Cold Wind Blows
This is an AU of George R.R Martin's 'A Song of Ice and Fire' universe but it will follow, in a way, the plot of the series. The story will integrate the Legend of King Arthur into the story. I do not own anything, nor do I claim to.
Chapter 13: Tourney: Joust Part 2
Ever since his family's arrival in King's Landing, his two daughters had been at each other's throats whenever they were together, which was typically when they ate as a family. It was only Bran's mediator skills that avoided the possibility of a brawl. However, Ned was thankful that they were getting along for the time being. So far they had been discussing the Tournament.
Or rather, at Arya's behest, Sansa was informing her of the events the day before. "Prince Arthur rode well, he and Ser Barristan the Bold broke a lot of lances on each other." Sansa said primly, eating a slice of apple.
Bran nodded cheerfully, nudging Arya who scowled at him. "It was amazing," The young boy said enthusiastically. "Ser Barristan broke near twenty lances on the Prince."
Arya stared at her older sister and younger brother with a slight jealousy. "I wish I could have seen that." She mumbled.
Sansa raised her eyebrow. "Why, where were you?" She questioned and Ned hid a grin when Arya smirked slightly.
"Dancing Lessons." His youngest daughter said. Sansa nodded and returned to her meal.
Ned's thoughts turned to his wilful little she-wolf and he remembered her joy when he had presented her with Syrio Forel, a Master of the Braavosi Water Dance combat style. Eddard believed that Arya would be better suited to this combat style due to her thin, athletic form and also because of the gift Jon had given her; a small, slender blade that matched its wielder and what she had called Needle. The blade was not suited to the usual hacking and slashing of Westeros, which is where the fencing style of the Water Dance came in handy.
Eddard glanced at his daughter when Sansa questioned her on the dancing lessons. "What?" Arya asked, snapping out of a daydream.
Sansa rolled her eyes. "I said, are you coming to the Jousting today or your dance lessons?"
Arya shook her head. "The Jousting of course. Father, can I leave?" Eddard smothered a chuckle and nodded.
"Away with you." He said fondly and she ran from the room. Sansa dropped her apple and she glanced at Ned questionably.
"May I be excused?" Sansa asked.
"Of course." Ned said and Sansa disappeared to her room, her shoes clacking along the way. Bran opened his mouth, but Eddard cut him off. "No you cannot, you've hardly touched your food." Ned ate some bacon and some egg before he washed it down with some weak ale, while he watched a grumbling Bran eat some of his own food.
The Hand of the King stood from his chair as Jory entered the room.
"Lord Stark." He greeted cheerfully, gesturing to an unseen man to enter. "Prince Arthur."
The young Black Lion entered the chamber and nodded at Jory. "Will I be seeing you in the Melee?" The Prince asked and Jory glanced at Ned before replying.
"Hopefully, my shoulder's banged up." He said and the Prince chuckled.
"Aye." Jory bowed to them both and left the chamber, leaving the two of them alone. "Lord Stark, Bran." Father and Son returned the greeting with a smile and a reply of 'my Prince', with Bran running off with a cheeky grin moments later.
"Ser Barristan informed me that he has been watching young Bran when he was in the practice yard." Arthur told the Lord Hand, who arched his eyebrow curiously. "He said he may consider taking on Bran as a squire so long as he impresses him in a small melee."
Eddard pondered the information silently. "I hope Bran meets his expectations." He said. "Who will be fighting in the small melee?" The cool eyes of the Alpha Direwolf observed the blue-green eyes of Arthur Baratheon.
"It is a mixture of squires and pages, nothing to be worried about." The Prince said breezily and Eddard nodded once.
"Very well, I suspect the reasoning for your early morn visit is a Council meeting?" The Wolf of Winterfell questioned the young Prince.
"Aye." Arthur said, his hand sliding into an effortless gesture to the door. "Shall we?" Eddard nodded, his eyes distinguishing the fine Valyrian Steel blade of the Black Lion resting on his hip.
"I'm just getting my sword." Eddard said, turning around and grasping the thick leather sword belt and wrapping it around his belt. He moved to the door silently with an equally silent Prince.
Ned's hand slid across the worn leather with practised ease and he buckled it up whilst moving. "Who called the session?" Ned asked after a moment and Arthur glanced up in surprise.
"Uncle Renly did." Arthur replied, his mind seemingly everywhere and nowhere. Ned took this silence to contemplate his children once again.
With the blessings of the Old Gods, mayhaps his children will achieve the life they have always wanted; Queen Sansa, Ser Bran the Brave and the fearsome Warrior-Lady Arya. Sansa was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, the heir apparent of King Robert and Arya was ensuring her combat skills with her tutor, Syrio Forel. Only Bran was left, but Eddard knew that his children were stubborn enough to accomplish their goals. Especially Bran.
His mind tumbled over and it reached a halt at the thought of his other children. Rickon and Robb. And Jon. He never could have believed the generosity that the Prince had garnered for Jon by requesting his cousin, Ser Gwaine, to take him on a as a squire.
But he also knew that it could have been considered a slight to take the baseborn son, instead of the trueborn. Robb, thankfully, hadn't taken the action as a slight to his honour…but Cat did.
She ranted and raged for a good few hours before she finally realised that Jon would no longer be at Winterfell. But her words had sparked a sudden case of 'wolf blood' and Ned knew he had overreacted to her anger.
Ned mentally shook himself, driving away his thoughts for the moment as his eyes drew up, focused and assessed the young man in front of him. The boy bore resemblance to his Father in almost everything; his eyes, his hair colour, his build and his temper, but the rest, Eddard knew, was a lion. His hair was similar to Ser Jaime's, but it was a deep black. He was tall like Robert and he held the strength that the Demon of the Trident had, but he was swift and lithe, his huge form doing nothing to weaken his speed.
He also possessed tremendous spirit if Sansa was to be believed; fighting until the end, until one man was the victor and the other was the loser.
Ned squashed down his irritation when his eyes drew in and regarded the hulk mass of Janos Slynt, the Commander of the City Watch. The man was frog-faced, with jowls and a bald plate with sweat quivering off of his forehead and nervous wriggling worm fingers.
"It's the Prince's and the Hand's Tourney that's causing all of the commotion my Lords." He began nervously, and Ned was thankful for Arthur narrow interruption.
"I can't have a Nameday celebration?" He mocked, eyes glaring as he sipped a draught of fruit stained water from his goblet.
"I-My Prince," Slynt started but he swallowed his tongue when Renly jeered in.
"My nephew is turning five and ten in a few days. Mayhaps if you do your duty, you may be invited to the feast. My brother, the King, has ordered this Tournament take place."
"I need men!" The man burst out desperately, his cheeks bursting. "The Hand's Tourney-"
"I can assure you," Ned said, leaning forward to peer nearer the frog-faced Commander. "The Hand wants no part in this."
"Call it what you will Lord Stark Ser, the city is packed filled with people and more flooding in every day." The bald man said, his jowls bouncing when he spoke. None of the Lords seemed inclined to break the silence so Janos Slynt did so himself. Lord Eddard pushed himself back into his chair and he pulled a few grapes toward him.
"Last night we had two tavern riots, a mass gang rape, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters." The Commander of the Gold Cloaks explained to them and Ned knew he had to do something to keep the King's Peace.
The Eunuch simpered extravagantly. "Dreadful." He shivered. However, Lord Renly was of a different opinion.
"If you can't keep the King's Peace," He said disinterestedly, his hands picking their way to the core of an orange as he did so. "Then clearly, the City Watch needs to be commanded by someone who can. Perhaps by my son, Gwaine."
Ned noticed Arthur offer his Uncle a small smirk. "I don't think Gwaine would want to affiliate himself with corrupt, conceited men." The last words were a jab, Ned noticed, his eyes narrowing as he noticed, through his peripheral vision, the bullfrog like swelling of the Commander of the Gold Cloaks.
He ground his teeth together. "I need more men." Slynt growled, his neck, cheeks and forehead shining with sweat and anger.
"You'll get fifty." Ned decreed, drawing the eyes of the Small Council. "Lord Baelish will see it paid for." He added, as an afterthought.
Littlefinger made a noise of disbelief. "I will?" He asked, and Eddard turned to him, their gazes meeting. The Hand of the King gave the Master of Coin a stern look.
"Aye, you will, you found coin enough for a champions purse." The Quiet Wolf returned his attention back to Slynt. "I will also grant you another twenty of my own Household guard, who will return to me after the Tourney has reached the end of its duration."
"And a few Mercs will love the opportunity to some gold." Arthur added, his eyes meeting Ned's momentarily before they returned to Slynt. "Alas, you will only get twenty-five of them, and like Lord Stark said, I will stop paying them the moment the Tourney ends."
Ned turned his attention away from the man, who parted with a bow, a few whispered words and a swish of his gold cloak. Beside him, Arthur groaned. "I cannot wait until this is over."
Ned chuckled, clearly catching the youth by surprise. "You and I are of similar minds my Prince." He said, draining what remained of his goblet. Arthur smiled and turned his attention from the Lord Hand to a plate of grapes in front of him.
"The realm prospers from such events, my Prince." Lord Varys smiled serenely, his eyes turning from Prince Arthur and Lord Eddard. "They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes."
Eddard said nothing; for his mind had flashed suddenly back to a time of his four other pack-mates and Tourney on the edge of the lake of Ava-
"– the whores are walking bow-legged." Petyr Baelish smirked.
Prince Arthur tossed him a look of amusement with borderline disgust. "I'd imagine the whores that are all bow-legged are already here my Lord." He said, and Petyr laughed.
"Why of course, but not in my institute." Littlefinger said with a chuckle.
Ned observed Arthur for a moment as the youth's face tighten sharply. "And certainly not in Chataya's." The Prince declared. "Otherwise my Uncle Tyrion would be none too happy."
Littlefinger bowed his head at that. "Indeed."
Arthur glanced at the window momentarily before he stood abruptly. "Forgive me, my Lords, but the Joust will continue on today, and I would like to be ready for it."
The Small Council stood, and Eddard nodded at the youth. "By your leave, my Prince." But the Prince was gone, his Uncle Renly mirroring his movements out of the door.
"My Lords." Eddard stiffly bowed his head before he set off at a brisk pace to meet up with his daughters.
He found Arya outside his chambers, balancing barefoot upon the stone steps on one foot. "What're you doing?" He asked her and she said nothing at first, but her brow became rigid with concentration.
"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours." She said at last, her voice was strong as she wobbled precariously.
Eddard noticed. "It's a hard fall down these steps." He teased, a small smile on his face.
Arya frowned at him before she replied, her eyes still locked on the wall opposite her position. "Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you stronger." Ned's smile grew at that, she sounded exactly like Lyanna. "Tomorrow I'm going to be chasing cats."
The Hand of the King shot her a look of befuddlement. "Cats?" He repeated before sighing. "Syrio says…"
Arya nodded, both of her feet rested solidly on the ground. "He says that every swordsman should study cats. They're quiet as shadows and as light as feathers, and that you have to be quick to catch them."
Eddard loosed a chuckle. "He's right about that." He agreed, sitting down and tapping the step beside him. Arya plopped herself down beside him.
"How are your lessons going?" He asked her and she grinned.
"Good Father, I've got lots of bruises. But every hurt is a lesson." She rolled it off her tongue again and Ned nodded.
"Every hurt is a lesson because when you're hurt, you do what you will to prevent it from happening again." He told her and she glanced at him for a moment with silence before she spoke again.
"How come Bran gets to become a squire for Ser Barristan the Bold?" She questioned, staring at him. "I'm much better with a sword than that dollop-head."
Ned laughed and pulled his little She-Wolf into a one armed embrace. "Yes, but one day, Bran will protect the King and your sister, and you will marry a High Lord's son, become the Lady of his home and rule his lands. Your son's will be Knights, and Princes and Lords." Ned said to her with a smile on his face, but she shrugged out of his grip with a narrowed glare on her face.
"But that's not me!" She said, sliding out of his embrace and standing upon the stairs again.
He regarded her for a moment before he sighed. "Arya, go and get dressed, look presentable for the joust." His youngest daughter nodded sharply and he left her to it.
"I'll be back before the hour is up. If you see Bran or Sansa, tell them to get ready too." But Arya made no reply when he left the tower.
Ned urged his horse forward, directing the palfrey toward the armourer's shop Littlefinger had directed him to. The Hand of the King silently pondered the aid of the Master of Coin, wondering what his game was. Obviously the man wanted to give him help by directing him to Jon Arryn's former squire – now a Knight – and now to a shop Jon had visited several times before his death.
He stopped the palfrey before the shop, his eyes immediately noticing the dark brown courser of Prince Arthur tied up outside of it with a man dressed in simple boiled leather and oiled chainmail guarding the courser and another horse. Beside him, Eddard noted, was Jory grasping the hilt of his blade.
"You shouldn't be out here, my Lord." The boy reminded Lord Eddard of his noble Father, Martyn Cassel, a man who died for him some seventeen odd years ago. For Lyanna. For him. "There's no telling who has eyes where."
But Ned did not particularly care. "Let them look." He said dismissively, his body easily dismounting from his palfrey. "Stay with the horses Jory." Eddard ordered.
"Aye, m'Lord." Jory said, his eyes darting around for signs of a threat. Ned walked into the shop where he immediately noticed Prince Arthur speaking quietly with a young man who was hammering away on a piece of metal.
"My Lord Hand!" Ned noticed the two boys eyes look up, one with silent shock and the other with suspicion when the armourer called his name.
"Tobho Mott?" Ned asked the man shortly, the heat of the forge already getting to him.
The man nodded. "Yes, my Lord, how can I serve you? A new sword perhaps, or armour?"
Ned declined politely. "Actually I was hoping to discuss the comings and goings of the Hand before me, Jon Arryn."
The armourer frowned before it was masked. "Of course my Lord."
Feeling the eyes of Arthur Baratheon on him, Ned turned slightly to glance at the Prince, whose stormy sea coloured eyes narrowed with concentration. "A matter someone brought to me a few hours ago." Ned said, without much preamble. "He told me that Jon Arryn visited this shop quite a few times before his death."
Mott nodded, his eyes once again sharpening with his face. "The former Hand did call on me my Lord, often enough for someone to become suspicious with our interactions." He smiled slightly. "However, I regret to say that he did not honour me with his patronage."
So whom did he come here for, if not yourself Tobho Mott? "What did Lord Arryn want?" Ned asked.
The Armourer shrugged, and a small quirk moved his lips upward. "He always came to see the boy." He said, motioning behind him.
Why would Jon visit this certain armourer, for one boy? It didn't make any sense. "I'd like to see him as well." Eddard said, his mind humming distractedly with the new information.
However, before Mott turned around to address his apprentice, Ned noted the apprehension in his eyes. "As you wish Milord." The man had said before turning around.
'Gendry', as the man called him, turned out a stout young man with bulging muscles and a kind face, which was smeared with soot. "Here he is!" The Armourer displayed with a hand wave. "Strong for his age and he works hard." Tobho Mott's words were for Gendry now.
"Show the King's Hand the helm you made, lad." Gendry shot his Master a look before he complied, retrieving a shiny, well-made helm of steel in the shape of a bull.
"A bull?" Ned questioned, his hands accepting the offered armour piece.
"Our Gend is quite the bull-headed blacksmith." Arthur Baratheon's voice sounded, as the body of the Prince stood side by side with Gendry.
Ned acknowledged him with a nod. "Prince Arthur."
"Just getting my armour re-fitted." The Prince said, his eyes narrowing. "I do so hope you're not here to babysit dear old me?" He said scornfully and Ned's gaze became as sharp as Valyrian steel.
"No," He said before he turned back to Gendry. "This is fine work." He praised.
But the youth rose up, his jaw jutted out in slight defiance. "It's not for sale." Arthur Baratheon laughed boisterously. This only enraged the Armourer.
A hand collided with the back of Gendry's head. "Boy, this is the Hand of the King!" But the youth shook his head. He reminded Ned of a young Robert. "If his Lordship wants the helmet-"
"I made it for me." Gendry insisted stubbornly, much to the apparent amusement of Arthur Baratheon.
The old armourer, Mott, looked appalled. "Forgive him, my Lord." He said his eyes wide and pleading. Ned chuckled and waved away the apology.
"There's nothing to forgive. When Lord Arryn came to visit you, what would you talk about?" Lord Eddard gave Gendry his full, undivided attention, which just seemed to make the youth even more nervous.
"He just asked me questions is all, my Lord."
"What kind of questions?" Eddard probed gently, his mind recognising the departure of Prince Arthur, with a wave of black and gold.
Gendry and Mott's shared look didn't escape the notice of Lord Eddard Stark and he arched his brow, awaiting the answer.
"About my work at first, if I was being treated well, if I liked it here." Gendry started before he paused to share one look with a blank faced Mott. "But then he started asking me about my mother."
That comment certainly struck the Wolf Lord as funny. Jon was married, and had a child. He was too old to engage in whoring and too honourable to take on a mistress, so why was he asking about this boy's mother? The Hand of the King frowned at that. "Your mother?"
Gendry nodded in an explanatory way. "Who she was, and what she looked like." Gendry said, his eyes moving around in a nervous manner.
The crisp eyes of the Stark Lord observed the young armourer thoroughly. "What did you tell him?"
"She died when I was little." The boy told him, shuffling his feet. "She – had yellow hair…she'd sing to me sometimes." Eddard ignored how emotional the boy became and his mind screamed at the word yellow. Blonde, yellow, golden. It was different shades of the same colour.
While his mind worked away, the eyes of Lord Eddard had noticed how jumpy Gendry became, and the Northern Lord's mind retreated back twenty years ago when Jon Arryn had reprimanded Robert for siring a bastard. The young Robert had shuffled about like this.
The thought struck him as well as a mental slap for not recognising King Robert's bastard son. "Look at me." He said sharply, his mind screaming for evidence of his mental claim. The boy looked at him and that was proof enough. He is identical to Prince Arthur and Ser Gwaine. "Get back to work, lad." Eddard ordered gently and he watched the boy return to the forge. He unveiled a heavy looking hammer and brought it down on the metal.
Almost silently, to Mott, Ned said, "If the day ever comes when that boy'd rather wield a sword than forge one," Eddard's eyes seared a gaze on the elder armourer's. "Then you send him to me." The Armourer turned to Gendry, who had somehow heard the comment, and then Mott turned around with a grimaced promise.
Ned walked outside with a troubled look on his face. Why would Jon track down King Robert's bastards' after obtaining that book? Somehow, Ned knew the answer was looking him in the eye. "Find anything?" Jory called as Ned drew himself up onto his palfrey.
He opened his mouth to speak, but someone beat him to the punch. "Aye, he found one of my Father's numerous bastards." Arthur Baratheon leaned upon his courser, who nickered and bobbed its great head. "Gendry's a friend, and he's got eyes on him. I wouldn't attempt to come back down here to visit him again my Lord." With those parting words and a sharp look, the soon to be five-and-ten lad sealed shut his saddlebags and returned to the shop.
Jory made a noise and Eddard shot him a warning look. "Jory." He said as he urged his palfrey into a trot up the Street of Steel.
The sun had been beating down incessantly when Ned finally reached the tourney stadium with both of his daughters. Bran had been nowhere to find, and no wonder, Ned thought as he watched the boy lifting up Prince Arthur's lance. Beside him, tied to a post was the Prince's courser.
"What is Bran doing?" Arya asked, her eyes watching as Prince Arthur left the confines of his tent armoured up. He ruffled Bran's hair and untied the reins from the post.
"He seems to be attending to Prince Arthur as if he was a squire." Sansa spoke up her eyes watching the scene with her little brother and the gallant brother of her beloved Prince Joffrey with delicate interest.
Eddard watched with detached interest as Prince Arthur took out Thoros of Myr who had previously defeated Lord Beric Dondarrion and as Ser Gregor Clegane wiped out a mystery knight and killed Ser Hugh of the Vale.
That sparked a sudden curiosity in Ned, as the Hand of the King had requested to speak to Jon Arryn's former squire after today's part of the joust. Mayhaps a spy of the Queen's had observed the interaction between Jory and Ser Hugh a few hours prior.
The tourney went on, after they moved the body away from the tilts and into a tent.
Ser Jaime Lannister defeated Ser Barristan the Bold, much to the protest of Bran who had cheered on his champion with vigour. Yesterday the Kingslayer had defeated two other men, Ser Andon Royce and Lord Bryce Caron. His reign with the lance would have been easy after he had defeated his remaining opponents.
Prince Arthur had defeated Jaime after a good number of tilts, much to pleasure of the spectators who were rooting for the Prince.
Loras Tyrell was already making a name for himself with his victory against three of the Kingsguard; Ser Meryn, Ser Preston and Ser Boros. The Knight of Flowers had come close to defeat against Ser Meryn at one point before he managed to knock the Kingsguard over the back of his horse and into the dirt.
The Hound fought well, besting two hedge knights Eddard did not know the name of and Lord Renly Baratheon. However, he was defeated in spectacular fashion by a youth whose sigil was one Eddard was intimately familiar with; a star shooting past a great sword. However, the colouring was wrong; this had a black star shooting past a silver sword on a field of midnight purple.
His coat of arms had induced the shouts of 'Darkstar' from the lowborn spectators. The man had brought the Hound to his knees, as he had a hedge knight and Lord Jason Mallister.
The day ended with the mixture of approval and displeasure of the onlookers, lowborn or highborn.
The semi-finals, the King had declared, would take place on the morrow, bright and early. Eddard could see Robert's point as it was nearing dusk when he had called for the joust to finish. He had accompanied his children to their quarters in the Tower of the Hand when he came across Ser Barristan.
"Lord Stark." The famous Knight had said, stopping the Northern family from proceeding up into the tower.
"Ser Barristan." Bran said and the Knight bested Eddard's son with a smile.
"May we speak Lord Stark?" His request had been accepted and Ned sent each of his children to bed, although he knew Bran would not sleep a wink until he had been informed of the topic of discussion between Ser Barristan and himself.
"Do you want some wine Lord Commander?" Ned asked as he sat down at his desk with Ser Barristan opposite him.
"No thank you my Lord." He declined the offer politely. "I am here to propose the offer of being my squire to your son Bran on the morrow, with your consent."
"The consent I suspect you are gaining now?" Ned questioned and the elderly man smiled ruefully.
"Aye."
Ned looked into the eyes of the Lord Commander. "It would be cruel to reject the one thing my son desires the most." He said at last with a tired smile. "You have my permission."
The elderly Lord Commander of the Kingsguard bowed and parted company with a small smile. Bran will be overjoyed, Sansa will be proud and Arya … would be,but Ned shook himself and stopped thinking of his youngest daughter's reaction. He turned to the bed before he sighed and slowly removed the armour that donned his body.
The King's Hand unpinned the badge of office that was stuck into the breast of his leather overcoat. The golden pin with a hand of metal, finger pointing down had been the badge of office to all of the Hands' of the Kings' since Aegon's Landing almost three hundred years-ago. The pointing finger descended into the spike that he poked through his clothing to show the people of King's Landing the badge of the Hand.
Ned sighed and dropped the badge on his desk before he turned to the bed and sunk down on it.
Out of nowhere, a voice called. "Promise me, Ned … promise me!" It said, with the voice of his dear sister. Ned shuddered and rolled over, but sleep eluded him until the next morning.
Four combatants were in the semi-finals of the joust; Darkstar, the Mountain, the Knight of Flowers and the Black Lion. Eddard noted the herald had informed spectators on who will be jousting first.
Luckily for some, Prince Arthur and Darkstar were scheduled to break the lances against one another. However, unluckily for Prince Arthur, Littlefinger and Renly, Darkstar won after fifteen tilts. Each tilt severely weakened the other man, with lances breaking every time they collided.
Eddard watched as the Prince fell from his horse where he lay still. He also knew that himself, the King and the younger Prince and Princess jumped to their feet when Arthur hit the floor, only to breathe a sigh of relief when the Prince slowly staggered to his feet and shoving his helm of his head.
For seconds no one moved as the Prince glared at his usurper and stalked from the tilts with a storm of anger hovering over his head.
The sudden awkwardness increased tenfold when the Mountain Who Rides tumbled off of the back of his stallion on behalf of the perfectly placed lance by the Knight of Flowers. The cheers went up but the atmosphere gave way to cries of shock and disgust when the huge, monstrous great sword of the Mountain sloppily decapitated the stallion at the base of the neck.
The blood spurted out and covered the monster of a man, which reminded Ned of a night seventeen years ago when he was a young man and had arrived just shortly after the Sack of King's Landing. The Mountain pressed on for Ser Loras, the mighty sword snapping across the air and bouncing of the hastily placed block by the Knight of Flowers.
However, the blow forced the young Knight to the floor, where he grasped fruitlessly at his shield and his only line of defence against the hulking mass of Ser Gregor Clegane.
"Enough." The Hound rasped, his voice cringing through the air. Ned saw him rush past him, shouting "Enough!"
The Mountain went to strike but it was blocked by the Hound's blade. With an enraged shout, Gregor shoved his brother's sword away from him and the two snarling dogs stared one another down as Ser Loras swiftly took flight, fleeing the territory of the huge armoured dogs.
"He's had enough!" Sandor spat, raising his sword as Gregor swung in a rage.
The brother's exchanged blows and Ser Gregor very nearly decapitated his younger brother when King Robert Baratheon stood, his lungs bellowing out loud words.
"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" He roared, his voice startling Gregor out of his maddened rage and causing the Hound to kneel.
The blade of the Mountain whistled harmlessly passed his brother's head and he threw the sword to the floor with a growl and an insolent look at Robert. "Let him go!" Robert ordered Ser Arys and Ser Mandon, two of the Kingsguard who laid their hands on their swords.
Ned whispered some orders to Septa Mordane, who nodded, and then he left the tourney grounds with haste.
Ned was perched over the large Lineage book when Prince Arthur entered the room. "Lord Stark."
He rubbed his tired eyes as he leant back in his chair. "Prince Arthur, I am sorry for your loss in today's tournament."
Arthur shrugged at the comment. "There is always the Melee, and I've won every one I've been in." He replied and Ned sighed, rubbing his face again.
"Why are you here?" Ned asked and Arthur regarded him with queer interest.
"I'm here to explain my comments from earlier today. My Mother's spies are everywhere looking for rumours of my Father's bastards." Ned said nothing, merely allowing the Prince to talk.
"Did you know that my Father sired twins in the Westerlands?" Eddard admitted that he did not, but he wouldn't put it past Robert to have more than two bastards in the West.
"My Mother, or someone under her orders, cut their throats while their mother watched. When they were done tormenting the mother, they raped her, before leaving a few coppers in her care." Arthur glanced up at him at that and Eddard knew that his expression was one of disgust.
"The children were barely old enough to know they were bastards. I don't want the same to happen to Gendry."
"You're close to him?" He asked and Arthur laughed.
"Quite, it is because of me that he is an apprentice." He told him. Eddard was certainly confused.
"He didn't know who his Father was, and he was misguided with that. But when he and I stood side by side when I was three-and-ten, his armourer recognised the resemblance. Gendry knows that he is a bastard son of the King but now he doesn't care." Prince Arthur explained and Eddard grew wary.
"And why are you telling me this?" He asked an Arthur scoffed.
"Did you know my Uncle Renly won't tell Gwaine who his mother was?" Arthur returned and Eddard felt uneasiness rise up inside of him. "And I think I remember you telling your son, Jon, that you would inform him of his mother when you next see him?"
Eddard opened his mouth to speak but Arthur cut across him. "Just remember that life is too short to keep such secrets from your blood." Arthur took a deep breath. "Tell Jon upon his return and maybe that will make him less broody, Gods' know he needs to lose some of his dour self, less he wishes to be like my Uncle Stannis."
With that said, the Black Lion rose and left the solar. "Maybe I will." Ned whispered, his eyes staring at the flames. But I made a promise.
Whew! Finally, it feels like I've been at this for months; that took the p***! Pardon my language.
How are you all doing? Good? Good! Are you all having a great Easter? I hope you are.
Next Chapter is Arthur's PoV once more!
By the way, when Ned 'Ffth!' do you think I should have a Robb Stark PoV?
Saint River – I'm glad you agree! I think that Tyrion has corrupted Jon a tad, and I think he genuinely liked 'Bess' but he left her with child more to annoy Lady Catelyn than anything.
Guest – Good point, I am unsure on whether or not I mentioned it. Cersei doted on her children, but good ol' Joff got the most of her attentions. The fact that Arthur lost his 'innocence' by killing men would distraught Cersei, and so she has turned her undivided attention to her Golden Lions. Although she still loves him, Cersei views Arthur as a lost cause. The next chapter about the Imp and the Bastards two will be Chapter 15, in Jon's PoV.
Thank you for the blunt words of encouragement! I plan to have my chapters longer from now on!
King – Ask me no questions, and I shall tell you no lies! ;)