"I know some greybeards who are absolutely roaring for a proper bout in the arena," Robert Baratheon said. He gave Ned Stark a wide, boisterous grin.
The veteran greybeards Ned had brought south from Winterfell were deeply disappointed with the brief battle at Pyke.
In fact, none of them had even died in the conflict, and all thirty of the seasoned warriors were currently itching for a real fight to test their mettle.
"Need I remind Your Grace that only anointed knights are formally allowed to compete at tourneys," Tywin Lannister objected the very next moment.
The Warden of the West did not initially wish to have a melee at the tourney and Tywin did not like doing what he did not wish to.
"That restriction is meant for the jousting, my lord. I do not think these northern men will be interested in riding horses with blunt lances," Robert declared, casually dismissing Tywin's rigid objection with a careless wave of his hand.
The Lord of Casterly Rock could do nothing more after those final words were spoken by his king.
Ned looked over to Ra, his grey eyes meeting the exact place where the Custodian's eyes would be hidden behind his helmet.
A proud look was clearly visible in the Warden of the North's expression. He felt an undeniable surge of pride at the thought of how his people would soon be showing their raw martial prowess in front of the whole of the south.
"I will make the necessary preparations, Your Grace," Tywin said. He bowed lightly to the king and left the hall without uttering another single word.
Ever since Robert had first arrived in the westerlands, the king had done absolutely nothing but demean and boldly contradict the Lannister lord at every conceivable point.
But the Old Lion was not a man to show his true emotions and inner feelings openly to anyone.
He possessed more than enough cold patience to swallow the public humiliation, exactly as he had done with the Mad King long before Robert ever took the throne.
Tywin endured it all for the sake of his family legacy.
Just as Lord Tywin had previously stated, a great number of powerful nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms had gathered in the city.
They brought along their sons and vassal knights to witness the grand tourney.
Vibrant colors and the proud banners of noble houses were placed prominently on the high walls all around the massive gathering hall where the king and the high lords sat to witness the events.
The archery competition was supposed to be the first event, the joust was scheduled second, and the newly added melee was to end the tourney in a brutal display of martial prowess.
These sudden changes made by the king had effectively extended the tourney by an entire day, stretching the festivities from one day to two.
The very first competition was the archery tournament. The participants were strictly required to be above the age of ten and five to participate.
Because of this strict rule, Alysane was completely unable to join the archers on the field.
She was not particularly proficient in archery anyway, but the exclusion still bothered her.
"I wish there was an axe throwing competition instead," she muttered quietly under her breath.
"Still, you would have not been able to join that either," Ra said to her.
The young girl responded by wrinkling her nose at him in playful annoyance.
Ra extended a finger and gently poked the girl's nose before turning his attention back to look at the ongoing competition below them.
"He seems rather promising," Ra muttered as he watched a feathered arrow released by a young boy hitting incredibly close to the center mark.
King Robert mostly ate roasted meat, drank wine, and laughed loudly with the wealthy lords and ladies sitting around him while the first part of the archery competition moved along.
It began with a simple stationary mark, and the competing archers had to hit the target with precision. Exactly ten of those skilled archers successfully moved on to the next round.
That was the moment when Robert and the noble people sitting around him finally started paying close attention to the field.
In front of the ten remaining archers stood ten serving men, and each of those men was firmly holding a live sparrow.
"Draw," the master of the games, a grizzled old knight, commanded loudly. The archers did exactly as they were told.
The young boy Ra had complimented earlier nocked an arrow onto his bow and took a deep, steadying breath before pulling the taut bowstring back.
His hand rested comfortably on the corner of his mouth, using it as a anchor point, while his sharp eyes looked steadily ahead at his target.
"Release at the sound of the horn. You win if you kill the bird by lodging your arrow directly into their heads," the old knight explained precisely.
The very next moment, the serving men released the frightened birds into the air and quickly hid behind wooden shields so as not to be hit by any stray arrows accidentally.
With the sudden blare of a brass trumpet, ten arrows were released into the sky simultaneously.
Eight of the arrows missed the fluttering birds entirely.
One of the arrows impaled a sparrow right in the stomach, while one final arrow hit a bird straight in the tiny face, killing the creature instantly.
Loud cheers rang out from the massive crowd while the seated lords and ladies clapped their hands politely at the impressive display of the young winner's skill.
The boy smiled widely and turned around to face the royal box before offering a deep, respectful bow to the king.
"Bring out the winner's prize," Tywin commanded loudly.
A heavy leather pouch containing a thousand golden dragons was brought out by the guards and handed directly to the boy as his grand reward for winning the tournament.
"And the winner of the archery competition is Ron of the Whispers," the master of the games announced to the cheering crowd.
It was during the loud cheers and enthusiastic clapping that Ra leaned in closely toward Ned Stark to whisper something.
"A commoner boy walking away with a thousand gold dragons? Tywin Lannister may as well kill the boy himself," the Custodian whispered knowingly.
The Lord of Winterfell understood the message immediately. A lowborn boy carrying that much gold in a city filled with sellswords and thieves was essentially a walking corpse.
Ned beckoned one of his loyal northern guards over to him. He was just about to order the man to bring Ron safely to the Stark pavilion, but the king interrupted the order.
"Come up here, boy," Robert ordered loudly.
Ron approached the royal box as he was bid by his king and promptly knelt in the dirt right in front of the monarch.
"Tell me, who taught you how to work a bow like that?" Robert asked the boy after bidding him to stand back up on his feet.
"Taught meself, Your Grace. Spent most of my days up in the crags, hunting shadowcats. Got to keep them away from the chickens and the cows," the boy spoke nervously.
His head remained bowed low, and his eyes stayed fixed firmly on the ground.
Several of the lords who were clapping for Ron only moments earlier now frowned deeply at the complete lack of proper etiquette present in the boy's crude words.
Even then, that was exactly what they expected from the uneducated commoners who had never been in the refined company of their betters to teach them basic manners.
Robert did not mind the lack of manners in the slightest. The warrior king had grown up surrounded by soldiers, and he could see the boy was genuinely trying his best to be respectful.
"And what about your parents?" Robert asked, leaning back comfortably in his large wooden seat.
"A winter fever took them both," the boy answered softly.
The king nodded once at the boy's tragic answer and bid him to leave the royal box. Ned used that exact opportunity to order his guard to intercept Ron.
The Lord of Winterfell instructed his man to ask Ron to join the northern camp for his own safety. Ned was kind enough that he had explicitly ordered the guard to secretly protect Ron all the way home if the boy refused the offer to join him in the North.
With the ongoing preparations for the jousting matches, the royal box had become significantly emptier.
Most of the proud knights sitting around the king were now off preparing their armor and their warhorses for the upcoming joust.
"Shall we place a wager on who will win the tilts?" Robert asked Ned with a grin that reminded Ned of old times.
He was met only with a silent shake of the head from the Warden of the North, who had no love for gambling his realm's coin.
The king clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. His blue eyes then turned to the Custodian with a silent, questioning look.
"Bet on my cousin," Alysane asked Ra, giving the armored warrior a highly expectant look.
"Two hundred gold dragons on Ser Jorah Mormont, then," Ra declared smoothly, giving the young girl sitting beside him a brief, knowing glance.
"You forget he will have to defeat Ser Barristan Selmy to claim that victory," the king scoffed loudly, making it absolutely clear that his own golden dragons were firmly placed on the legendary old knight.
A/n: Sorry for taking longer and longer to write these chapters. Last month my staff had some emergency and I had to handle things alone. I will be trying my best to write more frequently.