24th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of High Sun (11 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, outskirts of Lannisport
The tournament has begun. There was no grand ceremony to mark its start.
When the time came to begin, two hours ago, one of the king's men arrived at the front of the space where the tournament was set up and announced that they could enter.
The first two hours of the tournament were spent without any events to watch, being dedicated to the people familiarizing themselves with the space where the events would be held and buying things at the stalls previously erected.
But with enough time passed, the same man of the king announced in the middle of the square that the first events were about to begin: archery and axe throwing.
Aerys changed plans on the last day and decided to include three more events: axe throwing, Turf, and dueling. Bringing the total number of events to seven.
This interfered with my plan to have the North take every event. The last-minute news made Lord Rickard and me make hasty repairs to the plan.
Axe throwing was not a problem. Murch Flint, the one previously chosen for archery, possessed good dexterity that also transferred to weapon throwing.
Turf was a bit more complicated, as it depended much more on having a good horse, something we Northerners brought. We had already bought a horse for Beren to compete in the joust, but according to Manderly, it was not suitable for racing. Apparently, a horse being good at jousting does not make it good at racing.
This was easily the category that depended most on the pocketbook of the competitor or their sponsor.
Without much choice and desperate to guarantee victory, I decided on some of the ten thousand gold dragons given by Tywin.
The horse cost a pricey 7 gold dragons. A price more than twice the normal rate due to the high last-minute demand. But it was worth it. Possessing thirteen dexterity, the horse was of high quality.
Just as with the axe-throwing, it was decided to repeat the champion for the Turf. Benfred Manderly, like Murch, would become the champion of two categories.
The pressure weighing on his shoulders was noticeable, but he had to overcome it.
Then only the duel remained. Just like Jousting, it would be one-on-one. Both armed, but with blunted weapons. It was like a Trial by the Seven, but less lethal. Less. But not non-existent.
Following the pattern, we put Luton Norrey, the barbarian with 17 strength and constitution who would compete in the Melee, to compete in the duel.
With everyone chosen, all that was left was to hope that all my prepared Enhance Ability spells would be enough.
***
"We are not questioning your skill, Murch. But this is about more than sucking a few gold dragons out of Tywin." Rickard repeats himself to the mountain Flint.
While the other competitors prepared at their posts, Rickard, Murch, and I stayed behind in the waiting room, discussing.
We are in this situation because Murch Flint had developed an unnecessary sense of pride at the last minute and wanted to compete without the aid of my magic.
Murch was good, very good. Perhaps he would win, but it was an unnecessary risk, and Rickard was having to convince him otherwise now, with the event almost starting, since he would not listen to a twelve-year-old boy like me.
"This is about showing strength. Winning is not just enough. The victory must be absolute. When the competition is over, I do not want to hear stories of how the second or third-place finisher almost won. I want there to be such a large gap that everyone will only talk about how the others had to settle for competing for second and third place."
Rickard explained in powerful fervor.
"Understood?"
"Yes, my lord," Murch answers in a defeated manner.
Stepping away from Flint, Rickard turns to me.
"Ser Alaric."
My cue.
As I approach Murch and touch his shoulder, I begin to speak in Druidic, generating sounds of nature and causing green particles to emerge around us.
Murch does not panic or get startled by the sight. This was not the first, second, or third time he had seen my magic.
We did several tests during the six days of preparation, aiming to discover how strong the impact of Enhance Ability is on archery skill and how many improvements would be needed to ensure victory.
The tests gave great results. So great that they led Murch to not want them.
In the middle of the spell, shouts from outside pass through the wooden wall of the room and reach us.
"They must already be introducing the competitors. It is almost starting, quick!" Rickard urges.
With the particles moving into Murch, the spell takes effect.
Now he would have +2 dexterity for a period of three hours, or until I cancel the spell.
"The first one is done. Now the second."
With my hand still, I begin the second and last one. Two seconds later, the particles enter him again, and a second Enhance Ability takes effect, increasing his strength by +2.
The first was to increase his accuracy, the second was to improve his grip and the time he can remain with the string pulled without faltering and losing the target.
As I can maintain up to three concentration spells like Enhance Ability at the same time, I could even cast one more, but I will not.
That was the original plan, but with the addition of more events, I had to cancel it. Today alone, there will be four different events: Archery, axe throwing, Turf, and duel. The first two have two rounds.
Fortunately, none of them will be held simultaneously, and at least the Turf will be a single round race. I just need to hope that the two rounds of archery do not last more than three hours.
"Done. Go, quickly, before they disqualify you for absence."
Gripping the Weirwood bow in his hand, Murch runs out of the room.
***
By the time Rickard and I left the room and reached the upper stands of the nobles, the presentation had already finished and the archers already had their strings pulled and were aiming at their targets a few dozen meters away.
"Why the delay?" Jeor asks, looking at us from his seat.
"Murch gained a conscience at the last minute and did not want to listen to us," I explain, being vague.
There were many ears and eyes around us. Tywin himself was present, doing the work of the king, who must be absent because of his distaste for archery.
Tywin was not alone. The entire main line of House Lannister was present, including the twins, Jaime and Cersei.
"Hm." He turns to Flint on the field, who was releasing the string that launched the arrow that hit the target in its center. "Did he listen?"
There was little interest in his tone. Jeor was not in favor of the plan and participated reluctantly.
To him, our plan to set the North as the champion of the tournament was unnecessary and dangerous. That it would only end up further stoking the curiosity of the king and the anger of his Hand.
He had a point. But I already had a plan, an offer, that would deal with both men at once.
And the opportunity to complete, or come close to completing, the requirement to increase the renown of House Mormont was too good to be wasted.
And by the quest I was given, the system seemed to agree with me that this was a golden opportunity.
-
Common Quest: The Northern Sweep.
Description: Make the North win the highest number of events.
Archery: Ongoing. [Reward: 200-500 XP]
Axe throwing: Ongoing. [Reward: 100-300 XP]
Turf: Ongoing. [Reward: 100-400 XP]
Duel: Ongoing. [Reward: 200-800 XP]
Melee: Ongoing. [Reward: 300-900 XP]
Mock Battle: Ongoing. [Reward: 500-1,000 XP]
Jousting: Ongoing. [Reward: 300-900 XP]
[Reward: +1,000 XP bonus if all events are cleared.]
-
"Yes," I answer, sitting down next to Jorah, who was focused on the competition.
I do the same.
In all, there were thirty-two archers, and only sixteen would pass. Who advances is decided by a point count according to which part of the target each of their five arrows hit.
The shot in the red center of the wooden shield hanging on the straw dummy had already guaranteed him twenty points. And it seemed that only two others had scored twenty points on their first arrows.
"He's going to win this easily," Maege comments confidently.
Yes, but that was obvious. Murch had managed to hit much further targets in practice—targets that would make this one look easy.
The most important thing was that the point counting was fast, and the second flight of arrows was already being notched against the bowstrings.
It seems the event won't take more than an hour. Maybe I won't even need to cast another two Enhance Ability spells for the axe-throwing.
As I sigh in relief, a female voice invades my mind.
"He possesses remarkable skill. How much of that is truly his?"
It's her again. Malora Hightower.
Sitting on the other side of the private stands where the Lannisters sat, she was once again dressed in the same green dress, accompanied by her father and the Archmaester.
"Whenever I see you, you are always wearing the same dress. Do you not possess another?"
"I possess multiple dresses with the same design. Having less freedom of choice helps me focus on what matters, like the magic you placed on that man."
"Why do you assume I have cast anything on him?"
"We researched everything you did during the war. We know of your capacity to improve physical ability."
"Ser Edmund Bushy and his knights."
Yes. I remember explaining and using Enhance Ability on Ser Gerold and Rickard in front of him and several other Reach knights. They must have opened their mouths.
"Correct. And both you and he were late. There was more than enough time for something to have been done. And I read his thoughts."
"Of course you did."
"With the problem you have with the dragon and your lion, you must have already done the same repeatedly. Knowledge is gold. Using the perfect extraction tool is a matter of logic. Do not judge or deny it."
"Huh. What are you going to do with this knowledge? What do you want? Are you going to blackmail me?"
"We will not force you into a choice. It is not necessary. Just as it is logical for me to read their thoughts, it is logical for you to join our group. If you decide against it, whether because you do not see it or you ignore it, that will only show that you do not fit with us. If you cannot see our utility even after the Archmaester used his authority to help you in the private meeting with the king, then it is better we go our separate ways."
She is convinced. Very convinced.
"At the moment, I would just like you to answer my question."
hm?
"Which question?"
"How much of the skill demonstrated by him is actually his. He has already hit the center of the target twice. Three times. He just hit another."
Shifting my gaze, I see Murch indeed hitting the center of the shield again.
"Is that it?"
"Yes."
"...He is naturally good. He would probably reach the final round on his own. But without my magic aiding him, he would never manage to hit the center of the target every single time like he's going to do."
Nothing. She says nothing for a while, preferring to continue watching Murch pull the string for the fourth time.
Was that really all?
"By the old gods, boy. At least look away for a bit. Everyone has already noticed the two of you."
Maege's voice brings me back to reality and toward her; she was sitting in the row above me, Jorah, and Jeor.
She was staring at me with a crooked smile.
"What?"
She leans down before speaking in a low, but no less teasing tone.
"What do you mean 'what?' You and the Hightower girl have been staring at each other without saying a word for minutes. Did you think no one would notice?"
"She's right, lad." Harren Glover, sitting next to Maege and close enough to hear, chimes in. "Look around."
I do.
And she really was right.
Almost everyone around us was giving me looks. Some amused, others malicious.
Even Jorah was giving me a strange look.
They got it all wrong.
"I was-"
"We know." Jeor cuts me off, without taking his eyes off the ongoing event. "Just disguise it better."
"Or rumors will spread," Rickard adds.
"We will talk later," Jeor finishes in a sour tone.
He didn't like the Hightowers and didn't want me exchanging words with them.
I didn't argue.
I glance at Malora's stand one last time, where she continued to watch the field. But this time, I notice those beyond her.
Again, Leyton Hightower and Culler were there, giving me occasional glances. But besides them, one more person had her eyes on me.
A woman. In her late thirties or early forties. Red hair. A green dress with flower ornaments all over.
She sat to the right of Luthor Tyrell and had her arm around his. Beside her, a ten-year-old child was saying something she ignored to continue looking at me.
Her eyes were calm, but not cold.
Noticing my gaze, she offers a small smile and raises her free hand to tap her index finger repeatedly toward the section below her, toward Malora.
Olenna Tyrell is watching me, and she noticed my look at the Hightower girl.
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