Ned walked with the king to the jousting field. He had promised to watch the final tilts with Sansa, as Septa Mordane was ill, and his eldest daughter was determined not to miss the end of the jousts. As Robert took his place, he noted that Cercei Lannister had chosen not to appear; the place beside the king was empty. That too gave Ned cause to hope. He shouldered his way to where his daughter was seated and fund her as the horns blew for the day's first joust. Sansa was so engrossed that she scarcely seemed to notice his arrival.
The first rider to appear was Raymont Baratheon, a chiseled wall of muscle, bound within shining plate armor, with his personal coat of arms displayed on his black shield, a shining silver stag. His helm was pitch black, and bedecked with silver antlers, the only real display of opulence in his otherwise standard armor. That, and the large, black destrier he rode with pride.
"A hundred gold dragons on the Kingslayer," Littlefinger announced loudly as Jaime Lannister entered the lists, riding an elegant blood bay destrier. The horse wore a blanket of gilded ringmail, and Jaime glittered from head to heel. Even his lance was fashioned from the golden wood of the Summer Isles.
"Done," Lord Renly shouted back. "My brother has been itching for three years to ride against the Kingslayer. No one has knocked him from his horse in those three years, and I wager that Jaime Lannister won't be the first to do so."
There was mirth in Littlefinger's voice as he replied, "If he rides as well as you do, Lord Renly, I say he has no hope of winning."
Raymont rode his horse to position, quiet and serious. Meanwhile, Jaime Lannister blew a kiss to a woman in the commons, before readying himself as well. They both couched their lances, now completely focused.
They set off, both horses quickly pulling into a gallop towards the other. Raymont held himself steady, his form perfect and seemingly effortless, his strong arms holding the lance perfectly straight and lined up with Jaime Lannister's shield. In a display of his own mastery of the joust, Ser Jaime shifted slightly in his saddle, half a foot to his right. Raymont's lance passed harmlessly by the Kingslayer, and Ser Jaime's golden lance from the Summer Isles smashed into Raymont's shield, exploding into pieces from the impact.
But Raymont was barely swayed by the lance, only having to sway for a moment before he was in control once again. He pulled the reins and led his horse back to the lists, preparing himself for the next round. Jaime called his squire, who brought him a new lance, and Ned could faintly hear him make some sort of a jest to his squire.
Once again, the horses set off at a gallop, shaking the viewing stands as the horses thundered towards each other. As Raymont dipped his lance, he aimed slightly left, about four inches from the center of Jaime's shield, so that when Jaime shifted once again, he moved directly into Raymont's lance, while his own did not even land a blow on Raymont's shield.
Ser Jaime was launched backwards off his horse in an explosion of splinters, as his opponent rode victoriously past. The impact as Jaime hit the ground was severe, and it left him rolling around in the dirt for a moment.
There was a broad smile on Renly's face as he stood up and cheered for his brother, before he glanced over at Littlefinger, "I told you that Ray was eager for the joust, there was never a doubt that he would lose. If only the Imp were here, I would have won twice as much."
Jaime Lannister was back on his feet, though his golden lion helm had been twisted in his fall, and dented so that neither he, nor his squire, were able to remove the helm from his head. The commons were cheering and shouting their laughter, while those who were more noble at least attempted to hold back their laughter. And then there was Robert, roaring in laughter as he boasted, "It is good to see a Stag knock the Kingslayer from his horse!"
There was a shout from a man among the commons, that ignited the crowd further, "The Storm struck down the Lion!" That was the chant that followed Jaime Lannister as he was led by his squire to the blacksmith, stumbling and blind, "The Storm struck down the Lion!"
The King called for his youngest brother to sit beside him, in the empty seat where the Queen should have been seated, who did so, a smile across his face. Robert clapped a hand roughly onto Raymont's back, but instantly regretted it as his hand smacked the metal plate of his armor, which incited the laughter of those seated around them, as the King laughed with them.
The crowd calmed themselves, as Ser Gregor Clegane rode to the head of the lists. The Mountain Who Rides lived up to his title. The Baratheons were all big men, as was Sandor Clegane, and there was the simple-minded stableboy at Winterfell, Hodor, who stood taller than them all. But Ser Gregor was near eight feet tall, and built just as thick as Raymont was: his shoulders were massive, and his arms were like the trunks of small trees. His lance seemed more akin to be a broom handle, and the massive warhorse he rode looked to be a pony in comparison.
When Loras Tyrell made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and Sansa exclaimed, "Oh he's so beautiful!" He wore shining silver armor, and a cloak made of hundreds of forget-me-nots, woven into a woolen cloak that shimmered. His mount was a beautiful gray mare, built entirely for speed. Sansa clutched at Ned's arm, "Father, don't let Ser Gregor hurt him!" She was wearing the flower that Ser Loras had given her yesterday at the tourney, something that did not skip Ned's notice.
"These are tourney lances, they make them to splinter on impact, so no one is hurt." Even as Ned said those words, he couldn't take his mind off of the dead Ser Hugh, laying in the cart with a cloak of crescent moons.
The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, and took his place at the end of the lists, while Ser Gregor directed his animal to the line, fighting with his unwieldy steed, who had no doubt caught the scent of Loras's mare in heat. In an instant, it had started, Ser Gregor sending his steed into a wild gallop, precariously balancing his lance, while fighting with the reins. In contrast, Ser Loras took off into a smooth charge, completely in control of his steed.
While the Mountain struggled to keep his lance straight, and his shield up, Ser Loras lined up his lance easily, placing it perfectly on the Mountain's shield, and in an instant, the Mountain Who Rides, toppled from his horse, his massive bulk bringing down his horse with in a wild, tangled mess.
The crowd cheered, gasped and whistled, while The Hound was heard over it all, laughing heartily at his brother's defeat. Ser Loras trotted to the end of the lists, straight in his saddle, with his lance still unbroken. The commons cheered wildly for him.
Ser Gregor came quickly to his feet in a rage, calling to his squire, "My sword." His squire scrambled, bringing him his gigantic sword, as the stallion pulled itself to it's feet. With an overhead stroke, Ser Gregor nearly cut the horse's head clean off, and the stallion stumbled, screaming as it died. The cheers of the crowd turned instantly into screams, and Ser Gregor advanced quickly on Loras, clearly enraged. "Stop him!" Ned shouted, but his voice was lost in the roar of screams as everyone shouted or yelled, and beside Ned, Sansa was crying.
Ser Loras called for his own sword, and his squire ran to him, holding out his sword, but was knocked aside by The Mountain. Not stopping, Ser Gregor made to grab at the reins of Loras' mare, but she reared, and nearly kicked Loras off, though he barely held his seat. But then Ser Gregor brought his sword overhead in a savage two handed blow that took the boy in the chest and sent him flying from his saddle, rolling in the dirt, stunned.
The courser sped off in a panic, leaving Ser Loras, stunned in the dirt, defenseless against the enraged Clegane. With murder in his eyes, Gregor raised his sword overhead with both hands, and prepared a killing blow. As the sword crested, and the crowd held it's breath, a hand grabbed the massive knight, and tore him away from Ser Loras, who rolled away and to his feet, running away from his attempted killer.
The Mountain spun around in a fury, and swung his sword in an arc to kill the man who stopped him, but the blow was knocked away by the sword of The Hound, though it was not The Hound who wielded it, but Ser Raymont Baratheon, who turned the blow. Gregor hammered blow after blow against Raymont, who stopped each blow, matching the strength of the giant of a man. It was only a couple of seconds that the two dueled, The Mountain using all of his rage in an attempt to bash Raymont down, before Raymont stepped forward into an overhead strike, shouldered The Mountain off balance, and ran him through, straight through his chest, shoving the sword of his brother up to the hilt, right through the heart.
With a sickening squelch, Raymont kicked the dying Mountain free from his borrowed blade, spun the blade in an arc, and cut the man's head off. There was nothing but stunned silence from everyone in the crowd, as Raymont threw the blade at the feet of The Hound, who was staring at his dead brother, no emotion on his face. With that, Raymont made to leave, pushing past Ser Barriston Selmy, who made to stop him, before the king called out, "Let him go." The Kingsguard looked questioningly at his King, but followed the order, and let Raymont leave unharassed.
Ser Loras walked before the king, dressed in a simple linen doublet, favoring his chest where The Mountain had struck him, "Your brother saved my life, and The Mountain surely meant to kill me, attempted murder warrants death, Your Grace. For saving my life, I forfeit the tourney, and the day is his."
The crowd cheered, and at one time attempted to chant something about a storm, though it was indiscernible through the general roar. As the crowd began to disband, Ned watched as Raymont's band of knights and squires ran quickly from the stands, no doubt heading to Raymont's pavilion to speak with him. He had just killed one of the most fearsome knight in the Seven Kingdoms, who's strength was matched only by his own cruelty, and who was fiercely loyal to Lord Tywin Lannister. 'There will be repercussions to this, and he still won the tournament, which means I am bound to name him commander of the gold cloaks. This is dangerous territory now, Lord Tywin may seek retribution for the death of his bannerman.'
As Ned walked away with Sansa beside him, he wanted nothing more than to be in the tent with Raymont and Renly, and to speak with Raymont. 'It will have to wait,' Ned thought, as he noticed that the only person that had walked with Sansa and himself was Peter Baelish, who was holding polite conversation with Sansa.
The tent was completely silent, as Raymund Connington made quick work, getting Raymont out of his armor, which was an impressive feat, with over two dozen people crammed into the tent. They were all waiting for Raymont to speak, to acknowledge the fact that he had just killed Gregor Clegane, The Mountain Who Rides. Instead, he said nothing, until he was free from his armor, and faced all of his companions.
Raymont was about to speak, when his brother Renly let out a laugh as he walked into the tent, holding the champion's purse out in front of him, "Well done, Ray! You killed the gods damned Mountain, saved Loras Tyrell from certain death, and won 40,000 gold dragons." Renly had a broad smile on his face, and was clearly enjoying himself, but when Raymont saw Renly, his clear expression turned to a frown.
Raymont grabbed the purse from Renly, who pushed his way through several squires to stand before Raymont, "You've given me my money, now get out, Renly."
Renly feigned a hurt look, "Kicking out your own brother so soon? Ray, grant me some courtesy, I am your Lord. And besides, I had a very interesting conversation on my way here, that I would like to talk to you about." He glanced backwards at the dozens of men behind him, "Probably best to be a little more private, though."
Ray shook his head, "These are my men, my friends and brothers, I trust them all to keep my secrets, and yours, as well. Most of the men in here are sworn to House Baratheon, and if they are not, they are loyal to each other. Speak."
Renly's smile slipped slightly, he was used to speaking an order, directly or not, and having it followed immediately, "As you prefer. On my way here, I was interrupted by some lad from the Reach, with a message from your new friend, Ser Loras. He expresses his gratitude for saving his life, and said that in return, he will have a word his grandmother, who will have a word with her nephew, who will have a word with his son, and there will be no more trouble like what occurred this last night."
The message was clear, Loras would ensure that Horas Redwyne never bothered him again, but all Ray could think about, was the sight of finding Gladden's body, with his throat slit, who had been one of the first to join his band, who had been a constant companion, a friend, a brother. But still, Raymont was headstrong, but he knew he could not afford to antagonize the Tyrells, who would probably assume that by chastising the man who had had his friend murdered, justice would be had. But Horas Redwyne would die, but for now, Ray would feign his gratitude.
Renly stayed for only a brief moment longer, clearly uncomfortable, surrounded by a number of who were his sworn banner men. Silence reigned once again in the tent, still none of his companions had said a word, so finally Ray addressed them, "So, I killed The Mountain, and was awarded 40,000 dragons for it. The beast of a man deserved death, if any of the rumors told about him are true, but he was fiercely loyal to Tywin Lannister. I am now in a dangerous position, but I am the King's brother, and within the day, if Eddard Stark holds true to his word, I will be named the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks.
"The city watch is a pitiful excuse of corrupt, poorly-trained men, but they hold a lot of power within the city of King's Landing, as the most numerous force of men in the capitol. I aim to restructure the Gold Cloaks, retrain every man, drive out those who are corrupt, or inept, and I have about 85,000 gold dragons to get it done.
"I ask for the help of each of you, in this task. Gladden Wylde was my friend, and like a brother to me, as each of you are, whether you are a knight or a squire. He was murdered, as most of you know, though it likely by the order of Horas Redwyne, heir to The Arbor, in retribution for when I accidentally killed his elder twin in a joust. It was to seek justice for Gladden, that I asked Lord Eddard Stark to name me Commander of the City Watch, if I won the Hand's Tourney. My brother will most certainly approve, and I will begin to make reforms in the watch. There is nothing that I can do to Horas Redwyne, but what I can do, is begin to make sure that there is a competent guard here in King's Landing, that will prevent such deaths.
"This is probably the most noble thing I will ever do in my life, and I ask for the help of each of you. You may join me in the Gold Cloaks, or you may simply help as I establish myself. But from this point, it is most likely that this companionship is over, depending on how many of you stay with me, here in King's Landing. Perhaps many of you will continue on in a company, traveling to tournaments and amassing more money, and striking out to gain fame, but I would ask each of you to help me here. Many of you are heirs to keeps, castles and lordships, and I ask that those of you that can spare it, or manage it, bring men here to the capitol. "
It was Donnel Swann who broke the silence, "I will help you in this, and I would swear to follow your commands, though I have to wonder why you wish for men to brought in from other lands, to serve as guards here in King's Landing?"
Raymont expected the question, and answered quickly, "I trust not a single man that is in the city watch right now. I want to expel every man from the guard, and begin fresh, with men from The Storm Lands and The Vale, men with proper training, who we all can trust. From there, with a core of capable and trust worthy men, I will take in former members of the guard who prove themselves, and hire from among the citizens and commons of King's Landing. The guard needs a new start, this is a Baratheon Dynasty, and yet the city is guarded by the same corrupt, inept guard that was here when the Targaryen's were in power."
Donnel nodded in acceptance of that, "I will go as soon as I can, then, and bring men of the guard at Stonehelm, my Lord father could easily spare three dozen men from the barracks."
What followed was a flood of vows from his companions, the bastards or low-born swore to serve in his new city watch, and those who were heirs, or relatives of lords in the Stormlands, Emmon Cuy and Alyn Estermont, or The Vale, like Ser Robar Royce, swore to return to their homes, and return in time with anywhere from a dozen men, to Raymund, Raymont's squire, who promised to return with no less than 50 men from Griffon's Roost.
It would be an odd thing, Raymont though, for other people to hear that Ser Raymont Baratheon would be Commander of the City Watch, with a dozen knights serving him in the guard. There would no doubt be a wave of unrest, as the City Watch was filled with Stormlanders, but Raymont believed that a Baratheon king deserved Stormlanders guarding him, when at the current moment, King's Landing was guarded mostly by Lannister guards, or the Gold Cloaks, who were under Janos Slynt, a greedy man who would side with whoever had the most money, who were the Lannisters.
The situation in King's Landing worried Raymont, but with the help of Eddard Stark, and a reformed City Watch, he would feel a lot safer about the security of his brothers, himself, and the entire Realm.