Roaring Heart

POV: Cersei

Royal Shores

Shortly after, a master and a pupil joined forces...

*****

A total debacle...

Weeks of preparations were thrown into the latrine. That useless sack of meat Amory Lorch had served no good purpose, and Ser Gregor, though he had come close, had failed to bring down the threat.

The bloody Giant of House Umber had given her knight a run for his money until the end, even managing to drag the Mountain with him out of the arena...

At least, Jon Umber had been badly injured by the scuffle, paying the toll of an eye for his crimes against House Lannister. In a fit of fury, Gregor had crushed him like a grape as the two armoured giants continued to pound each other to the ground. The Giant Umber's screams of pain thundered throughout the arena. Still, despite the copious bleeding hole in his face, the Northern barbarian continued to strike back until ten men managed to separate the two...

The men from the North were simply Crazy-Bloods. During this second run, Cersei counted at least seven, if not 'eight' deaths from the proven end. The maimings, fractures or lost limbs were simply too many to count. Many squires or attendants, tasked with dragging and securing the contestants to safety, gave off their stomachs or even lost consciousness in the middle of the arena, thus requiring twice the manpower for the job. One had even witnessed the pitiful spectacle of a squire of House Leygood who squatted down on the sand and began to cry like a baby, invoking his mother's help and mercy... The boy had failed to keep his nerves in check as he tried to drag his lord away with his leg bent into a hook and his bones sticking out.

At least a third of the contestants would not have been able to participate in the joust. Of course, at every melee of any tournament, 'accidents' happened, but this was simply a massacre!

Barrels of blood had been offered in tribute in the name of Lord and Lady Mormont.

Even Jaime's... her poor Jaime's. That coward Tallhart had defeated her brave and valiant lover by deception, impropriety of numbers and sorcery. The Golden Lion, The Sword of The West, was the only one who had cornered Bloody Snow.

'Tzs... First, they surrounded him, attacked him from behind, and finally hit him with magic to bring him down! Oh, Jaime... My love, what have they done to you? I swear the bastard will pay for this.' Cersei promised herself inwardly as she tried to scrutinize signs of her twin unconscious and severely wounded and, moments earlier, rushed in on a stretcher by a squadron of attendants and healers.

Cersei had seen him. The whole arena had witnessed the final skirmish between Bloody Snow and The Sword of The West... Amidst the hundreds of swings, acrobatics, and clangors of steel, that demon-child's final slash, which shattered the lion's steel and knocked her Jaime out at the temple, was light green... A dazzling rip in the sky. Sorcery!

And if that were not enough, that Red Hedge Knight, blatantly in cahoots with the Demon Bastard, had also entered the picture...

"My Lords and Ladies! I present to you the winner of the fray...! Ser Syggha of the Long Summer!!!" The Red Knight slipped off his helmet and allowed the judge to raise his sword arm.

The female features of the face were distinct, even from that long distance.

"It's a woman!" Roared Cersei in indignation and bewilderment. A woman had stood up to her brother Jaime! A woman! And what's more, the judge had acclaimed her with the title "Ser"!

Cersei pointed her eyes filled with anger at her husband. Robert could not help but greet the look with a semblance of seriousness.

"She is, my Queen." Eddard Stark replied in a calm but slightly uncomfortable tone.

"...A woman, Ned? A woman knight?" Robert did not seem entirely out of his senses by the grace of the seven. Even the king appeared to demonstrate a tone of displeasure at the question. Cersei did not miss the precious opportunity.

"Yes, Lord Stark... Do the North and the Old Gods also recognize women as 'Green Knights'? I highly doubt that any Septon has anointed and blessed a nameless woman as a knight of the seven! Do you know the repercussions such an outrage will bring to the crown?" The king let the lioness' rant pass, maintaining a look of doubt directed at his friend.

"The Old Gods do not preclude women from knighthood, my Queen. Nor does the North repudiate women who choose the path of steel over that of silk. For generations for the Mormonts, the Umbers, and as for many mountain clans, many Northern daughters have been taught how to hunt and survive during winter and how to defend themselves against Iron Island raiders and Wildlings from childhood onward. Beyond the Wall, to this day, Spearwives exist and are still widespread: Women recognized by all free folks as warriors..."

"Lady Syggha is not from the North." An unexpected surprise, help came from Lord Eddard's consort, Lady Catelyn Stark. The newly interrupted Lord of Winterfell briefly turned toward his wife's unyielding gaze of "Integer-Servant-of-Truth," and then admitted, "No. Lady Syggha is not from the North but has sworn allegiance to one of my bannermen and, by extension, to Winterfell and the Crown."

"And to what Household, your bishop, would she have sworn loyalty? And why does the name of origin belong to an uninhabited region of Valyria? "Did 'Ser' Syggha swear her sword to House Baratheon or Targaryen, my lord?" Tyrion was not the only one at Casterly Rock who heeded Maester Volarick's lessons.

'The wolf is in trouble!' Snatching this victory from the flesh of a northern dog, thus having a way to vent all the fury and discontent he had accumulated in the last hour, gave the lioness a watering in her jaws too sublime to be ignored.

"House Tallhart, my Queen--and, no. As far as she knows, Ser Syggha does not fight or have demonstrations against House Targaryen. She chose that name solely because that is where she was born: in a caravan that was on the Demon Road near Long Summer. Here in Westeros, it is a common custom that any Hedge Knight without a name or land is free to choose a name that represents him...

Moreover, Ser Syggha is not a knight devoted to the cult of the New or Old Gods. She is a knight of a forgotten order, older than the Empire of Valyria: A Knight of Love." Both the lioness, the deer and the trout were caught off guard by the wolf's words.

"Pff, a 'Knight of Love,' Lord Stark? Is this a new story written by the famous bard of Torrhen's Square? And you think for your king this is a sufficient answer? Not even in children's fairy tales has ever been a rumour of Knights-Of-Love." Cersei sneered at her counterpart sonorously.

"In history lessons or 'children's fairy tales,' had my Queen ever heard of the order of the Green Knights, defenders of Beauty, before coming here to the North...?" Though in a minor tone, the Lord of Winterfell's words were imbued with the same insolence. Cersei gnashed her teeth.

'You will pay for this affront too, Quiet Wolf! Torrhen's Square and Winterfell will fall to pieces!' The lioness did not give up.

"Nonetheless, as welcome as the words of a noble member of House Stark are to the entire continent, the Crown needs historical documents and well-established evidence before it can even 'consider' the destabilizing and confusing advent of a third order of Knights, my lords... Evidence and documentation should be provided by the maesters of Oldtown and not by lords of the North." Countered the Queen, maintaining authority and restraint.

"Hold back the sceptre, woman! You too, Ned. That's enough of that. Don't ruin the show for me with bickering about paperwork and politics...!" The fat deer intervened, casting an annoyed look more at the lioness than the wolf.

"I beg pardon of the King and Queen, Your Graces..." replied the wolf, bowing his head in apology.

Cersei was not ready to give in, but Robert anticipated her, "Woman or not, Ser Syggha loyally defeated 'Ser-Barristan-Fucking-Selmy,' the greatest knight of his time. This is enough to make anyone a worthy knight: dogs, cats or pigs. End of story."

'Tsz...! If I had been given a sword in my hand as a child instead of needle and thread, I would have beaten the old man too.' But this the Queen kept to herself.

"And of the reprehensible conduct of Ser Duncan Tallhart, perpetrated against the honoured and respectable members of the Royal Guard, my king? Did not the cries of the valiant Knight of Beauty ordering one of his men to attack Ser Barristan from behind reach his Majesty's ears? The boy even encouraged disloyal actions against my Household. A personal reprisal against House Lannister. Against members of the royal family, your family." Bloody Snow was not going to get away with this. Not this time.

"The boy and all accomplices involved have been disqualified from the race. Sufficient justice has been done." Robert.

"My brother has been seriously injured! The blood that runs through your children's veins has been spilt!" The image of Jaime spitting out copious mouthfuls of blood in the last exchanges remained well etched in Cersei's mind.

"Not even the Royal Family is immune to spilling drops of blood in a bloody storm of steel. Ser Jaime knew the risks, and I'm sure the best healers and maesters in the North are taking egregious care of your brother, my Queen. Is that not so, Ned?" Robert.

"It is so, Your Grace. Ser Jaime will receive the best care the North offers." The Lord of Winterfell replied.

"Ser Jaime would not need such treatment if Ser Duncan Tallhart had not violated any semblance of honour and decorum in this contest, Your Grace." A second aid came.

"Cat...!" Dazzled Lord Eddard.

"It is the truth, Ned." Cersei began to pick up on the signs of enmity Catelyn Stark felt toward the Bastard of the North.

'Of course. She is a mother, too, after all. And she, like me, fears for her son's future... Interesting!'

"Phew! Let the New and Olds spare me... Listen carefully, woman. I'm addressing both ladies here! 'That' was a real melee. A representation of a battlefield worthy of its name! Have you ever witnessed a real battle, my Queen? Have you, my Lady Stark?"

"No, your Grace..." Lady Catelyn replied, taken aback.

"That honour and virtue crap between gendarmes does not exist in battle! Men kill other men with any sharp, pointed or blunt instrument. With teeth and nails if necessary! Iron, wood, stone, rags, hands or feet! I have seen the seven's most virtuous and credulous knights die in the most horrible and indescribable ways. Knights were unhorsed and stabbed to death by groups of villagers. Villagers were used as a wall of flesh to protect 'fearless' knights from the first enemy charge.

I saw a flag-bearing boy strangle an archer with the very flag that symbolized the honour of his household! A knight crushed the skull of a lesser lord with a branch, attacking him from behind. Another who tried to rip a man's jaw off with his bare hands...! And all those survivors, tainted by the most abject deeds, are called 'Heroes of the Kingdom' to this day! Shall I go on?!" Lioness and Trout were shushed. Cersei rose from her throne, maintaining decorum and dignity.

"With your permission, my King. My family needs me. I am sure my father will want to hear the King's opinion from me in this matter."

"Ah! Yes, yes, run along to your father, my Queen." The King sipped cheerfully from the chalice of victory.

"Lady Stark-would you be pleased to accompany me? I could never leave a woman alone with these two...Battlefield Men." Proposed the Queen.

"It would be my honour, Your Grace." Replied her possible future ally with a complicit smile.

******

End POV.

---------------

POV: The Watcher

In a medical tent set up near the Godswood.

About an hour after, a Lioness and a Trout walked away from their respective husbands...

****

"How much time do we have left?" Asked the Guardian to his trusted sworn shield.

"Another hour at most before the Lord of Casterly Rock learns that his son is not where he should be, Master. From that point on..." Ramas hesitated.

"Mm... The situation will no longer be manageable. I understand, Ramas. One hour will be enough. You and the boys have done a great job. Go ahead." Ramas took his leave of the tent with a bow. The guy had thrown all the leadership, creativity, and logistical skills he possessed into fulfilling the crazy last-minute demands of a Crazy Old Man...

At least a hundred organisation agents had been unleashed and put to work so that Ser Jaime would be transported in great secrecy into his care.

Duncan had just finished meditating and gathering his power. The boy had already cast a diagnostic spell on the body, barely clinging to life and in temporary stasis.

If the Sorcerer King had not instructed his personal healer to put the Young Lion in cryopreservation with magic, attempts to save Ser Jaime would have been in vain.

His ward's gaze overflowed with bewilderment and anxiety.

"Tell me everything. Leave nothing out." Ordered the Watcher.

"I can save him-but I cannot heal him. At best, with my skills, I could make him a cripple, but I could not even guarantee that he would be able to walk again. My magic has healing powers, not regenerative ones, Master. I have permanently damaged Ser Jaime with the first emergency cures grafted onto the field. Fractured bones have been welded into amorphous positions, and numerous layers of scarring in vital organs have formed and cannot be removed. Not with the knowledge Westeros currently possesses, at least. If Ser Qyburn were here, we would have a much more objective opinion..." The boy was beginning to lose hope.

"Continue..." Zick.

"Almost every joint is gone. Muscle fibres in the arms, legs, and back are frayed mush of jelly. Bleeding in eighteen places. Two arteries are compromised. One hundred and nine fractures, eighty-three of which are decomposed, in forty-two body bones. The vertebrae are a mess. The neck is almost broken... " The Watcher caught the anomaly that Duncan held for last " What about the heart?" The boy hesitated.

"The heart is strong. Incredibly strong. I think the organ is even resisting the freezing spell. It looks like a roaring beast in a cage, itching to get out of the chest. No...I stand corrected. It's as if..." The Guardian of Love anticipated the sentence, "As if it were calling out to someone...or something." Duncan nodded.

"What is he calling back? What is happening to Jaime, Master...?" Asked his heir.

"You will have your answers, Duncan. But not today. Please come out of the tent now and let me work. I will need maximum concentration. Stay within calling range. Before long, Ser Jaime will need your gifts again." The boy's eyes sparked with surprise.

"Can you cure him?" Duncan asked.

"Yes... I can."

----------

End POV.

****

POV: Malora Hightower

About 1,000 miles south of Barrowton. Oldtown, the basement of the Hight Tower.

While in Guardian and a Paladin confronted each other...

------

The enchantress novice continued to voraciously absorb every piece of information possible from all the texts provided to her by her father. Dozens of forbidden texts not accessible even to the best Archmaester in the citadel were scattered, in a confusing manner, over almost the entire table of the Andalus High Council.

"I don't understand... I don't understand... No! Now I get it! Eheheh..." Malora waved her fingers and whispered the arcane words. A black circle of runes materialized, and the spell was activated. An odourless but dense and voluminous curtain of shadow smoke spread in the direction she wanted, engulfing all forms of artificial light in that area.

That was the penultimate spell of the first circle for the acolyte to understand and assimilate. There was only one more to go before they could begin to try their hand at the spells of the second circle.

*Scriick... Scriick* that faint harassing noise of unknown origin came again. It was already the fourth time in the last hour.

"Where are you, you damn rat? How did you get in here?" Malora snapped to her feet. The irascible genius of House Hightower was archly annoyed by the sound of little paws walking on the glass.

The enchantress could not discern any life forms nearby. Then a stroke of inspiration came to her aid. The last spell she learned: [Agar's Mist], she could also pick up any life form within the cloud.

{"Aratumì Dohài!"} the black mist spread. In less than a minute, the whole area of thousands of square feet was enveloped in the spell. It was pitch black, but Malora could see, feeling every object in the room. Even invisible creatures would not have been able to hide but nothing. Not a single life form. Not even a shadow. "How is this possible? The spell works! So why! Why? Why? Why?!" Malora slumped to the ground, scratching her head whirlingly...

*Scriick... Scriick* "Again?! But from where?" *Scriick... Scriick*

Then, among the hundreds discarded, a hypothesis dazzled the maiden's mind. Malora immediately deactivated the spell, dispelling the cloud. She rested her ear on the floor. At the spot where a mechanism of immense arcane power held a legendary relic. 'No! It is not possible!' Terror gripped the heart of Peremore's heir.

The Mad Maid urgently activated the mechanism button concealed under the armrest of the dragon glass pew. Devices and counterweights were set in motion, and a crystal shrine rose from the ground.

The nefarious assumption was correct-the enchanted shrine was cracking! Canvases of tiny cracks kept forming and closing continuously, but the restorative spell could not keep the same pace as the opposing force. 'The magic stones!' there had to be six 3rd stones and a rare 6th stone in reserve to power the artefact container.

Malora approached, and, to her dismay, nothing remained but the dust of all the six 3rd-grade magic stones that were to remain embedded in the crown made of Valyria steel at the base of the pillar!

Completely consumed! Only the last spare stone was holding out, and the cyan rune on the worked Pure Glass was beginning to fade! Malora immediately filled in the gaps with whatever she had on hand. The maiden inserted two 2nd magic stones she had in her pocket. The artefact absorbed them like a magnet, sticking them into the empty holes in the crown. The shrine suddenly revitalized, restoring much of the damage. But it was not enough.

It was a temporary palliative providing sufficient intervals to reach the casket. Malora grabbed five precious 5th magic stones and approached the coffin again.

A minute later, the threat had been thoroughly thwarted. The crystal casket was spotless and balance again. But the majestic and roaring steel sword of Valyria inside did not seem intent on surrendering. The artefact, forged by Valgudryel for a specific Forgotten Hero and dormant for centuries, had awakened and claimed freedom from imprisonment.

Someone was summoning Lann's Legacy...and Brightroar yearned to respond.

*****

End Chapter