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"Are any of your entourage participating in today's events, Ser Laenor?" The King was the first to speak to me after we had arrived at the royal box, accepting the invitation and finishing the greetings and whatnot.
"Yes, your grace. That man there. His name is Kysaro. Initially from Lys, he has some talent as an archer and so has decided to participate in the tourney. Specifically this stage of it," I said, pointing down at Kysaro's position on the field. He was the tenth in line, so we had some time before he would be called up to have his own shot at the targets. Today, as day one of seven, was dedicated entirely to archery and axe-throwing. The main events would come later, with today being something of a warm-up. After all, nobles were still arriving even now. Viserys had left Otto on the throne to handle welcoming them, so I would be spared having to look at the snake's face, at least. By the morrow, I would be on the field, not here waiting.
"Pardon me, Ser Laenor, but I was not aware that the Lyseni raised strong archers, or warriors of any sort, to be honest," Alicent cut in. I looked over to her and inclined my head.
"Yes, my Queen. Kysaro hails from the Summer Isles initially. He was captured before being sold into slavery in Lys," I said.
"How abominable. It is a good thing that he serves you now then. I cannot imagine his old master was so kind to him," she said in response.
"I am not his master, my Queen. All in the Stepstones are free men," I said.
"I apologise if I insinuated otherwise, Ser."
"Apology accepted. You meant no ill will, clearly," I said in response.
"I have been meaning to speak to you about the model. I am sure it would not surprise you to note that I got little sleep last night comparing the differences between your model, mine, and the accounts we still have from the time."
"As one would expect with something so fascinating, your Grace. May I ask what you found in your checks?" I probed.
"Your model is impressively accurate. I noticed a few things, but they could be differences in interpretations between the sources that survive that age," he said. I nodded.
"Indeed. Attempting to recreate a long-destroyed city from maps filled in with details from half-destroyed journals was not the easiest thing I ever embarked on, but thankfully I have some of the best artisans in the world in my service, and access to the rest through trade partnerships," I said. He nodded, but I could tell he had somewhat gotten lost in his own head.
"The liquid stone you discovered, do you think it is the same as the fused stone the Valyrians used in their buildings?" he asked, changing the topic.
"I cannot know for sure, but I have my doubts. For one, while no one knows how Valyrian fused stone was made, every historian agrees there was some magic involved in the process. While I do not know theirs, I know my process, and while impressive, I can assure you that it is entirely mundane. There is no magic involved at all, I fear," I told him. He nodded, while placing his hand against his chin.
"Are you also fascinated by our ancestors' home? You sound like you have read a lot of the histories on the subject," he asked.
"How could I not be, your grace? The Empire so many viewed as the greatest civilisation of them all, and then its fall from grace. In a generation, we were all that remained of the so-called greatest civilisation," I said.
"So-called greatest civilisation? Why does it seem like you disagree with that moniker?" Viserys asked.
"I think that Valyria was many things at once. I think Valyria was impossibly wealthy. Records say even the poorest ate with gold utensils and silverware. I think they were a great military power as well. Easily the greatest in the world. They contested against the Ghiscari and the Rhoynar in separate times and managed to come out victorious against both. They conquered whatever parts of the known world intrigued them, and left them. Those things are true, yes, but something I also think is true is that Valyria was a victim of its own success," I said, before taking a breath and a sip of my wine.
"By the time the Doom came, the Valyrians were already on the decline. They had stopped the outward expansion of their ancestors, focusing all their attentions inwards. Maybe it was the obsession with debauchery, queer rituals, or just lack of ambition, but they saw what they had and decided they had enough. I think that is what stopped them from being the greatest civilisation in the world— they never had that drive for more. The drive that made Aegon Targaryen look across the narrow sea and instead of seeing Seven Kingdoms, see the potential they held as one. Under one crown, one rule, his."
"That is an… interesting way to look at things. Do you also subscribe to the theory of the doom being self-caused? It sounds like with your condemnation of their inward focus that you think so as well," he said.
"In my studies, I've come across four theories to explain what might have caused the Doom, as I am sure you have as well, your grace?" I asked. He nodded.
"I think any of them could be possible, but yes, I am partial to the theory that the Valyrians did not know how to leave well enough alone and dabbled with magic that even they could not understand; not fully at least, and it was in that attempt to play with forces beyond their ken that they sealed their destruction," I said.
"Hmm. So not a believer in the naturalistic view then. I would not have taken you for a believer in self-determinism in this case," Viserys said.
"Wait. Pardon me Husband, Ser Laenor, but I think you both have lost the rest of us in your discussion," Alicent cut in. I turned away from Viserys for the first time to notice both Mother and Laena giving me puzzled looks. The Hightower contingent— when had they even gotten here— were just looking between Viserys and I. Rhaenyra's attention was on the field entirely.
"Oh, we have, have we? Laenor, do you mind if I—" he said, gesturing to them to indicate that he wanted to begin explaining to them. What was I supposed to say? Tell the King that I minded our conversation being interrupted by the Queen, his fucking wife?
"Of course not, your grace. Please go ahead," I said.
"So the Doom happened centuries ago, and in the time since it did happen, several historians and scholars have come up with explanations for what they think happened to the greatest empire in the world, to see it fall so quickly. Laenor's view, self-determinism, is the idea that the Valyrians brought the doom upon themselves. The most popular theory in that line is that the Valyrians attempted magic that was never meant to be known to man, and in their pride and hubris, caused the doom themselves in their attempt. The view I have some confidence in, the natural view, says the volcanoes were always going to erupt. Some scholars say the Valyrians knew this and had rituals to calm the fourteen flames, and either they did not perform them before the Doom or they did so and it didn't work," he explained to nods from the Hightowers as well as my mother and sister.
"I have never thought about it this way, my grace. One of the books I read on the subject said the Valyrians were punished by their gods for stopping to worship them and instead beginning to direct the praise and worship to themselves," one of the Hightower boys, Gwayne, said.
"I did not know you were well-read on Valyria, Ser Gwayne. We simply must discuss it some time. But yes, that theory was popular for a time, but it suffers from there being little indication of that being the case. All testimony from the time says the worship of the fourteen flames was just as prevalent and widespread as it had ever been in the period before the doom as it had been at any earlier time," Viserys said. I nodded.
I didn't get the chance to contribute further to the conversation as Kysaro stepped up to the shooting platform next. His first shot flew straight and true, landing right in the middle. I applauded politely as he received another and buried it just as surely in the target.
"He's very talented, Ser Laenor," Rhaenyra said.
"Indeed. He must have come from a very dedicated family for his skills to still remain so sharp," I commented.
In the end, we kept the conversation about Valyria on the back burner and turned to watching and commenting on the participants. Kysaro ended up being called twice more to shoot at longer distances, and each time, he buried the arrows perfectly in the target, securing his spot in the finals.
DAY TWO OF THE TOURNEY
"A bit tighter, if you would," I said, directing the boy in charge of buckling my armour. I hadn't come with any of the children from the Stepstones, not wanting to risk them being used against me or saying something they shouldn't to someone they definitely shouldn't be speaking to. Luckily this was a tourney. There was no shortage of peasant boys running around waiting to do page work for anyone who would give them a copper for their time and effort. This one was lucky— I'd given him two dragons.
"Brother," Laena said, ducking her way into my tent.
"Ser Ben doesn't seem to understand the phrase, 'no one should enter'," I said, projecting my voice so the man in question could hear me.
"No, he understood you just fine. And he also understands just what a pissed-off Vhagar can do, and he chose the lesser of the two undoubtedly great evils— your displeasure over hers," she said.
"Surprised to see you here, Sister. Have you not been determined to avoid me so far?" I said.
"You've seen me every day since you got here."
"You know what I mean," I said, not interested in being taken into an argument of semantics.
"Leave us," Laena told the boy.
"But, milady—"
"I said leave us. I'll armour my brother," she said, reaching into her purse and tossing three gold coins at him. My trusty temporary page, clearly more loyal to gold than the honour and glory of preparing his knight for battle, scrambled to pick them up and left the tent.
"How would you expect me to spend time with you when every second you spend is in her presence?" she asked. I didn't need three guesses to figure out who 'her' was in this case.
"I cannot refuse invites from the King. For some reason, he's gotten over the grudge from when I essentially called him a coward in front of all the realm in Harrenhal and almost took his throne. I don't want to find another reason for him to dislike me," I said.
"He never held a grudge. Viserys is not the type," she said.
"Viserys, not the King? Maybe I should be the cautious one here? What's going on, has he gotten bored with his Reach flower already?" I teased, feeling a twinge in my chest as I did so. A king could be a tempting suitor to any.
"Nothing of the sort. He asks me to call him Viserys because we are family. I am sure he will do the same with you once you spend some more time alone. He misses his brother. That is the main reason Mother has not been able to come visit at the Stepstones. He limits her time in Driftmark, wants her in King's Landing all the time. He even put her on the small council as an adviser," she said.
"Well, that does make some sense. But it doesn't answer the question of what brings you here," I said.
"You never asked."
"Well, the expression of surprise at their presence does tend to get people explaining, you know?"
"Well, you have to be more explicit with your desires if you want me fulfilling them," she said, shifting so she was even closer to me as she buckled the strap of the chest plate.
I could feel my body already reacting to her proximity.
"I'll take that under advisement," I said.
She took out a piece of cloth with the Velaryon seahorse embroidered on it somewhat sloppily.
"Did you make that yourself?" I asked, trying not to chuckle. I clearly didn't try hard enough, as I felt her smack me across the arm before she moved to tie the favour around my other arm.
"Don't insult my sewing. It took me forever to make this," she said.
"And I shall treasure it most deeply," I said, lifting up my arm so I could plant a kiss on the bit of cloth.
"Good," she said, kissing my cheek. And then we were silent as she completed the last bits of my armour. She stepped away, moving to the stand before picking up my helmet from it.
"Mother is worried sick," she said.
"Just mother?" I asked.
"She seems to think that you will be in danger. Not every house is happy with the favour we enjoy from the King. They could seek to take it out on you," she warned.
"And that doesn't worry you as well?"
"I know you have a brain in that skull of yours. A big enough brain to know that none of this is worth getting injured or seven-forbid, dying over. If you are beaten, you will yield and move on to something else," she said, saying the words like they were fait accompli, and not a promise she was exacting.
"I will win. Worry not," I said.
"I don't care about winning. Live. People die in these things, Laenor. This might be the first time you get to see or participate in one like this, but I remember the one from Aegon's birth. Seven knights died in the first round of the melee. A knight of Blackhaven was tossed off his horse and broke his neck before he even managed to exchange two blows with his opponent. And these were all experienced tourney knights. This is your first time. There is no shame in yielding once you have to," she said.
"Fine. I'll yield if I'm ever put in a situation where victory seems unlikely," I said.
"Good. Now don't tell Mother I told you this, but I think she's been conspiring behind your back," she said, planting a kiss on my cheek before dropping the helmet on my head.
"What? Conspiring to what?" I asked, but Laena was already gone.
I found the answer to my question in the form of a black-haired giant with a beard that had somehow managed to get even thicker in the years since we'd last seen each other.
"Look at you shooting up like a weed, cousin," his voice boomed, directing his horse over to me the second I walked into the field. He didn't even give me a choice in the matter, practically manhandling Ben and I into following him towards the Stormlander contingent. I looked around, finding that I understood why Laena had been worried now.
So many knights. I could see so many banners and sigils that it was a struggle to place them all. The white stone tower of Hightower, the black boar of Crakehall, the orange flame of Marbrand, the fox crowned with flowers of Florent, the Tully's silver trout, the Oak tree of Oakheart, the horse of Rhyswell, even the flayed man of Bolton. So many houses from basically every corner of the realm, and they were all staring at me like fresh meat as Borros dragged me over to his people.
"Why are you taking me with you?" I whispered.
"You're a Velaryon. That means you're technically in the Crownlands. Now look at that pitiful gathering of idiots and whingers and tell me you wouldn't rather be in my lot?" he asked, clearly not taking my cue to lower his voice. And now the Crownlanders were glaring with particular intent.
"Besides, it's not like you have any better choices among the rest. You can see the foppish sword swallowers from the Reach. One would wonder which they spend more time on, polishing their armour or polishing each other's swords, if you get my meaning," he wagged his eyebrows as if anyone could ever fail to get a jab so obvious.
"Or is it the Westerlands? Can't see more than one that looks like he knows which end of the sword does the stabbing bit, and that one doesn't seem to know how to use a chamberpot with how he smells. Yeah, I'm talking about the Crakehall. You can smell it too, can't you," I near-facepalmed once I realised just what this madman was doing.
"I'd say the Riverlands because they at least look mean, but the weasel-looking Frey is the most handsome of that lot. If I had to stand in their midst, I'd probably stab myself to put an end to the misery. And the North? They don't even know the right gods to worship. Pah. Praying to fucking trees. The cold's clearly fried their brains, as well as frozen their cocks off," he said, and as he stopped I could hope that he was done and wasn't actually going to piss anyone else off.
"Oh, there's the Vale as well. Almost forgot about them. Considering they get their women snatched off by savages every year or so, you can't really expect much, can you? Well, unless they let their women get snatched off. I've seen a few of them, and I could understand it if they did." And yup, he completed the circuit just as we reached the Stormlander group.
"Ready yourselves, men," the announcer said, and instead of eyeing each other, every single realm's group had their eyes set on one target— us. Oh fuck you, Borros, I said mentally.
A/N: Yes, of course Borros is just that type of arsehole. Next chapter starts the tourney. Next six chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early– 15% discount for a limited time.