Author's Note: Some of this chapter will be word for word from multiple chapters of A Game of Thrones. These parts are owned by G.R.R.M. This chapter will take place during the first days at King's Landing through the royal tourney all the way to Robert's fatal injury and Ned's arrest. Enjoy.
That evening, Lord Stark was late to dinner.
"My lord," Jory said when Ned entered. He rose to his feet, and the rest of the guard rose with him. There were fifty of them, so most of the benches were empty.
"Be seated," Eddard Stark said. "I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city." He signaled for the meal to resume. The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.
"The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord," Jory said as he resumed his seat. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King."
Ned did not look happy about that. "Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?"
Sansa's eyes had grown wide as the plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far away from Arya and Matt as she could get without drawing a reproach from her father. "Will we be permitted to go, Father?"
"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly."
"Oh, please," Sansa said. "I want to see."
Septa Mordane spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."
Lord Stark looked pained. "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." He saw Arya. "For both of you."
"I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said.
Sansa lifted her head. "It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted."
Matt snapped back. "She shall be wanted. I will be participating, and if I win, she will be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty."
"I highly doubt you will win," Sansa said coldly. "You'll probably be knocked out in the first round. And there are many other girls who are much more beautiful than Arya Horseface."
This angered Matt. "You take that back!" He shouted.
"I don't think I will."
"Enough, Sansa," Lord Eddard said. "More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you three are fighting. You are my children. I expect you to behave like siblings, is that understood?"
Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. Matt saw her rub away tears and he put a hand on her shoulder.
The only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. "Pray excuse me," Ned Stark announced to the table. "I find I have a small appetite tonight." He walked from the hall.
After he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne Poole. Down the table Jory laughed at a joke, and Hullen started in about horseflesh. "Your warhorse, now, he may not be the best one for the joust. Not the same thing, oh, no, not the same at all." The men had heard it all before; Desmond, Jacks, and Hullen's son Harwin shouted him down together, and Porther called for more wine.
Matt was trying to console Arya, but he could tell it wasn't working. She was still mad about Mycah. "He was my friend," he heard her whisper into her plate, so low that no one else could here. Her ribs sat there untouched, grown cold now, a thin film of grease congealing beneath them on the plate. She pushed them away from the table.
"Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?" Septa Mordane asked.
"I'm not hungry." She seemed to remember her courtesies. "May I be excused, please?" she recited stiffly.
"You may not," the septa said. "You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate."
"You clean it!" Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher.
Matt looked at the septa. "She just needs some time alone," he said. "She's been through a lot these last couple of days."
When dinner was finished, Matt went and knocked cautiously on the door to their chambers. "Come in," he heard Arya say.
"You feeling better?" He asked as he entered.
"Yes," she said. "Father talked to me. He let me keep Needle. He said not to stab Sansa."
"He should have said that to me. I almost ran up here for my sword."
"And I would have stopped you." Arya said. "Would you really crown me Queen of Love and Beauty if you won?"
"Of course," Matt said, wrapping his arms around her. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever met. Besides, you're my betrothed, your father would kill me if I didn't. I won't make the same mistake Rhaegar Targaryen did to started Robert's Rebellion."
"Rhaegar was married to Elia Martel," Arya remembered. "When he won the tourney at Harrenhal, he named Aunt Lyanna Queen of Love and Beauty. Aunt Lyanna was betrothed to Robert Baratheon. In one day Rhaegar Targaryen insulted Houses Martel, Stark, and Baratheon."
"Good," Matt congratulated her. "I forgot to mention that you're also the smartest person I've ever met."
"Thank you," She said. "But you seem to have forgotten that you must be a knight in order to enter the tourney."
"Oh, shit," Matt cursed. "Maybe the king can knight me when he legitimizes me."
"Just don't get yourself badly hurt. I couldn't live knowing you got injured in some stupid tourney."
"I swear to you I'll be fine," he promised. He looked outside. "We should probably get to bed. Your father would kill us if we slept in."
"I love you," Arya said as they laid down.
"I love you too," Matt said, smiling.
—
Three days later, at midday, Lord Stark's steward, Vayon Poole, sent Arya to the Small Hall. "Not you," he said when Matt started to follow. "Just Arya."
Four hours later, Arya returned looking tired, but excited. "Father hired me a dancing master," she said. "His name is Syrio Forel. He was the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos for nine years."
"Is he training you?" Matt asked.
"Yes. He's training me how to use Needle properly."
"That's amazing, Arya."
"I'm going back tomorrow."
"You might need this training," Matt said, laying down. "If Ned finds the truth, we all might be in danger."
"I know. Besides," she said as she laid next to him. "I have my brave knight to protect me."
—
Six months later, Matt was called to court. The Small Council was there as well as Arya.
"Matthew Snow!" The king boomed.
Matt knelt. "Your Grace."
"It is my understanding that you wish to be legitimized."
"That is correct, Your Grace."
"I have thought long and hard on this matter," King Robert said. Both Ned and Arya smiled. "But, my wife has given me another idea. My son, Tommen, shall be betrothed to Arya Stark."
"What!?" Ned looked at the king. "Forgive me Your Grace, but I have not consented to this."
"But you have," Cersei broke in. "When Arya's wolf injured Joffrey. Her marriage to Tommen is payment."
"Joffrey hit Arya!" Matt shouted. "Nymeria was protecting her!"
"That's not what Sansa says. And Sansa is no liar."
"She is a liar!" Arya was fuming.
"Silence!" The king bellowed. The hall went silent. He turned to Ned. "Matt and Arya are to no longer share chambers. See to it that Arya is moved immediately. I want nothing more to do with this drama. There is a tourney tomorrow and I am going hunting in two weeks."
As soon as they were out of sight of the guards, Arya broke down in tears. "What are we going to do?!"
Matt stroked her head. "It's ok. Once Ned finds proof of Cersei and Jaime's affair, Tommen will be revealed to be an bastard born of incest."
"He needs to hurry up then."
—
The day of the tourney came faster than expected. Matt sat right next to Arya. The jousting went all day and into the night. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.
Arya gasped and Sansa's friend, Jeyne Poole, started crying hysterically.
After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed.
Eventually, it came down to four; the Hound, his brother Ser Gregor, Jaime Lannister, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.
By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While the commons began their walk home, talking of the day's jousts and the matches to come on the morrow, the court moved to the riverside to begin the feast. Six monstrous huge aurochs had been roasting for hours, turning slowly on wooden spits while kitchen boys basted them with butter and herbs until the meat crackled and spit. Tables and benches had been raised outside the pavilions, piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and fresh-baked bread.
The feast went by uneventfully. When it was over, Matt and Arya went to their separate tents. A little while later, however, Matt woke to find that Arya had snuck into his tent and was lying next to him.
"You're not supposed to be here," he whispered.
"I know, but I couldn't stand being apart from you any longer."
"If anyone finds us like this…"
"Father knows that I'm here. He'll send Jory to rouse us in the morning."
"Ok, then," he said. "I love you, no matter what they say."
"I love you, too." Arya said as they drifted off to sleep.
—
The final three matches went rather unexpectedly. The Hound beat Ser Jaime. The second match was an interesting one; Ser Gregor versus Ser Loras.
Ser Gregor was having trouble controlling his horse. The stallion was screaming and pawing the ground, shaking his head. The Mountain kicked at the animal savagely with an armored boot. The horse reared and almost threw him.
The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and couched his lance, ready. Ser Gregor brought his animal to the line, fighting with the reins. And suddenly it began. The Mountain's stallion broke in a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly, while the mare charged as smooth as a flow of silk. Ser Gregor wrenched his shield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly mount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his lance just there, and in an eye blink the Mountain was failing. He was so huge that he took his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.
The Hound was laughing. The Knight of Flowers reined up at the end of the lists. His lance was not even broken. His sapphires winked in the sun as he raised his visor, smiling. The commons went mad for him.
In the middle of the field, Ser Gregor Clegane disentangled himself and came boiling to his feet. He wrenched off his helm and slammed it down onto the ground. His face was dark with fury and his hair fell down into his eyes. "My sword," he shouted to his squire, and the boy ran it out to him. By then his stallion was back on its feet as well.
Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal's neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. "Stop him!" Matt heard Ned shout, but his words were lost in the roar. Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying.
It all happened so fast. The Knight of Flowers was shouting for his own sword as Ser Gregor knocked his squire aside and made a grab for the reins of his horse. The mare scented blood and reared. Loras Tyrell kept his seat, but barely. Ser Gregor swung his sword, a savage two-handed blow that took the boy in the chest and knocked him from the saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as Ser Loras lay stunned in the dirt. But as Gregor lifted his sword for the killing blow, a rasping voice warned, "Leave him be," and a steel-clad hand wrenched him away from the boy.
The Mountain pivoted in wordless fury, swinging his longsword in a killing arc with all his massive strength behind it, but the Hound caught the blow and turned it, and for what seemed an eternity the two brothers stood hammering at each other as a dazed Loras Tyrell was helped to safety. Thrice Matt saw Ser Gregor aim savage blows at the hound's-head helmet, yet not once did Sandor send a cut at his brother's unprotected face.
It was the king's voice that put an end to it . . . the king's voice and twenty swords. Ned had told Matt that Jon Arryn always said that a commander needs a good battlefield voice, and Robert had proved the truth of that on the Trident. He used that voice now. "STOP THIS MADNESS," he boomed, "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
The Hound went to one knee. Ser Gregor's blow cut air, and at last he came to his senses. He dropped his sword and glared at Robert, surrounded by his Kingsguard and a dozen other knights and guardsmen. Wordlessly, he turned and strode off, shoving past Barristan Selmy. "Let him go," Robert said, and as quickly as that, it was over.
The third match never came. A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back onto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to Sandor Clegane, "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser."
"I am no ser," the Hound replied, but he took the victory, and the champion's purse, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons. They cheered him as he left the lists to return to his pavilion.
That afternoon a boy named Anguy, an unheralded commoner from the Dornish Marches, won the archery competition, outshooting Ser Balon Swann and Jalabhar Xho at a hundred paces after all the other bowmen had been eliminated at the shorter distances.
The melee went on for three hours. Near forty men took part, freeriders and hedge knights and new-made squires in search of a reputation. They fought with blunted weapons in a chaos of mud and blood, small troops fighting together and then turning on each other as alliances formed and fractured, until only one man was left standing. The victor was the red priest, Thoros of Myr, a madman who shaved his head and fought with a flaming sword. He had won melees before; the fire sword frightened the mounts of the other riders, and nothing frightened Thoros. The final tally was three broken limbs, a shattered collarbone, a dozen smashed fingers, two horses that had to be put down, and more cuts, sprains, and bruises than anyone cared to count.
Arya had missed the melee because of her dancing lessons. She returned at the beginning of the feast. Sansa was surprisingly nice. "The melee was magnificent," she sighed. "You should have come. How was your dancing?"
"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.
"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully.
—
The next day, Lord Eddard came from the Small Council meeting without his badge. "Daenerys is pregnant," he declared, angrily. "Robert wants to kill her and the unborn child."
"Do we know if the baby will be a boy or a girl?" Matt asked.
"No," Ned replied. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't hear me. He means to poison her."
"Where is your badge, my lord?"
"Robert tried to make me carry out the order. I told him I would have no part in this. We will return to Winterfell soon."
—––—
A few days later, Vayon Poole came to them with terrible news: Ned had been badly hurt by order of the Kingslayer while coming from a brothel. Jaime claimed that Lord Stark was drunk and attacked his men in the streets.
Matt knew that Ned had really gone to that brothel to visit one of Robert's bastards. What really happened, he guessed, was that Jaime had attacked Lord Eddard in retaliation for Catelyn's capture of Tyrion (the news of which had come in the day before).
He was unconscious for six days. Both Matt and Arya went to see him as soon as they heard he had awakened. When they got there, the king was just leaving. Arya quickly let go of Matt's hand, which she had been holding on the way up.
"Your Grace," they both said.
"My lady," he returned. "Snow."
When they entered, Ned looked at them and smiled. "My children," he said. "I am glad to see your faces."
For once, Matt did not correct him. He had realized, sitting there, looking at the unconscious Lord of Winterfell, while Arya cried into his shoulder, that he had always been Ned Stark's son at heart.
"Father," Arya hugged him. "Grand Maester Pycelle said you might not make it."
"Pycelle over exaggerates things. I am fine."
"You're Hand of the King again," Matt noted, looking at the badge.
"He already ordered Daenerys' poisoning, so he reinstated me. Robert is going hunting tomorrow, so I will rule in his stead. I would legitimize you and betroth you two again, but the queen refused to let Robert give me leave to do so."
"Could you at least abolish Arya's betrothal to Tommen?" Matt asked. "Send us back to Winterfell to see Robb, Bran, and Rickon again."
"I will try," he promised. "But Cersei will most likely refuse."
"Thank you, Father."
—
As expected, the queen would not let them leave the city. Other than that, the next few days went by without incident. Then, five days later, Robert returned from the hunt with a large gash in his stomach. He had tried to take on a boar alone.
"Pycelle says that the king will most certainly die," Ned told them. "Robert has made me Joffrey's regent until he comes of age."
"Joffrey will never be king," Arya said. "You have proof that he is not Robert's child."
"Yes, I have proof. I have sent a letter to Stannis at Dragonstone telling him of the affair. Renly cannot know. He has already told me that he thinks he would make a better king than Joffrey or Stannis. He offered me his men to help get Joffrey away from his mother."
"That may be our best option," Matt said. "If we let Cersei flee with her children, she will just return with the entire Lannister army at her back. If we can get Joffrey away from her, then maybe we can teach him to be a better person."
"Yes, but even Renly's men are not enough. I have asked Littlefinger to pay off the City Watch."
"Are you sure you can trust Littlefinger, my lord?"
"He swore by the old gods and the new that the City Watch will be mine. My first act as regent will be to legitimize you. Then we can abolish Arya's betrothal to Tommen and you two can finally be wed."
"Thank you, my lord"
—
The next day, Matt stood by Ned's side in the Small Council chamber. The council members came in one by one. Varys was last, "The little birds sing a grievous song today," he said as he seated himself. "The realm weeps. Shall we begin?"
"When Lord Renly arrives," Ned said.
"I fear Lord Renly has left the city."
"Left the city?"
"He took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell and some fifty retainers," Varys told them. "When last seen, they were galloping south in some haste, no doubt bound for Storm's End or Highgarden."
"Let us begin, then," Ned drew out Robert's last letter. "The king called me to his side last night and commanded me to record his final words. Lord Renly and Grand Maester Pycelle stood witness as Robert sealed the letter, to be opened by the council after his death. Ser Barristan, if you would be so kind?"
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard examined the paper. "King Robert's seal, and unbroken." He opened the letter and read. "Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as regent until the heir comes of age."
"I would ask this council to confirm me as Lord Protector, as Robert wished," Ned said.
The door opened. Fat Tom stepped into the solar. "Pardon, my lords, the king's steward insists . . . "
The royal steward entered and bowed. "Esteemed lords, the king demands the immediate presence of his small council in the throne room."
"The king is dead," said Lord Stark, "but we shall go with you nonetheless. Tom, assemble an escort, if you would."
As they crossed the courtyard, Matt saw the City Watch on the ramparts of the Red Keep. Littlefinger came through. He thought.
Janos Slynt met them at the door to the throne room, armored in ornate black-and-gold plate, with a high-crested helm under one arm. The Commander bowed stiffly. His men pushed open the great oaken doors, twenty feet tall and banded with bronze.
The royal steward led them in. "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," he sang out.
Joffrey sat at the end of the room on the Iron Throne. Five knights of the Kingsguard—all but Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan—were arrayed in a crescent around the base of the throne. They were in full armor, enameled steel from helm to heel, long pale cloaks over their shoulders, shining white shields strapped to their left arms. Cersei Lannister and her two younger children stood behind Ser Boros and Ser Meryn. The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as pale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg, on her head a matching tiara.
Above them, Prince Joffrey sat amidst the barbs and spikes in a cloth-of-gold doublet and a red satin cape. Sandor Clegane was stationed at the foot of the throne's steep narrow stair. He wore mail and soot-grey plate and his snarling dog's-head helm.
Behind the throne, twenty Lannister guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from their belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms. But Littlefinger had kept his promise; all along the walls, in front of Robert's tapestries with their scenes of hunt and battle, the gold-cloaked ranks of the City Watch stood stiffly to attention, each man's hand clasped around the haft of an eight-foot-long spear tipped in black iron. They outnumbered the Lannisters five to one.
Joffrey stood. His red satin cape was patterned in gold thread; fifty roaring lions to one side, fifty prancing stags to the other. "I command the council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation," the boy proclaimed. "I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors."
Ned produced Robert's letter. "Lord Varys, be so kind as to show this to my lady of Lannister."
The eunuch carried the letter to Cersei. The queen glanced at the words. "Protector of the Realm," she read. "Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?" She ripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
"Those were the king's words," Ser Barristan said, shocked.
"We have a new king now," Cersei Lannister replied. "Lord Eddard, when last we spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Hand and live out your days in the grey waste you call home."
"Would that I could," Ned said grimly. "Your son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lord Stannis is Robert's true heir."
"Liar!" Joffrey screamed, his face reddening.
"Mother, what does he mean?" Princess Myrcella asked the queen plaintively. "Isn't Joff
the king now?"
"You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark," said Cersei Lannister. "Ser Barristan, seize this traitor."
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard hesitated. In the blink of an eye he was surrounded by Stark guardsmen, bare steel in their mailed fists.
"And now the treason moves from words to deeds," Cersei said. "Do you think Ser Barristan stands alone, my lord?" With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved to support him.
Matt drew his sword.
"Kill him!" the boy king screamed down from the Iron Throne. "Kill all of them, I command it!"
"You leave me no choice," Ned told Cersei Lannister. He called out to Janos Slynt. "Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard."
"Men of the Watch!" Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed.
"I want no bloodshed," Ned told the queen. "Tell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need—"
With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into Tomard's back. Fat Tom's blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wet red point burst out through his ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor.
Ned's shout came far too late. Janos Slynt himself slashed open Varly's throat. Cayn whirled, steel flashing, drove back the nearest spearman with a flurry of blows; for an instant it looked as though he might cut his way free. Then the Hound was on him. Sandor Clegane's first cut took off Cayn's sword hand at the wrist; his second drove him to his knees and opened him from shoulder to breastbone.
"Matt, run!" Ned shouted.
"I won't leave you!" Matt said as he cut down a gold cloak.
"Get the girls and get out of the city!" Ned yelled. "Now!"
Matt barely managed to fight his way out the door. When he looked back, Littlefinger was holding a knife to Lord Stark's throat.
Author's Note: Well, that was a long one. I would have done a few chapters on this section of the story, but I couldn't find a good place to separate them. I was going to do a new chapter every time more than a few hours passed, but some parts that I wanted to get in were too short. I think I could get four more chapters out before I get to the end of book/season one. That would make Book One of my story an even ten chapters long. As always, please leave a review with suggestions and feedback. DireDestroyer, signing off.