GOT/ASOIAF: A Game Of Ice And Fire - Chapter 11
Especially now, after the sudden shift of the seasons.
Ever since the end of the Targaryen Dynasty and the start of the Baratheon Era, the Kingdom had been burning through gold.
The three million gold dragons inside the castle were being spent on the many feasts, tourneys and ill-planned campaigns the Kingdom had issued in the past five years.
Counting pennies, as King Robert would say, was not worth his time and there was nothing of concern, but everyone else knew better.
Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, perhaps understood the situation better than anyone else.
The middle-aged man would try to deter the King every time he suggested an expenditure that they just couldn’t afford, but the Hand knew it was all for naught.
Jon Arryn had known the King since Robert was a boy, and that boy never changed.
King Robert would do whatever he wanted to do, and no one’s words would change his mind, not even his Hand and Mentor.
The most recent tourney, the Tourney for the Prince’s Name Day, was another one of Robert’s ideas and Jon had tried to persuade him otherwise, but the result was identical to all the rest.
The champions’ winning alone would total to forty five thousand gold dragons, and the organization cost of hosting the tourney would be another dozen of thousands.
It was still possible for the Kingdom to afford such extravagance, but, as expected; the new Master of Coin contacted Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock and negotiated some deals.
The Lannisters were slowly buying the Kingdom and they knew the King wouldn’t stop soon…it pained Jon to see all their lives’ work become so pathetic.
As if adding insult to injury, the champions of the tourney would usually be Lords or sons of Lords, so the gold they borrowed would just trickle down to another rich family.
To make matters even worse, Jaime Lannister, the son of Tywin Lannister, would always be one of the Knights to win, so Tywin Lannister’s gold would just fall back into his pockets while the Kingdom would still be in his debt.
The more Jon thought about such nonsense the more he wanted to ignore the tourney; he could always stay in his office and try to think of other ways to deter his King’s future nonsense, but Robert had ordered him to come along and watch because, according to the King, he needed to relax more and he would learn how to relax by watching the tourney.
Jon had sighed and shook his head at the time…
…But Robert wasn’t exactly wrong.
“Well done!” Shouted the King loudly as he downed his glass of summer wine, happy that he just won a large quantity of gold dragons.
Jon couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at the man who just won the Archery Competition.
He looked like he just had his twentieth nameday, but he managed to defeat hundreds of other archers in the tourney, including many children of lords and knights.
At least some of the gold wouldn’t be going to the already fat pockets of lords or knights.
Tyrion smiled back at the King and bowed slightly. “Congratulations, Your Grace; that is a most unexpected outcome and a good wager.” Tyrion held his wine loosely to his lips as he sat back lazily on his seat. “That young man was certainly an oddity; I’ve never seen anyone split an arrow, much less from so far away.” Looking over to the many lords and commanders, Tyrion could already predict that many of them would try to recruit the boy before long. “He’s already a much better archer than many we have in King’s Landing.” Tyrion looked a few rows above him and saw his lord father, Tywin Lannister looking at the winner of the Archery contest.
He didn’t look very interested, but there was a sense of intrigue in his narrowed eyes, something that Tywin Lannister passed off as praise.
“Jon!” Shouted the King loudly. “He’s almost as good as you were back in the day!”
Jon Arryn smiled and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” The Hand bowed slightly to the King before looking back at the young champion. “It is wonderful to see such young champions come from the common people; I am growing tired of seeing the sons of lords and knights winning such tourneys.”
The King laughed and raised his glass to his old friend. “Well said! My first born was betting on it.”
“It is as you said, my Lord Hand, but it does raise a question.” Lord Mace Tyrell pondered as he sat on the left platform from the Royal Family. “I hired the best teachers in Westeros to train my second son, and even though he is doing quite well, I doubt he has the same skill with a bow and arrow as that young man over there.”
Jon Arryn and Robert nodded, both having heard of the young prodigy of the Tyrell Family, Garlan.
“I wonder how that young man managed to get so good; what sort of training did he undergo?”
Robert chuckled and placed his cup down. “I believe there to be good merit in that theory, but I’ve been hunting for a good part of my life and I can’t split an arrow like that!” The King laughed as his squire gave him more wine. “That little shit is much better than me at shooting.”
“Maybe some of us should take that young man in.” Suggested Stannis Baratheon as he stood next to his brother, waiting for the joust to start. “Such talent should not be wasted.”
“Yes, I would very gladly take him under my house.” Mace Tyrell spoke as he nodded at the King’s brother.
“I’m afraid I must fight you for him, Lord Tyrell.” Replied Prince Oberyn with a smile on his face. “Such young talent is hard to find these days.”
At the same time many people around the prince wondered if the Dornish prince wanted the young man as a soldier or a lover.
Oberyn had a rather promiscuous reputation, even with men.
“And Dorne can always use someone like him.”
“My Lords, please refrain from discussing such matters so soon; we still don’t know if the young man doesn’t already have someone supporting him.” Durrandon spoke with an unusual smile and sly tone of voice. “From my knowledge, this individual also has a companion that will participate in the melee competition. Perhaps we might surprise ourselves again.”
“Indeed.” Remarked Mace Tyrell, the King and the others listened with interest.
The Prince chuckled and sat back on his seat. “I would like to stack my winnings on this ȧssociate of the Bard!” Informed the one passing out as Durrandon. “That’s two thousand gold dragons on, if I’m not mistaken, on Warrior!”
The one passing as Durrandon already expected a chuckle from Alysse, but she wasn’t the only one to find the names of these individuals quite silly.
—————————————————————
Arianne wanted to see ‘Bard’ one last time before he left, and she found him near the place she first met him.
There were hundreds of people congratulating him, mainly other common people and civilians, and some of the other archers were patting him on the shoulder, though many others shot dirty glances at him.
Arianne saw a ċhėst placed up on the archery stage and heard someone whispering about it being full of gold, so she ȧssumed it was Bard’s prize money.
But she was curious as to why he was walking away from his gold and towards the other arena.
Only then did she figure out that he was going to watch his companion fight in the melee.
“Care to tell me where you learned how to shoot a bow and arrow like that?” Asked Arianne loudly as she once again spoke with the disguised Crown Prince over a wooden fence.
Her pretty face displayed clear curiosity as she pointed her finger at his face and stepped her bejeweled lace shoes on the ground; her silky black hair was flung from one side to the other as she continued to verbally investigate everything about him, not stopping for an entire minute.
“You are just too incredible.” Arianne finally stopped and breathed in heavily.
“Please, my Lady, calm down for a moment.” Durrandon smiled and placed his hands on his hɨps. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat once the tournament has ended.”
Arianne’s face turned red as she breathed in and tried to speak. “I-i will hold you to that promise!”
The disguised Crown Prince chuckled and crossed his arms. “I must say that I am flattered, though; I never thought the most beautiful girl in Dorne would be interested in the little old me.”
Arianne grew redder, but for a different reason and still couldn’t speak properly. “I-Am-Not-Interested-In-You!”
“Really?” Asked Durrandon with a smug smile. “Your one minute interrogation suggested differently.” Arianne tried to retort but couldn’t think of anything clever to say. “But seriously…” He muttered while joking aside. “You don’t have to worry about not seeing me again; you can visit me again at Chataya’s establishment once this is all over.”
Arianne sighed before crossing her arms and stepped back. “Whatever…”
“I’ll see you again, my Lady.”
Durrandon watched as the Dornish princess walked back to the pavilion.
He was honestly surprised that he had actually managed to charm her without trying.
Now he had to switch characters and become a Warrior.
He had learnt to wield a sword around a year ago, but it felt so much longer given how far his skill had evolved.
A blade was like an extension of his arm now and he was confident that no one could defeat him if he went all out, through skill and his system’s cheats if needed.
In theory, he could compete with horses, have keen eyes like his cat Shadow, lift a grown man off his feet, and could run kilometers before feeling tired.
No one could defeat him during his Night Raids, and he wondered if anyone amongst the gathered warriors could challenge him.
‘I wonder…’ Durrandon said, casting another of his Minor Illusions.
Although he couldn’t mimic a very tall man like his father, his illusions allowed him to effectively pass as a slightly short man.
And with his new discovery after testing the theories inside his BOOK OF BASIC ILLUSION, he learned an actual spell.
His first 1 level spell.
It was a clear evolution of his Minor Illusion cantrip, working somewhat similar to the Transformation jutsu from Naruto.
Although not as broken as Polymorph.
{DISGUISE SELF LV-5 (76%)}
{FIRST LEVEL ILLUSION SPELL: You make yourself, including your clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on your person, look different until the spell ends or until you dismiss it. You can seem 1 foot shorter or taller and can appear thin, fat, or in between. You can’t change your body type too much, so you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. Otherwise, the extent of the Illusion is up to you. The changes wrought by this spell are capable of holding up to physical inspection. But not for long. For example, if you use this spell to add a hat to your outfit, Objects won’t pass through the hat, and anyone who touches it would feel a faint touch. If you use this spell to appear thinner than you are, the hand of someone who reaches out to touch you won’t bump into you while it is seemingly still in midair.}
CASTING TIME: INSTANTANEOUS
DURATION: 1 HOUR
RANGE: SELF, TOUCH
COMPONENTS: VOCAL AND SOMATIC
“Disguise self.” He chanted while gesturing with his hands.
{-10 MP}
Choosing to go with boldness, Durrandon opted for a new disguise as a bȧrė ċhėsted man, wearing a Helmet that covered his entire head and some average Greaves and Vambraces to not shame himself too much.
Though this time, he had golden strands of hair falling over his shoulder and back.
And his helmet had a simple carving that made it resemble a lion’s teeth.
The waiting line for the melee was much like the one with archery, but there were even more people signed up for the melee.
There were almost three hundred people, and all of them had brought their own weapons.
From where he was, he could see Warhammers, long swords, broadswords, maces, battle axes, or even daggers.
All sorts of people had gathered for the event.
The majority of the crowd was most likely selling swords hoping to become famous and earn their fortune, but there were also young Knights and squires.
Many people had even brought armor and shields, which placed those that didn’t in a distinct disadvantage.
There was a large waiting area for the fighters, and a series of large benches for them to prepare for battle.
Many had already sat down and were staring at Durrandon as he walked in, wondering what someone without a proper ċhėst piece of armor was doing in the melee tent.
Durrandon ignored them and just sat down on one of the empty benches.
Subtly retrieving a blade from his INVENTORY and holding it in his hands.
It was a simple broadsword, made of fine quality steel, an expensive weapon for a common young man.
But nothing in comparison to his twin Valyrian Gladius.
The disguised prince opted for the common castle-forge steel so he might have a proper challenge.
‘Time for my second victory.’ Durrandon thought as he smiled and wiped his blade with a cloth.
“Not fond of armor, are you?” Asked a man in his mid twenties with shaved head and red robes on his armor.
He had finely crafted heavy armor on and held his sword by his hip.
Looking like an uncommon red priest, if there ever was one that wasn’t, so much so that he still reeked of wine and whores.
Having spent several nights in Chataya’s place, Durrandon knew those smells well.
Shaking his head before shrugging, he replied. “Wasn’t satisfied with my work, so I left to finish it later. Besides, it makes things more fair for the other”
“Hahaha! Well said! You wear your own craft. I like you!” The man chuckled and sat down next to Durrandon before immediately starting to oil his sword with a strange substance. “This is a man’s game, those afraid of dying should simply give up while there’s still time for them.”
“Thanks for the compliment, and warning, but I think I’ll be fine.”
The man chuckled and nodded. “So what’s your name… eh, sellsword?”
“Warrior of Far Far Away, what about you, stranger?” The disguised prince replied with his fake gruff voice as he looked at the familiar man with his sword in hand.
“Warrior, eh? I presume you also go with Smith…” The familiar man replied, sounding friendly enough. “The name’s Thoros of Myr, just a Red Priest looking forward to fifteen thousand gold dragons.” Thoros sheathed his sword and took a big gulp from his wineskin. “So you’re from Far Far Away… Ha! I heard the winner of the archery was also from such a place. Going by the name of… Bard, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Rumors do run rampant.” The disguised prince grunted as he strapped his sword back on his back.
“I must confess, if you manage to impress me like that archer did, I might even try to get a trip there soon, Westeros is getting a little too bland for my taste.”
“Well, good luck to you then.” Said the disguised prince as he stood up. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up for those gold dragons; I don’t plan on losing the melee.”
Thoros chuckled and continued to oil his sword. “You are one weird foreigner.”
Durrandon walked away and joined the gathered crowd.
Three hundred people all looked up at three judges, just like the archery event, and they collected names from everyone.
Instructions were explained to everyone and the melee was broken down into parts.
There would be an elimination round in the start.
The arena was designed for a large and crowded battle, so all three hundred would be inside the arena, fighting until only eight people were still standing.
Then those eight would draw for the fighting orders, and from there it would be a one on one match between them until there was only one man left.
That one man would be the winner and would receive fifteen thousand gold dragons.
Durandon liked it.
It was a nice and simple way to eliminate the weaker men.
Having such a large group in a mass battle royale could create a very bloody scene, but could also force some of them to work in groups.
It was a nice way to select certain individuals from out of the crowd; they might not be the strongest, but they certainly would be the survivors.
The crowd of three hundred was separated into four groups and placed behind four gates that led into the battle arena.
The arena itself was several times as large as the archery field, and even with five hundred men there would be free space for a number of battles.
The ground of the arena was plain dirt mixed with sand, and there was a ten foot tall wall surrounding the whole area.
The people in the common viewing area would have a hard time watching the fights, but the high-borns on the pavilion would be able to watch perfectly.
The fighter could also look up at them perfectly, Durrandon could see the royals on their seats, and his companion disguised as him besides Alysse.
“Are you that desperate to enter a melee contest without proper armor?” Asked a gruff voice belonging to a very tall man with a battle-axe in his hand. His beard was down to his riveted mail and gambeson armor, his face looked red from wine; clearly one of the slower of combatants. “I can’t believe you actually thought you should join this battle in this condition!” The man laughed along with a few others. “You are so green I can still smell your mother’s milk on you.”
Durrandon grunted back and shook his head, having expected someone like him to be a part of his group coming through the gates. “What? Are you jealous? With a face like yours I ȧssume you never got to taste your mother’s milk, she must have abandoned you the moment she saw your ugly face.”
The man stopped laughing and looked down at the disguised Crown Prince. “You better mind your words pipsqueak, or we will kill you in a worse manner than we were planning.”
“I am afraid, I mean, just look at the size of that axe.” Durrandon crossed his arms and snickered, his helmet muffling his voice. “It can be used to behead horses, it is so large…” He looked at the axe again before looking back up at the man. “Are you over compensating for something you lack down below?”
“You’re a dead man…” Growled the man as some others turned to laugh at him.
Dirrandon ignored the man and waited for the gates to open, which didn’t take too long.
After another minute or two, the gate shuddered and the slightest bit of light shined through the crack it made.
Soon the gate was being pulled high into the air and the men flooded through the door.
The arena was almost immediately packed with battles and some people on the pavilion were on their feet trying to get a better look at the battle.
Already the disguised prince could hear cries of pain and anguish and the sound of blood splashing against the walls.
Killings were usually frowned upon, but certainly common in the melee, and he was sure that many wanted to explore his lack of armor to kill him, especially the big man with the axe that he just humiliated.
‘Let them try.’ Durrandon thought.
“You’re a dead man!” Shouted the same man wielding his axe, lifting it over his head as he charged over at the Crown Prince, planning to split him in half from the collarbone down.
Durrandon sighed and ran towards him, very quickly.
With a burst of speed the disguised prince was already at the man’s feet with his own broadsword in his hand, thanks to his high Mobility Stat.
The sound of blade piercing flesh reached Durrandon’s ears as his blade skewered the man through the throat.
Not wanting to feel the man’s blood flow down his arm, he quickly pulled his blade out and let the man fall to the ground, suffocating in his own blood.
Durrandon did not remain still; instead, he reached for the giant battle-axe of the man and threw it at a man running towards him with his left hand, opening the man’s face as blood splattered around him.
‘This is going to get a little messy.’ He concluded.
The blond sped ahead, his legs carrying him like the wind.
He jumped into the air, his sword raised in a half-sword motion, and he smacked the pommel and guard into the tallest man he could see.
His steel clashed against the man’s helm and immediately rendered the man unconscious.
Durrandon suddenly felt something nick against his illusory back, so he quickly turned around and brought his left fist down on whoever was there, thus shattering the jaw and cheekbone of another man who fell to the ground bloodied.
Grabbing the long sword the man had, he ran off again, slashing his blades left and right at men’s exposed limbs, the fastest way to render them unable to continue.
It amazed the disguised prince that some people would cry out before they actually attacked, giving away their positions to the people they wanted to kill; merely stupidity at work.
Durrandon hacked away the screamers and kicked away the criers.
He placed his full strength behind the kicks through his high level Power Strikes, and it caved in their badly tempered brėȧstplates and broke their rib cages.
His slashes sliced through their gambesons like paper, but Durrandon would avoid lethal places if he could help.
And soon over half the men were on the ground.
Many battles were still ongoing, but his Mental Map revealed that there was no one around him at the moment…no one who still moved anyway.
Holding his sword over his shoulder, the disguised prince scanned his surroundings and saw one man winning his battle.
He was a tall man, but oddly skinny.
He had a long spear in one hand and a short sword in the other.
He would spin his body around as people swarmed him so his spear to cut people away from him and his short sword with pierce whoever made it pass his spear.
It was a bad plan, in Durrandon’s opinion, but he was still standing.
He decided to cut down the competition.
Breaking into a sprint again; the more room between him and the tall man was large, so it allowed him to run faster than before.
So like the wind, Durrandon was next to the man before he noticed, and jumped.
It was a very good jump, almost two meters into the air, even for the slightly small man he was pretending to be.
His target eventually saw him, but it was far too late.
Durrandon’s fist collided with the man’s face as he delivered another Power Strike and several teeth flew out of his mouth.
His eyes closed and his mind shut down before his long body crashed into the ground in a heap.
“Let’s finish this!” Shouted the disguised prince as he readied his swords and slashed at his sides.
“My gods, that man is good with a sword!” Hoster Tully exclaimed as he sat forward to get a better view. “And that punch was very well struck.”
Even his brother, Bryden Tully, the Blackfish, had to agree with him.
The people watching on the pavilion had been paying attention to the young man since the gates opened and the men stormed.
It was very shocking to some people watching that the slightly small man had been so brutal.
He stabbed a man through his stomach and opened another with a battle-axe.
The relentless battle seemed easy for him as he sped around the arena, hacking away at people’s legs and avoiding every strike that came at him.
Many saw how powerful he actually was; it was very clear that his kicks were able to crush some fighters’ cheaply made brėȧstplates.
And the fact that he jumped two meters into the air to knock out the tall man was enough for the people to see how special he truly was.
The King laughed as he clapped at each good strike. “This is looking good!”
Prince Oberyn nodded as he found a seat next to the one pretending to be Durrandon and Alysse.
“That boy is quite good; I don’t think I’ve seen someone move so quickly for many years.”
The group observed the tattered armor of some men lying on the ground after being attacked by the bȧrė ċhėsted man.
“And he certainly doesn’t lack power; his kicks caved in that man’s armor.” Oberyn looked back at Lord Tyrell with a point. “I am definitely fighting you for this one too.”
Mace Tyrell smiled and raised his glass at Oberyn. “We shall see, Prince Oberyn.”
Tyrion was also quite intrigued by the boy, as was his father who was looking at the fight with interest.
They have never seen a Warrior so talented and powerful since Jaime was young, and even Jaime Lannister didn’t have strength enough to kick a man, with full armor, meters away.
Tyrion could already see his father trying to recruit the Archer and Warrior back to Casterly Rock.
The great Tywin Lannister had a good eye for talent, as his father would like people to say, but Tyrion mused that one need not have a very good eye to spot talent on these two men.
A few rows below the Lords, Jaime Lannister himself and Ser Barristan watched the fight with great interest.
The Commander of the Kingsguard possessed the eternal task of recruiting talented young men, and Jaime could see the thoughts circling Barristan’s mind already.
The Kingslayer couldn’t blame the older man; that young man was clearly one of talent.
Even Jaime himself at that age did not possess such speed and strength, nor did he at the present.
In a few years, the people of Far Far Away could very well become one of the strongest military forces in all of the Known World.
“How in the world does he jump so high?” Jaime pondered with amusement as he rested his back against a wooden post of the pavilion. “Even to someone not wearing armor, that was almost two meters in the air.”
Ser Barristan looked rather emotionless as he crossed his arms. “Yes, most intriguing.”
The King’s laughter could be heard by the whole pavilion. “That’s a great warrior! He’s nearly earned my firstborn four thousand gold dragons!” Robert looked down at his children: Prince Durrandon, his heir and a boy of five name days. “That, my dear child, is how I expect you to be when you’re of age; a true warrior!” The one posing as Durrandon nodded silently. “One day I’ll teach you how to wield a Warhammer!”
Cersei Lannister, the Queen of Westeros, sighed and looked away, finding her husband’s drunken words annoying and embarrassing, but she did find the fight interesting.
The young man reminded her a little of Jaime when they were young, with his golden blond hair and fierceness with the sword.
Jon Arryn smiled at his King and chuckled at the fake Crown Prince. “This is good; I haven’t seen such fierceness since the war. Wouldn’t you say so, Your Grace?”
Robert laughed and raised his glass again. “Yes, Ned would like him!”
Jon chuckled and nodded. “Yes, he would.”
All the way on the other side of the pavilion, Arianne held her hands together as she watched a single man take down one foe after another.
It scared her a little, the way he killed the first two men, and he looked rather casual about it.
But after a few mere seconds, she recognized the talent both foreigners had.
Despite his bȧrė torso and hidden face, mud and blood, he was graceful and confident.
He was very sure of himself.
With every kick, slash, hack, or jab, a man would fall and would not get up soon.
Arianne found herself trembling, but she did not know from what.
Fear?
Excitement?
She did not know, but she knew that the men of Far Far Away were entirely at fault.
“Oh my gods…this Warrior is so brutal.” Tyene muttered as she leaned over the railing to have a better look. “I think that man right there is dead!”
“Of course he is dead!” Cried Sarella as she covered her eyes from the scene. “He shoved his sword through his belly!”
Arianne ignored her sister/cousin/best friends’ voices; all she paid attention to was the fight and how the ‘Warrior’ moved.
She observed how his muscles would flex and move as he twisted and turned and slashed and hacked.
The few strands of hair coming outside of his helmet would wave in the air as he moved; it made him look somewhat regal and majestic while also barbaric and natural, it made Arianne want him so badly.
‘I want to spend some time with both Bard and the Warrior.’ She mused with a smirk.
The preliminary round was almost over, only ten fighters remained standing.
Two hundred and ninety people were down on the ground, some groveling in pain and agony and some were dead, though the former did vastly outnumber the latter.
Many weapons were lying abandoned on the ground, warhammers, swords, mace, and spears, their wielders could no longer wield them.
The entire field was treacherous; the maces acted like spiked traps on the ground and the heavy hammers could very well trip whoever’s feet skimmed over them.
Then there was the blood, almost the entire field had blood on it.
There were puddles of blood where the few dead men lie, and splatter of blood on the walls from severed limbs and deep gashes.
It was a very ugly sight.
Durrandon stood alone, and much like seven of the other fighters, he was away from any other person.
They were all watching two men clash their steel.
It was a battle of warhammer and long sword, of grace and brute strength, of speed and strength.
The two had been clashing for a few minutes already, and the tall red haired man wielding the warhammer was starting to slow down.
The brown haired man, who wielded the long sword, was much quicker on his feet and had better footwork.
From what Durrandon had heard, the man’s name was Daemon Sand, a bastard from Dorne.
He watched as he calmed his own breathing with a Breathing technique, taking the time to restore his partially spent stamina bar, but he knew he would only have another few seconds left.
The disguised prince knew the other seven were waiting for the fight to finish before ganging up on him, seeing how he was the one who looked the most unharmed.
Durrandon could already feel through his Mental Map several men on his right aiming their footing to his direction, waiting for the right moment to strike.
One of them was Thoros, who was a very capable fighter and made it quite far.
Probably thanks to his flaming sword bringing literal hell to his adversaries.
But either way, Durrandon was ready.
A piercing cry sounded out from the arena as the red haired man dropped his hammer and a blade pierced his right shoulder.
Blood spewed from his body as the blade was pulled out.
He fell to the ground in a heap and the competition was left with nine people.
One more must fall before the end of the round.
“Well.” Started the disguised prince with a grunt. “Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?” The other eight men turned to him, including Thoros, who had just finished his fight. “If one of you is willing to surrender, then no one will need to get hurt before going to the next round.”
A large man with yellow teeth grinned as he whirled his battle-axe in his hand. “The only one who’s going to be hurting will be you.”
“Let’s get this foreigner!” Cried another man before all eight of them charged.
Through the corner of his eyes, Durrandon saw Rhaenys standing up from where she was sitting on the pavilion, disguised as him, along with many others watching.
Letting the small happy feeling of Rhaenys being worried for him fade away, Durrandon turned to the men coming to him.
As if out of reflex, he shifted his body to the side, bent his knee and held his sword at his hip. “You people shouldn’t charge so angrily.” Muttered the young man as he sped forth with his strongest kick off the ground. His body was swift and light and he was much faster than what his opponent had expected. “You are all full of openings.”
All eight men saw the same thing: flashes of light reflected off his sword and maybe a hint of his emerald eyes, but that was it.
All were silent as Durrandon stood behind the eight men.
The eight men froze the moment the disguised prince had passed them.
They were in shock…at that moment, with his sword to his side and eyes wide open, Durrandon seemed unstoppable.
It was far too fast.
It was impossible for any of the eight men to block or parry.
In less than an instant, Durrandon had swiftly changed weapons and pierced the armor of all eight men with one swift motion: a 360 degree swing that was too fast for the common eye to see.
Soon, blood started to flow from the men’s side.
The armor was sliced open and after a few more seconds, they felt the stinging pain of being cut and the wetness of their blood trailing down their bodies.
Thoros of Myr was shocked and his eyes were wide open as he tried to look back at Durrandon, but he found himself and his flaming sword falling to the ground, just like the other seven men.
“When you are tired you shouldn’t charge blindly.” Durrandon said as he held his original sword over his shoulder and turned to face the fallen men. “Even though you outnumbered me eight to one, you gave me enough space between all of you to land a mass attack, and because you are all so tired and weak, none of you could have blocked it.” Some of the fallen tried to speak or push themselves up, but just couldn’t. “Don’t worry, those cuts won’t kill you, but your abdomen muscles will be hurting for a month or two.”
The entire arena was silent along with the pavilion and the civilian viewing area.
Everyone took some time to figure out what happened as the end of the match was really so anticlimactic.
With Syrio Forel being one of the few satisfied with the display of skill.
But soon the judges broke out of the stupor and walked up to Durrandon.
“Umm, since you are the only one still standing, there can’t be a second round.” The man looked troubled as the disguised prince didn’t have the decency to look a little embarrassed, once again he might have overdone it. “So umm; oh I don’t know how to rule this!” He looked back at his two counterparts and they were also at a loss…something so extreme had never happened before. “What should we do?”
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SHITS WAITING FOR?!” Shout the loud and excited voice of the King. “THE MAN IS THE WINNER, ANNOUNCE IT ALREADY!”
The main judge stammered a little at the King’s voice before walking up to Durrandon.
“This man is the winner!” Announced one of Durrandon’s Minor Illusions, disguised as his Bard persona, as loudly as he could before raising his actual arm into the air. “WARRIOR OF FAR FAR AWAY IS THE WINNER!”
Just like before, the entire audience exploded in applause.
Civilians were jumping up and down, crying out their cheers of happiness, excitement and awe.
Never before had a common group managed to have its members win both the archery and melee competitions; it was truly inspiring for the civilians to see such an outcome, such a staggering and amazing outcome.
Fathers were lifting their children over their shoulders so they could catch a glimpse of the people’s hero and the entire city was shaking in cheer and applause.
Almost everyone in the pavilion was clapping and more than a few of them were on their feet, the King being one of them.
Robert was laughing and threw his cup of wine to the side in order to have both hands to clap.
He stood from his elevated platform and looked down at the two illusions of his son, who was just smirking.
The King laughed even more and started to gesture to Jon Arryn to come take a look at him.
Prince Oberyn was also on his feet, clapping calmly with a smile on his face.
Mace Tyrell, Hoster Tully and Twin Lannister were not standing, but they were clapping, which must have been really spectacular since even the great Tywin Lannister was clapping.
Alysse and the disguised Rhaenys were also clapping, but they were rather more proud than impressed.
“These two are certainly talented warriors in their own way!” Shouted the King as he pointed down at the disguised Rhaenys. “They’ve already won us many gold dragons and won twenty five thousand for them!” Robert laughed as he clapped Jon on the shoulder. “What’s two foreigners like that going to do with so much gold?!”
The Hand of the King chuckled and clapped along with the others. “Whatever they want to, Your Grace. With luck, they might consider settling down here in Westeros.” Jon turned to his King after another few seconds of clapping. “Such young talent is rarely seen, Your Grace; perhaps you should take them under your own house and have them swear their swords to you?”
Robert laughed and poured wine into a new cup. “That is certainly a good idea!” The King pointed at Mace Tyrell and Prince Oberyn. “Back off, Mace and Oberyn, that man will become a fine swordsman right here in King’s Landing!”
Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime Lannister were also clapping for the foreigners, though they were much more composed than the King.
Barristan Semly was already smiling when he heard the King announce that he planned to keep the two in King’s Landing; they would be a fine addition to the city’s guards and Barristan looked forward to meeting the two himself.
“It looks like we will see more of them now.” Jaime said with an amused smile on his face. “The King seems to have taken a liking to these foreigners.”
“I do not object to such a suggestion, those two undoubtedly possess a rare talent, and we need as much talent as those here at all times.”
The cheering continued, but almost no one in the arena clapped as loud as one girl.
“YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!” Cried Arianne as she stood on her feet, jumping up and down with a huge smile on her face.
The Sand Snakes giggled as they watched their princess forget her lessons in public behavior while ignoring the burning glare they were all getting from Prince Doran at the moment.
After another few minutes of endless applause, the crowd was silenced by the King, who stepped to the edge of his platform and raised his hands into the air.
In seconds everyone was silent, and Durrandon had both his illusions looking up at the King from within the battle arena.
The judges read the silent order of the King and quickly led both Bard and Warrior out of the battle ground and showed them to the front of the pavilion, looking directly up at the King and many other lords of the nation.
The disguised prince looked a little shocked at the resulting outcome and appeared to not know how to react under such a situation.
“Don’t need to look nervous, you two; I just want to have a talk.” Robert said with his demanding voice laced with amusement.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Durrandon had both of his illusions saying as he made them go down on one knee.
“Though I must say that I’m sorry to be such a mess…” Muttered the Warrior as he displayed the illusionary mud, blood and grime on his body, hair and helmet.
Robert gave a low chuckle as he held his wine cup to his lips. “Don’t fret, your King has been through battles as well and has been in even worse filth.” The King stepped down from his elevated platform and walked down to ground level. “So…you two have become the champion of both the Archery Competition and the Melee; what are you going to do with your winnings?”
The Bard gave a chuckle and a confident smile. “I don’t know, Your Grace; maybe a nice supper and a warm bath.”
The King laughed as some others chuckled. “You can do a lot more than that with forty twenty five gold dragons!” Robert stood directly in front of the illusions and his son before smiling down at them. “What do you plan to do now, after the tourney is done?”
“We don’t know for sure, Your Grace.” The Bard persona replied. “We were expecting to travel around Westeros.”
“You two can buy a house and several whorehouses here if you want!” Joked Robert. “But I have a better suggestion!” Robert turned to his squire and gestured to his sword, to which the squire handed him and he placed it on Warrior’s shoulder. “I, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do so hereby grant you, Warrior and Bard of Far Far Away, Knighthood!”
Once again, the crowd sprang up in applause as the illusions looked up in controlled shock.
He wasn’t the only one, some of the Lords behind the King looked surprised at the sudden decision, but some were smiling and nodding.
Jon Arryn looked pleased along with Prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell, all agreeing on the King’s decision.
Arianne and her best friends were shocked but quickly started to cheer for the foreigners again, happy and shocked at their quick and rapid accomplishments.
“Don’t look so shocked; men have been knighted for less, and what you did today was truly worthy of knighthood.” The King patted his shoulder and gestured to him to stand up. Durrandon was glad that he had decided to touch the illusion he was hiding inside. Standing up and looking the King in the eyes, he heard him say. “From today on, you will be addressed as Ser… er… Knights? Is that fine?” Rober chuckled at the weird tradition Durrandon had fabricated. “From today on, you will be addressed as Ser Knight and Ser… Ranger!”
“Thank you for this honor, Your Grace.” Durrandon smiled and bowed to the King as he heard a ping, and a window popped up to him.
[YOU HAVE BEEN ANOINTED AS A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN!]
[SKILL STAR EVOLVED!]
Numerous terms and conditions were listed to Durrandon, but he didn’t have the time to read it properly.
“Well, if you want to repay me for this honor, how about you stay in King’s Landing and become one of my Knights?” The King smiled as Durrandon was once again taken by surprise. “We always need strong and talented young men like yourselves in King’s Landing, so stay here and swear your swords to me!”
Durrandon didn’t have to think for even a second.
“We are really sorry, Your Grace.” Bard began saying sincerely as he knelt to one knee again.
“We would have to decline your most generous offer.” The Warrior held his sword out. “But our swords have already been sworn to a Lord.”
“You don’t need to be sorry!” Replied Robert with a laugh as he patted for Warrior to stand up, and signaled for Bard to follow. “But now that you’re a knight, do you know what you can do now?”
Durrandon’s eyes rolled while he was hidden in his illusion.
“No, Your Grace.” The Warrior asked as the Bard nodded knowingly.
Robert chuckled as he gestured down to the third and final part of the tourney area. “Now you can join in on the joust!” The King’s laughter rang out throughout the area as everyone else caught the implications. “So how about it; do you want to try to win another event of the tourney?”
Durrandon shook his head and bowed apologetically. “Perhaps next time, your Grace, we’ve got some people waiting for me and I have no training with riding a horse.”
Noticing Bard’s smirk, Robert laughed out loud. “Ah yes yes, nothing better than a fuċk after a fight.”
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(07/10/2021)
*Hope this chapter is of your liking.
Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.
Check out my auxiliary chapter if you still haven’t.
Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.
Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.
