The Panem visitors were welcomed to a red castle by their host's host. They were given apartments below the man they were a guest of. Eddard had work to do, but Robert wanted to party, probably one reason he stuck his friend with the work.

Lust was certainly part of how he celebrated. Robert had been warned to stay away from his friend's female guests. "Your Grace, they are not whores and not the sort of wenches to be impressed by your royal status," Cato overheard. And one of them is my wife, not yours, he added to himself.

"You're here to give me harsher truths than that," the king admitted.

Gluttony was another. Eddard said that his friend and sovereign had once been a very healthy man, a keen fighter in the war that brought him to power, but he had put those days behind him. Cato had long since resolved to not let himself become a fat old man, and seeing a result of a lack of such resolve only steeled his own.

Robert wanted to stage a large tournament to celebrate his friend's appointment, regardless of what that friend thought of it. "His Grace insists on offering excessive prize money," Eddard explained. That was the first time Cato and his comrades had heard of a government official trying to control spending on the amusements of the rich. "Mayhaps it should at least be won by people I know." Cato was pleased to hear this – he wanted some of those riches to replace that attraction of being a Victor.

Like the Capitol, the people here were amused by watching fights. That did not seem so bothersome when the fighters were not forced into it or made to die. It did not offend the smallfolk either, and they came in droves to watch without being prodded by Peacekeepers.

The actual events would start early tomorrow morning and run most of the day. The tributes liked the advanced fabric and familiar styling of their arena outfits, but they'd blend in by dressing up tomorrow. Vayon Poole the steward took most of the tributes to clothing shops for more Westerosi apparel. They had already been given some from the Winterfell stores, but those were simple garb to travel or work in, and wear while nicer pieces were being laundered.

The castle servants were surprised at how often the foreigners bathed, but even every few days was infrequent for them. At any rate, the night before the big big big day, Glimmer emerged from a tub and picked out one of the dresses Catelyn had given her. It wasn't a nightgown; preparing for tomorrow was simply something to do while waiting for her skin to finish drying.

Just the same, Cato came over to her and said "No need to put anything on, because I'll just want to see it come off again."

As he wrapped his arm around her teats, she lightheartedly protested with "I just got dry and now I'm getting wet again". Cato was cued to check her cunt; his wife knew her body and did not lie about it; that was for certain. "Now get out of your not-so-small clothes," she added.

His member belonged in her; he knew that just as surely. Even to simply climb on top of a body like that was electric despite the lack of electricity here, and he felt himself about to fill her as soon as his tongue touched hers, and her head and her hips arched back at the same time.

Joust

Regina had read of jousts, but the massive warhorses and lances, and the richly decorated armor, had to be seen to be believed. That armor, the families it symbolized and the men who wore it obviously did not draw any particular attention from the foreigners unfamiliar with the history, but they still took general interest. The event itself was not for those who had first set ahorse two moons' turns prior, that was for sure. Three of Ned's guards fancied themselves good enough combat riders, along with 125 others. Cato was no mathematician, but he recognized that 128 was a convenient number for scheduling single-elimination competitions.

"Those make my spear look small by comparison," Marvel marveled.

"So does Cato," Glimmer guffawed. "And even if you were comparably sized, he is not so much of an idiot."

The javelins they carried were the same model, from the Cornucopia, and one of the locals also saw a rude jape in it. "He has a bigger member, is that it? Are the wenches in your realm usually this bawdy?" one of the locals wondered aloud.

"Unfortunately not," Peeta announced.

"Yes, you or Katniss' friends back home would have preferred that," Cato observed. "Maybe you aren't particularly bad at wenching, rather she's a particularly challenging one. I understand why you'd want to focus on her." Glimmer had taught Cato how much the one right woman could mean to a man, but damned if he was going to admit that publically. What he did say was "but she still isn't as pretty as my wife."

"Yes she is," Peeta insisted.

The tributes were getting used to tall people being relatively common here, but one heralded as Gregor Clegane was a shock even to the locals. Cato, Marvel and Thresh all stood at well above six feet and he made the all look like Tyrion Lannister by comparison. His weight was distributed over his eight feet and looked to be mostly muscle, but he still made the big district boys look like waifs like Rue by comparison. Though with Miss Clayton, Cato knew from training the look of people putting on healthy weight and was glad to tell Katniss as much.

Gregor faced a boy Hugh in blue who seemed to have as little business in this competition as the foreign visitors did. The young knight wearing a crescent moon seemed lucky to walk away. Gregor faced his younger brother Sandor Clegane in the second round. His older sibling seemed to enjoy sending him into the dirt just the same. Thoros relished defeating Gregor in turn. Gregor, if even I think you're too violent, that's scary, Cato thought.

One of Ned's men made it to the second round, the same Jory Cassel who had found them. In the third he was paired up against another man who was not a knight, and was judged the winner after they both stayed on their horses three times. The next two rounds, he got a clear win the first time.

Of the six remaining in the Kingsguard after Jaime was evicted, four entered. All of them and the king's brother Renly won easily in the first three rounds. Were they truly superb at this contest, or did their opponents think it wise not to embarrass them? Loras Tyrell had the ability and audacity to defeat not one but three of the royal guards. However, the other was too much for Prince Renly.

Loras rushed to help Renly out of the dirt. "Ser Loras once squired for Prince Renly, and apparently hasn't forgotten," Eddard explained.

"Methinks there's something more between those two," Clove whispered to Cato with her usual sarcasm.

"Yeah, reminds me of Ruby and Carol," Cato agreed. Rubeus London definitely did not have the tough-guy demeanor typical of District Two men, and was wholly uninterested in women. Entering the Career training academy, later the arena and Victors Village, Rubeus was as respected as anyone else. Cato wondered if Loras and Renly took to fighting partially for similar reasons. The District Two tributes couldn't remember the former name of Rubeus' man Carolus though.

Apparently the natives couldn't or wouldn't see it. The visitors who noticed didn't think it a scandal and didn't wish to make it one. They didn't want to torment the men themselves with an unattainable vision of how they could be treated better. Loras was exceedingly handsome, and many of the native females swooned over him, none more so than Ned's daughter Sansa herself. Loras tossed plain flowers into the crowd. He handed brightly colored ones to the guest of honor's first daughter.

The second daughter would've rather had his armor; she already had a sword. Before Jon left for the Wall, he had Mikken the Winterfell blacksmith forge Arya a sword suited to her small stature. Therein lay the problem – many people, mayhaps including Cato himself, could teach a brute force hack and slash style of swordfighting, but that's not what she needed to learn. "Stick 'em with the pointy end, Jon told me," Arya explained. "After all, that is what you do with a Needle. I do not sew, at least not very well, so this be my needlework," she japed.

"Jory Cassel tilting against Thoros of Myr," the herald called. The first time, they stayed ahorse but both lances turned to splinters, as had happened many times today. Squires placed new ones in their hands. The austere gray northerner defeated the fiery easterner this time.

"Loras Tyrell tilting against Barristan Selmy," he called again. The legendary old man's experience nearly proved a match for the young talent, the solid white holding against the triple yellow rose until the fifth run.

Most weren't quite sure of how Jory made it through the first six rounds, so it was an absolute shock when he flattened the legend in the making before him. Loras' lance had been perfectly placed, but Jory managed to swerve inside to keep the blow to his shield arm a glancing one, while still keeping his own point aimed at Loras. The four-and-twenty stood up and started a mixed chant of "Jory!" and "Cassel!" that soon spread throughout much of the stands. Ned had stayed seated and quiet but was not quite his usual reserved self welcoming his guardcaptain back from the field.

Archery Competition

Katniss could not resist the fact that the archery competition did not prohibit female entrants. Glimmer wisely avoided the embarrassment of anything having to do with ranged weapons. My wife has many virtues, but that is decidedly not one of them, Cato thought to himself. As Katniss approached the targets, Arya developed a nerve to follow. "One of the new Hand's household won the joust; shall one of his House win this competition?" one of the tournament officials remarked.

They'd shoot ten arrows per round, starting at ten paces and going up by ten per round until the final at one hundred. The highest scoring half of the competition, including ties, moved forward.

Arya and Katniss took turns in approaching the targets so they could share Katniss' advanced bow. The rules did allow competitors bringing their own weapons, a way to test the quality thereof as well as skill in using them. Some would have an advantage with the quality of their wooden bows, too.

There was one of golden-colored wood in the hands of Jalabhar Xho, a man as dark as Thresh. Such people were not seen often around here. Cato learned that the few of them here, such as this archer, were mostly travelers from far to the south or east. When they were present in larger numbers, a system of treating them poorly because of their appearance often developed, as Thresh, Rue and Katniss knew all too well, one reason they were glad to be here.

Jalabhar dressed in an array of bright colors. He was clearly one of the most challenging competitors. Balon Swann, a physically imposing man by any standard except Gregor Clegane's, was another. He had lost in the joust after winning against one of the Winterfell men, and it seemed the odds favored him better in this competition. A skinny redhead named Anguy was the other significant challenger.

Many showed what little business they had shooting even at ten paces. Some of those who definitely belonged in the yard split one arrow with the next. Arya was not that good, and the metallic shafts she borrowed from Katniss did not allow of that trick anyway. A few who could hit the targets at ten could not at twenty or thirty. Arya's arrows arrived at forty, but not enough of them close enough to the center of the target to remain in the top of half of the scores. The girl was still congratulated for being one of the last half a hundred remaining, especially by her new friend and shooting tutor who was one of the twenty-six remaining.

Katniss needed her bow's power and range to make it through the next few rounds, sometimes barely advancing. It was no surprise that she faced the other three standouts in the final. Ser Balon started his volley relatively poorly with an average finish. Anguy's ninth arrow was perfectly shot, putting him past the total score of Balon's ten. Katniss was similarly accurate three times, and her average eighth arrow put her into the lead. At this rate, would Jalabhar win on his seventh? He would not. Katniss would. His first two shots were brilliant, but his next three arrows flew badly. He needed a near-perfect performance to recover and didn't get it.

"Seven hells, that wench can shoot!" an anonymous voice called out, speaking for most of the shocked crowd. Cato was just glad she didn't have to shoot at him.

"Katniss of House Everdeen," the herald trumpted.

"Make that Shack Everdeen," the winner japed.

"You certainly are not poor anymore," he pointed out. "Trueborn, though?"

"Aye, my parents married for love and other people caused them no end of grief for it," she explained. "I honestly didn't expect to win, but it's a relief that the odds are in my favor for once." The archer curtsied. "My father was a hunter; at his hands I learned this art."

Melee

The upcoming melee seemed like what Careers were made for, just with men yielding instead of children getting a death cannon.

Clove's knives were best suited to individual targets or small groups, so the valuable ammunition could be more easily retrieved. Could even she hit small gaps in armor instead of unarmored bodies? Her small stature was much more of a limitation against dozens of professionals. Glimmer would also have been outnumbered, especially considering her focus on short handheld knives.

However, the two young men were glad to enter. Cato and Marvel were two of the few on foot, but the reach of their spears was more than a match for the warhorses. They were bigger and stronger than the breeds ridden on the road, but their riders' swords still couldn't reach the foreigners before the staves struck. Cato felt it odd to go through most of a fight with his own blade sheathed at his side. They were unarmored, not owning a suit and not used to wearing it, and took advantage of the extra mobility.

Another fighter, this one on horseback himself, had a different strategy for the opposing cavalry. His presence was familiar from the joust. Horses feared Thoros' flaming sword, and the frightened beasts left their riders in no position to do anything but yield, assuming they even stayed in the saddle. As with the joust, men being unhorsed would produce a lot of injuries, yet this added being bludgeoned with assorted objects.

An hour into the slugfest, Marvel was outnumbered by opposing riders, and although he defeated the first, he had to yield to the second. Cato conserved his strength through the next hour. This was positively brutal to someone who had trained to chase down opponents for short duels. He let Thoros eliminate most of the other competitors for him. Unmounted men were not intimidated by the green glow, and those used to the technology of Panem were not so awed by the trick. Cato's conditioned arms swinging arena steel cut Thoros' softening blade clean in half. "I yield! Apparently the blacksmiths where you're from are as good as the bowyers!" And so Ned's guests and guards won the tournament held in his honor.

Aftermath

Jory Cassel was glad to remain in his lord's service. Anguy, not making himself wealthy on the archery range, gladly accepted an offer to join those guards. Cato found himself in a goldsmith's shop replacing a ring of Glimmer's. One of the District One female victors had given her a piece of jewelry to use as a token, but it got confiscated because unbeknownst to Glimmer it concealed a poisoned spike. Jory entered the shop soon afterwards. "I have no wife, nor daughters nor sisters, but my niece Beth ought appreciate this," he announced, pointing to a piece.

"Marvel and I agreed that if one of us won, we'd give a couple percent of our winnings to the other. Now, in a way, it seems fair that I end up with the same amount of money as our other winner. Five hundred each to the twenty besides me, Glimmer, Fire Girl or Bread Boy," Cato announced to the other tributes.

Marvel had some ideas as to how to start spending his. "How in the seven hells will I be able to find a whore in this town, though?" he japed. King's Landing was full of them, especially for an event like this. Like most tradespeople, they went where the business was. Cato overheard Marvel talking to the District Four boy Alex about it afterwards. Alex was one of those youngsters that wanted to act like the big boys, which included being quite receptive to Marvel's salacious talk.

He took a whore into a room. She said her name was Pussywillow. She was willing with her pussy, that was for sure, but Cato had heard that guys who had to pay for it sometimes found gals who used appropriately inappropriate aliases.

Marvel said "Pretend your name is Glimmer". Okay, that's kinda sad, One. She hesitated and Marvel cut her off by saying "Shut up and take my money and then take my cock."

"Glimmer likes men with attitude like that," she replied.

"There we go," Marvel acknowledged. He dropped his breeches and she shucked her dress – as an expedient to her work, she did not bother with smallclothes. As he thrust into the whore, he said "How does Glimmer like this spear?"

"Very skilled, m'lord," she responded. He had a few before, but he also had the brains to recognize the whore was just delivering good customer service, but that left his mind at the point he delivered his seed into her.

A local commoner approached Cato. "Whose favor did you wear?" he asked of the armband.

"It's a braided lock of hair from Glimmer. My wife. Gods, I love calling her that," he answered in a tone that was downright lighthearted for him. The herald was no Caesar Flickerman and this was no national television broadcast, but Cato still knew what to do.

However, that woman was not looking particularly glamorous vomiting her dinner into the dust. "You got her with child already?" one of the crowd suggested. "The seed is strong."

"Everything's strong about my big bad Cato!" Glimmer said once she recovered.

"I hold a lot of gold now, and I was far from as destitute as some of my fellow foreigners, but I truly became wealthy two moons' turns ago when I married her," he said, meaning every word of it.