Game of Thrones: Lord of Winter

Ancient Valyrian blood, the blood of dragons and gods. Black armor over golden mail, red, gold and orange silk on the dragon helmet, like a blazing flame. The knights of the entire Westerlands fell into his hands. At night, he played his silver-stringed ancient harp with slender and delicate fingers, his ballads brought tears to people's eyes, and his melancholy purple gem eyes seemed to tell the sadness in his heart.

Rhaegar Targaryen, praised for his wisdom when he was a child, and praised for his bravery when he grew up, he was as dazzling as the sun in the sky.

He was loved, and the common people cheered him twice as much as Lord Tywin.

Sixteen years is too long, so long that Robert Baratheon changed from brave and handsome to that fat and disgusting appearance, so long that no one in the Seven Kingdoms can remember the specific appearance of Prince Rhaegar.

But some things engraved in the memory will continue to surge into the heart once they are awakened.

Those eyes are exactly the same.

Purple, melancholy, and silver hair, she once again compared her handsome Jaime, gods above.

He is not Rhaegar, he looks like half Dornish, she tried to convince herself.

But that face always evokes certain memories.

Dornish? !

Stupid dwarf, she seemed to think of some connection, that damn Dornish woman, if it weren't for her, how could Rhaegar fall in love with that wolf girl.

The wooden sword danced in his hand, in front of him was the sweaty Duran Bar Aemon.

With a bang, the wooden sword chopped on the oak shield, and the little fat man sat on the ground with his buttocks, his arms trembling.

The wooden sword turned a sword flower, one hand behind his back, and the other hand reached down to help him.

Duran held his palm, and felt his body twitch and stood up.

What a great strength, Duran marveled in his heart.

"Okay, go down and rest." Cole said to him, it was also difficult for him to let this little fat man be his sparring partner.

Duran put down the oak shield with a sense of relief.

Cole walked over to put down the wooden sword, and then he found a figure leaning against the pomegranate tree, it was Tyrion the Imp.

He clapped his hands.

Cole threw the sword to him.

Tyrion stood up and jumped away, "I don't want to be your punching bag."

Picking up the sword and putting it on the stand, Cole said: "I have heard of your heroic performance on the battlefield."

"I hope the battlefield you are talking about is on the bed." The Imp touched his nose and suddenly remembered that half of his nose was lost on the battlefield. "If you need someone to play swords with you, I can let Bronn come, and you have to pay him if I don't give it to you."

"Now I can't afford the commission for Ser Bronn of Blackwater." Cole wiped the sweat with a woolen cloth.

"Meow~" A black cat jumped onto his shoulder.

Tyrion looked at the ugly cat with interest, "You didn't kidnap the woman in the castle, but you kidnapped a crippled cat."

The black cat seemed to understand Tyrion's words, he arched his back and his hair stood up.

"Oh, he's really fierce." The little devil took a few steps back, he didn't want to be scratched by the cat, he had to get married the day after tomorrow.

Cole rubbed Balerion's head, "He suddenly appeared here last night."

"There are many cats in the castle, but it looks a little old."

The black cat looked old, although it seemed to be still active and fierce.

He bared his teeth at everyone, except for Cole's touch.

Letting him stand on his shoulders, Cole led Tyrion into the yard.

"Would you like some wine?" Cole asked.

Tyrion shook his big head.

"I remember you always have wine with you." Cole turned around and told the servant, "Prepare some water for me, I want to take a bath."

"I want to sober up for a while, Cole."

He couldn't help laughing. He didn't expect that the little devil who claimed to be a big drinker would be afraid of getting drunk.

"Okay, let Duran entertain you for me. I have to go and wash off this sweaty smell."

"It's better to sprinkle some perfume, so that it will be more popular with ladies. Maybe it's not a cat that climbs into your bed tonight, but a fragrant woman." He said jokingly, and then sat on the chair.

"My friend, are you his squire?" Tyrion didn't pay attention to his coat of arms and asked casually.

The fat man blushed, "I am Duran Bar Amon."

Tyrion glanced at his clothes and realized that he had made a big mistake. He stood up and apologized, "Please forgive me, sir. Forgive my poor eyesight."

"Huh" Duran turned his angry face away.

Tyrion sat down again awkwardly.

After a long silence, he spoke again, "How old are you, Ser Durran?"

"Fifteen."

"A fifteen-year-old knight, that's amazing." Tyrion praised loudly. "My brother Jaime also joined the Kingsguard at this age."

"Kingslayer?" Durran blurted out.

He knew it. "Kingslayer" is much more famous than "Ser Jaime."

"They say he is the youngest Kingsguard."

It's a pity that he is now a captive, far away in the dungeons of Winterfell.

Why not use Sansa to exchange? Isn't it enough to exchange a daughter for a son?

"He is very good with a sword, like a natural warrior." Tyrion continued.

"Lord Cole is a natural warrior. No, he is a warrior incarnate."

Durran's rebuttal made Tyrion stunned. Oh, damn, he just wanted to change the subject. How much does this child admire Cole.

"Yes, I admit that Cole is a good fighter." He could only compromise. Memories could not help but shuttle back to the Eyrie and the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion had to admit that Cole's swordsmanship was also very good.

When he first met him, he couldn't even lift a sword. Tyrion commented on him that he was a good cook, but weak.

He had seen Cole practicing swordsmanship on the Wall. He had no skills at all. Tyrion even felt that he might come down to teach him a few moves. At least he had enough theory.

But what happened later? He led them all the way from the Mountains of the Moon to the Eyrie.

Cole had changed too much. The taciturn, unconfident, and thin boy seemed to have been reborn.

Maybe this is the magic of the Valyrian bloodline. For every Targaryen born, the gods will throw a silver coin, even though he is just a bastard.

Tyrion speculated that he was the descendant of Bloodraven Brynden Rivers.

Should I tell him?

"Lord Cole has never been defeated." Duran said proudly, as if that person was himself.

"Boy, do you think he is Daemon Blackfyre?" Tyrion said in his heart.

He was suddenly shocked by this idea.

Like, too much like. He compared the traces of the two, good guy, 'noble bastard', right?

"What are you talking about?" Cole's voice came.

Tyrion looked over and saw that he was wearing a black suit, and the emblem seemed to be reversed, and the red flames were like a three-headed dragon, breathing white fire.