Chapter Forty
…
Osgiliath Infirmary
The Houses of Healing or the infirmary of Osgiliath is originally built to host at least two thousand men. After all despite Osgiliath being designated a city of luxury and events, it is at part a fortress city also, a defense of Rivendell against any invasion from its Southern neighbors. It can easily raise a five thousand host on its own thus the need for a large infirmary with its own Medical Corps. Unlike after all the Westrosi set of mind thinking, Delianah designed her troop designations twenty-first century style with a functioning logistics supporting the different branches of her military arm. No squabbling lords for her army, no sir. With it newly built though, the infirmary has little to no visitors with the exception of the ten or so residents suffering from common illnesses and work accidents.
Currently however the Infirmary is slightly fuller than usual with almost a hundred beds filled, courtesy of the Grand Melee Finals. While the Lords of Westeros sure do manage to secure a victory from the "wannabe prisoners" who are now being sent to the Wall with many a case of "attacking a Lord" as reason, nearly all of the participants of the Grand Melee have taken an injury or two.
Of course some are worse than others from broken bones, internal trauma damage, wounds from accidents and even one stab wound, courtesy of two rivaling houses sending their men discreetly to murder their opponents during the melee. Most however simply have gashes and surface wounds with more injured pride than anything else. Of course being the prickly high borne they are, they are spending the entire day here to "recover".
Like any battle however (even though this is more a simulation) with Lords thrown together on one place with nothing to do, the time is spent with a lot of boasting and insulting one another.
Unfortunately for poor Ned's ear. No one can boast like Robert Baratheon high in battle. Covered in bandages, courtesy of being a big slow walking target (due to his fat bulk and being a favorite of any sane archer) with two black-eyes and almost suffering hypothermia from being covered in snow, he is rather….lively.
"I'm telling you Ned! This tournament is awesome! You should've seen me fighting that guy! He is waving that sword of his like a club. When I swung my warhammer at him, blunted or not, I send him over the wall with a wail. Then do you remember Ned when I lead my Stormguards against that gate. It is awesome. Yes, we from the Stormlanders are warriors Ned, I tell you, WARRIORS! We might not be as hardy as you Norheners, but I tell you OURS IS THE FURY!"
"OURS IS THE FURY!" repeats the fifty or so throats of the participants from the Stormlands who are also here supporting their own injuries.
Ned mentally rolls his eyes as he tries to tune out Robert trying to outshout the Greatjon who is also boasting about Northern valor. He makes a note never to attend another Delianah hosted tourney if only to spare his poor ears.
…..
Osgiliath Castellan Quarters
"What do you mean we have to cancel the ship battle event and the rest of the joust?" Delianah demands making the rest of the room flinch. Currently other than her there are Draco, the Castellan of Osgiliath; Marcus, the leader of the Green Men and finally Leomord who is the Captain of the Silver Knight Order.
Draco does not like disappointing his goddess. If she asks for the sun and moon, he would build a ladder by his hands and bring it to her. However her orders are currently conflicting with one another. On one hand, her original orders are primarily for the success of this tourney which is the overall goal of Osgiliath's primary purpose. In the other hand however, his secondary orders are to make sure that the events go well. However currently it is proving to be quite impossible.
"Yes my lady," Draco bravely steps forward despite every aspect of his being wanting to rip his tongue off for dare admitting a failure of obedience to his goddess. Judging from the affronted reactions of Marcus who looks like he wants nothing more than to pull Draco's head off, and Leomord having his sword half drawn, everyone fully agrees with his inner turmoil of wanting his head chopped off.
"YOU DARE-!" the head of the Green Men starts to rant only to be silenced by Delianah raising a hand cutting him off mid word.
"Speak Draco, and tell me why?" her eyes are narrowed at him. "The layout I created for Osgiiliath and for the events it would host on this tourney are perfect and have backups upon backups. So why can't we accommodate for the next two great events?"
Draco only gulps and for good reason. This is the first time he after all delivered anything less than perfect to his goddess. Still, as Castellan it is his duty to maintain the original goal of this tourney and be a little reminder to their goddess.
"Your plans are perfect for this city my lady. Our issue currently has nothing to do with the preparation of this tourney; but rather on its participants,"
If possible, those eyes of hers even narrowed even more. "Elaborate,"
"Of course my lady, we prepared the different events in preparation for the different lords and their retinue to participate in. Unfortunately my lady, apparently the lords of this realm doesn't have the…..durability to participate anymore on the rest of the contests that awaits them,"
"Are you telling me that even though we have the venue and the preparations needed, what we don't have are….contestants ready?" Delianah in front of him asks with pure disbelief lacing her voice.
"I'm….afraid so my lady," Draco finally admits with a grimace. "With those who are still able to fight and get on their feet my lady, I believe the final event that we would be able to host after this archery competition is the finals for the joust ,"
"That means that we just have to make it sensational then, but at the same time we need to make it in away that even though we missed almost half of our prepared events, we can still make this tourney one to remember and raise Rivendell's standards at the same time," Draco mentally sweatdrops as their lady once more begins talking to herself out loud.
He has been serving under her long enough to know that she would be doing something unexpected and mind shattering again.
…..
The Coliseum Grounds, Archery Competition Finals
Normally the archery contest of a joust is one that observers would be rooting for with bets and enjoyment being thrown around in equal measure. However thanks to the rather action packed recent events with the jousts, the melees and the personal battle of the Lady Delianah, whatever excitement that can be derived from the archery competition is really miniscule. Especially with the fact that the majority of the Lords and their best warriors are rather absent; courtesy of the mock siege leaving the participants of the Archery Competition the dregs that remain of each kingdom.
While irrelevant for everyone else though, this archery competition becomes a source of fear for Myrcella. With her father stuck at the infirmary and her mother disappearing somewhere with her uncle Jaimie for some reason, her brother apparently takes it into heart his threat that he would use her as a target. Thus the reason why she is here right now walking at the middle of the Coliseum holding a wooden square block in her hands with a red circle painted on it. A prince apparently deserves a realistic version of the tourney for "experience".
It is apparently Joffrey's "target". Though Myrcella knows that she is also her other "accidental mission"
The event organizers of course which are citizens of Osgiliath wants nothing more than to protest and for the prince to use the original moving targets via machinery instead of his own fresh and blood. Myrcella of course has to step in before they can protest even further and aggravate her brother where the spoiled brat would then start demanding heads. Myrcella knows that Delianah would not take the death of her citizens without reason well and would stand against the crown, something that she wants to really avoid. Thus her commands that they acquiesce to Joffrey since her brother has "superb archery skills".
She's not dumb of course. She knows that as she stands here today waiting for Joffrey to shoot the five arrows from his crossbow, the event organizers must be running to where Delianah is holding her meeting and updating her of what is going on. She just hopes that the one she admires does not arrive before Joffrey finishes else the Crown Prince would be a head shorter.
"Ready sister?!" Joffrey asks out loud from afar way to gleefully, the little shit!
Myrcella just grits her teeth before holding the square target directly in her chest. Around the Coliseum, there is no cheers, no whoops of excitement as everyone is slowly starting to understand what the hell is going on down at the range.
As for Myrcella she does her best to stay still. Despite the monster that he is, she has to admit that her brother is not bad when it comes to using the crossbow. He actually has a bit of talent on it (apparently shooting dogs, cats and mice at the Red Keep managed to improve his skills quite efficiently, who knew?). So unless he purposefully misfires, he will hit the target quite well for-
The sudden blazing agony on her outer right thigh makes Myrcella yell out in pain as she falls on her side screaming. Her entire right leg is numb and her eyes widen as she looks down and see a quarrel bolt nearly embedded in full inside the flesh of her leg. Blood is pooling over her yellow sundress and her breaths come in pants as her body slowly succumbs to the realization that she has been shot.
"Give me space! Give me space!" before Myrcella knows what's going on, the familiar scent of ripe apples engulf her senses as a pair of gentle hands pull her head to a soft lap.
"You're going to be okay princess, it's non-lethal though I know it's painful. The Healers are going to be here any minute,"
"Rae-Rae?" Myrcella breaths out through her pants as beads of sweat fells down from her face.
"The one and only," the nervous reply of her friend responds patting her golden hair. "You got shot,"
"I got shot, I'm so stupid," replies Myrcella with her own nervous chuckle. "It hurts,"
"It should, you got a crossbow bolt on your thigh. Did you expect anything else?" is the rather sarcastic reply making Myrcella chuckle on her own before a familiar sarcastic voice enters her line of hearing.
"Sorry about that sister, I guess my hands…slipped?"
In a daze of pain or not, Myrcella has to grab the wrist of Rhaenys in order to stop the younger girl from ripping her brother's face off. Right now none of the Dornish beauty remains on Rhaenys' face but rather her fangs are bared like the snakes of the desert her people call home.
"DON'T!" she hisses at her friend. "He wants you to attack him! Don't give him a reason to,"
For a second it seems that Rhaenys would disobey her and would rather claw her brother's face off. She grits her teeth though before bowing at the approaching bastard.
"A fine shot your grace. Unfortunately I have to take the Princess Myrcella, to be treated,"
"Of course servant girl. Do tend to my sister well," despite her slowly nearing loss of consciousness, Myrcella can see her brother smirking down at her.
"Till the next tourney sister,"
…..
Osgiliath, Armory
"Thank you, make sure she gets the treatment she deserves and strap her there on the bed. I've got a feeling she will make a run for it to watch once she hears about me competing," orders Delianah to one of the Death Dealers who bows with a small "my lady" before rushing off.
Now fully alone, Delianah puts her hand on her forehead before sighing. While she is in fact upset about the little shit almost trying to murder her ward (and would have no problems letting the lions feast on him first chance she gets). Currently she is however more confused about herself. She's aware of course of the rather growing attraction that the Crown Princess has on her. In fact she expects it. She's Harry the Great after all. Men and women, dogs and cats, all admire her in her previous life. Long story short, Little Harry back home is very active having no problems finding willing partners.
Currently however while indeed she is fond of the princess (and would have no qualms lopping off heads in her honor). She is afraid of the realization that she is discovering just now that she does not share the same attraction…..yet that Myrcella has to her. After hearing her being used as a target by her brother, Delianah knows she should have been furious and while she's pissed and annoyed as hell. It's not at the level of let's say someone murdering Gabriel or Fleur back home. They may not be his wives officially but unofficially, they are and Harry would cross heaven and earth to avenge them if someone dares to even lay a pinky on them. For Myrcella as adorable and lovely she is, Delianah does not feel for her that way for now.
"My lady, it's time," the voice of one of the organizers brought Delianah out of her stupor as she wordlessly nods at the man before standing up and putting on her helmet.
This tourney it seems is more trouble than it's worth and is not giving Delianah the results she have been expecting when she invested in Osgiliath. She has barely been able to make connections due to the mountain of drama she has been forced to give attention to and now the events she planned are even not possible to implement due to the inadequacies of well….everyone. Don't get her wrong, this tourney would be one for the histories since it is nothing compared to any tourney that Westeros has ever seen. Still, Delianah is never one to settle in anything less than perfection when it comes to planning or in the case of a hiccup, a backup plan. Fortunately in this scenario she has one.
"Presenting the Lady Delianah Tully defending the honor of Rivendell!" the boom of the herald's voice can be heard and Delianah urges her white stallion forward for the second time almost deafened by the cheers of the crowd of the Coliseum as she takes to the field.
"Marching against her and the finalist of the Joust, our mystery knight that thrashed the other contenders, the Knight of the Legion!" the herald continues once more urging another boom of loud cheering from the people watching as opposite Delianah, a knight rides out wearing a simple grey armor but instead of the tear drop or circular shields that Westerosi knights prefer, his is square shaped with an eagle motif.
Delianah smiles beneath her helmet. Of course she knows who the mystery knight is. She is after all the reason why he's here, courtesy of spiked drinks and enchanted letters when the first invitations for the Grand Tourney are sent. He is basically her secondary plan in the case of a hiccup of disruption for the final event.
With the majority of the Westerosi contending knights for the joust out of commission due to their participation in the Grand Melee, it falls to Delianah to find a contender that has the same reputation as The Mountain or Ser Jaimie Lannister to fill in the void. Thankfully there is one outside Westeros.
Crown Prince Octavian of New Ghis, Eastern version of Barristan the Bold, well-known for never been defeated in battle and probably one of the best jousters in the world. He seldom joins tourneys though since for him, it is a waste of time and effort. With Delianah's persuasive manipulation (magic cough2x), the Prince is here in incognito for participation for "greater impact".
"Give me the lance!" Delianah shouts at one of the observing squires who wastes no time kicking her horse's flanks with a war cry nearly making the crowd go wild as the faithful beast responds to a full gallop in response to her urging. Her lance points towards the prince in disguise. Judging from the sudden straightening of his poise, Delianah knows that the challenge is accepted.
"Lance!" his firm voice calls out to his own squire who hands him the wooden weapon as he urges his own horse forward.
Delianah immediately knows without a doubt that magic bamboozle cheat or not, that Octavian's skill is not rumor only. His form has zero faults and he rides his horse as if he is born to do it. Even with the active confundus spell she has sent beforehand. There is no way that she could-
Delianah's thought process is cut off rudely as something slams into her navel like a sledgehammer making the Dame see white as she finds herself being thrown off her horse, all air sucks off of her. Feeling weightless for a few seconds, she crashes hard on the ground seeing stars. She groans mentally. She has been too engrossed in her thoughts that she misses the lance heading towards her.
"My lady! My lady! The panicky voice of Marcus sounds foggy and Delianah finds herself being hauled upright as several hands grab her and sits her up.
Eyes now seeing more clearly, she stares at the worried face of the Elder of the Green Men and the rest of the Healers of the Coliseum now poking and prodding her.
"I'm alright! I'm alright!" Delianah waves off the sticks and tools of the healers. Yes, even though she feels heavily bruised, the armor she has enchanted beforehand to be indestructible (suck that for cheating).
"I'm just wined, that's all. The armor manages to take all the blow,"
"You worried us my lady!" hisses Marcus in worry handing her a canteen of water which she greedily drinks to alleviate the bruise at her navel.
"I'm impressed Lady Delianah. Well fought!" a rich chiseled voice makes Delianah look up to the form of her opponent looking down at her from his horse. "You actually hit me before I managed to unseat you). Nobody's ever done that before,"
"You too…..Prince Octavian," she can't help but chuckle from where she's sitting earning her an entire stadium sized gasp (as expected from everyone listening) and a normal one from the knight.
With deft hands, he then removes his helmet showing a scarred but young face with a hint of a dimple. He has a rough handsomeness to him with curly brown hair and a soft-stern smile. She can hear gasps of exclamations from the rest of the audience to slow to react with an even angry demand from the Ghiscari Delegation how in the world do they not know that their prince is here.
"You knew me?" he asks impressed.
"Yeah," she nods in response.
"And still you rode?"
Delianah only smirks at him as she steadily stands on her feet dusting off the dirt that sticks to her armor. "It's not in me to withraw,"
"Nor I," he chuckles. "Well, it happens,"
"Yeah,"
He smiles once more at her, his head bowing in respect before taking a white handkerchief from his breastplate and handing it to the herald who gasps at the sudden declaration of surrender and forfeit.
"Enjoy the tourney my lady,"
"You too, Prince Octavian," she simply responds before raising her broken lance to the sky.
A second….two seconds….three seconds before the entirety of the stadium erupts in applause at the victory of the Dame for the joust.
….
Royal Dais, Platform Osgiliath
"I almost wish this tourney doesn't end Ned! Going back to King's Landing and doing nothing but eat, drink and shit myself to death is not an appealing future," Robert grumbles making Eddard roll his eyes at the rather childish behavior of his friend. For some reason it reminds him of a younger version of a pouting Robert when they're boys at the Vale.
"You just miss the fighting don't you Robert?" Ned queries earning him a bright smile from the fat king.
"Of course I miss the fighting. Don't you Ned? There's nothing exhilarating like the feel of battle. The blood coursing through your veins, the thrill of wondering whether the next second would be your last, the ever present danger to your life. It makes a man feel alive. This Grand Melee almost reminds me of it,"
Ned resists the urge to roll his eyes. He spares telling Robert the fact that if the Grand Melee is a battlefield, his large arse might have been killed a dozen times over as he is right now. It never fails to make Ned wonder how the large giant of a man that is Robert that he knows before becomes this replica of a giant boar.
"Presenting the Lady Delianah Tully, Dame of Rivendell and all it's territories!" booms the herald making both Ned and Robert alongside him to stand up.
With the end of the Tourney, it falls to Robert as king to give the cup of ending to the host in honor of her efforts on making the Tourney possible. Normally it is only the Royal family who would be the attending with the king. However since Robert personally want him near, he is here with his family. The only one absent is the Princess Myrcella since her brother accidentally shot her during the archery competition. At least that's how the rumors in the Healing Halls say. No one else in the Royal Dais are present other than three substitute guards for Robert since Ser Barristan is still recovering, Ser Arys is with Myrcella and Ser Jaimie is still at the Houses of Healing having his right arm bandaged after he manages to get a ballistae bolt in his shield head on during the Grand Melee. Now Ned watches as Delianah approaches them still wearing that rather extremely ornate but rather risqué outfit that the Emperor of Yi Ti has given her. With nary a word, she fells to a knee in front of Robert.
"As king of Westeros, I drink this cup of ending for this Grand Tourny and commends you, Delianah Tully for its management of it," Robert declares loudly in front of everyone before raising the cup to his lips and drinking the spiced cider with one gulp. "May the gods Old and New make you prosper even more to make tourneys like this possible,"
"Thank you my king," Ned watches as she stands up with a smirk at the king of Westeros. "I am glad that you enjoyed the-HUH?!" her voice is suddenly cut off and for good reason.
Even Ned is caught off guard alongside Robert as without warning one of the bodyguards of the King moved without warning and has jammed a dirk to the hilt at the left side hip of the Dame drawing blood.
"For the Faith!" he hears the unknown man whisper. Before Ned could act though, Delianah in a fit of anger despite the pain in her face pushes him away with one arm.
"For the Faith!" and before anyone can move again still in shock, the second guard of Robert rushes forward and punches the Dame with a shattering "crack" at the stomach making Ned know that at least one rib has been damaged thanks to him still wearing his metal greaves.
Coughing and gagging while clutching her wounded stomach, the downed "kingsguard" from before draws another dirk and this time stabs her in the back with a downward thrust making the Dame scream out in agony. She barely manages to finish her cry when the second knight follows up with a bone shattering downward slam with both fists at her right shoulder sending her straight to her knees. The third guard moves next and with another dirk pierces her upper back with it.
The entire attack takes is no more than a few seconds. It is however enough to put down the Dame. Ned rushes to the bloody form of the Lady of Rivendell even as Baratheon, Lannister, and Stark guards rush the dais and dogpiles the assassins. He winces though at the unmoving body of the young woman.
Gods he doesn't want to admit it but she looks like she's dead.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Author's Note:
Hope ya like this Chapter Fellow Westerosi. Sorry for the long update. Im extremely busy with life.