14 - A Family Talk

14 - A Family Talk 

-272 A.C-

-???-

The mystery knight, no, the boy who had beaten him lost consciousness after he had announced his defeat. It was unbelievable. He hadn't lost to a real knight, not even a sellsword, but a mere boy. His throbbing head turned to the other man that was sitting next to him and he bit out his next question.

"Hoster, who is that boy?" Before the Lord of the Riverlands could answer, he had already lifted his hand, silencing him. It probably wasn't a wise choice to provoke a Lord Paramount, but he needed to know.

"I know that he is the squire who managed to win the squire's melee." He wasn't dumb, as often as his mother might claim that he was, and now that the red-haired boy had been unmasked, he could spot the similarities between them. Both of them had been around the same height and build and both of them had refused to take off their helmets.

"So I ask you again, Lord Hoster, who is the boy?" The lord next to him clenched his teeth, but then sighed and answered.

"He is a bastard, Brynden's bastard." The words seemed to freeze the other lords as well, and soon enough all of the other Lord Paramounts had gathered around Hoster. Not him though, his thoughts were elsewhere.

'I have been beaten by a bastard. And that while it wasn't even a fair fight.' He did remember how some of the knights had tried to protect him, to intervene in the best duel he had in years, and failed to defeat the bastard too. He did remember how his mace smashed into the knee of his opponent, something that would have immediately taken out any normal man, but the boy had somehow held on and managed to defeat him, though in quite an unconventional way.

He still felt how his head hurt and ached, but from what he had seen from the boy's other fights, he had gotten away quite well. More than one of the enemies the boy faced had broken bones and Ser Amory Lorch had multiple broken ribs. It was a miracle that the man still lived.

"Lord Hoster, did you truly think that a bastard son shouldn't be mentioned?! Do you know what can fucking happen when a bastard gets the taste of power?" Lord Blackwood's voice was the loudest and the man seemed to be almost raving.

"He is right, we should have been informed. Or do you truly think that you title of Lord Paramount will truly make you immune to any rules, Hoster?" A noble belonging to House Frey said, his small eyes narrowing as he stared at Hoster Tully.

"If a Lord Paramount can just use his power the way he wants, why should we still accept him and his House as our leaders?"

"Heed your words!"

"Why should we accept a Lord Paramount that is too weak to control his own brother from fucking a whore? What can such a House truly offer?"

"I shall not accept this!" Hoster's voice brought him back to reality and he saw how the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands stood up, his blue eyes matching those of Lord Steffon when he was angry.

"You shall not dare to threaten me and my House, otherwise the rest of the Riverlands will make you bleed." The words seemed to reach even King Aerys, who turned around and stared at the lords that had formed a circle.

"No war should erupt just for one bastard and an ill-used word, Hoster." The king's icy voice said, the wine goblet in his hand visible.

'King Aerys can become quite sharp-tongued if he drinks too much.' He thought and then raised his arm, wanting to add something to the King's words.

"Our king is, as always, right. No war between the regions should break out because of a bastard, Hoster. However, I do have to admit that I was a bit too harsh and abrupt with my words, I apologize." The eyes of the older lord narrowed, but he accepted the apology with a curt nod and then stood up, his eyes focused on King Aerys.

"I have to leave, your Grace. My brother most likely needs me now." The king nodded and dismissed the lord with a lazy wave of his hand. When the older lord had left, the other lords had begun to calm down, but he hadn't stopped thinking.

'I have been beaten by a bastard, but there might still be a chance to save my reputation.' He looked over to a knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan, and smiled as a plan began to grow in his head.

'Everyone knows that Ser Barristan perhaps never would have gotten the chance to be a knight if it hadn't been for someone that would help his reputation grow.' He was sure of it, the boy that had beaten him today would become a great, strong knight of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even someone on the level of the Kingsguard.

'And if one would help him do his first step into a legendary knighthood, who would also be remembered as a great figure?' His smile reached its peak and he stood up before he walked over to the king's throne.

"Your Grace?" The king turned around, his purple staring into his very soul.

"Speak." But still, he had gotten a chance.

"May I propose what we could give Hoster's bastard along with the second prize of the melee?" The king's eyes were suspicious at first, but when he heard his idea, he smiled, a strange glimmer in his eyes, and inclined his head.

"You are quite crafty if you want to. So be it, I shall grant you this wish, my lord." He bowed slightly and thanked the king before he returned to his chair. His mother didn't seem to be very fond of what he had done, and he saw how her narrowed eyes stared at him.

"What are you doing?" I smiled at her and laughed before he whispered into her ear.

"Creating a legend." After he had said those words he once again made himself comfortable in the chair, silently thinking about what the boy had supposedly told his servants.

'You fought well Rose Lord, really fucking well.'

He chuckled and smiled once again. 'Rose Lord, it was without a doubt a good title for him.

*****

I was once again on the strange, black water-like substance I had been in my dreams, but now something was different. The green rune I had seen and grabbed during my fight with the cowardly knight now lay beneath me, its word, Healing, on full display.

I kneeled and carefully touched the rune. The surface was warm and almost reminded me of a hot water bottle that I used in my past life. The warmth was comforting and calming, perhaps in a way a friendly embrace would be. But it was dull, so unlike when I had caught it in the arena.

"Healing" I murmured and let my hand trace over the beautiful rune in front of me.

'What secrets can I uncover with you?'

My finger lightly tapped the surface of the rune, and I heard a beautiful sound, almost as if my hammer was striking the anvil during a longer working project. The rune's colors became a bit more radiant and brighter when the sound had ended. I smiled and my finger went further down the rune, when I thought that I had found a "right" point, I tapped the surface of the rune again and it once again emitted a sound, though this time it was too high-pitched as if I had hit metal that had been stretched too thinly. My rough fingers glided further along the path of the rune and I tapped again, this time once again hearing the beautiful, right sound. The rune lit up once again, and I felt how the warmth increased slightly.

By now it had almost regained the same amount of brightness as when I had seen it in the arena, but something within me just screamed to continue, to look for yet another right spot. Something told me that I wasn't done yet, so I continued my search, both of my hands sliding across the smooth surface of the rune beneath me. Every time my finger hovered over a wrong spot and touched it, the sound was different than before, and I continued on my search. Until the index finger of my left hand finally tipped the right spot.

The sound that followed once again was different from the two before. Instead of the high-pitched sound or the sound of a hammer hitting metal, I heard a sound akin to when I normally quenched the blade in water.

The rune returned to its full radiance, and the warmth beneath me once again rose. I felt how I was once again being submerged in the black water, but now the place wasn't empty anymore.

The green rune shone beneath me as I was dragged into the water, and I smiled slightly as I lost consciousness.

*****

When my eyes opened I didn't see the blue sky or the ground of the arena, but instead the ceiling of a tent. I had been stripped of all my armor and wore nothing except for my undergarments.

"Ah, you finally are awake." I turned my head in the direction of the voice and saw an older man with a long chain around his neck.

"What?" I asked, my throat dry.

"Don't you remember? Lord Brynden brought you here after you lost to him in the melee."

'Oh.'

"I do remember," I said, and sat up with a loud groan, prompting the Maester to run over to me and try to push me back down. I didn't budge. Even in my weakened state, I was still stronger than the scholar.

"You should rest, your knee is still badly hurt." I looked down and whistled as I saw what he meant. The knee had swollen to an extreme size and looked like someone had taken a hammer and continuously hit it. Strangely enough, I didn't feel a thing, except for a bit of stinging. However, I did feel a gigantic headache that seemed to nearly split my skull.

"Can't I just take some kind of staff and use it as a support?" I asked and the Maester looked ready to slap me. He shook his head, a serious frown on his face.

"Out of question! If you move it too much you might receive permanent damage." He sighed as he walked over to the table and picked up a bowl filled with a white, milk-like substance.

"Here, drink this." He passed the bowl to me and at my confused expression, he sighed and pointed at the liquid.

"It's milk of the poppy. It will help with the pain." I nodded slightly and took a sip from the bowl, drinking the strange substance without any complaints.

"What about Ser Brynden?" The Maester stared at me for a few moments but then sighed before getting closer to bandage my knee.

"Ser Brynden has left to speak with his brother, Lord Hoster. I think it concerns you and your participation in the tourney." I let out a sigh and groaned.

'Shit.'

"What about the other participants? Are they alright?" I asked the older man, wanting to change the topic.

"Well, while it was a brutal melee, it wasn't a deadly one, for nobody. Though I'd dare to say that you managed to severely injure Ser Amory. The man most likely won't be able to walk for a few months. Also, the other knights that you hit with that huge mace of yours didn't get away unscathed." My eyes widened at the Maester's words and I couldn't help but chuckle slightly.

"Ser Amory was the last enemy that I faced before Ser Brynden, wasn't he?" The Maester nodded, before tying the bandage around my knee.

"Indeed he was. Though from what I heard Lord Jeor wanted to visit you after the melee was over. He still hasn't arrived here, however."

"How long was I unconscious, Maester?" I asked, silently praying that it hadn't been too long. He turned to me once again and smiled before he turned back to a tube where he was grinding some kind of leaves into a paste.

"You are a very sturdy boy. Your unconsciousness lasted perhaps half an hour, maybe even less. I rarely see someone recover as fast as you did." He walked over to me and began to apply the paste to my itching nose, and my back.

"Don't worry, this is just supposed to let the wounds heal faster. You were fortunate enough to not break something, though you nearly did." The old Maester said and then continued to apply the paste across my body. When he was done he set the tube down and looked at his work before nodding, apparently satisfied with himself. Before he could continue his treatment, however, someone entered the tent. Contrary to my expectations it wasn't Lord Hoster or Brynden, but instead, Ser Desmond who looked like he was going to explode. He seized me by my shoulders and shook me with all of his strength.

"You stupid fool! What were you thinking? A boy of twelve name-days taking part in a melee?! Have you gone completely mad?" His shaking wasn't helping my headache and the Maester didn't seem to be pleased either.

"S-ser Desmond, stay away from the boy, he requires medical attention!" Desmond let go of me and let out a deep breath.

"This is my fault. I should have been watching over you, damn it." The older knight said.

"Ser, it was my own decision. You can't be blamed." I said, and Desmond sighed.

"I am, but you are right. It was your decision, and you will have to justify yourself in front of your family."

'Oh no.'

And as if Ser Desmond's words had summoned them, both Hoster Tully and Brynden Tully entered the tent, and their eyes bore into mine.

I took a deep breath and then put on the biggest smile I could muster and tried to bow before the two older men as they entered the tent.

"My lords I-" Before I could come up with a good thing to say, Hoster had slapped me. He had done so with no real force. The slap wasn't supposed to hurt. The highborn stared at me and spoke, his voice calm but cold.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened?" The lord was silent, most likely waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry my lord, I wasn't think-"

"Of course you weren't, you dumb child!" Hoster yelled and I cringed slightly as the head of House Tully got closer to me, his cold eyes still staring at me.

"There were many young men like you! Very few were as big and strong, but there were plenty enough with a big dream, with ambition. You know what happened to them, Donar?" I looked into Hoster's eyes, refusing to back down now.

"They grew into legends, like Barristan Selmy and Duncan the Tall." Hoster let out a mock laugh at my comment and then gripped my shoulder.

"And how many dead boys do you have to count until you can count one Barristan among them, one Duncan the Tall?! Let me tell you boy, the number goes far beyond what you can imagine!" His words were loud, but at the same time carried a large amount of pain in them.

"What of Catelyn and Lysa? What should I tell them if you had taken a blow to the head and not gotten up anymore? Should I have told them that their cousin died because he wanted to gain fame? Do you want that, Donar?" Hoster's next words sounded tired, and he looked me in the eyes. What I saw weren't the eyes of Lord Paramount, not even as a highborn, but as a worried family man.

My eyes, which had remained rebellious throughout his prior speech now were directed at the ground, and my voice had become lower.

"I am sorry, Uncle Hoster." The older man nodded and then stepped back to let Brynden forward. The man seemed to be torn between congratulating me and berating me, but after a few moments, it seemed like he had made up his mind.

"I'm proud of you, I am. You surpassed all of my expectations as a student, and a teacher could hardly be prouder." He was silent, but then grabbed my shoulder and looked at me.

"But as a father, I can't be happy about the decision you made. You practically threw your life away, and for what? A bit of gold and renown?" He took his hand off my shoulder, closed his eyes, and crossed his arms before he took a deep breath and once again looked at me.

"And as a father, I also can't allow you, my only son, to participate in melees of such size any time soon." I sighed but nodded.

"I understand." Hoster seemed to doubt it and sighed before he spoke.

"I hope you do because you are not going to partake in any kind of tourney for a while." He crossed his arms and pointed at my knee.

"You will recover from your injuries and you will learn that your actions have consequences. Until now you have managed to break through anything with brute force, well no more." Before I could speak up to defend myself Hoster had raised his hand, silencing me once again.

"Whatever you say, I don't want to hear it. Your training in Riverrun shall continue, it shall be taken even more seriously in fact, and your education shall not take a backseat. Your work in the forge will continue and you will be allowed to start making weapons of castle-forged steel." Hoster stopped for a few seconds, giving me time to digest his words. They weren't punishments, at least to me.

"But, you shall not be allowed to participate in tourneys until either I or your father say so. If you do, you will be thrown out of Riverrun faster than Lord Frey can find a new wife."

'Ah, that is a punishment.' Not being allowed to partake in any tourneys would severely limit my ability to gain fame and renown fast, something that I had planned from the beginning. However, not everything was lost just because I couldn't take part in a normal tourney anymore.

"Lord Hoster, may I at least have permission to accompany you on your travels around the Riverlands in the future? It would serve as a good experience for me to know the various lords that serve beneath you." Hoster's eyes narrowed, but then I could hear how a sigh escaped him.

"We shall see if you will, boy. But at first, we will return to Riverrun, and there you are going to recover and do your duties as the apprentice of a blacksmith and the squire of Ser Brynden. Those are your duties, and if you prove yourself to be capable of them, I shall grant you more leeway." I nodded at Hoster's words and inclined my head.

"Thank you, my lord, I shall make sure that I do." Hoster gave a noise of acknowledgment and then turned around, motioning Brynden to follow him.

"Good, now rest and recover. You are going to need it at the feast tomorrow."

"Feast?" Brynden nodded before he smiled slightly.

"After the archery and axe-throwing, we will have to participate in the king's feast. Only highborns and those who won a few prizes are allowed to partake, so you should feel honored. Another reason is because you will receive your rewards there, seen as you can't walk into the arena in your current state." I nodded and laid back down as the old Maester tried to push me down once again.

"I will make sure that I'm recovered as soon as possible."

"I hope you do," Brynden said with a small smile and left the tent, leaving me alone with the old Maester, who now was beginning to work on my nose.

"You said it wasn't broken."

"I did, but that doesn't mean that I don't have to put your nose back into position. Or do you want to live with a misplaced nose for the rest of your life?"

"Put it back into place then." I sighed and felt how he gripped my nose and quickly snapped it around. A pop could be heard and I felt the pain even in my dazed state.

'Ouch.'

*****

The next few hours were uneventful and passed without any problems. The Maester had left the tent to tend to other wounded fighters, and I was left alone. At least I was alone until a familiar large boy suddenly entered the tent, his eyes immediately falling on me.

"There you are!" He yelled and stomped closer to me, his face unreadable.

"Tybolt." I acknowledged his presence with a nod and the older squire looked at me.

"You're crazy, you know that?" I internally sighed, readying myself for yet another person who would berate me.

"Look, I know it was foolish of me to participate in the normal melee, but I didn't die alright?" Tybolt stared at me and began to chuckle slightly.

"Of course, I know how crazy you are, but shit, you showed some of those knights." He grabbed a chair and made himself comfortable, smiling as he did so.

"So, you won't berate me?" Tybolt raised an eyebrow and then shrugged.

"It's not my place to say something to you, and besides, from what you just said it seems like already have gotten more than an ear-full." I nodded but didn't elaborate further.

"Alright, now...how did it feel to fight against Lord Tyrell?" He asked after a few moments, a large smile on his face.

"That was Mace Tyrell, wasn't it?" At Tybolt's nod, I groaned and rubbed my forehead.

"I fucked up. You just don't fight a Lord Paramount like that." Tybolt chuckled and gave me a light pat on the shoulder.

"Come on now, Lord Mace might be the Lord Paramount that would have the least problem with you sending him in the ground. And besides, you gave him no real injuries, as opposed to what you did with some of the other fighters." I cringed slightly and looked at the padded mace that leaned against a table in the tent.

"Oh yeah, you didn't see them. Well, most of the ones that you hit had injuries, pretty serious ones too. They had to cut someone out of his helmet because you crushed it with that weapon of yours." Tybolt shuddered.

"Your strength's scary. And I have to admit that I'm happy that you didn't use that mace in the squire's melee, otherwise, there might have been a few deaths." I nodded and looked at the ground. The amount of damage I could have caused would have been immense. Ser Desmond had been right about that at least.

"And, what of my overall performance? Was I a good entertainment?"

"You were great. Most of the spectators were rooting for you after you managed to beat Lord Mormont, though some disagreed with your methods of doing so." Tybolt smiled and gave me a light slap on the shoulder.

"You should have seen the number of women who cried out for you when you faced Ser Brynden. One even lost consciousness when he took off your helmet. You've got a pretty face." Tybolt was silent after he said those words, and then pointed at my nose.

"Oh shut up." I quickly jabbed him with my elbow, stopping the laughter that threatened to spill from his throat.

"But thanks for the compliment, you ass," I said and rolled my eyes as the older squire tried to recover from the blow.

"Anyway, how did your father take his loss?" I hadn't yet met the current Lord of Crakehall, but he had been a fierce fighter in the melee. Tybolt shrugged and clicked his tongue.

"He didn't mind losing to your father, though he did mind that he only got third place."

"Everyone knows that Brynden is my father then?" Tybolt rolled his eyes and leaned back.

"No, they just assumed that your red hair, blue eyes, and other Tully characteristics fell from the sky. Of course they do, Donar. And the fact that Brynden seemed to know and care about you was also a reason why." The older squire said as he picked his teeth, spitting out a piece of meat when he was finished.

"That's gross."

"Yeah, it is." He agreed and then cleared his throat to change the subject.

"Anyway, are you going to bet on someone in the last two competitions?" I shook my head and shrugged.

"Have no real reason to. I know Barristan and Dayne, but I have no clue who will participate in the other competitions." I said and stood up once again before I looked at Tybolt.

"You mind fetching me a few things from my tent? I want to go to the fresh air." The older squire raised one of his eyebrows and pointed at my still-swollen knee.

"Shouldn't you rest that?"

"Of course, I should, that's why you are going to help me with the walking part. Not long of course, just outside of this tent on a tree stump or something." Tybolt snorted and turned around to leave the tent, but threw one last snide remark before he left.

"Alright, I'll fetch them. Just hope that the wind is blowing in the right direction, otherwise, you'll get a nose full of the famous "Shit's Landing" air." He chuckled and left the tent, leaving me alone for a short while to wait for his return. My eyes observed all of my surroundings until they landed on the quill and ink that stood on the table a few feet away from me. I carefully got off the bed, making sure that my hurt leg wasn't touching the ground, and slowly hobbled over to the desk, where I seized a piece of parchment and took the quill before I began to draw. The lines were simplistic, but at the same time alien to the normal eye, but my hand moved automatically as if it knew what it had to do.

The quill stopped after a few minutes and I looked at my drawing. The runic symbol for Healing was in front of me, and I knew what kind of project I would tackle when I returned to Riverrun. Something within me yearned for it already, and a smile made its way into my face.

'This will be great.'

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AN: Alright, the next chapter should end this tourney arc and from there on they will return to Riverrun, and the MC will restart his smithing and inventing. Hope you still enjoyed this chapter, as different from the previous one it was.