Chapter 36: Conclusion of Day 2
…
Third POV
As the archery event concluded and the cheers of the crowd began to fade, Galahad made his way toward the tourney master, in order to claim his document of victory.
Suddenly, he sensed a rush of movement behind him. Without thinking, he sidestepped and extended his leg, tripping his would-be assailant.
It was just Oberyn.
Oberyn tumbled theatrically, rolling to his feet with a wide grin. "Haha! Thought I'd catch you off guard," he laughed, dusting off his tunic with exaggerated flair.
This playful rivalry had become a regular game between the two. Oberyn was determined to surprise Galahad just once, but he had yet to succeed.
Watching from a short distance, Elia and Nymeria chuckled at Oberyn's antics, their expressions filled with amusement. Two Martell knights followed closely behind them, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings.
Nymeria approached, shaking her head with a smile as she brushed the dust from Oberyn's shoulder. "Apologies for Oberyn's playfulness," she said, her tone teasing. "I trust you won't take it too seriously."
Galahad returned the smile, his demeanor light. "No harm done. We're comrades, after all. Besides, I doubt your son will ever catch me."
"Keep taunting me, Galahad," Oberyn called with mock indignation, his voice playful. "The viper will strike when you least expect it!"
Laughter rippled through the group, and Elia stepped closer, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "Now that the competition is over, what are your plans?" Her brow lifted as she looked up at him, measuring him thoughtfully. "And… is it just me, or have you gotten taller?"
"Well, first I'll collect my winnings, then I'll explore the fairgrounds for a bit," Galahad replied, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "As for the other—I'm simply growing into a man. Quite normal, really." His expression remained cool and sincere.
Oberyn leaned closer to Elia, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Entering manhood, he says. Means he's developing in other ways too, sister."
Elia blinked, her expression a mix of confusion and surprise. Nymeria and Oberyn exchanged amused glances, sharing a knowing sigh at her innocence. Leaning in, Nymeria whispered a few words in her daughter's ear. Understanding dawned on Elia's face, and her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
Galahad chuckled at the playful exchange, and they continued toward the tourney master's tent, where he received his victory document, sealed with the lion of House Lannister.
As they walked, the four of them—accompanied by the two Martell knights—began to explore the fair, taking in the various forms of entertainment and the delicious smells of food wafting through the air.
"By the way, Galahad," Oberyn began, his tone turning curious, "how did you shoot so well during the archery event? Before the tournament, you didn't seem nearly that accurate."
"Haha, well, it's all thanks to this new bow." Galahad grinned, unfastening the longbow strapped to his back and holding it out for Oberyn to see.
Oberyn examined the bow, his brow furrowing in genuine intrigue. "May I?" he asked, taking it in his hands. "Wow, it's quite a unique bow. What's the story behind it?"
"Well, it cost quite a handful of gold," Galahad started, pride evident in his voice. "Luckily, I was able to buy it after winning the axe tournament."
"From what I've heard, it's made from weirwood, and the bowstring is made of hemp. There's a tale about it—that it will hit its target no matter what, as long as the person can draw an arrow from it," he recounted, the myth lending a magical air to the bow's presence.
"Bullshit," Oberyn replied, a playful smirk on his face. He didn't quite believe the story. "Shouldn't be that hard." He tried to pull the string, straining with all his might.
"Hmmmmfff." Oberyn grunted, but the bowstring barely budged.
Elia and Nymeria, who had been listening intently, exchanged astonished glances. The challenge suggested that Galahad's tale might have a kernel of truth after all.
Oberyn, undeterred, turned to the two Martell knights. "Care to give it a try?" he challenged, gesturing for them to attempt to draw the string. They obliged, but moments later, both failed spectacularly.
"Haha, that means you're quite strong then," Elia remarked, her laughter light and joyful.
"Of course! Look at these weapons. Does this look like a weak man?" Galahad rolled up his sleeves, revealing impressive forearms and bulging biceps, each muscle honed by years of physical training.
"Gods, you're quite developed," Elia said, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. She had never realized he was this muscular—he always wore long sleeves, hiding his muscles.
"May I?" Elia asked, tentatively reaching out to touch Galahad's arm.
It was thick and firm, his skin smooth and warm beneath her fingertips. Moments later, Nymeria joined in, curious to feel the muscle that Galahad had kept hidden.
"Alright, alright, that's enough! Stop fondling my arms," Galahad chuckled, though he felt a bit uncomfortable under the mother and daughter duo curious touches. "Let's instead get some food and enjoy our time."
"Ahem, what has gotten into me? You're right. Let's go get some chicken, pizza, and westerman fries," Nymeria said, trying to regain her composure as they laughed together, the playful atmosphere of the fair inviting them to indulge in its delights.
"Yes, let's do that." Elia said with a nod following her mom's lead.
Galahad and the Martells continue their conversations, as they enjoyed the delicacy and games from the fair.
…
Ragnar POV
I was being dragged into an alleyway of Lannisport. All I had wanted was to enjoy a few drinks with my men, but a group of troublemakers had barged in—hedge knights from the Reach, their arrogance palpable.
I let it be and continued my drink; I had seen worse as an Ironman. But one of them, noticing my armor and face, must have recognized me as Ironborn.
They started taunting me, hurling insults about the Seven-Pointed Star being the true faith and branding me a heathen.
I ignored them. My two men and I were outnumbered—ten against three. But when they attacked my men, all hell broke loose.
With quick reflexes, I seized a fork from the table and threw it into the eye of the ringleader.
With a roar, I unsheathed my bastard sword and charged into the fray. I managed to take down two of them, but it was a futile victory; both of my men fell, lifeless on the tavern floor.
The remaining eight Reach knights turned their wrath on me, beating me to a pulp as they dragged me out into the night. The darkness enveloped us, and the streets were deserted. I tried to call for help, but a vicious kick to my head silenced me.
As they pulled me into the alleyway, I couldn't help but reflect on my pitiful life.
My mother had been a salt wife, captured from the Riverlands, raped by a dozen men before my father claimed her as his own. The very man who took her in ultimately ended her life.
Not wanting to end up like her—dead at my father's hand—I knew I had to make myself useful. I trained myself to become the best axeman I could be. Over time, I even gathered a crew of my own.
In all my 28 name day, I had always dreamt of sailing the seas, exploring the world, and creating a better life for my men.
That's why, when I heard about the tourney in Lannisport, I thought I could earn easy gold in the axe-throwing competition.
But a young knight had bested me—Ser Galahad, known as Ser Axehead. A small smile crossed my lips at the thought of him; unlike me, he had a bright future ahead.
"Ugh!" I groaned as the two Reach men slammed me against the wall.
Moments later, the ringleader—now missing an eye—kicked me, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
"Fucking heathen! You'll pay for what you did," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.
Despite the pain coursing through me, I felt a surge of joy from his anger. I knew I was going to die here, so I began to laugh—a bitter, defiant sound.
"Hahaha!" The laughter came out rough and strained.
"Ughhh." Another kick sent me reeling.
"Hahaha!" I laughed again, trying to mask my pain, refusing to give them any satisfaction.
The kicks and punches piled on, and I lost track of the blows raining down on me.
"Argh!" Suddenly, I heard one of them gurgle, followed by others, as if they were choking on water.
With great effort, I pulled myself out of my curled position and looked up to see eight hooded figures standing over me.
My gaze shifted back to the men who had beaten me; they lay lifeless, their bodies sprawled across the cobblestones, a testament to the reckoning they had sought to deliver upon me.
I built up my saliva and spat at the Reach knights' bodies, a weak chuckle escaping my cracked lips, a final act of defiance against those who had tried to extinguish my spirit. But the world around me began to blur, and I collapse.