(a/n: Here i am, back again! I hope you enjoy!)
Part 3: Tourney of the Hand
Sansa couldn't believe her eyes. King's Landing was alive with activity.
The commons streamed through the gates like a river to see the tourney. Mingled among them were a variety of knights and freeriders from all over Westeros. The morning was cool and the sun shone brightly, accenting the numerous colors of banners and clothing.
Sansa, Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole rode to the tourney in a litter, joining the steady stream of people and migrated towards the filed just beyond the city walls, passing hundreds of tents and pavilions that belonged to knights and lords, high and low. They watched as knights and squires readying themselves for the joust and the melee and other contests that they were to participate in.
Sansa gaped as she witnessed a number of legendary knights trot past her.
The white cloaked knights of the Kingsguard, all-wearing matching white and silver except for the Kingslayer who wore gold. Jeyne pointed out other tourney participants as they passed, such as Lord Beric Dondarrion and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, lumbered past them. The banner of the Freys from the Crossing flew over a nearby pavilion.
Sansa recognized several of her father's own men readying themselves in order to represent the North. Compared to the numerous other knights, all dressed in beautiful, elegant armor, the Northerners looked shabby. It was like a dream for the two girls; the finery, the sights and sounds were all intoxicating.
It was as if the two girls were taking part in one of the many songs or tales they heard growing up. Sansa and Jeyne had dreamt of this moment for a number of years and now, they were able to witness it all in person. Speta Mordane ushered them into their place with the other highborn spectators just as the joust began.
The three sat on a bench beside two girls who were a few years her senior, a handsome man a few years younger than Sansa's father and a boy Arya's age. All three were clad in black and silver. Sansa looked at the boy and then to the girls. For a moment, the young Stark thought she recognized one of the girls but she felt the she was mistaken. After another look, she suddenly realized why the girl was familiar.
"Cassandra?" said Sansa.
The girl turned to Sansa and her eyes widened in recognition. "Sansa!" exclaimed the girl, surprised. The two greeted each other with a warm hug.
Cassandra was taller than Sansa, almost taller than Robb. She had beautiful hair as black as ink and her face as pale as the bark of a weirwood tree. The two have known each other as they grew up. Cassandra was the daughter of one of House Stark's bannermen, Lord Wayne.
Whenever there was a feast or business, the two girls would play together. The young boy sitting beside her was obviously her younger brother, Damien and the man sitting beside the other girl was without a doubt their father, master of House Wayne, Lord Bruce Wayne. Compared to Eddard Stark, Lord Wayne was as just as honorable, but younger and more confident but he lived more lavishly and avoided officiating in his lordly duties as much as he could.
Sansa remembered her father's opinion of him. Eddard viewed the young lord as a loyal and honorable man but not very reliable when concerning politics due to his constant drinking, feasting and hunting, which earned him the title of "Summer Lord".
The Wayne's were a peculiarity. Their style of clothing and manners would be considered that of a Southern noble house. There were some jests that Wayne's were more southern than northern, considering their position. House Wayne ruled a stretch of land at the foot of a range of snowcapped mountains closer to the Neck.
Despite the jests, there was no doubt that the Wayne's were northerners. On the male side of the family Lord Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father, was a Northerner through and through, having the blood of the First Men coursing through his family and, more prominently, through his cousins of House Forrester.
Thomas's wife, Martha, was a daughter of a small lord from the Vale but her loyalty was to her husband and both were beloved by the people in the North. All of it was history for Sansa but it meant something to her father. Regardless, Lord Wayne and his entire House have been loyal to the Starks for years and will continue to be for years to come.
Cassandra introduced Sansa and Jeyne to her little brother and to the girl who sat beside her, Barbara. The four girls watched as the first joust began.
The first few jousts had already passed.
Jory Cassel of the Stark House guard won twice, unseating Horas Redwyne and a knight of House Frey. Lothor Brune rode against Jory and after a few tilts, came out victorious. They cheered for their fellow northerners but were disappointed when each of the Stark's own men were eliminated from the tourney.
Regardless of the loss, each of the girls cheered loudly for the handsome Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.
Barbara cheered the loudest when an aged knight with a thick mustache entered the lists. "Her father" explained Cassandra "Ser James Gordon. An excellent rider and a good friend of my father."
The mustached knight wasn't extremely old but he was certainly the one of eldest participant in the tourney, the oldest being Ser Barristan Selmy. His face looked weary, covered in deep lines and had tired brown eyes. Despite his tired appearance, he fared much better than Sansa expected.
The aged northerner unseated two knights and survived a few more tilts before being knocked off his steed by a younger northerner by the name of Ser Dent, who was in tern eliminated in the next joust against a Ser Grayson.
As the day went on, the number of participants shrunk down to a few. Among the final few, were Ser Loras, Ser Gregor Clegane, a knight of the Vale named Ser Hugh, Robar Royce and a ward of House Wayne, Ser Richard Grayson. Sansa felt herself blush as Ser Richard rode by.
Tall, strong and handsome, Richard Grayson was almost resembled Lord Wayne and his son Damian. Raven hair, icy blue eyes and strong features, some whispered that he was the bastard son of Bruce Wayne but there was hardly any proof. Although he was handsome, Sansa would still choose Ser Loras over Ser Grayson if given the chance.
Ser Loras Tyrell had an ethereal beauty that made him seem more than human, like one of the many heroes from the old songs and legends.
After Ser Royce was unseated, the Mountain and Ser Hugh entered the lists. The two knights clashed and Ser Gregor was the victor.
To the horror of all the spectators, the fallen Ser Hugh was grievously wounded. The fallen knight lay helpless in the mud, gurgling on his blood as it oozed from the wound in his throat. In no time at all, the knight from the Vale bled to death. Silence befell the crowd as the knight's body was carried away. Jeyne Poole sobbed at the sight of death and blood. Cassandra lost a bit of color in her face, Damien was silent and morose, even Lord Wayne looked unsettled.
After they carried the body away, Jeyne Poole was led away by Septa Mordane from the tourney and taken back to the Red Keep to calm her nerves.
Lord Wayne, who looked liked very pale, offered to escort them. Septa Mordane accepted graciously and the three left.
Sansa remained with Cassandra and Damien to watch the remaining jousts of the day. It was some moments until the next joust began. Ser Loras and Ser Grayson arrived in the lists. The Knight of Flowers looked divine in his elegant armor that of his, the breastplate covered with jeweled flowers and a cloak actual flowers. Ser Grayson dressed in typical armor that looked inelegant yet strong.
As he trotted past, Ser Loras plucked a red rose from his cloak and he gave it to Sansa as a token of her beauty. Sansa blushed and swore to cherish it. Cassandra told her how lucky she was, while Damien grumbled about being bored.
The two knights clashed and after two tilts, Ser Loras was the victor. The crowd cheered as the triumphant knight waved and wheeled his horse around to trot back to his tent, he stopped.
Soon, the cheering died and an eerie silence fell on all. Ser Grayson, who stood mud-spattered beside his horse, lifted his visor, revealing a shocked face.
Sansa followed his gaze and felt her heart stop.
Trotting into the muddy lists was a large white warhorse, bearing a rider wearing night-black armor and carrying a black banner with a three-headed crimson dragon. The people began to whisper and mutter amongst themselves as this new rider rode past the shocked spectators and knights. As he rode past, Sansa saw that on his breastplate was a crimson dragon, which matched the banner, made of beautiful rubies that glittered in the light of the sun.
Immediately, Sansa recognized the standard that the rider bared. "The Targaryens" murmured Sansa, in shock.
"That armor" whispered Cassandra in awe "The ruby dragon on the breastplate…it belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. But how…he's dead."
"Apparently not" a new voice said softly.
Sansa looked to her side and saw a thin man around her father's age standing there. He wore fine clothing like a highborn lord. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his breath smelled of mints. The most unique part of his attire, was the silver mockingbird clasp that hung on his cloak.
"That armor is definitely his" remarked the man "Although it is in much better shape than it was when I last saw it." He gave Sansa a knowing smile "As everybody knows, Prince Rhaegar was smashed by our beloved king's war hammer and the rubies were lost to the currents of the Trident. It must have cost a small fortune to find and repair his armor."
Sansa didn't recognize the man but she felt that there was something familiar about the silver mockingbird and who owned it.
The mysterious knight rode past Sansa. She tried to see who might be wearing the armor of the fallen prince but the man's face was hidden the shadow of his helm. Everyone watched as the knight's horse came to a stop before the king and queen.
King Robert, although partially drunk, recognized the armor and standard of the knight. His face was drained of color and his eyes were wide with disbelief. It looked as if he was witnessing the return of a horrible phantom from the past.
"Impossible" murmured the king in disbelief.
The knight dismounted and planted his banner into the muddy ground. For a long moment, nobody spoke a word. All eyes were upon the knight and the king. Finally, the king rose to his feet and snarled, "Who in the seven hells are you? Certainly not Rhaegar Targaryen. He's dead! I buried my war hammer in his chest and ensured that vile bastard breathed his last."
The knight didn't reply. He stood there, silent as a crypt and still as a statue.
The king's face grew red and his voice louder "So what is this then? You intend to mock your king with this silly display? I can have your head!"
Without a word, the knight in black reached into a pack that clung to his horse's saddle and withdrew a beautiful blue winter rose. Robert's eyes widened in horror and he looked almost ready to keel over. Without much effort, the knight tossed the blue flower up at the two monarchs. The flower landed at the feet of Queen Cersei, who looked just as confused and shocked as her husband.
A soft whisper ran through the crowd. The king plucked the flower off the ground and looked at it closely. His expression hardened and his hate filled eyes turned to the knight.
"Who are you?" asked Robert, his voice was softer but it had not lost its edge "You dare mock me with this? With Rhaegar's armor and with this flower! I shall take your head and place it on a pike!" he turned and barked at one of the gold cloaks for a sword so he could behead the impudent knight.
Just as the gold cloak reluctantly surrendered his sword, there came a soft laugh.
All eyes turned to the knight and saw that the knight was shaking violently and laughing. The laughter grew louder and louder. As if he grew tired of the charade, the knight reached up and lifted his helm, revealing a face that made the assembled spectators, the king included, draw back in fear.
The face of the man was pale as death, his blood red lips curled up into a cruel grin. The man removed his gauntlets and ran them through his emerald green hair. Slowly, the man shed his armor, revealing fine green and purple clothing. Embroidered on the breast was a grinning moon. Gasps and chatter began to erupt around them.
Sansa gazed in horror and awe at the man, recognizing who he truly was: the Laughing Prince.
Even in the North, Sansa had heard tell of a strange, pale man who dressed like a highborn lord and committed acts of cruelty against men and women, both highborn and low. The Laughing Prince had used deception and excessive violence to pillage several towns, farmsteads and even a castle. He attacked wagons and caravans on the road in the dead of night, slaughtering all except one who was to tell the tale of what happened.
Among his most well known acts of villainy, it was known that he played cruel japes on his victims. Pretending to be a helpless beggar before killing bandits and unwary travelers, distributing poisoned meat and mead to starving common folk and hanging the bodies of loved ones in trees for his victims to find.
All across Westeros, from Dorne to Winterfell and from the Iron Islands to Kings Landing, all had seen the grinning moon of the Laughing Prince at least once. Some stories say that he was a demon who fed upon the death and misery of others, while others say that he was a plague from the old gods upon those who forsook them. Sansa didn't take much stock in such rumors but she had to admit, there was something strange about this villainous prince. The way he appeared and vanished, the way he evaded capture and the amount of blood he had shed, it all seemed to be the work of an inhuman fiend, not a man who looked like a mummer.
The pale man giggled and he cast off the last piece of armor and stretched his limbs.
"You have no idea how good it feels to be rid of this armor" said the Laughing Prince, his limbs popped softly "It was a pain to it on. A size too small for me."
The king stood there, glowering and seething with anger. "You…" growled King Robert, leveling the borrowed sword at the pale man's heart "You dare show your face around here…you dare mock your king…"
"Mock?" said the Laughing Prince, shocked "Nay sire! I dare not mock, I came bearing a gift and to honor your new Hand."
"A gift, eh?" said the king, smirking "You mean your head, ready to be put on a pike? I gladly accept!" Quickly, he lunged his blade at the villain's heart.
The king was too slow. The Laughing Prince merely danced away from the king's lunge and the following sword strokes. There was no doubt the king could cleave the pale man's head off but his size and his drunkenness slowed his attacks considerably. The people were silent at first, shocked at the display but soon began cheering for their king, hoping that he would cut down this mad man.
With each swing, the Laughing Prince stepped, ducked or twirled away. The king's face grew redder and his breath grew heavy.
For a moment, Robert paused and he growled like an angry beast. His opponent, calm and untouched, clapped his hands.
"Good form sire!" complimented the Laughing Prince sincerely "It just needs more power, more ferocity, more oomph!" he made an obscene gesture, which merely caused the king to grow redder.
Members of the Kingsguard and several tourney participants offered to finish off the pale man but Robert snarled at them and they backed away. The king tried swinging a few more times, snarling like a hungry dog. Robert drove the man back up against the wall that separated the highborn spectators, right where Sansa and the Waynes sat.
The king grinned madly and swung his blade and caught only wood. The Laughing Prince leaned against the small wooden wall and yawned a little as the king pried his blade free.
The pale man glanced sideways and his eyes landed on Sansa. A small chill ran down the Stark girl's spine. The man's eyes were like two pieces of emeralds that burned with a mania that Sansa has never seen before in her life. Sansa shivered as the man his winked at her.
Turning back to face the king, the Laughing Prince grinned "Come now, can we not sit and drink? Can we not watch the remainder of the tourney as friends?"
"Oh, Aye" said Robert "When you're dead!" he slashed at the pale man's throat. The Laughing Prince ducked and with fluid, elegant motions knocked the sword from the king's hand and aimed a dagger at the now tired monarch's throat. All fell silent.
The people sat and watched in shock as a their king, who in his youth was a powerful warrior, was had a knife held to his throat by a pale lunatic. "Now your excellency" said the Laughing Prince "Don't look so sad. This is a happy occasion, you should smile more!" he burst out laughing.
The Kingsguard and several gold cloaks moved to help but the pale mad man moved the knife closer to the king's throat until the blade touched his skin. Nobody dared move. From his twisted smile and the gleam in his eye, everyone knew that the Laughing Prince would slit the king's throat without hesitation.
Sansa felt her heart race. Cassandra, Barbara and Damien drew closer to each other as if it were safer to be in a group.
"Don't worry" whispered the lord with the mockingbird clasp "I won't let anything happen to you. I owe your mother that much at least." She frowned in confusion. Who was this man? He seemed vary familiar.
King Robert looked down at the knife then up at the man who held it. "Well, what are you waiting for?" demanded the king, impatiently "If you're going to kill me than get it over with, lest I die of boredom."
The Laughing Prince threw back his head and let out a loud, mad cackle. He wiped a way a tear from his eye and sighed, "Well, if it is the wish of my king, then so shall it be!" Before he could do deal the finishing stroke, a obsidian-black chain wrapped itself around the pale lunatic's waist and violently ripped him away from the king, sending him falling backward into the muddy ground. All eyes turned and were amazed to see the king's savior.
Sitting astride a great black horse was a knight, wearing ink black armor. The knight wore a flowing black cloak with a silver bat clasp. Strapped to his back were twin blades. What drew the most attention were the helm and the symbol. The helm was unique, having a human shape but had a pointed nose and tall, pointed ears, making the knight look like a bat. Embossed on the breastplate was a bat, made of a darker shade of black, taking flight.
Immediately, Sansa and all who were present recognized the knight. Based on the bat on his breastplate, it was clear to everyone that this was the hero who stalked the dark, hunting for the Laughing Prince and protecting the people who usually fell prey to the pale man or to bandits. This knight was the hero spoken off by the small folk far and wide: the Dark Knight.
The knight hauled the laughing man through the mud by the chain until he was at his foot.
The now muddied lunatic looked up and grinned at the oddly dressed knight. "Ah, Ser Bats!" cried the Laughing Prince, giddy "I did not know that you would be here. If I had, I would've brought an extra cask of wine! Arbor gold, my personal favorite."
"Shut up" growled The Dark Knight. His voice was deep and gravelly. The knight looked up at the shocked king and crowd. "My apologies your majesty. I arrived as soon as I could."
The king was speechless, having no words as to what was happening. The knight wheeled his horse around and he snapped the reigns, taking off at full gallop. The Laughing Prince was dragged behind the horse, his body bouncing along the ground and being soaked in mud. Despite all that, the pale man laughed like a mad the whole time. Within moments, the two were gone.
For a few long moments, all were silent and motionless. It was the most bizarre and frightening thing they had witnessed this day, far more frightening than the death of Ser Hugh. After the long silence, the crowds began to buzz with excited chatter.
The King walked away to his pavilion with as much dignity as he could muster, but he was still visibly angry and confused.
Sansa was breathless. King Robert had almost lost his life but he fought against the Laughing Prince, the most notorious villain alive. In addition, the arrival of the Dark Knight, his valiant rescue of Robert and sudden departure with the captured villain was something out of the songs and stories that Sansa heard. It was frightening seeing it first hand but it was enchanting to actually be a witness to something so…amazing.
That evening, at the feast, the night carried on as usual. Lords, ladies and knights drank and feasted as if nothing strange had happened.
King Robert was in a better mood and the assembled nobility complimented his swordplay. The king waved a hand and said that if he had his war hammer and if he wasn't so bloody drunk, than he would have crushed the giggling fool like a bug.
When asked about the Laughing Prince's gift, it was discovered that he had brought a wagon filled with casks of Arbor gold and a few slabs of salted pork and chicken. After a small taste, it was discovered that the wine and meat wasn't poisoned. But, not wanting to take any chances, the food was disposed of.
Sansa spent the evening chattering with Cassandra and Barbara. The two girls were just as frightened as she was but they managed to keep their lady like composure. Damien declared that he wasn't afraid and that if that mummer ever showed his face again or threatened his sister, he would slit the lunatic's throat.
Sansa spotted the man with the silver mockingbird clasp and learned from Barbara that the man was Lord Petyr Baelish who was a member of the King's small council and was a friend of her father and was also a friend of Sansa's mother Catelyn.
The Stark girl felt thankful that he was there at the tourney and she had felt a little safer when he assured her that he would protect her. But she knew very well that her Joffrey would protect her, since she was promised to marry him one day.
The rest of the fest was a haze. Sansa spent the majority of the evening with her beloved Joffrey. Once she had enough, Sansa was taken back to the castle.
On the way back, the young Stark girl couldn't help but feel happy. Although the death of Ser Hugh was a terrible thing, the rest of the day was like a beautiful dream, filled with handsome knights on their prancing steeds, fine lords and ladies in their beautiful silks and, best of all, a brave hero who saved the king from a diabolical villain.
Deep in the Kingswood, a fair distance from the lights and sounds of King's Landing, the man known as the Laughing Prince was bound to a tree.
Held tightly in place by thick black chains, the pale man simply rested his head against the bark of the towering oak, having given up trying to escape and was now trying to let his aching body heal.
Despite the pain, it had been a fantastic day for him.
An afternoon of fighting and laughing, the now mud spattered man wished he could have taken part in more of the Tourney's festivities. He was so sure that he would've made a splash in the melee and win the hearts of a few lovely ladies in the audience. But alas, he was tied to a tree and was about to have a nice, civilized chat with an old friend.
Speaking of which…
"Hello, Batsy" greeted the Laughing Prince in a silky tone "How long has it been hmm? Two months? Three?"
"Five" growled the familiar voice. The tall familiar shape emerged from the shadows and stepped into a shaft of pale moonlight that filtered in through the trees. To an ordinary man, this dark knight was indeed a specter to fear. But the Laughing Prince was no ordinary man.
"Now then, what is this about?" asked the pale man, bored "I was enjoying myself, spending time with an old friend and wooing fair maidens when you arrive and ruin it."
"I'm here to stop you" said the knight "…but I am also here to ask you some questions."
"Oh? What about?"
The knight said nothing. For a moment he stared off into the dark, considering his words carefully.
The pale man raised an eyebrow "Come on now, ask your questions. I know you want to. It's just eating away at you…and I have a feeling that I know what it is that you are about to ask. Hurry now, speak before I fall asleep!"
For a few long silent moments, the knight stared at the mud-spattered man.
Finally, the knight asked his questions "What do you know of Jon Arryn's murder and who is the one known as the Kingmaker?"
The Laughing Prince smiled but it wasn't a pleasant one. He found many things funny life, but these two questions were not very funny. Not funny at all.
(a/n: So, what do you think? So, i kinda did some tweaking for Bruce's family. Cassandra is obviously Cassandra Cain, Damien is Damien Wayne and Richard is Dick. I kinda made most of them family, just to make things interesting. There'll be more characters showing up next time. I hoped you enjoyed this! See you around.
Next time: In Vaes Dothrak, Dany encounter's a new friend and a mercenary who saves her life. In King's Landing, things are not all as it seems and as Arya is training with Syrio Forel, she encounter's a surly old warrior named Slade.)