A/N: Hi everyone. I know it's been a while, but I bring the Knight of the Laughing Tree!

Finished my story A Terrible Resolve and my magnum opus Empire of Ice and Fire! Be sure to check them out, as well as my fics Heart of the Blessed and Last Hope For Westeros (on archive of our own).

Oh, just to say, Aerys is Aegon V's younger son. It goes: Duncan, Rhaelle, Aerys, Rhaella.

Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome. All are really, really good! Check them out :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 10: Knight of the Laughing Tree

Ser Oswell trailing behind him, the King of the Seven Kingdoms turned the corner of the guest wing of Harrenhal's central keep… only to find yet another empty hallway. "Seven fucking hells," Aerys muttered under his breath. He had been here many times over his entire life and still ended up lost more than half of the time. "You grew up here, Ser Oswell. Don't you think my illustrious ancestor the conqueror should have burned this wretched shithole to the ground?"

"The will of the dragon is never wrong, your Grace," replied the Kingsguard, hand patting the hilt of his sword.

Aerys grinned at the answer, turning yet another corner to finally find what he was looking for. "Ah, Ser Jaime!" Idly standing in front of the door of a particular chamber, eyes glancing at the rather sunny day outside in preparation for the newcomer's joust, the call from his King sent him ramrod straight. An ability that Aerys never stopped enjoying since becoming King after his fool of a father bit the dust. "Is she inside?"

Jaime bowed. "Yes, your Grace." His voice was formal but completely different - there was little else he could be to the King who could grace the bed of the woman he adored, and yet didn't. "Preparing for the day ahead."

"Ah, good." He raised his eyebrow. "You plan to compete in the melee, today, yes?" Jaime nodded. "I wish you luck, Ser Jaime." Still grinning, he saw Ser Oswell get in position on the other side of the door as he entered…

Running right into one of his wife's ladies in waiting. "Oh…" Her eyes widened almost immediately. "Your Grace." The girl fell to her knees.

The King rolled his eyes. "Get up, girl! I wish to be alone with my Queen." It was barely three seconds before the young highborn girl - from some house in the Stormlands or another - to flee. Chuckling, Aerys looked upon his wife sitting at her vanity table. "Rhaella."

"My King." Rhaella didn't bother to rise. Seeing him in her mirror, he seemed… in a good mood. "She was helping me get ready for the tourney."

"Oh? Bothered by your royal husband?" Stepping till he towered above her slight frame, Rhaella was reminded of the brooding but handsome older brother she married twenty-two years before. "Your hair is better in simple styles."

She felt his fingers weaving through her locks, each moving purposefully. "You haven't fixed my hair in years, husband."

He scoffed. "It's like riding a horse. You never forget." Their mother, the beloved Queen Betha Blackwood, had made sure the teenage Aerys stayed close to Rhaella after their elder brother spurned the Baratheon daughter in favor of Lady Jenny. One of the ways they had bonded was him plaiting her hair in the simple style he preferred, which had been a wonderful prelude to the day until the growing split between Aerys and Tywin began to affect him. "The betrothal negotiations were done well. Got the Stark daughter for a cheap price."

Rhaella sighed. His hands felt as wonderful as they did long ago - but Aerys was a far different man. "Lord Stark would make a good Master of Laws - and Rhaegar seems taken by his new bride." With few to confide in, he had told his mother everything. She was happy for him… overjoyed in fact.

"Rhaegar with her and the Dornish bitch, Viserys with the Tyrell brat, I'll finally manage to rebuild House Targaryen from the hole our father and brother dug it into." His words were vicious, but his hands were still gentle. "He may have been an idiot at the end, but at least father knew to marry us for the benefit of our House."

Smug and proud of himself, Rhaella could still hear a wistful sadness in his voice. "I know you never wished to marry me, husband. You preferred Joanna Lannister."

Imagining the beautiful Lady of the Westerlands, his first love and first passion… Aerys shook his head. "That was a long time ago. Our father made his decision, and it ended up the right choice." Love mattered not. Only strength and power. "Done." He pulled back, proud of his work. "You look beautiful, sister."

It wasn't a lie, she was breathtaking. Rhaella wished Aerys would look at her with love and not smugness, though. "Shall you join me to break our fast, husband?"

"No, I'll be down in a moment. Go on." Aerys felt Rhaella reach out and squeeze his hand affectionately, grateful for the almost loving, domestic moment between them. Even as she left, the feel of her touch lingered on his palm.

"She was always the sweetest of us, don't you think?"

Aerys' eyes widened, flying open in shock and anger. "You have no right to speak of her," he shot back, seeing the vision of the man long dead leaning against the windowsill. "You have no right even to speak to me from what you did!"

Duncan Targaryen chuckled as he pushed himself off the windowsill. "Oh brother, always so bitter." The mocking voice he always used to his baby brother made Aerys want to take a sword and run it through the pure Riverman features of the Dragonfly Prince. "You are King, the father of the future of our House, and yet you still seem to act as if the man who renounced his birthright is superior to you."

"You have no authority! No authority to judge me, Dunk!" Even though Ser Oswell and any other servant outside could hear him, no one bothered the King's ranting. "You betrayed our family for some whore! A commoner, witch, whore that was unable to even bear you children. I have two and one of them is about to bear plenty of sons - little dragons that will fix what you destroyed you little shit!" Spittle was flying from the King's mouth by the end.

The smile on the Dragonfly Prince's face didn't falter. "You were always the stupidest among us, brother. My only regret was that I left you the heir to father, but do not worry. Your stupidity will be your undoing."

Aerys blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The sigil of High Heart," Duncan began, stepping around his trembling brother. "The one that regards you just as I do, as strong to your son as Jenny was to I… no matter what you hope to do…" Aerys shut his eyes, willing for Duncan to journey down to the Seven Hells where he belonged. "This sigil will be your undoing, Mad King."

"Shut it!"

"Mad King, Mad King, Mad King!"

"SHUT IT!" Drawing a knife from the folds of his robes, Aerys stabbed at the form of his brother only to find nothing there. Just himself, alone in his Queen's chambers screaming into the void.


That morning, Lyanna woke to find both Ned and Brandon having disappeared from their tent, off to the dueling field without her - while a curse tumbled from her lips at their seemingly disrespectful attitude, the rational part of her said they were likely trying to pay their respects to Lord Hoster Tully. Petyr Baelish was his ward and it was Lady Catelyn that they were dueling over. With a sigh, she had dressed and found Dacey. Hoping that they didn't miss the action - not that she wanted to see Brandon cut down the scrawny pig with ease.

Sure enough, Hoster Tully was huddled with Brandon and Ned, the former's shoulder being clasped by the hand of the Lord of Riverrun. What surprised Lyanna was the presence of her betrothed. Fully dressed in a black doublet and red-striped trousers, red cape billowing behind him. Silver locks splayed over his shoulders, Rhaegar looked like the perfect mirror of Prince Daemon.

Having completed her undressing of Rhaegar with her eyes - not that the she-wolf couldn't spend hours admiring the perfect form of her betrothed - Lyanna turned to find Dacey completely silent. Gaze clouded over as she stared at the party of highborns. "You alright?" No answer. "Dacey… Dacey!" She shook her shoulder.

"Huh…" Shaking the dazed gaze from her face, Dacey blinked, turning to Lyanna. "Who's that over there?"

"I'm sure you recognize my betrothed, Prince Rhaegar," Lyanna teased.

The she-bear huffed. "I know who Rheagar is, Lya. I meant, who is that statuesque example of masculinity standing behind him?"

Furrowing her brows, she glanced back at the Prince and followed the line of sight to the armored figure behind him. Helmet held to the side and the other arm planted on the hilt of the famous longsword. "Oh, that's Ser Arthur Dayne. The Prince's Kingsguard." Lyanna hadn't met him formally, but Ser Arthur was famous from Sunspear to Castle Black. The twin blades were instantly recognizable.

Apparently, Bear Island seemed to be a bit isolated from the rest of Westeros. "Never heard of him, though I wish I had." Dacey's gaze was quite hungry as it appreciated the form of Ser Arthur.

Lyanna knew that gaze anywhere and grinned. "The greatest swordsman in Westeros according to most people. They call him the Sword of the Morning for his blade Dawn."

"Mmmm, I know a place he can put his sword if I have anything to say about it," Dacey licked her lips, causing Lyanna to roll her eyes. I bet Princess Elia doesn't have ladies in waiting this crude. Her thoughts were then thrown into disarray when Rhaegar looked at her. Heart skipping a beat from the passionate glint in his violet eyes.

Eyes finally falling on Lyanna, the Crown Prince immediately excused his conversation with Lord Tully to walk to her. A genuine smile teasing his oft brooding face. "My dear Lady Lyanna," he husked, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. Kissing the milky skin.

Blushing hotly, Lyanna nevertheless curtsied. "Prince Rhaegar." The effect he had on her was only amplified by their closeness. "It heartens me to see you again… even minding the circumstance."

Rhaegar frowned. "Some men wouldn't mind seeing your brother slaughter a man with more googly eyes than sense, but I'm not one of those men. Neither are either of your brothers, I don't think." For the first time since he made acquaintances with House Stark, Rhaegar saw Brandon as just as brooding as Ned, the young heir offering his apologies to Lord Tully. "Perhaps as the Crown Prince, I can referee the situation before it gets out of hand."

"I don't much care for Petyr Baelish, but I do care for my future goodsister and apparently that worm means a lot to her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm still a bit confused as to why the Tullys were picked for your brother. They are devout members of the Faith and… I'm not sure they'd be suited for the North. Wouldn't the Blackwoods have been better? They still believe in the Old Gods."

That was a good question. Ever dutiful, ever formal and pious, the Lady Catelyn did indeed seem a bad fit for being the Wardeness of the North. But… "My Bran needs someone devoted to him to settle him down. I think Lady Catelyn is perfect in that regard." If Rhaegar seemed skeptical, he didn't show it. Seemingly trusting her judgement. Yet another reason she was falling so deeply for him, even if there was that small reservation regarding her more wild nature. Willing it aside, Lyanna looked at the man that had gradually stood behind Rhaegar. "Now now, my Prince. You have been quite rude… not introducing me to the Sword of the Morning."

"Oh that." The Prince laughed. "Well, my dear. This is Ser Arthur Dayne."

Lyanna stepped forward and shook Arthur's hand. "Your reputation precedes you, Ser Arthur. Forgive me if I'm a little starstruck."

"My sigil is that of a falling star, after all," Arthur replied with a small grin. Lyanna decided at that moment she liked him. "I have heard a lot about you from his Grace - he is correct that you light up whatever space you find yourself in." An eye shifted behind the she-wolf. "And who is this beautiful lady behind you?" His green eyes glinted.

Blinking, Dacey approached at the attention of the Sword of the Morning. "Greetings, Ser Arthur. I am unattached…" Her eyes widened in realization. "I mean, I'm a maiden…" She hadn't said more than two sentences to Arthur before she wished to crawl into a hole and die out of embarrassment.

Lyanna hid her amusement. "This is Lady Dacey Mormont of Bear Island. My Lady in Waiting." Luckily for Dacey's sanity, her introduction guided them back into a decent rhythm. "She couldn't be more obvious," Lyanna whispered to Rhaegar.

"Arthur doesn't really go after ladies like Oswell or Gerold, so it's good to see him loosening up." His eyes shifted. "Although if one wants obvious, look over there." Following his line of sight, Lyanna spotted Littlefinger striding determinedly into the field, guided by Ser Brynden Tully and with the two Tully ladies following behind. He turned to speak to Catelyn, but she didn't spare him a glance, instead rushing to Brandon and embracing him. Hurt flashed on Baelish's face before it fell behind into anger. "Well, I should get this over with. Better stand with your brothers, my Lady."

While Lyanna wanted to stay beside him - stay beneath him sans clothes, if she was being honest - she nevertheless complied. Leaning up to kiss his cheek. Lips sparking with warmth as she moved back to where her brother was standing. "Once again, I'm sorry about this," she heard Brandon tell the Lord of Riverrun, arm wrapped around Catelyn's waist. "I regret that this must happen."

Hoster Tully - an older man who's once-red hair was now mostly grey, having aged worse than his younger brother - gave the Starks a weak smile. "You have no need to apologize, Brandon. I should have seen this coming and sent young Petyr back home sooner. My brother is giving him his advice, but it is nothing personal to you, I promise."

"Have to follow all the bases," nodded Brandon.

"The Crown Prince officiating helps. I'm just glad we managed to keep this under wraps for the most part." A sigh. "Good luck, my future goodson." Lord Tully left them to take Rhaegar's side.

"Finish this quickly, Bran." Lyanna knew she had limited time before Dacey and Howland - who had accompanied Ned and Brandon - needed to set her up for the newcomer's joust. While excited, it wasn't only Rhaegar's presence that made her heart beat nervously. Calm, stay calm. She was a far better rider than any of those cunts. "You're a far better fighter than that insect."

Catelyn had a different take. "Petyr asked me for my favor, Bran, but I couldn't give it to him." Lysa had absolutely begged for him to wear hers, and at the last minute he had accepted. "I love you," she said, handing Brandon a small strip of cloth for him to tie around his wrist. "But please don't kill him."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "The world would be better off without him creeping around it."

"Please, don't! Spare him, please. He may be an idiot here but he's like a brother to me."

"With a lot of unbrotherly feelings," Brandon quipped, only to sigh at Catelyn's wide eyes. "Fine. I'll spare him." While Lyanna and Ned shared a disapproving look - both just… having a bad feeling about Petyr Baelish - one couldn't really argue when Catelyn smiled widely and kissed Brandon passionately on the lips. Brandon accepted, enjoying the death glare from his opponent.

Rhaegar called the duel to order, and both parties moved into position. Baelish's inexperience showed when he charged at Brandon. Sword high and swing wild. The Stark heir may have been impulsive but he was a well-trained fighter, easily sidestepping the initial attack on agile feet. Avoiding going on the attack even when in the open. Having fun with this, Bran? The next two swings by Littlefinger were parried effortlessly, the clash of steel upon steel as Brandon gave ground. Letting his opponent tire himself out.

Baelish's lack of skill took its toll, sweat covering his brow and furious movements slackening. Sensing an opportunity, Brandon smacked Littlefinger's blade aside, fist flying to slam into his nose. Lysa screamed and Catelyn pursed her lips, Baelish falling to the ground. "Yield," Brandon commanded, hoping the runt would get the hint. He didn't, leaping to his feet and charging Brandon. A slash against his front - shallow but bloody - knocked the sword aside. The heir to Winterfell dropped his own sword and knelt by his foe, slamming his fist over and over into his challenger. Blood splattering and ribs cracking. "Yield, you fool!" This time, the command was obeyed.

Fight over, Catelyn raced to inspect Brandon while Lysa and Brynden did the same for Littlefinger. The former showed off his victory by lifting his betrothed in his arms while the latter was carried off the field moaning and groaning, the Prince insisting that he see a maester for his injuries. Satisfied that her brother's marriage was secure, Lyanna met eyes with Dacey and Howland before brushing her hand against her forehead, knees buckling as she fell to the ground.

While Ned and Brandon were up on their feet to rush to her side, it was Rhaegar that got there first. Catching Lyanna mid fall rather adeptly. "My Lady… are you well?" He gently cradled her waist and head, easing her to the ground. "Should I fetch a maester?"

Lyanna fought the flush creeping upon her body. How Rhaegar's fingers and palms spread a tingling electricity wherever upon her body where he touched - even through her clothes. "No… no…" she murmured. "I'm fine, just a little light headed." Once confident in her story, just his presence was disconcerting her. "I… I haven't been eating much lately."

"Shock to me," Brandon quipped once he determined she was fine, wrapping an arm around Catelyn's waist. Enjoying the spoils of his victory. "You usually devour a wheelhouse's worth of food."

"Shut up," Lyanna snapped. "I don't need a maester, Rhaegar. I promise." She smiled, hoping it would melt him - it did from the longing glint in his eyes.

Having smacked Brandon about the head - the heir to Winterfell rubbing the back of it with a glare - Ned knelt by Lyanna. "Still, I think you should head back to your tent. Skip the melee and the newcomer's joust, get some rest and then eat more at tonight's feast."

Normally, she'd punch Ned in the stomach and announce she could fight any one of them, but this was what she was hoping for. Suppressing the inner whoop… though the pleading on Rhaegar's expression could have probably convinced her all on its own. "Alright, brother."

"Do you want me to escort you?" Rhaegar asked, helping her up.

Before Lyanna's desire to be close to him could kick in, Dacey and Howland rushed to her side. "Don't worry, your Grace. We'll take care of this, you and Ser Arthur are needed at the royal box with the King and Queen." She shot the Kingsguard a sultry smile, one that Arthur replied with a wink. Grinning, Dacey turned back to Lyanna. "Let's go, sleepyhead."

As they turned the corner, they pushed Lyanna off them. "That was close," Howland whispered.

"Only close cause Lya wanted to just rip the Prince's clothes off where he stood."

Lyanna glared at Dacey. "Don't make me find another Lady in Waiting. There are plenty of southern ladies who would jump at the chance." A raised eyebrow from the Mormont beauty killed that theory. "Fine, fine. Let's get set up before the melee ends." This was going to be fun.


Taking his seat next to his brother and father, Ned leaned in to where Jon Arryn sat ahead of him in the royal box. "Did I miss anything?"

Lord Arryn shook his head. "No, melee is just about to start."

The Lords Paramount and other guests of the Crown were seated to either side of the King and his family. While the royals had only one row of four seats, the others were divided into two rows. To the left of Prince Viserys were the Tyrells and Baratheons - Robert getting glares from Brandon and Ned but too drunk to notice. To the right of the King himself were the Starks, Lord Arryn, Hoster Tully, and an empty seat. "Who's sitting there?" The seat was right in front of Ned.

"She's coming right now," Brandon answered, pointing to a female figure that made Ned's eyes widen.

Representing House Lannister in the absence of Lord Tywin, the beautiful Cersei Lannister held her head up high as she moved to take her seat. While she considered skipping the event after her encounter with Rhaegar and talk with Jaime, the presence of her brother in the melee kept her from doing it even if she wanted to. "Well, either Tywin spruced himself up or he sent a damn woman in his stead." Several lords laughed at the King's jape, while Cersei just bowed to his Grace and tried to ignore it - missing the lustful, appreciative eyes of Ned Stark as well.

Rising along with his mother, little brother, and father, Rhaegar clasped a clenched fist against his chest. "We, royals of the House of Dragons, salute you brave warriors today on this field of honor."

The knights on the field repeated the gesture. "We, men of honor gathered today in a test of strength and skill, salute our King, Queen, and Princes for this day and all days to come." Bearing their armored hands against the plate or mail draping their chests, each took a fighting stance as the royals resumed their seats.

Each qualifying round the previous days of the tourney were single combat under heavy rules, but the final match was in the style of Old Valyria- a free for all pitting fourteen of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms against one another till a single victor emerged. Each of them clutched dulled practice swords, one of the few positive things to come from King Aenys the Weak - Aegon IV allowed fights to the death with real weapons as the Ghiscari did, going further, but all were repealed by his son Daeron II. Rhaegar, watching his father's bored expression, had a feeling that Aerys II would have brought the Unworthy's rule back had he not been apathetic about the whole thing. "Honored knights… may the best win." With a wave of his hand he signalled the start of the melee.

Over half an hour of steel clashing against steel… blades against the thick wood of shields, some revelled in it while others developed pounding headaches. The crowds shouted for the victory of their favorites and the blood of the disliked - which often changed on a whim based on whomever was coming out on top or made an excellent move. Referees darted back and forth, avoiding the swings and calling strikes and rule violations.

"Lord Umber is doing well," commented Jon Arryn, leaning back in his chair.

Rickard nodded. "Burly like a bear, that's why they call him the Greatjon." Five pairs of eyes watched the massive Lord of Last Hearth rip a shield from the hands of a hedge knight of the Reach, punching him right in the stomach - it didn't faze the northerner, grinning like mad while the referee called the knight knocked out. "Less skilled than… tenacious."

"Much like the Greyjoy." Lo and behold, Victarion Greyjoy was also doing quite well. Simply ramming bullheadedly into his competitors, able to withstand blows to him that would crumple lesser men. Hoster frowned. "I really don't want that family to win - Greatjon seems like he could take him."

"Or Ser Jaime," commented Ned. The Lion of Lannister - as he was called by many - was currently engaging Greatjon. The second Stark son wasn't as much watching the Kingsguard, but the blonde beauty he was eying certainly was. Lips pursed worriedly as she watched her brother spar. Letting out a relieved breath when Jaime dodged a downward slice from the Lord of Last Hearth to stab right into his stomach. With a curse, Greatjon was waved off by the referee and stomped off the field - leaving Jaime and Victarion as the only ones left.

Leering at the smaller Ser Jaime, fighting without a helmet and not a strand of his perfect blonde hair out of place, Victarion Greyjoy simply charged. Muscles catapulting his sword to bat Jaime's strike to the left. The brother of the Lord of the Iron Islands crashing right into Jaime, knocking him to the ground. Cersei gasped audibly, while Queen Rhaella silently gripped the arm of her chair ever tighter. "The Iron Way in action," quipped Jon Arryn, crossing his arms and enjoying the show.

Rhaegar's eyes flickered from the prone Ser Jaime to his mother, quiet but with a worried glaze frozen on her face. Gently, he placed his hand on hers, comforting her when his father wouldn't. "Get up, lion!" Viserys yelled, voice high and jumping in his chair. "Fight the Kraken." The two royals laughed at the young prince, easing the tension.

Eyes locking with the Queen's, Jaime sucked in a breath and twisted around - just missing the downward chop that nearly took him out of action. "No head blows!" the referee bellowed. Victarion shoved him off, lunging for Jaime again. The Lion of Lannister had leapt to his feet and twirled his sword. Steel clashing against steel, Jaime's moves quick and fluid against the pure brawn of the Ironborn.

Whimpering as a blow caught Jaime's shoulder, the knight crying out in pain but scrambling back, Cersei could hear the King's smug laughter as she looked away. Unable to see her twin hurt. "Lady Cersei…" She looked up to see the Stark… Lord Eddard, pointing. "Don't worry, the Ironborn is tiring." Blinking, Cersei swiveled back to the fight.

Ned was absolutely correct - a fact that gave Cersei much relief. Sweat poured from Victarion's brow. The great reaver panting as he continued to swing. Darting and spinning, quick on his feet, Jaime parried a strike. Longsword spinning around and smacking Victarion's hand. Howling in pain, the Ironborn dropped his blade… finding Jaime's pressed onto his neck. "Yield," ordered the Kingsguard.

Anger burning within, Victarion nevertheless had no choice. "Yield."

Smiling triumphantly, Jaime turned to the royal box and bowed as the herald dubbed him the winner of the melee, presenting him with a crown of oak leaves. Up out of their seats were the royal family, the strongest claps coming from both the Queen and Prince Rhaegar. The crowd chanted for the Kingsguard, clearly the favorite of the day. "Lannister! Lannister! Lannister!"

Clapping with a genuine smile, watching as Cersei hugged her brother, Ned sat down. "That was a good fight."

"It was, young Eddard," Jon Arryn replied, not unknowing of the lad's wandering eye. "But that'll probably be the highlight of the day."

"Don't think the newcomer's joust will be interesting?" Brandon asked.

He snorted. "About as interesting as watching a bucket of piss."

Unfortunately, Lord Arryn's foresight proved true. The newcomer's joust was filled with green riders - and green was an understatement. Most were unhorsed by sloppy maneuvers, with one tilt even finding both riders falling from their mounts before either's lances made contact. The King died of laughter the entire time, while for the rest it got old quickly. "Please kill me," Brandon whispered to his brother. "I'd have let Littlefinger run me through with his sword if this was gonna be the rest of my day."

"Stop being dramatic, brother. I'm sure it'll get interesting," Ned replied. He opened his mouth to continue only for the herald to announce the next tilt - a mystery knight who had come to challenge the next three scheduled riders. Ned's brow rose. "Knight of the Laughing Tree? What Kind of a name is that?"

Lord Arryn's brows furrowed. "Never heard of a hedge knight of that name? Hoster?" Lord Tully shook his head. "Mace?" Half stuffing a pastry into his mouth, crumbs fell onto his green doublet as Lord Tyrell mumbled something in the negative. "Has a knight of that name graced Casterly Rock, Lady Cersei?"

After her brother was off the field, Cersei had zoned out. "Sorry, Lord Arryn… I haven't seen such a knight in the Westerlands."

Nodding, Lord Arryn leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. "Mystery knights are generally rare… could be a dud, could be just some fool trying to impress a maiden." At that point the knight entered the field, riding a rather drab palfrey. His armor hung over his likely slight frame as if it were a size too large, with a plain helmet etched with scrapes. The most distinctive item was the shield, however - splayed over the wood was a weirwood tree. One with a laughing instead of a wailing face etched on its side. "On the other hand this could get interesting."

The knight took his position, waiting for Ser Boros Blount and his porcupine sigiled shield. Already sporting plenty of fat beneath his armor, it didn't take long for the resulting tilt to send him flying off his horse. From how he gracefully brought his mount around, the crowd began to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Rhaegar's interest was piqued, as was the King's to his right.

Next was the rather poor armor of House Haigh, pickings slim from picking up the scraps that Walder Frey let them have. While some knights were skilled and strong in spite of their meagre reserves, the Pitchfork Knight wasn't. The Knight of the Laughing Tree felling him with a perfect blow to the center-left of the shield. Earning a more roaring approval from the crowd. They recognized skill where it came from.

"Well, finally someone with panache," Brandon commented, grinning. "Let's go, mystery knight!" He clapped his hands together three times for good effect.

Jon Arryn chuckled. "Whomever he is, he has skill." The Lord of the Eyrie crossed his arms. "But Boros Blount and whatever yokel Frey vassal he just unhorsed aren't the paragons of knightly power. The Freys may not be… noble, but I heard Ser Waldron has been training for this."

"I heard him bragging about how he's going to unhorse the Crown Prince," said Hoster Tully, the five of them glancing to the aforementioned Prince Rhaegar before bursting into laughter. "Practically impossible, but that training should be enough to take down most newcomers. I pity anyone that gets in the way of when a Frey actually is determined at something."

Ned pursed his lips, watching the Knight of the Laughing Tree obtain a new lance from the servants. Not even wealthy enough to afford hiring a squire… this was his kind of knight. "I don't know… I have a good feeling about this one, Lord Tully. Lord Arryn." The Lord of Riverrun didn't reply while Jon Arryn smirked.

Finally Ser Waldron Frey arrived, surrounded by Frey bannermen in new, gleaming uniforms. His armor was shined to perfection, two squires - clearly his younger brothers - having worked day and night to keep the equipment spotless. He looked like a Tyrell or a Lannister at that moment, gaudy and bedecked in splendor. While the actually wealthy noble houses could pull it off, on Ser Waldron it just looked tacky… especially as he preened and waved for the lukewarm crowd. Off to the side, the Knight of the Laughing Tree just waited patiently atop his horse.

The wait grew long, tempers chafing as Ser Waldron began blowing kisses to the smallfolk maidens. "Bloody hells!" bellowed Robert, a horn of ale in hand. "Start the damn joust before I piss mi'self!" Eying the handsome, well-built Lord Paramount make a drunken fool of himself, the three Starks cursed themselves for even considering him as a proper match for Lyanna - Ned especially, even though he was still his friend.

One person not embarrassed by the display was the King, who laughed. "Quite true, dear nephew," he said, voice syrupy sweet. "Start the fucking joust! Your King commands it!" Even the self-centered boor Waldron Frey couldn't ignore a command from his King, so he reluctantly broke off from his preening to form up at the north end of the field.

Taking his lance from his younger brother, Waldron Frey sneered at the Weirwood Knight. "Mismatched armor, no squire, pfft," he insulted. "You're not even a proper hedge Knight. You may have defeated the two oafs, but the heir to the twin crossings will wipe the floor with your blood!" A smattering of cheers and boos followed from the crowd.

The Weirwood Knight cocked his helmeted head. "Two?" Came the muffled voice.

At the insinuation that Ser Waldron was also an oaf, the entire crown laughed and cheered, Brandon nearly fell out of his seat while even the dour Ned cracked a smirk. "I like him," Rhaella whispered to her son."

Rhaegar nodded, peering curiously at the ill-fitting armor and worn helmet of the mystery knight. "Yes, muna. I like him as well."

"It's too cold, can this finish?" Young Viserys complained, fidgeting in his seat.

"You heard my son," the King barked, raising a hand. "Let it begin!"

At the sound of the horn the two contestants cracked their reins and sent their horses galloping headlong at each other. The gaudy Riverlands-style helm facing against the generic plain one as the lances both crashed on the other's shields. Rhaegar watched with baited breath as the tilt ended in a draw, both riders jostled but remaining atop their mounts, steeds slowing into a gentle trot to wait on the opposite sides of where they started.

Waldron Frey raised his visor to stare murderously at the mystery knight. "Playtime is over you little cunt," he screeched.

Within the royal box, Brandon couldn't help himself but to heckle. "You're actually calling him a cunt, Frey?"

The knight flushed red. "Who said that?!"

"I did! Brandon Stark," the heir to Winterfell boasted before Rickard kicked him inconspicuously.

"I'll remember that name," Waldron hissed back.

The King was giggling the whole time, enjoying this immensely. Rhaegar, however, wished to spare his future goodbrother any further embarrassment. "Your Grace… perhaps we should continue with the joust?"

"What? Oh… right. On with the damn joust!"

Horn blowing, the horses stampeded towards each other again. Clumps of mud and dirt kicked up by their hooves. Ser Waldron smirked as he lowered his lance, ready to smash it right into the Weirwood Knight's breastplate… only for the knight to shift right atop the saddle just at the right moment. The Frey's lance glanced off the knight's shoulderplate - Ser Waldron wasn't so lucky, lance shattering against his shield as he tumbled off his horse, rolling onto the ground until he laid there with pained groans. Bruised and worn, unable to rise until his squires raced over to help him up.

There was a stilled silence before the crowd started to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Including most of the Lords atop the royal box, Robert laughing uproariously at the good show while even Ned and Jon Arryn chuckled as they clapped. "Now that was a good one," Rhaegar whispered to his mother as they watched the knight approach on his mount.

He bowed to the King, and then to Rhaegar. "I serve House Targaryen with my life," came the gravelly voice.

"Congratulations for your victory in this newcomer's tourney," Rhaegar announced to both the knight and the crowd, standing. "As with your right to seek the ransom for the armor and mounts of the knights of House Frey, House Blount, and House Haigh, for your courage and skill on this my nameday, you shall have a place in the grand joust tomorrow."

But the knight merely held up an armored hand. "That will not be necessary, my Prince. I do not intend to compete tomorrow." He tilted his head towards the two defeated knights - Ser Waldron carried, moaning, off the field. "Teach your squires honor, and that shall be payment enough!" They both hung their heads in shame.

As the knight began to turn his horse away, the King bellowed. "Wait! You dare refuse the honor my son bestowed upon you?" His tone was irritated, but also curious. Violet eyes peering at the knight.

"I do not wish to compete, for I cannot face the Prince." The way he said the last title - almost with… affection - it caused Rhaegar to blink. He had heard this voice before. "My honor commands me not to fight him." And before the King could say another word, the Knight of the Laughing Tree turned his horse around and galloped off into the distance to the wild cheers of the crowd.

The Lords of the royal box just sat in a stunned silence… one that Robert Baratheon broke. "Damn, that bastard's got style!" He slapped his knee. "I'll unmask him and buy him a mug!"

But Rhaegar ignored the boorish Stag, instead concentrating on his father. On how his eyes suddenly sparkled, confusion changing into a hardened look - one of anger. Oh fuck. This was not going to end well.

A/N: Well? Did I deliver on this awesome moment?

I know a lot of people wanted Lyanna to unmask herself after beating Robert... but given Aerys' madness and the history of it (that scene was very fun to write) he was never not going to call for her death. Stay tuned on that ;)

Baelish gets his ass kicked as usual, and his humiliation is seen by all.

So Dacey has a crush on Arthur - not shocked, lol. And Lyanna... sure... Elia doesn't have an insufferable lady in waiting ;D

Next up, Rhaegar discovers the Mystery Knight. If I can get 35 reviews, I'll update on Friday :D