The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 34: The Harrenhal Tournament (Part 4) Three Misfortunes

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***

P.O.V. Erthur Dane

281 A.D.E.

Riverlands, Harrenhal

«Interesting... - I said thoughtfully as I looked at my opponent and could barely contain my anticipatory smile. - "I hope you can give me a good fight."

This tournament was going to be different from the previous ones. It was going to be special. This was where Rhaegar planned to hold the Great Council and depose his mad father, who had long ago fallen into their famous dragon madness. The action, so long and carefully planned almost succeeded, were it not for one bald eunuch from Essos. He had thwarted all our plans by telling the king and convincing him to come here, cutting off the possibility of a secret council at the root. So we had no choice but to play the innocent sheep and have our usual fun at the tournament.

But my mood was already ruined.

Neither the horsefights nor the general scramble, stirring the blood, helped. Neither the dozens of jugs of wine drunk at the feast, nor the three pretty maids who had been in my bed for the third day.

It wasn't the same.

But it was different now.

The familiar weight of the armor, the light breeze blowing at my back, the heavy smell of spilled blood, the center of gravity of the sword that felt like my own... And the strongest pressure felt from the knight standing in front of me with sword and shield, standing in the usual eagle stance, raising his sword high into the sky. My body sensed this was going to be a good fight. No worse than with the Smiling Knight. And it was invigorating, bringing back my usual attitude.

"I'll give him the right to start," I thought, smoothly shifting from my basic stance to a medium defensive stance, positioning my sword blade parallel to myself.

My opponent understood the message and immediately went on the attack, striking aslant from top to bottom, forcing me to redirect his sword to the side and bounce sharply off the shield that almost crashed into my unprotected shoulder.

"Not bad, how about this."

With my center of gravity slightly lowered and my feet ducked, I moved into a window stance in an instant, gripping the weapon with both hands at eye level, and made a stabbing sword thrust at the center of the solar weave.

"Gotcha," I thought, watching my sword deflect off the shield and go sideways. A sharp half-turn, with the support on one leg and a sudden blow on the half-torch, with the purpose to knock it out of my hands.

But my opponent did not fail - sharply raising the bastard and, parrying the blow, transferring it to the garda, he tried to do the same. I was saved from the blow of the sharp end of the shield in the first third of the base of the sword by a light step back, which allowed me to transfer the blow to the middle of the blade and not to dry my fingers. It was a draw in this round.

"Time to show him what a two-handed sword is all about," I decided, and using the inertia from my last attack, I struck my shield with all my might, leaving a noticeable crack in it.

I was on a roll. For the next minute, my Dawn's line was constantly pummeling my opponent, forcing him to go into a defensive stance and put his cracking shield under the blows. But I had to hand it to Kold - in those rare moments when my rhythm had a hiccup, he found it and immediately counterattacked with precise and dangerous stabbing blows, leaving noticeable chips and scratches on my armor.

But soon the parity ended as his only defense fell apart, leaving only a small piece of wood, formerly a shield, hanging from his arm.

"You've been a good opponent, but it's time to call it a day" - Smoothly moving into a double-horned stance, putting my sword in front of me and starting a stabbing motion at Kold's collarbone dimple, I thought.

But the Westerner didn't even think of giving up - twisting his sword he tried to knock down my jab and go on the attack himself.

"Naive," I thought to myself as I twisted my hands to twist my opponent's bastard out of his fingers. - "Your half-armor won't be able to fully repel a two-handed sword."

But then Kold did something strange that put me in a momentary stupor. Instead of retreating and regrouping with his brother, he abruptly rushed toward me, coming almost right up to me.

"What do you want to do..."

Bang, bang, bang.

The next thing I saw were numerous black dots appearing and disappearing before my eyes, and splinters. Numerous wood splinters from the stub of the shield that this creep had hit me on the head with!!!!

"I'll kill you." - A thought flashed through my mind as the anger rising from deep within me easily brought me back to consciousness. So much for a simple tournament - I didn't even get hit on the head like that even during the raid on the Royal Forest Brotherhood.

Meanwhile, Kold had already regained his balance, and he took a woman's stance, putting his sword behind his back, and rushed to attack.

"I'll be damned! He was holding back!"

I was hit with a hail of various blows, which I barely managed to deflect - not restored balance and a slight noise in my head interfered. But the worst part was that the picture of the fight itself had changed. If earlier Kold showed standard, well-honed fencing, now he used some strange style, with smooth and sharply changing the direction of blows.

Here, a seemingly simple chopping blow stops abruptly and changes to a stabbing blow, leaving a chip on the unprotected shoulder pad. And then, stopping abruptly, another sudden blow follows, delivered by the force of my wrists alone, leaving a shallow scratch on my thigh.

A very unpleasant and dangerous style, with sharp and unpredictable blows. I was saved only by the fact that every time he changed the direction of the blow or attacked from an unexpected position, he lost most of the damage and speed. But my opponent easily removed this disadvantage using my recent tactics - continuously attacking, not allowing me to go on the offense.

But...

"Thank the Seven, people aren't perfect." - I thought, noticing how Kold had made the small mistake of raising his center of gravity too high. By counterattacking and throwing my mistaken opponent back a few feet, I was able to regain my stance, catch my breath a bit, and even look at the other fight with one eye.

If my fight with Kold could be called a test of our swordsmanship (except for the moment when he smashed a piece of wood over my head), then the battle between the Lords of Storm's Edge and the Valley of the Sunflame was like two wild bears pummeling each other with their paws. The axe and hammer clashed every second, producing a clanging sound that made one's ears pop. And yet it could not be said that the fight was barbaric - all the movements of these bears were technical and well-honed, showing how much blood and sweat had been spilled on the training fields, but the fierce aura and the almost beastly roar coming from under their gears easily overshadowed these moments.

"First time I've ever seen anyone equal Baratheon in strength." - I thought, withdrawing from the rest of the world and returning to my fight. I had a serious opponent that I should not underestimate. - "I didn't want to use him, but it would be disrespectful to him. Too bad it's not as effective without Dawn."

Adopting a plow stance, positioning my sword at a sharp angle, I rushed into the attack at the same time as Kold.

The next two minutes could be described in three words - a confrontation between water and stone. The Westerner's style, based on frequent and unpredictable attacks like the shifting current of water, clashed with the style of my House of Dain, created specifically for the two-handed and indestructible Dawn, invented eight thousand years ago. Consisting of simple and uncomplicated movements, it aimed for one thing: to break an opponent's weapon and kill him as quickly as possible. As it was derisively called by the detractors of my house - the Stone style.

And now the stone was trying to withstand the pressure of the water. The blows of this knight of ice came from all sides - from below, from above, from the sides, from the center. Even in the back, with the help of quick jerks, managed to hit, but my defense and rare but strong counterattacks, did not let him develop success.

It was all decided by the difference in experience.

Aeris Cold was well-trained and, to all appearances, had experience in fighting with different opponents, but not with equal or superior in skill . He got too carried away. He forgot about one of the most important things for a warrior - endurance. As a result, his attacks became stilted and slowed, critical to his style.

Snap...

So a precisely timed series of lunges knocked the half-torch out of his hands, and the blunted steel stopped half an inch from his neck.

Victory was mine.

Bang...

Just a second later, there was the sound of seven poodles of flesh and metal falling to the ground. Reflexively, I turned around and saw a curious sight-Robert Baratheon lying on the ground, with Temper towering over him, holding a severed steel stag's horn in his hands, to the loud applause of the spectators. He didn't look much better, the numerous dents and chips showing very well that the battle with the stormtrooper had not been without consequences for him.

"I thought as I lowered my sword and felt at least twenty serious cuts and bruises left by Cold.

«Well, let's get on with it. - A smirk came to my face as I got into an attack stance, just as Temper stopped showing off and got ready to fight. - "I'm going to remember this tournament for a long time."

As I rushed forward, once again giving myself over to the dance of the fight, I had no idea how right that thought would turn out to be.

***

P.O.V. Felix Temper.

281 A.D.

Riverlands, Harrenhal ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Day four of the tournament

«Are you all right?

«Can't you tell?

«I don't know. - Oberyn gave me a thoughtful look, glancing at me with an assessing gaze. - But it's the first time I've ever seen anyone come out of a fight with the Sword of Dawn in one piece and on their own.

«What difference does it make? - I asked irritably, adjusting the bandage on my arm. - Losing is losing, whether it's to the First Sword of Dorne or to a shabby tramp from Flea's End.

«That's just your opinion. - The prince replied, pressing his lips to the bowl of undiluted wine.

"There he goes again, drinking early in the morning. He'll get drunk someday." - The irritation, already high due to the constantly itchy bruises and bumps, rose even higher.

I'd lost yesterday.

Not embarrassingly, by passing out with a single blow, and not at the last moment by stupidly tripping or twisting my leg. My loss was natural - Dane was a far better warrior than I was, and that said it all. Incredible skill, good tactics, sparing and calibrated to perfection movements, control of breath, endurance and his opponent. He was better on all counts. Yes, I had the advantage in brute strength, yes, my armor was stronger and more reliable than the light armor preferred by the Kingsguard, yes, the bruises and bruises inflicted on me by Baratheon did not interfere much with my movements, unlike the numerous cuts inflicted by Aerys, but the result was still a loss.

And the reason was that I am not a warrior.

Erthur Dane. The Sword of Dawn of this generation. One who was trained for this title from birth. Every day he picked up the sword and practiced. Thousands of ligatures, thousands of blows, liters of sweat, blood and tears. Unlike me, who tried to combine the roles of husband, father, merchant, lord and fighter, spreading my attention too thinly, he was and is a perfect warrior and knight to the core. He is not interested in titles, lands, women and the rest of the worldly things. There is only the sword and the service he has dedicated his life to.

"I'm getting a little pathetic." - A thought flashed through my mind, making me chuckle involuntarily. - "But it's still a shame that I was only going to win if I was very lucky."

At the end of the battle, I was on the ground with my axe knocked out of my hands, my arms and legs blue from the blows I'd taken, and a blade stuck to my neck. Of course, Dane didn't get away with it either - unlike me, who had only cracked his ribs, he had a broken left arm, where my axe had landed at the last moment.

The spectators were delighted.

It was probably the first time in my memory that I had been treated with respect and even reverence, but I didn't care about that at the time; my only desire was to get to my tent, bandage myself up with herbal cooling ointment, and sleep for ten hours. So I did, and now, looking more like a mummy whose head was the only thing not bandaged, I sat in the stands with Oberyn, Elia, who had decided to watch the end of the tournament with her countrymen, and the rest of the Dornish, watching the last bouts of the tournament.

«Toot-doo! Toot-doo!!! Too-doo!!!

The trumpets sounded, heralding the third bout of the quarterfinals I had been looking forward to. I'd bet too much on it, and if I won, my lands would receive such trade preferences that most merchant guilds in the Seven Kingdoms and Free Cities would be jealous.

"Still, it's lucky the lords are so gambling. And greedy." - I thought, remembering all those fat, dressed in expensive clothes and worried only about the size of their wallets noble, while the steward announced the participants:

«Dear sires and ladies! Allow me to announce the contestants for today's third duel! - Bread and spectacle. The crowd is the same in all worlds. Hearing how once again people will try to kill each other it roared furiously, welcoming new participants.

«And first to enter the ring is the Lord of Storm's End! The man whose hammer can crush the head of the fiercest beast with just one blow! A man whose strength is almost unrivaled! Ser Robert Baratheon! - I don't know how, but this man appointed by the commentator as steward managed to shout over the crowd without breaking his voice.

The Grandlord of the Stormlands rode out on a giant stallion with a long, black mane and a rope of steel muscles. His armor, which had several dozen gouges and scratches from yesterday's battle, had been replaced, and only his helmet, with its iron horn cut off at the base, remained the same. Still, Robert is a very open and kind guy and took the defeat without any resentment, saying as he woke up that until he takes revenge, he will walk "one-horned".

«He is the one who has become the most unknown secret of this tournament! Yes his height is small and his hands are fragile, but his spirit and will easily cover these shortcomings! A mysterious knight who broke through his enemies against all odds! - Yes, the talent of a host died in this steward. Usually at tournaments, they just announce the title, nicknames and name without the crowd teasing, but him... - The Knight of the Winter Rose!

"I'll have to invite him to my place. I could really use a shot like that."

Lady Lyanna was magnificent. If Baratheon's brute strength and power were the foreground, creating the image of an armored killing machine, then Stark was his exact opposite - graceful and graceful, on my borrowed fine-boned Dornish mare, in mirror-polished armor, she looked like a sharply sharpened rapier capable of piercing anyone.

«Who do you think will win? - I asked Oberyn, taking a small sip of wine. I'm not much of a drinker, but Arbor wine, so generously poured by the Wents, was considered the best in all of Westeros, if not Planethos, for a reason.

«Baratheon. - Without hesitation, the Dornish prince answered, not even looking at the jousting ring. His gaze was fixed on Elia sitting not far away and the maids of honor surrounding her.

«What makes you think that?

«It's clear to everyone. - Said the Red Serpent, still staring at one point. Or one person. - This mysterious knight is not bad, but he is as far as the Wall to the Deer. It'll all be over in the next round.

«A wager?

Oberyn felt as if he'd been electrocuted by my words. He flinched and turned quickly to me, looking at me with a very strange look.

«What are you up to? - I wasn't even surprised at the question. The Second Prince of Dorne has known me for many years and understands that a wager on my part should only be made if my victory is assured. I've been down that road many times myself.

«Nothing illegal. - Sometimes a smile can scare or confuse far more than the most fierce grin. And so it was now - my Cheshire Cat smile made the passing henchman involuntarily flinch.

The speed with which the Red Serpent snapped out of his chair, pulling out his wallet and rushing towards several lords standing not far away, showed very clearly how much he trusted me.

Meanwhile, the riders had already received the lances from their squires and were preparing for their first fight.

"And the last," I thought, noticing how my smile had involuntarily turned into a grin and frightened everyone around me, except for Lyon. He'd seen more of this in my performance in training at the castle.

«Too-doo!

The trumpets sounded, signaling the riders to start. The horses galloped almost simultaneously, gaining their maximum speed. All the spectators were already anticipating the clash, the hail of splinters and the fall of one of the competitors, when suddenly Baratheon's horse reared up sharply, nearly throwing his rider off. Robert had to give him credit - despite the surprise, he did not fall off and stayed in the saddle, but the blow of Lady Lyanna's lance left him no chance. Splinters flew from the broken lance, and the rumble of the eight-pound knight's fall to the ground drowned out all other sounds.

Silence reigned.

«And the winner was the Knight of Winter's Roh.

«You bastard!

The steward's loud shout was interrupted by the thunderous roar of Baratheon, who had already come to his senses and, fountaining with an almost physically palpable rage, was approaching Lady Stark, who was ostentatiously giving air kisses to the court ladies.

"Oops, I guess he's discovered my little ruse," I thought, tensing inwardly and preparing to rush to the young she-wolf's aid if necessary.

«How dare you use such a lowly trick! - The lord of Storm's Edge was getting angry, and he quickly approached the rider, as if he didn't notice the armor he was wearing, and grabbed Lianna's horse by the reins. - Show me your ugly face! I want to see your ugly face!

He was about to grab Stark by the arm and, without politeness, throw off the horse to remove the helmet, but suddenly the northern lady showed that women in her family are not just considered wolves.

«Snap!

Baratheon's long-suffering helmet was struck with a simple and uncomplicated blow from the remaining spear shaft, disorienting Robert for a few moments and causing him to fall uncomplicatedly on his ass, to the amusement of the roaring crowd. It was enough time for Lianna to send an air kiss somewhere in the direction of the royal rostrum and flee from the ring, pursued by the Storm Knights, who had not forgiven their master for such a loss.

«Get him!

"Yes, Robert's bad luck in this tournament," I thought as I saw the Arryn knights, whose master could not bear to mock his pupil. - "Then I cut off his horn, then his fiancée hit him on the head with a piece of wood... Is it karma?"

I was pulled out of my musings about why Fortuna had mocked the poor stormtrooper so much by Oberyn's nearby roar. He, as well as most of the tribunes on the ring, were laughing as they watched the Deer cursing. Still, such cases are rare in this world and it is not a sin to laugh at the failure of one of the grandlords (unless you are his vassal, of course).

«How did you do it? - Oberyn asked after a few minutes, having calmed down and stopped laughing.

«Leak. That mare was in heat, so Baratheon's horse reacted. - I said, sitting back in my chair, enjoying Lord Mouton's audible curses even from here. He was the one who argued with me, and now my ships won't pay mooring fees in Maiden Pond for twenty years. It's a beauty. - Robert realized it before anyone else - there's a reason every heir to a Great House gets a good education - so he got angry that he'd been beaten in such a dishonorable way.

«Was it your plan to hit him on the head with a lance, too? - Oberyn asked thoughtfully, but it was obvious he wasn't here right now. He was calculating how much he'd won today.

«No, it was the knight's own initiative. - I said, imagining how pleased Lady Stark was. For her, the very fact that she had knocked her fiancé out of the saddle was wonderful. And now this "blow." She must be over the moon.

«How did you come up with that idea?

«I don't know. - I answered, but Oberyn was staring at his sister's maids of honor again. Had he fallen in love?

I was lying about the leaking idea, of course-it was something I'd swiped from the show. I didn't remember who used it, but I remembered my granddaughter's outrage at how such a noble knight could use such a dishonorable method. Although I still wonder who that "noble knight" was.

The rest of the day was spent in jousting matches that were not interesting to me. Of all the participants, Prince Rhaegar, Erthur Dane, and Barristan Selmy made it to the semi-finals of the tournament, proving once again that the best knights have always been the Kingsguard.

The fight between the Silver Prince and the Sword of Dawn was interesting but predictable. Not recovering from yesterday's wounds, Dane lost, falling out of the saddle on the seventh ride. Though in its own way it was amazing to last that long with a broken arm.

Ser Barristan was able to keep his strength, because the "mysterious knight of the Winter Rose" was sitting next to his father and actively watching the tournament, so his opponent was disqualified under the loud curses of Baratheon, who left no hope of revenge.

But the final was very satisfying and managed to attract even me. Full of strength, using all his experience, Selmy broke fifteen times with the young and talented prince, not wanting to lose. I even wondered what made the old veteran put up such a fight, but in the end, the young dragon took the upper hand. There was too much strength and stamina in the young body, unlike the guardsman who was beginning to lose his stature.

«Where to next, my friend? - I asked wistfully, watching as Rhaegar's spear was placed on a crown of rare winter roses for him to declare his queen of love and beauty. - Shall we have a drink in my tent? I've got a good barrel of summer wine lying around.

- I'd love to, Fel. - Oberyn said gravely, not even looking at the heir to the Iron Throne as he passed by. - I just have something to tell you....

Zviak...

He was prevented from finishing by the sound of breaking glass from my glass, which fell to the floor and shattered, and a loud roar of bewilderment and surprise. The Dornish prince turned around and....

Zwiak ...

... also dropped his glass as I did, finding myself in utter shock.

Targaryen, instead of laying a wreath on Elia's lap, who had been expecting it since Ser Barristan had fallen from the saddle, had ridden past without even looking at her, bestowing the crown of Queen of Love and Beauty on an entirely different girl.

One who already had a fiancé, didn't really know him, and had only recently ridden here as a mysterious knight.

Lyanna Stark.

My good mood vanished at once.

***

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