Chapter 86

By the time I managed to rouse myself from my bed and swallow one of the few hangover cures I knew worked, the first bracket had already finished. The hangover cure was a Recipe that had been brought back from Yi-Ti which when prepared properly had a tiny bit of magic in it. The pills contained various herbal ingredients infused with just enough magic to qualify as real alchemy. It was, sadly, the only formula I knew how to make, but thankfully it worked and just in time too.

It seemed that while I'd been sleeping off the drink last night, the Quarterfinals of the First Bracket of the Hand's Tourney was to be Ser Harras Harlaw versus Lord Stannis. Lothor Brune had been unhorsed by Ser Harras in the first pass in a sudden upset, while Lord Stannis had broken two lances before knocking Ser Aron Santagar to the Ground. As for me, I had to remind myself that the products of my Distilleries, Ciderworks, Vineyards, and Breweries weren't the sort of weak sipping beer that people in Westeros drank throughout the day. They were more akin to modern, high-proof, liquors, wines, ciders, and beers from back on Earth than not.

"Look who has decided to join us. You're just in time." Snorted Ser Loras Lothston.

"If ever you find yourself drinking with Sallhador Saan and Jalhabar Xho, and they convince you to open a bottle of rum, don't do it. It will lead to a second bottle and you will find yourself in need of a cure for the elephants rampaging around your skull come morning." I replied.

"I could have told you that and saved you the trouble." Nodded Ser Roger Groves. He wasn't moving as poorly in the saddle as I'd thought he would be with a wounded leg. His stirrup work was only slightly stiff.

"Speaking of, it looks like you're up." I nodded toward the lists.

Ser Roger frowned as his gaze traveled to the waiting Hound in the arena. He blew out a sigh and closed his visor before putting the spurs to his mount and heading out there to face his possible doom.

"Good luck!" Called out Ser Loras Lothston.

"Aye, he'll need it." I snorted.

Ser Roger saluted the hound with his lance, and though slow to return it, as if puzzled by the respect, the Hound did the same. I noticed the Hound was moving cautiously in the saddle as well. His arms were moving slower than usual. As I spotted this, I reflected on how the fight against the Mountain had gone down. The Hound had not been wearing his gauntlets when he'd intervened against the Mountain and had landed hard on his arm when the Mountain had smashed him to the ground before I'd shot him through the chest. Could the Hound have sprained his wrist in the landing? If so, that was a lucky break for Ser Roger, as I didn't see any other way for him to win this bout.

As it happened, they still broke four lances against each other before the Hound withdrew, swearing the whole time that his 'fucking wrist was broken'. Ser Roger advanced to the Quarterfinals. While there, he would wind up facing Lord Lydden, as the Badger Lord Finally put an end to Lord Guncer Sunglass' streak of victories. Lord Sunglass loudly chalked it up to the whims of the Stranger interfering in his destined victory but eventually left the field.

Now it was time for me to face off against Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard. I spurred Armino Forward and saluted the Kingsguard Knight with my lance. Ser Mandon said nothing, merely glaring at me. His face was like that of a dead body, his glare proving to be the rictus of a cadaver. Complete with his white cloak and white enameled steel plate, it put me in mind of nothing so much as a corpse in a shroud. The effect was even eerier as I watched him go completely stonefaced as if to give no hint of his intentions before he closed his visor.

As we rode to our respective sides of the lists, ready to charge in at each other, I couldn't help but wonder if the inability to read Ser Mandon was what had made Jaime Lannister call the man dangerous the first time around. The man seems to have even attained a level of mastery over his body language because he had absolutely no tells that I could pick out. Best to just charge in and get it over with.

The first time he almost got me with a trick I'd never seen before. Most knights and heavy cavalry, once their lance is couched, don't uncouch it at all. Ser Mandon did. Only slightly, not enough to rob the lance of most of its impact, but enough to shift its point at the last second. I had been about to take the blow on my shield only to find his lance had drifted to the right in the uncouching and wound up taking it on the breastplate instead. Not dead center, but enough to make me scrabble to hold onto my seat, clamping down with my legs for all I was worth. I just barely managed to stay on Armino. My own lance broke against Ser Mandon's pauldron denting it a bit but otherwise doing nothing.

In the second pass, I tried something new. I couched my lance at the normal time, but also drew Ser Mandon's eye to my shield by using a movement of my shield arm that caused the morning light to catch the gilded ship on my shield. His attention snapped to my shield as the flash of light and motion caught his eye for just a second, and that was long enough for me to uncouch my lance slightly, using his own trick against him. My lance struck him just off dead center on his breastplate as his own lance smashed against the side of my own breastplate. Once more, I just barely managed to retain my seat, having to turn with the blow nearly completely sideways to lessen the impact. I managed though.

Ser Mandon did not. He hit the ground with a thud, white armor throwing up a cloud of dust as he hit the dirt. Once more, Ser Barristan practically had to browbeat one of his brothers into paying the customary ransom. This time, however, he looked over at me and nodded.

"I will look forward to our bout." He offered.

"Likewise. It is not every day one crosses lances with Barristan the Bold." I responded.

Then I nudged Armino back to the spectator's area and readied myself to see what would come next. Ser Loras Lothston was up against Ser Barristan himself. It was unfortunate, but that was just how it was sometimes. The pair broke five lances against each other, but the outcome was never in doubt, my Vassal was unhorsed on the sixth pass, hitting the dirt with the thud. It was our first loss in the Joust so far and it opened up my Quarterfinal Bout to be against Ser Barristan himself.

My only consolation there was that as the third bracket began, Ser Jaime Lannister unhorsed Ser Jaremy Harte with contemptuous ease, knocking the Crownlands Lord to the dirt after breaking only two lances. That ensured that Ser Jaremy would wind up ranking below Ser Loras Lothston on the rankings. Ser Jaremy would end up ranked number twelve, compared to Ser Loras Lothston who had just barely made it to the number ten spot. That meant that I had won my little wager with Lord Harte completely. To finish out the last of the preliminary rounds of the Joust, Ser Loras Tyrell unhorsed Ser Addam Marbrand breaking four lances before the end.

The Quarterfinals began with Lord Stannis facing off against Ser Harras Harlaw. Ser Harras may have learned the art of mounted combat as a hostage in the reach, but he wasn't born to it. No, he was born to the sea and the deck of a ship. Lord Stannis, meanwhile, was not only born to it but had decades of experience fighting from horseback. Ser Harras knew his string of victories was at an end, but he still chose to go down fighting anyway. They broke four lances before Ser Harras was unhorsed. Even Lord Stannis had to admit that Ser Harras was a rare breed, an Ironborn Warrior who could fight as well ahorse as he could on foot or from the deck of a ship.

Next up, Ser Roger Groves faced off against Lord Lydden. The Badger Lord had been every bit as fierce as the animal on his crest, every bit as tenacious. He had proven himself time and again with upset after upset, making something of a hobby out of beating opponents no one thought he could in the lists. Everyone believed that another victory for the Lord of Deep Den was in the cards. They would be disappointed. Ser Roger Groves had decades of experience as a sellsword, which meant he knew tricks and tactics that a Summer Knight like Lord Lydden couldn't cope with. Ser Roger managed to unhorse Lord Lydden via the simple expedient of reflecting the morning sunlight off the garnets on his enameled breastplate and into the man's eyes. It only took three passes before Lord Lydden hit the dirt.

Now it was my turn against Ser Barristan. I swallowed my nerves and spurred Armino out onto the field. Ser Barristan was waiting for me. He returned the salute with his own lance before shutting the visor on his helmet and spurring his mount, a great white destrier to match his white cloak, white plate, and white shield, to his assigned edge of the lists. I did the same for Armino. Then, without saying a word, we charged each other.

Ser Barristan's first lance struck a few inches to the right of dead center on my breastplate while my own lance smashed against his pauldron. I had to fight to keep myself on Armino's back, managing it barely. If my own strike had any discernable impact on my opponent, I couldn't tell. The man was a legend and still serving at his age for a reason, after all.

The second pass went much the same as the first had, Ser Barristan's lance hitting a few inches to the left of dead center on my breastplate this time. I once more smashed my lance into that same pauldron in the hopes that somehow, enough blows in the same place might do enough damage together to give me an opening. Once again, I barely stayed in the saddle while Ser Barristan seemingly shrugged off my hit.

We did this song and dance three more times, each time, Ser Barristan hit close to dead center on my breastplate no matter how I shifted my shield around. Each time I wound up hitting the same pauldron over the shoulder of his lance arm. Each time I barely retained my seat on Armino's back and each time, Ser Barristan shrugged off the blows I gave him back, sometimes literally shrugging.

It was on the sixth pass that my luck finally ran out. Instead of hitting near the dead center, Ser Barristan hit me dead-on in the center of my breastplate. I once more smashed my lance into that same spot, but this time, I didn't manage to retain my spot in the saddle. I toppled to the dirt of the arena floor, steadying myself on the list-post that separated the two combatants as I clambered to my feet. Ser Barristan rode over to me and I nodded at him.

"Well struck, Ser Barristan. In truth, I believe the outcome of this bout was never in doubt." I acknowledged. Ser Maric, acting as my squire for the final time, arrived with a bag of dragons to hand to Ser Barristan as a ransom only for Ser Barristan to wave him off.

"No need. You show talent, Lord Seawynd. I would be a fool to sully that with demands for a ransom. Besides, your strategy in our bout, though not a winning one, has borne some fruit. I will be withdrawing from the lists to tend my shoulder as soon as the Semifinals are announced. That was clever and had we but broken a single other lance, you may have had the better of me this day." Intoned Ser Barristan.

With that, I headed to the stands to watch the remainder of the Joust as a spectator. Interestingly, it was Ser Loras Tyrell that wound up defeating Ser Jaime Lannister. It seemed Ser Loras was the stronger lance, even if Ser Jaime was likely the better sword. They only made five passes, which amusingly, put me ahead of Ser Jaime in the rankings at the number five spot to his number six With that, the Semifinals were declared and Ser Barristan followed through and withdrew, leaving Ser Loras Tyrell to pass to the Finals uncontested.

To see who his opponent would be, Lord Stannis faced off against Ser Roger Groves. The pair were of an age with each other, though Ser Roger had the edge in experience. Experience was what it seemed to have come down to in this bout, as Ser Roger unhorsed Lord Stannis after four close passes. As Ser Roger and Ser Loras Tyrell faced off, however, Ser Loras did something no one expected. He withdrew.

"What? Why'd ye bloody gone and done that?" Roared King Robert from the Royal Box.

"Ser Roger's Lord saved my life when the Mountain, mad as he was, attacked me. Had Lord Seawynd not intervened, the Mountain may very well have slain me. As Lord Seawynd has been defeated by Ser Barristan the Bold, I am withdrawing in the face of his vassal, Ser Roger Groves, in an acknowledgment of what his Lord has done for me." Answered Ser Loras.

"Feh! That's some bloody Reach Logic, Boy! You and your lot are too hopped up on tales and ballads. Fine, have it your way. Ser Roger, you're the Champion of the Joust. You know what that means, don't you Ned?" Demanded King Robert, elbowing Ned Stark in the ribs as if they were still boys fostering under Jon Arryn.

"Aye, Your Grace. It means that Lord Seawynd and his people have won every event in this tourney. From the Squire's Melee all the way up to the Joust." Answered Ned Stark.

"Where is the Rum Lord? Don't tell me he's sulking after being beaten by Barristan the Bold? Bloody hell, if everyone the Man's unhorsed went off to sulk, we'd not have anyone left to joust!" Boomed King Robert. Taking that as my cue, I made my way out onto the lists on the Arena Floor, taking a knee in front of the Royal Box.

"Here I am, Your Grace." I intoned.

"Aye, there you are. So, lad, seems that betting against you isn't where anyone should put their bloody money, aye? Even when the game was as rigged as it was, even with you getting put flat on your arse by Barristan the Bold, you still somehow manage to come out on top. That's talent that is, and talent ought to be rewarded. I offered you this once before and you used it to conquer yourself some islands. Now I'm offering it again. Any one boon you might want that I can grant, name it and you'll have it." Offered King Robert.

"Funny you should mention that, Your Grace. It just so happens that there is a castle and some attached lands that I have not only completely rebuilt and been using as a base for my trade fleets, but whose Lords I already have a good relationship with and have been functioning as a sort of de-facto vassal for a few years now. You may have heard of the reversal of fortunes that House Crabb of the Whispers out in Cracklaw Point has been enjoying?" I asked.

"Aye. That was your doing, was it? I heard you even beat Littlefinger's efforts with the Brunes to the punch there. I'm still not hearing a bloody boon, though." Huffed King Robert.

"My boon that I would ask comes in two parts. The first part is that you simply formalize this arrangement and make Lord Crabb my vassal in law as well as in fact. The second part is a bit trickier. I would ask that you make Lord Crabb the Warden of Cracklaw Point." I explained.

"You would, would you?" Questioned King Robert.

"I would, Your Grace." I answered.

"That would give House Seawynd a significant amount of influence in the Crownlands, would it not? To have the Warden of Cracklaw Point beholden to you?" Queried Lord Stark.

"Less than you might think, My Lord Hand. The Brunes are already spoken for in terms of allegiance. Both Dyre Den and Brownhollow are already out of reach for me. This would limit any influence gains in the Point I might make to the smaller houses. The Caves, Boggs, Hardys, and Pines." I pointed out.

"I see. And you believe your influence will help the Point?" Pressed Lord Stark.

"It already has My Lord Hand. Brigandage has dropped significantly even as prosperity has risen. With a more formal arrangement, I would be free to pursue that further. Ultimately, it means more revenues for the Royal Treasury." I nodded.

"After the Warden of Cracklaw Point takes his cut, part of which goes to you." Snorted King Robert.

"It will still be more money, Your Grace. The treasury has need enough for that as it is." I pointed out.

"Fine, you and Ned can quibble over counting coppers as much as you bloody well please but It bores me. See Lord Seawynd's request is fulfilled, Ned. As for Ser Roger, here, he's owed a prize for winning the Joust, and Ser Loras is also owed a prize for being the Runner-up. Bring out the prizes!" Commanded King Robert.

As he said that, a chest was brought forth filled with fifty-thousand gold dragons for Ser Roger, while a smaller chest about half the size of the first was brought forward for Ser Loras. In the meantime, I had wagers to attend to. Once everything was said and done, wagers and prizes tallied, and everything in between dealt with, I would be sailing home with forty-five-thousand-two-hundred-fifty gold dragons in prizes, ransoms, and wagers, along with uncontested control over the gangs of Flea Bottom to be used as assets in the capital, the Whispers and House Crabb as my newest vassals, and said vassals being elevated to the position of Warden of Cracklaw Point. That should give me at least a momentary advantage on Littlefinger in the war for influence over the Point. Mind you, once the Civil War finally kicked off, that advantage would likely disappear.

At the same time, Maric Seaworth, my former squire, was coming out of this not only with his spurs but with a total of Thirteen-thousand dragons in winnings, prizes, and ransoms. Meanwhile, Ser Roger Groves came out of this ordeal with a total of sixty-five-thousand-four-hundred dragons in prizes, winnings, and ransoms. along with having somehow managed to obtain Lamentation, the Valyrian Steel Blade of House Royce. Jalhabar Xho came out of the tourney with a grand total of twenty-one-thousand dragons in prizes and wagers. Even Ser Loras Lothston and Saalhador Saan, neither of whom won their events, still came out ahead via wagers, with twelve thousand dragons and fifteen thousand dragons respectively.

We had cleaned up here, and now there was only one thing to do before we sailed for home, and likely would have to begin making preparations for civil war. There was still a feast tonight that would function as the closing ceremonies for the Hand's Tourney. I planned to eat my fill at what would most likely be the last big event in peacetime before Westeros was wracked by the inevitable Civil War. While there, I would wind up being drawn into a conversation about Lamentation by Bronze Yohn Royce. He'd seen the blade sitting on Ser Roger's belt during the last half of the Joust.

And now I had to come to some sort of arrangement with him. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, the Hand's Tourney is almost done. We have one last chapter involving the closing feast to go before we're back to Bloodstone for the home stretch before the Civil War starts. I have a few twists in the political situation to throw at you guys when it finally does kick off, the biggest of which is the position the North is in when the shit hits the fan. That change had its seeds planted here in this arc.

At the same time, the Whispers being a de jure vassal as well as de facto to Ricasso, and that vassal being the Warden of Cracklaw Point, means that a new phase of the influence game currently being played between Ricasso and Littlefinger in Cracklaw Point is about to begin, which is going to have. interesting effects on the situation in the Crownlands as of the start of the war.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the closing feast of the Hand's Tourney, featuring Bronze Yohn Royce.

Stay tuned. . .