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On the final day of the Falcon's Tourney, the ultimate victor of the joust was due to be crowned. From the royal stand, Robin sat back in his chair, comfortable and alone. He waved to the squire behind him for more wine, which the boy did instantly, filling his goblet with a sweet red Dornish vintage. Frankly, thought Robin, as he took his first sip, he doubted he had been properly sober all week. He was sensible enough to go slowly, for Bastyn and Elliana back in Gulltown took pleasure in reminding him that he could not handle his drink, but he enjoyed the warm feeling that overcame him, the mindless happiness he experienced when he had drunk just enough.

This week-well, week and a half-had been sheer heaven. Apart from that singular appearance in the early days of the joust, the king had not watched any of the festivities at all, remaining locked up in the small council chamber, or sitting up on the battlements watching the sky. On one particular day, it had rained hard, so much so that the jousting had been temporarily postponed-but still, Brandon had remained firmly on the roof, as untroubled by the elements as he was by most things in the tangible world, not so much as flinching. He was far, far away…and, quite honestly, it was where Robin liked him best.

In the absence of the monarch, his betrothed lord sat in his place as the representative of the crown-and so Robin had continued to enjoy princely treatment for the duration of the tourney. No matter how many times he was bowed to, it never got old. Robin had almost smiled when he considered that his forthcoming wedding would guarantee him such treatment for as long as he lived. That was such a sweet thought…he thought of his mother, who would have been overjoyed to see her boy protected by kingsguard, seated in the royal stand, and enjoying such power…as he sipped his wine cup once more, he felt a familiar pang of grief.

Nonetheless, the final rounds of the joust were playing out before him. It had come down to only two knights: Ser Harman Errol of Haystack Hall, and Ser Stefan Vance of Atranta. Robin found himself rooting for Ser Stefan, who hailed from the Riverlands, his mother's ancestral home. This had not gone unnoticed by the crowd, who increasingly cheered far more wildly for Stefan than his opponent, following Robin's lead in a most satisfying way. However, Ser Harman, too, had fought extremely well, unseating every knight he had crossed lances with as if they were bottles upon a wall. He brought with him the fury of the Stormlands, and was also popular with the spectators. This final duel was sure to be a memorable showdown.

Robin grinned as both knights bowed to him. He noted their rather cheerful dispositions as they waved to their audience, shamelessly beaming at pretty girls and encouraging their friends in the crowd to cheer even louder. Indeed, if they survived this final charge, both would win sizable purses for their pains. Ser Stefan, who had red hair down to his shoulders and an attractive freckled face, saved a special smile for Robin, as if acknowledging their shared heritage. Perhaps it was the wine-but Robin swore his heart gave a slight flutter in his chest. Then, with a final wave, he lowed the visor of his helmet, ready to do battle.

"Oh, I hope Ser Stefan rides well…" Robin murmured to himself, thinking of how many knights had been dragged from the pitch on stretchers. He didn't think he could stand to watch that charming face and winning smile being smashed to pieces on the ground…

The knights passed by one another several times, without much incidence. Both horses seemed rather fatigued at this late stage in the games, and the riders had to work very hard to urge them on. However, at long last-there came the moment of reckoning. Ser Harman and Ser Stefan rode hard at one another, lances outstretched, shields close to their bodies. Robin watched anxiously as Ser Stefan kicked and kicked, forcing his horse faster and faster, until…

WHAM.

A second later-Ser Harman flew out of his saddle, airborne for a few moments with the force of the impact, before collapsing to the ground an inch away from the stands. He spat a mouthful of blood, and several teeth with it, before, finally, he threw his lance away, conceding his defeat.

"Yes!" Robin cried, leaping to his feet and applauding madly. Instantly, he was followed by the rest of the audience, all roaring their approval. It was always sweeter when the darling of the crowd won. Instantly, Ser Stefan removed his helmet, letting his long hair tumble out, and began his lap of honour with his teeth flashing in the late afternoon sun. He would leave the pitch with the glory of an honourable victory-and forty thousand gold dragons weighing down his purse. As the spectators hailed him, he brought his horse to a stop before the royal stand, and bowed his head to Robin-before flashing him another incredible smile. In that second, for less than half a moment-Robin did not feel like a prince any longer. There was a tugging in his heart, a desire for something he knew he could not have. Like the rest of the crowd, he was putty in Stefan's hands.

The party to follow the games was legendary. There was an enormous banquet, where the royal household and their guests were entertained by the winners of the singing contest, followed by dancing and music well into the night. Even the newly serious Lord Tyrion was seen to smile, whistling along to his favourite airs and becoming increasingly louder and funnier as he drank cup after cup of wine. Ser Bronn appeared to be engaged in some sort of card game with a crowd of friends, wherein the loser of each round had to drain their cup in one fell swoop. Ser Davos Seaworth could be found with Lady Carys on the dancefloor, who giggled and tossed her blond hair as she attempted, unsuccessfully, to teach him to dance. Davos seemed even less comfortable with the steps as he did on the battlefield, but he was a terrific sport, laughing good-naturedly as he tripped over his own feet. Ser Podrick stood guard behind Robin with all due ceremony-but he blushed as girls whispered and giggled at him, quietly enjoying himself. Meanwhile, Robin, who had just about passed the point of comfortable tipsiness into light drunkenness, watched over all from his seat, in pride of place. How wonderful it was to be him. How fabulous his life had become…There was only one small fly in the ointment-but that fly was nowhere to be found. Good.

Still, as Robin surveyed the plentifulness before him, all the fine food and drink, all the decorations in the grand hall, and all the gold this event had cost-he couldn't help but feel a slight pang in his chest. Little Alys's face swam into his mind, with her tiny dirty hands and huge, sad eyes…How could it be that he and his guests could live so well, while only a few miles away, so many in the slums went to bed hungry tonight?

This was a most depressing thought. Robin felt his mood fall as quickly as it had risen with the wine. Suddenly, he felt rather angry. Surely, surely this was not right…He pressed his lips together, resolving, by way of atonement for such mindless excess, that he would work harder than ever as consort to take care of the kingdom…of everyone in the kingdom…

"Your Grace!"

Suddenly-Robin was pulled rather abruptly out of his thoughts. Standing in front of him, long red hair falling into his face as he bowed his head-was Ser Stefan. He looked up, dimpled smile radiating his jubilance-and his brown eyes very warm indeed. Instantly-Robin's heart caught in his throat.

"Ser Stefan!" Robin greeted him, putting his wine cup aside. He felt a slight pink tinge appearing on his cheeks, as someone so very charming addressed him above his station. "It's still "My Lord", actually." he reminded him, grinning rather foolishly.

"Oh yes. Forgive me." Ser Stefan was utterly unwavering; Robin suspected that this had been a deliberate mistake on his part. He was not annoyed, however. Indeed-quite the opposite.

"Congratulations on a tournament well fought. You are a worthy winner."

"That is most kind of you." replied the handsome knight, with very becoming modesty. His eyes twinkled every time he spoke. Robin could not help but think of Brandon's eyes, so cold and dead in comparison… "I feel that I owe my victory to you. The tourney was in your honour, after all…" He paused. "My house has served your mother's family for generations. It was the very least I could do to fight for the Riverlands' honour…"

Robin was most enchanted by all this flattery, even more so than he ordinarily was. It certainly helped that it came from such an attractive mouth…he shook his head a few times, trying to see past the haze of an excess of wine to clarity. "I'm sure you will enjoy many more victories to come…"

Once more, Ser Stefan treated Robin to an unbelievable smile, those eyes shining in the candlelight… "For you, Your Grace…I hope so…"

Robin opened his mouth to reply, as yet unsure what exactly he was going to say-before, suddenly, a hush fell over the room. Those who had been seated got clumsily to their feet, those who had been dancing stopped. Gradually, the music died out, leaving the great hall incredibly hollow. Robin felt as if a rock had just lodged inside him as he realised exactly who must have entered the party. And, as he looked past Ser Stefan, he had never been less happy to see him.

Brandon the Broken was pushed into the hall by Brienne of Tarth, who was not celebrating her victory at the melee, but serving her king. At once, all present paid their due respect, bowing low. Grudgingly, Robin followed suit, wishing his conversation with Ser Stefan could have continued…oh Gods, why did Brandon have to ruin everything?

"Go on." Brandon waved his hand to the band, signalling that they ought to continue playing. This they did instantly, and soon the party was back in full swing. But Robin could not go back to enjoying himself, as he watched his betrothed slowly approach, like the rainstorm of before that had halted the joust.

"Your Grace." Robin greeted him, gritting his teeth and instantly retaking his seat. He took a long gulp of wine.

"Your Grace." Ser Stefan sank to one knee, bowing his head.

"Ser Stefan." Brandon greeted him, ignoring Robin. "Congratulations. I hear you rode splendidly."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ser Stefan replied, still on the ground-but, slowly, he raised his head, hope flashing in his eyes. It was as if he was expecting something wondrous to happen.

"To recognise your victory, you may ask a favour of your king." Brandon continued monotonously. "If it is in my power, it is done."

At this-the hope in Stefan's eyes exploded into stars. Once more, hurriedly, he bowed his head, almost shaking with excitement. "Your Grace. Your Kingsguard is incomplete. I ask the honour of a place."

Robin's mouth fell open. Suddenly, he felt rather desperate. If Ser Stefan joined the kingsguard, he would be at the Red Keep all the time…that was a prospect that more than delighted him.

"Your Grace." Brienne of Tarth drew herself up to full height, looking almost offended. "As commander of your kingsguard, I must protest. Ser Stefan is a worthy champion, but being good at jousting, and being good at fighting are vastly different. It would be irresponsible to allow him to guard you."

"A memory stirs." said Brandon quietly, turning to look at Brienne. "Did you not ask the same favour of Renly Baratheon at Bitterbridge?"

While Brienne looked quietly disturbed by her king's omniscience, Ser Stefan looked up at Brandon fiercely. "I squired for my uncle in the War of the Five Kings. He fought for the Riverlands-for your brother, the Young Wolf." He paused, breathing hard. "I was knighted by Brynden Tully for my valour when he retook Riverrun from House Frey. I held the castle against the Freys, and then against the Lannisters. When the Lannisters fell, I helped make sure Edmure Tully won his birthright back." Once more, he locked eyes with the king. "I served your brother. I served your uncle. Let me serve you."

Brandon was silent for a long moment.

"Ser Stefan is singularly talented, Your Grace." Robin suddenly interrupted. "I watched him all week. He is strong, valiant, and honourable. He is more than worthy to guard the king."

At this-Stefan shot him a small, grateful smile. Robin could not help but return it, as he waited to hear the king's verdict.

"All Ser Stefan says is true…" said Brandon, finally breaking his silence. "And so, it is done."

Robin's jubilation that Ser Stefan would join the royal household was clouded by Brandon's ignorance of him, once again. It was as if a stone sat in his heart, weighing it down and threatening to sink it. Oh, how could he ever stand to be married to him?

"Thank you, Your Grace!" Ser Stefan was bowing low once again, unable to stop grinning. "You will not regret this, I swear!"

"You will prove yourself." said Brienne darkly, still unconvinced. "I will not permit you to take your vows until I am certain you can defend the king."

"That is your prerogative, Ser Brienne," said Brandon lightly. "I trust your judgement entirely." Then, finally, he turned to face Robin. "Goodnight, my lord." was all he said. Then, without another word, he signalled to Brienne that he was ready to leave.

In a surge of fury, not unenhanced by the level of wine in his blood, Robin got to his feet, and hurried after the king. He simply couldn't believe that Brandon could be so rude to him. It was beyond reason-and Robin wouldn't stand for it. No. Not for a moment longer.

"Your Grace!" he called, as the door to the great hall slammed shut behind him. Brandon was already halfway up the corridor, but he stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. Then-he had Brienne turn him around.

"Lord Arryn?"

Even at this distance, his eyes bore into Robin like beams of icy fire. Those cold, black abysses…as he looked back at him, Robin's courage ebbed away into nothingness. His tongue tied itself into a knot in his mouth. As he shrunk back, feeling immensely foolish, he groped desperately for something else to say.

"Alyssa Stone waits for her father's legitimisation." he stated, swallowing his pride. "She needs only a royal seal to become Lady Royce."

Brandon made no visible reaction. "Yes. I received Yohn Royce's request."

Robin swallowed hard, biting back his frustration. "Will you sign it, then?"

Brandon said nothing for a long moment. Then-he signalled to Brienne to move him on. "Goodnight, my lord."

As he watched the king disappear around a corner, Robin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming.