Chapter 5
The morning was warm when Ned got up from his furs, placing them back gently so as not to disturb his lady wife. He donned his doublet and woolen pants, then making was ways down the warm halls of Winterfell to the Maester's tower to read the letters that had come in during the night.
The first letter was one requesting some guardsmen to rid a nearby village of outlaws. Ned waxed with with his seal and placed it aside. The next was the Night's Watch requesting men. Another stamp of his seal. The third and final was a letter about 'The Knight of Sweetsong' and the search for this fellow by Loras Tyrell. Ned eyed it suspiciously. He had no reason to receive this letter; Ashford was a thousand leagues south. He placed it in a good spot for rereading.
By now the sounds of the cooks preparing food for the break fast and Robb and Theon practicing in the yard could be heard. Robb had been lonely without Jon to accompany him, he knew. But Jon was capable, and if his heritage bore true, he would prove a fine knight. Ned sat on the balcony above the yard, reminiscing about the night.
It had been a few moons ago when Jon and Robb had sparred and Jon had bruised Robb on accident. Lady Catelyn had been so furious that she banished him south. Ned could not stop her from this no matter how much he pleaded, so he gave Jon a fine sword made by Mikken, a good horse, and some armor.
That had been the last time they had seen Jon. He had left with a melancholic look on his face and Robb had been greatly saddened, thought it was Arya who was devastated. She had sobbed and become wroth, throwing her plate at a wall to little effect.
But he was interrupted by another important letter.
He had awoken on the side of the road and continued his way northeast to King's Landing for a tourney in honor of something or other. He made his way swiftly up the road, and with little to do, he thought about the past - his friends, his family, Robb and Bran and of course Arya. He thought of his knight name.
In truth he had chosen it because whenever he worked up the courage to sing most people called it quite beautiful, though Theon called him a 'fair maiden' and Jon had challenged him to the yard.
It had been a day and a half by his reckoning when the fat boy had come running up to him, out of breath. "Please, ser. Stop. I want… I want to speak to you." Jon turned and looked ath the boy. He stopped the destrier and looked at him. "Well, what is it?" The fellow was shaking a bit, so Jon took off his helm. The fellow looked at him and then said, "My father sent me here to ask you if I could squire for you. The only way I could be turned into an actual man, he said. I'm Sam Tarly, by the way." Jon looked at him and, with a gentle shrug, nodded his head. The fellow lit up with joy and nodded his head.
It had been a month since he started teaching Sam to squire for him when they finally reached King's Landing for the tourney. Jon had been preparing for the lists, and getting mentally ready to face up once more with the Tyrells. Word had spread of the Knight of Sweetsong and his new squire, Sam the Succulent.
The Tourney had begun when Jon was getting on his horse for his first list when he saw his father and sisters on the stands. Jon paled a bit but shook his head. Sansa called out to him, referring to him as a gallant knight and offering her favor. Jon could see the humor in it and let her place her favor on the end of his lance, and when she did he placed it upon the crown of his helm. He shifted slightly and returned to the ranks, preparing to list against the hedge knight.
He became used to the slowing down of time after a while and continued to win using shifting in his seat and hitting him square in the chest with a crack. The crowd whooped and cheered and Sansa smiled joyously.
The next four tilts, like the previous, had happened the same. However, the fifth tilt was against The Mountain - the final tilt of the day. He was ready, and he knew if this went wrong he would die, so he called for a longer lance. Instinct versus strength, this match would be. When the match began, he made sure his horse was sprinting as fast as possible. He watched as Gregor began to move the lance upwards towards his throat. Ducking while keeping his lance trained, he smashed the Mountain down, the man losing his balance until he fell off his horse and began to swear. He picked up a sword and charged at Jon, who was hopping down from his horse with a sword in hand. He dodged Gregor's first blow, and instinct coming in, he stabbed up into his right armpit, the blade poked out of his shoulder. He raved and swore while Jon pulled out his sword, rolling forward to dodge the attack and impaling Gregor on his sword, his neck opening with a spurt of blood.