Domeric
The time had finally come for a month's worth of practice for Robb's sake to show their merit. The morning went as planned, Robb feigning a sickness, with some vomiting added for effect, to give excuse for his absence from the tourney. There was a little bit of pressure for him to attend anyway, mostly from Arya and Bran, but Robb told them that if the Mountain was allowed to be in it then he refused to watch it.
An opening ceremony was held in which all competitors presented themselves before the King and kneeled to him with praise and wishing all best of luck. Robb was not the only one wearing his helmet during that, even though other times it would be disrespectful to, but there were at least a dozen others knights that kept their helmets on including two of the Kingsguard and the Clegane brothers.
At the end of the ceremony though, Lord Tywin spoke up to all participating, eyeing the Mountain especially when he spoke. To dishonor one's self in front of the King is of greater disgrace than anything. Any man, regardless of birth and title, who decides to ignore such in this grand competition will be immediately ejected and stripped of their title as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.
A great murmur from within the competitors and the audience arose. Was this something Lord Stark arranged or was it all Tywin's doing to help keep his dogs in order? All because Robb upset the strongest man in Westeros.
In the time preparing before the jousts, Domeric had one last thing he needed to get. He marched his way to his tent. Along the way, he overheard that aside from the Crescent's Knight returning, there was another Mystery Knight as well. He never caught the title though but he was sure to hear of it later on.
At his tent, he found Sansa and Lady waiting patiently for him.
"You look so dashing in your armor," Sansa smiled with a blush.
Domeric's armor had been a gift from his Lord Father a year ago, decorated in the arms and greaves to appear as bare muscle. Before he left for King's Landing however, Dom had Miken engrave an owl in flight above his left breast under the collar.
"Just like a knight from a storybook?" Dom asked with a cheeky smile.
"Better than a storybook. You're not just a little fantasy on pages. You're the real thing."
"It's still missing a piece though." Domeric knelt down. "My lady Sansa, would you grace me with your favor?"
Sansa blushed a bright red with her smile and presented a pink ribbon with silver and red wolves embroidered into it. "Nothing would please me more than that, Domeric Bolton." He lifted his right arm up and she tied it over the forearm section of his armor.
When he stood up, Domeric couldn't resist pulling Sansa into his arms and kissing her. She tasted so sweet, was it because she had lemon cakes so many times? No, this was what she was to him, the sweetest, most beautiful woman he could dream of loving.
Unfortunately, neither of them reacted fast enough when the entrance was opened and Ser Robar announced himself with Lord Stark. "Dom, are you nearly-"
Domeric and Sansa both cut off their kiss and turned to see Robar with a surprised expression and Lord Stark with a blank one, as though he wasn't sure how to react.
"Lord Stark-" Domeric started but a hand raised up silenced him.
"Sansa," Lord Stark began, "go join everyone else at our box. I'd like to have a word with Domeric."
Domeric heard Sansa gulp as she gave him one last look, as if it would be their very last before being separated forever. "Come, Lady." Sansa and her direwolf left while Ser Robar waited outside.
"May I speak first, my lord?" Domeric asked nervously. He felt himself grow paler than he already was. He was probably white as Ghost.
"Aye," Ned said with folded arms.
Domeric looked up to him, gathering his courage as best he could. "First I want to say that all we have ever done is kiss. I would never think to go after her virtue. I love Sansa, Lord Stark. And I plan to ask for her hand in marriage after the tourney."
Lord Stark's face was passive, but not hostile. "Domeric…"
"Please… I know our families have a rough history, and my family's seat is one that would not do well for her. But damn the history and damn the Dreadfort, I'm going to change it all. I will reform House Bolton and my father's home into a place not remembered for it's pain and blood, I'll scrub the stone clean myself and see to it that she and I can see the castle and the lands as we do Winterfell and the people there too. Please, I ask for your blessing for this."
Lord Stark didn't respond immediately. He crossed his arms and gazed piercingly at Domeric. "Have you spoken to your father about this or did you just now decide to ask for my daughter's hand?"
Domeric stood firm. "I've been wanting to ask for a while, my lord. Ever since she returned from Ashford. And I told my father at the feast before we journeyed south."
"And what did he say?"
"He was happy for me, truly. It was the first time I've seen him like that and it felt wonderful."
"Hm…" Lord Stark scratched at the stubble of his beard. What thoughts was he contemplating to himself? It was agonizing and every second felt like a minute. Finally, he looked back at Domeric with an answer in his eyes. "Your declaration is a hard one to make, Domeric. Willing to change yourself, hells, even your legacy, is impressive but also foolish. You cannot change your family's past, you can only remember it to act on the future. And that is something I believe you will do. I believe you love my daughter and I believe that she loves you. I have cared for you as a son and would be overjoyed for it to be truly that way with a union."
Domeric's face started to smile but Lord Stark quickly lifted a hand up.
"However I do not think that now is the time for this. I have much to consider about this, and with current affairs, it is one of many things. But it is certainly on the top of my list. When we return to Winterfell, I will have an answer for you. For now, I want you to focus on your ride and your lance. Good luck." Lord Stark turned and left.
Domeric stood alone in place, frozen with both excitement and fear. What if things turned out to be told no? But Lord Stark's tone… from his experience that was the same as when he was sounding positive about the subject. Did that mean he would say yes?
For the time being, Domeric would allow himself to think the best of it. He felt that Lord Stark was going to say yes and he would believe it with all of his being. He stepped outside slowly, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Ser Robar were all gone.
With all said and done, Domeric couldn't help but jump into the air with a cheer, ignoring the judgmental stares coming his way. He was going to marry Sansa Stark. He couldn't wait to ask for her hand. In fact, he would win this bloody tourney and after he crowned her again, that's when he'll do it.
It was almost time for him to get a move on. But first, he decided to retrieve Lyze from his owl cage and let him fly free for the day rather than stay cooped up. His owl eagerly took to the air, flying through the trees and leaves and far out of sight.
Domeric proceeded to the sidelines of the games where he could watch the first few rounds. Robb was in the second match and performed excellently as expected, breaking two lances before knocking his opponent off the horse. Jory had also gotten a win in his match, but several matches later, the mood of the crowd shifted from excitement to silence as it was Ser Gregor Clegane's turn to take part. The man he was facing was an older knight, in fact it was one Dom recognized from Ashford who did rather well in the lists then, Greenfield was his name.
Before the joust began, Ser Greenfield opened the visor of his helm and spat in the direction of the Mountain with a snarl. The crowd murmured and many voices told the obvious to the oblivious to the meaning in such an action. Ser Gregor was called out as a disgrace with just one simple action.
Had Greenfield's skill been great enough, it would have been a pleasing win to see but unfortunately the Mountain's strength in the first round was the strongest and he easily won.
After that, there had been a pattern going on. Every knight who faced the Mountain was one from Ashford and they all spat at the Mountain.
Domeric was certainly impressed. Not only was this a declaration of what they thought of Ser Gregor, but also what they thought of Robb. They respected Robb's efforts and skill at Ashford enough to taunt one of the most dangerous men in Westeros.
It had been about an hour of half since the start and the estimated winner was still undecided. Was it going to be the Crescent's Knight again but with Robb under the armor this time? Or would it be Ser Jaime or the Mountain? No, this was Domeric's turn to publicly win the tourney. He and Robb promised before arriving in King's Landing that neither of them would hold back when they faced each other. But that was still a few matches away. Domeric had been sweeping the competition without effort at all, defeating one of the Kingsguard even, and every victory fueled his mind into believing that if life was going this well right now then there was no way that Lord Stark would say no to him and Sansa getting married.
Two hours since the tourney began and it was into the seventh round, only four more to go. Robb had made it just fine, in fact his skill had improved compared to Ashford. With all the help and tips he received, his rides were better and his aim truer. All the more getting closer to his rematch with the Mountain. Most of the others who made it this far were expected like Ser Jaime, the Hound, and Loras Tyrell. But the rest had Domeric curious and suspicious.
The other Mystery Knight, who was now dubbed the Radiant Knight, made it all the way up but not through skill, that much he could tell. From what he saw, the Radiant Knight was barely able to keep his posture decent and his hits were weak yet his opponents fell. Domeric suspected some type of cheating was amiss but he could not know for sure until it was his turn to go against him, which was one round away after this one.
Domeric' next opponent, Ser Wilfred of Lannisport, was indeed a man worth the challenge in the lists but Domeric knew for certain that this match would be his.
He was near his turn, double checking Shadow's saddle was nice and secure after much riding and jousting may have loosened it.
"My Lord Bolton," a voice said, coming from a man not much older than Domeric.
"Aye, can I help you?"
"Perhaps I can help you. You see, I am part of the company of the Radiant Knight and have come with an offer."
Now things were making sense. He shook his head and laughed. Of course that Mystery Prick was buying off his opponents. How didn't he notice it sooner? "You want to buy me off, is that it?"
"We prefer to say 'offer an exchange.' You see, knights from before can be bought off, but you are not in need or close to such belittled worth to offer something so low as gold. The Radiant Knight has many friends, including the Master of Coin himself. I'm sure you know of Lord Baelish's establishment to be the best in country and any girl, any number, any way you want them-"
The smug prick earned a hard punch to his gut, sucking in a difficult breath after falling to his knees. "Be sure to relay my response to the Radiant Knight." He mounted Shadow and rode off for his next match.
When he arrived in the starting position, there was a wait while Ser Wilfred was on his way. He looked over to where the Starks sat and saw all of them looking back at him. He gave them a small wave and saw Sansa smile. He looked over to the other knights and onlookers, finding Robb still hiding under the visor of the Crescent Knight. He hadn't been discovered yet.
A young lad approached Domeric with a brass cup of wine but Domeric waved him off.
"But the toast, milord." The boy said.
"What toast?"
There was a pause and Ser Wilfred rode out in front of the King's box with a brass goblet of wine. "For his grace, the King, I dedicate this match and a toast in his eternal glory! Long may he reign!" Wilfred spoke in a rather dramatic voice and many chorused the toast and applauded. Those who had cups of wine, mostly nobles raised up in a joining for it.
Since Domeric had been given a cup, it would be of great insult not to drink in favor of the King so he did. He knew his limits with wine and half a mouthful would do him no harm.
The cup was returned and he put on his helm. He had his lance, his shield, his steed, and himself all ready to win another match. Seven Hells, he hoped to the Old Gods that the knight in the next match took the bribe to lose. He looked forward to putting that new Mystery Knight hard on his arse. And when he did, he'd unmask the fool for the realm to know how much of a pathetic man was under the armor.
Domeric sighed as he waited. The horn would have blown already but it seems there was something wrong with Ser Wilfred's lance. He was demanding another be brought to him and it was taking more than a minute. He hoped it would hurry because it was getting hot in the armor. Beads of sweat were already forming at his brow.
Finally ready, the horn blew and both riders took charge. Domeric readied the lance out front, though for some reason it felt a little heavier but it was no matter, he still hit his mark on Ser Wilfred's shield and withstood the blow from Ser Wilfred's Lance.
But when Domeric reached the end of the yard, he felt out of breath and his heart was pounding in his chest. What was going on? Was it the excitement? If it was then it would pass. He took a slow, deep breath and took another lance, focusing on the opponent ahead of him. The horn blasted again and he took charge. His lance felt as though it were made of stone this time. He could barely lift it into the cradle.
Ser Wilfred's lance struck him dead center of his chest while his lance grazed the shoulder. Domeric fell back from his horse and into the dirt. He groaned as the wind was knocked out of him and things started to blur.
The last thing he saw was Lyze flying overhead and he felt himself inhale sharply.
He wasn't on the ground anymore, he was in the sky, flying over the tourney ground and watching everything down below. His body lay still and motionless. It looked like Ser Robar, Jory, and Theon had rushed to his aid.
Things felt strange, like when we was napping on the roofs of Winterfell. He was dreaming about being Lyze again, but it didn't feel like a dream. It couldn't be, could it?
A faint scent that angered Lyze caught his attention. Ser Wilfred had dismounted and said something to a man a little younger than him who took off in a quick run away from the game.
Lyze dived down in pursuit of the man, following overhead through the campgrounds and into a secluded area among the trees. He perched onto a branch that hid him perfectly from the sight of the man and two familiar faces. One of them being Wendel Frey. The other…
"Domeric Bolton's fallen, your grace." The man reported.
"Good," Prince Joffrey smirked viciously. "He could have had a full purse or a full bed but it seems my generosity isn't enough. Inform Ser Wilfred to play things out as according to plan. He'll fall on the second tilt in our match."
"What about the others?" The man asked.
"Loras Tyrell's too much of a priss to be bribed. Slip some of the drought into his mare's feed and let that take care of it when he faces the Hound. As for the others, the Cleganes will become aware of myself and shall withdraw as will my uncle. The Crescent's Knight… Give him the offer and if he refuses then I believe another toast will be enough."
Lyze flew off from the branch, silent as the forest when nothing was around to hear it.
Domeric gasped and coughed as he awoke in bed. His armor was shed and his chest wrapped up with bandages.
"Uugh," he groaned, wiping an arm over his sweaty brow, "I feel like a herd of ram's took a hit me all at once."
"Dom!" Sansa cried and rushed to his side, taking his hand and laying the other gently on his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I was so worried about you!"
"Hello there, beautiful."
"Oy, get a room first," Arya said from the back, looking playfully annoyed but also relieved.
"Well this is MY tent, you know."
"Alright, you got me there. But maybe wait until you can sit up before you go lovey dovey with my sister." Arya's face turned concerned then. "What happened to you out there? You rode like a damn yancy."
Dom came back to his senses and remembered what happened in the joust. "I felt perfectly fine at the start. But then every pass I felt so heavy and groggy. It was the damn wine. It was poisoned to make me lose. Argh!" Domeric slammed a fist on the side of his cot in frustration. He could have beaten every single man one after the other in this entire tournament but no, he gets poisoned and his hopes to crown Sansa publicly this time and ask for her hand when he did it were ruined.
"We have to tell my father," Sansa said, but Domeric grabbed her arm to stop her.
"Wait. It's not that simple. Wilfred's just a fall man for the original conspirator and I don't think we'll be able to win a fight for justice there." Domeric looked over at Arya. He couldn't do anything while in bed, but there was someone who could. "Arya, I need you to do me a favor."
Robb
Robb punched a tree with his gauntlet in frustration. Domeric rode like a damn fool in that match! But he knew it wasn't Dom's fault. Something happened that made him so weak in his ride, something that fueled his rage to bash Ser Wilfred's head clean off if he ever faced him.
He had to keep a cool head though. He would be riding next against the Radiant Knight and there was only room for one Mystery Knight in this tourney. And getting angry in a full suit of armor was exhausting to a degree.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Robb marched back to his horse and found a snide looking man waiting for him there.
"Wait!" A familiar voice hissed.
Robb turned his body and saw Arya hiding out of sight from everyone but him behind a tent. She waved at him to come closer so he did. Hells, did she know?
"I have a message from Domeric Bolton," She whispered, "Don't drink the wine. The Radiant Knight's really the Golden Prick."
Robb tensed with rage. Joffrey. That little shit of a prince. What in Seven Hells was he doing here? Hoping to win the tourney as a means of apology to Myrcella? No, this was a spoiled child trying to gain undeserved glory. And unfortunately Domeric must not have been willing to take a fall. Yes, it was all making sense now. There were many knights who looked like they had fallen from their horses unnaturally easily and many who fell naturally.
Arya squinted her eyes at Robb after speaking to him. "Wait.. do I know you?"
"Thank you for the message, little She Wolf of Stark," Robb responded in a deepened voice with a southern accent. "Tell Lord Domeric that I'll make sure to avenge his loss." That was for damn certain. But he had to do this right. He couldn't just call out the prince and then challenge him. The King and Queen wouldn't allow it and he would be disgracing himself. He had to turn the prince's game around on him somehow.
Proceeding to his horse, Robb thought about an idea that could work when the snide man attempted to approach him.
"Good Ser, I am a representative of the Radiant Knight and I have an offer for y-" he never finished the sentence as Robb punched a gauntlet fist into his throat, knocking him to the ground in a choke.
Robb hopped up upon his horse and rode off to wait for everything to be ready. It took a little longer, no doubt so the the Knight of Golden Pricks could get his answer from his stupid choked up man.
Finally, the Radiant Knight made his appearance. And just like Domeric's match, a cup of wine had been brought to him as well.
Robb at first thought to make himself stumble reaching for the cup and spill it, but he couldn't move. He stared at the wine with a viscous intent, angry at the results of Domeric's match. His best friend cheated out of true challenges for honor and glory against real knights.
To hell with the theatrics and mystery. If this is how Joffrey wanted it then so be it.
Robb motioned his horse to ride forward slowly in a light trot. The gesture was one that meant the exchanging of words but of course the Golden Prick wouldn't know of it. He was in the center of it all and took a deep breath.
Robb found the clasps of his helm and undid them, peeling off the steel and revealing his face to everyone. A collective gasp went all around the audience. In the corner of his eye, Robb saw his father stand from his place.
"I think the theatrics have gone on long enough," Robb exclaimed with a loud voice, "wouldn't you agree, Prince Joffrey?"
Another gasp sounded all around when all eyes went over to the Radiant Knight. The fool panicked at first, looking all around as the King stepped forward at the edge of his box. "Remove your helm." The words were like a threatening growl from a great beast.
Even with his face and neck covered, Robb could tell that the prince had gulped nervously before carefully removing his helmet with an attempt of stoic pride on his face but there was a crack most noticeable.
"Fucking Seven Hells!" The King roared with white knuckled fists. "You were supposed to stay in Lannisport, boy! And you," he pointed at Robb, "Why the fuck are you in this when you're this close to being a bloody cripple? Do you plan to widow my daughter right after marrying her, you idiot?"
"I do not plan to die or worsen my body today, your grace. I aim to regain the dignity I lost at Ashford, but I will not continue to joust against one who would disgrace yourself by using underhanded tactics to win. Bribery, poison, intimidating me to lose of my own will, I hoped a royal prince would do better than that. I hoped he would act as his father, fearless and headstrong to a challenge."
"Lies!" Joffrey wailed. "I would never stoop to those kinds of levels, Stark."
"Then by all means," Robb pointed back to the cupbearer who offered him wine, "switch cups with me for a toast to the King. Or did every knight who did before me suddenly feel sluggish for no reason at all?"
Joffrey choked up, trying to find something to say but he couldn't and that was all that was needed.
The King's face grew red with rage as he looked at his royal son. Robb caught sight of Lord Tywin scowling at Joffrey as well, but then the gaze turned to him with something that was… impressed?
Joffrey started to grow skittish and pointed at Robb. "And what about you, Stark? You also hide yourself from everyone? Afraid the Mountain will try to get you again if he knew?"
"Silence!" Robert shouted with a slam of his fist on his seat, cracking the beam of his box and standing up tall. "There's a difference between keeping yourself anonymous and poisoning your enemies. What are you, a bloody woman?" As the phrase went, poison is a woman's weapon.
Robb raised his hand. "If your grace demands it, I will withdraw from the lists for hiding under a false name and kneel for forgiveness."
"Like the Seven Hells you will" King Robert shouted. "You started this, you're finishing it. Both of you!"
The Queen had stood up and pulled the King's arm but he pulled himself away from her grasp. "Quiet, woman! He wanted this, so he's gonna get it!"
Robb donned his helm and rode back to the starting position. When he made it, he looked over to the box where House Stark was sitting and could see the betrayal in the eyes of Myrcella and his father. He knew he was in for a lecture after this, how he's risking his health and his legs to compete, but he needed this. Why couldn't they understand?
Robb looked back at the prince who was a shaking mess on his horse. The Golden Prick deserved this, and the pain that came with it for coming where he was not invited and poisoning Domeric and probably the other contestants who drank toasts and lost.
But dammit it to the Seven hells, there was being merciless, and being an arse. He was not either and shouldn't be. He could knock Joffrey outcold, perhaps so hard that Joffrey would retain a permanent injury from this.
'Just win the match and be done with it,' he thought to himself, donning his helm and taking his first lance. The horn blasted and he put a steady and quick gallop into his horse, not a full on charge as it would be unnecessary.
Joffrey's lance was barely in line but Robb easily deflected it and landed a solid hit on Joffrey's shoulder at half strength. A point for him.
The second lance was just as enthusiastically exciting and Robb scored the second point in the same spot while Joffrey's missed him entirely and there was a faint yelp of cowardice heard as they passed each other.
Third lance, third and final point. That was all that it should have been. But it seems that the good prince decided to try and get the last blow in this, aiming for Robb's horse in the same spot as the Mountain did to kill Warpaint. Luckily, Robb had come prepared incase this happened again. Underneath Rock Frost's caparison was some plate armor Miken fashioned for him for just this kind of occasion, but it was the Mountain's lance that Robb feared would try to break though. Joffrey's hit grazed the armor underneath before getting the third blow struck on him and the horn blaring out.
Robb had won, but there was hardly any applause coming from any of the boxes belonging to the noble Houses. Arya and Bran were clapping, Theon was smiling in a snobbish, proud sort of way, and Lord Tywin was… smirking.
"You," The King bellowed, pointing at his son, "get your ass out of that armor and to the castle. I'll have a word with you when this is over." He looked out to the crowds. "Get on with the next match already!" He practically fell back into his seat and inhaled all the wine that was left in his golden drinking horn."
Robb tugged Frost Rock's reins and slowly trotted back to where he started but could see through his visor the faces of his family. Only Rickon, Bran, and Arya looked happy. Everyone else except for his father looked at him with a sense of dread and fear that he could feel in his chest. But his father's look was what felt like a great punch in his stomach, a look of disappointment.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. They were never going to know he took part in this and he could have had his victory. But dammit, that stupid prince had to ruin this. Then again, he was the one to throw away his mask. He could have just refused the toast and beaten Joffrey then and there, nobody would have known it was him and maybe they would not have known it was Joffrey either, but this felt like the right thing to do. And now the right thing felt heavy in his stomach.
He lied to his family, he lied to Myrcella, the woman he loved more than anything in the world. Robb pulled on the reins to stop his horse. He sighed as the gult overcame his judgment. "Fuck," he hissed and turned Frost Rock around and rode up to scorekeeper on his side. "I'm withdrawing from the lists." He couldn't have his victory like this.
It seemed that the King was keeping his eyes and ears on Robb, because he stood up quickly afterwards. "What did you just say? I thought I heard wrong?" The crowds went silent again, listening as though Robb had muttered an insult to the King.
Robb removed his helm again and turned Frost Rock to face the King's box. "I said I'm going to withdraw, your grace. As underhanded as the prince was, he was also right. I should not have disgraced myself, my word, and my name hiding under a disguise if I wanted this-"
"Fuck your reasons, boy. Did you forget what I said? You started this, you're going to finish it, and whatever happens is on yourself. Do you understand or do you need another broken leg? Now get off the field and get ready for your next match."
Robb felt like he couldn't breathe. He didn't expect this to take the turn that it did. In a way, he felt gladdened that this happened but also a pang of embarrassment. Some people were definitely going to see this moment as him being a coward and failing to get out of it, but he would make sure they knew he was no coward. But no, what made him uncomfortable was how he failed to do what he thought was the right thing. He glanced over to his family's box and saw that his father was no longer disappointed, but worried.
Nevertheless, Robb pulled Frost Rock's reins and trotted off the field. There were many men and boys gathering around to see him up closer but got out of his way as he rode to where the Crecent's Knight had been taking shelter. When he got there, he saw one of the last people he hoped to see. Ser Jaime.
Hopping off Frost Rock and giving him a feed bag, Robb stepped cautiously to his knight. There was a silence that hung between them both and Ser Jaime's face was almost blank. Almost. There was a slight leak of the same disappointment that was given by Robb's Lord Father.
"Do you remember what I told you at Winterfell before we left for Ashford?"
Robb's knees began to itch. "Yes."
Ser Jaime gave a subtle nod before in a quick flash the back of his hand swiped across Robb's face hard. Robb felt his cheek cut on the inside but kept his mouth shut. "That was for lying to Myrcella," Ser Jaime backhanded Robb again on the other side of his face, "That was for ignoring me, your father, and your wife." This time Robb decided to spit out the blood from his cut off to the side before looking back up to Jaime, ready for the next clap on his face. But instead, Ser Jaime pulled out a wineskin from behind his belt and offered it to him. "And this is for the pain."
Robb was hesitant but took the wine and drank enough. It stung the cut on the inside of his cheek but the outsides were starting to tingle instead of pulse.
"That being done," Ser Jaime started with crossed arms, "and despite all the idiocy you've done today, I was astounded by you for showing mercy. I've been watching you all day and you could have knocked Joffrey off his horse first tilt with half the effort but you let him keep some dignity. That was a smart and mature move."
Robb shrugged. "I didn't want to act like an arse is all."
"If you did, then you would have been no better than the Mountain was to you. And I'm proud of that, and more that you tried to withdraw why you said so. I'm sure your father is as well but he's caught up with Robert trying to get around this, which he won't. So while you still have time, you better go find your wife and do what you can to calm her down."
Immediately, Robb dashed off without so much as a second look to Ser Jaime for permission to leave. Myrcella was probably going to be furious with him about this and for the sweet and gentle woman that she was, it was terrifying to witness the times when she grew angry. She was truly her mother's daughter, a lion.
There were two things he felt as he ran through the crowds and passed the erected pavilions of other knights, the light twitching of pain beginning to arise in his leg, and the dread of guilt in his chest for what Myrcella would say to him. The guilt was making him second guess revealing himself to expose Joffrey for Domeric. Dom might have understood him if he hadn't done it at all…
Sure enough, Robb found his wife standing by herself at the steps leading up to the chairs in the Stark box. There was a terrible frown of betrayal clear to see and it didn't change a single bit when Robb approached her.
"Myrcella-"
'Smack!'
Robb was slapped so hard that he was nearly thrown to the ground. He seethed through his teeth and rubbed at the mark. No amount of wine in the world could soften this pain.
"You promised me you wouldn't do something like this! Seven Hells Robb, do you have any idea how much of an arse you are?"
"You asked me not to take things too far. If I did, then Joffrey would have a broken back while I'm galivanting a victory like that."
"Lying to me, to all of us, and playing mystery knight to risk your life is too far! All of this for the sake of your pride!"
"You don't think I realized that after my last match? You don't think I saw how disappointed everyone I care about was at me? I didn't try to withdraw because I was just tired."
"But now you're stuck, you idiot! And if the worst happens… you can't leave me now… you can't die before being a father to our child."
Robb's mouth fumbled and he wasn't sure why. He heard what Myrcella said… but he didn't immediately understand until she pressed a hand to her stomach.
He lost his breath and his eyes widened. "I… you…" He was going to be a father. Seven Bloody Hells, he was going to be a father.
"Yes, you idiot. In case how many brothers and sisters you have didn't give you the hint, you Stark men have a potent seed."
Robb lost the feeling in his legs entirely and he fell back on his arse, feeling dizzy at the same time but Myrcella didn't care. She was still angry at him.
"My mother gave her blessing for us and it's not something anyone can earn with just a betrothal. Every letter I wrote to her, I told her just how much I loved you, cared for you, the North, the people. But now it's probably gone because you had to prove you're the best." Myrcella sat down on the wooden steps behind her and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "My grandfather promised me that the Mountain wouldn't do anything stupid, Robb. But all it takes is one little hitch, or some bad luck, and the worst can happen. Maybe you won't die, but if your leg got worse than it did at Ashford… do you want to teach a son to fight and ride from a chair? Do you want to command troops into war from the sidelines? Do you want to watch some other man walk a daughter to a weirwood on her wedding night?" Myrella's hand clenched into a fist and she twitched as though to smack Robb again but she didn't.
There was silence between them. Robb was still in shock and Myrcella was still angry.
"Go play your game with the other boys, Robb. But don't expect me to weep tears of joy if you win-"
"Jon." Robb finally said and looked up to her. "All of this, all I am trying to be is for him."
"What?"
"Do you remember what I told you years ago? When I got you those tarts in Winter Town? All of this, all I aspire to be is for him, because I couldn't protect him even if I was there. I can't believe I can protect you or a child of ours unless I do this, unless people see that I'm not just a dimwitted boy from the North. I didn't mean for it to ever come this far, but it did and I'm doing what I can. And when this is over, I'll fall on my hands and knees to your mother and beg her forgiveness."
Another pregnant silence came between them but Myrcella sighed and relaxed. She shook her head while looking off to the distance. "You do all of this for your late brother, you unmask yourself for Dom, but what are you doing for us?" The question made Robb's blood turn to ice. "Please don't get hurt."
Robb rose up and took her hands in his. He couldn't find an answer to his first question just now, but he could to her second. "I won't. If I do then I swear to you that I'll never set a hand on a lance ever again. I promise."
Myrcella didn't say anything. She slipped her hands out from his and returned to the Stark box. Robb looked back to watch her as long as he could but felt frozen in place when he saw his father standing at the top of the steps, looking displeased.
"Father-"
"Quiet." He walked down the steps and set his hands on Robb's shoulders. "Do you want to know why I don't host tourneys in the North?"
"You said it's because you don't like flaunting your skill for game."
"Aye. But these things, these competitions, they bring out a worse part of a man if he's not careful. I know you're not one of those men, but you're one step away from being that. You deceived your wife, your family…" his Lord father took a deep breath with closed eyes. "I'm not free of that either, but I had my reasons and they were worth far more than proving yourself."
"What do you mean?"
Lord Stark stared deep into his son's eyes. "When we return to Winterfell, it's time for you to learn something. But for now, I want you to focus on this. Keep your guard up, and don't let a game become a fight. But if it does and you have to, win."
Robb took a deep breath now and shivered. He felt his shame fade some and determination to finish what he started envelope him. "I will."
And so the tourney went on, match after match, lance after lance battering against armor and splintering into hundreds of pieces. Had the caretakers of the field not been doing a fine job, the entire place would be littered with splinters and blood. Something about Robb's match against Joffrey invigorated everyone jousting after that, for everyone had been fiercer and stronger in arm than any joust before hand.
And since the wolf was out of the bag, Robb decided that it was time for the Crescent's Knight to be retired. He sent one of his family's men to make haste for the castle and bring back the armor that Ser Jaime had gifted him last night.
Now, he was Robb Stark as he should be, not a Mystery Knight. He had meant to use the ironwood shield that Lord Forrester had gifted him as well, but it was missing among his wedding gifts, something that Robb suspected Joffrey being involved with out of spite and if not then plainly stolen. He used the Crescent's Knight shield instead, but it wouldn't be for much longer, he feared. After his latest match against Ser Jason Mallister, his shield was beginning to crack along the right side which meant he couldn't risk any more hits on the inside.
And after his match against the Hound, that's exactly what happened. The Hound's Lance had broken the shield of the Crescent's Knight and struck Robb hard in the left shoulder, but Robb's lance struck dead center of the Hound's breastplate, gaining him final point for victory and the spot for the finals. The next match, the one to determine his other finalist, was Ser Barristan Selmy, who had beaten Ser Jaime two matches prior, against Ser Gregor Clegane. Ser Barristan was proving match after match that his age meant nothing to his skill and experience, the peak of it was against Ser Jaime, beating him without competition.
Robb couldn't stay to watch the match though, he had to get himself a maester and fast because he couldn't lift his left shoulder at all. The diagnosis was that he dislocated it and with an annoying method of misdirection, it had been painfully popped back into place.
"Seven hells!" Robb shouted as he found movement once again without pain.
"I'd advise Milk of the Poppy, but considering you'll be drowsy that might not be best for your present situation, my lord."
"Right," Robb agreed as he gently moved his arm around.
Suddenly, the sounds of faint cheers and applause echoed from the tourney field. It was odd though since the tent Robb was in was close enough to easily hear thunderous applause as he had been for several matches. If it was a quiet thing like that then… the crowd favorite of the two competitors had lost.
The Mountain had beaten Ser Barristan.
Robb let out a gasped laughter that was both excited and terrified. Fate brought him the outcome he desired when he began all of this. But now that he knew of Myrcella's pregnancy, he didn't want this, he didn't want to face the Mountain, he didn't want to risk breaking his leg worse than last time or dying.
"Are you feeling ill?" The maester asked.
"I don't know. But that's not gonna get me out of the match, is it?"
"Not when the King is presiding over it."
Robb got up to his shaking feet and walked as best he could to return to his tent. He kept a hard face on him but felt that many seasoned knights looking at him could see right through him. He felt like a green boy all over again, a fool who was too far in over his head, he felt alone.
He returned to his tent to find Ser Jaime there along with Bran, Arya, Theon, and Sansa.
"Glad to see you're alright," Theon said without that snarky face he usually had. For one of the few times of knowing him, Robb saw concern in Theon. But it quickly changed. "You better not fall on your arse, Stark. I got a hundred gold dragons that you win."
Bran and Arya, who were sitting next to each other on his cot, scooted over and pulled forward Robb's ironwood shield, only now it was painted. "We worked as best as we could," Arya said, "as fast as we could. Thank Sansa for being the fixer since our work looked awful."
The shield was not painted with the direwolf of house Stark, but eight instead. There were only seven gray wolves however, and one was white.
"This way, we'll all be with you out there," said Sansa. "The lone wolf dies but the pack survives."
Robb stepped forward and took the shield from Bran and Arya. He held it up and traced his fingers over the white wolf. "I miss him."
"Me too."
Robb donned the shield and tried to gain composure. "How do I look?"
Bran nearly jumped from his seat. "Like a real knight of the North! You look incredible!"
Robb smiled and felt Ser Jaime clap him on the shoulder. "Come on. We have something to do first before the final. The King's waiting."
"What for?" Robb asked but there was no reply. Ser Jaime led Robb from his tent while his siblings and friend left for the Stark box. He followed his knight past the many tents, the area was now barren of men since the final was about to begin.
Finally, they came to the jousting field and Robb found himself standing next to Ser Jaime before the King.
"Hurry it up," King Robert said, "I want to see the end already."
Hurry what up? Robb did his best not to look like he had no idea what was happening.
"Robb," Ser Jaime said with a firm voice that carried over the ears of just about all watching, "entering a tourney as a mystery knight was stupid, foolish selfish, and deceiving. But showing your face to stand up for your friend and attempting to show humility in surrender is a very hard but honorable thing to do, and that is something a true knight would be. Now kneel."
Robb's face fell as did his knees. He was almost going to lose his self control and felt like panicking.
He felt the sword touch his shoulder. "In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Robb Stark, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.
A great applause arose from the crowd and Robb looked up and got to his feet. A knight, he was a knight. Somehow… It made him feel braver. But there was the part of him that didn't feel he deserved this, not yet. "I don't think I'm ready," he said quietly to Ser Jaime.
"It's for that reason I know you are. Now go knock Gregor's ass in the dirt."
Robb looked over to the other side of the field and saw the Mountain scowling at him from atop his horse with lance and shield at the ready. He dashed off, donning his helmet and mounting Frost Rock as quickly as he could.
A sudden pang in Robb's knee jolted when he stepped up to mount his horse. 'No!' Robb cursed in his mind. 'Please not now…' He breathed calmly and stepped up. He felt the jolt again but he would bear through it. He was so close.
The scorekeeper walked out in the middle of the field with his arms extended out as if to aid in amplifying his voice. "The final match of the Wedding Tourney! Ser Gregor of House Clegane," he leaned over with an flamboyant wave of his arm at Ser Gregor, "and the newly knight Ser Robb of House Stark! May the gods grace you both and guide the victor's aim true!" With a big chop of his arm, he declared the match to begin and Robb was given his lance immediately.
"Yah!" Robb dropped his visor down and spurred Frost Rock into a powerful gallop. His knee began to strain at first and then a stress of pain pulled at his leg. But he ignored it, he had to as he lowered his lance down and held himself as steady and powerful as he could.
Crash!
Both lances shattered into a thousand pieces against the riders' shields. Robb was pulled to the side, almost enough to fall off his horse, but he strengthened the grip of his leg and stayed on, but not without the cost of a seething spike of pain radiating up his leg and from his shoulder. As Frost Rock turned around when he reached the end, he glanced over to his family's viewing box and saw just how terrified his family was. But the one who was the most was Myrcella.
"I will not die…" he whispered to himself as he was given a new lance. "I will stand tall."
Robb breathed smooth and calmly, keeping his mind, his body, and his strength focused on one absolute goal. The horn blurted it's call and Robb spurred Frost Rock into a fast gallop. His lance fell forward and his eyes were locked on the Mountain's enormous body.
"Jooooooooon!" Robb howled like the direwolves that decorated his shield through his final lance that struck right underneath the Mountain's helmet and pushed the giant off his horse to the dirt. The great thud the man was overpowered by the uproar of cheers that filled the entire tourney grounds.
Robb dropped his lance, threw off his helmet and looked back. The Mountain was down in the dirt. He did it, he won. He couldn't believe it.
He raised his shield arm up, claiming his victory. His eyes found his family. His brother was cheering and clapping, his sisters were cheering and clapping, and his father was cheering and clapping. Myrcella was in tears as she clapped for him, looking utterly relieved and overjoyed.
Yes, this was his new declaration to Westeros that he was not some up, jump, green boy in over his head, he was Robb Stark, a knight of the North and a victor!
But even as he smiled, accepting the victory he so desired, there was a part of him that felt upset. This is what he wanted, a grand victory to prove his worth, to gain fame as a warrior to be reckoned with. So why did his stomach feel so full of rocks at a time like this? Why did he feel that he had achieved nothing? He didn't understand.