Jasper

Jasper woke early in the morning. No rays of sunlight peered through the curtains as the rest of the city still slept. Sleep did not come easily knowing how many would watch him on the morrow. Judging him like a flock of vultures waiting for a mistake. Praying for it. The only thing they craved more than to cheer for a man is to tear him down. Men are always judged for the mistakes made. Jasper knew as he judged them for their misdeeds. How could he forget? Duty may demand he forgive to honor his oaths, but he could never forget. One day they'll know the justice of House Arryn and they'll only have themselves to blame like this Lord Renly. His ambition shall be punished. Actions have consequences like a ripple in the pond and a falcon's memory was long. He wrapped a robe around himself and rose from the sheets, swinging his legs over.

It's too early for me to head to my pavilion.

Arriving early would scream weakness and the uncertainty of a green boy.

My bannermen need to think me a lord capable of honoring his oaths.

Jasper poured himself a single glass of wine to steady his nerves and his hands that shook like a leaf.

Frailty.

Weakness.

Jasper scowled and curled his hands into tight fists. He brushed the glass to the side with some disgust. An Arryn doesn't need wine to get through a day. The only thing he required was the courage to act with confidence. If his grand uncle were here, he would cuff him on the back of the head and tell him to show some spine.

When he competed in the Tourney of Gulltown in his first competition, Jasper had been green with worry. Never had he traveled beyond the Bloody Gate and seen so many eyes. Gulltown was massive in his eyes. Tens of thousands called the city home, and it seemed the entire city had come out to watch. The entire Vale would call him pathetic if he did poorly. "Weak Falcon." Jasper could hear them whisper even now, years later. "He can't fly." The greatest knights in the Vale attended the tourney. Royces. Redforts. Corbrays, Waynwood. Dozens of hedge knights and free riders as well. All fine riders of ability. And he wanted to throw up his breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage as he got ready for his first tilt.

"I won't do well." Jasper said. "I've never seen so many people."

"Pay them no mind boy." Grand Uncle Brynden said.

"But- "His voice trailed.

"Focus only on your opponent and send him to the dirt. No one else matters."

Wise words from a wiser man than he, and a small smile snuck up on him. If only you were here, Grand Uncle, but he needed to be in the Eyrie, protecting his wards. The warmth in his chest made him wish otherwise. Soft. Squishy. A thawing heart was dangerous, and he wished someone would slap some sense into him. Jasper groaned as he thought of her lips and that accursed kiss. The sweet kiss haunted him in his dreams. I'm going to ruin it somehow. I ruin everything. Sweet and kind Princess Myrcella made his knees weak, and he behaved like a damn love-struck fool around her. By the Seven I tickled her! What a fool I am! The softness in his chest was pathetic, and he needed to hit something bad before he turned into some woman. A song was being sung in his chest that he liked little. Happiness is a drink Jasper had rarely drank his entire life, and nothing filled him with more unease than the possibility…

Stop! Stop it! He commanded. Focus on winning the tourney. Focus on your opponent. The heart can wait. And he calmed satisfied with the conviction he would uphold Arryn honor. Every opponent turned blond in his eyes with sky-blue eyes and he smiled, knowing how he handled him.

As High as Honor!

"My lord." Jonothor Egen said. "Tis time for your next bout." He was his squire for the day the boy's father had served as his father's Captain of his Household Guard and Jasper agreed to allow him to attend for the day as a kindness. They had honored Ser Egen with his post as the sole Valeman representative in Lord Starks' security force. He commanded the Mud Gate.

Jasper nodded and grabbed his falcon helm. "The crowd awaits, my lord."

"Indeed, Lord Arryn. "Lord Baelish said, amused.

"When I return, we shall continue where we left off." Jasper promised.

They shook hands.

The day had proven a great day of chivalry and nobility. He had faced a few Freys of the Crossing, Lord Jason Mallister on his beautiful white destrier, Ser Marq Piper, Lord Beric Dondarrion with little difficulty. Ser Arys a knight of the Kingsguard had lasted four tilts with him until he sent him to the dirt. The crowd was deafening with applause. King Robert tittered in his seat, red faced, but it was the princess that warmed his heart with her beaming smile and cheers. Queen Cersei glowered with icy eyes and his betroths cheers waned. What a dreadful woman. No wonder the king steps outside the marriage bed. How she made two good-natured children was beyond him.

"Lord Jasper Arryn!" the herald proclaimed as trumpets blared.

"THE RED FALCON!"

"THE YOUNG FALCON!"

"THE FALCON KNIGHT!"

The crowd couldn't decide which moniker they liked better. When he had openly asked Princess Myrcella for her favor before the audience, they exploded with cheers. He tied the ribbon around his lance.

"Lord Renly Baratheon!" The herald proclaimed.

The cheers echoed louder and longer than his own. Lord Renly was beloved by the nobility and the commons as well and he could even begrudge that he was charming, a charming snake in the grass. Jasper thought bitterly. Still, he was the brother of the king and deserved some respect and decency. It would not serve the interests of House Arryn by attacking him directly. Instead, he undermined his efforts to supplant the Lannisters with the lowly stewards from Highgarden. When Prince Tommen became king, he would see Lord Renly stripped from his seat on the Small Council for his intrigues. Uncle Edmure of House Tully would better serve the post of Master of Laws.

"KING ROBERT REBORN!"

"THE GALLANT STAG!"

"NOBLE RENLY!"

Jasper stroked Honor's mane. Lets go kick his noble teeth in. He whispered.

Honor snorted in disagreement.

He deserves it.

Honor snorted again.

Very well, I shall defeat him with honor as befit an honorable foe.

It appeased Honor. Most would consider talking with horses odd, but he understood them well, and Honor was a prickly and proud beast. Anything underhanded annoyed him.

Seven tilts latter and Jasper took a victory lap to the loud cheers of the crowd. "My lord." He dismounted with some grace. "You rode well. You surely are Good King Roberts brother. I consider you a gallant foe." And offered his hand. They grasped hands, and he lifted Lord Renly from the dirt as they both waved to the crowd like they were brothers in arms.

Lord Renly smiled."Ah, but you have yet to face my squire! He shall avenge me, Lord Arryn."

"I await the challenge." Jasper said. I could have knocked him off on the second tilt, but I wanted to make a show of things. The gallantry served him well. I don't want anyone to think me and Lord Renly are at odds. It would earn him little love, or support in this vipers den to openly oppose King Roberts younger brother.

One of his antlers had broken off on the way to the ground. Lord Renly bent down to retrieve it.

"My lord, may I have such?" Jasper asked.

"I suppose to the victor, so go the spoils."

Jasper mounted Honor, and in the crowd of hundreds, he only saw one. The crowd quieted as he approached the royal box. Honor trotted over at his command. "My sweet betrothed, I extend to you the spoils of this match, if it pleases you." Her dainty cheeks reddened at the display and his heart fluttered.

"It pleases me, Lord Arryn."

King Robert clapped fiercely. "YOU HAVE GALL ARRYN! WHAT A DISPLAY!"

"My king." He dipped his head.

Queen Cersei glared daggers. Her smile was thin and tight. What a dreadful and spiteful woman. Jasper thought, but held his tongue. Charming a princess was fine enough award. It warmed him from head to toe to see her the pavilion, Lord Baelish was helping himself to a cup of wine unbothered by his arrival and disapproval."Fine vintage, my lord."

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it." Jasper replied, before sighing. "You were going to tell me about Ser Hugh."

Lord Baelish's eyes twinkled. "Well, you asked about him, my lord." He corrected.

Jasper nodded. " So I did Ser Hugh came to me." He said. "I was harsher than needed." When he came offering to attend to him as recompense, he treated him like the wretched knight he was and sent him packing. Oaths were broken and he could never forgive that. Still, his words were unbecoming a lord. Hot and bothered, he cursed him out of his sight. When he bested him at the joust Ser Hugh was close to tears. It gnawed at him. What did my father see in this man? Why did he make him a knight? Why? Lord Baelish knew everything about his father. A trusted banner whom served leally, and he needed answers. He couldn't ask Lord Stark. All he felt was guilt when he gazed at the man. Guilt for his treachery and betrayal.

"A sad tale." Lord Baelish confessed. "Ser Hugh, ever a devoted son, found himself in serious trouble with his fathers lenders." He explained." The boy's father owed great debts and with his passing, it befell upon the son. He hoped to earn some coin in the capital." He chuckled. "You beat him, though. Every man thinks himself Ser Barristan the Bold. It was a foolish notion on his part."

The tale was a sad one. "I see." His voice was flat with pity. "Is that why he didn't return to the Vale? Fear of the fathers lenders."

"I'd imagine so, but it hardly matters, does it, my lord?" Lord Baelish said.

"Why didn't he mention it?" Jasper wondered, abashed. "I would have helped my fathers squire."

Lord Baelish smiled. "Pride. The downfall of many men." And Jasper could understand the pride of men well. A man had to do things on his own or he was no man, but a boy hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"Then I shall help him. By my honor I shall!" He declared with conviction. "I shall take up my father's cause!"

Lord Baelish tried to make him see reason Ser Hugh wasn't worth it. He advised forgetting him and leaving him to his fate. Jasper shook his head and made his command known, and he dipped his head respectfully before begging his leave. Thoughts swirled in his mind how to help his fathers man if he wouldn't accept the coin from his coffers. An idea formed, but he doubted his betroth would be pleased. Her soft, womanly heart didn't understand martial pursuits well.

"My lord." Jonothor Egen appeared through the flaps of the tent, eager to please and impress. "Its time."

"Do you know who I'm facing?"

"The Lord Hands bastard my lord."

On the field, the bastard stood armored in a simple northern style without the honor of the cloak of House Stark. He was thankful for his helm it hid his instinctive sneer at the sight of him. In the distance, he saw his cousins cheering. Not for me. They cheer for him. Jasper grabbed the lance and battled the shame in his chest to destroy him. Humiliate him before the realm. My kin love him. Don't hurt him. It wouldn't be right for him to hurt him. Unlike the stain of dishonor he had trained for years at the joust and honed his craft. It spoke well that he advanced this far, but talent would only get you so far. Years of dedicated training gave him the edge in this contest.

I'll let him down easily. Jasper thought. It seemed the honorable thing to do for the good of Arryn and Stark. For the sake of his cousins, he would try to show restraint.

Trumpets blared, and Jasper kicked Honor into a gallop, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust. He lowered his lance, prepared it to bounce harmlessly off Snows shield and in a blink he gasped for air as Snow's lance hit him straight on his chest plate in a thunderous crash. I've never started behind…It stripped him of any desire to show restraint. You want to fight bastard like a knight, Ill give you a fucking fight! Raged filed his chest that Snow had pulled ahead. "Lance," He said through clenched teeth as his vision blurred. Only he and Snow remained. Nothing else mattered. Not the princess. Not his cousins. Not even honor itself. Just me and you, Snow. The second tilt both of their lances struck true, but his was better placed. "Lance!" He snapped. The tilts blurred together, and he took abuse that would ache in the morning, but his blows were always better placed and by the end King Robert declared him the victor.

Jasper scarcely could hear him. I want to knock him off! I need to knock him off. And from the glint in those grey eyes, Snow felt precisely the same. They deserved to finish the fight with a true victor as befit a duel of honor. Both of them had put too much in this for a tainted victory on skill alone. Defiance swirled in his chest to continue the match with a cry of As High as Honor, but he bent his head dutifully and accepted the command of His Grace.

In the end it came down to himself and Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Loras the Knight of Flowers, and Ser Gregor the Mountain that Rides, but the sun was setting and King Robert declared the matches would resume upon the morning. Jasper was bruised and exhausted. Dancing and talking with lords and ladies was the last thing he wished, but he had precious little choice.

Myrcella

Myrcella wore a dress of blue silk with silver inner skirts chosen to please her betrothed. Musicians played a lovely tune as lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms danced and laughed. Father enjoyed the festivities as he always did, drinking until he blacked out and entertaining himself with serving girls. Shaming mother before everyone. She played with a loose strand of hair as she watched Jasper approach her and her ladies-in-waiting. He wore his lordly look calm and dignified, unlike the blizzard underneath his skin. Powerful and overwhelming. She waved shyly at him. The butterflies in her chest vanished, replaced with bitterness, as Lady Margaery ambushed him and asked him to dance with an innocent expression. Jasper, trapped by his courtesy, accepted and led her onto the floor. The Seasons of My Love played as they danced.

I loved a maid as white as winter

with moonglow in her hair.

She huffed and turned her head and made conversation with Rosamund. "Princess," a young man said respectfully hand outreached. A striding huntsman in red was etched on his surcoat. Tall and strong, she knew him to be Lord Tarly's son. "May I have this dance this evening?" In the distance, she saw Jasper dancing with the Rose of Highgarden still. Perfect movements as others gawked at them. Was he enjoying himself? Was she trying to steal him away from her?

"As you wish, my lord."

He led her onto the floor and kept his hands on her waist. He told her he was Dickon Tarly Heir to Horn Hill and that he would compete in the melee, but he just had to dance with the fairest woman in the room. Fair enough courtesy, his septon had taught him well enough. Myrcella was more jealous of that woman dancing with her betrothed. Think kind thoughts.

"And not the joust?"

His jaw became taut as a bow before shaking his head. Dickon asked if she was enjoying the tourney.

She nodded as they twirled, but after another finishing the song she begged for his leave. Dickon was kind enough, but it would be improper to dance for too long with one man. Lord Tarly's heir nodded his head in understanding. He had scarcely left her when gangly Alyn Ambrose asked for a dance. She swayed with him for a time as he tried to charm her with japes, but she begged for her leave. Then some Fossoway boy approached her with an amiable smile. Myrcella's feet ached from all the dancing, but she couldn't find it in her to decline. In the distance, she saw Jasper was still dancing with Margaery Tyrell gracefully. She giggled at something he said and Myrcella knew this was some Tyrell plot.

The harlot wishes to dig her thorns into him!

In the middle of the song Jenny of Oldstones her legs wobbled when Jasper interrupted the dance, tapping Horas Redweyne on the shoulder. His face was bright red and his hands were shaking. "I wish to dance with my betrothed." He all but commanded him to leave.

Horas had never been the bravest of knights withered away like a dying flower, and he dipped his head as Jasper took ahold of her. She leaned deeper into him than the others, partly being tired and she wished too. The perfume of roses clung to him, and she wriggled her nose in disgust. "Enjoy your dance with Lady Margaery?" She asked.

"I wished to dance with you." He grumbled, annoyed. "But I had to be polite."

Myrcella smiled. "I wished to dance with you, too." She tried to dance with him, but she was too tired. It was a more pathetic swirl as she leaned against his chest, looking up into his light blue eyes. Jasper didn't seem to mind too much as she saw him listen intently to the songs played. He tried to hide it, but it was easy for her to read him. My soft romantic of a betrothed. In the distance she saw her cousin Lancel dancing with Alla Tyrell to his fathers disapproval. Ser Kevan spoke quiet words with Lord Stark. Elsewhere, Uncle Renly had a crowd around him as he told a bawdy jape. She lost herself in the moment with the sweet music playing. Politics forgotten, for a moment, she would just be a girl dancing with her betrothed. Jasper calmed and seemed at peace as they swayed together.

"DON"T SHAME ME WOMAN BY FORBIDDING ME TO FIGHT!" Father bellowed, and the halls went quiet as mother went silent. "HOLD YOUR TOUNGE!" Myrcella found herself pale and clutching Jasper tightly. Please don't hit her father. Even mother deserves it not. Her prayers answered as he stormed off instead with the white cloaks of the Kingsguard following behind him. If only they could get along for one evening, but she knew they had no love for the other. It was a hateful affair, as some eyes seemed to gaze at her with pity. Tears almost formed.

Jasper caressed her cheek with his thumb, his eyes softening with Arryn kindness. "The hour grows late, princess. Let me escort you back to your quarters."

They walked together, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Jasper grinned. "Princess." He said. "Did you enjoy the trophy?"

"I fear I do not know what to do with it." She confessed.

"Oh." Jasper said and swallowed. His body tensed. "If you don't-"

She kissed him on the cheek. "It was still incredibly thoughtful."

A long pause as Jasper didn't know how to reply, but he nodded his head. They walked down the hallways in the cool nighttime air, lost in conversation. Myrcella did most of the work, but he tried as well. He talked about how he felt he failed his little brother. Robert Arryn, a sickly boy of eleven name days. A few weeks ago, I couldn't even get two words out of him. Myrcella remembered. Thank the Seven she had tamed him. Until he startled her when he halted. Jasper gazed at her with some uncertainty before speaking softly."When I win the tourney and I shall." He puffed up his chest with boyish certainty that made her giggle. "I wish to use my prize money to build you that garden in the Eyrie, but I know not of things that grow. Trees and flowers I know precious little. Would you be willing to help in such endeavours?"

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest like a beating drum. "Do you wish to build a garden with myself, my lord?"

Jasper brushed a loose strand behind her ear. "I wish to try."

"I find it most agreeable." Myrcella answered, beaming as she flung her arms around him like a silly girl as he reddened a shade deeper than his auburn curls, and she would not let him go. They were going to be happy in the Eyrie Myrcella knew in her heart she had him. He would always defend her and her little brother from Joffrey, and what more could she ask for? Nothing, Myrcella thought as she laid in his powerful arms.

Robert

"FACE ME RHAEGAR!" Robert galloped, water spraying in every direction as he closed in like a hunter for the kill. Some unfortunate hedge knight attempted to halt him. Robert smashed his skull with his warhammer, crushing it like a grape before the roaring waters swallowed the corpse. Blood kissed Rhaegars armor as they circled. "YOU"VE LET ALL THESE MEN DIE FOR YOU! YOU RAPIST!" The Prince of Dragonstone was tall and regal on horseback, but Robert was a Baratheon and stood above him. A towering giant wearing an antlered helm.

He swung with every ounce of strength as he thought of Lyanna's eyes. It glanced off Rhaegar's shield. "Cousin," His voice was mournful. "You don't understand. Let me explain."

Roberts vision darkened. "DIE! DIE! YOU FUCKER!" Blow after blow was exchanged, each fiercer than the last and yet Rhaegar gazed with deep melancholy, as if this were only a spar and not a clash to the death. "I don't wish to hurt you, cousin." Robert slashed, trying to break every bone in his body.

It bounced harmlessly off his shield. Nothing seemed to break the perfect prince. Not even his blows as strong as a giant.

"I needed her for the prophesy. I'm the Prince that was Promised." Rhaegar said softly. "You can't win. I have destiny. Importance to the Realm of Men. Unlike you." He sighed. "Don't make this song a sadder one than it needs to be. Yield Robert. Yield and live."

The arrogance in his voice rankled him. Rhaegar was madder than his father was. His claws were just as twisted and his breath just as foul. "Your insane." Robert said, suddenly tired. Everything ached. Every pain weighed him down like a bag of rocks. Cuts and bruises felt mortal.

"A song is coming, Robert. I need you in the war for the dawn. Take the black."

"Never. You raped her. You stole her from me."

"She's mine Robert. She's always been mine." Rhaegar smiled, a bloody thing that taunted him.

He raised his hammer with defiance.

Rhaegar chuckled, amused. "This is sad cousin." And he swung to end his life.

But it was Rhaegar who screamed.

"Lyanna." He breathed for the last time and his violet eyes closed.

Even his last words mock me

Robert staggered upright, swaying every direction before grabbing his monstrous war hammer and brought it to bare against Rhaegars chest. The blow sent the rubies flying and men scrambling to retrieve them.

"Your grace?" The simpering voice repeated, making his ears bleed.

Robert returned from the trident where he had been strong. Gods, I was strong then. Two boys with golden hair of House Lannister attended to him: Tyrek and Lancel, but they were useless couldn't even attach his armor on him. Lannisters were dumb bastards, but the court jester could put his armor on with little trouble. I should have taken Neds boy to squire. He wasn't some lickspit like these little shits and could strap him in.

In the melee, he would finally get to hit something again and get the blood flowing from his limbs. A crown was a punishment worse than death, but he would be a man again. Beating other men bloody. Damn you woman for forbidding me If Lyanna had lived, she would never have shamed me so. Robert swore. Though when he squinted, trying to recall her, he couldn't picture anything. Did she look like Ned? Long faced with grey eyes. Was her hair long and black as night, or was it brown? Oh, Lyanna, what did you look like? All he knew was that nothing could fill the hole in his heart that she left behind.

"WINE!"

Lancel launched to his feet and stumbled to pour him his drink. Robert took the goblet and chugged the bitter contents down in one gulp. The tent flaps opened and Ser Barristan appeared with loyal Ned by his side. Ned's long face seemed troubled. A common expression of his since he pinned that damn badge to his chest.

"Look at them Ned." Robert said. "These useless squires of mine." He laughed. "Can't even put on my suit of armor."

Ned rubbed his chin. "It's not the squires fault. You're too fat for your armor."

The blunt honesty made him giddy with happiness, his lips twirling into a wide grin as he roared with laughter. Both of the boys chuckled and smiled. Robert turned and glowered. "Do you think I'm too fat, my armor?"

"No, your grace." Lancel chimed.

"So you don't like the Hands joke?"

Lancel whitened like a sheet and stammered out nonsense.

"Your torturing the poor boy." Ned said, trying to suppress a smile.

Lancel looked as if he was going to piss himself and Tyrek was little better.

"You both heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armor!" Genius struck him as he recalled a prank from the days in the Eyrie. "Now, go find the breastplate stretcher!"

They looked as if the Stranger himself had appeared. Twisting and stumbling out of the flap, Robert grabbed his stomach, trying to steady himself. "How long do you think until they figure it out?"

Ser Barristan chuckled amused and Ned smiled like they did as boys. It was good having him down by his side again, as if times were simpler. He saw the disapproval in Neds eyes as he motioned to the suit of armor.

"Not you too Ned!" Robert said. "Your juices may have frozen, but my still flow. I'm going to hit something, damn it!" Men would hit him and he would smash them and the world would make sense again. It would be like the days of the rebellion constantly fighting, shitting, and fucking.

"No one would dare strike you, your grace." Ser Barristan said.

Robert stumbled agape. "Of course they would! It's a melee and they'll hit me. What do you think those prancing fools will let me win?"

"The last person standing would be you." Ned said with Ser Barristan bowing his head in silent agreement.

He saw stars as he lifted the breast plate and tossed it. Ser Barristan dodged, and he roared. "Out! Get out of here before I kill you!" Both of them tried to leave, but Robert grabbed Ned by his shoulder. "You stay." He commanded and poured himself a drink and shoved it into his chest, staining Neds shirt. "Drink."

"Rob-"

"Drink your king commands it!" He snapped as he rubbed his temples feeling despair and misery. I can't even be hit anymore. Ned's eyes studied him, worried like a good friend. My brother in all but blood. The Crown on his head, a band of golden and silver, should have been Neds. He should have been the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He told Ned this, but he merely claimed that he had the better claim. Oh, you simple fool Ned.

"Listen, Ned, I've often dreamed of leaving this crown behind. Go form a sellsword company in Essos how the singers would love me. A sellsword king." He said. "You know what stopped me?"

Ned shrugged his shoulders.

" The thought of Cersei whispering in the boy's ear. Joffrey wasn't right." Robert said before grinning. "but I don't have to worry about that any longer! You are going to handle all of that!" Ned was lost. He was never the sharpest tool in the arsenal. "Fuck me, I was going to tell you at the end of the feast gods, your face would have been priceless."

Ned remained silent and filled with a worried expression.

"Arryn told me today that my boy knocked your own off a horse with a lance!" Robert said with pride. "He shall grow to be a fine king in Jons home. Tell me, old friend, if I head east, what changes?"

If Ned wasn't worried before, he was now, and he committed to the choice in his heart. "Much would change, Robert. You are the king."

Robert chuckled. "I'm a fat shit who can't fit in his armor. I am no king. Never have been or should have been. It should have been you or Jon."

"We didn't have the blood, Robert. You were our king." Ned said wistfully. "The king we chose."

"A shit choice then, and a shit choice today. This jape is at an end." Robert said. "Lord Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell and my Hand of the King, I announce my intention to head east to the lands of Essos with any fool that wishes to accompany me. You shall become Lord Regent of the Seven Kingdoms in my absence. You shall rule as it always should have been. The Gods know you'll hate it as I do, but you'll do it well."

Much like in the crypts of Winterfell, Ned went to his knees. "Robert," He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You honor me, but should think about this some more." No doubt he thought this was some drunken antic on his part.

Robert almost groaned. "I've thought of this enough. Nothing changes Ned, except you can do as you please with a free hand. My son Tommen is in the Eyrie well away from Cersei and her foul words. All the men of court will swear oaths to you. You have good men around you. Men of the North and the Vale. Good solid men, and if anyone messes with you, I'll return from Essos and I'll cave them in as I did the dragon!" Crushing skulls and fucking girls is what he was good for. Ned had the temperament to sit on the throne and would make his reign something to be proud of. At least they'll say I did this one thing right.

He helped him up. The command still dazed Ned as he swung his arm around him. "Ned." He voiced with good humor. "Say something. Anything. I need to make sure you still live."

"Are you certain this is what you wish?"

"Aye it is." For the first time since the Greyjoy Rebellion, he was happy. Soon he could smash something between his hands again. It deeply troubled Ned's eyes as the weight of what he asked became apparent. "Ah, Ned, enough of what is going to come. Let's live in the now. I'll try to bring a smile to that long face of yours." He japed about a story involving the pox faced squire for Lord Redfort. Then he spoke about the tourney and why he thought it was going to end up being the Knight of Flowers versus Jasper Arryn.

Arya

She hated the skirt.

But she had to agree to dress like a lady to attend the tourney. Septa Mordane had made that plain enough to father, and Sansa supported her. She had to hide a scowl at the memory. Her septa watched her like a hawk. Always critiquing her posture and her manners as if any of those things mattered. Syrio would never be stupid like that. Unlike using a needle, water dancing was enjoyable, freeing, and useful.

He must be the greatest swordsman that ever lived.

Jon needed to meet him, but he was always so busy with Ser Barristan the Bold. A fine man, she supposed. Father always spoke highly of him and his talents. But he wasn't Syrio. It annoyed her that Jon always seemed too busy for her. In Winterfell, he always spent time with her, but lately his mind had been focused on winning this accursed tourney. Jeyne Poole stupidly called it the greatest match of chivalry and valor ever seen.

Arya almost rolled her eyes.

All of them were terrible except Jon and her father's men. Especially that no good wretched falcon lord she hated him the most. Only Prince Joffrey was worse. Him and the Hound. They hurt Bran and killed Mycha. King Robert should have killed him instead of just banishing him. Cousin Jaspers betrayal was personal and far cutting. He came into their home and attacked her brother over a simple mistake and didn't have the courage to apologize. He attacked the pack, and she had bought that stupid act of his pretending to be conflicted and confused like a fool. No good man could hate Jon. Jasper was as wretched as the prince.

I was stupid. A complete idiot.

Arya vowed never to be so stupid again. Jon was the only reason she was here to watch him knock these pretty southern boys to the ground. One day when he was a knight and named to the Kingsguard, he would take her to squire. Arya saw it all so clearly. He had done very well until he tilted against her cousin as much as she despised and hated Jasper he could ride a horse very well.

Arrogant prick.

The king erred in ending the match. Both of them were heated and wanted to keep going.

Jon would have won in the end.

Instead of riding, Jon was out attending to Ser Barristan as he prepared for his match with Lord Jasper Arryn. The summer heat was unbearable, and the waiting was by far worse. However, Jeyne Poole and her giggling made her ears bleed.

"Oh, Lord Arryn is so handsome and gallant." Jeyne claimed. "Did your heart just melt when he gave Princess Myrcella such a trophy?"

Sansa, ever a perfect lady, nodded her head. "It was most gallant of my cousin. A true knight, but Ser Barristan is of the Kingsguard, it shall be a close thing."

"I wish I can meet a lord as gallant and dreamy as Lord Arryn. I'm very jealous of the princess." Jeyne blushed.

"Princess Myrcella could do better." She mumbled.

Septa Mordane chided her, appalled by the truth. Jeyne looked at her like she was stupid, just like she did in Winterfell when she called her horse face. Sansa said nothing, but gave a disappointed look. Robb would have been better. Anyone was better than Cousin Jasper. Princess Myrcella was fine, but too soft, like all the southerns seemed to be. They all seemed to hate each other, but refused to say it out loud. The Tyrells and their bannerman seemed to despise the Lannisters and their banners. It seemed like only a match and everything would go up with flame. She mentioned it to father, but he dismissed it with a smile and chuckle. I'm not imagining it. Why did everyone treat her like she was a babe, like Rickon? She could see things too!

Sansa giggled with Jeyne some more and Arya imagined chasing cats in the Red Keep. After this tourney was done, she would have to work twice as hard to make up for lost time. A thousand cuts shall make me as hard as steel. She brooded some more, waiting for the match between Ser Loras and Ser Gregor the Mountain that Rides. Arya thought Ser Loras looked more a girl than a knight, but she hoped he would beat the Hounds brother. He's probably killed hundreds of Mychas. The herald announced the riders, and they both trotted onto the field. The Mountain was bigger than the Hound or even Hodor back in Winterfell riding on top of a massive battle horse that could barely support him, unlike the dainty flower knight as clean and shiny like a knight from one of Sansas songs. He rode a white beast.

"My lady, your beauty has touched me." Ser Loras said, giving Sansa a red rose.

She looked at it a bit hesitantly as everyone watched her. Father had joined them, it seemed, and his eyes were hard and cold at the action. "Thank you Ser Loras." She said, more guarded than touched. At least she isn't as stupid as she used to be.

Still, she brought it to her chest as Jeyne beamed beyond jealous. Idiot. All girls seemed to be idiots worrying about flowers. Swords were better in every way. Both knights galloped to their starting positions as a trumpet blared and a cloud of dirt and smoke kicked up. Ser Loras's lance was straight and perfect and the giant that was the Mountain fell sideways out of the saddle. The day was his own, and the crowd clapped with approval. Until it gave way to screams as Ser Gregor took off the head of his horse with a single slash of his sword before making his way to Ser Loras, who turned too late and was knocked off the saddle. Father was up shouting out commands, but they drowned it out in a chorus of voices.

A sword fell, and it cut pretty Ser Loras in two like a log of wood for the hearth. A pool of crimson red formed, staining the ground. Jeyne cried like a baby. Arya had never seen someone die before. Sansa moved quickly to cover her eyes, but she still peered through the fingers. A storm of steel emerged on the tourney field. White cloaks fell to the ground unmoving along with several Baratheon guardsman until finally Ser Gregors head was taken off by Ser Barristan in a ferocious display etched into her memory.

The head rolled on the ground before coming to a stop and that was when she was ushered out of the stands by Septa Mordane, with the crowd roaring behind them.

Authors note: Next up the fallout to the death of the Knights of Flowers. As always I enjoy the reviews. I love seeing them and reading them.

Freedmoon: I think you are hitting some of the big points where Jasper/Myrcella are and how that would impact if someone try to call her and her brother a bastard. At this point I dont think it would end well. Jasper would explode and would call for the persons head on a spike for speaking such foul treason, but you are right Ill have to weave it into my plot eventually. Might happen in a couple chapters or several chapters latter who knows!

Id say Jasper is certainly the better jouster than Jon, but if Jon grew up as a prince in KL under Ser Arthur Dayne Id say he would be better than Jasper, but it would be a close thing. At this point Jasper is superior though Jon has innate talent.

Renly is a guy who I think can be very insightful, but also very arogant given how he was raised. Hes sort of humoring Olenna about the bastards, cause in his mind theres no way Jon A would go to Stannis over him. Its an ego sort of thing. Now in terms why do they understimiate Jasper its mainly cause the guy is young and on the surface is wedded to Arryn honor in public. They wouldnt see a guy like that as a threat. Plus most people assume Ned is the reason why everything changed. He is the elder statesman/hero from Roberts Rebellion and it appears hes the guy that brought all the Northman, Valeman, and Riverlands guys down south not Jasper. But a few of the more insightful players seem to understand that Jasper can very much be a player in the game. Im sure Tywin would love Jasper as an heir despite his obsession with honor aside.(He would strip that from him) But yeah his big success most people associate with Ned.

Now for the 4 Valyrian steel daggers I was using mainly the original plot in the first book where it seems pretty obivious that George meant to make the Valyrian steel daggers more common place than he did otherwise the whole catspaw plot doesnt make much since. I also think its makes more sense that there are more daggers around given it would the more likely item to be traded. So I took the liberty of making them slightly more common place than they did in cannon cause I have the power of the pen!

Amok: Thanks!

Matywilks: It isn't for everyone. I tried I guess I failed for you, sorry.