Ch 23 Braggart? Part 2

"Just practise, your grace," Jon replied with a small smile on his face as he subtly leaned back, "No sacrifices involved, as far as I am aware."

'I can't say the same about magic, though...' the boy murmured internally, imagining the look on the King's face if he knew how close to the truth he had been at this moment.

In fact, in the beginning, Jon had not even been intending to participate in the Tourney, or even if he had been forced to, he had expected to lose honourably in the quarter final to the old Royce or the Blackfish, or maybe even before that, and then prepare wholeheartedly for the Melee.

After all, even during their training period at Winterfell, he had always been behind Robb in this art.

Though that was mostly because Jon always considered it to be too dangerous a game, where death or maiming was just a little slip away, and felt it gave little returns for the investment this skill demanded, so he just always focused on his other martial skills.

But then he was blessed with that bullet time skill because of Frost in the fight against the Mountain, and... everything changed.

With the additional brain resources available to him through his warg connection, Jon could enter a completely different world during his bout against other knights, where everything slowed down for him... so much so that it gave him complete freedom to utilise Peggy's speed to the fullest.

And as everyone knows, the worst thing you can do during a joust is to go at your maximum speed, because then everything would be out of your control and you would be depending heavily on luck or instincts to guide your strike or to defend against the opponent's lance.

But Jon did not have to worry about that, as he could accurately see the position of everything in slow motion and make minute changes at the very last moment so that his lance always struck true.

And since everyone knows that speed is power... so no matter who his opponent was, whether it was the bulky beast Sandor Clegane or a skilled veteran like Ser Barristan, Jon could easily defeat them without losing a sweat.

In fact, it was only because he respected the Old Knight so much that he ever let their bout even go to the third round otherwise... well, one only needed to see the sulking Hound getting drunk in the corner to know how humiliating it was to lose to a little brat in the second pass.

'No amount of strength or skill shall ever come close to defeating a cheat,' Jon decided internally as if he had stumbled upon a fundamental truth of the world.

Rober snorted as he shook his head, "If practice was all it took, then so many old Knights wouldn't have been eliminated in the first three rounds," he said with a little disdain in his voice, "After all, practising and keeping their skills sharp is the only task they have, but I do not see them achieving much, even after all that effort."

Jon had no answer to that, so he simply shrugged with a helpless expression as if saying that he couldn't help it if he was a talented young boy.

"—This is it!! IT'S THE MOMENT WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!" The announcer's loud, enthusiastic voice interrupted their conversation, and they turned towards the grounds to see that the other semifinal was finally starting, "THE PRIDE OF LANNISTER VERSUS THE PRODIGY OF THE TYRELLS. WHO SHALL WIN THIS BOUT—"

"About time," Robert grumbled as he leaned forward with an interested expression, "So what do you think, lad? Which one of them do you expect to see in the finals?" he asked Jon with a raised eyebrow.

"I would go with Loras Tyrell," Jon answered with little to no hesitation, drawing surprised glances from everyone in the vicinity.

"Oh, and why is that?" Robert asked with an intrigued look in his eyes.

"As I previously said, it all comes down to training in my opinion," Jon answered with a tilt of his head, "I believe people who have been at the top of the field for a long time tend to get complacent and slack off, since they have already achieved what they set out to, while those who are still young and rising, strive to do their very best in every training session and bout, because they have a firm goal pushing them forward. So yes, I do believe Ser Loras has a higher chance of winning in this."

Of course, in truth, everything Jon said was bullshit and made up, and the real reason he was so sure of this was that it had already happened in the canon around the same time during the Hand's Tourney.

In fact, even before this, Loras had already defeated Jamie once at a previous tourney hosted during Joffrey's name day, but for most of the people present here, that was a once-in-a-lifetime fluke, and they still believed in Jamie's reputation more, while for Jon, since it had already been done twice, it was no longer a matter of chance but skill.

"Would you be willing to put money on that conviction of yours?" Baelish, who had been silently observing their conversation until now, suddenly intervened with a harmless smile on his face.

"What are you up to, Littlefinger?" Robert asked with a suspicious look on his face, as if trying to see holding some kind of grudge against the boy because of what happened back at the port.

"Just a benign bet, your grace," Baelish answered with a raise of his hands, "I am certain someone as rich as JonSnow here would not mind having a little fun with some gold."

"Sure," Jon agreed after a momentary pause, "How about a thousand gold dragon on the winner then?"

The amount drew surprised glances from everyone in earshot, as all of them stared at the boy, whose calm smile made it seem as if he was betting pennies instead of gold. And while they were already familiar with the fact that the boy was rich, it still took them by surprise the casual way in which he threw his gold on whim.

"I am afraid not," Baelish answered with a forced smile on his face, "After all, I am just the small lord of a tiny place, and cannot bring myself to bet what amounts to a whole year of my income on a bet. So you will need—"

"I will take the bet then," Tyrion calmly interjected as he turned his head and looked at Jon, a crooked smile on his face, "My brother would be quite cross with me if he found out that I did not jump on the chance to bet my gold on his victory."

"Ah, this is perfect then," Baelish jumped in with a delighted expression before Jon could respond to the dwarf, "We all can see whose eyes are more keen amongst the two of you," he said with a faint smile on his face, but the smirk hidden underneath led Jon to suspect that this weasel had been expecting something like this from the start.

Ignoring the petty lord, Jon turned his head towards Tyrion, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows, with curiosity and a tiny hint of provocation in his eyes.

But Jon could guess that there was probably no malice behind this, and the dwarf was likely just bored and wanted to have some fun, so he shrugged, "Why not? At least I know for sure that you will be able to back up your words and pay me when you lose."

"Oho, so confident in your little friend?" Tyrion quipped with an amused look on his face, "Is it truly about skills or is there something more involved?" he asked with a meaningful glance towards the Tyrell pavilion, where the pretty rose of Highgarden was drawing even more appreciative glances than his sister.

"Just skills," Jon answered without a change in his expression.

The boy knew that his outing with Margaery had drawn notice from various powers in King's Landing, but he did not care much for it, as it wasn't something he wanted to hide in the first place.

"Ah, seeing you two rich ones competing against each other has gotten me even more excited about this bout," Robert said as he took a big gulp and turned his eyes towards the grounds where the two competitors had already taken their starting position.

At that moment, a gust of wind blew, and almost immediately, every single person present scrunched up their noses with disgust in their eyes, as the infamous smell of Kingslanding made its presence known to everyone.

"Ah, fuck!" Robert groaned as he covered his nose with his collar to breathe a little easier. "Why did we even have to have the Tourney here?" It hadn't been the first time he had been greeted by this unpleasant smell that made one want to vomit.

This was actually one of the main reasons he did not like leaving the Red Keep, as at least in his castle, the height and wind meant that he didn't need to be constantly reminded of how dirty and shitty this city was.

"Because this was the only place that was big enough to hold the crowd, your grace," Baelish answered with a helpless look.

"Damn it! What I wouldn't pay to make this smell disappear from my city?" Robert grumbled as he shifted in his seat.

"Then why not simply have the shit cleaned from this city?" a voice suddenly asked, making everyone turn their heads to see who the idiot was speaking so simply about the problem that had bothered the successive kings for centuries on end.

"If only it were that easy to do, lad," Robert answered after a few moments with a look of pity in his eyes, thinking that the boy must not have be fully aware of the size of places like flea bottom yet, because if he knew about the sheer number of lowlifes living in this city who threw their piss and shit directly into the streets every single day, he would not be able to calmly say this sentence.

"I think... I should be able to do it."

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