Robert

"Good Gods, it fits!" Robert cheered. After a rigid diet, his armour fits him again, just like all those years ago. Sure, he still needed to lose some weight, but this is a good start.

Robert was excited to be on the lists again. It reminded him of when he was young, when he could drink, fight and fuck whenever he wanted. Those were the days. But then his rapist cousin had to kidnap Lyanna, and everybody wanted to put a crown on his head. He hated all of this. Many times he considered ditching all of it and fucking off to Essos, but there was only one thing that kept him glued to that bloody throne.

Joffrey.

Robert doesn't consider himself a model father, but the boy... What wrong did he do to deserve such an heir? His son was craven and cruel. That time he caught him opening that poor cat's belly had been the last straw: he slapped him so hard that two of his baby teeth flew away. Cersei menaced Robert of poisoning his drink if something like that happened again. Not that it bothered him, after that he didn't want to involve himself with the brat again.

Cersei... that bitch of his wife pampered and spoiled his sons, and Robert wasn't even allowed to spend some time with them. He truly feared the moment Joffrey would succeed him, the kingdoms would surely suffer.

Not that he was any better, he just drowned his sorrows in wine and whores... Robert considered ending it all many times, he couldn't take it anymore... Lyanna had left a hollow pit in his soul, and Robert believed nothing could fill it again.

But look at him now. The Fat King was nearly gone, and the Demon of the Trident was resurfacing. Robert will not succumb again, he has a purpose now.

He was now a follower of Urragon, the Storm God. The Seven didn't help him during these harsh times, but Urragon helped revive his spirit. To be related to a God... He could've never imagined such a thing.

Still, Robert didn't understand why Joffrey ended up like this. The boy didn't even resemble him...

He will think of this later. Robert left his chambers and went towards the stables with his Kingsguard, a tourney was awaiting him.

However, they needed to pass by Tobho Mott first, as he had to fix the antlers of his helm. After all this time in the armoury, the nails keeping them firm had rusted. It was a matter of time before they broke off.

Robert and Barristan entered the smithy. Mott's shop was probably the biggest in the street of steel, sporting two entire floors of armours and weapons of the highest quality. The man himself was by the counter, "Welcome, your Grace! For what do I honour your visit today?" Robert answered, "'Tis good to see you, Tobho. I need to fix my antlered helm, there are some old nails to be changed. Also, I wanted you to appraise this weapon." As he finished, he laid Thunderbolt on the counter.

"Let me take a look..." Tobho said. He took the war pick in hand, but Robert could see Mott struggling to carry it. "Your Grace, how could you swing this thing? It weights too much." He said, "I know not, Tobho. Anyone who tries to hold it other than my brothers and me struggles to lift it."

The blacksmith nodded and started to test the metal. "Your Grace, this steel appears similar to Dawn's, but there's a strange difference. In Qohor, there are some techniques to discover the specialities of a metal, but this war pick... It's different from what I have encountered. Perhaps in time we could discover what it is." Robert nodded, "I will inform you if I discover anything. Let's fix the helmet then."

Tobho nodded, "BOY! Come here, I need you to change some nails!" As Robert eyed the young man that entered the room his face bleached, and Barristan's eyebrows flew upwards. Gods, am I looking at myself in a mirror?

The lad had jet black hair, his eyes were deep blue and was well built, physically speaking. "Aye, Master Mott? May I take a look?" Tobho handed him his helm, "It will be ready in fifteen minutes." He said, but before he could go back in, Robert called him out, "Lad! What is your name?"

"Gendry, your Grace." He answered. Robert nodded and asked, "Do you know your mother?" Gendry answered, "Not really, your Grace. I only remember her blonde hair and that she sang for me when I was little. She's dead now."

Robert grimaced. She was Bessy, a beautiful woman, one of Robert's favourites. Gods, her tits were massive, anyone could've buried their face in. It was sad to hear she passed away.

"Take care, boy. You have a bright future ahead of you." Gendry looked confused, "I... Thank you, your Grace. T'was an honour to serve you." Gendry returned to the back of the shop.

"Mott, protect the boy. There are many who would want him dead, especially my wife." Tobho just nodded, and after collecting his helmet, Robert rode away.

After ten minutes of travel, they entered Cobbler's Square. There were merchant stalls everywhere, selling from food to fine fabrics. He could see Westerosi and Essosi alike, enjoying the festivities and getting ready to assist the jousts. Knights were preparing their horses, a tough battle awaited them.

After everyone was ready, Robert climbed the steps of the podium. A silence settled. All eyes stared at the King, awaiting his speech.

"People of Westeros! Welcome, to the tournament of Prince Joffrey! Many great knights are here to prove their courage, whether in the joust, or the mettle that it is the melee. Battle is their way of life, but during peacetime, when there's no war to fight, they entertain their fellow countrymen! Now go forth! May fortune be with you!"

A thunderous applause drowned every sound. It made Robert smile. Gods, sometimes it is good to be King.

Then Robert walked towards the Royal Stand and sat there with his council. Thankfully the bitch was with her brother today, at least Robert would be able to enjoy the tournament. Jon seemed oddly tense and was eyeing every participant; was he somewhat paranoid? Does he think someone might try to kill him during the melee?

Robert recanted these thoughts. Probably he was just searching for someone. The adjudicator blew the horn, and the first rounds of the joust began. There was an unprecedented number of knights participating today. He had never seen so many in a tourney, not even at Harrenhall.

In the end, sixteen knights remained. Barristan was able to unhorse Ser Gregor Clegane after three tilts. The Mountain left the arena in a rage, probably to drink his beloved milk of the poppy. Ser Tallad the Tall and Shadrich the Mad Mouse were next, and the former was declared the victor after breaking three lances.

All were known names... All but one. Lord Beric Dondarrion has come from Blackheaven to compete, and he was facing a fellow named Ser Willem Butler. Robert started thinking. He wore a tabard with a blue hourglass... Gods, is he the son of Ser Devron Butler? THAT Butler?

He vaguely recalled him. An odd knight, he preferred using a halberd and fighting on foot; he helped him reach Lord Grafton at the Battle of Gulltown. Devron cut down anyone who tried getting in Robert's path and rallied his fellow soldiers. Truly, a formidable man to have at the vanguard. 'Tis a shame he died in the Trident, trying to slay Barristan Selmy.

It appears Willem lives up to his predecessor, as he unhorsed the Lightning Lord the first tilt. He reached the Semi-Finals before being unhorsed by Loras Tyrell, Renly's fellow sword swallower.

Despite his loss, he was able to unhorse Osmund Kettleback and won the third place, while Loras Tyrell and Barristan occupied the second and first respectively. Robert personally awarded the winners, "You! Butler boy, I am impressed. When the tourney is over, come to the Red Keep, I'm interested in you." He said, "I-It's an honour, your Grace!" He stuttered. Robert smiled and gave him the purse. Barristan seemed flustered somewhat, he probably remembers the boy's father.

Then Robert entered the makeshift armoury. It's time to break some skulls.

Jaymar

Jaymar finished donning his armour and approached the field. Many great names were trying their luck this day, even the King himself was participating. The rumours about him, in particular, seemed to be exaggerated. He was not as fat as the others described, just a bit plump. Probably it's just the curse of age, as inescapable as death.

He snapped out of his thoughts. Jaymar needed to find at least an ally to reach the high rankings, and he was not the talkative type. He aimlessly wandered his side of the field, finding no one to join. As he was considering giving up, a strange man approached him. A Red Priest?

"You there! Searching for a companion?" He asked, "Aye, but I'm not having success, as you see." Jaymar grimly remarked. "I am Thoros of Myr, Red Priest of R'hllor. My group needs a third member, care to join?" Jaymar nodded, "Aye, fair enough. Lead on."

Jaymar followed the priest, "Ser Jaymar, I present you Ser Sandor Clegane, but you surely know him as the Hound." Gods, he was teaming with the Hound? This was his lucky day then. "It's a pleasure." Jaymar said, and the Hound smirked, "At least you seem the collected type. Try not to get gutted during the fight."

Jaymar rolled his eyes, "Grim as the tales tell. It seems I have competition." The hound surprisingly chuckled, "You are funny enough. Care to join a drink later?" Jaymar shrugged, "As long as it doesn't involve whoring or dancing."

Suddenly a horn blew, "Warriors! Prepare for battle!"

So they distanced themselves from the other knights and prepared themselves. Afterwards, the horn blew again.

At first, it was a slow March, then a charge. Jaymar's team clashed against three Riverlanders, two Pipers and a Vance knight. Jaymar tackled the Vance, and quickly disarmed him. He then joined Sandor and subdued the Piper knight.

Thoros had no problem with his flaming sword, as the remaining warrior laid his arms. He heard the Hound mutter angrily about it. Probably his burns explain why.

Another group approaches them. Gods, it's the King.

Following his side Tallad the Tall and a strange Knight with rusty armour attacked. Tallad tried to tackle Jaymar, but his shield managed to absorb the blow. The Northerner pushed back the tall man's advance and swung his mace on his shoulder. Tallad deflected his mace and tried to punch him.

Jaymar dodged the blow: this gave him an opening for another swing. This time it impacted the Knight's forearm; Tallad dropped his sword in pain, forcing him to yield. In the meantime, the King had finished off Clegane, and was moving against him.

He opened with an overhead blow with his fearsome war pick. Jaymar blocked the hit, but his shield was nearly in tatters. "Boy, that shield is not going to save you!" He said while laughing. Jaymar angrily tossed it away and swung from the right, aiming at the King's hip. Unfortunately, he was not in luck, as the plate managed to absorb the blow. That left his chest exposed, and Jaymar was shoved to the ground.

The King approached him, "Nice fight, boy. But that is not enough to fall a stag." He said. Suddenly, he was hit from behind. The rusty Knight had been the aggressor: he subjugated Thoros and backstabbed his allies. The coward! Does he think he will get away with it?

But then, the Knight raised his axe again. Gods! He is trying to kill the King!

Jaymar got up quickly and tackled the assassin. Luckily enough, he managed to disarm the man. So he removed his helm and punched his exposed face multiple times.

The Assassin was knocked unconscious, and his face a bloody ruin. Jaymar went to check the King's well-being. Thankfully the false knight had not hit any vital organs.

"Thank you, lad. What is your name?" The King asked, "Ser Jaymar Swayne, at your service." The Demon of the Trident smiled, "I will remember it. Now go, do your best!"

"Go, Jaymar. I will take care of him." Said a voice behind him, it was Thoros. He nodded, found another shield and scanned the field. He spotted a knight with golden armour approaching him. Gods, it's the Kingslayer.

"A knight saving the princess in danger, how touching." He said, chuckling, "Alas, I have to ruin this romantic moment. Raise your guard, boy. This victory will be mine."

The Lannister charged with a thrust, Jaymar barely blocked it with his scavenged shield. The Kingslayer didn't abandon the offensive, as he arched his sword for a second blow, aiming for his ribs. The Northman barely dodged it, and swung his mace violently. But it was for nought, as his opponent masterfully parried the swing and drove his pommel against Jaymar's helm. He went sprawling to the floor a second time, and the Kingslayer stood above him.

"Fair fight, but you're still an amateur," he said while removing his helm, "Do you yield? Let's get this ov-" The Kingslayer was interrupted, as Jaymar used his trump card. His mace had an unscrewable pommel, he took advantage of his opponent's distraction and threw it against his exposed head.

Jaymar quickly stood to continue the fight, but something unexpected happened.

The Kingslayer was unconscious.

Seven hells, did the Maiden kiss my arse today?

The crowd was a mess. Half cheered, the other jeered. The Hound slowly approached him, "Boy, you're no more honourable than that assassin, but that was bloody funny." Jaymar was too shocked to answer, and Sandor just laughed.

He left the arena and climbed the podium. The Hand of the King was there to deliver his prize, "Ser Jaymar, you gave us an outstanding performance. Here's your prize, ten thousand Gold Dragons." Bless the Seven! I'm rich!

The hand continued, "I thank you for saving the King's life too. For that, I have a proposition." Jaymar nodded, "Aye, my Lord. I am all ears."

"I offer you the possibility to join a new Royal Order. Are you interested?"