That bonus of yours, Spookys, is still from last month. Sorry for the delay, wishing everyone a good read.
Year 110 A.C
POV: Denovan
Today the true tourney would really begin. It was already the second day of competitions, and for that morning's opening, we would have the archery contest, followed right after by the famous melee combat.
I found it somewhat peculiar that the melee took place before the jousts, since any serious injury there could take a competitor out of the horseback clashes. However, from what I had been discussing with the other warriors in the camps, most of the knights who qualified for the jousting finals simply did not participate in the melee. That arena of pure carnage and confusion was usually left for squires, hedge knights, mercenaries, or those who had already been eliminated from the main lists. But there were always exceptions. And on that day, the grand exception was me.
The official opening was announced by the trumpets, and down below in the arena, Bougin positioned himself side by side with the other six finalist archers. I didn't know any of those southern faces. The judge of the event gave the regulation signal, and all of them began to draw their bowstrings in a synchronized movement.
Bougin demonstrated an impressive familiarity with the weapon. The dexterity my men possessed with their weapons was absurdly high. There certainly must be knights in the south with more pompous techniques or more refined styles, but even the most experienced in Westeros would struggle to stand toe-to-toe with my best warriors. All that impeccable muscle control and surgical precision did not come solely from training; they were the fruits of the runes. More specifically, of the rune of my own creation: the rune of Ouroboros, represented by the serpent swallowing its own tail. That had been my first great runic work; the runes of adaptation were certainly one of the pillars for the strength of my men, alongside the directional runes, which were recent creations that increased my men's power even more.
(I changed the name; the old name, mark of the beast, was giving an impression I didn't want.)
The archers released the strings in unison. The pale, light wood bow, carved from authentic weirwood in Bougin's hands, fired the arrow with colossal force. The projectile cut through the air and struck exactly in the center of the target, marking his third perfect bullseye of the day. As the rules dictated, the two competitors who scored furthest from the center were immediately eliminated. Only five men remained in the dispute, and the distance to the target was increased once again.
The semifinalists received a brief moment to relax their arm muscles and breathe before the new round. Bougin displayed a completely unconcerned expression. My eyes were fixed on him as he, with agile and automatic movements, pulled another arrow directly from his quiver. Before taking his stance, he raised his eyes toward the stands where we were and gave us a slight nod.
One of my warriors beside me let out a rustic laugh and commented:
"Just look at him, all excited to show these southern blokes how to really draw an arrow."
Right after, another companion bellowed at the top of his lungs toward the arena:
"Go, Bougin! Show these ladies how it's done in the true North!"
A smirk appeared on my face. It was excellent to see that the boys were enthusiastic. My men were not carrying their main weapons there, respecting the requirement that Ser Redwyne had emphasized last time, but they all carried daggers and short blades hidden beneath their clothes, which was more than enough for any eventuality.
I didn't want to create a tense atmosphere with the gold cloaks like last time, so we were more subtle this time.
The judge gave the starting signal for the new phase. The archers raised their weapons, drew their strings tight, and steadied their stances. After a few seconds of pure, silent tension, the man gave the signal to fire. The arrows flew swiftly. Bougin didn't hit the exact absolute center this time, but to our consolation, none of the opponents managed to either due to the new distance. Two more competitors were disqualified by the committee. Now we were in the grand finale: the last three archers competing at a distance of fifty meters, the maximum limit of the event.
That was the round the entire audience wanted to watch closely. The three finalists remained focused, but Bougin adopted a visibly more serious expression. After all, that victory was worth much more than the prize in gold coins offered by the organizers. It would be the first time a man considered a wildling won an official competition in the southern court. Furthermore, we had all bet a massive amount of money on him—a considerably larger sum than the tourney prize itself—and he was perfectly aware of the responsibility.
My smile widened. Bougin was truly good; he wouldn't lose.
It didn't take long for the three finalists to take their final shots. Bougin's arrow flew swiftly, tracing a perfect parabola in the sky before burying itself right flush with the center mark. It took only a few moments for the judges to check the opponents' targets and confirm our victory. I couldn't contain myself and roared from the top of the stands to celebrate:
"That's it, Bougin! Well done, boy!"
Immediately, my warriors began stomping their feet on the wood and shouting in chorus:
"Bougin! Bougin! Bougin!"
Down below, the archer looked at us with his cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment from the racket, but he proudly raised his weirwood bow in our direction, acknowledging the support. The master of ceremonies handed him the stipulated pouch of coins and dismissed him from the arena. I didn't deeply know all the etiquette of Westerosi tourneys, but I knew many lords and great masters kept an eye out for promising talents on these occasions. I wondered if any of those nobles would try to hire Bougin's services after the festivities ended.
We went down the steps of the stands all together to meet him at the exit of the field.
"Great job, Bougin! You killed it. I told you you'd be taking that purse home," I said, delivering a friendly slap on his back.
The boys were quick to surround him and congratulate him with shoves and laughter. I waited a few minutes until the dust settled, and looking toward the main arena, I noticed that the organizers were already starting to summon the combatants for the melee.
"Boys, I'm going round the back to put on the rest of my metal plates. Don't forget to stop by the betting tents and put your money on me, understood?"
A wide, ambitious smile formed on my features.
"We're going to make an absurd amount of gold today."
I thought to myself that perhaps I had been spending too much time with the smugglers and pirates of the Narrow Sea, since I was starting to think and behave exactly like one of them when it came to quick profit.
"We'll bet every available coin, my king. We won't let such an easy opportunity pass us by," Huno assured firmly.
"Great. Bet on the name Knight of Winter. That's how I registered in the lists."
I said, already turning toward the backstage area. I took one last quick glance backward and saw Huno and the rest of the group walking resolutely back toward the betting counters of the arena.
I arrived at the area reserved for the warriors' preparations and found Lanny the blacksmith waiting for me with his arms crossed next to the armor stand.
"Hey, you giant bastard! You're paying well for the service, but don't leave me waiting like an idiot for so long. This old man here doesn't have many years left to waste."
I let out a long, theatrical sigh.
"Thanks for the effort and patience, old man."
"Come on then, boy. Today is the decisive day. I set aside some silver coins myself and bet it all on you, so make sure not to embarrass me and make me lose my savings."
"You've made the best decision of your life, Lanny. It will be the easiest money you've ever earned," I replied with absolute conviction.
And that was the purest truth. There wasn't the slightest chance of me being defeated in a generalized combat like the melee, especially while protected by such a reinforced plate armor.
Lanny worked quickly to adjust the final straps and secure the heavy metal plates to my body. It didn't take long before the heralds began shouting the names and summoning the participants to the center of the combat arena.
I marched with firm, heavy steps, quickly entering the immense circle of packed dirt. All around, it was already possible to observe several combatants exchanging glances and forming temporary alliances in small groups. Fighting multiple opponents at the same time in a confined space was always a complex task, as blows came from unpredictable directions, but that didn't present a real problem for me.
I closed my eyes for a brief second and concentrated my mind. Instantly, I began to see the field from a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree angle. Heimdall and Horus were strategically positioned on opposite sides atop the arena's structures. Through their eyes, any attempted attack coming from a possible blind spot would be detected and mapped long before the blade could even approach my metal.
I slowly opened my eyes and looked to the side. A combatant of shorter stature was standing a few meters away from me. He wore simple armor, completely devoid of crests, adornments, or family colors. It was evident that he did not belong to the high nobility, or, if he did, he made a point of hiding his identity behind common steel.
"A temporary alliance, my lord?" he asked. The voice coming from behind the visor was visibly young. He was just a boy trying his luck.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the lad in the face of the massacre that was about to begin.
"Just stay close and make sure not to step in front of my weapons," I replied.
I wielded my great battle axe, steadying myself in my stance. That weapon wasn't the kind of common axe I usually carried on a daily basis. As much as I appreciated the agility of short hatchets or tomahawks, they wouldn't have the necessary reach for a generalized brawl of that size. For the melee, I had chosen a massive two-handed axe, with a long haft and a heavy blade, very similar to the style used by the fearsome invaders of ancient stories. That iron would indeed be capable of causing considerable damage.
The boy nodded and immediately positioned himself by my side. Through my peripheral vision, I could see the reflection of his metal shifting as he cast sidelong glances at me every few seconds. Moments later, the blaring sound of the trumpet echoed throughout the courtyard. The melee had officially begun.
The warriors advanced against each other in a noisy and chaotic charge. The brat stayed right behind my line of defense. I wouldn't mind letting him score points or making him yield safely near the end of the fight, but right now the focus was the combat. A robust knight appeared directly in front of me, advancing at speed with his longsword raised, preparing a violent downward slash aimed at my neck.
My great axe moved with superhuman speed and an overwhelming force that the poor opponent surely never imagined possible for something of that size. The heavy side of my haft squarely struck the lad's rib area before his blade could complete its course. The blunt impact threw him straight into the arena's dust, completely disoriented and lacking the breath to get up and continue fighting.
Opponents began to advance in packs. I needed to temper my strength to ensure I wouldn't end up accidentally killing any of those men, since the edge of my axe was massive and possessed more than enough torque to severely crumple breastplates or shatter bones through steel plates.
Suddenly, I noticed a low thrust coming toward the back of my knees, one of the most vulnerable and unprotected joint areas of the armor, while another competitor delivered a lateral strike aiming right for the top of my helm. Even with the considerable weight of all that metal gear, I shifted my body agilely to the side opposite the low attack. In a single fluid movement, I rotated the axe haft to block the first slicing blade and, taking advantage of my body's momentum, delivered a straight punch with the reinforced wooden pommel against the second attacker's helmet, leaving him completely stunned.
Without missing a beat, I unleashed a powerful front kick to the chest of the knight who had tried to target my legs. The man flew backward and splattered on the ground. Seizing the opening, I brought the base of my axe down against his chest, applying just enough pressure to keep him immobilized and breathless, guaranteeing his elimination without causing fatal damage.
The other warrior I had stunned was already being finished off by an opportunistic third knight passing nearby. I glanced quickly around in search of the boy who had asked for an alliance, but he had already vanished into the whirlwind of bodies and dust. I just hoped he hadn't suffered any serious injuries.
I continued to advance relentlessly among the combatants, carving a path through the mass of steel. A few long minutes of metal clashing against metal passed, and gradually, the noise began to subside. When the dust finally began to settle, I realized there was no one else left standing within the bounds of the arena.
I stared in all directions to confirm. I was the sole remaining man. I raised my eyes momentarily toward the royal box, identifying a few familiar faces, but my thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the deafening roar coming from the stands. It wasn't just my warriors from Norway shouting in celebration; the common folk of King's Landing and the peasants were doing the same, marveling at the display of strength. There was an undeniably pleasant flavor in being cheered by such a crowd, and it became easy to understand why so many men sought that ephemeral glory at any cost.
I turned my back to the royal tribune, positioned myself facing the sector where Huno and my men were jumping for joy, and raised the immense battle axe toward the sky, letting out a resonant roar to celebrate the victory with my people.
POV: Alicent Hightower
I watched the immense warrior celebrate his victory in the arena and couldn't contain a feeling of repulsion mixed with fascination at that display. To me, both the brutal fighting style of that man and the very nature of the competition seemed purely barbaric manifestations. I wondered how so many men could be willing to nearly kill each other in exchange for such fleeting acclaim. However, going by the comments circulating among the lords around me, the giant warrior demonstrated a very honorable and unusual restraint, deliberately avoiding striking the vital points of his fallen opponents—something many ruthless knights would not hesitate to do to guarantee supremacy.
My gaze drifted to the young Rhaenyra beside me. She wore a much more enthusiastic expression and seemed far more comfortable with that environment than I could ever be.
"What did you think of the display, Alicent? The giant Knight is truly colossal. None of his opponents managed to land even a single clean blow on him. It seemed as if the man had eyes in the back of his head during the entire battle," Rhaenyra commented, her eyes shining with admiration.
POV: Viserys Targaryen
Sitting on the central throne of the royal box, I couldn't help but catch fragments of the conversation between my daughter and the young Hightower. My own eyes had witnessed the combat, and the conclusion was irrefutable: the warrior had not been touched a single time. That was a statistically near-impossible feat in a melee of that magnitude, unless the combatant possessed sensory perception that transcended ordinary limits.
Evaluating the man's colossal stature and the almost supernatural agility with which he maneuvered that mass of steel, only one name filled my mind.
"What do you think you are doing around here, Denovan?" I murmured to myself, in a voice so low that it was lost amid the noise of the masses.
There was a formal agreement in effect between the Crown and the barbarian leader. I had to admit that the trade routes of the Narrow Sea had registered a notable reduction in lootings and pirate attacks since Denovan's forces began operating in the Stepstones, and to my relief, both Corlys and other lords were more patient regarding the matter.
However, that intervention was still very far from compensating for the massive investments of supplies and resources I sent to sustain the Far North. The wildling king would need to exert himself considerably more for that debt to be properly settled.
I let out a heavy sigh. Despite his origins, which were considered savage, Denovan did not seem to me the type of man to break promises or abandon agreements without solid justification. Something of extreme gravity must have happened in the Stepstones to make him sail to King's Landing.
Before I could delve even deeper into my political conjectures, a firm hand rested delicately on my shoulder. One of the court maesters leaned in and whispered directly into my ear:
"Your Grace, Queen Aemma is in labor at this very moment and urgently requests your presence in the royal apartments."
A smile full of tenderness and relief illuminated my features. I stood up immediately from my seat, gesturing for the knights of the Kingsguard to follow closely as I left the stands. It didn't take long before, echoing in the background of the arena, the powerful voice of the master of ceremonies made the official announcement to the entire noisy audience:
"It is with immense joy and the blessings of the Seven that I announce: Queen Aemma has gone into labor!"
"Long live the Queen!" the public began to bellow in unison in the stands.
"Long live the Queen," I said in a serene whisper, though my feet were already moving hurriedly toward the stables to mount my horse and reach my wife's chambers as fast as possible.
POV: Denovan
Down below in the arena, the cries of the crowd echoed like distant thunder in my ears.
"Long live the Queen!"
The crucial moment had finally begun. My focus shifted entirely away from the celebrations and formalities happening around me. While old Lanny cleaned the residue of dust, blood, and dirt from the metal and attached the rustic fabric adornments to the armor—the fabric bearing a design that would one day be known as my pennant, which I had designed myself; it was a centered helm with two crossed axes and two ravens on both axes.
Returning my focus, the greater part of my consciousness left my body. Traveling instantly to Huginn. Through the eyes, ears, and wings of the raven, I began to observe the window of the queen's chambers directly.
Inside the stuffy room, several midwives moved back and forth, adjusting Aemma's position on the bed. Grand Maester Mellos oversaw everything, handling sterilized cloths and glass vials containing colored liquids. To my knowledge, those substances could be invigorating tonics, painkillers, or, if paranoia spoke louder, subtle poisons. After all, maesters in general did not harbor much sympathy for manifestations involving magic.
And whether you like it or not, the Targaryens possess it; after all, what could allow one to ride giant dragons if not magic?
The queen was already exhibiting visible signs of exhaustion, sweat running down her forehead and soaking her long, beautiful silver hair, which now rested tangled against the pillows. The midwives continuously wiped her face with damp cloths while trying to calm her and prepare her garments for the moment of birth.
Controlling Huginn's movements with precision, I made the bird wheel in the air and abandon the windowsill, flying in a straight line toward the inner courtyard of the Red Keep, exactly on the path Viserys was expected to pass at any moment.
Huginn's black wings beat swiftly against the air currents. I wanted to make it perfectly clear to Viserys that, if the worst-case scenario were about to materialize in the birthing room, it would be extremely convenient to have me around.
The king had just crossed the fortress gates and dismounted his horse when, in a precise and silent swoop, my raven descended from the sky and landed firmly directly on Viserys's left shoulder. Through the bird's beak, my voice echoed clearly and slowly into the king's ear:
"Hello, Viserys. It's been a long time."