Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Malcolm Tent, Marethyu, Beans, Mike God of Lore
The Unbound
Chapter 14: A king always pays his debts.
– Cersei Baratheon –
As amazing as Orys' new talent was, she knew that they had to tread extremely carefully going forward. The Crown Prince getting flashes of forgotten knowledge could either be seen as a blessing or a sign of heresy by the Faith, especially given the rise of the cult in the North.
She'd told Orys she'd destroy the Faith for him if it was necessary, but they both knew that such a thing would need to be a last resort. The Faith was useful in keeping the Smallfolk happy and obedient; it had too many followers to wage war on it unless it became absolutely necessary. Which was why she was so proud of his plan to supplant the very Gods with his patrons. Zenithar would become the Smith, and the Septons would cry Orys' name as a blessed saint to every corner of the known world.
"I must say, I was surprised to hear that you wished to see me, Your Grace," the High Septon rumbled. He was a fat old man, trying to cling to power and terrified of the growing influence of the Old Gods. He wasn't entirely corrupt, and would turn his nose up to an active attempt to bribe him, but she was not so unsubtle as that. "Rarely is the Great Sept of Baelor blessed with your presence."
"True, and that is a great shame. As you can imagine, my position keeps me busy, and the Royal Sept in the Red Keep has always been more convenient for my spiritual needs," Cersei 'admitted'. She paid her respects, of course, but it was for the sake of appearances.
"Is this regarding your son's upcoming coronation, Your Grace? It goes without saying that we would be honoured to hold Prince Orys' coronation here," the High Septon offered 'generously', as though he weren't desperate for such a thing.
"I did wish to discuss that, yes, but if it had just been that I'd have sent a messenger," Cersei explained, taking a seat as she let her posture become almost vulnerable. She'd made sure that this meeting would be held entirely in private, and dressed more chastely than usual to play up the part. Even still, she was amused to see the High Septon react all the same. A 'holy' man was still a man, it seemed. It amused her and soothed her pride to know that if she were willing, the fat fool would befoul his own sept with all manner of depravity for a chance to be with her. Her investigations into him had found little evidence of him whoring around or any other blatant signs of corruption she could use, but faced with her beauty at its most innocent, his body reacted, even if he schooled his expression. "What can you tell me of the tale of Hugor of the Hill?"
She watched his posture shift, befuddlement on his face before he began a pompous lecture. He was certainly going to use the fact that she came to him for aid in matters of faith to his advantage in clinging to his waning power, but that was fine. She'd rather someone so easily used remain High Septon. The Most Devout may have control over who held the title, but she had her ways of influencing things. They wouldn't replace a High Septon who had the ear of royalty, something they'd lacked throughout Robert's reign. Robert had little time or patience for the Faith, and oft simply ignored them entirely.
She listened intently, hanging on his every word. Her attention made him straighten up, his tale growing more boisterous and animated. He was a decent orator, if nothing else. As his tale of the first King of the Andals and his many blessings from the Seven ended, she straightened up. She went to speak, before she 'hesitated'. She disliked the unfairness that came with being born a woman, but women had some weapons of their own, and her posture and hesitation hooked the High Septon as he gently coaxed her worries from her.
So, she began her own tale of Orys' strange dreams of late. She watched his eyes widen in disbelief as she explained how she'd watched, with her own eyes, as Orys crafted Valyrian steel. She presented a small ring of that same steel. Barely anyone in the world had Valyrian steel jewellery, and she knew he was almost salivating as he held the ring that Orys had made for her, a diamond cut into a seven-pointed star atop it.
"Hugor of the Hill was said to have been granted blessed iron plate armour for all his sons, but what if he was instead given the skills to forge it for them?" Cersei asked, putting just the right amount of desperation in her tone. "Orys has no training in smithing, and yet he worked the forge like the Smith made flesh. His work is beyond the means of mortals."
"You believe the Smith has blessed your son?" the High Septon asked as she took back the ring, amused as he very briefly tightened his grip.
"I don't know. I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Cersei said, her tone clipped enough to make him nervous before she sighed again, making it seem that her momentary anger was born from a place of stress, not true annoyance. "I can't think of any way for him to have gained such knowledge beyond the will of the Gods. You've heard of the… heathen cult in the North, I take it?"
"I have," the High Septon agreed grimly.
"The tales from the North are vast and wild, but this isn't a matter of grumpkins and snarks. Too many people have corroborated them, seeing people turning into animals, and the monstrous beasts that are beyond anything that can be found even north of the Wall," Cersei continued, leading him the way she wanted him to go. "My son is of the Faith, not some… barbarian committing rituals in the names of their heathen gods. I can't think of any being but the Smith who could grant such a blessing."
"Indeed. I must confess that I've heard many strange things from the few faithful in the North. Lady Stark has written to me several times concerning the growing influence of this… Hircine in Winterfell," the High Septon agreed, a severe frown on his face. She wanted him worried about them, and that wasn't hard. That said, she didn't want him too focused on the cult, so she moved again, her movements carefully controlled to allow her dress to shift and her posture bending over in 'worry', giving him a clear view of her cleavage. Every movement she did just made her look harried and worried, but her usual regal look being replaced with such softness had certainly caused some hardness as well, and he coughed and adjusted his robe. "You believe that the Seven have… reacted to the growing cult?"
"The Maesters insist that magic and such blessings have gone from the world with the death of the dragons, but they are just men," Cersei replied softly. "My son is no heretic, but he is young, and these dreams are worrying him. They started after he returned south from our trip to Winterfell, and he feared that the Old Gods had done something to him. I don't believe it."
"Yes, I can see how such premonitions would be intimidating for one so young and inexperienced, even a future King," the High Septon agreed softly, his tone reassuring and his eyes almost managing to keep contact with her own. She pretended to be too distracted to notice his wandering gaze. She moved her arms to almost hug herself, which happened to cause her to press her breasts together more, hearing him almost gulp as her cleavage became far more pronounced. Looking up at him through her lashes, she hid her amusement at how quickly he had to adjust his gaze to meet her desperate eyes. Her body was a weapon, and one that could cut so deeply without her ever needing to… unsheathe it.
She would never lower herself to flirt with a pathetic man like him, but as she said, women had weapons of their own. She hadn't done anything that could be called improper, even if you squinted. All she'd done was position herself in very specific but harmless ways. It was good to know that he was so easily distracted and tempted, should it become necessary to crack the whip and bring him properly under control. She'd never let him touch her, of course, but if he was so easily tempted, it would be easy to arrange something to doom him.
"I'm certain nobody doubts the Crown Prince's faith, Your Grace, he's from a good family and is marrying a proper noblewoman from the Reach, where the Seven had always found their more ardent supporters," the High Septon reassured her.
"I had considered speaking with the Tyrells. Especially Lord Tyrell's wife. The Hightower's have long been influential members of the faith, and the Starry Sept could no doubt help clear this up," Cersei agreed, watching him fluster and freeze. There it was. No matter how much they were part of the same faith, politics was everywhere. The High Septon didn't want her to go to the Starry Sept for help, because it would make him look far worse amongst the Most Devout. "And I must confess I'm… concerned. Between this cult in the North and now the increase in Red Priests around King's Landing, I fear they may try to paint Orys' gifts as a blessing from their heathen gods. No matter how outlandish, you know how superstitious the smallfolk, and even some highborn, can be. When the throne changes hands, it's always a time of upheaval, and I fear the other religions wish to spread their influence to Orys' reign before it's even begun."
Or, in simpler words. If the Seven don't take credit, someone will.
"Indeed. The followers of the Old Gods, as heretical as they may be, have remained in the North and seemed satisfied with such things, and yet we've heard reports of small shrines to this… Hircine and hunters wearing tokens in his name. The Red Priests have forever wanted more influence in Westeros," the High Septon agreed gravely.
"And yet, this Melisandre who has been lurking around the tourney and the Red Keep has made no attempts to convert the many nobles. I've had my people keeping a close eye on her," Cersei explained.
"Which is highly out of character for a Red Priestess. You think she's aiming higher than a hedge lord or minor knight," the High Septon realised, following up where she left off. She just nodded once, letting a hint of worry cross her face.
"Orys is intelligent and faithful, but he's young. He's at the age where whispered words, especially from an alluring older woman, could sway him if she could convince him she has the answers to his questions," Cersei confessed.
"Which is no fault of his own, it is simply the nature of youth to be inquisitive, and through that lies temptation," the High Septon was quick to reassure her. "Calling his gift a blessing is not a move that even I can do lightly, you understand? I believe you are correct. The Smith is the only logical explanation, but to make such a declaration without proper research and first speaking to the Most Devout…"
"Of course, High Septon. I'm truly grateful for even the simple reassurances, and I know Orys will be too," Cersei reassured him before she paused. Her entire body screamed hesitation before she slowly removed the ring again. "Perhaps I should leave this with you? To study, I mean."
"T-That would be most helpful, Your Grace. You say you watched him forge this yourself, in person?" the High Septon blustered as she 'reluctantly' gave him the ring, her fingers brushing against his. "And there were no… blood sacrifices or anything equally dire?"
"I did, and there was not. The forge he had made is truly unique, but he smelted the metal himself and forged it into this ring and two blades. He's planning to craft his own crown, but hadn't decided on the design yet," Cersei confided. "But I'm sure you'll see it yourself when you place it upon his head soon."
"I look forward to it, given the truly masterful work of this ring," the High Septon said, chest puffed out and head full of dreams.
There were two truths about men in power. They always wanted more power, and they always feared losing the power they had. She'd planted the seeds in his head of a reign where the Faith, and by extension, he, had the ear of the young, powerful King. Her gratitude sounded sincere to his eyes; his ego inflated with his pride at having gained the attention and support of a member of the Royal family.
It didn't matter if he actually believed that the Smith was involved. She'd ensured that he'd push that truth out regardless. Anything else would only harm the Faith and weaken his waning influence. Play along, and he could see his power rise to heights never seen before.
After all, he had her 'trust' and faith. Why else would she leave that trinket in his hands? The ring had served the exact purpose she'd had Orys make it for.
– Margaery Tyrell –
Something was off with Orys lately, and nobody seemed to know what. For the first time since they'd met, she'd had to fight to get any of his time. He'd been apologetic, of course, and she understood that as the soon-to-be King, he had much on his plate, but this was something else.
He was secretive, but in an almost teasing way, promising that all would be explained soon. Then there were the rumours of his new forge, and how he'd been locking himself inside it. There'd been whispers throughout the castle that he was forging Valyrian steel, but such a thing was impossible, wasn't it?
And yet, there was a member of the Kingsguard watching the forge even when Orys wasn't inside it. Whatever was going on in there, the crown had locked it down and prevented people from entering that entire part of the Red Keep without permission or a very good explanation.
But it seemed all was to be revealed, finally, as Orys stood before the court with a satisfied smile on his face. It was a boyish, proud grin that made her heart race for a moment as she made eye contact with him. She had grown far too used to having him in her daily life, and the recent drought had not been appreciated. She returned his grin with a soft smile of her own, batting her eyelashes at him. Somewhere in the crowd, Arianne was probably scowling, and that brought her no end of pleasure. It seemed the Dornish guests weren't going anywhere anytime soon, given Oberyn's new alliance and friendship with Orys.
"Today, we are here to address another wrong," Orys started, his tone confident and his smile firm on his face. "One far less dire than the last time I held court, but a wrong all the same."
There was a smattering of laughter at his words and reassurances. For a moment, she was sure half the court expected Orys to call for someone else's execution, so it was a good way to lighten the mood.
"And yet, this is related to my last court. As many of you know, or suspect, the former Lord Baelish left the Crown's treasury in a truly dire state, and while my honoured Grandfather is working hard in recovering the fortune stolen from us, it has led to the Crown acting rather ignominiously," Orys admitted, one hand on his heart. Lord Tywin frowned in confusion, clearly unsure where this was going. "To my shame, the throne not only left the act of funding the entire wedding to my future goodfamily, the House Tyrell, but we also did not even provide a bride price for my betrothed, the beautiful Lady Margaery."
The airing of such things sent a scandalous wave of whispers through the court, and of course, her father peacocked at the admittance of House Tyrell's 'generosity'. He almost went to speak before her grandmother's cane hit him in the back of the legs.
"In addition, my grandfather and mother's family, the House Lannister, paid for the grand tourney we have all been enjoying so greatly. From the prizes, the arrangements, to the food and serving staff, it has all been of Lannister gold," Orys continued, giving his Grandfather a grateful look. "That same grandfather taught me much as he fostered me in Casterly Rock, and above all else, one lesson stands out in this moment. A Lannister always pays their debts. I may be a Baratheon, but half of my blood is Lannister red and gold."
As he spoke, two servants came forward carrying two boxes. One red with a golden lion upon the front, the other green with a golden rose.
"I am truly grateful for the patience and generosity House Lannister and House Tyrell have shown during these admittedly dire times, and I will not start my reign so ungratefully as to leave these debts unanswered. "Lord Lannister, Lord Tyrell. Please, step forward."
That he wasn't calling his grandfather by a familial title added to the intensity of the moment as both men moved forward. She only hoped her father remembered that her grandmother's cane wasn't that far away as they stood before the next King, and a court made up of countless houses.
"Lord Tyrell, your House has served the crown faithfully and diligently since you were given Highgarden during Aegon's conquest, and while Aegon the Conqueror may have made your family Lords Paramount of the Mander, there is one thing he failed to grant you, as did all the Targaryen rulers over their many years of rule," Orys continued, gesturing as the box was opened. Her father gasped immediately, eyes widening with true shock as they snapped from the contents to Orys, who nodded once. Reaching in, her father pulled out the gift, and the whispers went wild as gasps and even a rather dramatic scream filled the room as he held aloft what she could tell, even from here, was a Valyrian steel sword.
Her father examined it, over and over again, seeming in disbelief as he held the blade. Its hilt was golden, with a pommel in the form of a rose, clearly crafted with the House Tyrell in mind.
"As such, today I will correct that wrong and grant House Tyrell their own Valyrian Steel ancestral blade, as thanks for three hundred years of loyal service, and to three hundred years more," Orys said with a smile, listening as her father stuttered through his thanks and vow of eternal loyalty.
She could hear her grandmother grinding her teeth behind her, but was very careful not to turn to look.
Orys turned to his grandfather, and everyone already suspected what was in the second, very clearly sword shaped box. And yet, Tywin did not look overjoyed or excited, far more composed as Orys gave him a respectful nod.
"Lord Lannister, Grandfather, you taught me almost everything I know. Had it not been for your patient teachings, I would have been blind to Baelish's corruption and greed, letting the smallest of lords continue to plunder my Kingdom as he pleased," Orys admitted. "Brightroar, our ancestral sword, was lost on King Tommen the Second's doomed venture to Valyria, along with his entire golden fleet. I still remember when Uncle Gerion set off on his own venture to find the lost blade, and how months stretched to years with no sign of him. I cannot truly replace Brightroar, or its long and storied history."
As he spoke, the second box was opened, and Lord Tywin approached, looking inside as he lifted his own Valyrian steel sword. She'd heard Brightroar had been a greatsword, but the new blade was a longsword clearly designed to mimic the lost blade with its golden lion pommel. Tywin examined it closely, a stern frown on his face as he looked over every inch as if it was going to spill its secrets to the grim man.
"But I can repay your many lessons and endless generosity. I grant you this Valyrian steel blade, and only wish I could have done so soon enough for Uncle Gerion to not go on his doomed venture," Orys said somberly.
"House Lannister accepts with utmost gratitude, your Grace," Lord Tywin replied with a bow, and far more composure than her father possessed. "I intend to hand it to my son and heir, Jaime."
"O-of course, I will be giving mine to my own son, Loras, to better protect his sister as she becomes Queen," her father cut in, not wanting to be left out. Lord Tywin looked at him like something that had fallen from the underside of Tywin's riding boots. It was clear that her father was hinting at Loras being made Kingsguard, given the new spot after Jaime's dismissal. She doubted anyone even remembered that scandal after today, to be perfectly honest. With all that was going on, Jaime Lannister replacing his white cloak with one of red and gold hadn't gotten more than a few curious looks.
It was the same reason people seemed to have forgotten that they didn't like Loras or Renly. There was just too much going on for the court to focus on any one rumour. Loras' sword-swallowing ways had become old news already.
Of course, she also heard the whispers of the court. Valyrian blades almost always went to the heir of the House, and yet her father had just bypassed Willas and Garlan to give it to Loras instead. Willas would not mind, his injuries left him unable to properly wield a blade anyway, but Garlan? She saw the flicker of hurt that crossed his face.
"Thank you for your attention this day, but this is all I have time for. There is an archery competition with my name on it about to start, and I intend to win it," Orys finally admitted, rising from his throne with that boyish smile on his lips. It was a good way to avoid the chaos he'd unleashed, slipping away with a prior engagement. "You are all dismissed. Lady Margaery, would you care to accompany me to the tourney grounds?"
"I would, my Prince," Margaery agreed instantly, giving him a small curtsy before she offered him her hand. He took it, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand before the entire court, before he led her away. Loras went to follow behind before he was called by their father. Not that Loras really wanted to leave when his new sword was right there.
She had a hundred and one questions, but she hid them all as she leaned against him, kissing his cheek as he grinned. How had he gotten two custom-made Valyrian steel swords when the crown was in debt? As insane as it seemed, as impossible as it was… could he truly have crafted them himself?
– Olenna Tyrell –
The sneaky little fucker had gotten them.
From the Tyrell box, she watched the archery contest continue with a thoughtful frown.
Prince Orys knew the game, and he knew it well. Even she could admit that this was a masterful mood.
"Loras, stop ogling it. It's a sword, you stab people with it," Olenna grumbled, making her grandson jump and nearly cut himself with the blade he was practically sniffing. Valyrian steel, ha! Like it was worth what they'd lost in this little move. "I'd thought you'd have seen enough swords for one lifetime."
Loras stuttered out a response, but she was already ignoring him. It didn't help that he kept showing it off in front of Garlan and Willas, the two older brothers who should have gotten the blade first. Maybe Willas' injuries disqualified him, but Garlan was not happy to have been passed over. The sooner she could kick the rest back to Highgarden, the better. At least Mace could only insult their bannermen, sworn houses, servants and the rest of their family back there.
"You seem displeased, Mot- Lady Olenna," Alerie corrected herself, knowing that Olenna wasn't fond of being called mother by her idiot son's wife. "This is a great day for House Tyrell."
"Oh, I know. The Reach hasn't forgotten that we just replaced the Gardeners because they didn't have the good sense to bend the knee to the dragonlord. As if their crowns of vines and flowers could survive a dragon's fire," Olenna snorted. "The fact that we didn't have our own ancestral sword is just another reminder that the Tyrells are just replacements."
"The Reach Houses are loyal to us, mother- they wouldn't-" Mace tried.
"Bah. They won't say it out loud as long as we remain stronger than them, but never think for a moment that they aren't looking down on us," Olenna cut off. "No, this is wonderful for the renown of our House. That's why I'm displeased."
There was a moment of confusion, Mace and Alerie sharing a befuddled look. By the Gods, how did these two manage to produce a girl as smart as Margaery? Well, because she took over Margaery's training when it was clear they'd fuck it up.
"Think, boy. We had the crown in our debt for this grand wedding business. We spent enough fortune to bankrupt half of the poorer highborn Houses in the Reach on the biggest, most over-the-top wedding Westeros has ever seen," Olenna lectured. "And now? We're the ones indebted to our soon-to-be King. With such a big show and such a grand gift that he pulled out of his royal backside, we'll look ungrateful if we don't acknowledge our debt to him."
"Do you think the rumours are true? That he crafted them himself?" Alerie asked. Olenna grunted.
"I haven't got a clue. Valyrian steel isn't something you just find lying around, but how could he craft it? The old lion seemed as shocked as everyone else, though he hid it far better than you, Mace," Olenna replied. "Maybe the Smith himself descended to our mortal plane and gave them to Orys, or maybe he just found them sitting in a vault under the Red Keep. At this point, they're both more believable than the crown buying them."
"There are rumours going around that Orys is blessed by the Seven," one of the three dozen female cousins Olenna never bothered to learn the names of spoke up excitedly. "Maybe the Smith did give him the blades!"
"Oh sure, the Smith forged him the blades while the Mother breastfed him and the Maiden stripped off and rode his royal-"
"Mother!" Mace blustered, looking around nervously, worrying that the wrong person had heard her 'sinful words'. Alerie's smile faded to a deep frown, but then the Hightowers lived and breathed the Seven. Even still, the girl was smart enough not to say anything.
"The point is, it doesn't matter how he got them. What matters is that your words have chained us into his service," Olenna finished off, turning back to the contest. The only benefit to this entire mess was that the grizzly old lion had spent just as much only to get caught by surprise by the same move, and now neither House had gained any leverage from their truly exorbitant spending.
Some peasant boy was competing against Orys, An-something or other, and the boy was good enough, true. His nerves were what doomed him. He was clearly worried about competing against the next King of the Seven Kingdoms as his shot went wide. Orys fired, his shot landing in the centre despite the distance.
The crowd cheered, Margaery's voice the loudest as she waved to her betrothed. Those two were sickly sweet. She almost wished Margaery was faking it, but the girl had spent the last week wandering around in a depressed daze because Orys hadn't had time to take their daily walks.
She was surrounded by fools.
– Sansa Stark –
As they watched the competition, Joffrey sank into his seat, a deep scowl on his usually handsome face. He'd sent away his 'dog', because Sandor had spoken well of Orys one too many times, and both the court and now the archery contest had put him in a fouler mood than usual.
She'd grown to dislike how he treated Sandor, in truth. Yes, the Hound was an intimidating man, but learning of his tragic backstory and the treatment his brother had given him had softened her to Sandor. She couldn't imagine it herself, being attacked by your own kin. Even Jon wouldn't do something like that, and he was a bastard. That Joffrey referred to a talented and loyal man as just 'dog' irritated Sansa, but she knew Sandor did not need her standing up for him. Sandor basically laughed off Joffrey's insults, and when Joffrey threatened to replace him, Sandor pointed out that it was the Queen who had assigned him, not Joffrey, and she was the only one who could truly send him away.
Arya stepped up, and Sansa, Jeyne and Myrcella all straightened up as they watched her take her stance. Some people had laughed when Arya first took to the field, but now, several rounds in, there was only an eager silence as she fired against Prince Xho. She saw Orys giving Arya a reassuring grin as he fiddled with his own bow, and Arya turned back to the targets.
Her bow was smaller than most, something their father had gotten her when it became clear that she was set on doing this. Arya readied her arrow and let it loose with the most serious look she'd ever seen on Arya's face. It flew fast, and it flew true. With a thud that she could hear, even from the boxes, the arrow embedded itself in the dead centre of her target, causing a wave of applause as Arya cheered.
The Summer Island Prince didn't look put out, seemingly congratulating her. She was slightly intimidated by the large, dark-skinned man. She'd never seen a Summer Islander before, and he had an intense look about him, even as he dressed in the most colourful clothes she'd ever seen, multi-coloured feathers decorating his outfit.
Xho took his own shot, hitting true just as Arya's had, and the next targets were set up. Smaller and further away. He shot first this time, and it hit the target once more, but not dead centre. Arya was not so inaccurate, showing off her Northern talents as her shot pierced the target to the awe and cheers of the crowd who had come to support the unexpected dark horse.
It was down to the final four now. Prince Orys, Ser Balon Swann, Prince Xho and Arya. Two royals, a talented (and handsome) knight and a little girl. It made Sansa grin as she cheered for her sister. Their trip south had done well for their friendship, at least after Orys had corrected her… error.
Joffrey scoffed, and she barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. He should be happy. King Robert had taken back Storm's End, which meant Joffrey was going to inherit it. He'd gone from being the spare prince to the heir of the entire Stormlands, and he was still acting like a child who'd had their favourite toy taken away. It was embarrassing, but her lessons from Queen Cersei kept her from showing it.
The targets were moved further away again, and while she truly believed Arya was the better shot… it was Xho who moved onto the finals. He hit the target, barely, but Arya's arrow didn't reach. Arya let out a frustrated sound, stamping her foot for a moment before she sank into herself. Her bow just wasn't strong enough, and her arm strength was far inferior to that of the older, muscular man. Arya looked shattered as the winner was called, but Xho congratulated her, and Orys moved over to comfort her, and she was soon smiling again as she waved her arms animatedly.
The crowds cheered her all the same, perhaps more than the actual winner, not that Xho seemed to mind playing second fiddle to the girl he'd just beaten. She supposed that was the situation he was in. He was either the man who lost to a little girl or the man who beat a little girl. Neither were good looks, so his gracious attitude was probably the best way to recover from it. Queen Cersei had assured her that chivalry was just another form of manipulation.
As the final round began, and Orys took his position, the crowd went silent in anticipation. He fired, and he didn't even watch as his arrow flew like a bolt of lightning, turning and walking back to his maid who handed him a waterskin. The crowd went wild as the arrow struck deep in the target, all the way to the fletching.
Xho clapped, but she could see he was shaken by the sheer confidence that Orys had. He'd hit the bullseye as well, but his arrow hadn't gone nearly as deep. Again, they fired. Again, Orys struck true. At this point, the entirety of King's Landing must have heard the tale of the White Moose, and the crowd was in awe at his unnatural talent. Prince Xho's own shot missed the bullseye but hit the target.
He was unlikely to win the competition unless Orys messed up the next shot at a hundred and fifty paces. As Orys took to the stand, they all knew he wouldn't.
Joffrey let out a sound of disgust, rising and storming off before Orys could fire, but she didn't look away as Orys prepared himself and aimed his bow high. His posture was perfect, his muscles tensed before he let the arrow loose and it flew through the air toward the small, distant target. A silence fell over the grounds, beside the whistling of the arrow. It didn't last long, a thud and cheers filled the air as she clapped louder than she had before, now that Joffrey wasn't here to glower at her. Myrcella rose to her feet, cheering for her brother with a beaming smile.
Prince Xho gave Orys a respectful bow as he took to the stand, but the winner was already decided, and Xho knew it as he fired and just barely missed. As he stepped down, he turned to Orys and knelt, catching Orys by surprise as he offered up the golden bow he'd been using.
"Your skill is truly unparalleled, your Grace," Prince Xho rumbled, his voice deep and loud. "It would honour me and my people if you were to accept this bow. It is a Goldenheart wood bow crafted by the master crafters of my homeland, and such a masterpiece of a bow belongs in the hands of a master archer. I believed that was me, but I see now that I was wrong."
"The honour is mine, Prince Xho," Orys said, accepting the bow as he examined it with a discerning eye. "The craftsmanship of your people is renowned throughout Westeros and beyond, and for good reason. I will treat it with the respect and care it deserves."
Gods, he was gallant. The archery competition came to an end, and she rose to go and join her father in congratulating Arya for her exceptional performance. She'd represented the North well, today.
— Bonus Scene — Stannis Baratheon
He had truly believed that Balon would prove himself a coward once more, backing down once the Royal Fleet arrived at this godsforsaken part of the Seven Kingdoms. Balon had tried this before and bent the knee to save his neck, and surely the 'Lord Reaper' knew that a second rebellion would be the end of the House Greyjoy.
"Report," Stannis barked, Davos straightening up with a deep frown. Paxter Redwyne gave him a respectful nod, which he returned, unwilling to allow old bitterness to affect things when he'd been tasked with bringing the Greyjoys to heel. He would never like the Redwynes after they tried to starve him and Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion, but he was pragmatic enough to work with them as the Redwyne Fleet was a welcome addition to his forces.
It ever so slightly amused him that Paxter was stuck working with Davos, after the Onion Knight had been the one to break Paxter's blockade of Storm's End.
"It's confirmed, milord. The mad bastards attacked the ships we sent to blockade them from reaching the Northern shores, even after we flew the royal flag. They've sunk five ships so far," Davos reported.
"Have the Greyjoys lost all sense?" Paxter asked, and Stannis couldn't help but agree. "Both the Royal and Redwyne fleets are rapidly surrounding their islands, why would they start an unwinnable battle?"
"If I may, milords, they're mad," Davos said, getting their attention. "Some of our boys captured one of their ships, and the raiders were raving mad, swearing that their Drowned God himself was going to sink our fleets. It's not just one, either; they're all sure their god is on their side. They don't see it as the Iron Fleet against the Redwyne and Royal Fleets, because they think their squid god is going to do the heavy lifting for them."
"The North has truly gone insane, of late," Paxter sighed. Again, Stannis was not pleased to be forced to agree with the man.
"I will send a raven to King's Landing, informing his Grace that the Greyjoys have chosen war," Stannis said, his scowl set firmly in place. It sounded like he'd missed much back in King's Landing, but his duty needed him here.
Oddly enough, he felt the weight of his long-standing bitterness lift slightly as he considered the developments in the South. Robert retaking Storm's End was proper, and it made the slight of Renly being given it over him sting just a little less. If nothing else, the realm would be better off for having Robert off the throne.
Shaking his head, he got to work preparing his message. He wondered if Robert would even notice the impropriety of Stannis sending it to Orys when Robert was still the King for now. Somehow, he doubted it. It still made Stannis mildly pleased to snub Robert, as Robert so often snubbed him.
Author's Note: Oh, you spent an ungodly amount on the wedding/tournament to get me in your debt?
lol
lmao
here's a sword I made yesterday, thanks for the money nerds.
Written: 02/08/2025
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