Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Recruitment Attempt
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Rhaegar Targaryen POV

The early morning mist hung low over the tourney grounds, the faint light of dawn casting a pale glow on the tents and training fields.

I'd awoken early, my sleep fractured by familiar nightmares—the same relentless scenes haunted me, visions of the Stranger's touch and a fate like my father's, ending in a pool of blood and silence.

The thought knotted my stomach, a grim reminder of the path I needed to avoid at any cost. I took a steadying breath, forcing my thoughts back to the present as I gazed out over the tourney grounds.

Across the yard, the early morning training had already begun, and there he was—Galahad, the young Westerman knight, the rising star of this tourney. He was the key I needed.

Only four days ago, at the commencement feast, Galahad had been knighted, and since then, he'd captured the attention of every noble watching.

Yesterday alone, he'd put on a show that had the lords and ladies buzzing with his skill.

In the melee, he'd taken down two famed opponents: Lord Yohn Royce and a Northman, Jorah Mormont. Then, in the joust, he unseated Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Boros Blount, and even Lord Steffon Baratheon.

It was no surprise, then, that half the noble houses here were circling him like hawks.

I clenched my jaw, frustrated by how quickly Lord Mace Tyrell had moved, openly offering him titles and lands in the Reach. And Tyrell wasn't the only one. The Baratheons of Storm's End, the Tullys of Riverrun—they were all vying for Galahad's loyalty, each hoping to win over the talented young knight.

Though Galahad had been knighted by Tywin, he still hadn't made an oath of allegiance. He was, in essence, fair game to anyone seeking to recruit him.

I'd been too slow to act, and now the competition was fierce. Mace Tyrell especially had been a thorn in my side, pushing his offers with all the charm and promises the Reach could muster.

But I wouldn't let Tyrell—or anyone else, for that matter—snatch up the person who can change my fate.

With a sense of purpose, I took a step forward, my Kingsguard flanking me, their presence a subtle reminder of my rank and authority.

My eyes followed Galahad as he trained alone in the early morning light. His movements were fluid, his control precise—remarkable for one so young. He was near my age, yet already so skilled.

"Ser Galahad," I called out, my voice calm yet deliberate.

He turned, catching sight of me, and immediately made to kneel, but I raised my hand, halting him mid-motion. "There's no need, Ser Galahad."

He straightened, studying me with quiet respect. "What brings you here, Prince Rhaegar?"

"Just observing," I replied, stepping closer. "Your skill is impressive. Truly." I paused, meeting his gaze.

"Tell me, where did you learn to fight like this? From what I understand, you were only taken as a squire by Kevan Lannister last year. Yet your skill with two swords rivals that of my Kingsguard here," I remarked, motioning toward Ser Arthur Dayne.

I exaggerated Galahad skills and chose this comparison purposefully, knowing Galahad favored the same dual-swords as my kingsguard, Arthur.

He seemed almost bashful under the praise. "Thank you, it's hard to explain, my prince... It's a mix of talent and hard work," he said, choosing his words carefully.

"Every morning, I run. Every afternoon, I train and spar. I use techniques I've picked up on my own, and I drill them daily."

He went on to describe unusual training methods—things I'd never heard of, exercises that seemed more at home in an Essosi fighting pit than a Westerosi training yard.