"Ye should be careful, mate!" the stranger called, standing on the road and blocking Brad's path. "Roads are dangerous this late in winter for folks who travel alone!" Brad turned his eye to his surroundings, spotting two others with bows. "Things get a bit more rough, folks get a bit more desperate."
Well at least they confirmed for him that it was indeed winter and not just a miserable climate. Brad simply stood with arms folded, waiting for the shaggy-looking stranger to get to his point.
"I'll make it nice and simple so you don't mistake my meaning. Hand over any coin, any valuables you got and we might just be letting you go on with your life."
"Sorry to tell you, I don't really have any valuables on me," Brad shrugged, trying to look friendly still, even as he made sure to stay aware of the archers' positions and figure out where any others might come from. Three was a very small number to try and ambush the kind of people travelling this road. Lords with entourages of knights and soldiers.
"You're not understanding your situation, mate," the stranger, the bandit shook his head. "You got that fancy lookin' hammer on your back, that smart lookin' armour there. They worth your life?"
"Oh, this hammer?" Brad asked, drawing it from the harness on his back, the archers' bows creaking as they drew. "You're right, it is pretty nice. You want a closer look?"
The bandit sighed and raised an arm, the archers loosed their arrows only to see them bounce off the armour the man wore, snapping when the force of the impact was turned entirely back on them. "Shame, but you brought this–" the bandit started to say but the words lodged in his throat on seeing the arrows were not only ineffective, but ignored. The armoured figure not even making an attempt to avoid them.
Three more men appeared, exploding out of a snowdrift, yelling as they charged at their target.
"Wait."
The three men fell on the armoured figure all at once with spear and hammer and club. In a single swing of the Super Sledge, the spear snapped and the hammer wielder's rib cage was smashed to bits. The sledge came back around, taking off the head of the club wielder. As the weaponless spearman panicked and fell onto his back from watching the two killed so quickly and easily, the sledge once raised in the air and came down on the man's abdomen, pulping his guts and breaking his spine from the front.
"Wait!"
The archers fled, already proven unable to harm the man and wanting to escape with their lives. That left only the spokesman for their little band, fallen to his knees and begging for mercy with clasped hands as the armoured man approached, the guts of his compatriots coating that hammer he had coveted. "Wait, please, wait!"
Brad readied his hammer, his super sledge, gripping it so as to give his swing the most force possible.
"Wait wait wait wait WAIT–"
CRUNCH.
Brad raised a hand to shield his eyes as he watched the scraggly-haired head of the bandit sail off into the distance, the rest of him collapsing sideways into the snow. "Man, I hope that doesn't hit anyone. That'd just ruin their day. Way worse than a bird crapping on them."
-(-)-
Brad didn't know what Harrenhal was when he was directed to go there. He assumed it was some sort of medieval town or city. What greeted him was much greater than his expectations. Harrentown was the town and it was as busy as any place Brad would care to remember. Everyone there had somewhere to be, probably for this festival tourney thing that the Lord was hosting. Whent! That was it. Lord Whent.
But the town was nothing compared to the massive structure sitting on the edge of the lake. A great stone curtain wall surrounded a space that could probably fit the entire town inside. And in the middle of that space was the great castle Harrenhal itself. Its enormous towers, probably miraculous for the technology base of a civilisation like this, stood tall and proud. The idea of defiance was only reinforced by how the towers looked like they had taken a beating at some point in time. Blackened, warped like a half-melted candle, but still standing tall.
Asking around, the people of Harrentown pointed him towards the castle itself if he wanted to participate in the tourney.
"Oi, was that Lord Tyrell comin' through a while ago?"
"Yeah, he looked to be in a right huff. What d'you think happened?"
"Chipped a fingernail, I bet."
"No, better! Asked one of his men an' he said some'ow the head o' some poor sod just dropped into 'is lap when 'e was takin' a break from the road!"
"Bollocks!"
"Swear on me mum! Said tryin' not to laugh nearly killed 'im!"
Brad hurried his pace just a little on overhearing that.
"What'd he do with the head?"
"Chucked it. What else would 'e do?"
Putting the new knowledge of how he accidentally ruined the day of some probably quite important person, Brad approached the main gates of Harrenhal. The enormous gatehouse towering over him.
"Oi, mate! What's your business?" a guard demanded, hand on his sword. The gate was wide open, probably for logistical reasons with guardsmen stopping anyone looking to head inside who wasn't wearing any house colours. "Big fucker, ain't ya?"
"Yeah," Brad answered the latter question first. "Heard there was a tourna-y," he aborted his more familiar word halfway through for the era appropriate one. "Thought I'd participate."
"Yeah?" the guard asked, looking Brad up and down and finding no reason to argue the idea. "Got a horse?"
"No."
The guard shook his head. "Not gettin' in the lists then. I can put you in for the archery, the axe throwin', an' the melee. You'll have a rough go in the melee without a horse, mind."
The archery he'd probably have a hard time with, but oh well, it could be fun. "Sure, sounds good to me. Can I go in then?"
"What's your name?"
"Brad," he answered automatically, before realising he should give his full name. "Bradley Plaskett."
"Not a knight then?"
"No."
The guard shook his head. "You ain't a knight, a lord or in a lord's company you ain't gettin' in 'til the events start. Two days from now you come back for the archery an' the axe throwin'." With a flick of his hand, the guard indicated he was done with Brad and shooed him away.
Well. Two days to kill. Maybe he could acquire a horse by then?
-(-)-
No, it turned out. It seemed the people of this land were very protective of their horses and wouldn't part with one for all the money Brad had.
Which, in absolute fairness, was none.
So sleeping rough for a couple of nights, Brad returned to the castle gate two days later and was allowed in. As he entered the field with all the other participants of low birth he checked out the audience. A lot of nobles, he assumed, none particularly sticking out to him beyond the one with the crown. He'd be the king then, looking all old and angry. Not that the others looked in a much happier mood. Some looked placid, not exactly excited for the day's festivities. Oh well. Brad couldn't blame them. He hadn't liked archery in his old world either.
"Bradley Plaskett!"
It was his turn. He took hold of the provided bow and tried to quickly figure out how this whole archery business worked. He got a good look at those idiots on the road and all the people who went before him so he could probably figure it out. Nocking the arrow, he held it in place and found it to be fairly steady. Nodding to himself he drew the arrow back until he felt like the thing might break if he pulled any further. Aiming at the target he let go–
"Bull!"
Uhh... Well then. Beginner's luck? Did the simulations include archery? He didn't remember anything like that... The following shot bore that out. He fumbled the release and the arrow seemed to sink into the dirt in front of the target. His third was a fairly respectable shot.
Shrugging, he moved aside and let the next take their turn. Through some combination of luck, strength, dexterity and... probably more luck, Brad found himself in the second round of competition, the targets positioned at a greater range. Three more shots, two respectable, one barely hitting the target. He was doing far better than he expected he would, barely hanging on to continue to the third of four rounds. He found himself in the company of only people in fine clothes and with their own equipment. If he continued to do well, it was likely he would be stepping on some toes.
It seemed his beginner's luck was ready to scuff some fancy shoes. Two more shots near the bullseye–
"Bull!"
… One near the bullseye, one hitting it and one barely hitting the target. An olive-skinned man in a white cloak patted him on the back for the performance before taking his own turn. Two bullseyes and one close.
"You are doing quite well, for an amateur!" the man praised as they waited for the targets to be moved for the final round.
"Not gonna lie, I'm surprised myself," Brad admitted, looking rather silly for a man his size to look so awkward. "I only came to win the melee and only signed up for archery and axe throwing for the fun of it."
"I don't doubt you will do well there!" the man laughed. "But perhaps you have discovered a hidden talent?"
"Maybe."
"Final round! Our best four archers will now challenge their skills with the greatest range! First, Ser Oswell Whent!"
Whent. So probably related to the local lord. Definitely stepping on toes now.
"Kingsguard, Ser Lewyn Martell!"
Kingsguard. So that would be one of the King's personal bodyguards then. Brad started to hear a tapdance in his head.
"Ser Joffrey Routh!"
Brad breathed a sigh of relief for someone who didn't sound like they were that important.
Even so, it looked like Brad had no chance of winning this one, something he was actually grateful for. He would need to match the best score of Ser Lewyn, three bullseyes in a row. That just wasn't in the cards for a beginner like Brad who gave an average performance. Or at least, what would have been an average performance if the range they were shooting wasn't the furthest the bows they were using could feasibly go. In the end, he came in third, only beating the unimportant one, luckily for him.
Polite applause was offered for the participants before they were ushered off while the next event was set up and the audience went to enjoy an opulent lunch. It was only then that Bradley realised he hadn't actually eaten since he'd left the village to the north. Superhuman constitution sure was something to behold, though he was starting to feel the beginnings of hunger. How long would it be before such a thing would be dangerous to him?
Hours later, the axe throwing contest began. Unlike with archery, Brad was not blessed by beginner's luck or any kind of hidden talent. His first throw was a dangerous miss, nearly taking out one of the attendants. While the ones that did hit broke through the target, that wasn't worth bonus points so he lost in the first round.
It might have been unreasonable, but Brad wished that he had taken that archery contest. He didn't care about archery, though doing well in an athletic competition was certainly a rush he hadn't experienced before. He was disappointed because winning that event would likely have allowed him to stay inside the castle, interact with the nobles. Especially the ladies. They were certainly a cut above that girl from that one village. Though she'd probably clean up nice... Maybe he could take her back to the vault, get her a shower? Even so, the noble ladies had lived a life where they were well taken care of and it showed. He wanted some of that.
Oh well. Tomorrow would likely grant his wish. The melee would obviously be his.
-(-)-
Sweeeeet Jesus how is he as big as me? Brad thought to himself, seeing a hulking figure of a height with him, though the other giant was atop a sturdy-looking horse. Much like many of the other competitors in the melee. Unlike the previous day's contests, this one generated an audience beyond the noble contingent, common folk filling out the stands, cheering and jeering at the competitors.
"You alright down there?!" one of the knights on horseback laughed, wearing a yellow tabard over his armour and a helmet with antlers. "Couldn't find a horse that could seat you?!"
"I'll do fine without one!" Brad shouted back.
"Seven bless you for your spirit, lad! I don't doubt you'll need the help!"
A horn blared one long, powerful note and then all was chaos. Brad stood solid as a tree as the melee whirled around him, horses crashing into one another, riders unseated trying to scramble away from stomping hooves. Still Brad stood there, more or less ignored in favour of more dangerous targets, only taking the time to break any that came too close. Three men were thrown from their horses by his sledge even as he sidestepped the horse's charge. They didn't stay, instead wisely looking for a doctor.
And just like that, most of the competition was thinned out. There were perhaps a dozen left still ahorse, two dozen more including Brad on their own feet. And of course that giant was one still on horseback. Everyone without a horse seemed to agree that those who still had one had to be dealt with first. And so, a charge occurred. Not of men, but of horses, those riding them knowing what the score was just as well as anyone else, choosing to sweep through anyone trying to get a lucky shot before focusing on the real competition.
Two more riders suffered for that hubris when they approached Brad. Two were taken down by others. One unseated by another opportunist rider. That left seven riders to... Five without a horse. The giant still had his steed, as did that knight that had spoken to Brad before the event started. With so few competitors left, the event became quite a bit more spread out. None of the riders eager to challenge each other, the giant seemed interested only in picking off the easy targets with brutal methods, skewering a man with his blade and carrying him by the blade, only to throw him off into the wall of the arena.
Brad appeared to be the next target. He blew out a long breath. A giant horse with a giant man astride it was bearing down on him. For the first time in the event, Brad moved with purpose, pumping his legs to meet the horse's charge, each heavy step a thump that could be heard even by the audience. As the two combatants neared each other, the horse's head passing him by so that the knight might skewer him, Brad leapt up. The power of it brought him up and almost over the knight, ready to bring his hammer down and unhorse him. At the last moment, the knight raised his sword and caught the hammer by the haft, robbing it of a great deal of power. Even so, the weight of the man dragged the knight clear off his horse, the beast galloping away, only to be wrangled by an attendant.
The two rolled over one another, weapons locked together as they struggled to get advantage. The knight quickly found his opponent to be heavy. Just by sheer weight it became a struggle to overpower him. In the end, he found his estoc flung away and before he could draw a second weapon or just start beating the man with his gauntleted fists, the now freed hammer was allowed to come down, partially caving his plate armour leaving him gasping and unable to stand.
With that, Ser Gregor Clegane was removed from the competition.
An opportunistic rider attempted a coup by attacking Brad while he was distracted. As the blade scraped off his armour Brad grabbed the arm holding it and pulled, tearing the man from his horse to hit the ground hard.
While Brad hadn't been paying attention, the field of competitors had shrunk even further. Only three riders remained, engaged in their own contest. The knight with the antlered helm took on both other riders at once, his hammer slamming one into unconsciousness atop his horse. The other's sword crashed into the knight's armour and he swayed from the blow, only to come back harder with another hammer strike.
And so it was just the antlered knight and Brad left in the competition. The antlered knight surveyed the scene around the stranger, men and horses around him groaning in pain if they were moving at all. Ser Gregor Clegane having to be dragged away by three men to be treated by the maester. This stranger with the boar-like helmet was a beast. Shaking his head, he removed his own helmet, revealing thick dark hair, a long but well-kept beard and bright blue eyes. "Well you shut me up didn't you, lad? Came here without a horse and took down some o' the toughest sods in the seven kingdoms!" He bowed shallowly in the saddle, "The day's yours, lad!" before setting his horse to canter off of the field.
"Your champion of the melee," the announcer called over the din of cheering, looking down to check the name, "Bradley Plaskett!"
And wasn't that just the strangest thing for Brad... No... For Bradley to hear, opening the seals on his helmet to remove it, holding it to his side as he waved to the crowds, and bowing in the direction of the King. As he was about to leave the field himself, a runner stopped him, telling him, "King Aerys demands your attendance."
It was a strange feeling that came over him at those words. If nothing else, Bradley was still a good American boy and he had been taught practically from birth the pride of the American Way, made possible only by throwing off the shackles of the monarchy. A small part of him was tempted to yell 'No taxation without representation!' but the rest of him was thankfully not a complete idiot, so instead he respectfully approached the royal box.
"Kneel." The single word of command set Bradley on edge once again. His nerves doubled as the King was presented with the sword of that one Kingsguard that had spoken to him the previous day. Despite his concerns, the King laid the sword down on Bradley's right shoulder. "Bradley Plaskett, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
Oh! This was a knighting thing! He didn't think it would be this quick or simple! Was there anything in there he objected to? Protect people, obey superiors... Well, that one knights broke all the damn time so why not. "I swear."
"Then arise, Ser Bradley Plaskett, knight of the seven kingdoms."
"Thank you..." Shit, what do you call a King again? "Your majesty," he finally decided on, fighting to keep the question out of it.
The old, decrepit king sneered and flicked his fingers in dismissal.
-(-)-
Finally. Finally!
Food!
Well, there was also the acceptance of being allowed to stay in the castle now that he was a knight, and the invitation to the feast that night where he would be the centre of attention and get to speak to lords and lovely ladies. But the feast also had food and his hunger pangs had been getting much worse after the melee. Finally getting a chance to fill his stomach came at a higher priority.
One of the other knights laughed at him. "Relishes the fare like he hasn't eaten in days yet maintains the manners of the highborn! You are a quandary, Ser Bradley!"
"Mom taught me to show respect to people around me," he answered only after swallowing, just like his mom had taught him.
"Just so!" the knight laughed again. "Ser Fillip Wayn," he introduced himself. "I see you don't wear your house's coat of arms." He gestured at the shield stitched into his own clothing, four sections of alternating blue and white with a wheel on each section of inverted colour.
"Don't have one," Bradley answered.
"Have you put any thought into what your should be then? A symbol to represent your family, your legacy. Perhaps a boar's head? Like that helmet you wear?"
"Taken!" Two more knights call out in unison, one with a red boar's head on white, the other with a black and white boar's head on brown.
"I've never really thought about it."
"Well, take some time. With your winnings I'm sure you could get something put together."
"The man of the hour!" a voice boomed near him. Turning, Bradley saw the man who had conceded defeat to him during the melee. He cut an imposing figure while Bradley was sitting, the man standing a good six and a half feet tall at least. Bradley was confused. He thought people were supposed to be shorter in the olden days.
"Lord Baratheon," Ser Fillip greeted with respect and mild deference.
"Ser Bradley! I'd like to introduce you to some people if you permit me," he offered in a way that showed he had no doubt that it would be accepted. And to put action behind that attitude, he pulled the giant man up by the shoulder and led him toward the lords' tables.