First of all, I would like to apologize for my absence for almost 2 weeks. It was exam season, and I also had a panel to present a project to.
Now at least I'm on college break and I'm back.
And after reading a comment talking about the degradation of my last few chapters, I decided to reread them and I can't help but say that they were right. But I'm not going to rewrite them; I don't have the time or the patience for that. However, I appreciate the comment. I'm really going to commit myself to this moving forward. For that reason, I'll be changing my writing a bit. The passage of time in some moments will be fast to focus on the moments I consider most important, the ones that make me want to write more and are genuinely interesting to the readers.
This arc in the Stepstones left a lot to be desired, and I'm sure most of you were a bit disappointed reading it, because I myself didn't enjoy writing it much and it didn't turn out how I imagined.
So that's it, what's past is past, and let's move forward. From now on, I'll speed things up when I feel the need, and I'll slow down when I see it's necessary. For the rest, I'll try to make up for my absence with the quality of the chapters. And taking advantage of my vacation, I'll try to post more chapters—but for that last part, no promises.
Thank you to everyone who stuck around, and enjoy the reading!
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Year 110 A.C.
POV: Denovan
Months had passed since we started pillaging the ships of the Triarchy. Our routine of looting, killing, and transporting resources to our home was exhausting, but extremely rewarding. My men sailed in pairs or trios across the Narrow Sea and, even at a constant numerical disadvantage, we managed to win the clashes thanks to the brutal strength that the runes drawn on their bodies granted them.
But things began to change. The Triarchy finally noticed our presence. They realized the absurd amount of lost ships, dying pirates, and piles of resources disappearing without anyone left alive to warn them about what was happening. In response, they returned to these seas even stronger. Now the suffering that Daemon and Corlys faced around here made total sense. Before, the enemies sailed in fleets of three, five, or at most seven ships, which were already large numbers, but my men still managed to overcome them when Orochi was with them. Orochi, a giant sea serpent, was a great help to us. The problem was that their minimum numbers became seven ships per fleet, and these ships were much better armed than before, and Orochi couldn't be everywhere at once.
We were forced to make the decision to group up again. We lost our attack range, but at least we could continue with the assaults. Still, it wouldn't be enough. Without dragons or far more ships, it would be impossible to defeat them on the open sea. Unless they were cornered on land, something I would win for sure, but for that, a military force was needed that I still had no way of mobilizing there. For this reason, I ordered all my men and ships to fully return to Scalebay, to focus on what we had there before trying anything new in the Stepstones.
I still had an agreement with Viserys, so, with the exception of my galleon, the rest of the forces went to the Far North. Although that region wasn't unified yet, my father's and my brother's power over the Thenns in the far northwest, added to the control of Scalebay in the southeast, meant that my supposed domain covered the entire Far North. Calling it that felt distant and nothing like a kingdom, so I took the liberty of naming it Norway. It matched the climate much better, along with our attitude that resembled the ancient warriors of Earth, so the name fit like a glove. I was sure that, in a few years at most, the Kingdom of Norway would be a consolidated reality.
But I wasn't coming south just because of the Stepstones. My first major reason for going to King's Landing was to warn Viserys that the Triarchy was too strong and that I wouldn't be able to hold out there alone, since our initial agreement was to expel the pirates or at least reduce their numbers—something I had already done a lot, but now they had returned in full force. The second reason was Queen Aemma. Over these months, my ravens, animals I gathered in droves as bonds, served as my spy network. I couldn't name them all, but I divided them between east and west. Huginn filtered the information from the east and passed on only what was useful, while Munnin did the same with the west. The sheer amount of atrocities that happened in Westeros made me wonder who really deserved the title of savage.
Since Huginn was stationed in King's Landing to personally observe the court, the King, the Queen, and the Princess, I found out about Aemma's fragile pregnancy. She could have prevented this by accepting my help months ago so I could carve runes on her, but she refused. My intention there was to intervene in the childbirth to save her, preventing the future Dance of the Dragons and earning an immeasurable favor from the most powerful man in Westeros. The tourney that was about to take place was just a bonus, a perfect opportunity to increase my fame, since I was completely unknown in the south and my reputation was limited to the other side of the Wall.
Upon disembarking in King's Landing, I looked at my men and gave the orders.
"Huno, King's Landing is easier to survive than Slaver's Bay, so just avoid trouble. Order the men who want to walk around to stick in groups of five, that should be enough."
Huno looked at me excitedly and replied:
"My king, no one is going to want to walk around right now. You said you will fight in the tourney, none of us is crazy enough to want to miss something like that."
A smile spread across my face, and I threw my arm over his shoulder.
"Men, make sure you bet on me... and Bougin."
I looked at the slender archer who was already approaching.
"Yes, sir..."
"You are our best archer. I'm sure you can win the target shooting too. You have a weirwood bow; bring victory to Norway."
The archer raised his voice, clearly amused, and said with his chest puffed out:
"To Norway!"
I laughed and asked, looking at the rest of the group:
"Now for the most important thing: who is staying behind to watch the ship?"
Huno shrugged.
"It won't be necessary... Like Commander Thormund says, if we grab someone, put a blade to their throat, and then give them a gold coin, they'll do anything."
I raised an eyebrow, staring at him.
"Thormund said that?"
He nodded proudly.
"Then let's go. I'll go ahead to get some armor for myself and a horse. Just stow your things below deck and do what Thormund taught you... If it doesn't work, I'll have to tie him naked to the bow of the ship on the way back."
I walked ahead laughing. I couldn't help but think of my beloved black steed, Pitch. He would certainly intimidate any horse in the jousts, and next time I would bring him without fail. Looking up at the sky, I spotted Huginn, Horus, and now Heimdall flying together; it had been a while since the three of them had gathered like this.
Walking through the streets of King's Landing, I noticed a boy staring at a juicy fruit at a stall. He looked hungry. I approached and said:
"Hey, brat."
The boy got a huge scare and looked at me ready to run. Since I needed help finding the city's smithies, I placed my hand on his shoulder so he wouldn't flee and proposed:
"I'll give you a silver stag if you guide me to all the smithies that sell armor or do repairs. I need one for the joust."
The boy, who had previously seemed shy and scared, instantly changed his posture upon hearing about the coin.
"A silver stag? I'll guide you only to the best smithies in King's Landing, my lord. I'm sure you won't regret it."
I sighed and ordered:
"Lead the way, kid."
We passed by several places, and most of the blacksmiths said the same thing: "I don't have anything for someone your size" or "You can't adjust armor to fit a brute like you." Luckily for me, we arrived at a workshop where the boy, whose name was Rich, yelled out to the owner:
"Hey, sir, would you have some armor to sell to this noble knight?"
The man, who was polishing a sword, looked up from the weapon, measured me from top to bottom, and exclaimed:
"Boy, you're massive. Was your mother a giantess, or did she fuck one?"
I raised an eyebrow at the insolent comment.
"Do you have something or not? It doesn't have to be the best, I just want something that allows me to participate in the tourney. I already have the helmet."
The old man walked to the back storeroom looking for pieces while asking:
"I've never seen a Northman this far from home, especially wanting to join the jousts. A bastard?"
That old man definitely had no filter on his tongue.
"No. But what about you, old man, do you have what I need or not?"
The moment I spoke, he came out the side door carrying completely mismatched pieces of armor.
"It's practically mixed scrap, but it should fit you."
I asked for the price straight away:
"How much?"
He answered:
"Ninety silver coins."
I responded with a scoff at the high price:
"And you'll help me put it on, make the adjustments to my body, and also set me up with a lance, a sword, and a shield?"
The blacksmith grumbled mockingly:
"Except for the horse part and the nonsense that even you shouldn't want, I'll do the rest... Northman."
A few minutes passed with the old man hurling insults with every buckle he tightened. It was impressive how he managed to turn any simple comment into a provocation.
"Hey, old man, aren't you afraid I'll rip your head off?" I asked in a warning tone.
The blacksmith didn't even hesitate:
"You wouldn't do that. I've seen plenty of lords, bastards, and knights. I'm sure you aren't the type to do that. A flea-bitten brat from Flea Bottom like this Rich wouldn't help someone who was noble and stingy with such enthusiasm."
I shrugged.
"Careful, old man, everyone makes mistakes."
He countered as he finished the job:
"Don't try to lecture this old man, Northern bastard. I've adjusted the armor as best as I could; you shouldn't have much time before the lists start."
I grumbled my thanks:
"Thanks, old man."
I turned to the boy, who was waiting a bit scared in a corner, and called out:
"Hey, Rich."
When he saw I was just going to pay him, his expression relaxed.
"Good job," I said, tossing the silver coin to him before leaving the shop.
I went straight to the tourney grounds, having managed to buy a heavy riding horse while the old man finished adjusting the metal. Compared to the knights in shiny, polished armor, I looked like the first version of the Iron Man suit—completely rustic and patched together. It was even a bit embarrassing to wear that, but the closed helm was the only thing saving me from public humiliation. I approached the young man writing names on the official list and announced:
"I want to enter the lists."
The scribe asked without looking up:
"Which one?"
I replied firmly:
"All of them, except archery."
The man frowned when he noticed my size.
"That will be a total of ten silver coins, my lord. And you are a knight, correct?"
I confirmed with a nod:
"Of course, but just register me as the Knight of Winter."
The scribe laughed.
"You're spirited, my lord. Good fighting. Ah... I don't know if you're interested, but if you want to place a bet, you can place it right with me. Care to see the competitors?"
I flashed a wide smile beneath the helm; I had almost forgotten about that part. I pulled out a total of one hundred and fifty gold coins, everything I had saved on me at that moment, and threw it on the table.
"I bet it all on myself."
The man swallowed hard, staring at the pile of gold with a nervous smile.
"You are crazy... I like it, Sir Knight of Winter. I won't bet against my own pocket, but I wish you good luck. Just don't kill yourself after losing; life isn't worth more than a hundred and fifty gold coins, but don't let it go so easily."
I turned and walked to the staging area. Huginn had already returned to the skies over the Red Keep to keep an eye on Aemma. It was curious to think that, even with all my changes on the board, things were still heading toward the exact same temporal outcome: she would go into labor at the same time the tourney took place, and Viserys remained absurdly anxious for a male heir. The first day of the tourney was always the most monotonous, filled with ill-prepared knights competing for spots and few showing real skill. For me, that just meant I'd be taking several suits of armor and horses back home or collecting excellent ransoms.
Several competitors had already ridden through the pitch, and finally, it was my turn. With the helm secured on my head and the horse under my command, I felt the euphoria take over. I wasn't used to the dynamics of a Southern arena. "Pitch, I miss you..." I thought, longing for my own steed. But, as long as no bizarre accident happened, the horse I was using wouldn't be an issue for securing a victory. It was much more likely the animal would rear up or stumble on its own due to the weight than any of those knights actually managing to knock me out of the saddle.
It didn't take long for my turn to fight. I looked up at the stands trying to find familiar faces and it didn't take long to spot the large men in light armor in the stands waving with mild enthusiasm.
"Those bastards placed bets... for sure," I said with a smile, while getting into position and grabbing a lance.
Those smiles meant much more than just seeing a tourney for the first time; they wanted more gold. After so much time pillaging, you find yourself valuing these things. The good part was that they weren't any less loyal because of it.
I decided to focus on the now. I took a deep breath and looked straight ahead, waiting for the right moment.
The moment they gave the signal and the trumpets echoed, my horse shot forward at maximum speed. The opposing knight came toward me showing good posture, with his lance aimed straight at my chest, ready for the impact that would throw me to the ground. But to knock me down, he would need to be much faster. To my reflexes, that entire charge seemed to happen in slow motion.
The slow approach gave me plenty of time to shift my torso by millimeters, causing his weapon to pass through empty air, while I thrust my own lance with everything I had into his shoulder. I didn't apply all my strength so as not to kill him, but the blow was dry and precise. At the very least, he wouldn't be able to compete in any more rounds that day. The instant the impact happened, my lance shattered violently against his armor, and the man was thrown backward with such force that he didn't even have a chance to try and grab the reins, colliding heavily against the dirt of the lists.
The crowd in the stands let out a gasp, startled by the brutal speed with which the clash had ended. I calmly guided my horse around and, still mounted, looked at the fallen man, trying to be polite:
"Are you alright, sir?"
The knight groaned loudly in the dust, clutching his arm:
"Fuck! You destroyed my shoulder, you half-giant bastard!"
Seeing that he could curse with such energy, I realized he would survive.
"I see you are well," I replied dryly. I spurred the horse off the combat pitch to wait for my next turn in the lists, and so the first day of the tourney ran its course.
I didn't take his armor and horse; that wasn't my style. But if it had been a beautiful armor adorned with precious stones and gold, and a pompous lord, I definitely would have taken him down to his underwear.
I let out an amused sigh as I headed toward the waiting area.