Eddard
The grandeur of the Hand's Tourney failed to impress him. Over a hundred banners lined the stands and stables yet all he saw was the estimated cost to build the stands and the entry fees paid by the participants. Even with a fee of five dragons per entrant had not dissuaded the hopeful knights and free riders. Then again the purse for the victors was handsome beyond anything offered by anyone save the Lannisters.
As the honoree of the tourney the King and the small council had urged him to be present for the start and end of the Tourney as well as for the entirety of the Melee. Only the entrants in the archery contest did not pay a fee, meaning that the number of participants had swelled to over three hundred.
As the honoree he had managed to secure seats for himself, Sansa, Jeyne Poole, and Septa Mordane beside the King's pavilion. The other members of the small council were seated around them, close enough that they could speak easily despite the idle chatter of the stands drowning them out.
For the first time in nearly a month the crown princes and princess made an appearance. Only the King, Queen, and their attendants had seen them since the incident on the Trident. Despite the warmth of the late summer day Joffrey wore long silken sleeves to hide his injury. Still, his appearance had brought a smile to Sansa's face.
"I see that the Hound has entered," his daughter had dared to say after giving her greetings to the royal family.
"Of course he would," Joffrey replied as he turned his focus to her. "He won my name day tourney."
"Do you suppose he will win today?"
The boy was all smiles as the pair spoke of the last tourney and of the skill of his personal body guard. "He will win today, but with this many participants the winner will be determined on the morrow."
"Even with this many participants the winner will most likely be someone who has won a tourney in the last year." Eddard eyed the Imp as the deformed man claimed a seat near the edge of the royal pavilion. It came as a slight surprise that he had managed to convince Yoren to attend the tourney.
As a Black Brother he was supposed to be busy readying the ship that was bound for White Harbor. Nearly two hundred men, most of them bandits captured by the sell sword troupe known as the Stormriders, had agreed to take the black in exchange for a pardon for their crimes. Another two score had also signed up after accepting the bribe that the Imp had offered. In truth he had found families that were willing to sell their sons for two dragons apiece. The boys had been told that they would be able to serve their families and the kingdom by going to the Wall and joining the Night's Watch. It was true, but Ned could not feel a bit disgusted by the betrayal. Still, he knew that the Watch needed any willing and able men, and those boys had been willing.
But the Imp's generousity had not ended there. Somehow he had managed to secure a second ship, this one full of supplies, ranchers and their herds and families willing to relocate to the Gift. All would help the Night's Watch.
"I am surprised to see you here Yoren," Ned stated as he offered his hand to the Black Brother.
"I was reluctant to come myself," the withered man replied as he accepted the proffered hand. "But Master Tyrion convinced me to at least see the skill of some of the men involved in capturing those bandits in the Riverlands. The Summer Breeze and Wind Witch will finish loading tomorrow so we can leave on tomorrow's evening tide I suppose I might be able to indulge in the tourney."
It was small repayment for Tyrion's generosity since he was the one who arranged for much of the supplies.
"I believe that the sell swords responsible have created a banner for themselves," Tyrion stated as the first of the two participants joined the procession parading around the lists and into the stables. "The Stormriders – blue-gray banners with black storm clouds and a snowflake, raindrop, or hailstone to represent the troupe's members."
It took nearly an hour for all the entrants to parade before the crowds as the stands began to fill up. Some of the spectators had woken at dawn to line the street leading to the Lion's Gate and the tourney yard just to see the knights. Extra stands had to be constructed to accommodate the spectators while a second stable had to be constructed for the contestants. Many if not all of the knights and their regiments had staked pavilions and tents outside of the tourney grounds rather than milling about in the commons so that they could be closer to the tourney.
With well over a hundred participants the first few rounds would go on into the afternoon. Rather than sitting in their armor all morning most victors would return to their pavilions or tents to await their next tilt. Most of the participants had returned to their tents immediately following the parade, those that stayed on the tourney grounds and stables were those expected to ride soon.
Beyond the tourney grounds several thousand stalls had been set up to accommodate the spectators. Some grilled meats and offered beer, but a few offered honeyed meads or wines from every part of the Seven Kingdoms.
Both of the Stormriders had opted to stay in the stables following their part in the parade. It was not much of a surprise considering that the more seasoned riders and past winners had been allowed given a bye in the opening round or were matched with inexperienced opponents due to the sheer number of contestants and odd number of contestants.
"Ten dragons on Sir Maine," the imp offered Littlefinger as a Lannister knight rode up to the list. Opposite him came Ramza Snowstorm.
Though it was a bout between an unknown free rider and an experienced and reputable red cloak, Littlefinger and Lord Varys appeared to be keenly interested in the bout as both edged forward in their seats.
"If I recall correctly Sir Maine won his first bout and was unseated in his second during Joffrey's name day tourney," the sly Master of Coin said as he rubbed his well-trimmed short beard.
"I'll take your bet." The taker was Lord Manning, one of the many noble houses from the Crownlands that had come to King's Landing just for the tourney.
Sir Maine rode swift while the Stormrider rode steadily. The red cloak's lance touched the other's shield even as the other rider endured the attack. Just as the lance shattered the Stormrider twisted in his seat and drove his lance into the overextended knight's chest, the red cloak off of his mount.
"I shall enjoy spending your gold," smirked Lord Manning.
Ned noted how Joffrey slunk back into his seat, unhappy with the result of tilt.
The Imp sighed dramatically as he parted with the coin even as Lord Varys and Lord Baelish eased themselves back into their seats.
"The boy's slow," Yoren assessed. "He's strong but if that had been a real lance he'd have lost."
Robert nodded in agreement. "He's strong for such a young lad."
As soon as Sir Maine regained his feet the next set of riders were ready.
Between listening to the lords around him taking bets, Joffrey going on about how he would have ridden the tilt to best the last winner, and Robert jesting about the knights that he knew or japing at their emblems or telling humorous tales of encounters that he had had with them. The only tilts that interested him were when his men rode. Jory, Heward, and Harwin each won on their first tilts.
It was not until the second Stormrider reached the list that he again took note of the lords around him again. Littlefinger and the Imp placed their usual bet for fifty gold dragons. Varys sat back in his seat, casually interested in the bout. Temperance Stormwaters deftly unseated Petyr Frey by striking her opponent squarely on the right shoulder even as his lance shattered against her shield.
"Sloppy," Robert sighed.
"A win is a win," Littlefinger stated as he lightened the Imp's purse.
Little else happened the rest of the morning. Jory, Harwin, and Heward won their second bouts but only Jory won his third bout. Still, it was a good showing considering that they had never participated in a tourney before today.
More impressive were the Stormriders who unseated Sir Mandon Moore and Sir Arys Oakheart. That they both bested a member of the Kingsguard said much of their ability as no one had been impressed by their first tilts. By the time they prepared for their third bouts the crowds had begun to cheer them on. Again they unseated their opponents, Sir Lorch and Sir Dunn.
But it was Gregor Clegane who most remembered as the Mountain that Rides unseated a hedge knight on his first tilt. In his second bout he struck his opponent so hard that his tourney lance pierced the knight's mail between the breastplate and armlet, puncturing his chest even as it unhorsed him.
Ned knew that Sir Hugh of the Vale had died before he'd even hit the ground as the Mountain's lance pierced Hugh's gorget. He knew it for what it was – an attempt to silence his predecessor's squire who had been anointed less than a month ago. The real questions were who ordered his death and if they knew that he had hoped to speak to Sir Hugh or if they were just afraid that Hugh might know too much?
Absently he heard Jeyne crying. The girl was not alone as several young nobles were dismayed at the sudden and hopefully unexpected death. Even Robert was perturbed, silently nodding at him when he had asked to be excused to tend to the fallen knight. Sansa appeared to be in the capable hands of her betrothed, and paid him no mind as he stood up.
X
Ramza
*I thought these were supposed to be tourney lances.* The blond eyed the light finish on the wooden lance. The stain on the shaft was dark to mimic the finish of a war lance, but the wood beneath was fire-hardened maple it was nearly indistinguishable from a lance made of pine. *Where did you get these?*
*I didn't,* the dragoon replied. *Rose slipped in and swiped them from the red cloaks. The one known as The Mountain and the two white cloaks had some as well.*
Ramza scowled, *I thought they took a bit more to break than the others.*
*Rose came with a message from Marach, though it appears that it came a bit late.*
The ninjas often worked with Marach and Ralpha, but Bert's current position within the City Guard kept him busy leaving Rose to deliver their messages in secret.
The squire eyed Temperance. *She only took three lances and will replace them once we leave. The Mountain still has six of these.*
*They mean to kill us.*
The handsome young woman nodded. Of all of those who had attended the academy with him only Temperance had achieved the rank of master dragoon along with him. *We are here less than three months and you already have people trying to kill us.*
*What did this knight of the Vale do to warrant killing?* As master knights and dragoons both of them knew that the blow that had killed the knight had been intentional. The strike had hit the knight right where his armor exposed his gorget and not just on his breastplate or shield.
Yet was this something he needed to look into? Marach was already stretched thin setting up his network of informants, could he inquire into this? *Tell the others to stay on their guard. No one goes out alone. No one handles our things but us. Have everyone check their mail again.* Turning to Temperance he nodded. Leaving the tent he sensed the other presence vanish along with the lances she had brought for inspection.
Over the course of the day there had been over a hundred bouts for some seven score tilts. Sir Hugh of the Vale had been the only casualty and thus far there had been only minor injuries.
Unlike the other participants, Ramza and Temperance remained in the stable much of the day, taking turns tending to their mounts' needs and watching the other tilts. His young mare nipped at him playfully as he approached her. Of all of them he bonded to his horse the quickest and best. She was not a fast mount, but she was strong and had great endurance. Grey with white and black patches he had named her Storm.
"Why are you doing squire work?"
Ramza and Temperance turned to the massive man. He was large and powerful with dark blond locks that tried to hide the burn marks on the right side of his face. The armored man was two heads taller than Temperance, the tallest of the Stormriders, and was perhaps as large around as the two of them combined. Though he did not wear a red cloak Ramza knew him to be one of the Lannister's men.
"It is honest work and there is little else to do," Temperance responded finally as she continued to stroke her mare's neck.
"True it might be, yet it is still squire's work."
"We are not knights," Ramza replied as he cleaned Storm's hooves. "We have never been anointed or spoken the vows."
The Hound's chuckle was gruff but sincere. "I guess that's one thing we have in common. Still, vows will not make your sword arm stronger or your armor more durable."
Ramza shrugged in response.
Behind him Temperance placed her saddle on the light golden mare she'd named Lightning. "Are all those who ride today knights?"
The Hound spit then shook his head.
"And you, a man who did not take the knightly vows won the Prince's Name Day Tourney," she added. "Clearly it means that the vows are not necessary for one to win a tourney or to serve the Crown."
A half smile twisted the man's scarred face.
"She has spirit," another voice chimed in. "I see why you have earned your place in the Stormriders."
A pair of armored men stood by the door to the stable, eying Temperance. Both were plane in appearance with mousy brown hair, dark brown beards, and brown eyes.
"I think her place in the Stormriders is on her back," the second man japed as he elbowed his companion. "I'm sure we could use a companion like that."
"You are Chiggen, are you not?" the even tempered dragoon asked.
The man nodded. Behind him his squire led a horse to the door to the stable.
"Then we shall see how much you like it on your back once we've had our tilt."
Chiggen laughed. "Do you here that Bronn? The girl thinks she can handle a lance better than me!"
"I don't think that at all," Temperance shot back. "I know it!"
Ramza knew that Temperance had the skills to back up her talk. She was the finest dragoon he'd ever fought with or beside. Unfortunately in Westeros few took a woman in armor seriously. The edge in their voices as they japed and jested had an unfamiliar tension and edge that the youths had not experienced before in Ivalice.
"I may not have been born with a sword between my legs but at least I know that those who talk the most about being able to use a weapon do so because they can't use the one between their legs."
Bronn and the Hound both laughed at Chiggen's expense.
"Once you've lost you will have more than enough time to handle your sword."
Even the squires and stable boys could not help but chuckle at Temperance's japes.
"You'd best hope your sword is as sharp as your tongue girl," Chiggen growled ruefully before allowing his squire to aid him onto his mount.
No one said anything else as the two exited the stable before heading to their respective places on the ends of the list.
The roar of the crowd drowned out the clash of wood against shield and armor, and even the sound of an armored figure crashing down onto the packed earth.
The result was no surprise to the rogue squire. In a matter of seconds Temperance was returning to the stable, dismounting before the door and leading her mount inside and back to her stall.
Temperance brushed down Lightning, soothing the mare while the other free riders waited for their bouts. Bronn was first, losing to Sir Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, while the Hound one his bout against Sir Marcus Yelshire from the Reach.
Ten more bouts were completed before Ramza placed his saddle on Storm and another five before he led her out of the stables. When it was finally time for his fourth bout he found himself across from Sir Tytos Frey. The two blue towers over a silver-grey background adorned the knight's shield matching his black storm cloud on blue-grey. As quick as it began the tilt was over as the two charged each other, lances and shields held firmly. Both connected with solid blows but it was Ramza who reached the end of the list as he unseated the Frey.
Together with Temperance they waited for the remaining bouts of the round to be completed, but by that time the sun had set to the west. They waited as the spectators exited the stands, some heading back to the city, though most were headed one of the multitude of inns and bars. Only the nobles, their attendants, and the remaining participants in the tourney went to the King's pavilion for the feast.
X
Arya
Never would she have imagined that her first dinner with her father since arriving in King's Landing would occur nearly two months after their arrival. Nor would she have thought that it would be the King's banquet during the Hand's Tourney.
As the daughters of the honoree of the tournament she and Sansa had been given seats at the King's table along with the remaining participants of the tourney. She was glad that she was not sitting near her sister as she did not wish to be near Joffrey. Though she had not seen the clown of a prince since the king had reprimanded him Arya knew that neither of them had forgotten what had happened. Just being within a few paces of him though made her feel a bit tense. Joffrey himself was not at ease as he fumbled with his cup, though perhaps it was the wound Nymeria had given him that bothered him.
Beside him was his ever faithful dog, the scarred Hound. The huge man wore a blue silk tunic and black leather vest. His figure was less imposing due to the lack of armor and arms, but it was his stern soberness and scars that kept those around from talking to him. Aside from Joffrey and Sansa's quiet conversations and the occasional jest by the Imp little was said at this end of the table.
"You don't talk much, do you?" She wasn't sure why she said it, but the observation was accurate. The Hound simply sat in silence, unwilling to say anything as his handler eyed her.
"He doesn't need to day anything," the Imp replied, his twisted smile and mismatched eyes gleaming wickedly.
"I wasn't talking about the Hound," Arya stated. The others followed her eyes to the blond youth seated across from the massive figure. His gentle face was unmarred and his striking blue eyes seemed to take everything in.
"What is there for him to say?" his guest replied on his behalf. The girl was perhaps as old as Sansa. Her golden blond locks gave most the impression that she was a Lannister, but her bright blue eyes quickly dissuaded any of that notion.
Glancing from one Snowstorm to the other Arya considered Alma's response. It was true that none had spoken to him or to the other Stormrider, but the other knights save the Hound were quick to boast about their deeds even though most had never actually fought anyone outside of a tourney. "I suppose it's true that no one's talked to you yet…"
"Is it true that you've fought a dragon?" Beside the Imp his brother stirred, glancing at the pair of Stormriders and their guests.
"I have fought many dragons," Ramza admitted, "as has Temperance and the others in our troupe."
The auburn haired warrior nodded in agreement.
"And have you slain any?" the Imp asked, his curiosity perked.
"More than I care to count."
"Really?" Mismatched eyes focused on clear blue ones trying to discern if the youth was telling the truth or not. "What were they like?"
"Fierce," Temperance answered as she carefully cut into an onion, "savage, noble, cunning."
"Weren't you afraid?" Sansa asked as she found herself drawn into the conversation.
Temperance shrugged, "Of course we were, the first few times, but it was unavoidable."
"And how best do you fight a dragon?" Tyrion asked as he leaned forward in his seat; all the better to hear the conversation.
"Have someone distract it so that you can attack it from its blind spot," Cid replied as though the answer were obvious.
"And what is its blind spot?" the tiny man inquired.
"Well, obviously not the front," Temperance teased. "Their tails are just as dangerous as their claws, and a blow from their wings can crack a man's skill as easily as you crack open an egg. That leaves you with attacking them from above."
"Above?" Clearly skeptical of the tactic, Joffrey eyed the dragoon. "Are you luring it into a pit or into a castle that you can easily jump upon a dragon's back? Or are the dragons so tiny that any fool could leap upon it?" To emphasize the absurdity of the ploy the prince laughed.
"She speaks true," Ramza stated. "Those who train to fight dragons in such a manner are called 'Dragoon' in homage of the beasts that they are trained to fight.
"The smallest dragon that we slew was seven paces long from nose to horned tail; its wings spanned fifteen paces when spread wide."
"I remember that one," Temperance interjected. "The young green. Pauline took it in the eye with an arrow but you finished it with a crushing blow to its throat as it charged you."
"And the largest?" Tyrion asked hungrily.
"The tiamat," Temperance replied as she poured herself some chilled milk. "Each skull was large enough to swallow an auroch whole with room to spare. They didn't breath fire either, though fire would have been a blessing."
"A dragon that doesn't breath fire?" Again it was Tyrion, ever curious.
"Some dragons breath ice," Ramza replied as he poured himself some chilled milk. "Some poison gas, most breath fire, but the ancient taimats breath lightning. It is deadly enough from one head, but if all three attack and hit, well, I've seen them kill a blue dragon in an instant."
"It must be thrilling to fight dragons," Jaime Lannister stated with a yawn. "But if you've slain dragons why bother fighting men?"
"One would ask you the same," Ramza replied. "Why compete against men when you have already slain a king?" The jape silenced those around them as the two blond men eyed each other – clear blue locking with emerald green. "We did not go out seeking to fight dragons or tiamats, but it was necessary for us to fight them as they stood between us and our objective.
"Dragons are neither good nor evil unlike men. Yes, they are smart and cunning; capable of being loyal and even seeking revenge, but they are not motivated by notions of power, greed, or ambition. They have no concept of honor or duty.
"If you ever encounter a dragon in the wild I would advise you to back away slowly. If they are hungry you had best try to convince it that making a meal out of you is not in its best interest. But if the dragon is guarding something that you desire or standing between you and something you had best consider if that something is worth the lives of everyone that is with you."
For a moment everyone could hear the jesters in the distance as no one dared to talk. Emerald green eyes continued to stare into clear blue ones as Ramza and Jaime held their gaze. Even as he drank from his goblet Ramza refused to break away.
"What was so important that you had to fight the tiamats?" Joffrey asked as he poured some wine for himself and Sansa.
"We fought them because it was the right thing for us to do." Temperance's cool grey eyes said that they were no longer willing to speak of that subject.
"What else have you fought?" Arya asked quickly. "Are there direwolves in Essos? What about snarks and grumpkins?"
"There are many creatures in Essos," the dragoon replied. "If Wilfrid were here he'd even show you his drawings of them."
X
Marach
The din of jubilant festivities filled King's Landing, making it all the harder for the Stormriders' resident master spy to delve too far into the shadows as drunken louts, lusty wenches, and nimble thieves took advantage of every dark nook. In the time that the troupe had been in the capital city Marach had been able to unearth several hundred secret tunnels and passages, even marking a few of the primary users. Yet for all that he had achieved there was so much more that needed to be done.
"No you need a drink?"
The spy turned to the mercenary, curious. Of the entire troupe only Cid, Radd, Marach and Ralpha drank. The rest had adopted Ramza's habit of avoiding alcoholic drinks as the former noble believed in enjoying life without the use of mind altering additives. Honey and mint were as far as their intrepid leader was willing to take things as he did not even drink tea. Yet even without the aids he was able to speak to monsters easily, something that even Marach needed help achieving.
"Wilfrid just finished a batch of berry mead that they call Dragon's Breath," Radd added as he poured some into a horn. "Just remember to light and extinguish it once the mead turns red before you drink it or you might end up waking up wishing your queen had stung you."
The mercenary handed him the horn before fishing out another horn and pouring himself a measure. Once it was filled he capped the skin and set it aside.
He watched as Radd lit a match then put it to the horns. A blue-green flame licked the surface of the black liquid. Suddenly the dark liquid lightened to a dark crimson.
"Just a bit more," Radd said with a satisfied smile. The color shifted again to a bright red. "Now!"
They both blew out the flames in their respective drinks then put the horns to their lips. Thick and sweet, it was surprisingly smooth with no hint of alcohol. As he drained the horn he realized that the aches in his body were gone, or at least numbed.
Radd smirked. "Wilfrid figured out what was blocking our magic."
"Fire." The spark of magic actually needed to be ignited in this world. It was a profound discovery.
"And lightning and ice," the other added. "Fire is easiest to add, but up north there is plenty of ice. Lightning will be harder.
"Still, Wilfrid thinks he can adjust the potions so that they can use the natural ingredients found in this world, but he's going to need to go north again."
Marach nodded. There was still so much to this world that they did not know. "I think I know who wants us dead, or at least reprimanded."
"The Queen?"
Marach eyed his friend.
"Not all secrets are obscured by shadows," Radd stated. "It was pretty obvious that she was not happy with Cid and Ramza's interference at the Trident. She strikes me as the type to easily take offense and holds a grudge, especially against anyone she thinks is under her."
The spy shook his head, a sly smile on his lips as the mercenary poured more mead. "I think she is afraid that Lord Stark is going to hire us on. Watch out for the Lannister men tomorrow in the Melee."
"Speaking of the Melee," he sighed "I suppose this should be my last drink for the night."
X
A/N
That's it for now.
Dreamingfox