Chapter 10: There and back again
As always, I own nothing.
I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Beor was strumming and singing on his newly arrived guitar, alone on a balcony, basking in the dusk over the harbour. It'd taken a week and fifty gold dragons for the luthier to finally make a model that satisfied him. It was quite a guitar yet, more of fiddle-shaped luthe, but it was a first step in gaining back a hobby he had ling thought lost with his old world.
With all the talks of war and politicking, he had to admit to himself that he had forgotten to enjoy the beauty of the nature around him. The Westerlands, despite being hot as balls, were beautiful. As green as Bear Island, almost. Where his land was forests and meadows, this one was all fields and bountiful orchards. They had singing birds and running rivers, and despite the damage caused by the war, Lannisport was lively and ready for the coming tourney.
'Only two days now', he thought. When he registered for the tourney, he was expected to compete with the squires, in account of his age. The look on their face when he put his lot with the adults was priceless.
He had gotten to talk a few more times with Lord Tywin, the older man seemingly having enjoyed their verbal jousting. Or maybe it was some type of gratitude for finally getting a valyrian steel for his house. Beor would never know and Tywin would never confess.
The older man treated him like an adult, something for which Beor was grateful. They also had plenty in common, as they both were really focused on leaving their mark on the world, each in their own way. They also had major differences, in the for of their philosophy of life. Tywin was an out and out pragmatist. with the ends always justifying the means. Beor however, was adamant that going against one's principles will inevitably lead to disaster. On multiple occasions, Jaime and Tyrion stumbled on them conversing quietly over a game of cyvasse.
Unfortunately, this seemed to have soured his relationship with the young Lannister. They still talked and enjoyed each other's presence, but the dwarf seemed to be holding a bit of resentment towards this newfound "friendship" between Beor and his father.
He also spent less time with the king and his entourage, especially when the queen's delegation arrived. Cersei Lannister was as beautiful as she was said to be in the books, perhaps more so. She looked strickingly similar to her brother. only prettier and more... womany.
She had long flowing golden hair which reached the small of her back. Bright green eyes complimented her soft yet striking features. The black and red silk gown she was wearing only served to enhanced her beauty, with a tight bodice adorned with rubies hugging her bust almost sensually.
Cersei Lannister was a woman who was beautiful and wanted everyone to know it. And everyone knew it. The way Jaime was hovering around her, it was a surprise that most didn't suspect the two of cuckolding the king.
She showed no interest in Beor, even when she was told of his great deeds, or his young age. She only spared him a look of disdain when she saw the way the king was doting on the boy. The older man seemed to find some shadow of his old self in the boy, and the queen seemed not too appreciative of that.
On the few occasions they had met, Beor did his darndest not to be less than five feet away from her. The woman didn't scare him, but he had no intention of making such a powerful enemy if he didn't have to.
A knock on the door tore him from his thoughts.
"Enter", he said, still sitting on the edge of the balcony, strumming absent mindedly .
A dark haired maidservant, Laila, he reminded himself, entered the large room, before bowing to him. The action was as foreign to him now than it had been the first time he was shown such defference.
" My lord", she said
"Good afternoon, Laila", he answered good humouredly ;playing music always put him in a good mood.
The woman seemed pleased that the Beor remembered her name, if the beaming smile on her face was any indication.
" My lord, Lord Tywin requests your presence in the hall. The festivities will start soon. If it pleases my lord, of course."
"Ah, indeed. I shall be there post-haste. Thank you." He said, smiling at her.
After more bowing and offering help to prepare himself, which he politely refused, she retreated out of room.
The Tourney proper will start in two days time, but tonight will the official celebrations of the Rebellion's Quelling. Gifts will be presented, honours given and titles bequeathed. No doubt this was why Tywin wanted him present. He wanted his son celebrated in this little pony show. Not that Beor minded, they had made a deal, after all, and he was the one that had the most to gain factually.
He eschewed his armour for the night, as it was meant to be a feast, but kept Red Rain with him. He opted for a dark green quilted vest with black accents over his simple shirt, black trousers and boots with a traditional nothern fur cloack held by a silver bear to finish his outfit.
He did not enjoy the gaudy look the westerlanders seemed to be into, preferring darker tones.
He made his ways through the halls of Casterly Rock, servants bowing to him as they went about their business. As he approached the great hall were the feast would soon take place, he could already here the sound of music, songs and boisterous laughter. He pushed down the ball of nervousness he hadn't realized he was feeling.
"Nervous, young lord?" said a man that was leaning by the doorway.
"Lord Gerion, good evening to you", Beor said, greeting the older man
" And to you, Mormont." Gerion said, a soft smile on his face, as he walked towards the tall boy.
"Is there something I can help you with, my lord?"
"What?" Gerion asked, jokingly. "Isn't a man free to wonder about in his own house?"
Beor only gave him a non plussed look, not in the least fooled.
Gerion sighed, relenting.
"Kids your age aren't supposed to be that smart, Lord Beor." he said, chuckling.
"The times are changing, aren't they? Beor answered, humouring the man. " I can play dumb, if it makes you feel better"
" Now, isn't telling me that spoiling the all idea of it?" Gerion asked, crossing his arms and pouting.
" Apologies, my lord, it appears I'm not the best at playing dumb. I lack the experience, I suppose." Beor said, going along.
" No worries, son. It comes with age" the Lannister answered, patting Beor on the back, as if he was imparting him some deep wisdom.
"I wanted to thank you, Mormont." He said, his tone turning serious.
" You're welcome, my lord." Beor answered, not missing a bit
" You cheeky brat!" Gerion exclaimed, laughing. " You're supposed to ask why!"
"I'm getting better at playing dumb, eh?" Beor said, laughing with the man.
Gerion tsk'ed at him, shaking his head. "I've only seen Tywin as happy as he was only once. When he got to marry Johanna. You have given my brother a reason to smile, and for that, you have my thanks, Mormont."
" It wasn't out of the goodness of my heart, you know. He wanted a sword and I wanted gold. We just so happened to agree on the trade. There's nothing more to it." Beor said, scratching his cheek, averting his eyes from the Lannister.
Gerion fixed his eyes on him at that, scrutinizing, before his face split with a bright smile. "Is the Red Bear, the Butcher of Old Wyk embarrassed? He said, laughing.
"I would've never taken you for a blushing maiden, my boy!" he continued, slapping him on the back, ushering him into the great hall, packed with lords and knights. The king was slowly sipping small glass of bourbon, sitting all kingly on the dais. Next to him were the queen, a quiet Eddard Stark to his left, and magninimous looking Tywin Lannister.
"Ah! Beor Mormont! The king said boisterously, as he saw him enter. " Come here, my boy."
Beor walked on the red and gold carpet which separated the great hall in two, towards the king, head high, Red Rain swaying on his hip.
At about fifteen feet from the king, he stopped before bowing deeply. He still refused to kneel, and no man or his armies would be enough to make him do so.
"Beor, my boy", the king said, downing his drink with a slight grimace, " you are late to the celebrations. How dare you make your king wait?" he asked, with humour in his voice.
"Apologies your grace, it was not my intention to offend." Beor answered, for the sake of decorum.
" None of that", the king said, "as a punishment, you shall sit by the Lannister and drink!" He finished, laughing, prompting his sycophants to laugh with him.
Cersei looked like she had tasted lemons for the first time. " Dear husband", she said in her beautiful lilting voice, putting her dainty hand on the king's arm, "It is hardly proper..." before Robert interrupted her.
"Am I not the king?!" He asked, rethorically. "By the Gods! I say the boy sits by your father, he will sit by your father! He finished in his loud booming voice.
Cersei winced at that, before staring cooly at Beor, sipping her wine. Tywin was silent during the exchange, looking unfazed by his surroundings. He looked at Beor, his usual stern and stoic look on his face. He either didn't care or didn't mind that much.
Before taking his seat by the king's Hand- the meaning of the action was not lost on him-, Beor bowed respectfully to the man, who did the same albeit non-commitly. Beor
"Now, drink, boy!" The king said, montioning to a nearby page; it was the same boy he had been torturing during his stay at Pyke. The boy ran more than walked, to pour another glass for the young lord.
"As you wish, your Grace", he said, picking uo his glass cup.
He took a small sip of the Arbor Gold, while looking over the gathered crowd. The sounds of conversations had dimmed quite a bit as most present were busy spectating the king making a didn't miss the few cross looks he recieved from some of the younger men and the sneers from the older nobles.
Soon the festivities began in earnest, with minstrels singing and mummers taling. There were quite a few performances from foreign dancers and musicians, for Myr and Braavos. It was obviously an exercise in pride and power on the part of Tywin. He did not pull any punches in the planning of the feast and the Tourney.
Delicious victuals, expensive wine, both red and gold, even a substantive selection of Nothern sweet fire. No expense was too large, no price was too high. It was partly to celebrate the victory of the Ironborn, but it was also a show of power. Lannisport had been sacked at the beginning of the Rebellion, less than a year ago. Some nobles might have been keen to think that house Lannister was diminished in the aftermath of the conflict. This specific tourney was to send them a message. Every single coin spent was to let the Seven Kingdoms know that the Lions of the Rock still roared.
And roared they did.
The night went on, slowly. Too slowly for Beor's taste. He caught the queen eyeing him once or twice, with eyes that promised agony and suffering. He had attemptted to strike conversation with Tywin, but it seemed this was not the best moment, as whilst he was cordial towards him, he was also cold and distant. Though Beor understood that the older lord had to keep face in front of the whole kingdom, the child in him couldn't help but be petulant about it.
The king stood up, clearly in his drink.
"Quiet!" The giant of a man roared, the chatter dying almost immediately.
"My lords, my friends!" he began, looking towards the gathered crowd, " Seven years ago, I became the king if the Seven Kingdoms. You have all sworn allegiance to me, as Lord Protector of the Realm. And for seven years, the realm had been at peace. That is until craven men came attacking in the dead of night, raping and pillaging, reaping what they had not sowed.
They believed us weak, divided, too tired to stand up to their barbary. They believed they could march in and rip the kingdoms asunder, and for a while they did. But not for long, for I call the banners and you, my lords, you answered the call!"
The crowd answered with a roar.
"From the North, the East, the South and the West, brave men rode day and night to answer their king's summon, and answered they did.
In my years as a warrior, never have I witnessed more noble souls, more brave hearts, stronger arms than the ones that fought by my side.
They thought we were broken and weak, the krakens, just as the dragons thought us cowed and tame. And just like them, we have made them reap what the sowed!
You, my lords, my friends have shown them that we are one, that we are strong. And for this I raise my cup to you all!
To you, and to the years of peace to come! He finished, in a loud voice raising his cup, prompting the crowd to do the same, as they roared and banged on the table in approval.
"Hail to king Robert! Long may he reign!" yelled a non descript lord, opening the flood of clamour and praises to the king. It was in those intsances that Beor understood how so many men were willing to bkindly follow the man to war. Despite his oafish behaviour and boorish manners, he was a man of the people and knew really well how to play the crowd.
The "Hails" continued for a long while, as Robert stood there, soaking in the praise. He motioned them to settle down, with his hand, before he continued.
"Jacelyn Bywater", he said, "come forward."
A tall, muscly man with a full head of black hair and jaw that looked as if cut from marble stepped towards the king, before kneeling. He was craddling his right arm where his hand had been cut at the wrist.
Walking down the dais, and standing in front of the man, the king said, " My good man, I have seen you fight. Even when wounded, you did not take a step back, rallying the men around you, always forward. My brother Stannis has spoken well of you, and as such I've made a decision."
"Ser Barristan", he said turning towards to older knight, " Your sword"
"Your grace", he said, getting on his knees, offering the sheathed sword to Robert.
Unsheating it, he placed it on Jacelyn right shoulder, making him flinch reflexively.
"Jacelyn Bywater", Robert Baratheon said, "do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed, do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be and to die a noble death when the time comes?"
"I do, your grace" he answered simply, his voice threatening to crack.
"Then rise, Ser Jacelyn Bywater, knight of the Seven kingdoms."
The crowd of knights and lords erupted in approval, and as Jacelyn walked back towards his seat, several men, presumably friends of his, patted him on the shoulder.
Three or four other men recieved knighthood next, with Thoros of Myr refusing in account of his faith. The king instead awarded him a thousand gold dragons.
"Lord Beor Mormont" The king's voice snapped Beor out of his reverie, "Step forward."
With all eyes fixed on him, the boy walked down the raised dais were he was seated, and made his way towards the king.
" Your grace" Beor said to him, bowing.
" My boy", the king said, I have heard stories about you, stories one might think were ripped straight from the age of heroes. Ser Barristan has vouched for you, told me of your bravery and ferocity in combat, didn't you, Ser?"
" Aye, indeed I did, your grace. The young lord has shown great courage and strength in putting down the Crown's enemy." The Lord Commander said, his voice deep and gravelly.
"You fought well at Pyke, winning me the war. Nothing but a boy, but fighting with heart of a hundred men. Any father would be proud to have a son such as you. Kneel, Beor!"
Without thinking, Beor found himself on one knee, looking at the king.
"Beor Mormont, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed , and to die honourably when the time comes?"
Every little boy, in this world or his old, wished to be a brave and honourable Knight fighting for justice and the needy. And here he was, being knighted by a actual king in front of actual noble. His soul might have been old, but the child in him was as happy as a kite in the wind.
" I do, your grace, the gods so help me."
"Then rise, Beor the Red Bear, as a knight of the seven kingdoms, and Lord of Sea Dragon Point!
A collective gasp could be heard in the crowd. It was one thing to be knighted. by the king himself, it was another thing to recieve lands in the same occasion.
Beor himself was dumbfounded. He had not expected that move from the king. Sea Dragon Point was a rather large but empty peninsula, the closest keep being the Glover's, two day ride away. Being offered lands in the North also meant that Ned Stark had approved of the action. The little smile and nod the lord sent his way when he looked at him confirmed that suspicion.
"Serve the realm well, my boy."
He rose, euphoric, the crowds clamour a dull noise to his ears, the king looking at him with fatherly proud, and unbeknowst to him, the queen glating daggers into his back.
"My thanks, your grace. It is the greatest honour I could think of." he said, bowing to the man. once again. He did not like that he was getting used to this, he thought, wrily.
"Of course, it is, son, but you deserve nothing less." he said laughing boisterously, clapping him hard in the back.
Clearing his throat, he turned towards the crowd, and with a loud voice said " If I may, your grace, I would like to say a few words."
"Go on" said Robert, interested.
"I am honoured to be in the midst of such great men and women. Queen Cersei", he said, bowing to her, earning a small smug smile from her, " My lord Stark, Lord Tywin Lannister.
I have found myself great fortune in this otherwise bloody conflict. Yet, I am grateful. Grateful for His Grace magninimity, and for the hospitality of my Lord Lannister.
Years ago, you had quelled a rebellion against your house, in these very lands. Songs of their demise and misfortune are still heard in every corner of the known world. The Reynes of Castamere are gone, and your name now lives in legends. I wish to add to that legend, my lord."
The crowd looked on, hanging on his every word. Fluidly, he unclasped his sword from his waist.
" My lord Lannister, I give you Red Rain! The lost sword of house Reyne. I took it myself from Dunstan Drumm after felling Euron Greyjoy from striking down Jorah Mormont, my cousin.
You have destroyed their name, my lord, then I give you their legacy, for everything will die, men, women. houses, families, all that survive is legacy. May it serve you well, and may your enemy quake when their eyes fall upon it."
With a slight movement of his head, Tywin motioned to Jaime to come forward.
The knight move towards Beor, stopping three feet away from him.
" Ser Jaime, recieve this gift from a knight to another, and may it you cast a shadow as large as your father's" He said, loudly, handing the sword to the man, before bowing to the king and the others on the raised dais.
Again, the crowd lost it all, and shouts of "Red Bear!" could be heard amidst the clamour and applause.
"And now",the king yelled, drowning the noise, "We feast!"
The night became a blur a that point, and everyone, even Tywin ,for a short moment, seemed to be having the time of their life. Beor drank copious amount of alcohol, having been dragged into multiple drinking contest, beating his opponents soundly.
He even performed an encore of his war song, and this time, everyone joined in banging in the table and stomping their feet.
"Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise
Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday
You got mud on your face, you big disgrace
Kicking your can all over the place, singin'
We will, we will rock you
We will, we will rock you
Buddy, you're a young man, hard man
Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday
You got blood on your face, you big disgrace
Waving your banner all over the place
We will, we will rock you, sing it!
We will, we will rock you, yeah"
The next day, the day before the tourney, was meant for the participants to sober up before the contests begin. Thankfully, Beor woke up sober. It seems it was virtually impossible for him to get drunk after all. But, gods was he tired. He had barely slept all night, waking up every other hour to relieve himself, lest he ruined his breeches.
It was bizarre hearing the other men refer to him as Ser Beor. He was a knight, just as the ones in the books that he used to read. Of course, this being Westeros did put a damper on his enthusiasm.
He was a rich landed knight, to boot; A near billionaire by Westerosi standard. And all he had to do was bash the right heads in. It was a bit dreary when he put it like that, but that's technically what happened.
He was still a bit weirded out by the fact that so much land, power and money were given to the child that he was physically. Of course, he was a special case, seeing as he was mentally one of the most experienced man in the whole continent, but they didn't know that, did they?
Which highlighted a weakness of the Westerosi political system: As long as you were born with the right name and knew the right people, life would be a breeze for you.
That was made clearer when he looked to see Jaime Lannister strutting around with Red Rain on his hip, as proud as a peacock, as if he had accomplished something meaningful. The man didn't even daign talk to him, just giving him a smug smile as he passed by him. Gods, did he hate the handsome prick.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a voice beside him: " If you keep staring at him like that, people will start talking you know."
Tyrion Lannister was looking at him with an equally smug smile on his face.
"Gods, what is it with you Lannisters and being smug all the time?" Beor asked, half irritated, half joking.
"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked, "You're smug all the time, aren't you?"
"I know I am, but I don't proclaim it to the world, contrary to your brother oger there."
"Well, we have to work on your confidence, then" Tyrion retorted, elbowing his hip.
" Ugh, I don't have the energy to pretend to like you, today, my lord" Beor said, slightly dejected.
Tyrion laughed at that. " Why the sullen face, Mormont? One would think you'd be happy as a dog in a butcher's shop, today. You're a newly made knight, you've been given quite the lands, all you need now is a comelu wife and you'd be the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms."
" I have doubts", Beor said, truthfully.
"You've been given all this, but you don't think you deserve it? No, that you will live up to your own standards? Is that it?" Tyrion asked, understanding his friend's plight.
Beor didn't answer, only nodded.
Tyrion looked up at his friend for a moment, before speaking up. "Walk with me, Beor."
And so they went.
"Do you know, what I am?" Tyrion asked.
"A dwarf" Beor answered, deadpanned.
"No, no. You're doing this all wrong, Beor. You're supposed to be wrong and then I get to correct you." Tyrion said, chuckling.
"Apologies. I'm not used to being incorrect. I'm sure you can relate."
"Is that how I sound usually?" Tyrion asked, dejected, "Gods, this is infuriating! Anyway, my point is that I was born on trial for being a dwarf. If I do well, it's because I'm a Lannister, but if I fail or falter, it's because of my nature as a crooked, corrupted creature." They found themselves on a beautiful gardenpath, where a few noble ladies and their servants were milling about.
"I know I can be great, I certainly have the brains for it. However, There will be people, my family included who will be waiting anxiously, in hope to see me fail. And to soothe their hearts, I give them what they expect, I drink, I whore, and I quip."
"But what does that have to do with me?"
" Oh, my poor boy", Tyrion said, mock pitt on his face. "No one is waiting for you to fail. In fact, most people don't care about you. Save one person, really."
"Me." Beor concluded, not as a question, but a fact.
"Exactly." Tyrion said, smiling at his friend. " The only one expecting disaster in your future is you. Life has given you good fortune, take it, and make something of it. Do not let your fears hold you back. All that'd do is make you regret the paths you didn't take."
Beor had a thoughtful look in his face, chewing on what the Lannister had said.
"I see.", he said simply.
"I see?" Tyrion repeated, a frown on bis face. "I gift you with eternal wisdom, and all you have to say for it is I see? Must you always be so magnanimous?
"Thank you, Tyrion." Beor said, glossing over his friend's tantrum. "It means a lot to me. And from a friend to another, a piece of advice."
"Go on", Tyrion said, curious.
" Don't let others dictate how you live your life. If you need to walk away from them, you should. Your life is your own to live, is it not? Beor said, looking into the distance.
"I..." Tyrion stopped himself. Beor knew it was a sensitive subject for the Lannister. But someone had to say it He saw where this path would lead his friend in the future, and if he could avoid him this pain amd suffering, then it would be a small price to pay.
Putting his hand of the dimunitive man, Beor said four words that could alter his and Tyrion's life. For better, or for worse.
" Ask Jaime about Tysha."
That said, he promptly walk away.
The horns blared announcing the beginning of the Tourney.
"In the name of the King, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, may the great Tourney of Lannisport officially begin!"
From the large stands and surrounding walls, the eager crowds of nobles and smallfolk cheered loudly. Men and women in colourful clothes were talking laughinand eating with each other, the still riding the high of the feast a day ago.
Beor thought about registering for the melee and the joust, before thinking better of it and only entering the melee for, as good as a rider as was, he was not used to fight with lance on horseback. Maybe next time, after getting more experience.
The tournament began with the archery contest, with about eighty participants in the first turn. He didn't have much interest in this, and found himself instead striking conversation with Galbart Glover, his new lordly neighbour.
He found him a kind, jovial if unexeceptional man. He seemed rather joyous at the thought of having a Mormont close to his home, as the two houses kept a close relationship with each other, and the Glovers were the first beneficiaries of the Mormonts newfound success.
A while later, with a servant in tow, he set off to prepare for the melee. He wore his black and green bringandine , over his knee length gambeson, complete with pauldrons, vambraces and greaves. He also wore his latest invention, a pair of comfortable and fashionable steel toed boots. He could never bear the look of sabatons. He did not bring Longclaw, as blunted weapons were needed in order to avoid preventable deaths.
It was to be a three way battle with no particular formations, with around one hundred and fifty knights, men at arms freeriders, and other combattants on foot. Beor, for his part, decided to fight on foot, as a way to challenge himself.
He wasn't really thrilled about winning the melee itself, honestly; he reckoned he had fought enough in the past months, but sixty thousand golds is sixty thousand golds. And it wouldn't hurt to solidfy his reputation even more, all for the future business he will have to do. Westeros respected only power and the willingness to use it, so might as well enjoy the process.
So there he was, on his feet with a rather large warhammer in one hand and a shield in the other, the other knights looking at him queerly.
The king, from his high dais, bid the men good luck, before a resounding horn signaled the beginning of the dignified all out brawl.
The mounted men thundered towards one another, followed by other footmen, yelling themselves hoarse as the made their way to their opponents. Soon the first lines crashed into one another, all hells breaking loose. The neighing, the grunts of men, clanks and thuds and the occasional gasps from the spectators became the main instruments of the cacophony.
From their horses, knights were swinging blunted swords and light maces, unhorsing and smashing less talented or fortunate fighters. Footmen were using their hooked weapons to drag their mounted opponents to the grounds before mercilessly wailing on them until they submitted.
As he expected, Beor was quickly singled out. A knight with the sygil of house Mooton rode towards him, no doubt intent on braining him with his blunt sword. Beor blocked the hit as the horse came to his side, before shoulder checking the beast, sending it sprawling along with its rider. Gasps and cheers could be heard from the crowd at his display of strength.
Clotheslining another knight with a discarded lance, Beor quickly started collecting scalps. Swing, block, riposte, dodge, bash and repeat. He found himself enthralled in the battle and soon found himself in the same mental space he had been during the Rebellion, if less bloodthirsty.
He found himself kicking other soldier into another group, dropping them like bowling pins. At some point in his feverish state, he had lost his hammer, regressing to what he knew even better than swinging a weapon: Using his limbs as the weapons they were.
It was a sight to see. The young knight was a cyclone of chaos and violence, caving breastplates with punches and kicks, sending grown men flying, and once in a while picking up a discarded sword or blunt weapon to add to his bloody dance. He left stunned and groaning men in his wake, and it was long before he was giving a wide berth by the smart ones, with the young, brave and foolish trying their hand at taking the demon down.
He felt powerful and unstoppable, steel bending under his hand like tinfoil, horses toppling, and men running away in fear. It was not a feeling he was used to in his previous life, but now he felt like he was something he could get drunk on it. Was it what Tywin Lannister felt by the proxy of his house? What all those men and women were trying to make themselves feel?
Was this power?
If it were, then Beor understand its dangers, why power corrupts. If he could discard grown men like toys on a whim as he was right now, who could stop him? Nothing short of a small army, he reckon.
A blow to the back of the helmet made his whole world ring. Everything stopped, besides the dull pain still blooming at the base of his skull.
Turning towards the vermin, he saw a man, bearing the flayed man of house Bolton. The soldier, an older gent looked like he had just realized he had just made the greatest mistake of his life.
Beor looked at him, deadpan, before punching him square in the jaw, the poor man dropping like a puppet without strings. He then resumed his fight, this time , resolute to keep his head in the game and his ego in check.
An hour later, and the number of the participants was quickly dwindling. Only around forty men remained on the melee field, the rest having been put out of commission or being too hurt to continue.
Barristan Selmy, ever so gallant on his white horse, was one of them, alongside two other kingsguards, including Jaime Lannister who was starring at him as one would an interesting spot on an otherwise pristine garment..
Likewise, the Clegane brothers, Thoros of Myr, alongside a few non descript men at arms were but some of the few candidates to survive the ordeal and found themselves one step closer to glory and a boatload of money.
A lull made itself felt. All the men were looking at each other, the greener knights ragged and tired, the older ones fresher, thanka to experience.
The quiet was broken by a war cry from the Mountain, dismounting his great steed, prompting most of the others to fight on foot out of a misguided of honour.
Beor picked up a great axe from the floor and flung it from his nearest foe. The knight went airborne before hitting the ground hard, groaning.
Not missing a bit, he sweeped another one,causing him to fall in a clattering mess of steel. As he attempting to get back to his feet, he found himself with a sword to his neck.
"Yield?" Beor asked.
"Yield", the man said
" Well fought, good ser", Beor said, trying to be a good sport, and offering the man a hand.
" Is that what you call it?" he answered good humouredly at the departing form of Beor.
Joining the fray again, Beor found himself facing third white cloak participating besides Barristan and Jaime, Mandon Moore, he think his name was.
The man was tall, with the eyes of a dead fish, carrying his white shield high, his bastard sword glimmering. He did not say anything as he suddenly lounged at Beor, quick and efficient, and big step up compared to his previous competition.
He was fast, and obviously experienced, based on his quick strikes with little to no fat on them. Technique wise, he was leagues above Beor, who could only keep up thanks to his innate reaction speed. Every little twitch, every small tell was all he needed to survive till the next attack. Until the chance for an opening showed himself.
And did, soon emough. Doing something that most wouldn't, he rushed the knight, shield raised and bashed him, sendind him to the ground, and quickly taking his back and putting him in a rear naked choke, he squeezed until the knight went slack.
He let kingsguard fall the the ground. making sure he didn't break anything and that he was still breathing.
Seeing him victorious against a kingsguard, the crowd lost its collective mind, cheering for the young melee continued thus, the number of adversaries slowlt but surel thinning itself out. Barristan Selmy defeated Ser Gregor Clegane, while Thoros of Myr make quick work of Sandor, his flaming sword scaring hom witless.
Jamie Lannister was unfortunately taken out by three knights from the Reach who ganged up on him. He fought valiantly but with all his skill and talent, he could not beat the numbers and yielded.
At this point, Beor knew that besides Lord Selmy, winning the melee was nothing more than a formality. Of course, he realized now that he could still be hurt, but with the Lannister and the Cleganes gone, the only obstacle to the victory was Lord Selmy.
And this is what it came to. The last two warriors standing were him and Barristan.
He was much faster and more experience than Moore ever was. He deflected anything Beor sent his way, effectively nullifying his attempt at brute strength ing his way to victory.
But what he had in technique and experience, Beor made up for in sheer physicality and bull headedness. No matter how many time he fell or was disarm, He stood back up, never taking a step back, never giving up.
Eventually, Selmy started to slow down, and even then, the famed knight never faltered either.
Finally, the older man tripped and Beor seized the moment. He caught his sword arm, and squeezzed hard, forcing him to drop his sword.
Both men fell to the ground, haggard and dog tired, wrestling for dominance
"I yield, my lord" said Selmy after a while, wheezing and laughing, as if he had been told the best joke in the world.
" You really are the best knight of the Seven Kingdoms", Beor responded, offering a hand to graying knight.
Beor lifted both their hands in the show of good sportsmanship, earning deafening cheers, the crowd losing its collective mind.
"Well fought, my lord." Barristan said, dipping his head to Beor, in respect.
"And you, Lord Selmy, you have to be the most magnificent knight I've ever had the chance to lay my eyes on."
Are you sure you are one and ten, Lord Mormont? You fight like a man grown, nay, a demon grown." piped up the nearby Thoros of Myr, ambling towards them, favouring his right hip.
Beor audibly laughing at that, " I'm afraid so, my lord, I will celebrate my twelth nameday in two months time."
"They breed you strong in the North", said Selmy, with mirth in his voice.
The Mormont scoffed at that, " They do, yes, but brute strength can only carry one so far. You had been pulling your punches against me, back there, I know it."
Barristan had the courtesy to look sheepish, avoiding the gaze of Beor.
" I think it's high time for the young folk to start making their mark in the world. And what else can I do, then usher a new legend into existence?, he said, winking.
"Lord Selmy..."
"None of it, Beor. You won this by the sweat of your brow and the strength of your arm. Don't you ever forget that." he finished, climbing on the horse that a squire brought to him.
"I expect great things from you, lord Beor of Sea Dragon Point" before trotting away, leaving a confused and tired Beor, standing in the muddy ground.
With all pomp and fanfare, he recieved his sixty thousands gold coins, with Selmy getting half of that, as the runner up.
The tourney continued on, with great success, bringing honour to house Lannister, but having accomplished all that he needed to accomplish, Beor couldn't help but turn his gaze North, to his Bear Island.
He saw Tyrion walking towards him, quiet and sullen.
"How did you know, Beor?"
"Hmm?" Beor said, confused.
"About Tysha! How did you know?" He said with gritted teeth, attempting to control his emotions.
"Is that really important?" Beor asked turning to look at the harbour, the cool breeze of the evening making his hair, which he had been keeping longer, flutter about.
"I suppose not", the diminutive man, answered after a moment.
"What did he say?" Beor asked, looking back at his friend.
"The same thing he had told me all those times before. But I could see it in his eyes. He was lying about something. I don't know what it is, but he's keeping something away from me."
Beor hummed at that, crossing his arms. " It is not my place to say. Seek her out, Tyrion. Figure out what happenes for yourself, instead of believing someone who might lie to you out of love... or otherwise.
And when you've done that, you shall decide who owns your life, you, or those who yearn to see you be the spiteful creature they wish you to be.
If the fancy strikes you, you might even visit me at Bear Island or Sea Dragon Point. My door will always be open for you, my friend." he finished, smiling down at Tyrion, who was looking at him with shiny eyes.
Kneeling, Beor opened his arms, inviting his friend a hug. Hesitantly, Tyrion accepted, burying his face in his friend's tunic, sniffling.
"Will there be whores at Sea Dragon Point? I like whores." he said, chuckling, tears trailing down his cheeks.
"I know, my friend. Trust me, I know." Beor answered laughing, with unshed tears in his eyes.
They let each other go, comfortable in the companionable silence, before Tyrion said, "You did not answer the question, Mormont."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Lannister!" Exclaimed Beor in mock exasperation, illiciting laughter from the two friends.
There it is, the Greyjoy arc is over. There will be a timeskip in the the next chapter to show the progress of Beor in both Bear Island and Sea Dragon point.
Kid's a legend now, pretty much. I also tried to portray Selmy as the badass he is meant to be, dragging our MC in the deepest waters to see what he was made of.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, which is the longest to date.
Leave comments and favourite or whatever else you do on here, lol.
Sorry for typos