Wylis wanted to see her face. He was sure she'd smirk and wink at him. Her words were simple for others but he knew the deeper meaning.
"The Prince will be winning it then," the scribe said and finished writing Wylis' name for the mentioned events. "Go on then, may you win all the glory. You're a big boy, perhaps the King will take notice of you."
That's the last thing I want. That mad cunt.
After that, Wylis followed the Starks into the castle. A servant was quick to approach them and guide them to their resting chambers. The castle was huge, and a lot of its portions were repaired, or temporarily fixed for the tourney. Clearly, the money being spent was beyond Lord Whent's ability. Everyone knew it.
While Lyanna was provided a small chamber for herself, Brandon, Benjen, and Wylis were given a slightly larger chamber with three beds inside. Eddard wasn't there, likely staying with Robert Baratheon.
Quickly, they all wiped their faces with a wet cloth and changed their attire for the great feast. Thankfully, the Starks didn't care much about luxury and fine clothing. What they wore were simple grey and black combinations with some silver chains around their necks. The fur cloaks added enough majesty themselves.
Even Wylis had decent clothes this time, thanks to Old Nan and his mother. They were alive and well, including his father, grandfather, and granduncle. He had a whole family to support him in whatever way they could.
Wearing a clean grey tunic, a vest, trousers, boots, and then a black cloak with white fur around the collar, he seemed no less than a northern noble. Also, he had a bronze chain around his neck carved with a locket in the shape of a gauntlet; his coat of arms in the previous life.
Pat!
Brandon smacked on his back. "Let's get going."
The three walked over to Lyanna's room which was close by and waited for her to emerge. Wylis was curious to see what she'd wear since in the North she was always draped in too many layers of clothing, boyish sort mostly.
Clack!
She can look like this too?
Wylis ogled her so hard that she felt his eyes undressing her right then and there. A soft glow of blush emerged on her cheeks from that. But still, she proudly moved, draped in a beautiful, ice-blue gown that hugged her slender waist so tight, off-the-shoulder type, revealing her pale as snow skin. But the rest of her was completely covered. Soon, even those shoulders were covered in a cloak.
She also wore some jewelry, the ones that he'd gifted over the years. He'd made it with his own hands. A thin-chained necklace that was given a shining light blue color. With her beautiful, brown hair, she was destined to be the focus of many at the feast.
"So, you're still a girl," Brandon teased with a grin. "Watch yourself—Robert might just take that as an invitation."
"Then I'll slice his bloody guts." Lyanna scoffed, her pleasant mood instantly ruined.
Finally, the four headed to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths for the opening ceremonies and the great feast. The main entrance was guarded by soldiers wearing Targaryen coats of arms, declaring that the King had already arrived.
As they walked into the massive hall, their ears were filled with incomprehensible chatter from too many noblemen and women all around. At the far end of the hall was a long table where the King sat, beside him was Lord Whent, and then there was Prince Rhaegar, his wife, and their children. Most of the other guests didn't take seats at the moment, busy discussing personal matters, marriage alliances, or trades.
This scent… wine and cheese.
Wylis had never smelled something like that even at feasts held at Winterfell. The level of luxury was absurd but to his liking. This was what being a noble was all about to Wylis. This was his dream, to be wealthy and powerful enough to hold such feasts.
Then, he glanced at the King's table, to which they were moving in order to pay their respects.
Filthy was the only word that came to Wylis' mind after seeing the King. The man was so thin and gaunt, with wrinkles all over his face. But not much of his face was visible anyway. His nasty hair had grown long past his waist, and his beard fell all the way to his lap, tangled and matted. His fingernails had grown like yellow talons, almost a foot long. There was clear madness in his eyes, all signs of acute paranoia were visible in the little movements he made to look left and right.
I pity the Queen more than anyone at this point. Wylis thought. He knew why the woman wasn't there. She was confined to the Red Keep with Viserys.
"Brandon Stark of House Stark pays respect, Your Grace." Brandon stopped a clear distance from the King's table and knelt down on one knee. Wylis and the others copied Brandon.
This fucker!
Wylis ignored the King's amused gaze. He noticed Rhaegar's keen eyes locking on Lyanna's figure. As if the prince just had a eureka moment.
"House Stark? Where is Rickard? Why isn't he here?" King Aerys demanded, his voice sharp and erratic. Then, just as quickly, he waved a dismissive hand. "Matters not—I'm sure the winter is harsh in the North. Let him manage his peasants. Enjoy the festivities."
Dismissed, they all stood up and left the King's table. Wylis, however, felt the Prince's eyes following Lyanna's moment. And he also saw how Elia Martell noticed her husband's strange behavior.
Then, just for a fleeting moment, as he felt Elia's eyes lock with his, he looked away. While the Dornish woman was beautiful and slender, he saw no advantage in getting tangled with her this early. He was a nobody for now.
"Baaaah! There you are!" Robert's roaring voice came from the front. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular, and not the fat man he'd one day become. The Robert of now looked so full of life and might, his eyes intelligent and hungry for something. "Seven hells! You've grown taller than me!"
That was for Wylis. Sure enough, Robert bypassed everyone, even his precious Lyanna, and came straight at him with an arm raised.
Bam!
Wylis clasped hands with the Baratheon Lord. "Fine food and wine raised me well, my Lord."
Wylis had met Robert only twice during Eddard's visits home as Robert would tag along. The first time he met Robert, the Baratheon Lord challenged him and defeated him. The second time was just a year ago and Wylis defeated Robert in a hand-to-hand brawl.
Neither Robert nor he were trained in hand-to-hand. So, in the end, it was a simple brawl to see who was stronger in brute force. In that, he had come out on top.
"Bah—That's right. Add some women an—" Right as Robert was about to speak of his whoring hobbies, he felt a nudge by Eddard behind him. "Ah, it's a pleasure to see you again, Lyanna."
Expressionless, Lyanna just gave a small greeting by raising the hem of her gown, refusing to even touch the Lord of Stormlands. "You look healthy, my Lord."
"Indeed, I am. The feast is grand, and the tourney grander!" Robert exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Wylis, the melee will be seven-sided—seven teams of seven, clashing until the last man stands victorious."
Robert grabbed Wylis' arm and pulled him aside towards a table. Wylis was already huge, and combined with Robert, all nobles moved aside to give them way.
"Join my team tomorrow," Robert said, slamming a mug into Wylis's hand. "We'll hold back till the end, then show them a duel they'll sing about for years!"
No wonder he failed as a King. He's a battle junkie.
Men like Robert thrived in times of war and lived miserably in peace. Wylis knew the likes of him. He'd met a few veterans like him in his past life as his company produced medicines. For PTSD as well.
"Let's do that, my Lord." Wylis agreed. He needed to be Robert's friend to climb the social ladder. The Targaryens were hopeless in the long term.
But then, he noticed a man at the other end of the large hall. The man was even taller than him. "Who is that, my Lord? I never thought I'd see someone taller than me."
Robert lowered his wine mug and sneered. "Behold Gregor Clegane, the Lannisters' new pet—The Prince knighted him recently. Pointless, if you ask me. The oaf won't even joust. What use is all that height if you're just a statue in armor?"
Wylis nodded silently. Right now, Gregor may not be much of an infamous warrior. But because of his size and twisted mind, the threat was no less.
"Eat well, Wylis. It'll be a day to remember tomorrow."
You just want to bash other men bloody.
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