The night had not been kind to the Prince. Even after plotting the downfall of a leech, one that he had been meaning to do for quite some time, did not ease him. Sleep evaded him. By the time the sun had begun to rise, Orys no longer felt like getting out of bed. He'd forfeit the match, and let whoever his opponent was move forward. He couldn't stand another accident like the previous day's.

"Orys!" the Prince bolted up in his bed, startled by his name being called. He was alone in his chambers, or he should be. He reached for his sword and found the weapon missing. Swallowing he grabbed the closest thing he could find to use as a weapon, his cup of wine which was empty. He got out of bed, making a short jump so if anybody was hiding under his bed, they didn't grab his leg and yank him down.

"Orys!" it sounded louder, sharper and with a hint of gravel in its tone. He looked around, but all he saw was darkness. It shouldn't be this dark, not when the sun was rising moments ago. He took a step forward, and suddenly he was falling. His chambers vanished above him, nothing but cold darkness below.

"Fly!" the same voice cried, except this time it sounded as if multiple people spoke at once. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" it echoed around him. He heard the sound of fluttering wings around him, a sound he had become familiar with since his return from Winterfell. The sound came from the darkness around him as if they were running circles around him. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" the voices echoed, but he didn't know how. He was not a bird that could fly, he was a man, a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms!

"Roar!" he heard a new voice, loud, strong and dominant. It quieted the other voices. "Roar!" it echoed from the darkness below. "Roar!" something warm began to build inside of him. "Roar!" Orys felt the warmth move from his belly to his chest and then to his throat. "ROAR!' he opened his mouth and a stream of fire shot out. His descent slowed because of the flames and the darkness below him parted with a hissing scream. Orys saw stone spikes below him, skeletons of humans of various sizes littered amongst them.

"You have been chosen by the gods" the strong voice echoed. "You must not give up so easily."

Orys woke in his bed feeling warmer than he ever felt before. He kicked the blanket off himself and sat up. He was not sweating nor was he thirsty. He looked out his window and saw that it was bright outside already. He inhaled deeply and pushed himself out of bed.

When Orys entered the tent to ready himself for the tilts, he found himself before a strange sight.

"You are putting your armour on?" the Prince asked, a little confused by the event unfolding before him.

"Aye, I'll be joining the tilts today" the King declared.

"Alright," the Prince shrugged, moving to the corner where he saw his armour kept. It had been shined, much to his approval.

"And you're alright with it?" the King asked, sucking in as much as he could so his squire could strap him in properly. "Your mother was against it when she heard."

"If I complain, will you not take part?" the Prince asked.

"No" the King answered.

"Then I don't see any reason for me to waste my breath" the Prince smiled. "Though I must warn you, I doubt you'll see victory today."

"Are you saying I've lost my ability to fight?!" the King puffed out in outrage, which resulted in the chest plate shooting out of his body and hitting the squire in the face.

"Lancel, leave" Orys ordered and the young squire scurried out. "And no, I don't mean you've forgotten to fight, though I doubt you'd be able to fight as you used to in your state" the Prince smirked. "What I mean is that your opponents would not go all out against you, lest they harm their King."

"They wouldn't! A man of honour would never do such a thing" the King grunted.

"But a man who fears for his life would. Harming the King is an offence punishable by death, father."

The King spat in disgust, but Orys saw the resigned look in his eyes. The man moved to the table poured himself a cup of wine and inhaled it. He poured another cup and held it out for his son, who took it wordlessly.

"Too fat to get in my armour," the King said in disgust.

"I have been telling you, Father, you should join me in the training yard more often. All the feasts and wine need to be burned someplace" The prince took a sip.

"And how are you doing?" the King asked.

"What do you mean?"

"After yesterday. That was your first kill, aye?"

"Aye," Orys sighed. "An accident of all ways. Do you know what happened to Sandor's body?"

"How should I know? Probably being prepared to be sent back home" the King grunted, "you'll still be fighting today right?"

"Aye," the Prince sipped his wine. The flaps of the tent opened and in came Lord Stark. Orys and Ned shared a look and then nodded to each other.

Orys strutted past the stands where his family sat, smiling at his siblings as he did. They seemed happy, even Joffrey who had lost his personal guard just the other day. His opponent was on the other side of the grounds, offering a flower to Sansa Stark. The Knight of Flowers was his opponent.

Loras Tyrell was a handsome man, his hair a mass of lazy brown curls and ringlets which tumbled over his liquid-gold-like big, intelligent and lively eyes. He was two years Orys' elder and was already an accomplished knight. He wore a silver armor, decorated with sapphired and twinking black vines. Golden roses decorated the crest of his helm. Orys had seen his other bouts the previous day, riding on a white Stallion. But today he had switched to a grey mare.

As the two passed each other, Orys' Stallion made an uneasy sound, letting out a frustrated huff out of his nose. Orys gripped the rein tightly and tried to calm his horse down. The Stallion had not been like this since the moment Orys had chosen him a few years ago, except for that one time in Winterfell. This was different from that, he could feel it. He looked up at his opponent, who was tying his hair, his mare standing perfectly still. He felt something was off right there.

He leaned in close to his horse and gently rubbed the side of his neck. "Calm down. We need you to calm down" he whispered to the horse. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but the horse calmed down after he spoke, perfectly still and obedient. Orys put his helm on and steadied his lance.

The signal for the joust to begin was sounded and both Knights charged at one another. Neither of them hit in the first tilt, passing each other by harmlessly. Neither wasted a moment after their lances were replaced to charge. This time Orys hit, smashing his lance against Loras' shield. Loras did not hit back, steadying himself after the impact. Orys frowned at the Knight's unwillingness to fight, or was this part of some elaborate scheme? They went at each other again, this time Loras smashed his lance into Orys' shield. Orys was able to take the hit, gripping his rein to not fall over. He did not strike him this time though. Lances were changed and they both charged. Once they got close, Orys did something unorthodox but completely within the laws of the jousts since nobody objected later. Loras kept his thrust straight, but Orys swayed to the side of his shield and thrust his lance into the undefended part of Loras' body. He heard Loras' grunt and then heard the sound of tumbling metal. When his Stallion stopped at the other end, he watched Loras sprawled on the ground and heard the crowd erupt in celebration. Orys dismounted and rushed to the fallen Knight's side. Gladly the Knight seemed alive still since he was sitting up.

"I didn't know you fought outside of brute strength" Loras wheezed, taking the offered hand and going to his feet. "When I felt the first hit, it rattled my entire body. I thought techniques weren't your thing because of it."

"So he was testing me," Orys thought. "Can't be predictable now can I?" the Prince said out loud instead. They shook hands, a little too long for Orys' comfort.

Orys moved to the sidelines to let the next tilt begin, one between Ser Jaime and Ser Gregor. It was one of the more exciting matchups to happen in the lists.

Jaime Lannister was bold and seldom feared death. He was bold, headstrong and not one known for his patience. His skills with a sword were legendary across the Seven Kingdoms. His skills in jousts while not as sharp as his swordsmanship, were nothing to scoff at. He wore golden armour decorated with the Lannister Lion and an ornate lion's helmet.

Gregor Clegane on the other hand was well known for his size, cruelty and prowess in battle. He was extremely tall, with massive shoulders and arms as thick as the trunk of small trees. Nearly all of his body weight consisted of his muscles, making him nearly inhumanly strong. He wore the heaviest and thickest steel plate armour in the Seven Kingdoms, dull grey in colour and scarred from various battles. He also wore a plate helm with only a narrow slit for vision, atop of which is a stone fist punching up towards the sky.

The crowd murmured in excitement as both competitors got ready. Bets were made, most siding with Ser Gregor. Ser Jaime was an accomplished Knight, but nobody believed he could beat someone as inhuman as the Mountain. Orys watched closely, intent on not missing a single thing. Regardless of who won, Orys would have one hell of an opponent in the finals.

The tilts began with the blaring of a horn and the two Knights charged at one another. First tilt neither of them hit the other, passing by each other and reaching the end of the battlefield. Lances were exchanged and they charged again. This time lances smashed into each other, splintered wood flying everywhere. But neither were unhorsed, though Ser Jaime was shaking his lance hand worryingly. They charged one more with new lances, and Ser Jaime was sent flying when Ser Gregor's lance smashed into the Knight's shield.

"Ser Gregor, huh?" Orys mumbled with a fiendish grin. Much like Joffrey, Orys had his own guard until he achieved Knighthood. He remembered looking up at Ser Gregor from that time, always silently guarding. Orys was intimidated by the man back then, a scary man with a scary reputation. He never tried to get along with him and only greeted him when he had to, otherwise, it was silence between them. But that had been a long time ago. Orys had grown into a man now, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. He was taller and more muscular and had surpassed his father in height not too long ago. But the Mountain was larger and no doubt a lot stronger than he was. All of that excited the Prince, who practically shook because of it.

"I want to win" he muttered under his breath, his grin taking on more feral features.

"Orys!" a cry startled the Prince out of his thoughts. He turned to the side and saw a raven sitting beside him, looking at him with intelligent eyes. He smiled a lot friendlier at the bird.

"I haven't seen you in a while" the Prince murmured, scratching the bird's neck gently. The raven let out a low purr, lowering its neck and closing its eyes. "Ser Gregor is going to be a big challenge… But I want to beat him. I want to win this tourney."

The raven made a small sound before ducking its head and flying off. Orys watched it go before putting his helm on and stepping back out into the tourney yard.

The crowd roared with excitement as Orys entered, Ser Gregor already present since his last tilt ended not long ago. The two contestants looked each other in the eyes, Orys looking up while Gregor looked down. Then they turned to the royal family. The King had a look of Pride on his face, the Queen a look of worry. Joffrey looked excited, while Myrcella and Tommen were afraid. Orys nodded at them all before heading to his side of the field. His stallion looked ready to charge, ready to assert its dominance over the other horse, which was black as well. The two horses were similar, except Orys' one had silver tips in its mane.

Orys mounted his horse and accepted the lance and shield offered to him. He was nervous but excited at the same time. He lowered his lance and when the horn was sounded, they both charged. First tilt and lances clashed against each other, splintering on contact. Orys's entire body shuddered from the impact, hands clinging to the rein of his horse. Lances were exchanged and they charged once more. Orys was able to bring his shield close enough in time to block the thrust from Gregor, the defensive manoeuvre rendering his own attack not as powerful.

"He's too strong," Orys thought as he changed lances. He charged again, this time gripping his shield tightly. He had to block and resist this hit or it was done for him.

As they neared each other, Gregor's horse tripped. Taken by surprise at first, Orys recovered quickly to thrust into the newfound opening. The lance smashed into Gregor's chestplate and he fell with his horse. The crowd roared as Orys dropped his lance and shield and raised his arms in victory. He had won, he had conquered The Mountain that rode and he was champion, albeit all of it coming from his opponent's horse tripping up.

"Sword!" Orys turned in alarm at the shout and watched Gregor slay his horse in cold blood. And if it was not worse enough, he was charging at him. He did not have his sword with him, and he didn't have time for someone to bring it to him. He jumped back at the first swing, the crowd gasping in horror. He could hear shuffling, the sound of mailed feet stampeding forward. But they would be useless he knew. Ser Gregor sliced again and Orys ducked under it. Gregor was a tall man, his sword lifted high, as was the arc of his attacks high. Orys maintained a distance, where he was just out of reach of his opponent. He kept the balance on the balls on his feet, side-stepping and rolling out of Gregor's attacks. He moved at the last minute to make it harder for the larger man to prepare for another attack.

"That's enough!" roared the King, on his feet and red from anger. But Gregor did not listen, lifting his sword and slashing again. Orys jumped out of the way and smirked when Gregor's sword was stuck in the wooden divider used for the tilts. He charged in then, slamming his fist into the Mountain's nose. The knight staggered back and Orys charged again, head lowered like a bull. He heard the squelching of flesh and to his horror found his helm stuck. Hurriedly he removed his helm and jumped back just in time to avoid Gregor's fist. It slammed into the helm and Orys winced at seeing the dent on it. The horns of his helm snapped off, stuck in Gregor's throat. But the man showed no signs of stopping, red from anger.

"Enough" Orys barked. The Knight charged and Orys stood his ground. "I said, ENOUGH!" he roared. Why exactly he stopped dodging and decided to stand his ground and bark out an order was beyond his rational mind. But it worked, Gregor stopped in his tracks. The knight seemed to be stuck in time, shaking, bleeding and coughing. Eventually, the man did move, falling on his chest and pushing the antler even deeper. They all waited for the man to move, but he did not. Everyone relaxed then.

"M- My Prince," Orys turned around and saw a small man carrying a glass case. Inside it was a wreath of white roses and vines. Orys could almost laugh at this part. After all that happened, they still wanted him to crown someone the Queen of Love and Beauty. He collected the crown from the case and moved to the stands. He threw it up, the thing spinning and arching when it fell. Princess Myrcella looked surprised when it fell on her head.

"I crown Princess Myrcella the Queen of Love and Beauty!" he declared and the crowd erupted in cheers and claps.