Chapter 11: Arrows of Bronze, Swords of Coal. 115 AC
I waited in the middle of the field as many men were in front of me, also waiting for their turn. There are a lot of participants in this contest, and I hate waiting. I was wearing a hood at this time, but while my face is hidden, my height can't really be hidden. People were looking at me, thinking that I was a crannogman or something, which is not comfortable at all.
As time went on, the line kept decreasing and decreasing, and finally, I'm in front of the fucking queue. When I arrived at the position, I was greeted by a guard, giving me a bow and 5 arrows.
"What should I do?" I asked.
"Name?" the guard gruffed.
"Maegor."
The guard looked at me weirdly, then he noticed my silver hair and his frown deepened, fortunately though, he didn't say anything.
There was a small table beside the spot, and on top of the table was a bow and five arrows. The target in front of me was getting cleaned from the arrows of before as I chatted with the guards.
"5 arrows." he said, pointing to the arrow. "See if you can hit the center of the target using these."
"That's it?" I said, a bit confused.
"This is only the selection round," said the guard. "Now, do it quickly."
I look at the guard as if he grew three heads, I mean, really? Selection rounds? Why can't we just have one round competition, and if there's a tie, then do a repeat, but this is just wasting time, nobody watches the archery competition, and I mean NOBODY.
So I just went along with it. I took the bow, and took one arrow.
I held my breath and focused deeply. I started to draw the bow, stretching the string as far as I can from the bow itself, and released the arrow.
Bullseye.
The arrow hit right in the middle of the target, earning a couple of applause from the crowd.
I took another arrow, focused deeply, drew my bow, stretched the string, and released the arrow again.
Bullseye.
The arrow split the previous one in half, and the new arrow is now lodged in the middle of it.
And again.
And again.
And again.
By the end of it, 4 arrows were split in half, and the last one was lodged deeply into the target, making it practically unusable now.
The entire crowd went silent, they just stared at the arrows that are lodged in the target, and then their gaze turned to me.
Well, except one that made some noise. I heard an applause from a podium nearby, when I looked at it, it was the six year old Helaena, her hair not so messy anymore. She kept her word on wanting to watch me I guess.
But like I said, this whole contest, a waste of time.
—
[3rd POV]
Viserys stood on top of a podium as he watched two champions fight one another. Besides him were his brother, Daemon, who wants to talk to him for a reason that the king doesn't know yet, but he is still his brother, so he will listen.
This time, it was a fight between Ser Criston Cole, the champion of Queen Alicent, and Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, the champion of the soon-to-be Viserys's son-in-law, Laenor Valeryon.
While Ser Joffrey used a sword, Ser Criston used a morningstar as his weapon. When the referee announced the start of the melee, both of them approached one another.
"So what do you want to talk about, brother?" asked Viserys, drinking from his cup.
"I want to ask a favor from you." Daemon said.
"If this is about Lady Rhea, then I refused."
"No, it's not about her." Daemon continued. "It's about our son."
Viserys raised his brow as Ser Criston's morningstar hit Ser Joffrey's shield, cracking it. "Maegor? What is there to talk about?"
"He's joining the archery contest."
"Is he now?" Viserys hummed. "And what would you have me do?"
"I don't know. What would father do in this case?" Daemon asked. "He always prefers you over me, so you might be more knowledgeable than me."
"That's not true. Father loved you very much." said Viserys.
Daemon scoffed, drinking from his cup. "You and I both know that once Rhaenyra was born, he spends most of his time with your family."
"Yes… he adored her," said Viserys calmly. "I remember once that father told me that you resemble mother very much. Wild, untamed, unpredictable… perhaps he's become distant… because of that, because of the death of mother when she birthed our late-brother."
"'They call me Baelon the Brave, but you are far braver than me. I would sooner fight a dozen battles than do what you've just done.'" said Daemon, reminiscing about their father. "Always had his ways with words."
Viserys turned towards his brother. It's rare for him to show this side, even rarer to the king. Viserys just smiled warmly at him, patting his back. "Now you know the joys and tribulations of being a father."
"I'm not much of a father to him." Daemon pointed. "That's why I'm asking you."
"I'll find something for you to give to him," said Viserys. "Worthy of his skill—"
Before the king could finish his words, the crowd suddenly riled up. The king turned towards the field, and saw that Ser Criston's morningstar is lodged inside Ser Joffrey's head, smashing his brain to pieces.
A loud masculine scream came from behind the king. He turned, and saw Laenor, weeping at the sight of Ser Joffrey.
The king could tell, the rest of the tourney would be a disaster from now on. The groom is distressed, the crowd is getting wild, blood spilled on the ground.
Ser Laenor tried to run towards the corpse, but the guards quickly stopped him. He wept louder and louder, calling Ser Joffrey's name, to no avail. Ser Joffrey is dead, his blood pouring from his head, nourishing the ground below.