buckling on Aemond's black and gold armor. Several passing soldiers and servants stopped to watch, and more than a few highborn began to congregate. As Aemond's armor was being strapped on, the Princes had acquired a small but appreciably sized audience. 

A squire laid an open-faced draconic helm on Aemond's head, and the whole time he stared at his brother, both assessing Daeron's stance and quirking his mouth upward in amusement. Finally, he was handed a shield, painted over with a sapphire eyed gold dragon in profile on a black field; Aemond's personal sigil. Then he drew his longsword. For battle, Aemond preferred a bastard sword, but he was just as skilled with a blade and shield. It was a fine weapon, of the highest quality steel and craftsmanship and with a ruby-eyed black dragon on the pommel.

The Sapphire Prince twirled the sword in one hand, bringing up his own shield and firmly planting his feet as he held the blade at the ready. Ser Arryk looked on intently, ready to intercede should the match get out of hand. All the onlookers quieted as they watched the two brothers face off with one another.

Aemond grinned as Arryk nodded and the bout began. 

The One-Eye advanced confidently, shield and sword at the ready as he came at his brother and swiped the blade at Daeron's own sword, testing to see if he was any swifter or surer to parry than Aemond remembered. If he wasn't then Daeron would be disarmed before the fight even really started.

Daeron could easily see that Aemond was quite sure of himself, and why wouldn't he be? It was doubtful that there was anyone in the city who was his equal, besides certain members of the Kingsguard, but even that was debatable. It was certainly a good thing that Daeron hadn't spent all of his time in Oldtown idle. Lord Ormund was a man who placed quite a deal of emphasis on the martial aspects of knighthood, and often held no greater joy than to throw Daeron into the yard with older, bigger, and more experienced squires. At first it had been a challenge, though admittedly not as bad as it could have been, since Daeron had enough experience gained through all the times Aemond had beat him from one end of a training yard to the other. At the time, he had more or less hated it, now... it may have given him the necessary edge to possibly come out victorious.

He had constantly heard from older knights that time seems to slow down when you're upon a battlefield and in the thick of it. Daeron wasn't sure of that, considering how he had never been a part of any battle, but he knew that wasn't true of sparring. Time moved just the same as it did anywhere else, and Daeron had good enough eyes to pick up on even the most minute of details. He saw Aemond swing for his own sword, but it was clearly more playful than anything else, testing to see if things would go much the same as they always had. In this regard, Daeron didn't feel bad in the slightest when he moved in to disappoint his brother.

The sound of steel upon steel rang throughout the courtyard, and Daeron wouldn't have been surprised if the sound couldn't be heard all through the Red Keep. His grip held true, and he briefly flashbacked to all the times when he was a child, and accepting a parry from his brother meant that his sword would fly from his hand. He had eaten plenty of dirt in the past because of that. As soon as the two swords met, they departed from one another, Daeron's feet grinding in the ground below as he created distance and prepared for his next move.

He wondered what was going through his brother's head at that very moment. Wonder? Surprise? Disappointment? Yet, as soon as Daeron thought of such possibilities, he knew that it couldn't be any of them. Daeron had once told Rhaenyra that he knew his own brothers better than anyone else alive, not so long ago. He knew that only one emotion would be bristling through Aegon at this very moment: excitement. And, Daeron also knew, with adrenaline already taking hold of his own body, that in this environment, he was no different than Aemond.

If anything, Daeron's armor was no true hindrance to him, and he had a far better range of movement than other knights would have wearing heavier and thicker sets of armor. That made Daeron come to the realization that his father must have watched him spar in the training yard much more often than he had ever knew. He remembered the laughter of Aemond and a sense of disappointment every time he lost, but never of the king who stood on the balcony above watching his sons fight one another. That provided him with the determination to see the fight to the very end.

He moved in towards his brother, faster than Aemond could have possibly expected, and offered his brother a downward swing. For anyone watching, and especially for the man who was about the receive the blow, it would have looked overly sloppy. Daeron appeared to openly broadcast the sword strike, and the experienced Aemond would likely easily intercept it. At nearly the last possible moment, an amateruish, broad swipe of his blade turned into a precise thrust, aimed past Aemond's sword and shield, and into the very heart of the fight.

Daeron was right. Aemond was excited. He had half-expected to send Daeron's blade skittering across the ground like he had so many times before. But Daeron parried expertly, moved swiftly to disengage and the Prince knew this would be much more fun than he thought. Daeron pressed the attack, more aggresive and quicker than Aemond thought he would be and the Sapphire Prince decided to stand his ground. 

Aemond saw Daeron's swing coming as if he were moving in slow motion and the Prince knew he could have parried it with ease. If they were the same age as they were when they had first started fighting, Aemond would have thought nothing of it. But both of them had come a long way since then, and even the One-Eye hadn't failed to note that his brother's skills had grown since last they met. He moved well, had acted with confidence. Some part of his mind was suspicious of such an obvious strike. But neither could Aemond ignore the blow. 

The Sapphire Prince raised his shield to take the strike, intending to follow through with a swipe of his own once Daeron's sword rebounded off of Aemond's shield. And then Daeron continued to surprise his brother. Right as Aemond would have sprang into an attack, he saw Daeron's grip start to alter. Then suddenly instead of deflecting off of Aemond's shield, the sword was lancing through the air at Aemond's chest. 

Being a dragon rider, Aemond did not favor heavy plate much like Daeron, and had honed his reflexes over years of training. Both facts were all that stopped the Sapphire Prince from receiving the blow directly to his chest. As it were, Aemond managed to twist his torso and sidestep at the last moment, Daeron's blade scratching against the side of Aemond's breastplate in a spark on contact, leaving a long line across the steel. 

Aemond grinned madly. His brother had almost duped him. He had to be more cautious now. Positioned as he was, Aemond couldn't strike with full force. But he shoved his shield forward, pressing Daeron back and diagonally swiped his longsword at Daeron, favoring speed over power, and intending to drive his brother back a step instead of scoring a hit. 

The Sapphire Prince recovered and this time, it was he who disengaged from Daeron. He smiled fully at his brother, laughing, "They taught you well in Oldtown. This is going to be more fun than I thought." 

Aemond held his shield up, sword at the ready at his side. He began stepping to the side in a circular path across from Daeron; his steps firm and unhurried as the brothers faced off with each other. He watched Daeron, waited, as he stepped, noting his brother's movements and his expression as he did so. 

Often he would have already attacked. But this time Aemond decided to see if Daeron would go on the offensive. Or if he would wait for Aemond to make his move. Either way, Aemond would watch him closely. 

At first, Daeron was slightly disappointed when Aemond managed to avoid the brunt of his attack, but he had never expected to end the bout with one blow. If he had, well, he was sure that would have been the talk of many gossipping circles for years to come. No, he had managed to surprise Aemond, so early in the fight, and that was almost a small victory unto itself. At the same time, Daeron knew that he wouldn't be able to pull the same feint any time soon, and a more cautious opponent would certainly be a more fearsome one as well. 

If Daeron had thought that the first clash of their blades had been loud, then nothing would have properly prepared himself for when his own steel screeched across Aemond's breastplate. As it happened, Daeron noticed in his periphery that many of the bystanders watching winced in pain as the sound and sparks flew towards them. He pulled his sword back towards him, as soon as he could, admiring his handiwork before Aemond had the ability to respond. Daeron was forced to avoid both Aemond's sword and shield, preventing him from paying anymore attention to the score across Aemond's chest. Daeron knew that Aemond was trying to create distance rather than to achieve an actual hit, but he obliged anyway. It would only bring them back to where they started, and Daeron was more than satisfied with that.

He saw more bodies begin to file in, with the majority of them women, some of which had to be servents who had abandoned their duties only to see this battle of princes. Daeron was fine with that, so long as someone gave him plenty of water to drink afterwards. Additionally, the grouping of onlookers had mostly stayed quiet, given that it was still much too early for anyone to cheer for either side. If they were, then Daeron figured that most would be squarely in Aemond's camp, and not for a younger prince that had been gone for so long.

Once there was a wide enough space between the two of them, Daeron expected a taunt from his brother, but got a compliment instead. Daeron was taken aback for a moment, but not enough to throw him off or unnerve him. It was just... unexpected. He supposed it was something like a warriors' code or other nonsense, but it was clear that the only respect that he'd ever get out of his older brother was on the field of battle with swords drawn.

"Now no one can say that all the beatings that you gave to me when we were children were wasted." Believe it or not, he was having fun, but he still didn't want to lose to Aemond. He took the time that it took to say his words to reassume a defensive stance and raise his shield in a way to protect him if Aemond decided to become aggressive.

Aemond appeared to remain catious, just as Daeron had feared. No steps were wasted, no movements were made half-heartedly. As Aemond moved, Daeron followed so that they would maintain constant eye contact. Daeron could sense that Aemond had trepidation towards him, possibly hesitant to act should Daeron have any other tricks up his sleeves (or vambraces). The window was rapidly closing where he could act, and he knew that if he didn't, then Aemond would certainly seize the opportunity.

Daeron didn't want to be overly hasty, should he potentially get ahead of himself and be placed in potential harm. On the other hand, it was an advantage for him to keep Aemond constantly on the defensive. If his luck should reverse, he wasn't sure how long he could keep repelling Aemond's strong blows over and over again. So, the path forward was painfully clear, and Daeron managed to act before his brother could. He closed the distance so quickly that he could have even been running towards Aemond, but there was nothing sloppy about his next move. Once he was in position, he placed considerable force behind shield, pushing it with enough power that it could major damage if it managed to connect with Aemond's chin. At the same time, Daeron offered a clean, concise stroke of his blade towards his brother's lower body. With attacks coming from above and below, Daeron hoped to overwhelm Aemond, and come one step closer to rising above his brother for once.

Aemond, seeing Daeron tense for the charge, planted his feet as his brother closed the distance between them. Daeron was younger, more lithe of form, so he was quicker than Aemond. But not so much that Aemond couldn't react. Many of the onlookers winced, anticipating a spray of blood as Daeron's shield hit his brother's chin. But the One-Eye saw the shield coming at him and raised his own above his head. Aemond held firm as the two collided, managing to keep from backpedaling under the force of Daeron's charge. Daeron was lighter and quicker, but Aemond was stronger and his younger brother was unable to topple him. 

At the same time, Daeron's blade flashed as it attacked from below, and Aemond's own sword responded. There was another clash of steel, another spark of contact, as Aemond parried the blow away. His brother was cunning and not nearly as overly eager and foolhardy as most fighters his age were prone to be. Aemond knew that if Daeron kept training, he would be a fine knight one day. But he also knew he would always be better. 

With Daeron's shield on his own, Aemond on the defensive, the Sapphire Prince knew he couldn't let Daeron dictate that fight. Aemond shoved with his own shield in a quick, forceful gesture, putting his firm stance and strength to use. If Daeron was weaker he might have toppled, but Aemond doubted it. Most likely it would force his brother back, and at the very least it would push Daeron's shield away from his. 

Aemond followed through by angling his shield horizontaly to bash at Daeron's mid-torso with the metal rim of his shield, forcing his brother to either take the blow or block with his own shield. Then Aemond advanced, stepping forward while balancing firmness and fleetness of step and delivering a sweeping sidehanded cut at the shoulder of Daeron's sword arm. Not strong enough to do any serious harm to the limb if it connected, especially with armor, but it would definitely bruise and might even jar his grip or begin to weaken his sword arm. In a protracted duel, that would be a signficant handciap. For the moment Aemond was enjoying the clash, in no great hurry to end it, all the while continuing to test what his brother was made of.

Aemond proved to hold his ground, much to Daeron's dismay, and showed all who observed not only his skill as a warrior, but also his innate talent as well. His brother managed to hold firm even after the two of them smashed into each other, and Daeron knew that if he wasn't able to force his brother to give away any ground, then he'd end up being the one exposed to a counter-attack. Daeron's quickness was certainly an asset that he was utilizing to its full potential, but Aemond wasn't much older than him, so it wasn't like he was overly sluggish when compared to Daeron. Aemond's strength would prove to be Daeron's undoing, especially if the fight ended up turning into a game of brute force.

Daeron had worked very hard over the last two years to even get to where he was now, yet he feared he still remained stuck in his brother's shadow. Aemond lived for this, Daeron knew, and any progress Aemond made during training, Daeron would likely have to work thrice as hard to even gain similar results. It was just the way things were when dealing with someone who was a natural with a sword, where someone like Daeron could only play catch up, paying with nothing but blood, sweat, and tears. However, Daeron wasn't deterred by that knowledge. After all, the greater the challenge, the sweeter it would taste when he finally overcame it.

Daeron's shield was halted when Aemond brought his up to protect his face, and a ringing could be heard when their two swords met, stopping Daeron's low strike. With his blade repelled, his shield was locked up against Aemond's, and he knew, with much dread, that he was vulnerable against Aemond's next move. With his considerable strength, Aemond used his shield to push Daeron back. He may have been knocked off his feet if he didn't have decent footing and if the heels of his boots didn't dig into the ground, kicking up plenty of dirt in the process.

This had left him sorely unprepared to receive Aemond next attack, which shortly came in the form of ramming the top of his shield into Daeron's midsection. This would have likely knocked the wind out of him, if he had chosen to stand firm. Instead, he let himself be carried by the shield, and found himself fortunate that his new armor prevented any serious harm from being dealt. As he was knocked back, he fell to his left knee, fairly certain that one or two of his ribs had been bruised by Aemond's shield when many ragged breaths followed. He had come out on the other end of the attack much better than he could have possibly hoped for, but he knew that the damaged that he had been given would eventually catch up with him the longer the battle continued.

Even before the fight had started, Daeron knew that he'd have to play it by ear and be smart, if he was to have any hope of outplaying Aemond. As such, he remained on his knee when he could have easily returned to his feet, and began to overly exaggerate his breathing. He was laying himself out as bait, and his timing would need to be near perfect if he was to gain a true edge over his brother at this stage of the fight. Whatever may have been going through Aemond's head, and whether or not he had fallen for Daeron's ruse, he still moved in for a swinging side cut aimed at the shoulder of Daeron's sword arm. Daeron assumed that Aemond had no intention to end the fight so soon, and that could very well work towards his advantage at this very moment. Daeron rapidly got back to his feet, moving diagonally and sidestepping his brother in the process. Using both speed and agility, he moved in to be as close to his brother as possible, and while Aemond was still in mid-swing, Daeron wrapped his shield arm around his brother's sword arm, locking it up all the way to the shoulder itself. Daeron wrenched Aemond's shoulder so that his brother was now in his own motion of movement, and with his right arm, he used as much strength as he could muster, intending to smash his sword's pommel into the side of Aemond's draconic helm. With any luck, this would allow him to stun Aemond, and finally give Daeron the necessary opening to deliver more decisive blows.

Aemond saw Daeron go to his knee as he swung his sword at his brother's shoulder. He hadn't been quick enough to block the blow and he was doubtless in some pain. Many of the watching maidens seemed perturbed by Daeron's apparent distress, the Prince's heavy breathing making him seem stricken. Aemond wasn't quite so sure. But he didn't see too much risk in following through with the strike. Until suddenly his brother was up on his feet, rushing at him. Daeron was too close to attack with sword or shield, and Aemond had already tried to carry out his attack. Leaving him unprepared for Daeron's next move. 

The One-Eye's sword arm was wrenched back by Daeron and though he was the stronger, Daeron had more leverage and Aemond was unable to push against Daeron's grip. The onlookers were similarly surprised by the move, most thinking that Aemond would have won by now, and shocked at how clever and skillfull Daeron was proving to be. Aemond was surprised as well, but he couldn't dwell on it at all. Daeron tensed, his sword arm rising as his pommel flew at Aemond's helm. 

A blow like that and the Sapphire Prince would be senseless for several moments, an eternity in a fight, and Daeron could land blow after blow at his leisure. He had to act, now. He couldn't move his sword arm. Daeron was too close to use his shield. But he wasn't helpless. Instead of trying to push back or escape Daeron's grip, Aemond bent backward, leaning his head back as quickly as he could as Daeron's sword came for his head. Daeron was quick, but he had taken extra time to put force behind the blow, and Aemond just barely managed to avoid the sword; the blade scything by right above Aemond's nose. 

The crowd was beginning to be more active, the turns of the bout and the tension creating a nervous excitement in the air as it became increasingly unclear who would prevail. They had grit their teeth as one when it looked like Aemond would be pounded in the head, and they gasped in unison when he barely dodged it. It was beginning to be quite the show. Aemond decided to oblige them. 

His brother's arm swung over his head, and neither were able to use their shields or swords as tightly packed as they were. But Criston Cole had always told Aemond to fight with his head. This time he took him literally. Aemond's helmed head snapped back through the air as quickly as he could manage, colliding with Daeron's own. There was a great clang and clatter as the hard metal beat against each other and Aemond's ears rang with it. He knew Daeron would almost doubtlessly feel the same, and Aemond had a chance to get free and get some space. 

Aemond had anticipated the blow and though he felt somewhat unsteady on his feet, he managed to keep upright and stumble back as he recovered. His shield fell from his arm, the Prince dropping it to shed the burden of wood and metal and help him focus better.  He took off his helmet as well, shedding the open-visored helm so he could see more clearly, the constricting feeling eased as he did so. By now he had put some distance between Daeron and himself, but to the observers it seemed as if Aemond was at a disadvantage without his shield. But at that moment, that suited Aemond fine. Now it was time for him to go on the offense. 

Recovered from the armored headbutt, Aemond gripped his sword in two hands. His sapphire and violet eyes flashed as he looked at Daeron, himself recovering. Up to now Aemond had been playing with his brother. But now that had to change. Aemond raised his sword and charged Daeron, yelling a wordless cry all the while. As he did, he felt the battle rage begin to take him and Aemond embraced it, pelting across the dirt quickly with his sword held high. He swiped and cut and struck at Daeron, trying to drive his brother back as he moved forward. Even if his brother managed to bring up his shield, he would feel the jar of every powerful blow, and under his flurry of attacks, Daeron's shield would soon become little more than a hunk of splinters. Though to be sure, it was better than Aemond making a mess of Daeron's body and armor. 

Aemond had proved to be much more slippery than Daeron had initially given him credit for. If he had been only a bit faster, then Aemond would have been at his complete mercy, but Aemond's skill with a blade prevented such a series of events. Daeron watched as Aemond cast his head as far back as he could, the pommel of Daeron's sword missing Aemond's head by mere inches. The edge of the blade itself managed to score across the top of Aemond's helmet, but it was a poor consolation for a strike that was intended to incapacitate his elder brother. He had always been wary of the abilities of his brother, and he needed to transition himself in a way where he could offer another blow towards Aemond; one that he couldn't possibly avoid.

The crowd itself had grown once again, but this time, a good portion of it was cheering Daeron on, surprisingly enough. While the knights and squires were well enough on Aemond's side, Daeron's supporters seemed to consist of many of the young women who were watching on, following every move of the young prince with increasing trepidation. This may have thrown Daeron off, if he wasn't entirely focused on his brother in front of him, and what he needed to do next.

With his arm still locked in with Aemond's, Daeron knew that he wouldn't be going anywhere at the immediate moment. With a lot of effort, he worked to change the momentum of his right arm so he could alter its course and turn it into another strike at the other side of Aemond's head. Before he could manage to connect, Aemond smashed his helm into Daeron's own, breaking Daeron's grasp of him and retreating a safe distance away. Daeron wasn't entirely sure what effect the headbutt was having on his brother, but the ringing inside of his helmet was so severe, he loosened its straps and cast it aside. Daeron still couldn't here much of anything, but did manage to eye a few maidens open their mouths into what he assumed were audible gasps as he stumbled around a bit, clearly disorientated.

As he recovered, he could feel the sweat dripping down his face and off of his chin. His eyes were stinging due to the sweat, so he took the back of his hand to wipe away it and the strands of hair that was now plastered against his forehead. He cracked his neck a few times, and soon enough there was only a dull throb in the back of his head. Daeron stood motionless as Aemond shed both his helmet and shield, a young squire quickly running in to move the items out of the way. Daeron, on the other hand, kept his shield close to him, still intending to get the most use out of it as he possibly could.

Daeron spied a group of young men who often associated themselves with Aemond give one another concerned glances as soon as Aemond cast off his shield. He wasn't about to believe that Aemond was now at a disadvatage... no, his brother knew exactly what he was doing. Daeron was proved to be right as Aemond gripped his sword with both hands, and Daeron brought his shield up in response. He had quickly learned that the amount of strength and force Aemeond could put behind a sword using only one arm was dangerous. It would only be more devastating with both hands.

He braced himself as Aemond charged of him, filling the air with a battlecry that became more and more deafening the closer that he got. Daeron was prepared with his shield, but it proved to be only just enough against his brother's onslaught. He was pushed back as Aemond took chunks out of his shield, forcing Daeron to close his eyes at times in fear that a splinter might fly out and blind him. At the end of his brother's fury, Daeron's shield was not much more than a splintered mess, and the young prince cast it aside, knowing that it would no longer be of any more use to him. He took his own sword and gripped with with both of his hands, having every intention to meet his brother head on.

Daeron was breathing hard by this point, and he felt the pain in his left shoulder from all the jarring caused by Aemond's blows. Yet, he still knew that he had plenty of fight left in him, and he moved in to engage. Together, both brothers composed a song of deadly steel and sparks as their swords collided with each other, again and again. Daeron placed every fiber of his being behind everyone of his strikes, just as he knew that his brother did the same. It could have almost been seen as a game of tug-of-war as each dragon prince made up ground and lost it, within seconds. For those who watched on, the flash of steel on steel had to be mesmerizing.

When their blades didn't meet, steel would only whistle through the air as Daeron jumped out of the way to avoid a swipe of his brother's sword, if only barely. Some could have seen it as a deadly dance, and they wouldn't have been wrong about that, as one false step could easily lead to disaster. As their swords eventually met again, they became locked against each other, set into a power struggle that Daeron could never hope to win. He had to think fast, before Aemond used all his strength against him, allowing him to move for the final strike. Daeron gritted his teeth, and he brought his right boot out, aiming for Aemond's knee, hopefully providing a strong enough hit to bring his brother to the ground. From there, he'd be the one in position to end the duel.

Daeron had managed to keep his feet the whole time while Aemond rained blow after blow on his shield, a feat that more than a few knights older than him wouldn't have been able to manage. It made Aemond smile when he saw Daeron cast off his shattered hulk of a shield and set his feet again. The whole courtyard had watched, enraptured as Aemond tore away his brother's shield bit by bit. Most who saw Aemond fight knew he often beat his foes with ease, and it was very uncommon to see the One-Eye expend such effort against an opponent. Criston Cole, his tutor, had been one to regularly put Aemond through his paces as a squire and still did as a knight. His uncle Daemon had always beaten him the few times they sparred. And now his little brother was putting up one hell of a fight. 

The sight of the One-Eye Prince in his fiery rage was frightening to many among the crowd, and more than a few people shrunk away from the spectacle, many maidens and even a few knights trepidatious of what they saw. For those that supported Daeron however, a great cheer arose when the young Prince still stood at the end of Aemond's barrage. The Sapphire Prince wasn't breathing as hard as his brother, but all could see that he was beginning to feel the exertion. There was a moment of silence as both brothers looked at one another, helmetless and shieldless, and many wondered if there would be a draw. 

Then on some unspoken agreement, the two dragon princes came at each other with swords high. Daeron was quicker, more agile. Aemond was stronger, more skilled. They danced all across the courtyard, each driving the other back or withdrawing in turn as their blades clanged, clashed, and clattered against one another. Sparks flew and metal screeched as Aemond and Daeron cut, sliced, thrust, blocked, and parried. By now word had spread throughout the castle of the dramatic clash and lowborn and highborn alike crowded in to watch Aemond and Daeron fight. They cheered both of them, calling out and shouting as Daeron nimbly dodged a mighty blow from Aemond or Aemond knocked away one of his brother's swipes in a shower of sparks. Each of them received scratches and marks along their armor as a blade scraped or grazed the plate, neither able to land a solid match-ending hit on the other.

Aemond had known Daeron his whole life. But it was in this moment, as they clashed and fought that he truly felt like he knew him. He saw Daeron's determination, his bravery, his wits, his confidence, and his will. In this melee with his brother, Aemond was taking the measure of Daeron, and found himself in approval. He felt a rare moment of connection with Daeron, a warrior's bond. As he looked into Daeron's eyes, he saw the eyes of a fighter born. And he had never loved his brother so much as he did then. Aemond wondered if Daeron felt the same. He didn't know how long they clashed, time blurring as they danced. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. 

But finally, Aemond swung down and Daeron blocked his blade, held it. They pressed against eachother, and the cheering reached a fevered crescendo, the crowd sensing that the end was near. They were right in one another's faces, and Aemond grunted and grit his teeth with strain and effort as he tried to force his brother's blade down. So focused was he that he didn't notice Daeron's boot rising to collide with his knee until the limb was in mid-kick and by then he couldn't do much. 

Aemond's leg was jarred, and his balance slipped. The crowd roared as Aemond went down to one knee, Daeron's blade scraping off of Aemond's as the One-Eye Prince managed to slide Daeron's sword and his own to the side. Then he did the unexpected. Aemond let his sword fall from his hands and tackled his brother from below, launching off with his back foot to push them both to the dirt with Aemond on top. 

The One-Eye's jaw was set firmly as he pushed down on Daeron's sword hand with his own and his other hand reached for Daeron's neck to hold him down. Aemond grunted as he shifted his weight on top of Daeron, "Yield, brother, before I have to hurt you." 

When Daeron's kick connected, and Aemond dropped to a knee, he knew that this would be his chance... possibly his only chance to win the duel. Daeron's blood was pumping through him like it had never before, the rush of the fight giving him a liveliness like nothing else could. He had fought Aemond many times before, but he had never lasted as long as he had now. The only thing that he desired now, as he pushed his advantage, was that faraway light at the very end of the tunnel, his chance at victory actually being within reach for once. It was certainly not a malicious ambition, but an unrealized dream that he had held ever since he was a child, constantly suffering the humiliation of Aemond every time he lost.

This entire ordeal had also offered Daeron an alternative perspective on his elder brother. Gone was the confrontational and egotistical brother that he had felt that he had to suffer under when they were both children. His best qualities shined through during the heat of battle, and it no longer mattered what their differences were in regards to the war that was right around the corner. When words failed to bring them closer, drawn swords proved otherwise, and Daeron wouldn't regret being a part of this experience, even if he somehow ended up losing.

But, alas, Aemond once again managed to do the unexpected. As Aemond dropped his sword, Daeron eyes were fixated on it, all the way from when it left his fingers, until it clattered upon the ground immobile. And so, before Daeron even had a chance to process what had just happened, Aemond brought him down to the ground with a tackle, and this time, he lost his breath. He managed to hold onto his sword, but it proved to be futile as Aemond pinned that arm to the ground, giving Daeron no opportunity to even consider using it against Aemond. With his brother's entire weight shifted onto him, Daeron had little hope to reverse the position that he now found himself in.

His left arm was still free, and for a moment, Daeron thought about using it to take a shot at Aemond's jaw. If it could get Aemond off of him, then he'd be the only one holding a weapon and probably the first to his feet as well. If Aemond managed to weather the blow, then Daeron would be completely at Aemond's mercy, and it would be even worse if the hit ended up sending him into an even more fiery rage. The crowd seemed to be silent, likely on the edge to see what would happen next, and then Aemond offered his ultimatum to Daeron.

"I yield." The words didn't come easy to Daeron, and he felt a sense of disappointment when the realization of his loss washed over him. At the same time, he could also feel pride. Pride that he had lasted for as long as he did, and that he managed to push Aemond farther than anyone else here could have. And sure, this had ended once again with a win in Aemond's favor, leaving with a new bond with his brother was worth it alone. Also, knowing that Aemond would now be forced to look over his shoulder at his younger brother was enough to add to the little ego that Daeron allowed himself.

Aemond released his hands from Daeron, sitting back on his rear. Now he breathed hard, the adrenaline beginning to drain away and the strain of the fight catching up to him. His forehead was damp with sweat, his silver hair also streaked with moisture and matted from the motion of the bout. The watching crowd roared as win, both sides cheering on the two Princes. And if Daeron looked up, he'd see his brother smiling genuinely at him, just for a moment. 

After a moment, Aemond stood, getting up slowly and grunting before offering a hand to the prone Daeron, "You fought well Daeron. I am proud of you. And I know father would be too if he were here to see you." His lips were drawn up in his customary smirk, but there was no malice to the expression and his eye beamed with jubilation. 

Daeron took Aemond's hand and rose to his feet, finally fully aware of the injuries he had taken during the fight. He winced as he flexed his left shoulder, now expressly aware of of Aemond's unbelievable strength, and the damage that he could potentially deal if he were to ever take up a bludgeoning weapon. Though, with him fully fixated on their uncles sword, Dark Sister, any change in weaponry seemed unlikely. With all the adrenaline draining out of him, he quickly came to the conclusion that his ribs had been bruised by Aemond's shield attack, and while it hurt after every breath that he took, he managed his breathing to the point where he didn't sound like a fish that decided to take a trip onto dry land. By then, Ser Arryk had already back to his side, and Daeron promptly handed back the swored that he had essentially "borrowed" early on. It had more nicks, notches, and scratches than any one sword should have had after only one duel, a testament to how powerful Aemond was swinging his own blade at Daeron.

Then Aemond uttered something that Daeron had never thought he'd ever hear his brother say: a true,  heartfelt compliment. That opened him up, and everything that he had been through within the last month all hit him at once. Tears formed in his eyes, but it was too late for him to force them back. He embraced Aemond as tightly as his injuries allowed, and crying as he did so. "I love you," Daeron said aloud, though it was difficult to make out his words inbetween his sobs. He definitely wanted to do this more often with Aemond, but he wasn't entirely sure which he preferred; the duel or the hug.

Aemond was clearly taken aback, and his look of surprise was a sight rarely seen by any. After a moment the Sapphire Prince returned the gesture, his arms wrapping around his brother and pulling him tightly to his nicked and scratched breastplate. And if Ser Arryk looked closely, he may have seen what could have been a tear forming in Aemond's good eye. After another moment, Aemond said, "I love you too Daeron. Even if it does not always look it." None of the crowd could hear what was said, but the sight made all the onlookers smile, and there was hardly a highborn lady watching who had dry eyes. 

Aemond grit his teeth in slight pain and he let one arm fall, though he kept the other around Daeron's shoulder, he chuckled, "You got me pretty good a few times back there Daeron. Looks like I'm going to have to train even harder. And you're welcome to join me. That reminds me though, that you and I ought to get our older brother into the yard. Get him away him his paramours for once." Aemond laughed again and he walked them out of the courtyard. 

"Let's get Orwyle to take a look at us. And let's get something to eat. I don't know about you, but I could eat an aurochs." The two brothers walked off, beaten and battered, and they couldn't have been happier.