Renly
The horses neighed as the banners of the stag flew in the wind; on his left Loras rode beside of him down the Streets of Steel as beautiful as a rose. My golden rose. Nothing was more fair than his Knights of Flowers with his soft brown curls. Renly drowned out the cluttered scenery of tiny shops and squat forges filled with ugly creatures and commoners waddling in their filth. Dirty, unlike his clean apartments with the smell of arbor wine in the air. "You don't have to ride with me." Renly told him. "You could be preparing for the joust."
Loras scoffed. "My place is by your side."
"I doubt I'll have need of your sword, Loras."
"But you enjoy my company all the same."
Renly smiled as he dismounted from his beast. He removed his green riding gloves and wondered what motivated Lord Jon Arryn and Stannis to visit this district. Neither had been warm in each other's councils. Stannis doesn't understand how to do anything save grind his teeth. Renly Olenna had discovered this from the remains of Jon Arryn's household. It was likely something dull. Everything about the man was dull. Lady Olenna didn't know his brother like he did. Still, he didn't wish to wound Loras's grandmother and thus he and Loras were on this damn fools hunt chasing after some red herring.
A slender girl greeted them at the steps with a friendly smile and wine. Tobho Mott was with them without delay, bowing and showering them both with praise. We are his best customers. Renly knew. "Tell me my friend." Renly asked after some pleasantries. "What was my dullard of a brother doing here with the Late Lord Hand?"
"And we know it wasn't to buy a suit of steel!" Loras said hotly, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.
The smith whitened like a bedsheet.
Renly raised his hand. "Peace Loras." He smiled. "Forgive his manners. He's a passionate man. We know you to be a friend. No need for such unpleasantry."
One look at the two of them: a brother of a king and son of a lord paramount and he folded without another word. "The boy. They came to see the boy." He said, looking at the ground.
A boy? The Late Lord Hand and his brother came here for some common boy. He exchanged a look with Loras, whose brow knitted together in puzzlement. "If you lie." Loras threatened with great heat. Renly loved when he grew defensive over him.
"I shall send for him." Tobho Motto said resigned.
When the boy was produced, he understood at once. The hair was as dark as ink and despite the sullen look; he saw his brother's stormy blue eyes well enough. Covered in dirt and sweat from working in the smith, his nephew was well muscled. "Milords." He said, head bent.
Renly had seen enough, and by the way Loras was gawking him as well. He thanked Motto for time and promised to purchase another suit of steel soon. His last suit of steel received a scratch and needed to be replaced. While they walked down the steps, Loras pulled him to the side. "Do you think Stannis may be the father?"
It was the most ludicrous notion and Renly almost kissed him because of it. He nearly snickered. "Nay, Loras. I'm amazed my brother got that ugly daughter of his. This is my other brother's work." Unlike Edric, this boy had no highborn woman, forcing Robert to claim him as a son. Robert likely had bastards in every kingdom of the realm. He mentioned once of some baseborn daughter in the Vale.
It clearly vexed Loras as they mounted their steeds. "What does this mean?" He asked him.
"Nothing." Renly said, without a doubt in his mind. "Lord Arryn was a kind old man. He probably was just seeing to the boys arrangement."
"What about your brother, then?"
Renly shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Maybe they were closer than I thought. Or maybe they would do something dull like investigating the custom agents."
"But the book being misplace-"
"Not the book again." Renly said, amused. "I love your grandmother. I do, Loras, but she's a crotchety old bat. She sees bread crumbs where none lie."
Loras winced. "I've rarely known her to be wrong Renly." Didn't he understood how foolish this was? What was more likely that there was some grand conspiracy by the Lannisters involving some mysterious book and his brother's bastards and his brother the Lord of Grinding Teeth was in the thick of things. If it was serious, Arryn would have come to me, not my curmudgeon of a brother.
"First time for anything." Renly said.
"Why did you come then?"
"You seemed stressed. I figured a ride would do you some good." Renly winked. "Your going to knock them dead!" Few could stand up to the Knight of Flowers. The Kingslayer was off with that little brat of a prince and wouldn't compete. The Hound as well. Barristan the Bold was old. None of the others compared. Maybe the Mountain that Rides? But Loras would beat him with ease. Skill beat pure brawn.
Loras reddened as they left the Street of Silk.
The sun was high above him when he entered his brother's solar. A horn of beer was in his hands as he tittered in his seat from laughter. "Seven Hells, what did your ser do, lad?"
"He cuffed me so hard, I saw stars, my king. I swear by the Seven." Jasper Arryn said as his brother spat out his beer. He was the first to note him, offering him a polite nod.
Renly resisted the urge to frown. He clung to Robert as often as he could and his brother loved him like a son, showering him with praise. A martial lord that enjoyed the hunt with a name that preyed upon his brother's feelings. Jasper Arryn was a threat. A pity they had to be foes. If only he was not marrying my niece. Honor would have kept him well enough away in the mountains of the Vale where he would not interfere with his plans. The Lannisters would be toppled and replaced with the roses of Highgarden. He wasn't as beautiful as Loras or Ser Jamie, but he had a ruggedly handsome quality to him. He wasn't bad on the eyes.
"Telling stories?" Renly chuckled, taking a seat. "Go on."
Robert snorted. "WAR STORIES!" He slapped his gut. "BARRY OLD BOY! GET YOUR BONEY ARSE IN HERE!"
"Your grace." Ser Barristan entered hesitantly.
"What was your first kill?"
"A Tyroshi. Never learned the name. A lance straight through the heart."
Robert gazed at his future son-in-law curiously. "And you, lad? Have a kill to your name."
Lord Arryn nodded once and looked to the ground and refused to say anymore.
"OUT WITH IT THEN!" Robert bellowed impatiently.
"A fight with a clansman. He lost his weapon in our fight and I took his head." He said, shaking his head. "I should have given the chance to pick up his weapon. It was a kill without honor, but Ser Brynden taught me to always end a threat, and so I did. I'll always end a threat." Briefly his Tully eyes fell upon him and he glowered as if he were the clansman before settling back on a cordial look. It was amusing.
"He was right, lad. Always go for the kill."
The talk of killing was unsettling to his stomach. It was dirty and unclean. Unlike them, he was no soldier or knight who needed to bloody himself. Robert holds me in lower esteem because of it. He knew how to ride a horse or swing a sword and he took part in tourneys, but it was less than if he skewered a man in a life or death struggle. Why would he need to do any of the killing? He just needed to look the part and give men courage and something to fight for. If Robert were a wiser king, he would understand that. Instead, he drank of glory days long since passed as if dreaming them could will it back to life when he was six foot five and stronger than a bull.
"And you, Lord Renly, any feats of valor to your name?" Lord Arryn asked politely.
"My brother? Ha!" Robert laughed. "He has never bloodied his sword."
It amused that he thought it mattered. "I leave the bloodying to you, Robert. I could never do it as well as you."
They discussed who was likely to win the tourney. Lord Arryn, modest as a Knight of the Vale, refused to put forward his own name. Renly declared that the Knight of Flowers would win. Robert seemed to think Arryn would win. Ser Barristan said the realm would win after the display of the realm's finest knights. When Robert pressed him, his eyes twinkled and he name his squire Jon Snow as a man that would do well. If Arryn were not here, he would speak of Lady Margaery's beauty and Robert always perked up at the maiden from Highgarden as lovely as the dawn he agreed. But the boy lord was here and as determined as a foaming badger to prevent the union from taking hold. Once he claimed that Lady Ysillia Royce was a greater beauty than Lady Margaery, naming her as delicate as a flower. Robert enjoyed hearing that as well.
If Loras heard that, he would have dueled Lord Arryn.
As irksome and simple as his brother and his company of friends and supporters were, he would rather be in their company than face the tongue lashing of the Queen of Thorns. Small and wrinkly as a toad, her tongue was sharper than Valyrian steel. She squinted her eyes when he visited with Loras by his side. "You pretty fool." She said. "You still don't see the picture that is taking place."
"No doubt you'll tell me, my lady."
Olenna made a ludicrous statement that they were concerned over the line of succession. "Robert has three children." He reminded. "Only one that matters now, though." But the Late Lord Hand didn't know that.
She rolled her eyes. "Only time a Hand of the King would bother with visiting bastards is if he was concerned over the line of succession."
"Lord Arryn was a kind old man who took little pleasure in his office. Mayhaps caring for my brother's accidents pleased him?" Renly chuckled.
"You should be thankful my grandson is fond of you." She retorted.
Loras reddened. "Grandmother!"
"Oh, quiet dear." She said. "The perfect story is here to make our dear Margaery queen." When she saw they were both puzzled, with raised brows. "None of the king's children look like him. They take after the mother spin a tale to cast doubt on their legitimacy. Use the king's own bastards to do so. Bring that Florent boy to court."
"Edric?" Renly asked.
"Yes, that's the boy's name." Lady Olenna said.
"But plenty of children take after the mother and not the father." Loras said.
Olenna sighed, disappointed. "It doesn't have to be true. King Robert just has to believe it. Love between him and his queen has never been strong. Doubt will grow hold in his heart and he shall set her aside for our beautiful rose. We shall twist Lord Arryns rides into what supports our ends. He isn't here to deny it and Lord Stannis has fled the city. It might even be true."
Renly considered it a masterstroke of an idea. Perfect beyond measure. "A flawless plan, my lady. I shall send for Edric Storm at once."
No disagreement left her lips. He kissed her on the brow and named her a brilliant woman. Later that night, after he and Loras made love underneath the sheets, he was in a perfect mood. Soon he would set aside the Lannister Queen and replace them with the Tyrells, whom will prove a much better match for Robert. The Tyrells deserve to be at our side. Together, they would make a realm of beauty and song. I'll be key in keeping the alliance strong. Loras nibbled on his ear as he held his slender body against his own. "You are going to be perfect tomorrow." Renly whispered. "No one is better than you." Loras smirked.
"I know love, I wish we didn't have to hide like this like it is such a cursed thing. I would name you my King of Strength and Wit" His voice was wistful and longing, but it could never come to pass. They both had roles to play. One day he would have to wed some girl to further his line. Loras understood, Renly knew. Maybe I could keep him as a knight in my household guard. He stood up to gather some arbor wine and by the pitcher lay a dead roses sick with decay, its petals wilted. Renly almost laughed at the pathetic threat from the Lannisters, and it was certainly the Lannisters who sent such a note. Men like Arryn and Stark would threaten him to his face. Not send messages in the dark.
"Are you coming, love?" Loras asked from the other room.
I won't worry him. It may throw him off. Renly thought and tossed the wilted rose off the balcony. It's darkened petals floating away in the wind. "Renly!" Loras said impatiently.
"Coming love."
Kevan
Tywin,
The state of the capital has improved since my arrival. Stark has been propped up, and the roses swatted to the side by his own hand, as I've written before. The man is perfect for our short-term goals. I would fear the man little. The men of honor have rallied to staunch such ambition appalled by the dishonor. I consider it dead in the water and not worth any further escalation. The day for judgement will come when Tommen is named king. We shall punish the Tyrells for their ambition. Until then, I caution restraint. I shall finish by speaking of legacy. Your granddaughter is a bright young woman and does her duty well in wrapping the Falcon Lord around her fingers. In a few years, I'm certain we shall have a valued ally in the Valeman and Lannister blood in the Eyrie. When the Starks return to Winterfell, I suspect it will be the Falcon that replaces them. It does us well to bind him to us. I've even broached fostering one of my boys when they come of age in the Eyrie. Your grandson needs to be around his kin and recall his true duty. A duty to House Lannister. There is little to say about your daughter and my niece. She remains difficult, but I have cleaned her blemishes up. I've done as bid without spilling a drop of blood, even of the illborn prince.
As always, I'm yours
Your brother Kevan
The ink finished drying when he sealed it with the crimson wax of House Lannister. The language written was a secret code they had made when they were boys. A Lannister had to be cunning. His brother would tell him.
The raven left for Casterly Rock that same day.
Ned
Walls and walls of parchment surrounded him. Ned was drowning in parchment and ink. A dozen men coated in perfume and robes surrounded him sitting on seats of cedar. The men were stewards working for Lord Baelish and now were counseling him on righting the ship. Steward Poole, his personal representative, had coordinated with them. Debt will drown Roberts reign. I must get it under control. Ned swore. Servants served them food and drink as they did what Robert called counting coopers. Every cut had been like pulling teeth and was but a drop in the bucket for the excesses of the crown, and when he looked at the expenses of the tourney, he understood why. A smaller tourney than most. These men had promised him as if he should be proud of this accomplishment.
Ned argued often and frequently with Robert over cutting costs and balancing the books, but it was like lecturing a wolf, not hunt elk.
Pointless.
Why am I here? Ned wondered. The southern heat was unbearable and suffocating. Ned stretched his collar. He missed the cold of the North, and the icy kisses when he rode in the Wolfswood instead of the sweltering heat of the capital. This was not his place, surrounded by stewards dealing with the problems of the Realm. Winterfell is where he belonged. In Winterfell, Robb would be hearing petitions with Cat by his side. How I wish to join them? Rickon was little more than a babe when he left. Does he even recall me? Ned wondered.
"My lord?" Steward Poole asked, and not for the first time, it appeared.
Ned sighed tired. "Forgive me. Go on."
"In short, revenues are up. A temporary tax on unsavory establishments has proved beneficial." Steward Poole said. "And seizing armor for ransom of those who break the King's Peace has proved a boon in coin."
"And a boon in complaints." Steward Ramond said shakily. "Men may call King Robert niggardly."
Ned chuckled." Point them to the champion's purse then. I've heard enough." He stood and all the stewards rose one by one and bowed. "Lord Hand." They said, filling out of the Tower of Hand. Afterwards, Jory summoned a small guard for himself, escorting him to the Kings Tower. The smell that greeted him was the powerful stench of beer and ale. Robert sprawled over his bed, still in his clothes from yesterday. Wine stains soaked his doublet. He didn't even bother to take off his muddy boots as he slept. Oh, Robert, what did Jon and I do to you.
He undid the curtains. Light flooded in and Robert groaned to life. "Fuck me Ned. It's still morning."
"It's midday, your grace."
Robert laughed. "It's not the day of the tourney, is it?" He asked.
Ned shook his head, and Robert rose from his slumber. His gut sticking out as he stretched. "Ha! Those fools would be out tittering around like headless chickens waiting for me!"
Ned said nothing. He watched his king, a man he had once called his brother in all but name, with growing sadness.
"How did you sneak in?" Robert asked as he poured himself another drink.
"Ser Barristan thought you would appreciate my company."
"Damn fool." Robert mumbled, chugging down the ale in one gulp. "You wish to lecture me to death."
Ned did not deny it, for it was true. "Robert…" He tried to reason.
"Ah! Fool be me for bringing you south. Should have known you would be worse than Jon!" Robert burped and wiped away some food stains from his lip. "You can't lie for honor, nor love Ned. Never have. Go on, let's get this unpleasantness done with!"
He handed him a tome as slender as a knife. "What's-"
"Read Robert." Ned said. He watched as he reddened with wordless disgust and tossed it away with barely a glance. "I won't do it Ned. Nay, I won't!"
"Then you'll find yourself a new Hand." Ned informed. "And you'll be surrounded by Lannisters once I leave."
Robert looked as if he was choking and Ned wished to help his friend, but he held his tongue and pressed on. "We need discipline if we are to fix this mess. Tis a five-year plan that shall restore the Crown financially."
"Only one grand tourney a year! Only Seven Great Feasts!" Robert complained. I wished to cut more. If Winter Came it would take twenty years. Ned thought.
Ned nodded, as solemn as the crypts of Winterfell. "You told me, old friend, you wished me to rule for you while you whored yourself to an early grave." He said, softening. "Let me help you, Robert. Let me honor our brotherhood formed in the Eyrie, tested on the field of battle. This is the way to make your reign something to be proud of. For your children, Robert, and our future grandchildren. I will not partake in leaving them a beggared realm."
Robert cursed and groaned. He shattered a table with his fists in a fury. "Fuck you, Ned." He darkened and laughed. "Fuck you. You actually mean it."
"I wished to cut more." Ned admitted calm before the storm. "I'm meeting you more than halfway, Robert."
"Of course you wanted to cut more!"
Robert rubbed his temples before sitting down. The Crown weighs heavily on him. Ned thought. For another moment, he brooded in silence before grumbling. "Give me the damn thing. I'll sign it."
Ned did as bid as Robert spelled out his name and pledged with the authority of his title to agree to the new budget. It was a victory that he had long labored for. Sleepless nights surrounded by parchment and conversing with coin collectors and Lannisters. Nights away from his children. Ned lamented. Though it was an important step in securing Robert's realm and well worth the headaches.
Robert waved a finger. "But you'll drink with me more often. I want you Ned by myself, not my Hand."
Ned chuckled. "As you wish."
"Now tell me Ned, who do you think is going to win the joust!"
The rest of the evening, they discussed the tourney. Drank to old friends long forgotten and sweet memories of the Vale when they were but two youths without responsibility or duty. Ned spoke of his children and Robert praised Jon's son, declaring him Denys reborn. Jasper was often by Robert's side, and Ned suspected the reason. Lord Renly Roberts own brother and his dishonorable plots, but he had laid it to rest. Why doesn't he trust me to handle the matter? His nephew had spoken of plots in this city with certainty, filling him with disquiet. Cat had told him the boy was proud and stubborn. A Falcon of Summer. Ned thought. Jon had raised the boy alone in the Eyrie and Ned knew not the reason. Jasper Arryn should have grown up in Winterfell with his cousins. I should have asked Jon to foster him. Much could have been different.
Ned regretted the roads not taken. At least his nephew caused him no headaches, and for that he was thankful. Though he had not dined with them for some time. Ned thought it unwise to invite him again after whatever had occurred between his children and him. They'll work it out one day. He had issued commands to the Commanders of the City Gates to tighten patrols around the Red Keep and key locations throughout the city. Ser Tallhart had done his duty as Commander of the City Watch well. Ned knew the city was secure in his hands. The sun was retreating over the horizon when Ned finally left Roberts company. In the courtyard, Jon was at work dueling with some men of his household guard. Under the fleeting rays of sunlight, it almost looked as if he wore a crown.
Forgive me Lyanna. Ned wished to weep.
Jon swung, lost in the dance of steel. It reminded him of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning in his movements, Ser Barristan had taught him well; better than Rodrick Cassel could. He could be a finer sword than the father. Ned thought as the sounds of swords clang in his ears and he felt tired and weary beyond his years.
"Father." Jon stopped mid-swing and dipped his head as he dismissed the guardsman for the day.
"Ready for the joust on the morrow?" Ned asked.
"I shall bring honor to House Stark." Jon vowed. "Ser Barristan thinks I shall do well."
"High praise. Ser Barristan is an honorable man and one of the greatest swords in the Seven Kingdoms."
Jon smiled.
Ned nodded. "It's time for supper." He gripped him tightly on the shoulder. "You'll do well Jon." He had seen him fight his entire life. Jon was a born swordsman and he would tear apart the knights of summer. "Win or lose, you shall always have a place amongst your family."
Jon said nothing in reply. "I'll win." He said with quiet determination. "You'll see, father."
Both of them left the courtyard together. A night of listening to his children and hearing their laughter. On the morrow, the Tourney of Hand and all the dread that came with it would arrive. Ned would not sleep well that night.
Myrcella
"My lord! My Jasper! Jasper! Jasper, stop it!" Myrcella lied.
That was the last thing she wanted.
A breathless laugh squeezed out of her throat as Jasper tickled her without abandon until her sides hurt from laughter. "Must I?" He raised a reddish brow. "Why would I stop? You tried to sneak a peak of your gift before I wished it. This is a just punishment for your terrible crime."
"I may tickle you, my lord."
Jasper snorted with derision. "I'm the Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. I'm not-" She pounced like a lioness and he squirmed at her touch. A quick laugh escaped his lips.
"I think you are." Myrcella beamed.
Jasper scowled, stepping back.
"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, my lord, but enough tricks show me these gifts. I love to see them!"
"And you say I'm impatient." Jasper said, disappearing behind the corner.
She stood up and returned to the velvet couch, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he brought out the gifts one by one.
For his wards he had purchased a beautiful bow from the Summer Isles, a dragon skull the size of rock, riding gloves, a caged falcon and four valyrian steel daggers. Father had given Jasper some of these items. Jasper grinned with pride when he mentioned that. Even Brans wolf would receive a gift; an elephant bone from Essos. For Ser Brynden, some sturdy boots. A simple gift, but Jasper claimed it was the only thing he needed. Though it was the last gift that made her cheeks warm. A beautiful cyvasse board made of jade. "A board fit for a princess." He told her. "I hope it pleases you."
"I love it!" Myrcella said, hugging him.
Jasper returned the affection, stiff as a board. Though he was smiling as she pulled away.
"It's very thoughtful, my lord."
"You need not say that." He gave a flippant wave of his hand."I'm being practical sweet princess. You'll need a new set in the Eyrie."
Myrcella almost rolled her eyes. Anything soft and he dismisses it out of hand. It was an absurd quirk of his. Over the past days, he gave more of himself away; peeling away his armor. Some men of court hide who they are in public, and reveal their true colors behind close doors. Jasper was strange in he seemed to hide even from himself.
, Behind closed doors without men watching, Jasper behaved as he did in public by following the rules that governed a knight rigidly as if he could do little else. Though on occasion he would seem at a loss to what to say and would either snort like the Blackfish or give a lordly nod of his head. But he still gazed at her with some intensity and it was desire, but some desperate longing that went beyond attraction. He showered her with excuses to meet him to watch him train in the courtyard or to join him on falconry expeditions. Sometimes it would be a bit overwhelming the intensity he displayed and other moments he stopped trying and merely went though the motions as if the slightest misstep was catastrophic failure. And despite his flashy smile and japes he was very tense around her still. I wish he wasn't so tense around me. Myrcella had arrived to wish him good luck for the morrow and Jasper invited her in to show off the gifts he had purchased, but she imagined it was just another ruse to spend time with her. He'll be leaving soon. The unspoken promise being made. It would be best for him to leave the Vale would be a safer place for him. Even with Lord Stark as Hand, the city was filled with swirling plots and his life may be in danger.
Mother wishes him dead.
Ser Kevan would handle mother, and Lord Jasper would be fine for the rest of his stay in the capital. Myrcella knew.
Though she noted he didn't select any gifts for his cousins. "Nothing for your cousins, my lord?" She asked.
Jasper's mood soured. "Are you meddling princess?" His voice sharp as steel.
Her betrothed may be brash and hotheaded, but he certainly wasn't unintelligent.
"Yes!" Myrcella said, undaunted by his scowl. "Lady Sansa is a dear friend, and she grows ever worried over you and her half brother. I would be a poor friend if I did not meddle." She placed her hand on top of his own. "And you should make peace with your cousins. I see it troubles you."
"I shall not speak of this." Jasper said, brushing off her hand. "You shall drop it." A lords command.
Myrcella pouted.
It only took Jasper a quick moment before he weakened. Deep down, he wanted to talk about it. He was just being a stubborn ox about it. Jasper sighed in defeat. "If he wishes to apologize, I'll accept it graciously." His voice anything but. "Because, my dear princess, the Seven Hells will freeze before I apologize to that stain of my aunts honor." He shook his head, chuckling. "And Snow will never apologize. I know this for certain." The firmness in his voice was disappointing and troubling. Sansa seemed certain that her half brother would never apologize and Jasper seemed just as stubborn.
"Why so certain?" Myrcella asked.
"The bastard is defiant and willful. He thinks himself some Stark." Jasper growled. "They love him like he were trueborn." He stood up from the velvet couch, irritated. "The Starks are an enigma of a family, much like my father. They treat bastards and hostages with warmth and kindness beyond politeness and duty. How can they love him like that? It's absurd." The hint of jealousy in his voice surprised her. Why would Jasper be jealous? It was maddening, and she heard it clear as day. Her betrothed was jealous of the Bastard of Winterfell.
"Are you jealous, my lord?" Myrcella asked, knowing it would get a rise out of him.
Jasper paled with anger. "Jealous? Of what? Of Snow?!" He roared with laughter, clutching his sides as it took a long moment for him to compose himself before falling back to the couch struggling for breath. "Why would I be jealous of him? He's a bastard. I'm the Lord of the Eyrie marrying a beautiful princess." He winked, grasping her hand and kissing it. "My name is honorable. You are keen, princess, but I think you have erred." Jasper said confident. "Worry not. I won't hold it against you on my honor as an Arryn."
"I didn't mishear, my lord. You are jealous, for reasons I cannot say. Nor why you hate him so."
"I don't hate him." He said. "Truly, I may sound it, but I don't hate him. I just can't apologize to him."
Myrcella raised her brow, confused beyond all measure.
"He's loves my kin. I saw it in his eyes." Jasper explained. "I could never hate a man like that. He'll defend them well." He chuckled. "I should know. I've seen firsthand. Gave me a nice scar and princesses love them. I um think…" Myrcella giggled at his uncertainty and told him that she loved them. She remembered the fight well and how hard they swung. She thought Jon Snow had killed him when he collapsed, but Jasper got up. Jasper always seemed to get back up. "He may be a Snow, but he fights better than most knights." Myrcella rested her head on the crook of his neck while he spoke. It reassured him as he swallowed something heavy, speaking his feelings always troubled him. "Even If I wished to apologize, I would not do it well. He would take offense." Jasper shifted awkwardly. "And then I would make things worse. I always make things worse."
"Oh, Jasper."
"I don't wish to speak of this any further. Soon I will leave the capital. "He whispered. "I came for the sake of duty, but I discovered fondness as well. I wish not to squander what time I have left talking of bastards and apologies. I've known fondness precious little in my life."
Myrcella's heart twisted into a thousand butterflies. Fond. He was fond of me. "I've discovered fondness as well, my lord." Her voice softened. "And mayhaps more."
Jasper blinked, and a small boyish grin formed. He caressed her cheek as if it were made of glass and leaned in. The kiss was sweet, but far too short as he pulled away with a sad smile, as if it were the last one he would ever receive. Myrcella remembered her mother's smile, and it filled her with dread from head to toe. She leaned in to his chest to forget. Jasper held her tightly, and feeling the warmth and security of his arms, she almost managed. "I'll see you crowned." He promised. "Snow. The Kingsguard. Tyrells. Lannisters. I'll beat them all. You shall be the Queen of Love and Beauty if it's the last thing I do. Even if I perish in the attempt." Myrcella flinched at the determination in his voice. By the Seven he means it. "There are many men who are better swords than I, but on horseback, I'm better than them all."
"As long as you try, Jasper, I'm content." Myrcella said, caressing his cheek. "Don't hurt yourself on my account."
"You have a soft heart of a woman princess." Jasper said. "I must do this for you and the honor of my house. As High as Honor!" No word from her own lips would deter him. Jasper would give everything he had in the tourney. Would her Falcon soar on the morrow? Or would his wings be clipped? Myrcella hoped the former he was a good man and her brother would need him in the years to come.
Authors note: A slightly smaller chapter than normal, but the Tourney of the Hand shall be the biggest I think. Next up the Tourney of the Hand. Still thinking about the POVS and working out the format. As always I enjoy seeing the reviews!
Freedmoon: Well, I look forward to your upcoming review then! As for Jon and Jasper I think their is a hint of respect just by the fact they are both stubborn and not afraid to scrap. Jasper didn't just crumble like Joffrey and whimper and as I've shown in this chapter Jasper doesn't hate Jon really. But they are certainly not friends and we shall see if they cross paths in the Tourney of the Hand! As for Hugh you'll see more of him next chapter!
Leo's reading: Yeah, Ned isn't investigating cause Jasper told him that his mother Lysa was off her rockers with grief. He thinks the boy is honest(And Jasper is honest) If he thought his father was murdered he would be preparing for war. Glad you enjoy the conflict between Jon/Jasper. I think it's good to have conflict like that. Make the OC more human and flawed.