Chapter 82

The Feast at the end of the first day of the Hand's Tourney was packed with all sorts of nobles. Not just Contestants, but also members of the Royal Court and Non-Competing members of various Contestants' retinues. Aside frome the people I'd seen so far, I also noticed Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Petyr Baelish as members of the Small Council, along with various wives and children of some of the Contestants. Ser Jacelyn Bywater, Commander of the Gold Cloaks was also present, speaking with Ser Aron Santagar, likely about Ser Aron's courting of his sister. There were minor functionaries of the Court, Lord Edric Pyle from the Royal Mint, Ser Dafyd Byrch, the Captain of the Red Keep's Guards, and so on. It was a veritable who's who of most of the Seven Kingdoms.

Personally, I found myself inclined merely to sit back, eat, and socialize outside of my own vassals only when needed. It had been a long day, after all, and tomorrow I would need to enter the Joust and hope I could beat out the Hartes in the rankings. The fact that Ser Roger Groves and Ser Loras Lothston would also be riding in the joust didn't do much to soothe my worries. I wasn't the greatest on horse, I hadn't had the upbringing. Ser Loras had, and so had Ser Roger, however more Contestants meant more chances we'd fall short of our goal.

Of course, there was the issue that apparently, some bright spark had decided that we would all mingle before the first course was brought out. We were supposed to socialize over drinks while Minstrels played in the background. It turned out to be a cover for the unveiling of the brackets for the lists. That was when I realized just how much more difficult the joust was going to be for me and mine. As the Tourney Attendants unveiled the brackets, I spotted that Ser Jaremy Harte had an easy bracket up until the Quarterfinals, being matched against Jory Cassel, Ser Osney Kettleblack, and Ser Walton Frey before running up against Ser Jaime Lannister.

Meanwhile, Ser Loras Lothston had to run the Gauntlet of Bronze Yohn Royce, then either the Strongboar or Ser Addam Marbrand, and then Ser Loras Tyrell just to reach the Quarterfinals. Ser Roger Groves had it a bit easier, but only by dint of having to face Lord Balman Byrch in the first round. Then he would have to face Black Walder Frey before having to defeat either the Hound or Lord Randyll Tarly. My own bracket was also pretty difficult, I had to face off against Ser Robar Royce, Ser Meryn Trant, whose arm had only suffered dislocation instead of a break against me in the Melee and could still ride, and Ser Mandon Moore to reach the Quarterfinals. Should I get there, I'd have to face either the Mountain or Ser Barristan the Bold to pass into the Semifinals.

I suspected someone had mucked about with the tourney brackets again. This time, however, it could be multiple people. Queen Cersei was always a prime suspect for such shenanigans. She didn't care for me in the least, after all. I also couldn't discount the Hartes deciding they'd had enough of playing this rivalry legitimately and instead they had decided to start cheating. It could also be some sort of scheme by either Varys or Littlefinger either to test how I reacted, or more likely in Littlefinger's case, out of spite. There were just too many possibilities in this Viper's pit of a City and I suddenly realized that I hadn't done myself or my vassals any good by adding the rivalry with the Hartes on top. My stupid ego had gotten in the way of success there.

"Now that is the look of a man regretting his life choices." Came a familiar amused voice to my right. Lord Renly had just sauntered up to my seat with a goblet of wine in one hand. His companion for the evening wasn't Ser Loras Tyrell, but instead Ser Robar Royce

"Lord Renly. I suspect someone tampered with the Tourney Brackets." I sighed.

"This is King's Landing, Lord Seawynd. I suspect many people tampered with the Tourney Brackets." Chuckled Lord Renly.

"Aye. I wouldn't be so surprised were I you, My Lord. This always happens in Tourneys held in the Capital. I must admit that I've never seen one quite so weighted against someone, though. It isn't surprising, however. You and your vassals did manage to sweep up the first three events." Nodded Ser Robar.

"Indeed. I suspect multiple people had a hand in it. Such a thing has to be the work of multiple parties working together." Shrugged Lord Renly.

I chewed on that for a few moments. Surely I couldn't have made quite so many enemies in just a few years? Then I shook my head clear of that thought. Of course I had, that's what happens when you rise to power on the back of new technogies, conquest, and bucking local tradition. Still, I consoled myself with the knowledge that if I'd made enemies, I had also made allies. Lord Stannis chief among them. I had betrothed my son to his daughter, contingent on the outcome of his fosterage, after all. Besides, I figured most of my enemies would have been enemies anyway no matter how I managed to come to power.

"At any rate, I hear congratulations are in order." Spoke up Lord Renly, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Oh?" I questioned.

"Yes. I heard that your son and my niece are to be wed." Answered Lord Renly.

"They are to be wed contingent on the outcome of Quentyn's Fosterage with Stannis. We need to see if they are compatible partners first. What better way to test for personality conflicts than to have Quentyn Grow up alongside Shireen?" I queried.

"Sensible. Are you not worried about the Greyscale, though?" Frowned Ser Robar.

"Not in the least. It is well established that once the Greyscale has ceased growing, the danger of infecting others has passed. The disease is fairly well understood in the Free Cities." I informed.

"I suppose it would have to be, given how close Dead Chroyane is to the trade routes that the various cities rely on. They do so love their trade, after all." Snorted Lord Renly.

"Indeed, but as ever with the Free Cities, that love of trade has pushed forward their understanding of various principles. In this case, the Physicians of the Free Cities have a knowledge of Greyscale that the Maesters lack, simply due to number of exposures to the disease." I mused.

"Indeed? I am quite curious to know what these Physicians have to say about the disease." Came an aged Voice from my left. I turned to see the bald, long-bearded, rheumy-eyed, visage of Grand Maester Pycelle approaching.

"Well, first off, Greyscale is a Fungal Disease. Certain plants contain essences that can kill the fungus, rendering it inert. The Physicians of Braavos use a paste made from Turmeric, Garlic, and Neem Leaves from the islands near Qarth to do this. Once the Greyscale is rendered inert, it then can be cut or abraded away with the topmost layer of skin. I'm sure your order knows how to treat such abrasions, Grand Maester." I nodded.

It was true, the poultices of Turmeric, Garlic, and Neem Leaf Paste did work to kill the Greyscale. That was well known in Braavos and the Free Cities, but what wasn't clearly understood was the why. Of course, from my prior life on Earth, I knew that Garlic contained Allicin, which had strong antibacterial and antifungal properties, that Neem Leaves contained quercetin, ß-sitosterol, nimbidin, and nimbolide which were all antifungal chemicals, while Turmeric contained Curcumin, an antifungal that had been of debatable efficacy back on Earth, but was apparently useful on Planetos.

"You know, I had heard of the Braavosi Physician's foul-smelling paste, but most Maesters dismiss such things as little better than Smallfolk Herbalism dressed up in academic terms. Does it truly work?" Asked Grand Maester Pycelle.

"It does. I've seen the results myself. One of my ship captains contracted Greyscale from a trip to Qohor to sell Arsenal Steel billets to their forges. One trip to Braavos later and while his hand was bandaged thanks to the process abrading the skin on his palm, he was alive and not impaired. He eventually regained the full use of that hand." I acknowledged.

"Fascinating. I don't suppose you could get hd of the Recipe? Bringing something like that back to the Citadel would be a very important thing indeed." Questioned Pycelle.

"I'll see what may be done on that front, Grand Maester. An effective Greyscale treatment benefits all." I agreed.

"Indeed. I am certain the Citadel would be willing to offer knowledge in kind for such a thing. Perhaps you might like to know some of Old Valyria's Herbalist Secrets? We have copies of Peri Hulēs Iatrikēs we offer for study to those forging their Silver Link. It contains instructions for how to make a number of tonics, tinctures, and poultices out of various herbs and plants to cure or alleviate various ailments?" Queried Grand Maester Pycelle.

"I think I would like that, yes. Won't your order put up a fuss, though?" I asked.

"Oh, some Archmaesters might complain, but really the books are meant for Acolytes that have just completed their basic coursework on healing. It isn't as if it is advanced or secret knowledge. Why, I'd bet the Red Keep has a copy in its library as well for anyone in the Court to read. No, we have a deal, and if the Archmaesters complain that is their own issue." Smirked Grand Maester Pycelle.

Before I could ponder the oddity that was a Helpful Grand Maester Pycelle, however, the Minstrels stopped playing and King Robert boomed out, "About bloody time! I'm half-starved!"

We all took our seats as the first course, a Pottage spiced with rosemary, sage, thyme, and black pepper, was brought out. Trust the King to have a simple dish be doctored with expensive spices. It was quite good, however, and as I ate the pottage that was served in my trenchar of bread, enjoying the company of my vassals and a flagon of good, brown, ale, I almost forgot the travesty of the weighted tourney brackets. Almost wasn't enough, however, and soon it wouldn't be even that much. As the soup course was brought out, this one a hearty Northern Cock-A-Leekie in honor of Lord Stark, Lord Alyn Harte came by to gloat over the brackets.

I would wind up learning precisely who had cheated alongside him in the process. . .

XXXX

AN: All right. Here we're starting to see a few things. Firstly, that Ricasso's Group sweeping the Squire's Melee, Archery Contest, and Regular Melee has put a massive target on their backs and that multiple people pooled their resources to alter the Tourney brackets. Secondly, there's the exchange of knowledge with the Citadel, which is only going to ensure Ricasso's people stay healthier and allow for even more wounded troops to recover. Finally, there's the knowledge that Quentyn and Shireen have some kind of betrothal agreement starting to spread.

The First will feature in the Joust Sections of this arc, the Second will feature long-term, and the third will also feature long term. You can bet that Cersei isn't thrilled that Ricasso's son might marry her neice, for instance. It also shows how close Ricasso is tied to Stannis. Mind you, Robert is thrilled that his neice gets something nice happen to her for a change. My read on Robert is that he's a shit father but a pretty good uncle. It's the fact that being an uncle doesn't require a shitload of responsibility, I think.

At any rate, the next chapter will finish out the feast, then we'll be into the Joust of the Hand's Tourney.

Stay tuned. . .