Pre-Chapter A/N: Here we go with another chapter, coming in right on time. Next three chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
XXXXXX- LAENOR VELARYON
"And where did you say you found him again, Ser Fell?" I asked, turning to one of the Knights of the Kingsguard that stood behind Viserys today. The man remained silent until Viserys gestured for him to answer.
"He is the son of the Blacksmith who arms and armours the Kingsguard, my Lord. A good man on the Street of Steel," he said. That the Red Keep did not handle that itself was something I noted and filed away. Probably another peculiarity of these people. It was not unheard of for castles to have Blacksmiths that handled their arming and armouring, but that was probably beyond the royal family. Or beneath them. Hard to tell with these people.
"I see. And how long have you had him for? He is very skilled," I said.
"I took him on as a squire on his twelfth nameday," he said. Four years or so of training then. It did not show. He looked like he had been born with sword in hand as he fended off the untempered aggression of the Dondarrion boy.
The Dondarrion boy, Aron I believed his name to be, was also interesting. He mattered because he had some blood claim to Starfall that had been pointed out to me when the plans for Dorne were being made. House Dayne would be made an example of, and it would be problematic if a Great House from the Stormlands came to make a claim to the desolate land. That was a problem for the future, though.
For the now, the boy fought like a man possessed. He favoured his Dornish mother in more than looks. His olive skin must have been a sight in the Stormlands, and that lithe frame must have put him at odds with many a Stormlander. I knew how people could be there. If he didn't match his frame with an aggression that belied it, they would have eaten him for breakfast.
That aggression would carry him through the rest of the fight, but it only took a few minutes for it to become apparent. He would not win. He was all force and flourish. Spins, jumps and powerful thrusts. He was the fury of the sea itself in human form. But his opponent was solid. Every thrust met a block or parry. Every change of direction was accounted for, and at the end, the sea broke upon the cliff face.
It was just a matter of time.
"The boy is good. Perhaps better than I was at that age. You have done well, Ser Fell," I said, giving the compliment finally even as I came to a decision. I would have him. I could not allow skill like that to be wasted here.
'No, instead you will waste it in your army, fighting your wars,' Aurion snarked from within.
'I will offer him more than they ever could. A life for himself, his family. A future. No matter how his skill grows, a common man would never sit on a Hightower-controlled Kingsguard. Otto would never allow it. The man is too given to politics to see the opportunity. The boy will join the City Watch in the end. Or he will be one of the hundreds of Knights sworn to the Red Keep. Food and board paid for, but nothing of his own. No glory to his own name. Always forced to serve people several times his better,' I returned.
'And all from the goodness of your heart,' he said.
'I admit I am selfish. But my selfishness leads to a better life for him,' I said, before tuning out whatever response my inner voice chose to give.
The boy, Jak, was talented. But he had failed to learn a vital lesson. Move your enemy. Do not be moved by him. That was the only reason the fight had lasted this long. He would still win, but if he was more willing to impose his will on the situation, he would have finished with it by now.
Dondarrion was skilled, but Jak was on a different level. Things had no business looking as close as they did.
"Thank you, my Lord. That is high praise," he said.
"Do you mean to Knight him? If he wins?" I asked.
"He is just six and ten, my Lord. Young still, with much to learn," he said.
"To my own eyes, he looks skilled enough," Viserys said, lending his two cents to the conversation.
"I think you ought to. Learning does not stop at Knighthood, but here he is now. After a performance like this, a Knighthood will be the thing to crown the song. The blacksmith's boy knighted before the commoners who know him best," I said.
"We must give the people a show," Viserys said as well.
"If it is to be the King's will," Fell said, yielding the point.
"I think you should do it, Your Grace. A Knighthood from the King himself is no small thing," I said. Viserys, previously so enthused at the idea, now took a second's pause.
"If he wins. I will. I will march down there, place Blackfyre on his shoulders, and lift him a Knight," he said resolutely after a few seconds of silence. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Speaking of brilliant, the way the fight between the boys on the field ended was anything but. Dondarrion managed to figure out that he would tire before his opponent did at some point, and then he became far more conservative with his attacks. But his style was not one that was well suited for conservative attacks. Whoever had taught him had done an excellent job with his constitution and fitness, but biology could only be denied for so long. Eventually, the body had enough. And his body was running on fumes. Both of them were, to be honest. But one showed it while the other hid it the best he could. And the one who hid it just happened to have more in the tank.
Jak moved in on the attack, and credit where it was due, Aron Dondarrion did not fold instantly. Instead, he managed to bear the onslaught of the cliff that was Jak crashing down upon him for longer than most would have expected. The avalanche had its due in the end. Dondarrion blocked an overhead slash with the shaft of his spear, holding it over his head, and then Jak's foot was in his chest.
He rolled with the hit and was about to rise if not for the blade mere inches from his nose as he looked up.
"I yield," Dondarrion said with the widest smile I had ever seen on the face of a loser at a melee. On Jak's there was a smile as well. But even the flush of victory did little to hide his tiredness. He had faced the most opponents of any of the squires by some margin. Lordlings came at him unceasingly. None ever stooped so low as to fight him two on one, but I had no doubt that the eyes of the audience were pretty much the only reason for that magnanimity. He sagged in on himself for a second before helping his opponent up from the ground. An act that drew riotous applause from the watching smallfolk and nobility alike.
And then Jak turned his attention to Aegon. My squire had two choices. He could either march on there to take advantage of the tired boy and maybe eke out a win. Or he could do the smart thing. Either way, much like the decision to take part in this tourney had told me something about him, this one would as well. Otto thought it was a given that I would back Aegon's ascension as King. But I knew something they did not. I knew the amount of time left on the clock.
"After that display, my conscience would eat at me to challenge you now that you are tired rather than when you stand at your best. Perhaps another day, we could cross blades and test our worth as warriors. As for today, though, the day is yours. I yield, my good man," Aegon said, and my face was split in two with my smile. The crowd ate it up like a starving hyena ate an ass.
"The winner of the melee is Jak of Flea Bottom," the herald proclaimed, and so Viserys began to rise.
He seemed to walk down the steps, the image of the strong King that the realm needed, but I was one of only about a dozen people who knew just how much every step must have hurt at this point. The leprosy that would kill him was in its earlier stages still. With modern medicine, he'd be fine. With what the Citadel was working with in this day and age, he had nine years left in him.
But none of that showed as he reached the boys on the field. Both of them fell to their knees. Viserys was a master of showmanship, as he went to Aegon first. He embraced him as a son, told him how proud he was of him and that he made his ancestors proud. The crowd ate it all up.
And then when he reached Jak the commoner, he drew Blackfyre to gasps.
By the time he started saying the words, it was like the whole world held its breath.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave..." he began the knighting, placing the sword of kings on the boy's shoulder. This moment would go down in history. But more importantly, it would go down in the memories of those who came here. They would spread it far and wide.
Of the Prince who yielded to a common man, a man like them, even when he could have won. Of the King who knighted him with the sword of Kings. Otto, if he had any sense, would make sure the best possible version of the story was the one that spread. If some details here and there were shifted around to make certain people look even better, then that was just the nature of the game.
"So, Aemond. Tell me what you have learned today," I said, turning to the boy that had come here at my side. He looked like a deer that woke up to a wolf's howl.
XXXXX- JAK OF FLEA BOTTOM
"Congratulations on your Knighthood, boy," Ser Fell had said, giving him a smile that did not reach his eyes and a handshake that lasted seconds. That was all that marked the end of their affiliation. Jak had known this would happen since the King had unsheathed Blackfyre. He had wanted to refuse it. To beg that he was unworthy of it, but he had not. Refusing a King was even more dangerous than angering Ser Fell. Jak just had to be quiet for a week or so. Ser Fell would come around eventually. He always got over it.
A traitorous part of Jak's mind told him that this time would be different. That this time, the Knight would not come around unless he begged. Unless he threw himself at his feet and screamed his unworthiness to the seven heavens. Just the way he had that time he had beaten the Knight in a spar. He had learned not to beat his betters that day. Especially not Ser Fell.
There was a knock at the door. Clear, sharp. Three raps. Not Ser Fell. Not like Ser Fell would ever bother to knock at his door of all places. But Jak knew how he knocked. There was the undercurrent of impatience there. This one had none of that. There was no follow-up either. This one was confident that it had been heard and just waited to be acknowledged.
Jak got off the bed and went to answer it, a part of his mind fearing that it was a steward here to tell him to pack his things and get going. He got these chambers for being a Squire to a Knight of the Kingsguard. Now that he was no longer a squire, it only made sense for the chambers to be taken away. When he swung the door open, however, the person on the other side was someone he never could have imagined would come all the way down here to the lower levels of the Red Keep to see him.
He got on a knee and bent his head.
"Lord Velaryon," he greeted. What was happening here? What business did the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms have here? So close to the Dungeons that you could smell the famous rats if you closed your eyes for a second.
"Rise. You are a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Jak. You bend that head only for the King or for your sworn Lord if you ever choose to go that route," he said casually, as he walked past Jak and went into his room. Into Jak's room.
Jak spun around as quickly as he could, but by then the Lord was already looking at his parchment.
"You know your letters?" he asked, picking up one of the pieces.
"Yes, my Lord. Me Pa taught me," he said.
"The Blacksmith? Not often do blacksmiths know their letters," he said.
"Me Pa is a smart man," Jak answered, not even considering saying what he really thought of his father.
"Is it Fell that makes you speak like that?" he asked.
"My Lord?" What?
"That terrible imitation of a peasant's accent. Is Fell the one that makes you use it?"
"Ser Fell is not the one that does it, my Lord. The castle expects a man of my upbringing to look and sound a certain way, and this castle does not like to be surprised," he said, feeling a rush of fear and excitement take hold of him at the same time. For the first time since he had come here, he felt seen. And it felt good to be seen. But it was also scary. Like being naked in the middle of the throne room. Those purple orbs on him were like blades digging into him and tearing him open.
It struck him then how beautiful this man was. Not handsome. Ser Fell was handsome. Aron Dondarrion was handsome. This man was beautiful. There was no ruggedness to his beauty at all. It was all grace.
"Smart choice. No one who's never spoken to real smallfolk for any length of time would notice," he said.
"The other servants never notice either," he said, feeling defensive about the accent. It did not matter that it was feigned. Jak did a good enough job to hide it, he knew.
"The so-called other servants are basically nobility," he said. What?
"What do you mean, my Lord?" Jak said. Only after asking did he realise what he was doing. He was talking to a Great Lord in his bedroom of all places, and he was questioning him. Jak was a dead man.
"I mean that the people here almost to a man grew up here. Those who serve within the Keep today are the children of those who served here twenty years ago. And in another twenty years, their own children will serve. They have less knowledge of the outside world, the city beyond these walls than even some Lords do. They grew up here, and only know this Keep," he said. And Jak realised that he understood it now. He also agreed. Of course, some of the cooks went into the city sometimes, but they never spent too long. And whenever they came back, it was with lips full of complaints of how things were in the city proper. But that was not the issue now. That could not be why he had a Great Lord in his room.
"What can I do for you, my Lord?" he asked. Perhaps the Lord had gotten lost on his way to somewhere else. But then there was nothing for the nobility this low down. Especially not for a Lord who lived in Maegor's Holdfast with the royal family and had a small army of servants to attend to his every need.
"Ask not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you," Lord Velaryon said, seeming to be done examining his things as he took a seat on his bed like he owned it. Jak was just confused, and overwhelmed.
"Okay, that's enough fun for me. I came to ask you a question," he said.
"Yes, my Lord."
"I want you to answer honestly. Whatever you say will be kept between us, and no answer would offend me."
"I shall not lie to you, my Lord," he swore.
"You'd better not. Now the question is this. If you got the chance to live today over again, would you still perform as you had, knowing full well that you would be Knighted by the King?" Jak went still. How did he know?
"Honesty, please, Jak. I will know if you lie," Lord Velaryon said when he remained silent for too long. Jak found himself believing him even.
"I would have withdrawn from the tournament," he confessed.
"Good. You're smart enough to see that a Knighthood does more to ruin your life than it does to help it. Now my next question is even simpler. Why are you called Jak of Flea Bottom with a blacksmith successful enough to arm and armour the Kingsguard, for a father?" Lord Velaryon asked.
"He is a gambler, my father. Loses everything regularly," Jak said, looking away. He did not like to talk about it. While it had led to him having a hard childhood, it was only because Ser Fell lost a bet to his father that he was here in the first place. He hated it, but could not regret it.
"I see. Honest and wise. That means I was right to seek you out. Jak of Flea Bottom, I have an offer for you," he said.
A/N: Create a problem and sell the solution. Getting Jak knighted discharges him from service to the royal family and so leaves him open to be swooped up. Next chapter comes on here by Sunday night/Monday morning most likely. Next three chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.