[center]Chapter 2: Marq's no good, very bad plan.[/center]
[center]"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."[/center]
It took Marq nearly a week to get through the wringer of constantly cleaning almost a dozen sets of plate armor. Maekar was by far hardest the hardest to please, always bringing up some excuse of 'there's still a speck here; do it again.' The cunt was like a white-haired Aegor.
His reward for trudging through that? Being trapped in the royal box while Daemon galavanted around the tourney grounds for the name day of young Aerion Targaryen. Between the Royals, Kingsguard, and his new babysitter, or rather his new Sworn Shield, Ser Alaric Ryyker, Marq stood no chance of managing to get away.
The tourney grounds were surprisingly well constructed. The stadium was a large stone structure that almost entirely surrounded the field itself. Dozens of banners from houses across the seven kingdoms flew on the grounds. Darklyn, Massey, Tully, Bar Emmon, and Staunton were the ones he recognized off the top of his head. Above all flew the dragon of House Targaryen.
"You don't seem enthused, my lord." His red-headed sworn shield spoke.
"What is there to be enthused about?" Marq asked. "This is the fourth tourney Daemon has kept me from entering. All because he thinks I'm not ready."
"And you disagree?" Alaric asked.
"I can beat half the men in this tourney, knight or squire." Marq boasted. "It's not like I've had much else to do but train for years."
"Is that so?" Alaric asked.
"Yes, he's not even letting me act as his squire during the tourney itself. Instead, he's allowing some Reyne cunt to be his squire for the match." Marq complained.
"Perhaps this could be the result of your attempted flight last week. You know, the same reason I was brought on to be your sworn shield?" Alaric said.
"I thought your job was to babysit me, not sass me," Marq said.
"There's nothing to say I can't do both," Alaric remarked.
The corner of Marq's lips twitched into a smirk. "Just my luck, being stuck with the one knight this side of the God's Eye not afraid to mouth off."
"You don't sound entirely displeased, my lord," Alaric commented.
"I think I'd lose my mind if everyone-" Marq was cut off as a loud gasp sounded from around the tourney stands, drawing his attention toward the melee taking place. Blood gushed from the remains of a man clad in Staunton colors. Over him stood a man in Brune colors. Marq felt something uneasy settle in his stomach as squires rushed onto the field to drag off the body.
The melee continued off regardless of the death that had taken place. Though Marq knew a dispute would break out because of the incident. Alaric leaned over Marq's shoulder. "Perhaps that is another reason why Ser Daemon refused to allow you into the tourney. Death is rare, but accidents do happen even in the best of circumstances."
"I see…" Marq said.
The melee passed in silence, but the outcome was already known to Marq. Daemon would win, as if there were any other option. If Ser Gwayne had participated, he might have stood a chance, but Daemon was the best sword in the realm, with or without Blackfyre, and Ser Gwayne stood in the royal box. The joust wasn't until tomorrow, and Marq would once again be stuck in the box, staring down as everyone else got their share of fun. Unless…
"Your grace…" Marq spoke, looking behind him at King Daeron, who sat next to Queen Myriah. The king seemed rather bored with the whole affair, which made sense; he had never been the most martial man.
"Yes Marq?" Daeron asked.
"May I be excused back to the keep? I'm feeling ill." Marq asked.
Daeron stared back at Marq, no doubt searching for any sign of deception, before slowly nodding. "Yes, you may, Ser Alaric; make sure he reaches the keep intact."
The knight nodded, and Marq stood and began walking away from the tourney grounds. Ser Alaric trailing slowly behind.
[center]-2-[/center]
It was only as they entered Flea Bottom that Alaric finally spoke up. "I have to say, the Red Keep must have changed vastly in the last hour."
Marq rolled his eyes. "That's because I'm not going to the Red Keep."
Alaric faked a look of shock. "Oh, by the seven, I never would have guessed."
"You're not going to forcefully drag me off to the keep, are you?" Marq asked.
Alaric went silent for a while. "I seem to recall swearing my vows to you, not the King. And while I recommend against whatever plan you have, I will be there by your side to make sure you don't die doing it."
"What have I done to deserve such loyalty?" Marq asked.
"You? Absolutely nothing, but I take my vows seriously." Alaric said.
"What makes you say I have a plan?" Marq questioned.
"Your eyebrows furrow up every time you're in thought. And you have this look on your face like a boy plotting to stick his hand in the cookie jar." Alaric responded. "I do have to ask what exactly you are planning, however."
"Well, tomorrow, I will be too sick to spectate the joust. But a mystery knight will enter the tourney at the last minute. That mystery knight, of course, being me." Marq said, revealing the plan he had totally hadn't just made up on the spot.
"I see…" Alaric said slowly. "And that requires us being in Flea Bottom; how?"
"Well, even a mystery knight needs a squire, and it just so happens I have a friend who might be along for the ride," Marq said.
[center]-3-[/center]
"Absolutely not," Torrhen said; behind him, Marq heard Alaric give a snort of laughter. It hadn't been hard to track down Torrhen; the northern bastard boy often frequented the Drunken Crow, the least run-down tavern in Flea Bottom. Convincing him, on the other hand… Never let it be said Marq was a beacon of charisma.
The tavern was all but deserted, allowing Marq and Torrhen to speak without anyone trying to listen in.
"What do you mean?!" Marq sputtered at Torrhen's refusal.
"What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean no, and if you had an ounce of sense in that damn fool head of yours, you'd drop this idea in an instant." Torrhen exclaimed and then turned to Alaric. "And you! Aren't you supposed to be keeping him safe? Why in the seven hells are you going along with it."
"The lad wishes to have a go at being a knight. Better for him to learn some of the possible dangers on the tourney grounds than later on in life in an open battle." Alaric shrugged. "I also wanted to see how true his boasting was."
Torrhen collapsed his head into his hands. "This is foolish to the extreme from both of you."
Marq stood and moved to Torrhen's side, wrapping his left arm around Torrhen's shoulders and vaguely gesturing around with his right arm. "Torrhen, buddy, pal, friend. This is the sort of thing where legends are made."
"I think I'd rather you be alive and unharmed than a dead legend," Torrhen said.
"I'm not going to die from one tourney," Marq whined.
Torrhen reached out and flicked him on the forehead. "Maybe not, but this thick head of yours is going to get you killed one day."
"Well, that's a problem for the me of tomorrow, isn't it?" Marq asked rhetorically. "One tourney, I don't need to even win, just do well enough to prove myself. You get a share of any of my earnings and get to write a song from it. I get to prove to Daemon that he doesn't need to coddle me anymore. Ser Alaric probably gets a laugh out of it all. Everybody wins!"
"This is by far the most hair-brained scheme you've dreamt up, including the one that involved stowing away to the Free Cities," Torrhen said.
"All my schemes are flawless; it's just that Brynden keeps finding out about them somehow," Marq said and then looked around the tavern as if Brynden was going to simply materialize at the mere mention of his name.
"Alright," Torrhen said slowly. "Say I go along with this, which I still might not. Do you even have a plan for the aftermath? How do you handle your family's reaction? Do you even have a suit of armor?"
Marq sputtered slightly. "Of course, I have a suit of armor." He left the first two questions unanswered.
"Marq," Torrhen said warningly.
"Fine, I uh. I don't have any plan for the aftermath. I was thinking of sort of just burning that bridge when I got to it." Marq said.
Torrhen sighed and muttered out under his breath. "Seven save me from idiot lordlings." He lifted his head up to look at Marq. "And what is my place in this plan?" He asked tiredly.
"You are my squire for the tourney; give me lances, help me into my armor, that sort of thing," Marq said with a smile.
"So long as I'm not getting in any trouble for helping you with this, fine. I'll go along with it." Torrhen relented.
"Trust me, you won't regret this," Marq said.
[center]-4-[/center]
"I'm already regretting this," Torrhen said while he helped strap Marq into his armor.
"Come on, I haven't even mounted up yet," Marq said as Torrhen finished strapping him into his armor. The two were stood in a tent outside of the tourney grounds, with the tournament itself soon approaching.
"This is the most ramshackle armor I've ever seen," Torrhen said.
"I'm not made of money," Marq said
"You're a prince." Torrhen retorted.
"Only by technicality. I had to blow all of my allowance on this." Marq said. He stepped away and slammed a fist on his breastplate. "How do I look?"
"Like a broke hedge knight," Torrhen said.
Marq frowned and looked down. It was a rather simplistic and somewhat battered suit of armor. Plain gambeson made the first layer of armor, which was covered by knee-length chain hauberk, and then various pieces of plate, a breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlet, greaves, and sabatons. On top of it all was a dark green surcoat. It wouldn't win him any fashion prizes, but it'd keep him from dying the moment something hit him. Hopefully. "I think I look fine." He said.
Torrhen sighed. "Last chance; if you have any doubts or maybe a shred of reasoning left in your head, you can still back out."
"I'm set on this, Torrhen," Marq confirmed, taking on a severe tone for once. "If I don't do this, I'll never convince Daemon to let me be my own man."
"I still feel like there are far better ways to do this, but if you insist." Torrhen relented and then reached down to hand Marq his shield. It was a simple heater shield, painted a dark green, the same as his surcoat, and with three white stones in the shape of a table as its only design.
Marq grabbed the shield, and then the horns blared, signaling it was time for him to mount up. "Root for me, will ya?" Marq asked as he began to walk out.
"Dumbass!" Torrhen shouted, causing Marq to stop and turn around, only to find his helmet shoved into his hands. "You kind of need that. Otherwise, you'd be the world's worst mystery knight."
Marq laughed. "See, I'd have already fucked up the plan without you.
"I should have let you forget the helmet." Torrhen sighed.
Marq only laughed louder as he mounted his horse and put his helmet on. It was showtime.
AN: Marq is not the smartest cookie is he? Ah well, what's the worst that could happen. Hope y'all enjoy, call out any mistakes, and have a wonderful day.