24th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Rest (1 P.M.)
Malora Hightower, Outskirts of Lannisport
"He did it again," the Archmaester of the higher mysteries observes.
"Yes, he did," Lord Father agrees. "He is certainly aware that this will draw attention, isn't he?" he continues in a whisper.
"He didn't seem like a naive boy to me, so I doubt he is ignorant of it."
What they are both commenting on is the North's overwhelming victory in the Turf, which was certainly aided by the magical bear.
When the horses of the other competitors completed their second lap, the Merman was already halfway through his fourth, showing no signs of fatigue.
By the time the race ended, his horse, the one that must have been the target of the magic, had already been resting and drinking water for two minutes.
"Could the effect be permanent?" Lord Father asks hopefully, barely containing himself to a whisper.
"Highly unlikely. Since he vanished before the two Northmen competed, it is probable he cast it at that moment. If it were permanent, he wouldn't have waited until the final moments. The effect should last a few dozen minutes or a few hours."
The Archmaester's analysis is sensible.
"The real question is the limit. How many of these can he cast? Can he cover an army? How far beyond can he elevate an individual? And the requirements, are they high? These are the questions I would like answers to."
Lord Father murmurs in agreement before turning to me.
"What do you think, dear?"
"The limit of people at a time must be low," I reply as softly as possible. "Otherwise, the Northern casualties in the Battle of the Dawn wouldn't have been so high. But how far he can push it seems to be quite a long way. As for the requirements, they must be rather high. If not, the conditions must be quite rigorous."
I explain my understanding.
"Costly and rigorous or not, we must obtain it if he accepts our invitation," he says.
"He will," the Archmaester states confidently. "After being summoned by our king once more, he must have realized our value. It is merely a matter of waiting for him to accept reality."
"I hope you are right, friend."
Thus, we remain in silence for a time, watching the Merman be crowned champion of the Turf, which consisted of only a single round. We remain like that until someone comes to disturb us.
"Lord Hightower, Lady Olenna Tyrell invites your daughter to watch the final event by her side," a servant speaks upon approaching my father.
Father does not reply immediately. He first casts a glance toward the Rose, who offers us a smile.
The Archmaester watches the scene in silence.
"Tell her we will join her in a minute."
"Lady Olenna Tyrell invites only your daughter, my lord."
The servant speaks uncomfortably. To deny a lord, even if in favor of his lady, was not in his blood.
Father spends a moment staring at the nervous Tyrell servant before finally speaking to me.
"What do you think, dear? Would you mind pleasing our lady paramount with your company?"
The word "paramount" leaves his mouth heavy with scorn.
It bothered Father how the Rose held control over the Garden.
"No."
My response appears to shock the servant. But Father only laughs upon hearing it.
With closed eyes, the Archmaester tries to hold back his own laughter, but a few sounds still escape his throat.
It never ceases to confuse me how choosing not to play these useless games can frighten certain people.
"Please, Malora, you are no longer a child. It is time to step out of your cocoon a little. Go spend some time with Lady Olenna and show her your light."
I do not understand. Why bother asking if you are not going to listen to me?
***
"What have you been thinking of the tournament, dear?" the Rose of Highgarden asks. "The Lannisters didn't have much time to plan, that much is clear." She looks toward the grandstand seats and the entire structure erected for the tourney. "But the tournament itself is quite interesting. I certainly didn't expect the North to dominate it. But that only makes me want to see this so-called mage in action even more."
"Isn't he a Warlock?" the Rose's husband asks in confusion.
"Hm, yes, yes. I remember hearing some call him that. So many names to keep in mind..."
"What is a Warlock?" the boy sitting between the two speaks up.
The Rose brings her face close to her offspring and replies dramatically.
"A Warlock is a person who devours ill-behaved children."
Foolishly, the child shrinks back into his seat, frightened.
The Rose then returns her gaze to me with a smile.
"So?"
"Slow."
"Hmm. Tournaments do tend to be slow. Even more so these that decide to be symbolic and hold seven events. They are a drag. But that cannot be all, can it?"
She keeps looking at me.
I say nothing and merely look back. What does this woman want?
Tired of the staring match, she offers me a small smile and finally speaks.
"I noticed you were staring quite a bit at a certain war hero."
War hero... Ah, she must be referring to him.
"The magical bear?"
The Rose opens her eyes in surprise. Am I wrong?
" 'The magical bear?' Do you already have nicknames? What is yours? What does he call you?"
What is she talking about?
"How could I know?"
Her smile dies, and she begins to blink repeatedly upon hearing my answer.
Was I too aggressive?
"How close are you? You and your magical bear."
She thinks we are close because we kept staring at each other?
"Not at all."
She narrows her eyes at me.
"So it is one-sided? Oh, I am so sorry."
Why the sad eyes? What is she talking about?
"I do not understand."
"Do not deny it, dear, it is clear you are interested in him."
Yes. But how does she know that? And why does she assume it is one-sided?
Even if he refuses us, it would be because he does not trust us, not due to a lack of interest.
"There is nothing to be ashamed of, dear. It is perfectly normal to fall for knights when young."
WHAT?!
Is this woman mad?!
And why is she holding my hand so gently?!
"But there is no reason to give up just yet. Just because he doesn't return your feelings at the moment doesn't mean there is no future between the two of you."
"I harbor no such feelings!"
Dozens of eyes are drawn by my shout.
"Shouting like that won't convince anyone but yourself. Sit down and relax."
"I am not trying to convince myself of anything, Rose. The only person here drowning in delusions is you. I do not nurture that kind of interest in him. It isn't even possible. We have never so much as exchanged a word."
Thoughts are not words, so I am correct.
"Then why did you spend so much time staring at each other? Minutes. With very few breaks in contact."
"Because..."
Oh, no. I cannot explain without speaking the truth.
" 'Because' what?" She smiles as if she has won. "Please, stop. You aren't really fooling anyone."
What do I do?
It annoys me that she assumes something so wrong and acts in such an arrogant manner, but at the same time, does it matter?
As long as it causes no harm, it matters little what she thinks. Should I play along?
"And you needn't be so pessimistic about your chances. Him returning your gaze to the point of being the last to look away means something. Your chances are far from zero."
It seems impossible to convince her otherwise.
So be it.
"What do you want?"
"To help you win him over."
"Why would you do such a thing?"
She squeezes my hand tighter.
"Because the world is changing, dear."
***
The Hour of the Rest (1 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Outskirts of Lannisport
Common Quest: The Northern Sweep.
Description: Make the North win the highest number of events.
Archery: Ongoing. [Reward: 500 XP]
Lançamento de machado: Ongoing. [Reward: 300 XP]
Turfe: Complete. [Reward: 400 XP]
Duelo: Ongoing. [Reward: 800 XP]
Melee: Ongoing. [Reward: 900 XP]
Mock Battle: Ongoing. [Reward: 1.000 XP]
Jousting: Ongoing. [Reward: 900 XP]
[Reward: +1.000 XP bonus if all events are cleared.]
Just one more to wrap up the day.
Eight Enhance Ability charges used, two more ready to go.
All that is left is Luton Norrey, who is already under the effect of three Enhance Ability spells, which raise his Dexterity to 12, to advance through the two rounds of the duel.
Honestly, I don't see him losing. With 17 Strength and Constitution combined with 12 Dexterity, I doubt there is a human with stats anywhere near his.
At the moment, Luton was already on the field, which had been altered once again. He was lined up alongside the other thirty-one competitors.
The lineup was quite diverse, showing men from different corners of Westeros. The only unrepresented kingdom was the Iron Islands, which held a morbid symbolism, seeing as the islands would no longer be a kingdom by the end of the tourney.
Among the competitors were Gwayne Gaunt and Harlan Grandison, members of the Kingsguard and two of the Seven Warriors, Lord Steffon Baratheon, the Blackfish, and, to my surprise, Andrey Blackmont, the annoying Dornishman.
With the most anticipated event of the day having arrived, the king finally seemed to have decided to deliver his first words.
Rising and stepping toward the railing of his box, Aerys speaks his opening remarks.
"As many of you must have heard, or even witnessed, we recently had the displeasure of discovering that the threats against Westeros are not yet over."
It seems he plans to address the elephant in the room first.
His words had a rapid effect on the crowd, which lost the good humor it had gained from the tournament so far.
"In a still uncertain future, Westeros will fall victim to attacks from both the north and the south. And just like the one coming from the west, from the Iron Islands, they will be magical."
The audience begins to clamor.
"But just as with the Iron Islands, we will prevail!" Aerys shouts, slamming the railing. "Fighting the undead, monsters, and practitioners of magic is no longer a novelty to us. The proof stands before you." He speaks, referring to the corpses of the Deep Ones scattered around Lannisport and the tourney grounds. "We have defeated even a god! They can come, I am not afraid! And I am proceeding with the tournament! I will show everyone who thinks otherwise what we are capable of! What our men are capable of!"
Parts of the crowd begin to cheer the king. Whether they are genuine or just empty gestures to gain goodwill with the king, I do not know.
"And when the tournament ends, I will announce the partition of the Iron Islands!"
With those words, even those who weren't very invested opened their eyes and began to watch with closer attention.
"I already have an idea of how the partition will be, but depending on how well a kingdom performs, I may consider granting or taking away lands," he reveals maliciously, flashing a grin that showed all his teeth.
"So far, according to the performance of all the kingdoms, it seems the North will be the one to win the most land."
And just like that, numerous heads turn toward our section of the grandstand. With those words, Aerys put a target on our backs.
"Come, motherfuckers!" Maege speaks a bit too loudly.
***
In the first round, the giant of the mountain clan fought against a hedge knight from the Westerlands.
The knight fought with fervor, demonstrating great skill with his sword, but Luton's physical superiority was too much for him.
The poor knight lasted only a minute and a half before having his arm broken by the Norrey's axe.
Even a suit of plate armor was not enough to stop the Northman's power.
With another victory, the North advances to the round of sixteen, which would be the last of the day.
Aside from Luton, the tournament's other main competitors also passed. The two men of the Kingsguard, Gwayne Gaunt and Harlan Grandison, advanced by defeating a Riverlands nobleman and a Reachman knight, respectively. Both found easy victories.
Steffon went on to secure a win against a skilled Stormlands knight, in contrast to Brynden Tully, who defeated his opponent with an ease similar to that of Luton and the Kingsguard.
To my surprise, the Dornishman, who was the only one from his kingdom to participate, also advanced, despite nearly being defeated several times. He was obviously not accustomed to fighting in armor.
The last notable man to advance, drawing applause from the crowd as he carved out his victory, was the knight who accompanied the septon in the great hall: Kermit Frey.
He was young but quite skilled, managing to defeat his opponent in a well-balanced fight.
But the most interesting thing about him was not his age, but rather his stats.
-
Name: Kermit Frey (17)
HP: 40 / 40
Sex: Male
Race: Man of the Andal
Class: Paladin (Fighting Style: Blessed Warrior)
Sacred Oath: Devotion
Level: 5
Exp: 8,750 / 14,000
Ability Scores
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 10
Skills
Athletics (Str): The ability to climb, jump, and swim.
Acrobatics (Dex): The ability to stay upright in a tricky situation, such as when you try to run across a sheet of ice, balance on a tightrope, or stay erect on the deck of a pitching ship.
Intimidation (Wis): Possesses an enhanced ability to intimidate people to gather information or convince them to change their minds.
Feats
None.
Talents
+1 to all simple weapons and martial weapons.
-
He is a full paladin. He is not like the members of the Kingsguard, who first became Fighters and later converted after taking their vows.
No. He went straight into Paladin.
That is rather interesting. From what I understand, the class is chosen by the system, taking into account both the person's mindset and their life choices. So, someone who becomes a direct paladin must be a person who knows very well what they want and what they believe in.
The septon has a very interesting person in his group.
"There's a problem."
Malora again. What does she want to ask this ti— Wait. Why is she sitting next to Olenna Tyrell?
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