Anguy stared at the arrows that had pierced straight through the bullseye. Every one of his own shots had struck the center, yet his opponent's arrows carried even greater force, smashing through his shafts before driving through the target. The skill was almost unbelievable. Even more frightening was that his opponent was still wearing black scale plate armor and clearly had strength to spare.
Rags and Tatters watched the cheering soldiers in silence. The archery was truly remarkable. It seemed this young king was even more impressive in horsemanship, archery, and strength than he had imagined. Yet a man like this would also be far harder to control.
"I lost." Anguy's face fell as he let out a sigh. Gendry's black scale armor looked as dark as endless night, and Anguy felt his own mood sink into the same darkness.
"Boy," Gendry said as Anguy walked back. "You're a genius."
"Not anymore." Anguy shook his head, clearly dejected.
"Don't be discouraged, lad." Fletcher patted Anguy on the shoulder. "Your talent with the bow is rare in this world. You simply ran into a monster. With more refined training and a better bow, you'd be even more formidable."
"Take your bow for example," Fletcher added while examining it. "If it were just a little longer, the accuracy would improve."
Anguy looked at the elderly Fletcher in surprise before speaking.
"Give it back."
He snatched the bow back into his hands, but still gathered the courage to say, "My golden dragons, Lord Gendry."
"You'll get them," Gendry said with a smile. "But after all, I did defeat you."
"What do you want then?" Anguy blinked in confusion. "How about I just return the golden dragons? I can do without them."
"That won't do. I want something unique." Gendry looked at him. "How about you follow me?"
Anguy had never felt such attention before. He had come to the tournament to earn gold, and being noticed by important people was something he had expected. But receiving such an invitation from a king still made his head spin, especially when that king was also a master archer.
"Let me think about it, my lord," Anguy said. "I still want to compete in the tournaments of Westeros and win more golden dragons. I've heard the tournaments in King's Landing are the most generous."
"I can make you an offer too," Gendry replied calmly. "Take the thousand golden dragons from the championship. I'll pay you a monthly salary, and I'll spar with you in archery. What do you say?"
Gendry had already guessed what Anguy was thinking. Anguy was a wandering master archer who had come to the city seeking fortune, craving both glory and golden dragons. But beyond that, Gendry could offer him respect and companionship. Otherwise, the boy would simply waste all his gold in brothels, wine, and beautiful women.
"My lord, if I follow you, I'll miss the chance to make a fortune in King's Landing," Anguy said. King Robert's tournaments were famously extravagant. If Anguy competed there this time, he could win ten thousand golden dragons.
"Then I promise you double the glory and gold in the future," Gendry said. Talented soldiers were easy to find, but true standouts were rare. A prodigy like this was even harder to come by.
"I've decided," Anguy said. "But it's not just for the gold. It's because I feel your respect."
His opinion of Gendry had clearly improved.
"We respect each other."
"Can I get a cloak and armor like this?" Anguy asked quietly after a moment's thought. He had wandered the world for years. If someone truly valued him, he was willing to serve.
"Of course. Welcome. We don't use noble titles here. We have military ranks instead. Soldier, sergeant, officer, and so on."
"That's not bad." Anguy understood the system was different from the lords of Westeros, but as long as there were golden dragons to earn, it sounded good enough.
Soon the Unsullied brought him a new cloak bearing Gendry's quartered banner. As for armor, whether plate, scale, leather, or chain, Anguy would be free to choose later.
"Your skill is excellent," Fletcher added, unable to hold himself back. "But there's still room to improve. If you're willing to follow an old man like me…"
"Who are you?" Anguy asked, a hint of excitement stirring in him as he looked at the frail old man.
"The past isn't worth talking about," the old man said calmly. "But once, I had a nickname. They called me Fletcher."
"Fletcher? The greatest archer in history?" Anguy rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Many people believed Fletcher had long since died and faded into the dust of history. Yet here he was, alive.
Anguy glanced at Gendry again. If that was the case, then losing did not feel so unjust after all.
...
At breakfast, Septa Mordane told Sansa that Lord Eddard had left the camp before dawn. The King had gone out to look for him, possibly to hunt. A wild boar had been spotted in the area.
The road toward King's Landing grew smoother as they traveled south, and Sansa began to enjoy the quiet peace of the journey. It was warmer than Winterfell and livelier than the North.
Mother would love a place like this, Sansa thought. The Riverlands were where her mother had grown up.
Everything was lovely, except for Arya and Jon. Whenever Sansa thought about the two of them, she felt irritated.
Sansa preferred well-behaved girls like Princess Myrcella. Her own sister, however, was nothing but a wild child.
Gods above, Arya had a talent for ruining everything. Sansa often wondered why she had a sister like Arya, who behaved more like a street urchin.
Arya dressed in leather riding clothes and spent her time with all sorts of rough company: squires, grooms, maids, old men, naked children, and foul-mouthed freeriders of low birth. Arya made friends with anyone, regardless of status. Worst of all was Mycah, the butcher's apprentice, who was as wild as they came.
Jon made Sansa even angrier. People whispered behind his back, pointing and discussing Lord Eddard's honor and supposed dishonor. Jon himself always wore a gloomy expression, as if the world owed him something. Sansa resented her father for bringing Jon along. It made her feel embarrassed. If Bran had come instead, at least she would not feel so ashamed.
The time Sansa cherished most was when she was with Joffrey. Her mother had always taught her to behave like a proper lady and someday marry a knight of honor. By birth and rank, little Joff was truly her prince charming.
Today was a particularly good day. Members of the Small Council had come to greet the royal party: Lord Renly, Ser Barristan, and the tongueless Payne.
Sansa's longing for King's Landing grew stronger. The nobles who came from the capital always seemed especially refined.
Ser Barristan wore white scale armor, intricately crafted and polished until it gleamed like fresh snow. Silver thread and clasps shone brightly in the sunlight. When he removed his helmet, his white hair matched the color of his armor perfectly. Despite his age, he looked strong and vigorous, every movement graceful. A pure white cloak of the Kingsguard hung from his shoulders.
Great Lord Renly was about twenty years old and wore deep green steel armor the color of a dense forest. He was the most handsome man Sansa had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, with shoulder-length black hair that framed his clean face, his smiling blue eyes shone brightly. He held a helmet crowned with magnificent golden stag antlers.
The third man, Ser Ilyn Payne, was rather frightening. People said the Mad King had torn out the tongue of this King's Justice. He looked so terrifying that Sansa ended up embarrassing herself.
Not understanding what had happened, she turned to her prince for help.
"Prince, did I do something wrong? Why won't he speak to me?"
"Our Ser Ilyn hasn't been fond of talking for the past sixteen years," Great Lord Renly explained with a teasing smile.
Joffrey shot his uncle a look of pure annoyance before taking Sansa's delicate hand.
"Aerys Targaryen had his tongue torn out with red-hot pincers."
"Sansa, today I must discuss state affairs with several lords and wait for the King and your father to return. I'm afraid your plans with Myrcella will have to be postponed. Please apologize to your good friend for me. Joffrey, perhaps you would accompany our honored guest today," the Queen said to Sansa.
"Mother, it would be my honor," Joffrey replied solemnly.
Little Joff wore a handsome blue wool tunic and a black leather jacket. His golden hair gleamed like a crown beneath the sunlight. He took Sansa's arm and led her away from the wheelhouse carriage. At that moment, Sansa felt happier than she ever had in her life.
Joffrey suggested that Sansa leave her direwolf behind. He also left his own "dog" outside, his guard hound.
"My lady, there's no need to be afraid. I'm almost a grown man now. I'm not like your brother who only plays with wooden swords. I have this."
Seeing Sansa hesitate, Joffrey drew his sword. It was a finely made blade, slightly smaller than a normal longsword, perfectly suited for a boy. The steel shone with a faint blue sheen. It was double-edged, with a leather-wrapped grip and a golden lion's head at the pommel.
Sansa could not stop praising it, and Joffrey looked extremely pleased.
"I call it Lion's Tooth."
And so Joffrey and Sansa left the direwolf and the guards behind, walking west along the north bank of the Trident.