chapter 9 archery contest

As I sit in my tent, getting my bow and arrows ready, my father steps inside and takes a seat at my desk.

"What's your game, boy?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Why do you ask?" I respond, keeping my focus on my arrows.

"Because I know you care for me, but that show earlier wasn't just for my benefit. You're planning something."

I glance at him with a grin. "Maybe, maybe."

He sighs, leaning back. "I hope you know what you're doing. That fat tub of lard, might seem like a joke now, but don't forget he brought a 300-year-old dynasty to its knees and the crown on his head."

"I'm not underestimating him, father. But let's be honest—he hasn't fought anything harder than a plate of food in years."

"Still," my father warns, "he's dangerous. An incompetent king maybe, but once, a great warrior. That's why he's still king."

I give him a nod of acknowledgment. "I know. Now, go place the bets as we planned."

"Yes, yes. After I finish this drink," he says, reaching for a pitcher of red arbor wine.

Before he can pour himself a drink, I grab the pitcher and spill its contents on the floor.

"Seems it's empty," I say casually.

He scowls, but relents, standing up. "So it seems," he mutters and heads out to follow the plan. He's off to find merchants and nobles to place bets on me, all of them confident that they know who'll win but my father chooses me thinking I'll win every round—and I will.

---

The first round of the archery tournament wasn't much to talk about. Fifty contestants—most of them nobodies. Some bastards and commoners, a few with real skill by the look in their eyes and their rough callous hands that are proof that they actually train, but no one I worried about. We were grouped into teams of ten.

At fifteen feet, I easily pierced the bullseye. The crowd erupted into cheers, but I stayed calm. Out of the group, only two other hit the center like I did, while the rest missed or barely grazed the target. Thirteen were disqualified in all, leaving thirty-seven of us.

Next target, thirty feet. Again, I hit the bullseye, as did the two archers beside me. The others, barely hitting the outer rings, were dropped from the competition. Down to twelve that came from the other groups.

At forty-five feet, the same result. I, along with the two better shots, hit the bullseye. Only six others passed.

Sixty feet now. Me and the other two found the bullseye again. The rest failed. Three of us remained, and the final target was eighty feet.

The first man shot and barely hit the outer rim. Also hit the outer rim but a little closer to the center. I hit dead center once again, claiming victory what a boring event i think to myself.

---

After the tournament, I invited the two remaining competitors to my tent. As they entered, I offered them drinks. "So, what are your names?"

The first, a Dornishman with olive skin and a roguish look, answered first. "I am David Sand, a bastard."

The other, a Northman with a rugged build, followed. "Tom Snow, also a bastard."

"Well, I'm Caesar Hill, son of Tyrion Lannister," I said with a grin. Their eyes widened. "I assume you've heard of me?"

Tom nodded. "Aye. You're the one who's been slaughtering bandits and feeding the poor. They call you the Bloody Giant."

I smirked. "The stories are true."

David spoke up next. "I came here looking for a cause to fight for. A lord, maybe, who can lead me to glory."

Tom nodded in agreement. "Same here. I was kicked out of my father's house and have nowhere else to turn."

"Well, I'm no lord yet, but I will be. You both want a banner to fight under? Swear loyalty to me, and you'll have it."

They exchanged glances before drawing their swords—not in threat, but in allegiance. They knelt and swore their loyalty.

"Good," I said, handing them each a cup of wine. "Drink. This is the first of my many victories to come that you shall witness."

They both hesitated. "And you, my lord? Won't you drink with us?"

I grinned. "I'm only eight namedays old. Water will do for me."

Their jaws dropped, stunned by my revelation. "Eight?" Tom whispered.

"Aye. My father lay with a northern woman of giant's blood."

Tom's eyes widened further. "You're half-northman?"

"Aye, and proud of it," I said, laughing. We drank, and I listened as they shared their stories—David, hoping to become a knight and found his own house, and Tom, seeking revenge and purpose after being cast aside by his father's wife and his father turning his back on him choosing his new wife.

Before they left, I gave them each ten gold dragons and instructed them to meet me at the Red Keep.

---

An hour later, my father returned with a chest full of gold, accompanied by four men who helped carry it.

"Leave us," he ordered, and they obeyed.

"How much did we make?" I asked.

He smiled, the kind of grin that ran in the family. "Besides the ten thousand we had? Twenty thousand more."

I grinned back, just as vicious. "Well done, father."

"Of course," he said, pouring us both a drink, but I could see the glint in his eye. He knew this was only the beginning of the richest to come and he wanted more.