24th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Rest (1 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, outskirts of Lannisport
I try to communicate with her, but she ignores me, preferring to keep watching the ongoing combat while Olenna whispers something in her ear.
I get annoyed, but I do not press the matter, especially with Olenna by her side.
The rest of the first round of the duel passed without anything notable. Once it concluded, a ten-minute intermission was granted before returning to the second round with the sixteen qualifiers.
During this interval, I hear Malora's voice once again.
"Do not answer me. The rose of the garden has already noticed us and assumed wrongly. Should she approach you, do not feed her delusions."
So that was it. She took a while to reply because Olenna, the rose of the garden, noticed our exchange of glances.
And her assuming wrongly… I do not need to be a genius to know what she must have thought.
Damn it. Hopefully, Olenna will not include me in whatever scheme she might be forming. I already have enough problems.
But who am I kidding.
***
Luton wins his second fight with even greater ease than the previous one.
His opponent was the type who relied on physical attributes as a strong suit, compensating for a lack of skill. Much like Luton himself. And as expected, between individuals who share that same style, the one with greater strength won.
Possessing no skill to compensate for his physical inferiority, the man was quickly suppressed by Luton.
"Flawless," Rickard comments, watching the victorious Luton raise his sword to the roaring crowd. "He will definitely win and make us win more from the Iron Islands."
Rickard's ambition rang strong in his voice. No. Not just in his voice. In his entire being. I must not forget that the only reason he accepted my plan to dominate the tournament was so he could promote the North to the South.
From what Maege told me, he has been meeting quite a bit with Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully.
It seems that, even with all the differences brought about by my presence, certain things will remain the same.
Unless I decide to do something.
Returning to the tournament, the second round was the end of the line for Andrey Blackmont, who was defeated by Gwayne Gaunt. He tried his best, but the paladin of the Kingsguard was superior in every requirement.
Brynden and Steffon managed to pass through again, despite facing greater difficulty in securing the victory.
The final fight of the day, to conclude the event, was between Kermit, the young paladin, and Harlan Grandison, the other paladin of the Kingsguard.
Kermit is talented and has a great future ahead of him if he does not fall too early, but I quickly predicted the outcome of the fight with his defeat.
Possessing more experience and a slight physical superiority, I could not imagine Harlan losing. And with every strike the Frey received, the more I thought my prediction correct.
Harlan did not go easy. Every strike of his sword sent the young man's blade flying wide in his attempt to defend himself.
The moment the Frey failed to raise his guard after it was broken by another attack from the Kingsguard, he took a direct hit against his helm, causing him to slump to the side.
That looked like the end of him. While Kermit staggered to stay on his feet, Harlan advanced with his sword raised, ready to bring him down once and for all.
But at the last moment, in a desperate move, Kermit throws his shield to the ground, grabs something from his waist, and lunges toward Harlan, wrapping him in an embrace.
In the next instant, white particles surround them both.
Before Harlan could realize what was about to happen, both were enveloped by a dome of light extending a radius of one meter in the center.
Even from afar, I could hear Harlan's scream.
The very second after the dome of light formed, the young knight struck the helm of the Kingsguard with the pommel of his sword, knocking him down.
Seizing the moment, Kermit kicks Harlan's sword away and points his own at the opening of the armor at the throat.
Kermit had won.
He had used Word of Radiance, the same magic used by the septon, apparently causing severe damage to the Kingsguard, an effect completely different from the first demonstration of the magic, which resulted in his victory.
Between the hands holding the sword pointed at the neck, a necklace with the seven-pointed star swung to the rhythm of his trembling hand.
The crowd, which had stopped shouting and cheering upon witnessing the magic, did not explode into shouts and celebrations as happens in movies.
An air of uncertainty had taken over the tournament. No one knew what to say or do other than exchange alarmed glances.
This continued until a solitary pair of hands began to applaud.
When everyone turned toward the source of the clapping, they all directed their eyes to the balcony of the private box and found the King of the Seven Kingdoms, who wore a wide smile and eyes that reflected the sunlight in a way that seemed to generate a purple light.
"Well done!" He shouts, causing Kermit to finally raise his head and face him. "That is exactly what I am talking about. This ferocity, this power. It is through this that we will win any future wars. Let this fight serve as a lesson to everyone, and may you try to replicate it over the next two days."
Saying this, he turns and leaves the box, accompanied by his family and the Kingsguard.
On the field, Harlan stood up with difficulty. Kermit tries to help him, but the Kingsguard refuses, brushing his hand away.
Kermit seems to say something, but Harlan wanted no part of it and left the field.
Seconds later, all eight remaining competitors, who would compete until a winner was decided the following day, were gathered on the field and presented to the crowd.
While this took place, all seven competitors cast apprehensive glances at Kermit Frey, including Luton.
"We will have competition," Jorah says, observing the scene.
"It does not matter. We will still win," Maege replies, trying to sound confident.
"Meeting, now," Rickard speaks curtly.
***
24th day of the 8th moon, 269 B.C.
The Hour of the Rest (1 P.M.)
Ser Alaric Mormont, Lannisport, Lion's Den
"Alaric, how strong was that magic?" Rickard asks me.
Returning inside the walls of Lannisport and gathering in his quarters, we - myself, Jeor, Jorah, Maege, Harren Glover, and Rickard - had already begun to discuss what had just happened at full tilt.
"It is hard to tell."
It truly is. Since I do not possess that magic, Word of Radiance, I do not know how many damage dice it deals. Or whether the magic was a cantrip or a leveled spell.
"The destructive power of offensive magic depends greatly on luck. Ser Harlan seems to have taken a lot of damage, but perhaps it was just a matter of luck. Or perhaps he screamed more out of surprise than pain."
Rickard begins to stroke his beard as he paces around his room.
"All of this was a mistake," Jeor says in an irritated tone. "We might not have the freedom to back out of participating, but we can feign fighting and quickly yield."
"No! That is not an option," Rickard replies swiftly while still pacing back and forth.
"Why not?" Jeor questions, stepping closer to Rickard. "Are you so blinded by fame and connections that you fail to see the danger?"
His tone was grave and his words heavy.
It was noticeable how everyone froze upon hearing him, and when the Lord Paramount of the North, the liege lord of everyone there, stopped pacing and stared at Jeor with an expression equally charged with emotion, I could also see how everyone shifted uncomfortably, especially Jorah.
"Careful, Lord Mormont. Do not think our recent closeness allows you to make such accusations."
"No, Lord Stark, it is you who should be careful. Because it is not your son's life that you are risking. And do not act as if I am speaking without basis. Everyone has noticed how you have been spending time with Lord Tully and Lord Arryn, trading words of alliances for a stronger North. You are using my son as a bargaining tool. You want him to—"
Rickard does not reply immediately. First, he raises his chin and narrows his eyes before speaking in a smug tone.
"I am not forcing your son into anything. Have you forgotten that he was the one who approached me with the plan?"
In response, Jeor exhales so heavily that it produces a deep, guttural sound.
If he were one of those dragons from cartoons, he would have breathed fire from his nostrils.
"Alaric has only ten and two name days, Lord Stark. As a father of boys of a similar age, you should know that well."
"But Alaric is not like boys of the same age, is he? Besides, we have much more at stake than before. With the Iron Islands being the only safe harbor in the septon's eyes, we must secure a piece of it for ourselves. This is my final decision, Lord Mormont."
The two of them stand there glaring at each other, throwing imaginary daggers back and forth, until someone diverts the attention to themselves.
"Even if the magic was strong, does it really matter?" Jorah speaks up.
He instantly grows nervous being the center of attention during such a tense moment, but he does not back down.
Turning to me, he asks, "Alaric, the material requirement, as you call it?"
I instantly understand his point.
"Material component." I give him the answer so he can explain his point on how the magic works.
Turning back to Jeor and Rickard, he says:
"The material component of the magic, the seven-pointed star, is very obvious. Easily telegraphable. As soon as the septon or the knight puts their hands on it, all you have to do is move away so you don't get caught by the light, which covers a small area. That magic is not that complicated."
His observation did not convince my father.
"He or that septon might have plenty more where that came from. And with the Faith of the Seven believing that magic is something demonic, they might seize the moment to get rid of Alaric. And how do we know there aren't more among them who also know how to use magic?"
Jorah is left not knowing how to respond to the counterargument.
"I doubt they know more spells than I do, and I also doubt they are aiming to kill me," I speak in his place.
"How can you be sure?"
"In all of our encounters, I felt no animosity directed toward me or my magic, even when he called it demonic. It is highly likely he is putting on a show of his distaste for magic so as not to contradict the teachings of the Faith of the Seven; that is why he calls his magic a miracle. And I know he possesses fewer spells than I do from my conversations with the Old Gods."
Harren, being the only one who did not know about my conversations with the gods, looks visibly shocked, needing to be calmed down by Maege, who says she will explain later.
"With the arrival of the comet, the strengthening of magic was not the only thing that happened." I begin to explain what I learned in our conversations. "The way magic works also changed completely, making the Children of the Forest and the Old Gods have to relearn how to use it. That was one of the reasons why the Drowned God was so easy to defeat: he himself was still relearning how to use his own."
Since this was the first time I explained this fact, enlightenment washes over the faces of a few of them, like Jorah, Maege, and Harren.
"And the same applies to the Seven," Rickard deduces.
"Yes. I do not know how much the Seven have already unraveled of the new system, but I doubt they have passed much down to the septon or the knight."
Here comes the most important part.
"As the Old Gods explained to me, without the Seven possessing a connection altar, like they themselves have with the Heart trees, communicating with people in our world is extremely difficult. That is why the drowned priests did not possess magic. Though the time the Drowned God walked among us was short, he had years since the passing of the comet to teach his faithful his magic, but he didn't, or simply wasn't able to."
I then offer my final considerations.
"So, whatever the Seven have taught, it wasn't much, nor does it even compare to my total of 121 spells. Worse, whatever he has does not compare in strength to what I have. I am not being arrogant, I simply know, I can feel it."
I direct the final part to Jeor, referring to what I explained to him in Old Wyk about being able to 'feel' the strength of others.
And I am not lying. Since the septon was level 7, that means he not only missed out on the Ability Score gain of level 8, but also that he didn't unlock level 5 spells at level 9, which are superior in power to those below them to an almost comical degree.
If the Mock Battle were a deadly battle, I could defeat the septon and his group by myself.
Even though accidents happen, the competitors are still expected to hold back; any death seen as preventable can be punished by those hosting the tournament, who, in this case, is the one trying to steal our Valyrian steel sword.
"You heard the boy, Mormont," Rickard says.
Jeor ignores him and keeps staring at me.
"Whether you are stronger or not, you are one, while they are at least two."
"If that's the problem, the solution is easy: we cheat."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
For 6 advanced chapter, you can go to my patreon: Patreon.com/Keiondir