Pre-Chapter A/N:First of all, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate. First post of 2026, innit? Let's smash those goals!. If you haven't already, I recommend turning on notifications for my stuff so you can see when new stuff drops right as it drops. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio
LAENOR VELARYON
Cole, it turned out, was not too badly injured by Borros punching his head in. The dent in his helmet had been something to behold, though. The fact that Borros had been able to achieve that much with just a single punch was another point in favour of people in this world just being superhuman. At least the nobility with First Men or Valyrian descent. I hadn't seen anything really impressive from pure Andal stock: both since coming to this world and in the canon sources I'd read.
But that was beside the point. Cole had not been badly injured, but an appeal from the Princess to allow him a day to recover had seen the schedule of the tournament shifted. Now, instead of the joust finals taking place on the sixth day with the horse race happening on the seventh, the reverse would be the case. It was going to make for a better spectacle for sure, ending with the joust on the final day, but there was a reason it hadn't been done like that in the first place.
Not everyone counted the Seven who are One in the same order. But there were two things every count had in common. The First of the Seven was the Father, and the last was the Stranger. Holding a joust on the day to honour the Stranger... I had already heard people say it was a bad omen. And considering how anti-social I was, for lack of a better term, if even I had heard the whispers, then it meant said whispers were literally everywhere. But Viserys was not one to refuse his favourite child, and so we pushed along.
Of course, the fact that he did not truly hold to the Seven beyond the lip service he paid as Defender of the Faith made it much easier for him to dismiss the concerns as superstition. Speaking of Rhaenyra, I found it difficult to imagine how no one in this damn place had noticed the fact that she was fucking her sworn shield. She had nearly ruptured my eardrum with the scream she had unleashed when Cole had gone down yesterday.
She had practically run to his side in the Maester's tent. Even now, when she should have been in the royal box watching the proceedings of a tourney held to honour the birth of her younger brother, she was by Cole's side. No one even found that slightly suspicious? I quite liked Ser Ben, but if he went down in a tourney, I wouldn't spend every waking hour at his bedside. There were things that were proper, and things that were not proper.
Her reaction had given me an idea, though. A foul idea in truth. Laena was on my neck about making it clear to mother I would not be marrying Rhaenyra. The only way I could see to do that now was by telling her about Laena and me, but it was near impossible to predict her reaction. But now another option was opening up; I could make it so Rhaenyra would never want to marry me. How would I do that? Well, people died in jousts. A death in one held on the Stranger's day was almost expected. Who was to say the death could not be Cole's, though?
Of course, there came the problem of figuring out how to kill him and make it look like an accident. Well, the first part was going to be hard enough, to be honest. This man would become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in canon for good reason. Sure, he had lost to Borros, but Borros was a monster with a hammer in hand. Something I was beginning to worry about. I couldn't remember Borros Baratheon being a legendary warrior in canon. So what had I done to turn him into one?
Focus, Laenor, I cautioned myself. First worry about killing someone who was almost definitely better than you in a joust. Later you can worry about the changes you have brought to this universe and the lives of those living within it and wonder if you've been a net positive or negative. So how would I do it? I watched the horses race around the arena. That was one idea.
Aiming for his horse. It happened often enough. Horses dying in tourneys was unfortunately not all too uncommon an action. And when the horse died beneath you, there were a few ways it could end. Most of them were not very compatible with long lifespans. The only issue with that was that the other party almost never left it unscathed. Even when not done purposefully, being careless enough to drive your lance into your opponent's horse was a bad look.
This was the biggest tourney the realm had seen in a long time and people would be talking about it for even longer. Aiming at my opponent's horse would be "generational aura loss," to borrow a term from my old world. So not that. The reputation hit was not worth getting rid of Cole. It wasn't like not having him around favoured me all that much beyond the chance that it would make Rhaenyra not want to marry me. Of course, there was always the chance that Viserys would put his foot down for once and force her to follow through with marrying me. Then I'd still have to figure out a way out of the marriage while being the guy who killed a member of the Kingsguard in a tourney by aiming at his horse.
It needed to be something that would look like a pure accident to all the watchers while leaving me with no reputation loss. I scoffed to myself. There would always be some stigma attached to killing someone in a tourney. The only way I would be getting out of it with a pure white reputation would be if something insane happened, like him falling from his horse before we clashed.
There was a shout from the crowd as one of the participants was lapped by the front runner of the contest. I smirked as I looked closer and realised just who had been lapped. I'd told him a horse race went counter to literally all of his natural advantages. Of course, I knew that saying that would all but guarantee that he would participate in it. Telling Borros he could not do something was basically the easiest way to ensure that he did it. And in this case, this loss was going to give me something over him for a long, long time.
There was another shout as another participant passed him by, hot on the heels of the forerunner. That one I recognised as Fossoway. He was an excellent rider. Jousting was more about positioning, skill, and strength than pure riding ability, so it was not something I'd got to notice there. But here, where the only goal was to move the horse as quickly as possible, it was clear that he was one with his.
The front runner wasn't anyone I recognised immediately and I was too far away to see any specific features. Fossoway chased after his opponent, and it became clear as they entered the final straight that he had planned things perfectly. Well, either he had planned it perfectly or he was just lucky in that his opponent's horse began to flag just as they reached the part of the course that was a straight line to victory.
Fossoway entered the straight two seconds or so behind his opponent and left it, crossing the finish line about two or three seconds ahead of him. The cheers at the thrilling overtake masked the shout that went out as Borros was overtaken again. I wasn't surprised when he stopped at the finish line, not even bothering to complete his last lap. I covered my mouth to hide my chuckle as I watched one of the umpires walk over to him to tell him he hadn't completed the race.
What a fool. Did he think Borros was just too dim to realise that he hadn't done as many laps as everyone else? The man would be learning a very important lesson as Borros wasted no time in unloading on him.
"He could do a better job of controlling his rage," I heard mother mutter to my side, and that was the last straw. The laughter I was trying to cover erupted from me. And it erupted louder than I would have thought because all the way from down in the field, Borros looked up to meet my gaze. He did not look pleased at all. I wondered if he realised I'd set him up for embarrassment. He drew a line on his neck in a silent threat and began to trudge off the field. Yeah, that seemed to be a yes. Well, if Borros wasn't already going to be gunning for me tomorrow then he certainly was going to be now.
"Well, it's not like he doesn't have any reason to be upset. I'd be ticked off too if I lost so badly," I replied with a building smirk. Borros was already pissed, so what did it matter?
"What was he expecting? He's at least double the size of the second biggest person there. Did he not realise that his horse, no matter how fast and strong, would struggle to carry his weight far less than theirs would considering their sizes?" Laena asked, shaking her head.
"Maybe he had some belief that proper Stormlander horses were better than any of the weak horses the other kingdoms were breeding," I said.
"Why do I get the feeling you had something to do with this?" Mother asked.
"I have absolutely no idea why you would think that," I said, and returned to my mental plotting as the next event began.
XXXXX- CRISTON COLE
He stared out from the slits in his helmet as he waited for the horn to be blown. His jaw still hurt, and his pride hurt tenfold, but this was going to be his chance at redemption. Unfortunately, he had not been paired against Borros Baratheon from the first round after the lots were drawn. He would have enjoyed watching him taste the dirt so soon in the round.
But it mattered little. Criston was a patient man. Months in the Marches had made sure he was. He would wait until they faced each other, and then he would get his revenge. Until then, he just had to do what he did best.
The horn was blown, and he leveled his lance straight ahead and spurred his horse forwards. He wondered what was going through Arryk's mind as they approached. Surely he knew he would lose. They trained together day and night and in not a single thing had the Cargyll brothers ever managed to best him. His lance struck his opponent's shield and shattered, and he prepared for the next tilt.
Riding to the end of the line, he turned to the boy and stretched his hand for his lance. Credit to him, the boy made a good throw of it and the lance landed in his hand solidly. He tested the weight and rode straight at his opponent. Another clash led to naught but shattered lances. Credit to him, Arryk managed to last five whole tilts before he tasted the dirt.
Criston made short work of his victory lap before returning to the edge of the field as the next set was called. Steffon Fossoway and Willam Royce. He had heard of the Fossoway boy earlier. Even a Kingsguard like him still received news of the realm's brightest lights. Knighted at five and ten for conducting himself admirably in a raid of a bandit camp, he had quickly become a name on many lips for more than just his age.
Making it to the Quarterfinals in his first tourney, and then winning his second. Since then, he was a terror of the Reach, coming either first or second in every tourney held in the Kingdom. Of course, just as many lips as those who praised him wondered if he was capable of replicating such skill against the very best the Realm had to offer. The Reach produced good knights, yes, but rarely were they great. The Stormlands, the Vale, and even the Westerlands were consistently birthing Knights known as the greatest in all the Realm. Seldom did the Reach produce one such Knight.
Fossoway was as good a candidate as any if pure potential was the metric being judged, though. He rode like he was one of those Centaurs the queer gods of the East had in their mythology. Half man, half horse. Like he had been born to ride. Even in the few feet that a joust took place across, it was clear his skill at riding was superb. And then added to that was his technique with a lance and shield.
It was clear that Royce, for all his training and his bronze runic armour, had met someone just beyond his ability to compete with. Fossoway shattered his lance against his target and Royce's lance skidded off the side of his opponent's shield, failing to make good contact. It took four tilts for Royce to finally manage to shatter his lance against his opponent, but that victory was ultimately short-lived and did not end up inspiring the comeback he had surely hoped it would.
It took only two more tilts after that one for Fossoway to attempt a successful feint, aiming low after pretending to aim high, and for Royce to be sent flying from his horse, crashing to the unforgiving sand below. Next was another one of Cole's brothers, Marbrand. Marbrand was one of the old guard, an older member of the Kingsguard who had been guarding the King for longer than Cole had been a Knight. But that had done nothing to stop Cole from surpassing the man with little fanfare.
At least he had been a good sport about it, so Cole was not altogether keen on what he knew was about to happen. For all that could be said about Velaryon as a person and a warrior, his jousting skill was impeccable. His form was perfect, and he showed not one of the flaws that newcomers to the world of competitive jousting did. There was no hesitation when he was about to crash into an opponent. There was no flinch at seeing several feet of wood heading straight for his chest, and there was no last-minute brace right before impact. It was impressive. Especially considering his relative inexperience. This was his first joust. Cole had made his own investigations. Even in the Stormlands, he hadn't trained in jousting any more than the barest minimum, with most of their focus having been placed on his skill with the sword.
Cole watched as his brother and the boy raced at each other. It was clear that Velaryon was the better of the two of them after even a single tilt. It took five altogether for Marbrand to go rolling off his horse, and then Borros Baratheon was called up to face Mallister.
If there were any two men he wanted to face more than any others in this tournament, it was the two of them. Mallister had been the one to unhorse him all those years ago during the tourney at Maidenpool. It was the last time Cole had lost a joust in years and he was keen on getting his revenge for that defeat. And then there was Borros Baratheon, the one who had wounded him so badly in the melee that the joust had been moved a day to accommodate his healing. Even now he felt the bruising in his face as it rubbed against the inside of his helmet.
He did not dare take it off for relief and fresh air. Not when even Rhaenyra had been able to hide her reaction to his appearance. It was an ugly bruise. He did not need Rhaenyra's new mirror to see that, and where before he would have worn a remnant of battle as such with pride, now he was brimming with shame at the thought of it. Not when Laenor Velaryon was seated on his horse looking like a god amongst men; the mop of silver that he traditionally kept tied in a ponytail at his back flapped freely in the winds as he seemed to lounge on the saddle. Cole was not arrogant enough to think that he cut as dashing a figure as the Lordling did. But he knew he had a charm of his own.
Where Laenor Velaryon was all softness borne from the combination of Valyrian beauty and his undoubtedly spoiled upbringing under the richest Lord in the Seven Kingdoms, Cole was a man grown with war under his belt from the day he was old enough to swing a sword. The difference between them was clear, and it was of such a kind that Cole would never have cared had all things been equal. But all things were not equal. He remembered the blush that appeared on his love's face whenever Velaryon gifted her a smile. He had not been able to bring himself to ask, but part of him dared that if he did, then the answer he would get to the question would break him. Because Rhaenyra had never told him she wanted to marry the Velaryon, but worryingly enough she had never seemed to be especially against the idea. Maybe it was a question he should ask. After the tourney, perhaps. He would crown Rhaenyra his Queen of Love and Beauty, and then he would ask her to elope with him once it was over.
So taken he was with his thoughts that he never did get to see what led to the outcome of the round between Baratheon and Mallister. All he saw was Mallister's armored form as it was ejected from horseback and sent to the ground.
A/N: Guess who's back. Back again? Got my arse kicked by exams and am presently recovering from it. So we only get one upload today. Will do better tomorrow, I promise. Next five chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.