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CHAPTER 154
290 AC
POV MC
As I settled into the tent, a short span of time passed before Lord Stark's presence was announced by the rustle of the entrance. His expression carried a mix of irritation and anger, his demeanor reflecting his sentiments.
"It seems that just when I believe you might be learning some level of decorum and reason, you go out of your way to demonstrate the opposite. Why did you choose to insult him so blatantly? Have you not grasped the concept that such behavior toward a noble is unacceptable?"
My response came in a measured tone, respectful yet firm, "
"I understand the implications, my lord. And may I remind you, I am already considered a noble. King Robert, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, recognized my role as the hero of the North, and during the post-war festivities, he made it clear that he intends to grant me nobility following the conclusion of this tournament."
Lord Stark's annoyance led him to sink into a chair with an audible sigh. "While that might be true, why jeopardize our relationship with the Vale and the Royces over a piece of armor that holds little value?"
Gently, I elaborated,
"The armor's significance extends beyond its material worth. Though I am intrigued by its magical attributes, my main reason for the provocation was Yohn Royce's blatant disregard for our faith. While I may not be a devout believer myself, I cannot tolerate such insults to our beliefs and traditions. My lord, bear in mind that the rest of Westeros may wear friendly faces, but their true thoughts about us are far from kind."
"I know they don't understand us, but they wouldn't be mannerless."
"The usual derogatory terms – 'tree-hugging barbarians,' 'brutes,' 'mannerless dogs.' These are the opinions they secretly hold of us. While they appreciate our strength in times of conflict, the moment peace is restored, they revert to their customary opinions. I may wield the power to vanquish thousands, but my objective is to channel that strength into the betterment of the North. To achieve that, they must acknowledge me as more than just their equal. In this tournament, I intend to overcome anyone who dares challenge me. I aspire to forge a legend."
Lord Stark's composed countenance did not mask his recognition of the greater political dynamics at play. Despite his connections to the King and the Hand, he was not ignorant of the pervasive sentiments toward the North.
Continuing, I asserted, "My actions were not merely an outlet for frustration. They are part of a larger scheme; I span a web so big that it will become clearer years later. Know that everything I undertake is with the ultimate goal of advancing and empowering the North."
Naturally, I refrained from divulging my intention to rally the mountain clans against the Vale. Such a strategy contradicted his rigid code of honor. While the Vale's terrain posed a challenge, uniting the clans under a single banner and fomenting a crusade against the Vale was a covert objective. The groundwork had been established, but its fruition would demand years of careful planning and execution.
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Turning to my decision about the heirloom armor, I clarified, "Yes, I plan to accept the heirloom armor. After conducting my examinations, I might choose to return it. My interest lies in studying it and deepening my understanding of arcane knowledge."
Perplexity etched Lord Stark's features. "Arcane knowledge? Can you elaborate?"
"It's the pursuit of magic in its purest form, devoid of elemental or dark attributes. Our manipulation of mana or arcana often transforms it into elemental or dark magic."
Lord Stark rubbed his temples, struggling to absorb the complexities. "I confess, this is rather baffling."
Another sigh escaped him, and he addressed me with weariness, "Being a teenager is a challenge in itself, but your circumstances complicate matters further. Your power to eliminate thousands demands restraint. You cannot rely solely on brute force."
I responded earnestly, "My lord, my actions toward Lord Royce weren't driven solely by the desire to humiliate him. There are broader implications at play, although it's not yet time to unveil them. Rest assured, my every endeavor is aimed at the betterment and empowerment of the North."
Unspoken truths hung between us, and Lord Stark's understanding of the political landscape facilitated a measure of comprehension, even if complete revelation remained elusive.
...
The joust progressed to the second round, pitting me against Jason Mallister – a man revered for his courage and honor. Unlike my approach with Lord Royce, I had no intention of humiliating Mallister, given his respectful conduct and demeanor.
As we took our positions, Mallister removed his helmet, placing a fist over his heart in a salute. I mirrored the gesture, appreciating his dignified bearing. Lord Mallister's brown hair was streaked with white, yet his blue eyes retained their formidable intensity. His indigo armor featured silver accents, and his helmet bore the emblem of an eagle, the embodiment of his chivalry and sigil.
The clash of our charge reverberated through the arena, and my lance met Mallister's shield, resulting in the shattering of mine. His counterstrike landed on my right shoulder, but a quick twist allowed me to avoid the full impact, leaving his lance intact. Mallister managed to maintain his seat, preventing an unhorsing.
The crowd's roar filled the air, resonating with exhilaration. I retrieved a fresh lance, preparing for another charge. This time, my aim was his head, yet he deftly shifted aside, eluding my strike. Simultaneously, I deflected his attack with my shield. His skill was evident, offering a challenge that demanded my full attention. However, on our third pass, I succeeded in striking his chest squarely, unseating him from his horse.
I swiftly dismounted and extended my hand to assist him. Accepting my gesture, he rose, and together we raised our hands in a celebratory gesture, drawing cheers from the spectators. I saluted him, my fist over my heart, and commended,
"A splendid bout, Lord Mallister. An honor indeed."
Mallister opened his helmet and, with a smile gracing his face, said.
"The honor is mine, Sword of Winter. Until the melee, then."
Returning the salute, he turned to the King, saluted him, and departed the arena. My admiration for him deepened. As the joust progressed, Jorah Mormont emerged victorious over Lyle "Strongboar" Crakehall, Jamie Lannister defeated Lord Whent, and Hosteen Frey prevailed against Boros Blount, the sixth son of the "The Late" Lord Walder Frey.
The defeat of Boros Blount determined my next adversary.
...
The transition from the jousting arena to the feasting hall was marked by a palpable shift in atmosphere. The excitement of competition yielded to the allure of camaraderie, as the participants exchanged their armor for festive attire, a visual symbol of their dual roles as warriors and celebrants. Inside the Great Hall, the grandeur of the occasion was reflected in the tapestries adorning the walls, depicting the storied history of House Lannister.
Seated at the head of the hall, King Robert's jovial laughter resonated once more; his capacity for mirth and enjoyment remained unabated. The long tables, laden with a cornucopia of culinary delights, awaited the arrival of the guests. The rich aroma of roasted meats, hearty stews, and fresh-baked breads enveloped the space, whetting appetites and kindling a sense of eager anticipation.
Conversations flowed freely, bridging gaps of familiarity and heralding the formation of new connections. The resonance of clinking goblets, accompanied by the exchange of toasts and laughter, underscored the conviviality that defined the feast. As the alcohol flowed over some of the tables, fists started to talk with the help of liquid courage.
While the fervor of the jousting competition may have subsided for the day, the evening's festivities held their own allure. Noble lords and ladies, renowned knights, and distinguished guests shared in the camaraderie that only such gatherings could foster. The next chapter of the joust awaited on the morrow, yet for now, Casterly Rock's Great Hall stood as the heart of revelry, a place where tradition and celebration converged.