The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 4 - Gains, Gold & Glory: The Rise

A large, wide grandstand was built for those there just to watch the Tourney. High, with the king's seat prominent near the middle. The gran

A large, wide grandstand was built for those there just to watch the Tourney. High, with the king's seat prominent near the middle. The grandstand overlooked an open field, prepared for the seven-sided melee that day. 

The tourney was to be spread over ten days. The first day was for melee, the second was for archery, the third was for ax throwing, the fourth was for horse racing, and the fifth was for the tourney of singers. The last five days were all reserved for jousting as the main event. 

Wylis was the only man taking part in all but one event. Clear enough, he was going to be the busiest man over the next ten days. 

After a beautiful, comforting evening with Lyanna, he slipped out of the bed, leaving her sleeping, and then returned to the room where Brandon and Benjen slept. He slept like a log that night, completely spent. 

When the morning came, it was Brandon who woke him up. 

"Melee starts soon. Get ready."

Wylis quickly got up and left the castle with the Stark brothers and began preparing in the large tent at the tourney grounds. The seven-member team on their side was being led by Robert Baratheon. Justifiably, the members included Eddard, Brandon, and him, along with a few other friends of Robert. 

Brandon had pretty good armor, but it was nothing compared to Southern folks. In the North, most nobles and knights didn't wear full plate armor. So, Brandon wore a light, leather armor over his gambeson. On that, he added some shoulder pauldrons, rerebraces, and vambraces for the arms. There was also a protective metal plate around his neck. And finally, gloves that had chainmail on the inside. It was too simple and dangerous. But it was the norm in the North. 

Understandably, Wylis was in a far worse state. Since he was so big, he couldn't even receive hand-me-downs from Brandon. Heck, the jousting armor barely fit him after the blacksmith hammered it to his size. 

So, all that Wylis had was simple leather armor that covered him from his shoulders to his chest and all the way to his knees. That was it—no chainmail. Just a simple gambeson underneath, nothing covering his arms, and his hands hidden in simple gloves. But at least it was all black, blending together on his formidable size. 

Let's commission a full-body plate armor later. There's far too many wars awaiting me in the future.

After grabbing a common-looking helmet with a lot of hammer marks on it, Wylis followed Brandon to the event grounds. The loud noise from the fighting grounds was echoing continuously. There was music mixed in the midst as minstrels performed their plays and dances.

Soon, he arrived where Robert was stationed, already armed in his secondary armor. This wasn't the famous antler armor but looked just as intimidating. There was a stag etched on the chest plate. 

"Right on time. I was beginning to think you two had lost your nerve," Robert quipped, taking a hearty swig from his wineskin. "Since we're all accounted for, let's get moving. Wylis, pick any weapon you fancy—as long as it's blunt. We're not aiming to kill each other... yet."

Wylis saw Robert grab a warhammer and laughed. "Your main weapon is a blunt one."

"Hah! And it's the best sort, aye? Bashing heads and chests never gets old." Robert proudly supported the hammer on his shoulder. "What's your choice? I got a spare hammer."

Wylis shook his head, went to the weapons rack, and picked up a massive, two-handed greatsword. It wasn't as long as his real sword, but still, five feet was more than enough. "I'm more of a sword type."

"At least it's a big one." Robert quipped and walked away. "Come along, lads."

"What's the plan?" Brandon asked from behind. 

"Plan? Aye, here's the plan: swing hard, swing fast, and let the gods sort the rest. Ned and I wagered—loser buys the ale."

"So we're going to fight individually in a team battle?" Wylis asked.

"Aye, fight like warriors should! But I won't stop you from teaming up."

"I won't." Brandon declared. 

Then what's the fucking point of making a team? 

"Likewise." Wylis agreed the same. "Never fought a crowd before. Should be a delightful mess—good experience."

Soon, they walked into the large fighting grounds. A few other teams had already entered and waited. But when he entered with Robert, the folks in the stands cheered loudly. Most certainly there was a bet going on among them, and considering him, Robert, and Brandon being so tall, money must be on them.

Slowly, the other teams also poured in and some trace of tension started to form. Seven teams of seven men, a total of forty-nine warriors were going to battle at the same time. It was going to be a mess, a dirty brawl, or perhaps, something more spectacular. 

I feel their eyes on me. Wylis surveyed the field. Almost half of the seven teams were constantly looking his way, or his team to be precise. There seemed to be a consensus between them to get together and eliminate his team first. 

Moreover, he felt some angry gaze through the gaps of many helmets. No doubt, they weren't happy about Ashara dancing with him. 

Will have to bash them just as Robert said. 

Bam!

Wylis smacked himself on the head to fit the helmet better. It was somewhat deformed since the blacksmith had hammered it to stretch. 

"Here we see!" The crier shouted to announce the event. "Seven teams of seven men each! A legendary seven-sided melee! Behold the championship where many shall swing but only one shall come on top in the end—"

The crier looked towards King Aerys. The old, filthy king waved his hand dismissively. 

"Let the melee… begin!"

####

Such a waste of time and money. The guild could have made barrels of Wildfire with it. 

King Aerys had no interest in the tourney. The only reason he'd come there was to spoil the secret plot his son was brewing with other lords backing. Most certainly, he was sure Tywin was backing Rhaegar. 

By joining the tourney, he'd taken control and quashed Rhaegar's attempt to rally the nobles against him. And by taking Jaime from Tywin, he'd put a leash on the lion's neck. He was quite satisfied with the results already. 

The rest of the tourney was a waste of time. But he remained behind since he didn't want to give Rhaegar any opportunity. 

Fighting with blunt blades. What's amusing without blood?

Some wine, some lords babbling near him that he didn't consider significant. The sound of steel clashing steel was interesting at best, but not amusing. Of course, seeing the famed knights brawl like children was humorous. While the crowds awed and roared, he chuckled. 

Bam!

"Gaaah!"

Then he heard it. 

Clank!

He then saw it. His hazy, purple eyes grew clear in an instant. His smile vanished into a serious smirk as he watched. What a style of fighting. So unpredictable yet clearly well-planned and executed. 

Now he was entertained. The seven-foot-tall giant of a man fought with honor and style combined. The men who dwarfed him crowded him from all sides, turning the massive greatsword a struggle to swing. 

But then, Aerys almost jumped from his seat as the giant of a man threw the greatsword towards his enemy as if passing a sack. The other knight, confused, caught the blade, but at the same time, received an elbow straight to his helmet-adorned face. 

Bam!

The knight fell to the ground instantly, the helmet slightly deformed. No doubt, unconscious. 

"DOWN!" 

Aerys heard Ser Arthur Dayne raise a flag from the side, acting as the Knight Marshal of the melee, regulating the fight. 

"Who is that man?" Aerys asked his Hand, Lord Owen Merryweather.

"Lord Robert Baratheon, Your Grace."

Aerys frowned, annoyed instantly. "Not him! The larger one."

"That is…" Lord Merryweather stammered, truly unaware of who the large man was. He wasn't known to be decisive and more of an ass-kisser of the King, laughing at all of the Mad King's jokes, and praising him. "That man is…"

Seeing the King's mood getting worse, Ser Gerold Hightower, the current Lord Commander of the Kingsguards, responded from the side. "He is Wylis of Winterfell, Your Grace—a stable boy raised by the Starks to wield a sword. This marks his first battle beyond Winterfell's yard."

Aerys watched Wylis the stableboy defeat seasoned knights with ease. Mindful of his size and his body, avoiding all blades coming at him. The physical strength alone was top tier as his elbows, kicks, and punches fell men. The greatsword whenever struck, made the other knights jump back.

Of course, the other knights weren't bad either. But for a man as young as Wylis and of his size, matching those seasoned knights was beyond surprising. 

"Is Rickard not pleased with the boy?" Aerys asked with amusement, rubbing his beard. 

Ser Gerold hesitated to question the intent. "I'm afraid I don't understa—"

"Why is this boy not knighted yet? The Lannister whelp is younger, is he not? Rickard Stark is a knight; he has the authority to bestow knighthood. Ser Gerold, find out more about this boy. His ambitions, his desires, his dreams. He's a stableboy by fate, but perhaps the Warrior has blessed him."

Ser Garold simply nodded, agreeing with the command, without correcting the King that Wylis most likely followed the Old Gods. 

####

Jesus fucking Christ! This is addicting! 

Wylis dominated the battlefield from the get-go and it was an otherworldly feeling. The experiences he had purchased felt like his own since birth. He was no superhuman, but years of honing his body and maintaining high protein and mineral intakes had him at his peak. Every move was explosive and utterly trained. 

"Hah!"

He backstepped, avoiding a deliberate strike towards his neck, and sent a two-handed strike of his blunt greatsword straight at the Westerlands' knight. 

CLASH!

Wylis' attack was overpowering. While he didn't hurt the man, he did throw him to the ground. He could see why Robert loved his hammer. Using his large body and strength to bash others was thrilling. Seeing the enemies get thrown and stumble boosted his confidence. 

But at that moment, he was no different from Robert. His blunt greatsword was like a hammer. 

As he'd expected. His team was singled out. Seven men took upon Robert, seven against him, and seven against Brandon Stark. It was a dirty play, but not against the rules. 

"Catch!"

Right then, Wylis threw his greatsword at the other knight, and along with that, he smashed his elbow into the helmet. It was thrilling to feel how responsive each part of his body was. The adrenaline, the raging heartbeat. It was delightful! All of it!

Thud!

The visor caved in and the enemy knight fell. With that, Wylis paved himself a way out of the team that had him surrounded. From then on, he took them down with his greatsword. His already long arm with the five-foot blade, granted him impressive reach. 

"Ha!" He used everything. The blade of his sword. The hilt of his sword. His fist, his elbow, his knees, and his foot. He never fell down, and it never came to a dirty brawl, thankfully. That was too risky. 

The crowd is… so loud. 

He felt his blood pumping from all the cheers from the stands. This was it, his dream come true. This was the true experience that no re-enactment of his past life could achieve. Real men with real intent to hurt each other. A real world that was stuck in the Middle Ages. Real Kings, real Lord—this was everything he ever wanted. And yet there was so much more to win.

I will… cherish this life… like my last… and live like a fucking fat lord!

"Haaaaaa!"

The team of seven that was against him eventually fell. After that, he went ahead and helped Brandon fight the seven men. After that, he and Brandon helped Eddard. Robert needed no help, so the tourney eventually came to the climax with only four men left standing—-Robert, Eddard, Brandon, and Wylis. 

They were from the same team initially and avoided each other. But that was no longer the option. 

"I'll take him!" Brandon declared and went for Robert without asking Wylis. 

That left Wylis to fight Eddard. Now, Eddard wasn't as tall and burly as Robert. That made Wylis feel a little out of place. He expected to fight Robert, who was a mere few inches shorter than him. 

I'll go a bit easy on him. 

He didn't want to humiliate the future Lord of House Stark. The honorable and cold Ned.

"Been a while, Wylis." Eddard brandished his sword. "Don't hold back. Only gods are to judge this duel."

Wylis nodded and held the greatsword in front of himself. 

Clash!

Eddard made the first move.

Wylis easily deflected, matching the speed that was surprising for a man of his size. They seemingly danced back and forth, matching each other's moves and countering at the same time. 

It was a true dance of the swords. But to most naked eyes, it was visible that Wylis was holding back from striking so hard that Eddard would have lost the grip of his blade. 

Clank!

Slowly, Eddard's expression changed to gritting grunts. 

He probably can't feel his hands anymore. 

Even with his strength held back, Wylis’ strike sent shockwaves so heavy that it took Eddard’s everything to hold the sword. 

It feels like cheating. But I can't help it. This body lived fourteen years being a fat shit. I lived a whole life in the modern world. If not for Tyrant's Squire, I'd be nothing. 

Thud!

Wylis rushed into the gap between them and slammed the hilt of his sword on Eddard's chest, sending the young man toppling down. 

"DOWN!" Ser Arthur roared from the side. 

With that, Eddard was out of the tourney. So, Wylis merely stood in place, gathered his breath, and watched Brandon and Robert duel. Robert was taller, but Brandon was a man over six feet too. Both were burly, but Robert held an edge. Brandon's blade couldn't hold on for too long against Robert's hammer. 

Brandon fell multiple times but stood up stronger each time. But the Wild Wolf's enemy wasn't the lack of strength, but rather his depleting stamina. Even Robert looked out of breath. Compared to them, Wylis was perfectly calm on the side, having removed his helmet already. 

His breath was steady, and he combed his sweat-drenched hair back while eying the crowd. It was on purpose as he wanted to show his face to the realm. He was as proud of his chiseled jawline and his handsome face, as much as the body he'd carved over the years. 

There she is. He eyed Lyanna in the stands, looking as beautiful as yesterday. But her robes were less extravagant now.

And the ogling bastard. He then noticed Rhaegar sitting beside his Dornish wife. But instead of focusing on the dusky beauty, the fucker was eying Lyanna the whole time. 

He looked for any face he should memorize. There was Ashara Dayne as well, and their eyes almost locked on to each other despite the distance. But he kept looking around and soon noticed a strikingly beautiful, curly golden-blonde-haired girl, younger than him, staring at him. Her silken robes looked expensive, gold and red being the general theme on her entire body. She was surrounded by guards dressed in red.

Lannisters? Cersei? Is that her? Wylis wondered, finding her actually stunning, her green eyes seemingly excited. Possibly among the most beautiful women he'd seen yet in his limited travels. 

Wylis also noticed some nodding gazes, as if approving of him. He reckoned they saw his current actions as noble and chivalrous. He could have joined the fight and defeated Robert with Brandon, to whom he was a squire. But he stayed out of it. 

Mission successful, I guess. He thought. Women liked his strength and looks, and men liked his actions and prowess. 

But there was one gaze he didn't like—The King's. 

The Mad Cunt is looking at me. 

So, he put his helmet back on his head and waited patiently for Robert to finish. He stabbed his greatsword's tip into the ground before him and rested his two hands on the protruding, wide rain-guard.

"DOWN!" 

At last, Brandon Stark couldn't keep up with Robert. But saving the Stark pride, Brandon didn't fall, only lost the grip on his sword. 

Panting, Brandon grabbed his sword and walked over to Wylis, his expression only containing a deep frown. "Wylis, beat his ass. Humble him."

“Aye, I was about to do it anyway,” Wylis muttered, yanking his sword from the earth. “But if you’re offering, I’ll not say no to a cask of Arbor Gold. Heroism’s thirsty work.”

"Hah! What an expensive squire." Brandon smashed his big squire's shoulder. "Knock him on his arse, and it's on me.”

Damn, he agreed. Wylis nodded and moved towards Robert with a desire to taste the famous wine at last. He'd heard about it for years now but never got his hands on it. 

But he didn't lunge at Robert right away. First, Robert was drenched in sweat and panting, tired clearly. Second, fighting Robert was going to be different as he was the only man in melee there who could probably match his strength. 

But still, Wylis had a stamina and mobility advantage. Robert wasn't fat, but he wasn't lean either. He had muscles, but they were not defined. Clearly, Robert didn’t live as harshly as Wylis. And Wylis considered himself superior to Robert in every way except for blood status.

"Need a break, Lord Baratheon?" Wylis asked with a taunting smirk. 

Robert gulped a long breath and stood straight, chest proud. "I'll feast on your defeat tonight—wine in one hand, a wench in the other!"

"A bit too early to say that, no?" Wylis took a defensive stance, the greatsword held in front of him. 

Robert did the same with his hammer. "I swear, Wylis, you're like a bloody boar that never tires. How do you have such stamina?"

Of course, Robert noticed the difference. Despite a larger body than him, Wylis didn't look that tired. He'd seen Wylis fight the seven men and then aid Brandon and Eddard. He admired Wylis' strength and mastery. He respected it more. It was the highest amount of honor he could show to anyone. 

Wylis shrugged, ready to strike at any moment. "Unlike you, my Lord, groomed from birth with tutors and sparring partners, I had to earn every moment. My days were consumed with mucking stables and hauling loads—odd jobs that kept the castle running. Each day was a test of how much I could endure before nightfall. Training time wasn't scheduled; it was stolen. My stamina wasn't honed in the yard; it was forged out of necessity."

“Then let’s test it!”

Robert made the first move, rushing forward and striking his hammer like it were a bat, a swing from below. He roared at the same time, his voice deep and heavy. "Haaaa!"

Wylis remained in position, unmoving, as if frozen. The crowd in the stands stopped shouting to hear the first exchange. Nobody really knew who was going to win that duel since both the warriors seemed equal. 

But Wylis erased that confusion right away. He had no need to hold back anymore. While he never used earthbending, nor did he plan to now, the sword mastery he'd bought was the most superior level anyone could achieve. A level Robert wasn't at yet. 

And combining hand-to-hand mastery. 

Instead of the sword, Wylis lifted his right foot, and from the flat surface below, he smashed down at the oncoming hammer. 

Clank!

Bam!

Wylis nullified Robert's powerful hammer with a mere kick of his foot. 

"My turn!" Wylis swung his greatsword sideways. Speed was on his side. 

CLASH!

He struck the blunt blade into Robert's left shoulder. 

CLASH!

By the time Robert raised his hammer back up, Wylis was fast on his feet. He struck Robert's waist then, hard enough to make the big Baratheon grunt. 

But after that, Robert took a full defensive stance and blocked Wylis' attacks. However, Robert had no way of attacking as Wylis' reach was far too long and he was short. Wylis maintained a perfect distance between them while moving around, tiring Robert even more. 

It didn't help that Robert's armor had more plates and hence heavier. 

"You… Wylis!" Robert boomed, surging forward to close the gap. "Are among the finest warriors I've met in life!" 

"Likewise!" Wylis replied and acted as if he was going to meet Robert head-on. 

Woosh!

But just as Robert reached him, Wylis side-stepped and smashed the flat side of his sword on Robert's back, throwing him straight into the ground on his hands and knees, his hammer lost from his tight grip. 

The crowd roared in cheers. Excitement was palpable. Wylis felt like an actor with countless fans. Before, one could dismiss him as a simple giant who used his size to defeat others. But now, against Robert, he'd shown his prowess. Nobody could deny his mastery anymore. 

And, he was also honorable as he didn't attack Robert after falling. 

"Ugh…" Robert got up, tired and panting like a dying horse. He quickly removed his helmet and looked at Wylis. "Go ahead—land the final strike."

Wylis shook his head, not done with the spectacle. Instead of attacking, he threw away the greatsword and removed his helmet again. "Fancy a bout of fists? Let's see whose punch carries more weight."

Robert grinned and raised his fists, ready to throw hands. "Don't cry if you lose now." 

Wylis said nothing and moved forward with raised fists. He didn't plan on dragging this out for too long, but to win that Arbor Gold, he had to throw Robert on his ass. 

Bam!

Wylis ducked and jabbed at Robert's belly where the armor wasn't that strong. 

Bam!

Wylis dodged again, avoiding Robert's grappling hand as the man tried to wrestle him to the ground. This time, Wylis used his body weight and slammed his shoulder into Robert's belly, wrapping his arms around the big Baratheon. 

"Ghaaaa!" Wylis roared and lifted Robert into the air, a feat that was shocking to most. "How's the weather up there?"

THUD!

With that, Wylis tackled him down straight to the ground. He moved fast and straddled Robert's chest, pressing his knees on Robert's arms to lock him in place. Then, with a quick hand, Wylis snatched a blunt dagger from his waist and aimed it at Robert's neck. 

"DOWN!" Came the call for the end of the duel.

At last, Wylis was out of breath, but not as much as Robert. 

"Lord Stark's a fool," Robert grumbled from underneath Wylis' weight. "You've got more skill than all those armored peacocks combined. Seven Hells, maybe I should knight you myself!"

In his heart, Wylis felt the same. He'd shown his abilities so well in the hopes of receiving a knighthood. But Rickard Stark had only ignored him. If not for Lyanna, he wouldn't even be there at the tourney. 

"I'd like that, but Lord Stark would probably exile me then." 

"Then I'll make you a landed knight in Stormlands," Robert offered. 

Fuck no! Knowing the mess you'll create, I'd rather stay in the North. It's harsh but peaceful.

"Thank you for the offer, my Lord." 

Wylis got off Robert and offered his hand. 

Robert grabbed it and got up, laughing as if he didn't just get his ass handed to him. But Robert was such a man who didn't hold grudges and acknowledged if the other man was better than him. At that moment, he recognized Wylis' talents. 

Clap!

Clap!

Ugh… Fuck, why's he clapping of all people. 

Wylis noticed the Mad King had gotten up from his seat and clapped towards him. He was the first, so the rest of the audience followed his gesture. 

While he didn't want the King's attention, it was unavoidable. So, he bowed towards the Mad King until the fragile filth of a King left the stands. 

After that, Wylis and Robert walked out of the fighting grounds. 

"Don't forget the promise." Wylis reminded Brandon on the way. 

Sighing, Brandon nodded. But then he punched Wylis on his arm. "My friend, you’re the hero tonight—twenty thousand gold dragons richer. You should be the one treating us."

"I will, but Arbor Gold comes first."

"Bahah! Come to my tent, Wylis. I'll treat you to the finest wine," Robert offered from the side. 

Brandon's eyes narrowed as he stepped between Robert and Wylis, his voice a low growl. "Keep those eyes off of my little squire, Robert. He's not one of your whores that you can just have."

"..."

That feels… insulting. 

"Then I'll knight him and give him some land." Robert declared. 

"Fuck that, I'll knight the lad myself before you can blink. I'm heir to Winterfell—my word is law. He'll have enough land to ride a day and not see the end of it."

Silently, Wylis listened to them compete on who could give him more. But realistically, he knew that Robert was the better choice. Not now, of course. 

Just one more year. 

####

There was no great feast, but every night was a feast nonetheless. The difference for Wylis was that he walked around with his head held high now. He didn't need to tell anyone who he was. Everyone already knew him. He was the talk of the town. However, the ladies still didn't approach him for the dance. 

And sadly, with so many eyes on him, including the King, he couldn't sneak into Lyanna's room anymore. He really wanted to, no he needed to spend the night with her to calm his nerves and body. Sort of a victory celebration on the bed. 

But it was far too risky. Hence, he decided to maintain distance for the duration of the tourney. 

After the feast, he left the castle to prepare himself for the next day's archery tournament. At the large tent, he checked the bow and arrows and then started practicing his speed and accuracy. It was late at night, so most men were asleep, and only the torches lit the open area where he'd set up the range. 

As Brandon's squire, and now melee champion, he could order around Stark soldiers to work for him. Not that he needed that in the first place. He was loved and liked by everyone in Winterfell and Winter Town. 

Woosh!

Woosh!

The competition was pretty simple. Each round made the target more distant. Each round gave the archer three arrows. Points were given based on how close to the bullseye one strikes. Of course, bullseye was the best. Each round eliminated a few from the lowest end, and if even after the farthest distance there were more participants left, the targets would be set as moving or smaller in size.

Shouldn't be an issue. Wylis measured his aim and power. 

"Ehm… Set for another victory, Ser Wylis of Winterfell? At this rate, one might think you're vying for more than just the prize—perhaps a lady's favor?"

He recognized that voice right away. He turned around and looked at her, as beautiful as the last night, but more modestly dressed now with a cloak on her shoulders. But her face alone was enough to earn his attention. 

"Lady Ashara." He put away the bow and arrow. "I suppose it's safe here but still, a beauty like you wandering about at this hour? Even the shadows might get ideas."

Ashara smiled, both her lips and violet eyes. She leaned in slightly. "With you by my side, what danger could possibly befall me? You'll keep me safe, won't you?"

At that, Wylis smiled roguishly and exaggeratedly bowed towards her, one hand on his chest and the other spread wide. "With pleasure, my Lady. And if need be, my life too."

She giggled cutely and walked around Wylis, checking his bow with her slender fingers. 

Wylis couldn't take his eyes off her frame as she moved closer to him. Her scent was pleasing, and her figure was interesting. While the cloak covered her slender waist with an hourglass curve, as she leaned forward to pick the bow, her rear did reveal its shape. Round, probably soft, like a true highborn lady born and raised in wealth. 

Elia must've liked my performance; Wylis reckoned, believing that Ashara was working for Elia. 

"You've stirred quite the commotion, Wylis. Tomorrow, expect a procession of lords, each flaunting their daughters' virtues, hoping to bind you to their houses. And the noble widows? They'll be vying for your attention, dreaming of a gallant husband to share their lonely nights."

Wylis gave a knowing nod. Brandon and Lyanna had already spoken to him. Still, he played along with Ashara. "Really? What should I do then? I suppose it's time I considered marriage. Being merely a stableboy at Winterfell does lack a certain... excitement."

That's it! She wants me… or Elia?

Seeing Ashara turn towards him in a rush was all the clue he needed about her intention. While Robert was direct, it seemed Elia was taking an indirect approach. But he didn't know if Ashara was being so flirty willingly or if she was ordered to do that. After all, he didn't consider her as someone who'd sell herself like that. 

"You mustn't, Wylis. You're merely eight and ten, and your future is boundless. The prowess you displayed today has even the Great Houses taking notice. Aim high; accept nothing but the best." Ashara advised him, but her hurried pace made it seem she was worried he'd really marry some petty lord's daughter. "And with the talents you'll reveal in the days ahead, more lords will seek your company. If you were to triumph in the joust... oh dear, I've said too much. I shouldn't be hoping for the Prince's defeat, should I?"

She's good, but far from enough to fool me. 

Wylis saw right through her acting. He'd seen it plenty in his last life. Corrupt company executives trying to fool him. People trying to get money from him. They all lied and played tricks. 

Elia probably wants Rhaegar to lose. I would if I were in her place. The silver fucker has grown too cocky. 

"Hmm…" Wylis rubbed his chin, thinking about it seriously. But not her words, he was rather confused about who he should crown his Queen of Beauty and Love after winning the Joust. Lyanna was an obvious choice, but that would anger Robert and Lord Stark. Was there even a need to do that since Rhaegar would lose?

"I'm grateful for your advice, Lady Ashara. I'm new to this blue-blooded business. Spent my life following orders, sharpening my skills, hoping for a chance to climb. But having friends who offer sound advice? That's worth more than any opportunity." Wylis stepped closer to Ashara, toying a little. He liked that she didn't recoil back due to his overbearing height. Her head barely reached his middle chest, after all.

"That is true." Ashara nodded strongly and glanced around conspiratorially before lightly patting his chest. "If you're finished with your training, I would be delighted if you'd join me at the castle. Her Grace has instructed Lord Whent to arrange a private chamber for you. The champion of the melee should be rewarded appropriately."

Is this it? Is that how it's going to go? 

"Let's go."

Wylis quickly put away the tools in a locked chest and followed Ashara into the castle. She had come with two guards, it appeared. 

Once they entered the castle, she dismissed the guards and led Wylis into the labyrinth that was Harrenhal. Through some ruined hallways, into some intact, and then more ruins. Clearly, he'd received a room, but it wasn't in the best part of the castle. 

Sure enough, when he reached a ruined end that barely had any occupants, Ashara opened a wooden door that looked new. 

There was one large bed, that was it. There was no table, no chair, no cupboard, no carpets. Just a bed, stone walls, and a tiny window. 

"This room is bare, I admit," Ashara said and gestured towards the simple furniture. "But the bed is large, the bedding new, and the company..."

She let the words hang, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

"This'll suffice, my Lady. I'd rather have this than be serenaded by Brandon's snores."

She laughed and looked around the room for a while. Then, she turned towards Wylis, silence lingering between them. Her perfect, fair face seemingly grew a faint shade of red, her luscious lips looked dry. 

"Then…" Ashara nodded softly and stopped looking into his eyes. She stepped backward towards the door. "I'll leave you to rest. I'm sure you need it to perform well in the tournament. I will… perhaps visit again sometime. It's interesting to speak with you."

Wait, wait, wait… Wasn't she going to drop her cloak and reveal her bare beauty now? Isn't that how it goes?

He was sure he saw the signs there. He could swear that he felt her eyes seemingly inviting him to make a move. But he was scared of messing it all up. One scream from her and he would have had to escape to Essos. 

"You are welcome at any time, my Lady." Wylis maintained a noble persona. 

By now, he reckoned he had two faces. One he showed to the world—noble, honorable, kind, and just. Then there was the other, reserved for a select few—calculative, cold, ambitious, and perhaps a little perverted. How could he not in his quest to become a lord and live like one? All that gold, fame, and skills should bring in some rewards, no?

"May the Warrior favor you, Wylis."

Finally, Ashara closed the door of his room, leaving him all alone.

Hard, in need, seriously missing his she-wolf. 

"Ugh… let's win this tourney and find a way to be knighted."

Eventually, he hugged the spare pillow and fell asleep. Sadly, the pillow was too small for his size. 

However, that did give him the idea of making body pillows. Slutty, horny noble ladies and widows would absolutely love and demolish it in their beds. 

Fuck! What am I even thinking? 

####

It was a sunny day with clear skies and warmth. It was winter, but Wylis didn't need to wear any extra fur cloaks that day. 

He'd woken up early, cleaned himself with a wet cloth, and reported at the archery range. It was the same ground from the previous day. But now multiple targets were set there at different distances. 

But the crowd of onlookers had decreased by a lot. Not many were interested in events other than melee and jousting. Still, he noticed an unusually high number of women. Many of them were nobles, dressed in fine clothes with little revealing necks. Many of them were old. 

Even she's here. He noticed Cersei sitting in the same place as the previous day, surrounded by Lannister soldiers. She'd worn green with golden embroidery now, and her curly long hair was tied in a bun behind her head, ornate with some jewelry and some locks falling at the side of her face. She was stunning as expected. 

And then there's him. 

He ignored King Aerys. He didn't expect the King would be interested in seeing other tournaments. Even Rhaegar was only taking part in the joust, so there was nothing to see. 

"Wylis of Winterfell!"

As his name was called, Wylis reacted and walked over to the shooting position. The first target was not that far away, just at thirty meters range. 

Wasting no time, Wylis aimed the bow, pulled the string with the arrow, and kept his breath and body steady. His strength was useful in archery.

Woosh!

Woosh!

Woosh!

In three consecutive strikes, Wylis completed his round and waited for the marshal to announce the result. 

"All miss!"

"..."

Wylis frowned and shouted back. "Look again—Center of the target."