The tent was nothing but a thin stretch of fabric, yet Robb was glad that it helped to mask some of the noise from outside. His mind was already a jumble of thoughts, so any refuge from further distraction was welcome. Jon and Jory had been with him briefly to help him with his armor, but they had since left to take their seats at Robb's insistence. The only thing that remained undone was his sword and helm, which lay on the small table next to him.

He looked down at his breastplate, admiring the direwolf, the symbol of his house. As he thought on it, he realized that the next time he wore his armor, it would likely be standing next to his Father, at the head of a northern army. On that day there would be no games, no tournaments. That would be a march for justice for his brother and to put the Lannister machinations to rest. Although he had every intention of taking that into his own hands today. He knew it was a foolish notion. Jaime Lannister was likely one of, if not the best swordsman in Westeros, but if the opportunity presented itself, he would take his chance.

Knights wore heavy armor during the melee, and the idea was to batter the competition into submission, not stab or impale them. Just as in the joust though, Robb knew accidents and deaths were frequent. There were weak spots that could be taken advantage of, depending on the quality of the armor and the fighting style of the competitor. Under the arm and at the neck were often less protected, and some times a fighter preferred a helm with less eye protection for greater field of vision. Robb could only hope that the Kingslayer's overconfidence

Just as he was about to stand and make his way to where his horse was tethered, the door flap to his tent was pulled aside and a large figure stepped inside. He was slightly taken aback to see the King standing before him.

"Well Robb, you certainly look the part of the warrior," Robert bellowed as he stepped closer and casually rapped his giant fist against Robb's breastplate. "Since Ned isn't here to do it, I thought I would come to offer my sage wisdom on affairs of battle."

"I'm honored you would think to do so, your Grace," Robb bowed his head.

"Yes, yes," Robert waved off his gratitude. "Anyway, the thing to remember is to use your strengths to your advantage in these things. You're young, and many of these fighters are past their prime, trying to squeeze whatever little bit of glory they can get for their Houses. Make them swing at you until they're wheezing for their next breath, then knock the fuckers out!"

"And what about the better fighters?"

"Don't be intimidated by anyone," the King stated. "No matter who you're fighting, always believe you can win. That man across from you wants to stick his sword straight through your gut, so you stick yours through his first. If you're afraid, you may as well fall on your own damn sword."

"I won't be intimidated your Grace," Robb promised.

"Good. Remember to enjoy it. There's nothing like the chaos of a battle, surrounded on all sides by men looking to end you for good. My war hammer was like a part of me, and I swung it and cut down every man before they did me," the King reminisced. "Gods, just the thought of it makes my cock hard. I'd give anything to be out there today smashing heads and spilling blood on the ground. That was always so much easier than running a kingdom."

The King sighed, and Robb for the first time looked at the man differently. He often found it hard to believe that his Father and Robert Baratheon had been friends. Where Eddard was reserved and practical, Robert was brash and impulsive. Apparently their differences must have drawn them together. But now the King was a shell of his former legendary self, living off memories of past glory and caught in the grip of Lannister ambition. Robb felt sorry for him. He was under no illusion that the King was a perfect person, but the man had stood together with the Starks when the Mad King had roasted Robb's Grandfather alive and cruelly strangled his Uncle.

"Fight hard, Robb," the King said finally as he moved to exit. As Robb watched him go, he reaffirmed to himself that he would do everything he could to try and protect the man...at least from his enemies, if not from himself.

A sudden horn burst sounded from outside the tent signaling the competitors to assemble, so Robb took one last moment to compose himself. He secured his helm, attached his sword and walked into the blaring sunlight. Instantly the heat hit him, and he could already feel the perspiration gathering beneath the thick layer of padding he wore. It was stifling, but necessary. His horse was waiting patiently, covered slightly in armor to provide it some measure of protection. He detached his shield from where it was attached to the saddle and then swiftly ascended onto the back of his mount.

The tournament organizers had erected four sets of large viewing boxes around a spacious square of open ground to serve as the fighting area. As Robb entered through a small entrance at the joining of two of the boxes, he saw that the stands were filled to capacity, and in some cases clearly over it. Even many small children had found their way onto their parent's laps or shoulders, their faces painted to show their support for a particular competitor. The largest of the boxes was obviously set aside for the King, who actually sat alert, next to the Queen, whom was sat next to her Father, the namesake of the Tourney.

His eyes continued down the line, past the pompous face of the Prince and to Lady Margaery. She looked as beautiful as ever, with golden roses tucked into her hair. Robb glanced down at her ribbon, which was tied tightly around his wrist. The fact that she had given it to him, along with the memory of the feel of her lips was enough allay his annoyance at her place next to Joffrey. He savored one last glance at her before taking his place in the fighting grounds.

There were at least forty other fighters circled around the grounds. Some were clearly ordinary hedge knights, with unrecognizable sigils and hodgepodge of fine and shoddy armor and arms. Others Robb recognized instantly. Many of his Grandfather's bannerman from the Riverlands were in attendance, including Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard, and his heir Patrek. Lord Mallister was a well-respected fighter, and he looked the part, the silver eagle of House Mallister contrasted by the bright indigo field on his shield. Robb looked further and saw the red priest, Thoros of Myr, whom his Father had told him colorful stories of. His survey of the field stopped when he came to Jaime Lannister, adorned in his Kingsgaurd attire. The man looked as if he did not have a care in the world, and it drove Robb mad. He did not have long to simmer though, because the King rose from his chair, the signal to prepare for his wave to start.

Robb drew his sword, and stared straight across to the rider on the opposite side. There would be one crazy charge to the center of the square to begin the melee, but then it would break apart into smaller battles. It was for this reason that so few fighters had chosen to come with spear or lance. They were good for smaller matches where a fighter could make one charge, compose himself, and then make another run. In a melee this large, there would not be sufficient opportunity, and the odds of being quickly unhorsed were high.

He barely saw the King's hand rise out of the corner of his eye, which was followed by a final blast of the horn. He was off within a second, pushing his mount as hard as the beast would go. Other riders were closing in quickly on his sides, but he kept his eyes focused on the man bearing the burning tree of House Marbrand storming towards him. Robb twisted his body to right, intent on creating as much swing room as possible. He held the reins with his left hand, hitched back his sword with his right, and when he was practically on the other fighter, launched his strike. Robb had struck faster, forcing the Marabrand man to halt his own and go on the defensive. Robb had maneuvered his horse so close to the man, that when his sword made contact, it hit the man's sword and as well as his stomach, clearly winding him. The strike slowed Robb's momentum enough that he turned around and laid another attack at the back. His opponent grunted at the contact and charged off out of harms way.

Robb had precious few seconds to gather himself before two more riders were on him. Fortunately, both swung at the same time, and he was able to bat aside both. He cursed when another rider snuck up on his back and landed a strike in the center of it. His armor had taken the contact well, but the force of the hit still caused vibrations to rip through him. Robb rode forward and away from the threat, turning to take in the field once more. Already several men were on foot, and several were face down, unmoving in the dirt. He watched Lord Mallister charge and unleash a vicious slash against the helm of one of the unhorsed men, throwing him back through the air onto his back. Robb should have been paying attention to the man's son, who had approached quickly from Robb's side. Unfortunately, the Mallister heir had pushed his horse too hard and, while he attempted to stop, could not and crashed into Robb. The effect was that both were thrown sideways from their respective mounts hard onto the ground.

Robb's arm had slipped out his shield, and his helm and flown off on the way down, meaning he was much more exposed as he stood and got his bearings. Patrek Mallister was already stood and approaching, so Robb attacked first. Their blades met in a series of thrusts and blocks before Robb was so close that he propelled the pommel of his sword directly into the front of Patrek's helm. Robb was sure that he had broken the man's nose, and he was proven right when blood began to pour down his neck. Patrek Mallister dropped to his knee, shaken. When Robb gripped his sword with both hands and reared back again, the fallen man dropped his sword.

"I yield," Mallister yelled, his words barely intelligible from the blood that had pooled into his mouth.

Barely giving his opponent another glance, Robb turned around. What once had been a field of dozens had been whittled down into just a handful. Robb's heart was racing and his muscles were already sore. He could just barley make out the sounds of the excited crowd. He watched as Jaime Lannister made quick work of a Baratheon Bannerman, expertly cutting him down with quick, successive strikes. Robb was not left alone for long, as a man bearing the blue towers of House Frey confronted him. Unlike Robb, the man wielded a giant battle-axe. It was a fearsome looking weapon, blade on one side and hammer on the other-more powerful than a sword, but slower. The Frey kept the axe at his side as he came forward, then at the last second, swung two handed over his head, intent on splitting Robb like a piece of firewood.

Without his lost shield, Robb was forced to block with only his sword. The force of the axe was too much for him to hold, and it crashed down into Robb's shoulder, barely missing his exposed neck. The pain was intense, forcing him down onto his knee. The Frey was clearly intent on ending Robb for good, because he raised the axe over his head again, prepared to hack away. As he did so, Robb propelled his body forward and rolled on his healthy shoulder beneath the axe. Turning on his knees, Robb swung his sword and drove it into his attacker's knee. The hit was hard and true, bending the leg unnaturally and throwing him to ground, screaming in agony. Robb paid him no more mind. The man was done.

As Robb turned, a blinding light flashed out of nowhere, forcing him to look away. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Thoros had lit his sword and was brandishing it at Jaime Lannister, who seemed only amused by it as he passed the fallen Lord of Seagard at his feet. The two fighters expertly traded blows as the flames whipped through the air. Thoros was a good fighter, but his opponent was not bowed by his theatrics. Soon enough, the Kingslayer overpowered the red priest, knocking the blazing sword into the dirt, extinguishing it. Thoros raised his hands and gave up the fight. Robb looked around and quickly realized why no one else had attacked him as he watched Thors' defeat. There were only two fighters left, he and Jaime Lannister. In all honesty, he had not expected to make it so far, but perhaps the gods were in his corner...or perhaps not.

The roars of the crowd had died down after their favorite, Thoros, had been defeated, but they were clearly on edge in anticipation. He was not certain, but he was sure he saw Jon in the stands, intense worry on his face. Robb approached the Kingslayer and they began circling each other.

"I have to say I'm rather impressed you're still standing," he mocked, infuriating grin on his face. "How did you manage time to practice swordplay in Winterfell? Are you not always preparing for that dreaded winter your Father likes to warn about, endlessly?"

"Are we here to fight or talk, Kingslayer?" Robb questioned, ignoring the taunt.

Jaime Lannister's mouth thinned at the use of the moniker, clearly annoyed. "I'm only trying to extend the show for the crowd. I'm afraid once the fighting starts it's sure not to last long at all. Starks always fall in the end."

Even though the Kingslayer, hopefully, had no idea that Robb knew of his actions in Winterfell, the man still had the audacity to mock his brother. The rage that Robb had felt upon learning the news returned quickly, and he was done talking, and Jaime Lannister realized as well. Robb stepped forward quickly and began the fight, lashing out with a strike. The Kingslayer parried easily, beginning a trade of blows between them. The man was quick, Robb conceded, and he was doing everything he could to fend off his attacks, especially with his injured shoulder pulsing painfully. His defense slipped once and he took a hit to the ribs, which winded him and forced him to retreat back.

Seeing his wounded foe, Lannister struck. Robb side stepped the thrust, and drove his fist into Jaime Lannister's face, pushing him back. The man felt his face, running his hand over the fresh cut that Robb had opened. It stopped the Kingslayer for only a moment before he retaliated, swing his sword with two hands upward from his left. Robb's own sword met the strike, but the power of his opponent pushed it to the side, and the Lannister sword carried on until it sliced through Robb's right cheek. He felt his warm blood as it began to run down his shortly cropped beard and down onto his neck. The wound stung fiercely, but he was not sure how deep the cut ran, and did not care at the moment.

"So Starks bleed like the rest of us?" Jaime Lannister taunted again. "I was sure it was ice that ran through your veins."

Robb raised his sword and they began circling each other again. "That's amusing," Robb stated. "There's a saying about the Lannisters as well, which I've always been curious about."

"Oh, what would that be?"

"They say Lannisters shit gold," Robb explained. "I don't have the time to examine your chamber pot, so I'll just have to cut you open like a fish and see what falls out. If I find any, I'll be sure to return it to your Father."

Jaime Lannister struck again, viciously swinging at Robb. Again, Robb had trouble keeping up, and when he stumbled back off balance, his grip on his sword loosened and it was knocked from his hands. He was defenseless. Momentarily stunned, he could not move when the Kingslayer stepped forward and drove his boot into his stomach. The kick was fierce, throwing Robb backward. He coughed, trying to fill his lungs with air again, but failing. He turned over until he was crawling on his hands and knees. He was stopped when a hand grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back.

"Do you yield Stark? Or should I continue with the show?"

The words were forming on his lips, but he could not gather the air to speak them. Realizing that there was a chance he could die any moment, his eyes danced around in desperation. He had not realized it, but he had crawled next to the body of a fallen fighter. In the man's belt was a sheathed dagger. Robb reached out quickly and unseen, pulling away the dagger from its confines. The Kingslayer was gripping him with his left hand, which meant that was the direction he had to go. He gave a few more exaggerated coughs buying time, then moved. His left arm swung around, gripping Lannister's arm and pulling him forward. Robb nearly cried out as the pressure on his hair and skull increased dramatically, but in the same movement he rolled his body around and drove the dagger into the Kingslayer's left side. Armor slowed the path of the blade, but soon enough it was piercing skin and muscle until it was firmly embedded.

The grip on Robb's hair was gone and he stood and found his sword. They had exchanged places, with the Kingslayer now on his knees, his sword forgotten as his hands put pressure on the offending dagger. The crowd was stunned into silence, and remained so as Robb took long, slow steps forward, his grip on his sword taut and unrelenting. He had suddenly forgotten the word yield. It was no longer in his vocabulary. All he saw was the exposed tan skin on Jaime Lannister's neck, covered by strands of golden Lannsiter hair. He barely even noticed as the sword drew back, his mind only replaying images of Bran's broken body lying at bottom of a tower in Winterfell. And then the sword was ready, ready to separate head from shoulder. He took one deep breath then swung.

"Enough!"

Robb stopped immediately when he heard the King's voice. He looked back and saw Robert Baratheon on his feet, clearly stunned. However, behind the King, whispering furiously were Cersei and Tywin Lannister.

"Jaime Lannister yields," the King bellowed. "Robb Stark is the victor."

Just like Robb, the crowd seemed to be equal parts confused and furious for the action halting, but then they eventually began to cheer and chant "Stark." Robb looked at his opponent, and almost stepped back at the sheer intensity of the Kingslayer's ire. He stood slowly, painfully, blood still seeping from his wound and covering his gloved hands.

"This isn't over Stark," he whispered.

"No, Lannister," Robb frowned, "it's not."