By Willas Tyrell's leave the banquet morphed into a formless party.
Near the start, before the bodies truly jumbled, Percy spied the ones who left. Nearly all of those from the first table departed for their private tents, some of which were half as large as a keep's ballroom. The hosts also departed, with Mark Mullendore following the Redwynes to their tent, his father going with the Florents, and Lady Mullendore going the way that Willas Tyrell had, returning home.
Some people followed these nobles. Knights sworn to their houses, distant relatives with some kind of tie, camp followers who hoped their faces would get them into one of the tents where, they were sure to earn a night's profit—left behind were the rest, those who weren't from famous households, didn't have a convenient link to them, or lacked noble blood entirely, along with a handful of strange ones who preferred this place to the tents where they'd be welcomed.
Everything got very loud. There were musicians performing with fiddles and lutes paid for on the Mullendore dime. Ale and beer were brought by the servants, drinks that could be produced by the barrel and tossed to the masses. Within the chaos, Percy quickly lost his friends.
Tyene retired to their tent, having told him as much before she departed. He'd been separated from Tomar and Valena more recently. Drey disappeared as soon as the party began. He was at home in this environment the way Percy was underwater.
There was an energy to the crowd. Parties reminded Percy of war. There were too many differences to count, but they had the same way of making your blood pump, the same clamor of sound and movement, and the same ability to make grown men act like it was their first day in their bodies.
A circle formed in front of the musicians. Two at a time, people came forward and danced, usually a man and a maiden but sometimes two men, or two women flinging their skirts around as they skipped about. Clapping and stomping, many people watched and cheered. Percy joined for a while, then slipped back without dancing. That wasn't his strength.
He was on his way to refill his drink when someone stepped in front of him from the side. It was an accident. Still, penned in by bodies, they collided.
The man was knocked about two steps back while Percy took one step to balance himself. Percy wasn't drunk, not off what he'd been drinking, but this man was. He almost looked familiar, with a curving nose and long black hair captured in a ponytail.
He was wearing a sword on his hip.
His hand went to the hilt.
"Sorry!" Percy said. "Accident!"
But the band had redoubled their playing, and some duo must have been dancing well, because Percy's words were three-quarters lost beneath the cheers. The black haired man hadn't let go of his sword.
People appeared around him. He wasn't alone, and his three friends didn't seem as deep into their cups. One took hold of the would-be swordsman's wrist, the other two pushing his back. Percy couldn't hear what they said to each other and they probably couldn't either. What mattered is they took their friend one way, letting Percy go the other.
All parties have a life cycle. Everyone is loud and excited when they start, with the band pumping music and plentiful dancers putting in their all. Give it time, and it starts to take effort to keep going. There are still dancers, but they have heavy legs. The band still plays, but they have to dig deeper into their lungs, hitting less notes. Finally, the noise fades as people depart, fall asleep, or settle into silent drinking, only a few exceptions still full of energy.
This party was no different. As the second phase bled into the third, more than three hours since the festivities began, Percy found himself at the corner of one of the long tables with ale mug in his hand. Drey was next to him, one of those frustrating exceptions who refused to slow down. He was grinning while counting coins.
"Hm hm hmmm!" Drey was even humming.
Percy looked a little bit like the perpetrator of a serious crime, because around him were a slew of unconscious men. Some were face down on the table, others were laying on their sides or their stomachs atop the stomped-flat grass.
One exception sat mirroring Percy on the opposite side of the table. He was a huge young man and wide awake, albeit swaying if you looked closely. His rust-colored hair went to his ears, which were big and a little bit protruding. When he knocked back his mug of ale, he drank all that lay within and didn't let a single drop trail down square jaw.
Seeing this, Percy drank too, finishing another mug. The cups joined a whole host of empty ones scattered around as they grabbed fresh ones full to the brim.
Neither of them drank right away, catching their breath. Percy didn't need it. The ale was watered down enough that he could drink and drink, as all the prior challengers had learned. He still didn't begrudge the guy a break.
"You handle alcohol like a champion, m'lord," the young man said.
"I'm not a lord. Just call me Percy."
He looked between Percy and Drey, obviously uncertain. He knew Drey was a noble and had seen Percy give him commands multiple times tonight.
"Truly, Ser Percy, I've never seen any drink better than you."
"It takes a lot to put me down," Percy said. Getting him to drop the 'ser' would probably be too tall a task. The young man was a Hedge Knight deathly scared of stepping on the wrong person's toes. Smart, realistically.
"You. What's your name?"
The question was addressed to the Hedge Knight, asked by a man Percy's age who seconds ago had been passed out on the table. His reddish blond hair was sticky from laying in spilled alcohol. Even with his eyes half open, drunk beyond his capabilities, Percy could see that he was handsome. They both were, he and the Hedge Knight.
"I'm Tallad, Ser— my lord."
"Tallad." The drunk grabbed his arm around the elbow. "Don't you see it? He drinks so well because they're cheating."
"Cheating… m'lord? How would they be doing it?"
"I don't know how. If I did, I wouldn't have lost, now would I? I just know it must be. That one—" The drunk pointed at Percy, or tried to do so. His vision must have been doubled, because he actually aimed his finger somewhere over Percy's right shoulder. "—has been drinking this way for an hour. Do you see us poor fools?" He flapped his hand at the unconscious others. "How could one man outdrink us all?"
"If he has a strong stomach?" Tallad said.
"If he's got the stomach of the Father himself! But he's no god. Do you see their clothes? The bright colors, and the crest on the dark one counting his coins? They're Dornishmen, Tallad. They've all got the honor of a swindler and the wits of one as well." He hiccuped. "They've bled us of our coin one at a time. Blast the sand suckers, you've got no chance. They're holding the dice."
"I see," Tallad said, although he clearly didn't. He was looking between Percy and Percy's cup, wondering how there could be a trick when he'd watched each round be drunk.
"They've won tonight," the drunk slurred. "It's a lost cause my young, noble friend. But come the lists… Come the lists!"
His head thumped back into the ale puddle it had just left.
Tallad stared at him for a bit, then lifted his eyes to Percy, looking uncertain.
Percy grabbed three of the coins Drey had been counting, much to Drey's protest. All three were Silvers, two Stags and a Moon.
He threw them across the table. Big as he was, Tallad was no oaf. He caught them in his free hand. Looking from the coins up to Percy, his eyes had turned wide.
"Consider that the bounty for lasting longer than any of these noble idiots," Percy said. All his victims except for Tallad had been highborn of one kind or another. Although Drey had a look as sour as one of his family's lemons, Percy wasn't the kind to bleed a Hedge Knight dry.
"You're a good man," Tallad said, stuffing the coins into a pocket and hastily raising his drink. "I won't forget this kindness, Ser Percy. I swear it."
Percy held his mug across the table, offering cheers. "May the best man win."
Thirty minutes later, Tallad had joined the others in unconsciousness, unknowingly cuddling the drunk who'd warned him of cheating, while Drey split their winnings and Percy headed for his tent.
O-O-O
Percy woke up early the next morning. One side of his body was warmer than the other thanks to Tyene's nude body cuddled against him. She'd taken his arm for a pillow, and Percy's best efforts of easing it from under her failed to keep her asleep.
Tyene blinked, blue eyes opening as he rolled out of bed. She put her elbow underneath her and shamelessly watched him dress.
Percy returned the favor and stared at her right teat, which the blanket was failing to cover.
"How do you plan to spend the day?" she asked.
Percy pulled his shirt on, ignoring the small disappointed noise Tyene made as his muscles were covered. "I was thinking about going into town. It reminds me a little bit of Wylmouth."
Tyene hummed. "That sounds nice."
So it was that an hour later, the two of them walked into Lower Spylcreek together. Tomar had come with them, insisting Nymeria sent him for moments such as this, and that tourney grounds were not always safe.
The entire village was surrounded by a stone wall only just tall enough to clear Percy's stomach. Its only real purpose these days seemed to be funneling traffic through the same few entrances and exits.
His worries that the town might be too crowded proved to be unfounded. It was busy, to be certain. The two inns were full, and many travelers emerged from homes where they had rented a bed. Near the middle of town was a market that had been expanded with temporary stalls, some erected by merchants who traveled just for the tourney. But aside from the market, the roads were far from full.
Almost without meaning to, Percy took stock of the people on the streets. The fine garments of powerful nobles weren't represented. The closest it came were servants with house symbols emblazoned on their shoulder or chest, purchasing eggs and flower or other simple supplies.
Briefly, the three of them braved the market looking for things that might catch their interest. Tomar was jumpy, fearing pickpockets, no matter how many times Tyene assured him this was not King's Landing or Oldtown.
Percy didn't enjoy the market either. It was too loud and cramped. They gave up quickly and left to find a quieter haunt.
"Oh!" Tyene said. "Now that is worth a look."
Percy thought they were going to have to dive back into the mess, until Tyene walked forward instead of turning around. Her sights were on a peddler standing four houses removed from the market, calling out from a street corner.
"Flowers!" the girl said, her honeyed voice ill suited to yelling. "Fresh flowers for purchase! Only one penny for a beautiful pedal!"
One glance showed that she was lowborn. Her means of making money could have told you as much. She had a basket over her arm that was full of at least a hundred flowers, colorful enough that they looked straight from a field. The girl had hair that was a match for the most golden buds from her collection, along with a cute button nose and a strange way of standing. When she turned to face Tyene, her head rolled very slightly to the right, not kept straight up.
"Hello, my lady," the girl said. "Would you like a flower?"
She spoke in an odd way that was pleasing on the ears, her voice ticking up in pitch around the middle of each sentence. Her head shifted, resting slightly to the left now.
"I very well might," Tyene said. "Let me see what you have."
The girl started to introduce her flowers, listing their names, only for Tyene to gesture her into silence. "There's no need. I know them all."
"Truly, my lady? That's very impressive! Around here, I know more than anyone does. I'm called Lea. Lilting Lea, if you were to hear it said."
"Lilting?" Tomar asked.
He was usually wary by nature, but few things were less threatening than a pretty girl peddling flowers. He kept looking a little too closely at her lips.
"Yes," Lea said. "I think it has to do with the way that I speak, or how my head is fond of tilting. I don't know which came first."
"Is it a mean name?" Tomar asked.
"Oh, no," said Lilting Lea. "The boys use it in quite a nice way."
Tyene reached out, her fingers brushing over the flowers with a feather-light touch. She found one she liked and drew it out of the bunch, nodding approvingly.
"I'll take it," she said.
Percy pulled out a coin. A Bronze Penny, the price Lea had quoted.
"You only want one?" Lea asked. "For a penny, you could have three or five."
"My tastes are quite particular," Tyene said. "This is enough."
Lea tried to hand the coin back. "Just a halfpenny, then, would be plenty."
But Percy wouldn't take it.
"That means more to you than it means to us," he said.
Her reaction wasn't what he expected. Lea crossed her arms, her basket bouncing against her hip.
"I need no charity ser," she said. "I'm not a beggar. My flowers sell very well. Even highborns buy them. I sold to one this very morning, and if you should know it, another one is my most frequent buyer."
Tyene took over for Percy before he could say anything.
"We meant no offense. Your flowers are wonderful, we simply don't carry halfpennies with us," she said. "I could take two more flowers, to be sure… but I would be robbing them of a cherishing owner if I were to take them out of duty. The flowers deserve better, don't you think?"
There was something almost childlike about the innocence Tyene projected, both in her voice and eyes. She wasn't lying, Percy thought. Tyene cared a lot about strange things that most people overlooked. Especially when it came to plants.
Lilting Lea leaned her head from the left back to the right. "Well… In that case I can't argue. But please come back again. I pick flowers every morning, and if you return, I'm sure there will be something else you fancy. You can have it then without charge."
Lea looked proud of herself, and Tyene graciously agreed. The three of them left her to her business. Within just a handful of steps, Percy saw something that made him steer their path to the side.
Tallad the Hedge Knight's big body was suited to a lot of things. Drinking contests were one and, if Percy were to guess, fighting was another.
It did not lend itself to hiding.
Tallad loitered halfway around a corner, doing his best to look inconspicuous as he peered around. It wasn't working. Three chickens loose in the fenced yard had come over to watch him in hopes of a snack, and everyone who passed on the road glanced over at what the six-foot-seven man might be up to.
"Tallad."
The wandering knight hadn't even noticed Percy until he heard his name. He jumped backwards, wary at first before that bled into bashfulness. His cheeks were so red that it looked like he'd been turned over and hung upside down for a while. Though, gods know it would take a Laistrygonian or one of the rumored giants in the North to pull that off.
"Ser Percy!" He said. "Sorry, I'm— I didn't see you."
"I can tell," Percy said.
He turned his head, seeing where Tallad had been looking. Sure enough, his eyes had been on Lilting Lea. She was back to calling out her wares, reciting their freshness and asking a penny for a bouquet.
"You aren't going to be able to talk to her with your mind no matter how hard you stare," Percy said.
"What?" Tallad asked. "Or, well, um, yes, ser?"
Based on how he was looking at him, Tomar was trying to figure out if Tallad's great size was at the cost of something missing inside his head.
"I'm saying to go introduce yourself," Percy said. "Worst case, you get the pain out of the way fast. Trust me, that's better than a long ache."
Tallad stared at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open. Seconds later, he set his jaw. Percy saw the moment determination shone through. Tallad drew both his great hands into fists.
"Thank you, ser," he said.
Tallad strode by, heading straight for Lea.
Percy didn't wait around to watch how it went. He started walking again, Tyene walking with him, while Tomar brought up the rear behind them both.
"Who was that?" Tomar asked. It didn't sound like he thought much of Percy's new friend.
"That's Tallad. He got pretty close to beating me in a drinking contest last night," Percy said. "He's a good kid."
"He truly almost beat you?" Tomar asked.
"Well… he came closer than the others who tried."
Tyene straightened the stem of the flower she'd bought. Tucking it behind her ear, she perched it so that the yellow pedals rested just past the corner of her eye.
"Pretty flower," Percy remarked.
Tyene turned to him, her face as bright as the sun.
"When ground up, just ten can be enough to stop the heart!" she said. "I'm going to save this one until I have a full set!"
Counting Tallad, it seemed Lea might have helped cause two heart attacks today.
O-O-O
Evenings were for parties and mornings were for sleeping off the last night's drinks. After a morning spent walking, they arrived at camp in time to see knights of all shades coming from tents, inns, and camps — wherever they might be staying — to put the middle of the day to its purpose. Not long later, Percy found himself joining them.
The field was a stretch of packed grass and dirt loosely close to the jousting site. It was big and open, as it had to be, because at times like this it filled with scores of spars and bouts. Knights tested their steel against those they might soon face, offering and accepting challenges or honing themselves against friends. Over the clashing of steel, it was common to hear a victorious bellow or a frustrated yell. Occasionally, it was a cry of pain instead. Not all of these clashes were friendly, and accidents were hard to prove.
Percy arrived with the knights of his group, watching this loosely-ordered frenzy. Myles Manwoody was leading them. He stopped right on the edge, crossing his arms. In Myles' quiet way, he was telling them to take stock of it.
Looking through the chaos, Percy picked out a few of the knights he'd heard whispers about in town and around the camp. Mark Mullendore, the one who would be representing the hosts, was going back and forth with what looked to be one of the Redwyne twins. Bryan Fossoway was wielding his sword against members of his own delegation, while Tybolt Crakehall did the same. Colin Florent, a good lance considered slightly past his prime, had chosen a distant relative for his opponent. There were plenty of spectators watching. They cheered when someone gave a good hit, or when two knights shook each other's hand after a good contest.
"They're avoiding getting injured," Percy said.
Myles nodded. Tomar and Drey didn't say anything, one because he'd been sucked into watching and the other because he had no wish to be here in the first place.
It made sense. A misstep with real weapons could spell the end of your tournament. Or worse, Percy supposed, but he imagined that killing here would be punished too harshly to be done on purpose, and these men were too skilled to do it by accident. Once the tourney began, on the other hand, there would be real danger. Jousting could only be made so safe when both men gave it their all. Particularly if there was a gap in skill.
A scream of pain pulled their attention to the edge of the field. A knight Percy didn't recognize at all was down on the ground, spilling blood into the dirt. His arm had been cut above the elbow.
Neither the man he'd been fighting nor anyone from the man's delegation leapt to help him. He forced his way up, looking stormily at the man who dealt the injury.
The man, dressed in far nicer clothes, only smiled down on him, handing his own sword off to have the blood cleaned away. His black leather chestpiece was emblazoned with an orange three-towered crest.
"Hedge Knight," Myles said, eyes on the man on the ground. "Got baited. Should have known who was challenging him."
"The Peakes are…" Drey trailed off with an uncharitable hiss. "Rumors tend to swirl around them. I believe that one is Ser Athen Peake. Heir to Starpike."
The Hedge Knight hauled himself up and staggered away, clutching his arm to his body. Blood dripped onto the ground as he went. Athen Peake's entourage was still laughing.
"I hope I meet him in the tourney," Tomar said.
"I hope I don't," Drey said.
"Cruel," Myles said about Athen. "Good fighter. You'd both lose."
"You don't know that!" Tomar insisted.
But Myles didn't care. He'd entered the field, motioning to follow him.
They found a space that could be called their own. While Drey and Tomar began to fight, Tomar insisting on taking the chance to restore his record, Percy preferred to keep watching others. His skills would be sharp regardless.
Soon enough, he spotted a big head poking up above the bodies. Percy had to raise his voice and wave his arms to get Tallad's attention.
The Hedge Knight came over to them carrying a sword. Percy's eyes flicked over it. Relatively, he deemed it, but well-cared for and sharp.
Myles assessed Tallad. Something he saw, he liked. "What's your name?"
"Tallad," the Hedge Knight said. "Some people like to call me Tallad the Tall. It's a reference, m'lord."
"Duncan the Tall," Myles said. "Great knight. Or so they say. How are you?"
"Passable, m'lord."
Myles's eyes gleamed. He liked that answer.
He pointed, directing Tallad's attention to Tomar just in time to watch him knock Drey off his feet. Tomar aimed his sword and Drey hastily held his hands up, surrendering.
"See if he's passable," Myles said.
Tallad nodded twice. Percy had a feeling that Myles had taught a few squires over the years. He knew how to handle an uncertain fighter.
Tomar looked Tallad over. He was breathing a little quicker than normal, lightly winded from having beaten Drey. "It's you again."
"Hullo… m'lord," Tallad said. "He'd like us to fight."
Tomar flexed his fist on his sword handle, tightening and relaxing his drink. While Drey scurried out of the way, Tomar turned to face his challenger.
"Come on, then."
In three clashes, Percy could see what the result would be.
Tomar had better technique. Ghost Hill's master-at-arms had drilled the right movements and habits into his bones.
Which wasn't to say Tallad was an oaf. His fundamentals were solid and he clung to them.
He was also taller than Tomar, who was used to having the advantage of reach on his side, and he must have weighed close to twice what Tomar did. Somehow, Tallad was also faster.
Tomar's edge in technique couldn't come close to bridging the natural gap.
After ten exchanges, Tomar's guard was opened by a swing from Tallad that almost made him drop his sword.
"Enough!" Myles barked.
Both of them froze, Tallad actually hopping backwards. Tomar massaged his wrist while they turned to the elder knight.
"You're big, lad," Myles said to Tallad. "Never forget it."
Tomar shifted when Myles moved his attention onto him.
"You're not big," Myles said. "Be fast. Be tricky. Be pesky."
Tomar nodded, looking a bit frustrated. He insisted on shaking Tallad's hand, which surprised and pleased the Hedge Knight.
Percy was about to ask Tallad to fight next, seeing a decent sparring partner in him, before the chance disappeared.
"Face me!" someone said.
The volume of the voice told Percy who to expect before he'd turned around.
Sure enough, it was the same golden-haired young lord who accused Percy of cheating the night before. He was wearing leather armor and carried a sword today, as most people here did.
Percy had opened his mouth and was about to reply when he noticed how many men the young lord had with him.
There were eight of them, all standing behind him in a way that spoke of subservience. He was far from the only lord here with an entourage, but his was one of the largest.
"You want to fight me?" Percy asked.
"Who else?" he said. "Someone has to show Dornishmen some marcher lord mettle."
"Dondarrion," Myles said.
"Beric," he pronounced himself. "Lord of Blackhaven."
"Should we be fighting here?" Percy asked.
The shifting of the knights behind Beric said no, they shouldn't be. Marcher lords were those whose castles sat on the northern side of the Red Mountains. For thousands of years, they had been raided and launched raids against Dorne. The fact that Dorne joined in the King's Peace a hundred years ago hadn't cooled old grudges yet.
It was in the shadow of Beric's home that Oberyn first caught Percy and Arianne, ending their short-lived trip to the Riverlands.
Beric was amongst the higher-end lords here. The others in his position were fighting their own men or close allies. They were playing it safe, in other words.
And he'd gotten it in his head to come and fight Percy.
"You know this is just a spar, right?" Percy asked.
"Of course," Beric said. "This isn't my first tourney."
You're acting like it is, Percy almost said. Hadn't he seen what happened to the Hedge Knight who fought Athen Peake? He might actually not have, because one of Beric's knights stepped up and whispered into his ear.
Whatever he said, Beric wasn't moved.
"Do you accept?" he asked Percy.
"Fine," Percy sighed.
He drew his sword. Beric wasn't quite ready to fight himself, seeing as he dug into a pocket. Percy's eyebrows rose as he took out a handful of flowers, passing them to one of the other knights.
"Make sure to keep their shape," he instructed. "I don't want to find them flat!"
That done, he came to meet Percy. They shook before beginning, despite Beric's clear dislike for all things Dornish. Percy was becoming increasingly convinced that he didn't have ulterior motives beyond his grudge. Beric was just a bit of an idiot.
Instead of circling, Beric came on with a flurry of slashes as soon as they began.
He was very good, Percy noticed. At least compared to Percy's usual sparring partners. He was far better than Drey or Tomar. Even Tallad, with all his size, would've lost to Beric nine times out of ten.
Percy still found time to talk as he deflected the blows.
"Did you go to Lower Spylcreek this morning?"
Beric faltered slightly. "Where I've been doesn't matter."
He swung at Percy's shoulder. After blocking, Percy turned his sword and stabbed, knowing Beric would deflect it. He did, and the two swords continued flying.
"You're the noble who bought flowers from Lilting Lea."
Beric glared at him. "How do you know that name?"
"Because I met her this morning. A lady friend of mine bought from her too."
Beric tried a feint that Percy saw through. He waited and dealt with the real attack effortlessly.
"So who are you buying flowers for?"
For the first time, Beric's balance was thrown off. He overextended badly, swinging too hard, his expression changing when he heard the question.
Percy didn't block. He ducked underneath, letting it go over his head, and swept Beric's legs.
The young lord found himself staring at the cloudy sky.
When Percy held a hand out to help him up, Beric studied it warily. Only after ten seconds did he take it.
"A dirty trick, making me think of her," Beric said. "Of course such beauty appearing in my mind's eye would unfocus me."
"I didn't mention anyone—"
"Alas!" Beric said. "It's the right of victors to complain about methods. As the loser, I will cede today. But I'll not be fooled so easily when we meet next!"
He went back to his men, retrieving the flowers he'd passed off for safe keeping. Very carefully, Beric paced the stems in his pocket, making sure the pedals remained loose so they wouldn't be crushed. Percy thought some of Beric's retainers looked relieved that things had only gone this far.
As he left, Beric stopped one more time. He looked at Tallad bearing a grin.
"I saw your bout!" he said. "Now that is the way to stick it to a Dornishman! Pity I couldn't take your example."
"Thank you m'lord?" Tallad said. "Or, I'm sorry?"
"You're a good lad." Beric grabbed Tallad's arm like an old friend. "You can drink and you can fight! If you're struggling for work, pay Blackhaven a visit! I never forget a man I've noticed."
"Does he know how that sounds?" Drey wondered as Beric walked away.
"Hush," Myles said harshly. "Don't provoke. We want no trouble. Here, it could turn bad."
The local powers weren't likely to rule in their favor if any disputes actually got out of hand. It made sense to Percy, and it must have made sense to Drey, because for once he shut his mouth.
Beric left the field after his loss. He was about to cross the road that led through the camp when he and his knights stopped.
A trumpet had been blown.
Even the most fiery duels came to a halt beneath the clarion note. Following the trumpet came drums, only the sticks were the legs of horses and the instrument was the ground. Everyone cleared the road as a group of more than forty people entered camp at a gallop.
A man in glistening white armor without a helmet rode at the front. Behind him was a row of knights, one in the middle carrying with him a banner.
As they passed, the huge flag cast a shadow on Percy and those standing with him. He recognized the heraldry. Both the crest, and the object it represented.
There was no mistaking white bricks with a fire burning on top. Across the bottom of the crest was a motto. We Light the Way.
House Hightower had arrived.