"Are the books legitimate?"

"They are, my Prince. But how did you find them?"

"On my desk in the middle of the night. I thought you left them behind for me."

"It was not me, your Grace."

"So there's someone else who knew about our plans and decided to help?"

"Yes, and someone who might know about our other plans as well. This is truly worrying. What do we do with these, my Prince? Show them to the King?"

"My Father will understand nothing by seeing them. Bring them to Lord Stark tonight. He is the right man for this. Now go, I have a joust to prepare for."

Lord Varys bowed deeply before he left and after him entered two young men, trainees under the Master at Arms of the Red Keep. Both boys were training to become Knights one day. They helped Orys with his armour, a dark-silver plate armor with a crowned stag head drawn in gold on its breastplate. Underneath it, he wore silver ringmail. His helm was crafted very similar to the one his father wore in the Rebellion, a great antlered helmet painted in the same dark silver as his armour. But he did not wear it at the moment, saved for when he would get on his horse.

"You look handsome" a familiar feminine voice had Orys look away from his armour with a smile. His mother was there, as were his siblings.

"Thank you, mother" the Prince smiled. "You could have had two handsome sons riding in the jousts if you allowed Joffrey to partake."

It was the latest of many things Prince Joffrey was displeased about. He wanted to enter the lists and prove himself. He had the support of his brother and uncle, but not his mother who had the final say in the matter.

"He is young still. Not everyone is a prodigy like you" said the Queen with Pride.

"Doesn't mean that Joffrey is no good" said Orys, speaking in support of his brother who was not bad but also not the best. The Prince had no hope of his brother winning a single tilt but had felt it would be a good experience for the boy. Perhaps it would even knock the boy's ego down as well.

"Perhaps in the next one I shall allow him" the Queen said lovingly, running her hands through her secondborn's hair. Said secondborn smacked her hand away with a scowl on his face.

"Lighten up Joffrey. Maybe in the next one, you can earn your Knighthood" his brother said with an easy grin.

"Who knows when the next tourney will be!" the boy of ten complained.

Orys motioned for Joffrey to come to him and when he did, Orys leaned in close to his ear. "I would probably marry sooner rather than later. I'll pen your name in that tourney even if Mother says no" he whispered. Joffrey walked back to his mother with a soft smile, which he declined to explain when his mother asked him about it.

"Do you need to take part?" Myrcella asked, fear in her tone and on her face. "There are some powerful men taking part."

She was not wrong. It was a big tourney, not Tourney of Harrenhal level but big enough. There would be feasts, music and other forms of entertainment. Such occasions drew in men from far and wide.

Orys walked to his sister and knelt before her. "Your brother happens to be one of those powerful men" he boasted, a hand on each shoulder of hers. "I will win the tilts, you'll see."

Myrcella smiled, but the worry never left her.

"Tommen" the Prince turned to his youngest brother, "I'm counting on you to keep Myrcella and Mother safe, alright?"

"I will do my best" The youngest boy puffed his chest, only for it to deflate when Joffrey mentioned that they would be in the safest place. Orys ruffled Tommen's hair and stepped back. His mother and siblings wished him good luck and were gone the next moment, leaving him to finish getting ready for his tilts.

The lists began with a match between Jory Cassel of Winterfell and Ser Horas Redwyne of the Arbor. Jory came out victorious in that round and went on to defeat Ser Emmon Frey of the Twins before losing to Lothor Brune. Ser Meryn Trant defeats Harwin of Winterfell while Ser Balon defeats Alyn of Winterfell. Then came Ser Jaime Lannister, the second most decorated of the Kingsguard. He defeats Ser Andar Royce of Runestone and Lord Bryce Caron of Nightsong. Ser Barristan defeats two riders, one of them being Jon Snow of Winterfell who was given the okay to ride in the lists by his mentor Ser Jaime. Ser Barristan then went on to face Ser Jaime and face defeat.

Eventually came the time for Orys to ride, his opponent Lord Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws and Lord of Storm's End. "Today is the day you face your defeat, nephew," his Uncle said in a teasing tone as they passed each other. Orys only smiled in silence. He reached his end of the grounds and pulled himself onto his stallion. The boys who helped him with his armor provided him with his shield, Lance and Helm. Orys put the antlered helm on and under it smirked when people began to whisper. He couldn't see it from here, but he was hoping it had some effect on his uncle as well.

When the sound for the start of the joust was made, both participants rushed at each other, their horses galloping at full speed. Neither of them touched the other with their lances, passing by with the crowd making an 'ooh' sound. They charged once more, this time their lances smashing against their opponent's shields. The crowd roared in approval, especially since one of the two had been unhorsed. It was a simple thing to understand, Orys was built like his father in his youth, while Renly was not. Renly's lance hit Orys' shield, but he was unmoved, the same could not be said for Renly. A combination of his jarring stop and Orys' lance hitting his shield unbalanced him and he fell off his horse.

Orys got off his horse the moment he reached the end of the field, discarding his helm, broken lance and shield, before rushing to his uncle. Thankfully the man was standing and seemed unharmed.

"Have you come to check up on me, nephew?" Renly Baratheon asked, his jolly tone injected with a hint of annoyance.

"Of course, can't have my Master of Laws keeling over now" Orys joked. They shared a laugh, one genuine the other forced. Orys returned to the rafters, waiting for his next match-up, which wasn't too long after.

Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven was up next, his opponent a hedge knight in a checkered cloak. There was no bout to declare Lord Beric the victor because the hedge knight disgraced himself by killing his horse. The Lord of Blackhaven was declared the victor. But the tilt after that was not so easy for the Lightning Lord. His opponent was Thoros of Myr, a priest of the faith of R'hllor. He must have been the warrior sect of the religion because he was riding his horse like a skilled knight. He unhorsed Lord Beric and was crowned the victor, though he did not last long. The tilt after was a draw between Ser Aron Santagar and Lothor Brune after both sides were evenly matched at the end of three tilts. Ser Aron was Thoros of Myr's next opponent, but the Priest did not show. He was passed out drunk and Ser Aron was gifted the win. Lothor Brune was unhorsed by Ser Robar Royce of Runestone, who went on to unhorse Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard, the victor in the tilt against Lothor Brune.

Orys' second tilt came up after that, against the infamous Hound of Clegane's Keep. Sandor was a huge and heavily muscled man with grey eyes, a large and hooked nose, and long thin dark hair. One side of Sandor's face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow, while the other side was a burned ruin of scars. Slick black flesh was pocked with craters and deep cracks that ooze red and wet, his ear was only a hole with a stump, and a hint of bone showed on his jaw. The scars extended down to his throat. A twisted mass of scars surrounded his eye, which was still good, not harmed by the fire, but he had no lips on that side. He was taller than Orys, even taller than Orys' father, the King. There was no doubt that the man was strong.

Sandor mounted his horse, donning his soot-dark armour and a helm sculpted into the shape of a snarling dog. Orys did so as well, putting his helm on and focusing on his opponent. Both competitors readied their lances and when the signal was given, they both charged at one another.

The first tilt had them smashing lances against each other, both weapons splintering on impact. It sent a shockwave through Orys' arm but other than that he was not harmed. Both contestants swapped lances and went at each other again. This time their lances smashed into the other's shields, splintering on contact. Orys felt himself being lifted from his saddle and quickly pulled himself back down and regained his balance. This went on for a few tilts, lances smashing, bodies being thrown off balance. They were matched equally and the crowd was loving every exchange. But one man was not.

"Enough of this!" the King rose to his feet. "Enough of this smashing and shit. End this fight here and be done with it!"

Orys knew what his father meant, and his eyes snapped to the man with disgruntlement. "No! I refuse to let this end in a draw!"

The crowd fell silent as father and son eyed one another, Father with his crown and son with helm. Something passed over Robert's features and he seemed to snort.

"One more tilt" the crowd roared in approval.

Orys looked back at his opponent, snatching the lance away from the boy who brought it to him. He was having fun, enjoying these exchanges. He knew he was winning this, and he would let his father take that away from him. His stallion seemed to resonate with his thoughts, letting out what most assumed was a battle cry as it rose to its haunches and kicked the air. The horse slammed its hooves down and charged forward. The Hound rushed forward as well, the motion and the helm making it look like a snarling rabid dog was coming for Orys. They met halfway, lances splintered and the crowd gasped in horror.

He still saw the images flash before him every time he closed his eyes. The Hound was on him in an instant, their lances splintered on contact. A large piece of the splintered lance pierces through an opening in the Hound's armour, where the helm and the chestplate meet, right into the burned flesh of his neck. The hound fell off his horse choking on his blood and being dragged by his frightened horse. By the time the horse could be calmed down, the Hound was already dead.

A knock on the door and Orys pulled himself away from the thought of him killing a man. "Come in" he cursed himself silently at how shaky and small his voice sounded.

The doors opened to reveal Jon Snow. He looked worried. Orys motioned for him to sit and the boy sat down in the vacant seat opposite the Prince's. They remained in silence, the Prince staring into the fire while Jon struggled to put words to his thoughts. The Northerner opened his mouth, then closed it, and did so a few times.

"If you are here to say that it was not my fault, I've already heard it Jon" The Prince broke the silence.

Jon seemed to relax and smiled sheepishly at his Prince.

"You've done well today, Jon. It's just your luck that you went against Ser Barristan."

"Thank you, my Prince" The boy lowered his head. "Your tilts were amazing to watch as well."

"Before I murdered Sandor Clegane?" the Prince let out a hollow laugh.

"It was not your fault" Jon insisted, not backing down when the Prince looked at him unamused. "Accidents like these happen in tilts. Ser Hugh of the Vale fell to Ser Gregor Clegane as well. Neither of you planned for it to happen, it just did."

The Prince did not reply immediately, staring into the fire instead with a frown. "Have you been to the feast yet?"

"I was hoping to accompany you there."

"Don't wait for me. You'll end the night without food if you do. Now go, have your fill and rest up."

Jon left after he was dismissed, leaving the Prince to contemplate the events of the day. Had he listened to his father and just ended the tilt, Sandor would have been alive now. His hands fisted as he gently pounded the arm of the chair.

Another knock was sounded and with annoyance, he told the person to come in. "If this is about you telling me to go eat, I'm not hungry."

"I was hoping to speak to you on another matter entirely, my Prince."

Orys turned to the door and found Lord Stark there, his expression soft and apologetic. He was carrying a few books in his arms and Orys straightened. He invited the man to join him, pouring them both a chalice of wine.