Chapter 13: Tourney, pt. 2

Things were still pretty tense though. The Lannisters had shown up in force. Hell, they practically brought an army; it was light on infantry, but they must have had at least half the knights of the Westerlands with them. Considering most knights had a squire and up to six other fighters with them, one and half thousand Westerlander knights were entered, and a worryingly large number of knights had come to watch rather than fight, I estimated that Tywin had a little over twelve thousand fighting men camped near to the city or staying inside it.

No other part of the Seven Kingdoms had shown up quite so aggressively; most others were more weighted towards competitors rather than heavily armed, grim faced, war-ready “spectators”. Still, there were easily another eight thousand knights and nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms there to compete, and they had brought some twenty four thousand armed squires and other retainers with them.

All in all, and counting people who weren’t gentlemen but had shown up for the archery or melee or what have you, a few hundred competitors from Essos, and all the guards for the merchants looking to make a profit, that made for a combined total of more than fifty thousand fighting men in the area.

That would be bad enough even if they got along; these men were accustomed to war and brutal oppression of the commons, after all. But given the current tensions between the Lannisters and the factions backing the king – the North, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and parts of the Crownlands – it was perhaps unsurprising that a number of skirmishes, duels, knifings, and brawls occurred on a daily basis. We did what we could to keep it contained, but it was hard to stop bands of knights looking for a fight from picking one.

Ned was worried about his children. Arya was always off chasing cats around the Keep, or balancing at the top of stairs; it was far too easy to imagine some Lannister lackey arranging an accident for her. Sansa, meanwhile, was still far too naïve for her own good, and completely enamored with the idea of meeting so many beautiful ladies and gallant knights. Although Lady was nearly as large and powerful as Ghost or Nymeria, that direwolf shared the same peaceful demeanor of her mistress and I didn’t trust her to protect Sansa. I’d have kept the kids together, but their ongoing feud meant it was far too likely that one of them, probably Arya, would run off.

At least Arya listened to Jon, most of the time; I set him and Ghost to guarding her whenever she was out the of Hand’s Tower, and warned her that if she left without him, or didn’t listen to his safety instructions when with him, I’d have to confine her and Nymeria to her room until the Tournament was over. Mercifully, she knew better than to test me.

Sansa was a different problem. The threats for her direction were both subtle and overt, especially as she was still sort-of engaged to Joffrey. The problem was that if I guarded her it would make her more of a target to Tywin and his minions. After all, Togo was the one to kill Jaime. Unlike Arya, who I thought at risk of attempted assassination, Sansa was much more likely to be kidnapped, kept as a “guest” by the Lannisters until Joffrey returned and they could be “happily” married. That or she might unwittingly spill some secret, or be bamboozled by an enemy.

I was too busy to guard her, and didn’t have anyone else really suitable for the task of standing up to the Mountain Gregor Clegane, or standing up to the Lannister-aligned courtiers in witty exchanges. I asked Renly and Ser Loras Tyrell if they might shepherd her around Court, guiding her through the tumultuous political dealings. I suspected they were lovers, after all, and if Sansa wasn’t going to marry Joffrey she could do well with a Tyrell. I figured that the Lannisters wouldn’t act against the Tyrells and push them into the king’s camp without serious cause.

That just left Lord Stark to guard. I was too busy to do so; luckily, Togo was smart enough and deadly enough to do so on his own. I did warn Ned that if anyone should think to try my dog for a crime that I would call a trial by combat if Togo didn’t simply eat them first.

Apart from the Lannisters though it was entirely possible for Baelish to target any of us as a final “fuck you.” It was all too likely he’d suborned a servant or five, and poison and the like were easy to use, especially in such an unusually chaotic time as the Tourney when it was common for your usual servant to be temporarily requisitioned and replaced by someone else.

Really, what the fuck was I thinking having the damned thing last a whole month?

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The tournament started off with the Squire’s Melee and Joust, then continued on with wrestling, foot races, horse races, staff-fights and other, lower entertainments. There were dueling circles where knights could challenge each other, each putting up some forfeit, and display bouts were fought between some of the best warriors in the kingdom. Larger circles allowed for team battles. There were challenges of strength and speed with ribbons for those that managed qualifying scores and small prizes for the winners. Jugglers, puppet-plays, magic shows and other street entertainment abounded. There was an air of festival, of celebration, of merry-making and money-making (by those wise enough to take advantage of the opportunities).

But not so much for me.

Apart from the aforementioned problems with fighting and other poor behavior, both semi-organized and merely drunk, there were a thousand little issues here and there, and I ended up dealing with far too many of them. I woke before dawn, and kept going until well into the night. If it weren’t for Green and White energy boosts throughout the day, I’d have collapsed a couple days into it.

Most of those issues were petty. One was distinctly less so.

About a week after the tournament started, a servant came to me in a panic. Apparently a pair of the Stark guardsmen who were off duty had gotten drunk and into a fight. One of the men there had thought to send for me. It was awkward for the Hand’s men to be arrested by the gold cloaks, yet they had beaten some minor lordling for speaking ill of Lord Stark, and now said lordling was intent on pressing charges. Ned was in a meeting with Robert, apparently, and the servant didn’t dare interrupt.

What a load of bullshit, I remember thinking, not knowing just how correct that thought was.

So I saddled up Aethon, and requisitioned a horse for the servant, and ten minutes later we were off. It was late in the evening, the shops already closed as we thundered down the Street of Steel. I had no idea why any of the Stark Guardsmen would have been drinking out this far away from the Keep. Perhaps they had been coming the tourney grounds?

And then I saw the street ahead of me blocked off by mounted men. A whistle blew and I heard the thumping of hooves all around. A half dozen crossbowmen popped up on top of the surrounding roofs. The soldiers weren’t wearing colors, but there was only one man so massive as the one leading them – Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides.

Some of the men were carrying nets; they meant to take me alive, or knew of my strength and speed and hoped to bring me down that way. If I hadn’t been able to burn my way through such things it would have been a clever tactic.

“His Lordship wants a word with you, boy,” the eight foot tall monster boomed, his voice deep and growling as I reached down, opening the flap of my arrow holster. “Best to come easy rather than make me angry.”

I channeled White, Blue, Red and cast my Arrow-Ward, though I doubted how effective it would be. The spell was designed to deflect a few arrows at a time at a longer range, or protect from two or three up close. A half dozen heavy crossbow bolts at such a close range was another matter entirely. I layered a second, then a third on top of that.

“Then he should have visited me at the Red Keep!” I shouted as Aethon wheeled about. I didn’t know if my arrows would kill a beast like Gregor, and could see that his shield was massive enough and plate was heavy enough that it might even stop them. Nor did I want to stay still long enough to test my Arrow-Ward’s efficacy. But I had full faith in shooting down a handful or two of less monstrous foes left to block my rear. As Aethon turned, I pumped him and myself full of Green, temporarily adding extra Regeneration and physical strength and toughness.

I accelerated my thoughts, brought my bow up on the men forming up twenty meters behind me and began to fire. I let loose three arrows in half a second, dropping three of the dozen men in the way.

Then the crossbowmen fired, their heavy quarrels aimed at Aethon which mercifully made it easy for the Ward to send them into the stones of the street. If it weren’t for that, they might have broken through all three layers rather than just the outer two. I winced in pain as some of the colorless mana I had been feeding the spell to keep it active rebounded and missed my fourth shot.

Getting closer to the blocking force, I needed to make a gap between their spears so that I could punch through. Grimacing, I fired another two arrows, taking down their horses and sending one side of their formation to the ground in a screaming mass of horses of men.

“Fly, Aethon!” I shouted, my legs holding tight against his sides as he leapt the tangled, tortured, mess.

As soon as we were no longer in sight from the pursuers, I had Aethon turn down a side street, stopping fifteen meters after turning. I stood up in the stirrups facing backwards, waiting arrow-nocked for them to come. Tywin would not be happy with their failing, and so I doubted they would stop the attack at the first failure.

More fool they; no warrior was so deadly on the retreat as the horse-archer. The narrow streets made it easy to down a few of the horses at the front of their formation and slow the entire pursuit, which just gave me more time to fill them with my arrows. Then there was the fact that Aethon was far more agile and faster on the acceleration, an unbeatable advantage since the tight turns precluded moving too quickly.

As I heard them thundering up to the alley, I drew. Then I shot the second rider to pass, and the third, fifth and sixth followed in the next second. They realized I was down the alley, pulling themselves to stop, the now rider-less horses breaking their formation and confusing things greatly. I kept shooting, a fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth arrow leaving my bow and entering their bodies in succession.

Then with a roar the Mountain was riding through their formation, his massive bulk and oversized warhorse literally smashing a hole through the confused mess. I fired two arrows at him, but only caught his thick steel shield. I had no interest in killing his horse; not yet, not when the Lannister’s chief enforcer was so full of rage and murderous intent that I could lead him through the city picking off his support until I could deal with the man himself. Before he could catch up to me I was off again.

The chase continued through the streets of King’s Landing in the dim twilight. I picked off a man or two each turn until finally it was just the two of us remaining. “Ser” Gregor Clegane, rapist, baby-killer, false knight, the nightmare hound of the Lannisters. And myself, “Ser” Odysseus Gangari, foreigner, mage, a knight unanointed by a Septon, the strong right fist of the Starks. Had there been a band of witnesses, our clash would likely have been remembered in story and song.

As it stood, I killed his horse, and put three arrows through his exposed leg before he could get clear. Then I stood off and put arrow after arrow into each bit of exposed body that I could as he tried to stand. I got his other leg, forcing the Mountain to lay there on the ground, helplessly trying to cover himself with his shield, to drag himself to cover.

I just put a pair of arrows through his hand when he tried.

The Mountain screamed then, and cried, and eventually begged. And then he lost strength, and his shield fell to his side, and I put an arrow through his head. Then another, and another, and another.

Just to be safe.

Then I patted Aethon, promised him a good rubbing and all the carrots and apples he could eat, and hopped down. I turned to the saddle bags, reached in, and unfolded a large cloth sack. I walked over to Clegane and drew my sword with a twisted smile.

I had some heads to collect.

After all, I heard a Lannister always pays his debts. And I intended to collect in full.