10th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Breaking Fast (8 A.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Lannisport, Lion's Den
"Your Grace?"
Jeor was as confused as I was. At no point had any expectations for me to compete in the tournament been communicated to us.
"He is a knight. And a tournament will be held. It is simply appropriate." Aerys answers my father, raising his left eyebrow in his own confusion.
He replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"As one of the Seven, participation is merely expected of Ser Alaric," Tywin speaks while in the process of putting a piece of meat into his mouth.
Of course… Him.
Using the fact that I am one of the Seven Warriors to put pressure on my participation. Clever.
The Seven Warriors refers, of course, to the seven individuals who fought against the Drowned God at Old Wyk. Gerold Hightower, Rickard Stark, Edmund Bushy, the three Faceless Men, and myself. Seven mortal men, coming from different parts of the world, joined together to put an end to the Drowned God's plans to bring about the Second Long Night.
We weren't actually seven, but rather eight, counting Puddles, but no one besides my family and me knew of her presence, causing her deeds to fall on my shoulders.
The Second Long Night. An appropriate title, considering the Drowned God's plans, although the true Second Long Night remained a real threat beyond the Wall.
Regardless, this story, which was born and began to spread after we returned to Lannisport, became practically the official version for the public, making all of us, the Seven Warriors, celebrities.
Even if I wanted to, and I don't, to go out and walk through Lannisport, I couldn't. Gazes and whispers follow me wherever I go. Stepping out into the open would certainly attract a crowd of people.
Which was precisely one of the purposes of the tournament: to attract as many people as possible and then break the news.
Truly clever. But Jeor didn't stop himself from fighting back anyway.
"Yes, Your Grace, but he is only twelve years of age. A child. A child who should watch like the others."
Jeor was perspiring. Arguing with the King was stressful, especially for someone like him, accustomed to the monotonous North.
"But he is not like the others, is he?"
The implication makes everyone stop. Everyone there knows why I am not like the others.
"So what will it be? Melee?" He asks, turning to me again, with a bright interest in his purple eyes. "Certainly not archery." He finishes, contempt in his voice.
His ability to remain unaffected by the tension he created himself was impressive.
"Your Grace. Although skilled with polearms, I am not competent enough in the rest, such as horsemanship. I would only bring laughter to the tournament."
I am not lying. Aside from polearms, I'm not really good at the rest. It wasn't out of negligence. It was simply a matter of time.
But from the serious face Aerys gave me, he didn't buy my words, even if they were true.
"Is that so? From what Ser Gerold informed me, you possess a very interesting magic, capable of increasing physical capacities."
And there it was. The first mention of magic. The elephant in the room. The glass that no one wanted to be the first to step on. The exact moment the word 'magic' left his mouth, it was as if almost all the air had been sucked out of the room, making me struggle for the little remaining along with the others present.
I didn't let my nervousness show, obviously. On the outside, I continued to compete with Tywin to see which of us had the most apathetic expression.
Behind Aerys, stretching behind his chair, was the White Bull himself, acting as his shield. Even with his face covered by his helm, I could see his shoulder tensing as he was called upon.
And even without turning my head to the sides, I could feel my family's nervous gaze.
Aerys, on the other hand, was the one truly pathetic toward the rising tension.
"From what he reported to me, your magic made him capable of moving as he never could while wearing his armor before. He stated that, without the help of your magic, he could hardly have dodged the attacks and survived. Is that not so, Ser Gerold?"
He doesn't even turn to Gerold. He keeps looking at me. His purple eyes were wide, analyzing my every move and expression.
"Yes, Your Grace," Gerold replies.
"See? Can you not do the same for yourself? Elevate your own capacities and achieve what was previously not possible?"
"I am grateful that my gifts were of use, Your Grace, but they cannot perform miracles. The Lord Commander's success speaks more of his skill than mine."
Aerys still didn't buy it. Staring at me with a skeptical look, he was about to continue pressing, but another was faster, pointing out an obvious hole in my words.
"You are underestimating yourself, Ser Alaric," Tywin speaks while wiping the rest of the sauce from his mouth with a golden handkerchief. "Although everyone currently knows you for your feat at Old Wyk, you earned your knighthood for what you did at Pyke, where you defeated several older and more experienced ironborn. And even before Pyke, Ser Lyonel Lannett, whom you served on the voyage to Pyke, also said that you fought very well against the Deep Ones."
Damn.
Bringing up Pyke was expected, but the Deep Ones? I didn't expect that. Tywin seems to have studied me extensively.
"While you certainly pale when compared to the White Bull, you still possess skill, or you wouldn't have done what you did?"
Despite his compliments, there was no warmth in his words. It was all empty talk.
"I appreciate your compliments, Lord Hand, but ironborn are hardly comparable to the knights who will compete in the tournament."
"Yes, they are hardly comparable to a trained warrior of the Seven Kingdoms, let alone a knight, but you will not be fighting to the death. Everyone will be holding back."
He doesn't give up. Tywin seems almost as excited to see me compete as Aerys. Almost.
"Accidents still tend to happen in large tournaments like these. Knights trying to prove themselves will hardly hold back."
Let them consider me a coward. I don't care.
"Should an accident occur, could you not heal yourself as you healed Lord Stark?"
He knows about that too?
"From what Maester Garmond informed me, Lord Stark was in critical condition after being stabbed multiple times by the Ironborn. According to him, he didn't even know if he could save him. But you did. Just as you healed Ser Gerold and Lord Stark before they fought the Drowned God, I assume you did the same the day before. Am I wrong?"
I was careless.
"No, Lord Hand."
"Then heal yourself when you get hurt."
His tone changed. Impatience grows within him. The fact that he was having to explain something infuriated him.
It's time to use my new feat.
Using Detect Thoughts without using any slot or component, something possible thanks to my new feat, I begin to read the surface thoughts of his mind.
I have three minutes.
'Give up.'
'Submit.'
'Get hurt.'
'Expose yourself.'
'Feed his fire.'
'Red Rain.'
Several phrases begin to emerge in my mind, all spoken with Tywin's voice, exposing his plan to make Aerys witness me using magic and put pressure on Jeor to accept the agreement.
"The event, Ser Alaric, which one?" Aerys asks me, his impatience growing as well.
'The Melee,' he thinks.
'The Melee,' Tywin thinks as well.
"Your Grace—"
"I was not addressing you!"
My father tries to help me, but is quickly cut off. Aerys didn't even bother to turn his head to shout in his face.
The disrespect was too much for Maege.
"Alaric is not even fifteen! He cannot decide this for himself."
Aerys glares at her.
"Careful, woman. You are not on your island."
'Stupid woman.'
Jeor, beside her, takes her hand, stopping her from retaliating.
"Please, let us calm ourselves," Joanna says.
Surprisingly, Aerys listens to her and leans back into his chair. He remains impatient and irritated, however, repeating insults toward Maege in his mind.
Meanwhile, phrases from Tywin continue to surface in my mind, exposing the rest of his plan.
'In case of failure.'
'Attack'
'Unaware'
'Faith Riot.'
'Force magic.'
'Fireballs'
'Storm'
'Giant spider'
'Demons'
'Healing magic'
Son of a bitch.
It seems I don't have a choice. Either I risk myself in the tournament, or I watch my back for potential attacks.
"If you insist, Your Grace, I can participate in the melee. But jousting is out of the question. Magic cannot solve the fact that my stature is smaller than the others."
Furthermore, to participate in the joust, I would need to wear iron armor, which would prevent me from using magic, as it would sever my connection to nature. An 'accidental' lance to the throat and I would die before I could strip the armor to heal myself.
"Excellent!"
All the impatience and anger vanished from his face as if they were never there. I can see Jeor, Jorah, and Maege watching me through my peripheral vision.
"But I do not think it would be ethical on my part to use magic."
"Nonsense," Aerys says before cutting a piece of meat and bringing it to his mouth.
"It would be like forbidding the use of a Valyrian steel sword," Tywin expands.
'As if you would know anything about that,' Aerys thinks, the scathing tone present even in his thoughts.
Swallowing the piece of food, Aerys speaks once more.
"I will be watching you."
"I shall not disappoint you, Your Grace."
***
The Hour of the Hammer (9 A.M.)
"What were you thinking?!"
Jeor was in a panic, pacing back and forth.
Having finished the meal, which was spent with Joanna again trying to lighten the mood, we returned to our quarters, specifically Jeor's, where he was spiraling.
"Brave, boy, but stupid. The Lion wouldn't push for your participation for nothing," Maege says.
"I read his mind. I know what he's planning."
Jeor freezes, looking at me in shock. Maege looks at me with curiosity, while Jorah barely reacts to my revelation. It seems he's already become immune to them.
"The experiment," he understands quickly this time.
"Yes. By reading his mind, I discovered he intends to put me in a position that forces me to use magic, stoking the King's curiosity about me and forcing us to accept his deal."
"If you know this, why did you agree to participate? Especially in the melee. Why not the joust?"
Apparently, he forgot our conversation in Old Wyk before the march.
"As I explained in Old Wyk, I cannot use magic when covered in metal. If I suffered a fatal blow, I would bleed to death before I could remove the armor and heal myself."
An expression of clarity momentarily crosses Jeor's face.
"And I accepted because Tywin's alternative, should I refuse, is to incite followers of the Faith of the Seven to attack me, forcing me to use magic to defend myself."
Horror passes through their eyes as they recognize the danger of Tywin's plan.
Despite the growing fame of the Seven Warriors and the admiration it brought from many, there were also many others harboring opposite feelings toward the Faceless Men and me. Faithful to the teachings that magic is something demonic.
I doubt inciting them would be difficult, especially for someone as wealthy as he is.
"It is better to accept the challenge and flee as soon as the tournament ends than to refuse and spend the entire event looking over my shoulder for attacks that could happen at any moment. Participating in the melee gives me an exact time and place for when I will be in danger."
Understanding shines in his eyes.
"It will still be very dangerous," Jeor warns me. "He will likely send his men and pay the rest to attack you."
"I know. I've already thought of how to handle it."
"I will fight by your side!" Jorah speaks up suddenly, surprising all of us, especially Jeor, who didn't like the idea one bit.
"No way. It's Red Rain he wants. You would be the one becoming the target of his men."
His concern is not unfounded. It is not uncommon for the equipment of a defeated man to be taken by the winner and held for a symbolic, modest ransom. But I doubt Tywin cares for such social conventions; a man capable of breaking guest rights would not hesitate to demand an absurd ransom or simply refuse to return the sword at all.
Of course, Jorah could choose not to bring Red Rain, but I doubt he would want to be separated from his blade.
"Actually, all of us should participate together. It's a team battle, after all. Tywin wants to use the tournament to attack us? We can do the same."
Jorah, like Maege, looked at me with determination, while Jeor stared at me wearily.
"I need to speak with Rickard about something."
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