wtfbengt
patreon
Chapter 392
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 12:42:42 +0000 UTCThe first day of the archery tournament was reserved for registration and preliminary rounds, primarily to ensure that news of the event spread and gave everyone interested enough time to participate. For a single copper coin, anyone could sign up, fire a few arrows to prove they could handle a bow, and pass the preliminaries. The barrier to entry was so low it welcomed virtually everyone. After finishing the preliminaries, participants could either stay to practice on the grounds or head back to their homes for some rest.
The second day marked the official start of the tournament. The venue was a large, open space in the industrial district of the outer city, formerly used for storing coal and ore. Its previous purpose dictated its current state—barren and unadorned. There were no rows of interconnected tents, no knights in gleaming armor astride gilded warhorses, no throngs of nobles and banners flapping dramatically in the wind. Aside from the existing fences, originally meant to deter coal theft, and a half-circle of hastily assembled wooden benches, the site offered little to no luxury.
This was perhaps the most austere tournament in the recorded history of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, for the Gift—long reduced to a desolate wasteland—and for the hill tribes and the newly settled folk, who had never seen a tournament, it was an unprecedented spectacle. Life had been grueling, with constant threats from the Others, leaving everyone mentally and physically drained. So, when an event was finally held to let people momentarily forget their worries, the enthusiasm and participation far exceeded Aegor’s expectations.
Even though it had been announced that only contestants' friends and family could attend as spectators, the guards lacked the means to verify those claims. For the hill tribes, one contestant could easily mean the entire tribe counted as “friends and family.”
Thanks to its novelty and relentless promotion, the tournament managed to draw an impressive crowd. Over a thousand spectators surrounded the arena, far exceeding its seating capacity. The makeshift benches could hold barely a hundred people; the rest stood or brought their own stools, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere.
In stark contrast to the bare tournament grounds was a prominent elevated platform at the edge of the arena. This wasn’t a viewing box for the Night’s Watch officers but rather a display stand. Rising over two meters above the ground, with a canvas roof and wooden sidewalls to shield it from the wind, the sturdy platform held a long rack on which all seventy-seven Lightbringer arrows were neatly arranged. These arrows, mounted on premium shafts and adorned with gold for a polished finish, gleamed brilliantly under the torchlight. Guarded by a dozen soldiers below, the display exuded an aura of mystery and grandeur. Combined with the circulating legends of their origin and forging, the arrows became an irresistible centerpiece, drawing countless gazes.
...
The competition itself revolved solely around archery. With limited resources, there were no events like mounted shooting or moving targets. The rules were simple: contestants shot the same number of arrows at identical targets from the same distance. Whoever landed the most hits on the target advanced. The top twenty participants would receive cash prizes, while the top ten would earn the honor of using Lightbringer in the final battle against the Others. The greatest rewards, of course, were reserved for the top three: not only would they gain the right to use the arrows, but they could each select one of the seventy-seven Lightbringer arrows to keep as a family heirloom.
Naturally, all of this was contingent upon one condition: “after the war ends.”
Among the competitors, few fit the image of gallant heroes from ballads. Instead, men and women, young and old, in all manners of attire crowded the field. The majority were hill tribesmen and settlers clad in animal furs of varying styles and colors. For them, fame and glory were secondary; most were drawn by the cash prizes and the dragonsteel arrows said to repel the Others. The second-largest group comprised soldiers in black armor, including logistical personnel and true brothers of the Night’s Watch. At Aegor’s request, Jon Snow had even sent a few skilled archers from Castle Black to bolster the event. Lastly, the most eye-catching group was the visiting competitors: Beric Dondarrion’s party, who had spent the past few days lounging idly in the Gift, now saw the tournament as a chance for excitement. Dressed in their finest, they strutted about in vibrant colors and loudly declared that their champion, Anguy the Archer, was destined to win. Another small group of guards from Winterfell had also entered the tournament. As the handpicked escorts of noble ladies, they were undoubtedly among the North’s finest archers, though their primary duty remained protecting their charges.
Yes, Arya had insisted on participating, and Aegor had little choice but to allow it. The tournament’s open registration policy meant there was no valid reason to bar her from joining. After all, there were boys as young as thirteen and female contestants like Ygritte, rumored paramour of Jon Snow, competing as well. With no grounds to refuse, Aegor simply reminded the Winterfell guards to fulfill their duty and keep Arya safe.
...
As the arena buzzed with noise, Aegor sat calmly among the spectators, surrounded by soldiers. Of course, as the owner of the Lightbringer arrows, he had no need to compete for what was already his. Some might argue that he could participate just for practice or to warm up, but Aegor knew his limits. His archery skills were decent enough not to embarrass himself but nowhere near remarkable. Competing and failing to rank highly would tarnish the heroic image he had so carefully cultivated. At this critical juncture, he refused to take any unnecessary risks.
Instead of entering the tournament, he chose to observe—a rare stance for a transmigrator or protagonist of any story.
Still, even as a spectator, Aegor was not entirely idle. With Arya preoccupied, Myrcella had claimed the seat beside him and was softly suggesting new ideas. Lately, the young princess had been going to great lengths to gain his attention. Aegor understood her motives well. Just as he had sought to distinguish himself when sent to the Wall as a recruit, Myrcella, unwilling to accept her fate as a mere foster child in Winterfell, likely saw him as her only chance to change her future.
Despite knowing her intentions, Aegor found himself unable to feel guarded against Myrcella. Her wit, knowledge of Westerosi history, and understanding of its culture were impressive, and most importantly, she wasn’t malicious. In fact, her attempts to “bother” him were something he welcomed.
However, another woman was far less welcome.
“Commander Aegor, what a spectacle you’ve created. I never thought the barren Gift could host such liveliness,” Asha Greyjoy remarked from a nearby seat. “It’s the first time I’ve seen Theon so energized and smiling since he arrived at Crown’s Town. Thank you for giving my brother this chance.”
...
The daughter of the Kraken and her long-lost brother had become sworn enemies the moment they reunited in Crown’s Rest—arguing upon their first meeting, with minor quarrels nearly every day and major fights every three days, to the point where everyone in Crown’s Rest knew about it.
But blood is thicker than water. After a while, it seemed that the siblings had run out of energy to keep fighting. Though their relationship was still far from close, it had at least stopped being so explosively hostile.
Asha was both a prisoner and the older sister of “Crown’s Rest Archery Instructor” Theon Greyjoy. And since the latter was a Night’s Watch officer and a participant in the tournament, Asha had, naturally, been granted a seat among the family spectators.
Of course, given the opportunity—even with a line of guards separating them—she insisted on forcibly striking up a conversation with Aegor.
Aegor didn’t even need to think to know exactly what Asha was about to say. Ignoring a lady wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but he really wasn’t in the mood to entertain her.
“You flatter me, Lady Greyjoy.”
...
Asha’s carefully prepared opening statement received no direct response. The feeling of talking to herself was, of course, unpleasant, but she had steeled herself for it. Gritting her teeth, she pressed on: “I’ve heard the situation on the front lines in the Vale is dire. I’m willing to go there and face the dead—to atone for my crimes. I swear by the Drowned God, I won’t run away!”
“Lady Greyjoy, I really don’t want to remind you again—you are a prisoner of the North, not a new recruit of the Night’s Watch.”
“Didn’t you just send that chieftain who broke the law there yesterday? Why can he go, but I can’t!?”
“Because he put on the black.” Aegor let out a long sigh. “I’ve already allowed you to wear only shackles on your feet, even letting you out for fresh air each day—do me a favor and stop trying to steal food from our sworn brothers’ bowls, alright?”
“Steal your mother’s food!” Months of pent-up frustration erupted all at once as Asha shot up from her seat, shouting at Aegor. “I’m not even asking you to set me free anymore! I just want something to do! ‘Only foot shackles,’ huh? How do you have the face to act like that’s some grand act of mercy!? Wearing these chains, I can’t even spread my legs to fuck a man! Do you have any idea what that feels like? You don’t! You’ve never been shackled in your life!”
The sudden outburst caught everyone off guard. Myrcella’s face turned red at the shameless admission, and the surrounding guards stirred slightly—clearly, if a woman like Asha Greyjoy wanted to sleep with a man, no one was going to care whether she could spread her legs or not.
Aegor frowned in displeasure. What now? Had she decided that reasoning wouldn’t work and resorted to throwing a tantrum? Did she think he’d back down from this?
Clearing his throat to reassert control over the scene, he spoke in a calm yet firm voice: “Lady Greyjoy, if you’d done your research, you’d know… I actually have worn shackles. I was chained on my way to the Wall as a prisoner, when I became a brother of the Night’s Watch. And I behaved far better than you.”
“Today is the archery tournament in Crown’s Rest. I don’t want to waste time on pointless arguments with you. Your brother is already competing. Either sit down and watch the match quietly, or return to your chambers. If your shackles make moving difficult, I have plenty of men who’d be happy to assist you.”
Elsewhere in the grand tournament grounds, this minor commotion had no impact. In the open space at the center, Theon Greyjoy—now dressed in clean, fresh black, looking energetic and full of confidence—had indeed stepped up to the shooting line, bow in hand.
Realizing that Aegor was completely unfazed by her outburst, Asha clenched her fists tightly, but in the end, she could only grit her teeth and turn back to her seat. Silently, she watched the tournament unfold.
