Chapter 29: The Tournament

Jorah had every reason to feel ashamed. Daenerys noticed he hadn't even mentioned his late wife's name. Perhaps she had already faded from his memory, never truly holding a place in his heart. Yet, she had endured three difficult labors for him, ultimately losing her life.

The knight continued, "Not long after, my father joined the Night's Watch, and I became the Lord of Bear Island. Suitors came in droves, but before I could make a decision, the Ironborn rebelled. Balon Greyjoy declared himself King of the Iron Islands."

Daenerys frowned, interrupting him. "When was that? Before I was born?"

"Princess, I'm not that old," Jorah replied dryly, his expression wooden.

"Oh, go on," Daenerys said dismissively.

"That was four years after the Rebellion, so you were about four years old," he murmured, his voice lowering.

It made little difference; old was old.

Daenerys pieced it together—it must have been the time when Theon Greyjoy was sent as a ward to Winterfell.

"I don't understand," she said. "What were the Ironborn thinking? During the chaos of Robert's Rebellion, they stayed quiet. But four years after Robert declared himself king and the realm stabilized, they suddenly rebelled? What gave Balon the nerve? Or was he simply slow to react and thought he could seize glory in an already settled world?"

"I don't know for sure," Jorah said, shaking his head. "The Ironborn are unpredictable, driven by madness. Maybe Balon believed Robert's reign was shaky, or perhaps someone had been holding him back from rebelling earlier.

During Robert's Rebellion, Balon's father, Lord Quellon Greyjoy, remained neutral. After your brother Prince Rhaegar fell at the Trident, Quellon sided with Robert. At the time, House Tyrell supported the Targaryens.

Quellon led the Iron Fleet to raid the Reach, but the Tyrells were ready. They ambushed him near the Shield Islands, defeating the invincible Iron Fleet and killing Quellon in the process.

Balon succeeded his father. By then, Robert had secured the throne, and most uprisings across the realm had been quelled."

"Four years later, King Balon consolidated power over the Iron Islands and raised his banner in rebellion. He lost. His two eldest sons were killed, and his youngest, a ten-year-old boy, was sent to Winterfell as a ward—more accurately, a hostage to keep House Greyjoy in check.

To celebrate the victory, Robert organized a grand tournament outside Lannisport.

It was there that I met Lynesse.

She was half my age and had traveled all the way from Oldtown with her father to watch her brothers compete.

The moment I saw her, I couldn't take my eyes off her. For the first time, I felt an overwhelming sense of love. In a burst of impulsiveness, I begged her for a token to fight in her honor. I never dreamed she'd agree, but she did without hesitation.

Princess, you must understand—tournaments aren't just about combat. They're a knight's sport, more about pageantry than war.

We Northerners aren't adept at this Andal pastime. But with Lynesse's token, it was as if the Warrior of the Seven had blessed me.

Day after day, I triumphed over every opponent, and in the end, I crowned Lynesse as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Drunk on wine and glory, I did something reckless that night—I went to her father and declared my wish to marry her.

Given the disparity between our houses' wealth and status, Lord Leyton Hightower should have outright refused me. But he didn't."

House Hightower ruled Oldtown, Westeros's second-largest port. It was home to the Citadel of the maesters and the headquarters of the Faith of the Seven.

The Hightowers, descended from Garth Greenhand, were a house of immense prestige, practically dukes without the title.

Even Tywin Lannister had once sought to marry his son Tyrion to a Hightower daughter, only to be insultingly rebuffed by Lord Leyton.

Jorah Mormont, by sheer fortune, succeeded where others failed.

"But the honeymoon was short-lived," Jorah continued. "Lynesse was deeply disappointed by my home. She found Bear Island too cold, too damp, and far too isolated.

The wooden hall of Bear Island couldn't compare to the warm, towering castles of her homeland.

Life on Bear Island lacked the luxuries a southern lady was accustomed to—no masquerade balls, no theatrical performances, no lavish feasts. Even wandering minstrels rarely visited, and when they did, they were often old, untalented, and uninspiring.

The food in the North was plain compared to the abundance of the Reach. For my people, having enough to eat was a blessing from the gods, but every meal was a torment for Lynesse.

At the time, I thought, 'If only she's happy, I'd do anything.'

So I hired cooks from her homeland, brought in bards, and adorned her for the dances with silver and gold. That's how I, a lord of the impoverished Bear Island, became an expert in the price of jewelry, counting every coin to make it happen."

"So now you understand why I could so easily estimate the value of that opal bracelet," Jorah said, smiling like a husband maxing out his credit cards on Black Friday to please his wife.

"I tried to give her everything she wanted. As I mentioned before, I won the tournament because of her.

The Usurper—well, the extravagant and self-indulgent king he was—loved hosting tournaments. Each champion would receive lavish rewards.

That particular time, I didn't just win glory and Lynesse's favor. I also walked away with fifty thousand gold dragons in prize money."

(Author's note: At Eddard Stark's appointment as Hand of the King, the tournament prize was forty thousand gold dragons, but considering the significance of Balon's rebellion, I've increased it by ten thousand.)

"Fifty thousand?" Daenerys exclaimed in astonishment.

Her memories of struggling through Essos' free cities had given her a solid understanding of this world's currency: gold, silver, and copper.

She recalled a time in the slums of Myr when Viserys had bought two sausages and a small bowl of goat's milk for just two copper coins. After finishing his share, he had even stolen half of hers.

If one copper coin was roughly worth five modern units of currency, a single sausage could suffice for a meal. A gold dragon, worth 30 silver moons or approximately 24,000 copper coins, would equate to about 120,000 modern currency units.

Fifty thousand gold dragons? That was equivalent to six billion!

She remembered that in the original story, Robert Baratheon had accumulated six million gold dragons in debt over his 14-year reign—a staggering 720 billion, with half owed to the Lannisters.

Hearing Daenerys gasp, Jorah added with a sigh, "Yes, Bear Island wouldn't earn even five thousand gold dragons in a hundred years. In his spending, the Usurper was more like a 'mad king' than your father. Ah, I mean..."

Jorah's face turned red, and he faltered awkwardly.

Daenerys said nothing, only nodding calmly.

Jorah breathed a sigh of relief and continued his tale. "With that fortune as a foundation, I was able to fulfill all of Lynesse's desires.

I even had a ship specially built for her so we could attend festivals and banquets across the realm. Lannisport, Oldtown, King's Landing, Lys, Pentos—her presence graced them all. Once, we even traveled as far as Braavos."

"From Bear Island to Braavos? Are you insane?" Daenerys asked, incredulous.

While Braavos was geographically closer to the North, the distance was still immense—about 3,000 kilometers in a straight line. However, the landmass and the Narrow Sea meant they had to sail around the entirety of Westeros, making the journey over 10,000 kilometers—farther than from Shanghai to Los Angeles.

Jorah had truly risked life and limb for his wife.

But his tale didn't end there. Jorah continued recounting his "burning the candle at both ends" escapades.

"For money—and because Lynesse longed to win another crown as Queen of Love and Beauty—I entered more tournaments. But the miracle never repeated; I never won again. Each loss meant losing a warhorse and a suit of armor, which I had to buy back or replace."

Daenerys asked curiously, "How much does a horse and a suit of armor cost?"

The original Daenerys, accustomed to the prices of street food, had no grasp of the expenses tied to noble equipment.

"A well-trained horse costs at least one gold dragon. My warhorses were of higher quality, averaging about three gold dragons each. As for full plate armor, good ones range from four to five gold dragons. I had to ensure my armor was of the highest quality," Jorah said solemnly.

"For knights like us, our familiarity with our armor rivals our understanding of our own hands. I can spot flaws in an opponent's armor at a glance—if there are any.

By the same token, my opponents could easily identify weaknesses in my armor. I couldn't afford to wear substandard gear; it would be too dangerous.

I don't fear death, but dying because of poor armor in a nobleman's game? That would be the ultimate humiliation."

Pausing, Jorah's voice grew heavy. "I've participated in many tournaments, and in every one, knights have died. Most were hedge knights seeking wealth or fame.

Not a single highborn died, though. The rules of jousting make it nearly impossible to break through their defenses."

Had Daenerys witnessed the Hand's Tourney in King's Landing, she would've understood Jorah's words even more deeply.

In one match, Renly Baratheon faced Sandor Clegane. During a high-speed tilt, the Hound's lance struck Renly square in the chest, sending him flying backward over ten meters. The stag antlers on his helm, as thick as a child's wrist, snapped under the impact. And yet, Renly stood up unscathed, dusted himself off, and responded to the crowd's cheers with a charming smile.

Had it been anyone else, a thinner breastplate or weaker padding would've meant shattered ribs or fatal organ damage.

In this world, internal injuries often meant death.

Daenerys asked, intrigued, "What's the difference between a hedge knight and a knight?"

(To be continued...)

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