Capítulo 6: Chapter 6
John walked through the streets of Lannisport toward the Rectory, where the archery contest was to begin in a day. The bastard had brought his yew bow with him. He had forbidden Dacey to get out of bed today to recover fully. The stubborn Lady Mormont, surprisingly, listened to him. It was probably much easier for girls and women to convince John of something than men.
Tom paced behind John as a guard. The Northman apparently felt he owed the boy his life and had volunteered to accompany him. John knew for a fact that the boy had been unconscious while he was treating him and therefore could not have known about the sorcery. At most he could only vaguely suspect something. But there was no inherent suspicion in northerners, at least not of other northerners.
Tom looked to be about forty years old. He was a tall man with shaggy brown hair and a friendly smile, not much taller than big John Amber. As John realized, Tom was Hodor's uncle.
There was a lot of work going on around the ring, with laborers running about. Men of Lannister appearance were supervising the process. The peace was guarded by soldiers in red cloaks and identical armor. The Lannisport City Guard was almost the only regular army in the Seven Kingdoms. Most of the kingdoms' armies were made up of the Lords' Guards and peasant militia.
Jon approached the soldier who was guarding the passageway to the ring.
- "Uncle Lannister, this is where you sign up for the archery contest," Jon looked up at him with pleading gray eyes. The soldier seemed to be holding back to keep from grimacing.
- Go to that man over there," he pointed to an old gray-haired man with green eyes and a bushy mustache, who was now cursing loudly at the careless would-be competitors who couldn't hit a target even 50 paces away.
- Thank you, uncle.
The mustachioed man finished his rant and kicked away the hapless young man who had hit the target only twice out of ten attempts.
- Uncle?
- What do you want, puppy.
- I want to sign up for the archery competition.
The man took a close look at the boy and his weapon. The bows were clearly custom-made. Most of the competitors came with composite bows, but this is a long bow - one that would take a craftsman a whole day to make if he had to do it alone.
- It's a long bow, right?
- Yes, sir.
- Does the Northern Puppy want to become famous? - A young man who was clearly a native of Spaceland asked loudly. - You think you'll win a lot of gold and be able to escape from your cold north? - The group of guys standing next to him burst into laughter.
John scrutinized everyone who was laughing. Green youths in rich clothes who had never held a weapon before. Apparently, it was a tradition of the southerners to assert themselves by trying to laugh at anything.
- Uncle, can I have a target a hundred paces away?
...
- Ten arrows, pup. You can take your time," the steward told him.
John fired a shot, then another. Both didn't even hit the target. These arrows were to be used for target practice, as they were all the same. Two shots, however, were enough to realize how these arrows fit in the hand and hit the target.
The next one successfully hit the target, not in its center, but in the upper edge, exactly in the circle for which the least points are given. All the other arrows that were fired hit the target as well. When John had the last arrow left in his quiver, the steward called out:
- That's enough. What name shall I put you under?
- Write down "wolfman."
- Report in one day for the first round. It starts at noon.
- Okay," John replied. Finally he turned to the young man from Sprawl and gave him an ironic bow.
To the incomprehensible looks of the applicants, a target was brought to the steward. He took out a thread, tied it to one arrow, and stretched it out to the next. He guided the thread along a long-learned path. When he was done, it was a perfectly shaped seven-pointed star.
***
Two days later, Lannisport
John was practicing sword fighting with Dacey in the courtyard of the manor where the noble guests and their families were housed. He was getting better and better every day. He would only be able to successfully oppose the village militia with his help for now, but the Imperial City wasn't built in a day either. His father was sitting in the shade of a tree watching the training. Prince Stannis approached him and apparently asked him something. His father shook his head negatively, and then the Lord of Dragonstone walked over to the men practicing. Guardsmen with stag on their cloaks and armor followed.
- Lord Stannis," Jon bowed and said hello, and Daisy did the same, as did all those around him. They were mostly Lord Stark's soldiers and servants.
- I have informed your father that I am ready to take you as a page," Baratheon got straight to the point. Jon had noted his bluntness when they first met.
- It's a great honor for a bastard.
- It is, but he said he had other plans for you.
- I can't go back on my father's word.
- And I promised to reward you. What do you want?
- In such a hurry?
- I should have done it back at Old Vic, but I didn't have time for you. Answer the question.
- Dragonglass, Sire," Stannis looked at him with a look that clearly said, "The Seventh Scourge! Are you serious!?", but only elaborated:
- How many?
- Two or three loaded wagons.
- What color? - chuckled one of Stannis's soldiers, for which he immediately received a glare and was silenced.
- Is it different? - Snow asked.
- It comes in all flavors. Usually it's black, but it can be green, red, purple, dark, in short, almost black shades of almost every color of the rainbow.
- Dark blue, then! - John jumped up and down.
- I'll give all the orders. Have a letter sent to Dragonstone, telling them where to deliver it. The castle castellan will organize a ship with obsidian. That will be all.
- Sire," Jon bowed. Stannis and his soldiers left the manor.
- Is it too brazen to ask for so much? - Dacy asked. - Did you see the look on his face? - Jon only laughed.
- His soldiers in the camp had said that the obsidian they mined was cheaper than the cost of mining it, and on Dragonstone it was just ingots of it lying around in the mines.
- Then why do you need so much?
- You'll see. I think you'll be very surprised," John raised his practice sword. - Shall we continue?
- Sure, wolf boy.
***
The archers' test went in parallel with the horse race, and it's not worth mentioning that the latter was of much more interest to the spectators. There were about two hundred archers participating. On the first day of the confrontation half of them were eliminated, and another half of the remaining ones - on the next day.
This part of the tournament stood out from the rest, as it was the one that involved the most niggers and the least nobles. The archers were considered by the feudal medieval society to be cowards, unable to fight in close combat.
In the early days, it seemed to John that so many participants were allowed to participate just to add more pathos and spectacle. Like, "Look how powerful we are! We have two hundred people participating in the tournament, and that's just for the archery test! "Awe at the power and wealth of Lannisport!"
The quality of these very competitors was not of the highest quality, what can one say when most of them failed to hit a target at a hundred paces, and scored so few points on targets at fifty paces that John could have given some of them half of his own as a handicap. The fact that not everyone participated with their own bows and arrows was also a factor. Shooting with an unfamiliar bow is problematic, and a forty gram difference in arrow weight plays such a huge role in range and trajectory that only a man of small mind would take different arrows in his quiver.
The contest was going smoothly. John was hitting one target after another, the distance of seventy or even one hundred paces was not a problem for his long bow. He could easily take the championship in target shooting at one hundred and twenty paces. The wolf cub quickly became a crowd favorite. The trouble began when only the top ten archers remained. In addition to Jon, there were six men from the Western Lands, two Dornish, and a mercenary in the service of one of the Storm Lords.
For a change, they decided to do the finals differently. The archers were divided into pairs, and they had to hit arrows into rings tossed into the air, which got smaller and faster each time. A long bow does not have the same rate of fire as a short or composite bow, much less aiming. In the first doubles match, he was eliminated from the tournament. As compensation, all losers from the finalists received a hundred shiny gold coins each. The archery competition was over.
***
Casterly Rock, a few days later.
Jon Snow was sitting in the castle library reading a book. As expected, Lord Tywin hadn't allowed the bastard to attend the feast, but he couldn't be kept out of the castle anyway, since he was part of the "guests from the far north." The boy decided to make the most of the opportunity.
The library room was spacious and could be well lit, both by the many lanterns and by the moonlight that shone through the wide windows.
The work on dragons by one of the Citadel's maesters was an interesting read. Jon had learned that all dragons in Westeros belonged to the same species. More accurately, the same type. They differed only in size and color, and they had no Thu'um, but they could breathe fire. Anyone could kill them, roughly speaking, and death would be final. "No variety," Jon thought to himself. He remembered about ten types of dragons in Nirn, well if you counted the bone dragon of course.
The boy turned the page. Behind him there was the rumble of a door opening, and another man entered the library.
- And why would a bastard have a giant at the entrance? - John was addressed.
The boy looked at the man, recognizing him as Tyrion Lannister: his features were definitely recognizable, and it was hard to mistake him for any other dwarf. He was not much taller than Jon himself, with crooked legs and arms. The legs were short and the arms looked very strong and muscular. His large head was irregularly shaped, and his eyes were different colors altogether. In his hands he held a jug of wine and a silver goblet.
- The giant must see to it that the bastard makes it to Winterfell. Probably so Lady Stark can dispose of him personally," Snow smiled.
- Well, then the despicable brat of sin should run to the sept and beg the gods for forgiveness," the dwarf said philosophically.
- The gods don't speak to me.
- Maybe you didn't try hard enough or didn't pray long enough.
- Neither the old gods nor the seven speak to me. Even the Drowned God is silent, and I've sent a couple of his ardent worshippers to him," Tyrion looked at the boy and realized he wasn't joking.
- It's a shame there isn't a god of tits and wine. I'm sure he would have many followers.
- I've read that in a distant culture there is a demon of debauchery. His domain includes feasting and revelry, and on top of that, the desire for debauchery. He even appears among mortals, taking on their guises.
- And what is this demon's name?
- Sanguine.
- You almost convinced me to become a demon worshipper, bastard. Tyrion Lannister, Imp," the dwarf introduced himself.
- Jon Snow is a bastard of Winterfell, a wolfling, a vile bastard.
- You don't take offense at me calling you a bastard?
- I know what I am. Calling shit shit doesn't stop it from stinking, just like I won't stop being a bastard even if you don't call me one.
- So let's drink to that! - Tyrion exclaimed.
- I'm eight.
- Yeah, well, that's a problem," Tyrion turned his head to the side and drained his goblet.
Suddenly the door opened again, and a young man with brown hair entered the library. He looked to be about sixteen years old, and his facial hair was just beginning to appear. The main distinguishing feature was that he limped and walked with a cane. The stranger looked at John.
- Are you the one they call wolfman?
- Me," he didn't feel threatened this time by the man who had clarified his identity.
- Why aren't you at the feast?
- Bastards have no place there, my lord. I dare not dishonor my new acquaintance's father with my presence," Tyrion spat into a jug of wine, staining his clothes.
- Busy," the stranger smiled and turned to leave.
- Please stay," Tyrion addressed him. - I am so enjoying this company of ours.
- Why is that?
- I sympathize with bastards, cripples, and broken things. I feel a strange affection for them.
- I'm not exactly a cripple.
- Then I'm not exactly a bastard," Jon snorted, not having time to think before Tyrion had time to reply.
- Well, let's hope so," the young man replied courteously, as if he wasn't offended in any way.
Jon shifted his gaze to Tyrion, expressing an unspoken question, but he shrugged. They chatted about books for a while, both satisfied with the conversation. Jon told Tyrion stories about dragons, the little man seemed to turn into a joyful child as he listened to them. Fifteen minutes later, the library was entered again. This time it was the same brown-eyed girl John had danced with earlier. She entered with the man with the lute, Tom peeked through the door, but after receiving a nod from John, stayed in the hallway.
- Milady? - John turned to the girl.
- Wolfie, let's dance," she smiled happily and held out her hand to him.
***
The tournament finally came to an end, and Jorah Mormont was the winner. The North had been able to distinguish themselves in both the war and the tournament, so the northern lords were mostly satisfied. Jon, along with his father and his guardsmen, were now in port. They are sailing home today. The ship will head north, taking a course for Barrowton.
Getting from there to Winterfell won't be comfortable, since the King's highway is far away, but traveling by sea is more convenient than by land.
Lord Stark was bidding farewell to the king, servants were loading crates onto ships, and everyone was bustling about in a hurry. The Northmen would be accompanied by part of the Manderly and Velaryon fleets, and there was no telling what the defeated islanders might want to do.
The brown-eyed girl had said goodbye to John in the morning and had gone home with her brothers and father. Jon himself was saying goodbye to Tyrion, whom he had befriended during his stay here. The Greyjoys were arguing loudly nearby.
- The next time we meet, I'll be taller than you," Jon said.
- Maybe, but be warned: I grow up fast," Tyrion replied, and they both laughed.
An hour later, the ships carrying the Northmen sailed home.
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