Archery

'I can't stop this now. It's too late and gold has already left the royal coffers.'

Lord Eddard Stark always carried a burden on his shoulders, a burden of secrets, positions of authority and now being the Hand of a King whose throne was six million gold dragons in debt. As if the expense and trouble were not irksome enough, all and sundry insisted on salting his wound by calling it 'the Hand's tourney' as if he were the cause of it. And King Robert honestly seemed to think he should feel honoured!

"I see you seem tired, my lord," Lord Baelish said, the Master of Coin who was known as the Littlefinger within the nobility circle. "But I have managed to arrange this event in such a way, that's innovative, entertaining and would finish up in no time."

Lord Stark nodded, hosting nobility was the most expensive part of hosting a tourney and the second most expensive affair was the horse races which were cut off entirely. He wanted to say something to Baelish about letting the King spend so much in extravagance that the crown had gone from no debt state of fifteen years ago to its current state, but there was only so much a man like Littfinger could do to sway his King's costly desires.

He mumbled under his breath, "Was this weight the cause of Lord Aryyn's death?"

They stood above on the wooden platform which contained several seatings for the highborn, his oldest daughter Sansa and youngest daughter Arya among them. King Robert Baratheon, along with Queen Cersei and Prince Joffery weren't seated much far away on another platform with grander seating, guarded by white cloaked silver armoured Kingsguards, along with Sandor Clegane, the Hound, appointed Shield of the prince, and the household knight of House Lannister from which the Queen belonged. Even though he wasn't wearing his signature Hound-fashioned helmet, the burns on his face and his large size made him intimidating enough.

He then thought of his sons, that thought lingered on his second youngest son in Winterfell, Bran, he had just met an accident which left him crippled from the waist down, and now as his Lord Father he wasn't there for him.

'Gods, grant me strength or one day I may buckle down under all this weight.'

The archery field sprawled beneath the open sky, a canvas of well-tended grass and carefully arranged man-shaped wooden targets. Almost a hundred of these targets stood in ordered rows, their positions creating a dynamic landscape for the upcoming contest.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the field, highlighting the precision with which the targets were spaced. Some stood nearer, their forms almost within arm's reach, while others beckoned from a distance, challenging the archers' aim.

The ground, marked by the neatly trimmed grass, showcased the intricate patterns formed by the rows of targets. The air carried a sense of anticipation as if the very field held its breath in readiness for the impending display of archery skill.

The targets, silent and unmoving for now, seemed almost lifelike in their design. A hundred wooden adversaries waiting to be felled by the whistle of arrows and the thud of impact. Members of City Watch, the Goldcloaks as one would call them, clad in heraldic crimson and gold, patrolled the edges, ensuring that the field was prepared and the commonfolk who watched from the sidelines didn't cause any ruckus.

"Archers enter!" the tourney announcer shouted atop his lungs as always.

From a narrow gate between the two wooden buildings, archers from different backgrounds with their unique bows and skills entered the ground in a line. The cheers and claps from the nobles rose.

The announcer then began introducing the participants by their names one by one in intervals giving the audience time to take a good look at them.

"Ser Jon Comwal of Riverlands."

"Ser Kale the Swift Eagle of Vale."

"Ser Balon Swann of Stonehelm."

"Now, my lord, the highborns will be wagering quite a lot through the tourney. I am going to recover the cost spent on hosting them through their purses," Littlefinger spoke. "Whilst more wager on the ones of their land, some have decided to wager on prolific archer like Ser Balon of House Swann, and come on..."

"Prince Jalabhar Xho, the rightful heir of the Summer Isles!"

Jalabhar stood out among the competitors with his dark skin and extravagant feather green and red cape typical of Summer Islanders. His foreign appearance also unnerved me quite a lot among the audience.

"Some even say people of the Isles are renowned for their skill with the bow throughout Essos, but their fame doesn't reach her. They think it is a golden opportunity for some gold, my lord," Littlefinger said.

Lord Stark in turn asked, "What is heir of the Summer Iseles doing here?"

"Oh, he isn't the heir by any means," Littlefinger chuckled, "an exiled after losing the succession war if anything..."

Littlefinger seemed to be having a hard time keeping himself from breaking into a fit of laughter as he continued.

"Came to King's Landing to ask for support to conquer the isles, but his grace always keeps him at bay saying he'll consider it next year every year."

Lord Stark turned to Littlefiger with a grave expression in contrast to the laugh. "Is His Grace considering an invasion of Summer Isles?"

"Of course, he does, but we at the Small Council which would also include you from now on always manage to persuade him away from such a notion."

Lord Stark sighed, this didn't seem out of line from his old friend, the Robert he knew and grew up with always yearned for war and it was a miracle that he somehow managed to keep peace in the realm for fifteen years of his reign.

"Anguy of the Dornish Marches!"

Littlefinger turned to look at the Dornish boy. Anguy was skinny with freckles and red hair. Looking to be fairly young with a bow without any decorations.

"He is the one who I am betting on," Littlefinger said, "he may be a commoner but is building quite a reputation for himself. And I as someone of a humble House wouldn't underestimate a fellow like myself."

Then Lord Stark's gaze was stuck on the large participants. A fellow wearing a leather mask hiding the bottom part of his face, in black-red garb holding a strange bow like none he had seen before. The centre looked to be a strange symmetrical device with a cinder in between, the length of the bow was made of a curved blade that was then attached with a string. A strangely elegant-looking weapon indeed.

"Legio Cainhurst, Master Hunter from Essos!" the announcer declared.

"This one is just unknown and quite the show off as I see," Littlefinger said.

"Then I'll wager a hundred gold dragon on him," Lord Stark said.

This came as a surprise to Littlefinger but he took note of the bet as he as the Master of Coin was supposed to.

"He has that look about him."

Lord Stark's eyes remained glued to the Legio, he observed how he quietly moved and looked around, the composure reminded him of Bryden Tully, the Blackfish, the great knight and famed archer who had been in so many battles that he was unable to ever leave them. Ned had asked why he acted like that once, and the old knight replied that whenever he entered a room he'd instinctively start searching for a way to kill everyone in the room or ways how everyone there could kill him and then think for a path to escape. As horrid as it may sound, this instinct of his has saved the lives of him and his men during the many battles he had seen in life.

"If you say so, my lord," Littlefinger shrugged.

On the other platform Queen Cersei stood up from her seat walked over to the edge of the platform and said out loud, "Fine archers from across the world, I welcome you. The honour and duty have fallen to me this year. Compete honourably, so I may bestow upon one of your number the grand prize. You have honed your skills through body and mind, time to test them against each other."

Claps and cheers rose from the crowd from both common folk and nobility alike.

The tourney announcer then took over and declared, "Listen, fine archers, take a stand behind the line, there are ten large quivers laid there with arrows painted in different colours, you may choose any as you wish. Now, the event will go on like this. Upon my command, you will draw your arrow and shoot at targets which are designed to fall upon being struck. The targets are valued like this, the targets in the middle which are at fifty paces are worth twice the ones in front at twenty paces and the ones in the back at a hundred paces are worth thrice the ones in the middle. When all targets have been felled, the merit of your skill will be summed by the number of colours embedded in the targets with their worth."

Sounds of cheers rose as the archers walked over the large quivers which were more like baskets, something impractical during most battles but this wasn't a battle but a tourney. They didn't make much fuss about the colour of the arrows because they had an image to maintain with the royalty present, and Legio ended up with the red arrows.

"At the first sound of the horn, you may draw and let loose."

The archers nodded almost in unison and grabbed an arrow of their choosing in one hand, and then the horn blew. Then what they witnessed seemed unbelievable.

Before the other archer had notched their arrow one wooden target fell with a thud, then another, followed by another and then another. Three targets down before the others could even aim.

Fourth thud. Fifth thud. Sixth thud. Three more were taken down as the other archers drew theirs.

The onlookers were awestruck witnessing the uncanny swiftness. The targets fell in rapid succession, creating a rhythmic pattern as if they were dancing to the melody of Legio's arrows. The archers beside him struggled to keep up, their arrows lagging, but they still managed to.

Ser Jon Comwal, known for his unnatural accuracy in Riverlands, hesitated for a moment, glancing at Legio in disbelief.

Ser Balon Swann, renowned for his powerful shots, was no exception.

The archers attempted to adjust their pace, but Legio continued his relentless assault on the targets. Jalabhar Xho, known for his agility, managed to keep up slightly better but still struggled to match the sheer speed of Legio's shooting.

In the end, Legio had torn through the entire row of targets. When the horns resounded again it marked the end of this shooting. The smallfolks cheered, not much cheers came from the other side but the King and Prince were off their seats and clapping in awe.

"This can't be! There is foul play here!" Jalabhar Xho claimed and drew his arrow and changed aim from the target that fell by the red arrow to Legio. "Maegi! You use foul witchcraft!"

'He isn't completely wrong.' Legio thought. This superiority of his body was made by blood rituals after all.

The audience busy with their conclusions and chats didn't give him any notice while keen-eyed guards jumped into action.

Legio sighed looking at him, "This was expected."

You can't display a seemingly impossible level of shooting skills and expect the stuck-up people here to just accept it and not throw baseless accusations. You had to be realistic about it.

Jalabhar Xho being realistic about it, shot at Legio before the guards could stop him. Those among the watchers who had comprehended the happenings let their eyes widen at the sight, the arrow whistled through the air and fast thinkers could already see Hunter's death. But in betrayal of all that, Legio simply grabbed the arrow from the air in his fist as though it was an annoying fly.

That moment the guards that had burst into action took the bow off Jalabhar Xho's hand as Legio threw the arrow away, and then he felt all the eyes of the crowd fall upon him.

'This is just great...'