Rickard III

The roar of the crowd as the recently anointed knight was smacked down from his horse by Ser Jaime. To say the young boy was outclassed was to put it painfully politely, and this was just a preliminary joust to excite the crowd.

"Prince Rickard, I don't believe you were done." Came the voice of Ser Barristan, calling Rickard from the entryway of the pavilion as Waymar helped the Commander into his armour, something Rickard should have been helping with and who's matchup would be very soon.

"Yes Ser." Rickard went back to helping do his part. He badly wanted to tilt in this joust as soon as possible, but he was forced to remain and watch as the knights and lords were to go first and take the glory, even as the crown prince, he was not excluded from the traditions of squiring. It would lay on Barristan's decision if he would be allowed to participate, even then, he would be putting his own armour on himself. He could have had servants or other squires help him get his armour on of course, but Rickard chose to do so as any poor squire would. As custom decreed.

"Other than yourself, who do you favour to win the tilt, Ser?" asked Waymar as he strapped the final pauldron on.

Barristan took some time to think before he answered.

"A hard choice, Waymar. Your lord father has always been a prolific jouster, he's knocked me down more than a few times. Ser Jaime is always a top pick in whenever he enters, but I would say Ser Loras more than anyone else. I haven't seen a finer lance in my time."

Rickard scoffed at that.

"Please, he only wins by trickery. Uses that mare in heat trick more times than I can count. Its nonsense he hasn't been caught for it yet."

Barristan chuckled.

"One can only be innocent until proven guilty, my prince."

The entire tourney would last for seven days, all day and even into the night if needed. By the end, the best jouster would win eighty thousand gold dragons, the runner-up forty thousand, with another forty thousand and twenty thousand going to the winners of the melee and archery, respectively. It was possible to enter both or even all three, but due to the strenuous and exhausting non-stop activities, most chose to enter one, any who tried two or all three would be eliminated first.

All parties had arrived by now, as shown by the many banners that littered the fields of the tents and pavilions outside the walls of King's Landing: the trout of Tully, Lord Edmure would be one of the first jousters tomorrow, the three black ravens clutching hearts of the Corbrays: the two Corbray brothers were staying well apart from each other to the surprise of nobody. Rickard knew of the feud the two had over both wanting the lands of Heart's Home, as well as their family's ancestral Valyrian sword, Lady Forlorn. Ser Lyn would be putting it to work in the melee. the sun and spear of house Martell had their own corner with the other Dornishmen, far off from both the Marcher Lords, Reachers and Westermen camps. Prince Oberyn had arrived along with three of his bastard girls and his nephew, Prince Trystane, a squire himself to Lord Qorgyle.

The tension between the various groups was as tense and suffocating that everyone felt it, and anyone not involved knew to stay out of the way.

Having done their duty, they accompanied Ser Barristan to the field, Rickard headed to the stables and retrieved the knight's horse: it was not as big as his own, but still an amazing Charger in brown. Putting on its barding, he led it towards his side of the pitch. The grey rafters were massive, with the bigger sections reserved for the smallfolk whilst the higher echelons were for the lords and ladies. In the centre at the highest sat his Father, already in the midst of his wine drinking, laughing in reactions to stories that the various surrounding lords and knights told and telling his own. His fine tunic could not hide the wine stains. His mother sat as a model Lady and Queen. She wore green dress that looked to have outspent any of the present ladies, seemingly bent on making sure she was not surpassed with all the gathered Lords present. She wore a jewel tiara made from pure gold. Layla sat next to mother, the blue roses of the traditional Queen and Love and Beauty atop her golden head, Delina sat next to her with Septa Moria, squirming and complaining as much as possible. Already many knights and lords had asked for Layla's favour that she was already running out of favours to give. The crowd cheered as the three made their way to the pitch.

Waymar handing him first his white shield, while Rickard handed him his lance. The crowd seemed massive already, it was not yet noon but the excitement for the legendry Ser Barristan was undeniable, they cheered wildly as Ser Barristan rose upon his mount, his armour and shield sparkling despite the many scratches from many a battle in his time – he had shown Rickard and Waymar the exact marks from the broadsword of Maelys the Monstrous, the last Blackfyre pretender, at the battle of the Stepstones.

The opponent on the other side was a Frey, one he had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting before, Merret of the Darry branch, time had clearly not been kind to him over the years, even now the horse was struggling to balance his armour and enormous weight, he seemed unable to do anything as the horse stumbled around irritated, the man's fat sticking out the gaps of his armour. The man was a mess on horse.

To the surprise of nobody, Barristan broke his lance on the first tilt, the Frey tumbling off his horse like a like a blubbery seal.

The next matches of the first day of the today contained both surprising and unsurprising results. Ser Raymun Darry unseated Ser Tybolt Crakehall, he watched from the seat next to his father as he eyed Ceresa's reaction, she watched in fear as her father fell off but calmed as soon as he rose unharmed and joining the applause for the lord of Darry, who accepted it graciously.

The early favourite, Ser Loras Tyrell next went, dressed in what Rickard begrudgingly admitted was a fine suit of armour, a true piece of art from Tobho Mott, but it still wasn't as good as his. He went against the aged but still skilful and strong lord Bronze Yohn Royce, his namesake bronzed armour stood out, it was said the armour was thousands of years old and warded off harm. A strange tale considering the many Royces who had fallen through history despite wearing the armour.

The old lord of Runestone was overwhelmed by Loras who ate up the cheers of the men and women in the crowd, the women loudest of all.

The Lannister bannerman, Ser Gregor Clegane "the Mountain" stormed on next. His reputation was as fierce as it was dark. He was the largest man Rickard had ever seen, his grunts sounded more animal than man. His opponent was Lord Beric Dondarrion of the Marches. He was soon to marry Lady Allyria, who's time as a Lady in waiting for his sister would soon come to an end. On the isle that the Dornishmen had occupied and claimed as there's, all shot shot icy, cold daggers at Clegane. Prince Oberyn clutching the orange dress of his paramour tightly as the Mountain That Rides went by, not even acknowledging them.

After three tilts, it was Ser Gregor who came out on top, an injured Beric lay groaning in pain while clutching his bloodied left shoulder, where Gregor had aimed his lance directly at. Lady Allyria rushed down from the stands past the guards to comfort him, eventually helping him rise to his feet, with the crowd cheering for the couple. Beric may have lost that joust, but he and his betrothed had won over the people.

The Mountain's brother was next, Sandor Clegane, known as the Hound, a renown warrior who had served in the sellsword Second Sons in Essos for three years. His burned face was not helped by the ugly glare he sent to everyone, he stood against a member of House Wyl whom Rickard did not recognise. It took no time before the Dornishman was sent flying off his mount, the Hound taking the day. Like his brother, he did not stop to embrace any cheers, he jumped from his horse, ordering a flagon of wine from a servant.

The Red Viper, Prince Oberyn Martell, came next, an infamous man of a dark reputation outside of Dorne, he was helped by his squire as he took on Rickard's uncle Garth Greysteel, assisted by his own Fossoway squire. There was no love lost between the houses of Martell and Hightower from ancient history to more recent events. Family and national pride was at stake for Dorne and the Reach.

It was the first tilt, Prince Oberyn charged fast upon his personally bred sand steed, Uncle garth, dressed in his personal armour, with his white cloak being the only indication of his position on the King's guard, Garth roared to the Warrior to give him strength as he also charged.

The match went on and on and on.

Both men were prime jousters, neither was able to come out with a precise clear advantage. By the end, both were exhausted and between them had broken fifty lances. His father decided enough was enough, despite it being the best match so far, with the two agreeing a final tilt tomorrow to decide a final winner.

The fool, Renly, raced onto the pitch, and the fools ate it all up. Always popular in tourneys. As he raced down his opponent, Rickard prayed for a quick elimination, but was disappointed his Uncle emerged victorious. Breaking off an antler and throwing it to the crowd who fought over the damn thing.

Ser Jaime also himself known against Ser Arys Oakheart of Old Oak. The young knight seemed immensely popular amongst the ladies in the crowd, but it was the favour of the eldest daughter of lord Mathis Rowan whom he sought and was given. In the crowd of Wester lords, Lord Tywin looked to pay much more attention towards his son and apparent heir.

The two went for many rounds, Jaime not able to knock the younger man off, but still putting on the better performance overall. With the final tilt underway, many including Rickard himself were calling it for the Kingslayer, but everyone was shocked when Arys' lance drove the lance into the plated chest of Ser Jaime who went playing off his horse.

The crowd cheered in adulation, minus the Lannisters who looked neutral and dignified whilst Lord Tywin had taken his leave.

For the rest of the day, the other matches were of little interest with only some expectations, a Brune in Littlefinger's service won against Mychel Redfort, a friend of his back in the Vale and a former lover of his bastard sister, Mya. Mychel ended up on top, with a massive eruption from the lords and ladies of the Vale.

The Northerners were finally represented by Domeric Bolton. Rickard knew that he was a good friend of the Redfort brothers in the Vale, though he himself had never interacted with the heir to the Dreadfort as his days as a Page had ended around the same time Domeric was fostered at Redfort. He looked day to night compared to his father, Lord Roose, who's pale eyes, lack of emotion and appearance was off-putting. While he also had those same eyes and paleness, he seemed to in high spirits, having spotted Domeric laughing around with the Redforts seemingly on a reunion. He had also received a green coloured favour from a second daughter of Lord Manderly, who appeared to be his soon-to-be betrothed. Manderly, a huge man, larger than any he had ever seen, his youngest son, Ser Wendel, whom surprised everyone as prime jouster despite his similar huge size.

He heard some sniggers that a Northern savage would not know which direction to charge, much less comprehend the rules. The fools were proven wrong, the Bolton threw Lord Blackwood off his horse with ease. He proceeded to win in the same impressive fashion the rest of the day. Knocking down Ser Balon Swann, Lord Harmen Uller and a knight of house Vance.

Finally, it was his own turn. Ser Barristan had sanctioned his participation, and he mounted his horse for the tilt. He eyed his armour in the mirror, it exactly as he had wanted it as he rode, the whole of the crowd cheering loudly as he rode up and down the pitch. He was to take on Lord Titus Peake. The lord of Starpike was modest, asking only for the favour of his Lannister wife. Both he and lord Peake bowed before the King. He rode up to Lady Ceresa and asked her for her favour, she blushed and uttered her thanks as she took out piece of red fabric from her dress and tied it towards his

Placing down his visor, he made one final lap to rally the crowd as he prepared himself for the first tilt. The inside of his helm drowned out the majority of the cheers, his focus only on his opponent on the other side, as the horns blew, he sped off. His blood and his heart pumped like nothing else other than when he was sparring someone truly tough. The Peake lord was in his prime, older but still strong and experienced, they clashed… neither able to knock the other off. Yet he already felt a bruise on his shoulder were the side of the lance had struck.

Turning around, adrenaline now full he waited only the bare minimum for the horns to blow again and charged, he felt his lance crack in half as the lord fell sideways off his horse. The Starpike servants immediately ran to help the fallen lord.

His father roared a massive cheer and his mother's eyes lit up as she clapped, genuinely this time. His two sisters also screamed loudly, ignoring their Septa who tried to remind them of ladylike behaviour.

It may not have been his first, but this was the first time that the whole of Westeros had come together and seen their Prince in action. He hoped the impression was worth, it.

Turning his horse to Lady Ceresa who stood up clapping, he called out to her.

"Lady Ceresa, by the Old Gods and the New. I pledge myself to win this tourney on your behalf. Please be ready to give even more favours. "

Blushing, she maintained her eager smile and pose.

"It will be a pleasure my dear Prince. I look forward to your victory."

The day's first tilts had been widely popular, and with the amount of newly arrived people in the city, they were eager for entertainment and the huge celebrations had begun.

Music and alcohol flowed from the tourney grounds all the way to Flea Bottom. The hot summer air and the streets of the city were stuffy and out of control, with the City Watch having to work overtime, boosted by the temporary Hightower men, as well as men lent from the Lannisters, Royces and Starks.

"It was a pleasure, your grace. I hope when our paths cross in the coming days, the best man wins." Came the gruff, yet still refined words of Lord Yohn Royce.

"As do I, my lord. Even now, you still outclass half the green boys here." Replied Rickard, the chaos of the various arrivals had left him little time to make time for meeting the Lord of Runestone, who had also brought his other children to the joust, his heir, Andar, who had done well at the melee and his eldest daughter Yisilla and his three other girls: Rosery, Mina and Tilissa.

The older Vale lord gave a brief chuckle.

"You honour me, my prince. I hope you will join me for a private dinner the day after tomorrow. I'm already proud of the man you have become and there is much we can catch up on, a few matters from back in the Vale I hope you could relay to the King too."

"It will be an honour Lord Royce. I will look forward to our dinner."

The two said their respects and went their separate ways, Lord Royce not being much to spend anytime with the younger men, instead preferring to catch up with his own Father, Eddard Stark and the other Lords his age.

Ale and wine flowed in the gathered camp, his usual band of brothers, as well as the Redforts, Domeric Bolton, Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell, and a collage of mostly Vale, North and Storm lords all sat around, laughter and cheers rang out. His King's Guard for the night being Ser Richard Horpe.

Through Waymar and Robar, he had easily been able to reacquire himself with the Redfort boys and he found the company of the Bolton boy a pleasure, who's harp playing skills were as impressive as his skill with the lance.

He eagerly awaited the arrival the huge party. The Northmen had not come to King's Landing with this show of strength since Lord Stark secured the city from Lord Tywin and long before that, Lord Cregan Stark's purge during the hour of the wolf. He stood beside his Father, a warm and excited smile he could not recall ever seeing, just behind stood Lord Jon Arryn, who remained quiet but smiling just as brightly. His wife, who's sister would be arriving, seemed as paranoid and sullen as usual. That annoying runt she called her son would not stop moaning and asking when they could go back inside. He pitted Lady Stark if this was the sister and nephew, she was likely awaiting with eagerness.

On the other side stood his mother, who was the precise opposite of his father. She had not ever met Lord Stark or his family and was not eager to. She had distained Northmen since that Northern fool, Jorah Mormont. At the tourney in Lannisport to end the victory over the Ironborn, he had dishonoured her by asking for her favour, in the presence of his father. Whilst her husband roared his anger at this ugly brute for daring to insult both his him and his Queen. It did not stop the man from his obsession.

One night when she was asleep in her chambers after the tourney, somehow Mormont had made it all the way into her chambers and again asked for both her favour, as well as to run away with him. Her screams brought in both her King's guard and her own Hightower guards, Mormont was arrested and sent to the Wall where he had a father who was Lord Commander, somehow, he escaped on the ship meant for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He had remained in exile in Essos ever since, with his family, as well as Lord Eddard disowning him.

The Lord of Winterfell held an intense look on his long face, a brown beard went with grey eyes which were strong and sullen. His long brown hair flowed in the wind, with a hint of grey to show his forty years. Here bore a grey doublet with riding breeches and dark boots.

Behind him rode who he assumed to be his heir, Robb, he seemed to take after his Tully mother in his looks, red hair with a red beard, yet he carried the dignity of his rank and carried himself like a lord years his senior. Next to him was a younger boy, that must be Bran, he seemed to be a young version of his brother, red hair and more delicate features than his father. He rode upon his horse, but unlike Robb, seemed absorbed in his surroundings, staring at the assembled King's guard in awe. Another boy obsessed with the chivalry of the south it would seem.

"NED!" the happy roar of his father went, enveloping the poor Northman in a huge hug who laughed merrily, just as he was about to kneel having got off his horse.

"Thirteen bloody years, damn it, I never thought we'd see each other again. Where the hell have you been." His father asked, unwrapping himself from his dear friend.

"Ensuring the North prospers and safe for you, your grace."

He looked to Jon, a warm and grandfatherly smile upon his features.

"Jon"

"Ned"

They hugged in an embrace that lasted long. Lord Jon had told him that as a man who had never had children until late in his own life, just as he saw Rickard as a grandson, he saw his father and lord Eddard were the only sons he had. He had raised these two men since they were boys. He was their second father, not by blood, but by the bond the three shared.

Realising he could not ignore the Queen, he bowed to her, kissing her ringed finger.

"My Queen. It is an honour."

His mother smiled, a cold, forced smile.

"A pleasure, Lord Stark."

All the while, the carriage had opened, revealing the four figures, the smallest who seemed clearly unhappy.

"I wont ride in this stupid carriage again, if it's the last thing I do!"

"Arya Stark!" the eldest lady said, red hair and blue eyes. This must be Lady Catelyn. A quiet girl with

"Arya" an older girl said through gritted, she looked the mirror image of the older woman. Her red hair looked like fire in the sun. She was a beauty, truly, but still nothing to how he felt to Ceresa.

His father chuckled, drawing their attention, they bowed to the king and the royal family.

"Ha, Cat, its good to see you, what a wild girl you have already."

"My deepest apologies your grace. Please forgive her."

His father only chuckled again.

"Cat, there is nothing to forgive. You Starks are a wild bunch if you're not so sullen like Ned, ha"

He looked to the three girls.

"And who are these beauties, Ned?"

Ned walked over and made the introductions.

He pointed to the eldest redhead, whom now seemed to notice him, and shyly smiled, which he returned with his own. She blushed.

"This is Sansa, my eldest girl."

"Your grace" she curtsied but keeping her eyes on him.

"Aye, a pretty one."

Eddard walked to the other girl, she was graceful and slender, a very attractive girl, but what most seemed to stick out was her green coloured hair. He had only seen that type of hair from Tyroshi. But she was definitely from Westeros as far as he could see.

"My son, Robb's betrothed, Lady Wylla Manderly."

She also gave a curtesy.

"Ah, haven't seen Wayman Manderly in a long while, a good man and true, you'll make a fine wife for your future husband."

She smiled at the praise. "Thank you, your grace."

He stopped and seemed aghast as he met the last one.

"Lyanna…" he muttered, as if in some sort of trance. All present – including himself – looked on uncomfortably as he seemed fixated on the brown-haired girl.

She looked anxiously at her father, who also seemed confused as what to do, but went on with the introductions.

"My… youngest daughter, Arya."

His father didn't seem to be listening.

"You look just like her."

"I'm not Lyanna, I'm Arya!" her loud proclamation seemed to bring his father back to the present. Her sister and mother looking horrified at her speaking to the King in that manner but held their tongues.

"Aye… my apologises… its just…"

His father walked away suddenly, heading back inside, not saying a single word. Leaving all in the courtyard uncomfortable and confused. As his mother wouldn't be welcoming the Starks, the prince took it upon himself.

"Lord Stark, my apologises for my father. I am prince Rickard, son of King Robert."

Lord Stark smiled and bowed his head.

"My prince, you look just like your father."

The comparison from Lord Eddard himself filled him with pride.

"My father has spoken a great deal of you. I'm glad we finally meet. Let me welcome you to the capital. I'm sure you and your people will want to freshen up."

"That would be fantastic, my prince."

They all now sat singing the Bear and the Maiden Fair.

"THE BEAR, THE BEAR, ALL BLACK AND BROWN, AND COVERED WITH HAIR"

"HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR! HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE"

"HONEY ON THE SUMMER AIR!"

"And I myself will win boys." Shouted Alyn, he looked at Rickard, "my prince." He drunkenly fiddled into his right pocket, they snorted and laughed.

He tore out the green coloured favour that had been bestowed on him by his betrothed, Lady Elinor, a member of the junior branch of the Tyrells and a cousin of Margaery.

Rickard simply rolled his eyes as the heir to House Ambrose boasted her favour all but assured him victory and of how he would crown her his queen of love and beauty. He had been high on his win all day, having knocked a Florent knight from their horse.

A quiet voice spoke, "You southerners with your superstitions…"

Robb and the other Northmen gave a laugh while they all looked to Domeric. Alyn looking offended most of all.

"What's that supposed to mean, Bolton?"

The pale eyes of the future lord of the Dreadfort, who's family were reputed to wear the skins of their enemies, narrowed.

"A mere piece of cloth will not aid you, nor will it somehow incur your Seven Gods to act in your interest. It will be skill alone, and the judgment of the Gods on whom will be victorious."

Alyn did not take well to that.

"What would you know!" he stood up and appeared to make a move towards the Bolton who remained sat in place, calm as a winter forest, Denys stood up and placed a hand on his chest which deescalated the situation.

The rest of the festivity went much more smoothly. After that, the much more inebriated Bolton and Ambrose appearing to make up later on that night.

"Hey, what's going on with that Crakehall girl?" asked a drunken Denys as the two pissed behind a relatively quite pavilion, with only the occasional servant passing by.

"I will win this tourney, crown her and then maybe make her a Queen is what I'll do." His aim was poor as he splashed slightly onto his own boots, Denys doing the same, which they both drunkenly laughed at.

"But your… grace, you've known her for barley a week, are you that sure, there's plenty of other options… out there." He muttered the last as they tied their breeches and walked on. The night was still in celebration, they spotted the absurd and the amusing going ons, both of which weren't exclusive, especially in their states.

A singer with a harp danced nude upon a table, whilst half naked whores ran all around the tents and pavilions with men of all ranks chasing them.

"Tell me." Rickard bluntly asked.

"Tell you what, my prince?"

"Tell me who you think I should pay attention to, aside from Lady Ceresa."

"None in particular, just keep your options open is all, that cousin of Waymar and Robar, the junior Royces, huge tits and quite the mouth, I have a cousin you should meet, Desmera, lovely as can be and there's also the Arbor fleet you'd gain. You could also consider Margaery-"

"I'm not marrying a steward's daughter. If I must mention this again, I'll lash out, I swear to all the Gods."

Denys smiled.

"Just putting it out there my prince, they are the wardens of the South after all."

"I'll hear no more about it. Understood?"

Denys tried to respectfully bow, but as drunk as he was, he ended up stumbling on his face. Rickard laughed at the sight for some time before helping him up.

As they rounded the corner, they came into contact with Harry, who's face looked bright and joyful.

"Boys, come and take a look at who it." Were his words, not even seeming to notice that he hadn't addressed Rickard as he normally did, but the Prince decided to let it go.

They followed the larger lad as they walked up to were Robar, Waymar, Alyn and Rolland stood. Robb Stark had stuck with them instead of going back with the other Northmen.

They all had goofy and excited grins on their faces aside from Robb who only seemed confused. As Rickard faced to where they were staring, the answer became clear as smirk came to his face too.

Lady Amerei Frey, or as she was known to them and no doubt many others, Gatehouse Ami.

"Its fucking Gatehouse." Alyn pointing out the obvious, as they eyed her. She was not much in the face, but her body, her tits, arse and legs especially looked as good as ever.

She looked around, still not noticing them, her blue dress led nothing to the imagination, with her massive tits barley kept in and she kept her skirt up, allowing anyone to eye her legs and the prize that lay between them.

"I'll go for that tonight for sure, anyone else?"

Rolland chuckled. "So that's it, Ambrose, one flash of a slut's cunt and your romantic proclamations go out the window."

Alyn didn't look to bothered and shrugged.

"Yeah well, I'm only betrothed, and the wedding won't happen until I get my knighthood, and I'm still a man with a man's needs, bastard."

Rolland raised an amused eyebrow, while Robb looked in disgust.

"You're full of shit, but sure. I miss old Gatehouse."

"Hey, Ami, over here!" Harry shouted, drawing the dumb slut to their direction. Her face lit up as she strutted towards them.

"Who is she?"

They chuckled at that. Alyn took the time to explain.

"Gatehouse Ami came to King's Landing with her brother and father five years ago for the Summer Harvest. The slut was wet for us as soon as she saw us, mostly for the prince in truth. Took her up to an empty room and each of us had our way with her. Looks like she hasn't changed much."

She smiled in a way that he assumed was meant to be seductive, but while the Gods had been gracious to bless her body, they had still given her a Frey face…

"My Prince" she eyed him like a predator to a helpless animal, she looked to the others, "My lords" she pulled down her top to revel her sizable breasts, each of the young men looking on hungrily, Waymar being the boldest and copping the side of her hip and starting to kiss her neck.

She moaned as she spoke, "Am I doing all of you like last time? one at a time or all at once… Pate would like to watch."

Waymar stopped his kiss – and his gradually pulling up her dress to grab a handful of her arse – "Who's Pate?"

"He's my husband, he doesn't mind and he likes to watch me with other men."

They all laughed at that.

"Freaky, freaky shit." Rolland commented as he walked behind her and began to grope her himself.

She looked to Robb lustfully, who awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

"Who's this, he's handsome."

"This is Robb Stark, son of Lord Eddard, future Warden of the North." Rickard informed her.

"I've never had a Northman before, my prince."

Robb did not seem to return her affections, however.

"I'm afraid I have to refuse the offer, my lady. I am betrothed to another."

"Come on, Stark, did the cold freeze off your balls or are you a sword swallower?" jested Harry who began to grope one of Ami's breasts.

"Aye Stark, betrothals still leave us free men." Alyn piped in

A cold stare emitted from Robb's face. The same he had seen from Lord Eddard.

"I won't dishonour my betrothed. I'll take my leave, my prince, my lords." He looked at Ami, who looked to be in ecstasy. "My Lady."

The Stark heir walked off, likely heading towards the Stark camp.

Waymar snarked, "Hmm, his lose."

"And how many men have you been with since you got here?" Rickard asked, the men's attention going back to the wench in front of them.

"A few, there was this priest in Red, he wasn't handsome and kind of old, but he was funny and charming, then there was this Greyed Joy, he was so handsome, took me within an hour, next there was-"

Waymar interrupted.

"Enough of this, lets head there and get doing what you were made for." He gestured towards what looked to be an abandoned pavilion and they guided her inside.

"Okay" the dumb whore answered. Simple and easy as ever.

As they made their way inside, Rickard grabbed her by her blonde hair, eliciting a groan and out of the other's arms.

"Princes first, boys. You know how it goes. "

And it was a long night.

Author's notes:

Sup everyone, hope you're well.

So to answer to some questions on how some characters are older or married in this story, that's because this is set in 302 AC.

Also, just to note about this story and my others in general: like the POV characters in George's story, the characters here are not totally reliable, bias and wishful thinking can get in the way of their perspectives, things are not always as they seem. Devil is in the details.

Also added some things in the previous chapters, most notably that Stannis has had a son. I don't think He or Selyse have any fertility issues, its just they only have sex once or twice a year. I'm surprised they even had Shireen.

Jorah Mormont is a total piece of shit slaver and I hate him as much as I hate Renly.

Anyways, please message or mention if you want a particular POV character I can do.

Other than that see ya next time.

26/05/21

Okay, huge mistake. I have been mistakenly referring to Denys as "Denys Hightower" but having gone over, there is no such "Denys Hightower", I must have confused him with his mother, "Denyse Hightower" with him. Nope, its Denys Redwyne, son of Desmond Redwyne, relation apparently unknown go the main branch of The Arbor, but I would just assume a brother.

I've gone back and corrected that mistake, but if anyone notices any other mistakes, I missed with Deny's name or others, please let me know.