26th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of High Sun (11 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Outskirts of Lannisport
Benfred's opponent was no one of renown like Barristan Selmy, but it still made him nervous.
"Calm down, I can see his strength, there is nothing impressive about him. Stand firm." I try to comfort him mentally.
I am not lying. His opponent, Ser Victor Corbray, showed nothing impressive on his sheet. No Skill or Ability Score to worry about.
With the +2 Constitution granted by my Enhance Ability, Benfred will be hard to push off his horse and only needs to keep the tip of the lance pointed at Corbray.
Toot! Toot!
With the trumpet sounding, Victor Corbray accelerates his horse with his lance raised. Benfred responds to the trumpet a second late and with a shaky lance.
Watching the scene with his chin resting on his hand, Andrey speaks in a slow, uninterested drawl.
"He doesn't stand a chance. You know that, right?"
I ignore him to focus on the impact.
It was not good. While Victor lands his lance on the shoulder holding the horse's reins, Benfred doesn't come anywhere near hitting his mark. Fortunately, he manages to stay firm atop the horse, with the lance that hit his shoulder merely pushing him back.
Benfred's failed unhorsing attempt resulted in unison sighs and groans from the Northmen in the stands. Jorah, beside me, looked away and scratched his head. Jeor, next to him, closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
It seemed everyone was already expecting the worst.
As if she were spying on us, looking for something to exploit, a female voice echoes in my mind, and mine alone.
"He is going to lose. Need help?"
I don't know Malora very well, but even from our few exchanges, it is obvious this offer was not made out of genuine goodwill. She just wants more reasons to drain more magic from me.
"No need," I reply to her.
Another exchange of lances on the field. Again, Benfred misses while Victor hits.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I will have to cheat in a different way.
During the third exchange of lances, seconds before impact, I form a mental link with the man.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
I "scream" as loudly as possible. But unlike a normal scream, what hurt this time was my head, leaving me a bit exhausted. But it worked.
The scream, perhaps due to surprise or horror, distracted him, giving Benfred the chance to land his lance squarely on his chest.
Although I hadn't increased Benfred's strength, the boosted constitution had the same effect as high strength. With a firm, unmoving body of 16 Constitution, the merman's lance that struck Victor's chest did not give way against the force pushing it back, acting like a wall that left Victor's body behind while his horse kept going.
Driven by the fact that no one believed he could win, the Northmen explode into cheers far greater than all our previous victories.
"By the seven hells!" Andrey shouts. "Did you guys steal all the luck from the rest of us?"
"There is no luck, Dornishmen. You are witnessing pure Northern strength," Maege replies with a wide, smug smile.
Andrey's response was a huff accompanied by a mocking smile.
"You did something," Malora returns.
"Nothing that you couldn't already do yourself."
***
The Hour of the Throne (12 P.M.)
The quarterfinals began with yet another fall for the West. As if Barristan had been placed there to hunt them down, he unhorsed the incapacitated Kevan on the third exchange.
"Fuck yeah!" Andrey shouts upon witnessing the defeat of a member of his newest liege house, something Jorah noticed and commented on, but Andrey dismissed as unimportant.
The second joust was Steffon's, who also managed to win again.
Two other jousts later, Andrey's turn to compete arrives once more.
When Benfred rode to the side of the fence, he did so with much more confidence. With a straight back and lance over his shoulders, he presented himself much more assertively. The victory in the first round, which was partially secured by me, did wonders to boost his confidence.
Confidence which, in turn, helped him secure victory on the third exchange of lances. A demonstration of the power of auto-suggestion.
"Unbelievable," Blackmont comments.
"That is the power of Northern blood!" Maege replies to him, driving the Northmen around us into a frenzy in celebration of the North's unexpected advancement to the semifinals against Ser Clarence Deddings.
After Benfred's victory, I realized one thing: there was no one else of renown participating in the joust.
The vague descriptions of the competitors given by the announcer, who presented them merely as knights anointed by other knights, reinforced this realization. This was a total contrast to the melee, which, after Aerys's announcement, summoned heavy hitters.
In the joust, the event that is normally the most fiercely contested, it was now abandoned. With the departure of Kevan Lannister, only Barristan Selmy and Steffon Baratheon remained as those recognizable and of importance.
But remembering how Kevan performed, it is quite obvious why: the kingdoms want to preserve their best for the mock battle. I have no doubt that knights like Brynden Tully, Edmund Bushy, and the Kingsguard would shine if they competed, but none were present.
In any case, the semifinals arrived, with the first being between Barristan and Steffon.
"Let's Go, Barristan!" Andrey shouted and banged on the bleacher seats, making them shake.
"Stop that! We are trying to watch," Jorah reprimands him, his eyebrows knitted in anger.
"Nervous that Barristan will win and unhorse your man next?" he asks, biting his lip while smiling.
Toot! Toot!
The trumpet sounds and both competitors ride at maximum speed toward each other.
"Here we go!" Andrey xclaims.
Barristan demonstrates his experience on the first exchange of lances by hitting the shoulder of Steffon's lance, causing it to explode into thousands of splinters, while simultaneously bending down to evade the one coming toward his own.
The scene makes Andrey and the crowd explode into even greater fervor.
"Oh, shit! Let's Go!"
But it wasn't over yet. Despite having his lance thrown out of his hand, Steffon took the next one offered by his squire and raised it with an ease that belied the idea that his shoulder was injured by the lance.
Toot! Toot!
The signal sounded, both warriors ride again for the next clash. This time, Steffon bent down moments before impact, placing his lance in perfect aim against Barristan's chest.
But, a second before the lance hit his chest, Barristan turns his body slightly, and when the lance strikes him, it slides over the surface of his breastplate, distributing the force significantly.
But because of the last-second dodge, Barristan has his lance deflected from the planned path and merely grazes the shoulder of the Lord of Storm's End.
Exchanges like these two repeat over the next five passes. Either Barristan hit and Steffon missed, or both almost hit. Barristan always seemed dedicated to dictating what the result would be.
But it all came to an end. The eighth exchange was the last.
While Barristan was merely tired from exerting the force necessary to hold the heavy lance and constantly dodge, Steffon was exhausted and wounded.
He not only needed to do the same as Barristan, but he also had to steady himself on his horse whenever he failed to dodge. And despite not showing any lingering effects the first time his shoulder was hit, the subsequent attacks took their toll.
When Steffon positioned himself on the left side of the fence, preparing for the next lance, he no longer waited for the trumpet signal with his lance raised. Leaving it lowered to the point where its tip touched the ground, he waited patiently.
"See? He has practically given up already."
Beside me, Andrey gives a long sigh.
"That is it. It's over. Just two more."
"Lord Baratheon hasn't fallen yet," Jorah states.
"He will."
Toot! Toot!
"Now."
Both knights advance. But while Barristan already had his lance raised and pointed at Steffon, the Lord of Storm's End kept his lowered.
Seeing that scene, no one said a word. We were all in silence. Everyone. The entire crowd watched the final exchange in contemplation, letting the sound of the four pairs of hooves reach our ears before the conclusion of the long battle.
Steffon had fought well. Barristan The Bold, a living legend, is simply the better competitor.
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