Ned

Robert's pavilion was the largest in the city of tents set up for the tourney and it was not large enough for this. They packed it to the brim with Lannisters, Tyrells, Starks, Baratheons. Among their company was Lord Renly beside himself with grief for his former squire, Lord Mace Tyrell Lord of Highgarden, Lady Olenna Tyrell had squeezed her way in, Robert behind his desk with a bottle in hand wishing to be in a drunken stupor, Ser Kevan Lannister solemn and unreadable standing by two red cloaks wearing crimson red of House Lannister, and Queen Cersei as beautiful as the dawn. All the men of the Small Council joined them save Barristan the Bold, whom oversaw the body arrangements for Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Boros Blount. Two white cloaks had fallen to bring justice to the Mountain that Rides. After the brutal murder on the field, emotions were high. Lord Tyrell face was redder than his doublet, which was stained with the lifeblood of his son Loras Tyrell. He had wailed and clutched his corpse before the entire realm. Ned couldn't blame the man. If it had happened to Robb or Jon, he would have been red with fury. Unlike Ser Kevan, whom stood ever calm and dignified before the glares.

You wish for me to rule over these men. Ned thought, amazed. Of all of Roberts antics, this had to be the greatest folly, leaving for Essos and making him clean up his mess. He wouldn't leave after what happened.

"MY SON IS DEAD! YOU MURDERED HIM!" Lord Tyrell waved a finger at Ser Kevan and looked to advance, held back by Lord Renly.

"I understand you are upset, my lord, but House Lannister holds no blame for the tragedy this day." Ser Kevan said. "Ser Gregor was a mad dog whose actions were his own."

"And whose fault is it when a dog goes mad, but the masters?" Lord Baelish whispered in his ears, and his sly voice rankled him. Ned said nothing in reply, but he wondered. Did the Lannisters kill the Tyrell boy? Or was it, as they claim, some act of a madman? Likely he would never know for certain that truth died when Ser Barristan took the head of Ser Gregor with one slash of his sword. Though by the glares, he knew the Tyrells certainly blamed them. It was a mess of things, and Robert wanted to leave it to him. Lord Regent? I don't even wish to be Lord Hand.

Queen Cersei's lips pursed in a thin smile. "Ser Gregor was a volatile man. Everyone knows this. Just an unhappy accident. Tourneys have them, do they not?"

"Dear, you make it sound like my grandson just slipped out of his saddle and not split in two like a log for the hearth!" Lady Olenna retorted.

Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his brilliant white beard. "Why Lady Olenna I find-"

"Frankly, I don't find the words of a decrepit old man illuminating my grandson is dead."

"My son is dead. I demand justice!" Lord Tyrell puffed up his chest. His eyes teary with grief, Ned felt pity for the man, but he had to be firm: he was Roberts Hand first and a sympathetic father second.

Ned added his voice to the fray. "My lords, we are all united in seeking justice is done. Everyone here has condemned Ser Gregor and his actions. His Grace will act justly."

He would have imagined Lord Tyrell to answer, but it was Lord Renly who replied. The Lord of Storms End became remarkably composed. Everyone knew how close he was to his former squire, much like him and Robert to Jon. "Well meaning words Lord Hand." He said. "But action speaks louder than words. What will you do, brother?"

All the eyes turned to Robert, whom wished to be anywhere but the pavilion. He darkened as he rose with a quiet fury. "Lord Tyrell shall be gifted the head of Ser Gregor as recompense. Place it on a spike in front of your seat. I don't care what you do with it, dump in a field of roses if you wish." He said. "I denounce him and I attaint him for the killing of a great lord's son."

"And the Lannisters?" Lord Renly asked.

"Bah, they had nothing to do with this." Robert scoffed. "What reason would they have to kill Ser Loras? No quarrel exists between Highgarden and Casterly Rock."

They wished to make Lady Margaery Queen. Ned thought, but held his tongue. Robert would only laugh at that.

It did not appease the Tyrells. Lord Tyrell was shaking his head and looked to speak before Robert cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Hold it. I'm not done." He declared. "You have a daughter, don't you, Lord Tyrell? Lady Margaery, I'm told, is a beautiful maiden. I have a brother they shall wed. Storms End and Highgarden united. A fine match, a powerful match."

Lord Renly blinked in surprise.

Ned found some humor in that. He spends all this time trying to make her queen, and he ends up wedding her how queer.

"And you have a second son, don't you, Lord Tyrell?"

Lord Tyrell coughed. "I do, your grace. My boy Garlan."

"I shall make him a High Lord. Lord Of Summerhall."

His lordship gasped, and his anger seemed to leave him. The price of his sons life? Titles and marriages. "That seems appropriate, I think-"

"Oh, quiet Mace. It's a castle of ruined rocks. It would cost House Tyrell a fortune to rebuild it."

"I agree." Robert said as he twisted to his queen. "Your father shall help fund its restoration."

The queen's green eyes blazed like fire. "And why should we? Over some accident in a tourney, spill our coffers dry."

Robert darkened. "Because your king asks it of you and you shall do as bid." His shadow fell over her.

Ser Kevan nodded his head. "I think we can work an arrangement out. We are ever loyal banners of your grace."

The Tyrells seemed content by Roberts choices. Ser Kevan pledged he would work out a timetable with Lord Tyrell over payments on behalf of his brother. Only Lord Renly didn't seem happy by Roberts commands, but he said no word in disagreement. Tempers cooled and Robert sent them all away with a gruff command. Everyone save himself whom he commanded to remain. Robert sat behind his desk, putting his dirty boots on top of the desk relaxing. "Gods, I thought they would never leave." Robert laughed. "Not going to miss this in Essos or mayhaps the Stepstones. The Rogue Stag they shall call me!"

It struck him like a fist to the jaw. He still means to leave. It was madness two Great Houses on the verge of war and he still wishes to leave. The Lions and the Roses coming to blows would savage the realm. Robert's realm. A realm he wishes to entrust to me.

Ned told him he couldn't leave and Robert laughed until he noted the serious glint in his eyes. Words and raised voices uttered against the other as they quarreled as fierce as the day Robert condoned the murder of children. "You have a duty, Robert!" Ned said, holding his ground against his fury.

"I've done it for 17 years, Ned. Seventeen years I've kept the peace, damn it."

He understood he was set on his path. Nothing would sway him. When Robert made a choice, then not even the Old Gods could sway him. "Your grace." He mumbled and pushed past the flaps. Jory was outside waiting for him. He dipped his head and provided him a horse for a ride back to the Tower of the Hand. Alyn had taken a dozen of his men and seen his girls safely back to the residence. He would have to speak with them about what they had seen. Nether had seen anyone die before.

Maybe I should send them back to Winterfell. Ned thought. In Winterfell, they would be safe. Nothing happened in peaceful Winterfell with long comforting grey walls unlike the south where Starks went to die. Brandon. Lyanna. Father. A mangled body of a boy playing war and the clanging of swords echoed in his skull and he could taste the sands of Dorne on his lips. Promise me, Ned. Promise me, Ned. "My lord?" Jory asked as the clanging dulled. They had arrived in the courtyard, it seemed. How did he get here so quickly? Ned didn't understand, but he dismounted and went to his solar to do his duty.

That is where Ned remained when Jasper Arryn was ushered in. A tall youth with Cats red hair and bright blue eyes. Just like Robb. He had Jon Arryn's nose, though. If only he still lived, Jon would have known what to do. His nephew smiled, but he saw him fidget with his hands by his pant legs. "Uncle." He said with quick courtesy. "I thought it my duty to speak with you. I apologize if I'm interrupting."

Ned smiled. "Take a seat, nephew."

His nephew nodded and seated himself straight as an arrow before him. "My thanks." He said politely. "As you know, two men of the Kingsguard fell valiantly in defense of our good king. It's my intention to advocate for Robar Royce to be gifted with the white cloak. I'd like a name from yourself, Lord Stark, to represent the Northman."

A headache formed. "The bodies are barely cold in the ground." He said with dismay. "We can speak of this later."

"We certainly cannot!" Jasper said with heat before calming. "Forgive me for my tone. I am young, but we can't wait. We must strike before the Lannisters or the Tyrells convince His Grace of their candidates. Speed is key and we cannot let His Grace to be surrounded by Lannister or Tyrell men. The Kingsguard is not an institution we can afford to lose. They guard the king and his family." His nephew said with steel.

Ned sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It would not be honorable, Jasper."

"There is precious little honor with failing our king with inaction." Jasper said. "We, the men of the North and the Vale, needed to be by King Roberts side and I will act with or without your support." He vowed. "But we would stand a greater chance together. I beg of you, uncle, trust me on this as you did on cleaning court. Our position has improved because of it."

He remembered the advice given in Winterfell. Bringing his men south made him sleep easier at night. The Lannisters are no strangers to dishonor, nor the Tyrells either "We shall do nothing today, but tomorrow we shall advocate together for Ser Robar Royce. It would be in poor taste to do it tonight." He was a good choice. The man had performed well during the tourney and was the son of Yohn, a man Ned knew to be a man of great honor.

"And your choice, my lord?"

"I shall have to sleep on it."

Jasper offered his hand, and they shook on it. "You rode well, lad. I know Jon would have been proud." He told him. Better than Denys and he was half horse. It didn't spare him from the gryphons' sword at the Battle of the Bells when they crossed swords. Denys fought with all the gallantry of an Arryn, but it was Jon Connington that won the day when he thrusted a sword through his chest.

"I hope so." Jasper said. "Give my cousins my regards."

Ned nodded.

When he returned to have supper with his children, he spoke to both his daughters privately once the plates had been cleared away. Sansa had dried tears on her cheek and he whispered sweet words to soothe her. She handled herself with grace like a true southern lady like her mother. He kissed her on the brow and promised everything would be well. Don't make promises you cannot keep. Lyanna had told him that once. It was a bitter thought. However, it was Arya that worried him the most with the same wolfsblood of Brandon and Lyanna. When he entered her room, she was balancing on one leg. Ned couldn't help but smile.
"Training going well?"

Arya turned. "Syrio says I'm becoming as quick as a cat!"

Ned nodded. "Good, that is very good." He said, taking a seat on the foot of her bed. "I'm here" He paused, "To make sure you are well after what happened on the tourney field."

"I'm not a babe, father!" Arya crossed her arms. "I don't need to be comforted for seeing some blood." She eyes him curiously. "But what is to happen now? Will the Tyrells seek justice? If it was Jon on the field, you would have sought justice." A shiver ran through him at the thought. Lyannas boy cut in two, his lifeblood flowing onto the dirt. Instead of Lord Tyrell clutching his son, it was him. What would he have done?

"His Grace has given them justice. We shall have peace yet, my little wolf."

"How?" Arya asked.

"He gave them titles and marriages to keep them happy."

Arya scowled. "That's it! Is that what their son's life was worth?!" Her face crunched up, bothered as he place his arm around her. She looked up. "Would you have accepted that, father? If it was me or Jon, or Robb."

Ned shook his head and brought her in close." Never." He vowed. "You are my children." And when Robert named him regent before the realm, he would send the girls back to Winterfell. If the Lannisters were so blatant to murder Loras Tyrell, no one was safe. Maybe it was only the actions of Ser Gregor? But he could take no chances with his daughters. If only he could send Jon away as well, but the boy was old enough to make his choices.

A crown of blood and tears of children.

It was one promise he couldn't keep, and Lyanna would curse him for it.

Renly

Renly thrusted deep with a loud grunt. The young man was slender as a reed with soft curly chestnut hair and if he closed his eyes, he imagined it was Loras. A beautiful rose. My rose. He spilled his seed over him and the sheets. And rolled over his chest, rising and falling as he wished his Knight of Flowers remained with him. Renly tossed him some coins and got dressed. The mans name was unimportant, just a lowborn whore. He didn't hold a candle to a man of high birth and caliber. Outside, some guardsman waited for him as he took his leave in the whorehouses. They handed him the reins of a black steed. It would be a long ride back to the Red Keep.

The Silent Sisters had prepared Loras body in the Great Sept of Baelor where a dozen knights of the Reach held vigil for Lord Tyrell's boy. A boon of his royal brother to pacify Lord Mace. The High Septon himself had led the prayers over his corpse. Men told him they wept at his moving voice, the so-called avatar of the gods. Renly had not gone to visit him or lead the vigil. He wished to remember Loras as he had been in life. Beautiful and vibrant before Ser Gregor made him ugly with one simple swing of his massive sword. When the body had been prepared, he would lead the escort of a hundred knights of the south to transport Loras back to Highgarden. The Lords of the Reach fumed still over the honors Robert had denied them in court and the death of Loras would rub them raw. Vulnerable to an amiable smile and a gentle ear. A banner of the Kingsguard would fly with them as he had plied that concession from Robert. It was an escort worthy of a prince of the realm and it earned him many friends amongst the men of the Reach.

A future king needs to make them. Renly thought.

Loras believed in him to be an excellent king and he was right. I'm more capable than Robert, I make friends better than Stannis, Tommen is a weak boy controlled by Lord Arryn(For the moment)and his ridiculous honor, and Myrcella a mere girl. They were likely Roberts git, but whatever chance his plot to see them set aside ended with one calculating act by the Lannisters. Lord Stark or Robert would see any attempt by his own lip as a desperate attempt to punish the Lannisters. My word has lost all credibility with them.

Now the Lords of the Reach and Lords of the Stormlands could certainly believe it and when the time was right, he would pounce and seize the moment. Robert would whore himself to an early grave soon enough. Renly dismounted. The nighttime air was cool on the skin. Plots swirled in his mind and when he closed his eyes, he imagined the crown residing on his head.

A golden crown as beautiful as the dawn.

He opened the door and dressed for bed. Renly had just crawled underneath the covers when a sweet voice interrupted his plotting mind. "You didn't come to visit Loras." Lady Margaery said, appearing from the shadows. Dainty hips with a dress that left little to the imagination. "I had expected to see you."

"How long have you been waiting in the shadows, fair lady?" Renly asked with an easy smile.

"Not long." Her reply. She sat at the foot of the bed. "He loved you. Did you know that?"

Renly wondered what game the rose of Highgarden was pressing here. "He was my squire. I shall grieve for him deeply as you do, my lady." And in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, that's all he could ever be. My squire cut down in his prime. Never a lover.

Lady Margaery laughed sweetly. "It was more than that, my lord. He loved you." Her golden eyes became serious and Renly saw she knew. I shouldn't be surprised, really. Renly thought. The Tyrells were a close knit family. Loras likely spilled his guts. When they were younger, they were as close as peas in a pod. She was his confident in everything and his closest friend. Loras told him stories of them capturing dragon flies and climbing apple trees together while Willas and Garlan watched with quiet amusement.

"Now we are betrothed to wed." Renly said.

"Now we are betrothed to wed." She nodded in agreement.

It should have been with Robert. If it wasn't for the dullard from Winterfell it would have been so. Could be worse. Renly knew. At least she understood his preferences. No need for him lying over that.

"Did you love him?"

"It aches when I think of him." Renly admitted.

She lit up and smiled a small devious smile, and he raised his brow, amused. "Good." Her voice was as soft as honey. "When you wear the crown, we shall take everything from them. The Lannisters are not the only ones who repay debts. For Loras." She vowed, and it sent a shiver down his spine. It would be a bloody affair, and he hated the sight of blood.

Renly laughed at her boldness. "Why are you so certain I wish a crown?"

"Oh, I can spot a fellow kindred ambitious soul when I see one. I've always wished to be Queen ever since I was a girl." She said, crawling towards him with a confident stride. " And you are every inch a king. Handsome. Charming. Keen. You would rule well."

I am certainly all of those things. Renly thought as he chuckled. "You know of my relationship with Loras and yet you try to seduce me?

Lady Margaery giggled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I find it fun." She pressed him down with her soft hands. "Very fun." She smiled and whispered into his ear. "Your grace." The words almost made him groan. Your grace. He could see everyone bowing before him, showering him with the praise he deserved, and he deserved the crown his brother squandered.

"My queen." He replied in kind and earned a light blush from her cheeks. "You are an ambitious woman."

"Guilty." She agreed, traced around his jawline as she showered him with sweet words. Renly leaned back against the pillows and listened to the picture she painted and drifted off to sleep.

King Renly…

Jasper

Jasper had discovered Princess Myrcella's nose wriggled when she was angry and she seemed to be rather irate with him, but he only saw the crown of blue roses upon her head and he grinned like a fool, the words flying over his head. In the stables it smelled of hay and horse and he always felt relaxed around them, especially before a fight. He stroked Honors mane and fed him a carrot. Ill have to shine your coat some more. It's losing its luster.

"Jasper Arryn, are you even listening to me?!"

"You are saying I'm the greatest tourney knight that has ever lived, and you swoon at my radiant smile that makes your knees wobble with desire." He winked.

Her eyes squinted as tight as arrow slits. I've never seen her eyes squint like that before. Maybe teasing her wasn't a good idea? But he was a slow learner, especially with the affairs of the heart. He tightened and swallowed. Have I erred beyond repair? It seemed a common fate for him to err. Would this be like with his cousins? Or his parents? Or Harry? Jasper had loved him once and then Harry broke his heart beyond repair.

"I'm not amused, my lord, by such japes."

Jasper winced before scowling. "This is why I did not mention such. I knew you would be upset."

"So you planned to lie to me and inform me after the fact?" Myrcella said with some bite.

"Worked with my granduncle." Jasper smiled. "He would cuff me afterwards, always left quite the welt. I suppose this is your version of a cuff to the head."

They argued over the melee and his participation. She had discovered him entering the lists at the last moment and was a rather rabid badger because of it. Be weary lad if a woman looks half crazed. You are likely going to get slapped. The warm voice of his grand uncle echoed . And if you bed a woman, make sure she drinks her moontea. Jasper's cheeks became flushed when the Blackfish had that talk with him. Not that he thought much of lowborn women to bed. He was more focused on honing his skills with lance and sword and ruling over the Vale.

"I wish Ser Brynden were here to cuff you."

Jasper chuckled. "You and me both. But please Myrcella, try to keep your voice down or you'll frighten the horses. Honor is ever sensitive to a lady's cries."

Myrcella bit underneath her lip. Her dainty cheeks became flushed as the Maiden herself. "I just struggle to understand. You were adamant that you would not take part, my lord, and yet at the last moment, you've changed your mind."

Even though as a lord he didn't have to tell her anything, Jasper thought it best to be honest. Lying never came well to him. It tore him from the inside to speak falsehoods, especially to a woman he was going to wrap his cloak around in the eyes of gods and men. I need to be honest with her. Jasper told her everything. He told her about Ser Hugh and his troubles with money lenders. He spoke of honor and duty of a lord and his conviction of honoring his father's pledge. "I must help him, princess. He was my fathers man and I must honor that."

"Oh, Jasper." Her anger dimmed, and she caressed his cheek with her thumb. "You foolish man of honor, there are other ways to do so."

Jasper scoffed. "And what could I have done? The man would accept no coin from me or any other." He said." He is a man. A man with honor in his veins and a man has to do things on his own. Maybe that is what my father saw in him?" Jasper felt a fool gasping for straws trying to understand his father. Everyone seemed to know him better than himself. Lord Stark. Lord Baelish. His Grace. He was his son and heir and he didn't understand him. He didn't understand Arryn tradition that his father represented. Kindness for those who didn't deserve it. Forgiveness for no benefit for House Arryn. Books only told him so much. Jasper was not the lord he should be, but he wouldn't complain. I shall try to honor my name. Will you be proud of me then, father? Will you look down from the heavens and think you made a mistake in your judgement? Do you regret hating me? Maybe he hated him more for betraying his legacy? A legacy of honor and conciliation. Jasper knew if he had opened his lips Ser Loras would still walk among the living. One conversation to Lord Stark and he could have spared his fate. A gruesome end for a knight. But Jasper wouldn't change it. If they had not threatened the kings children, I would have spoken. He could let no harm befall his betrothed or his ward. Still, his death was ill done. Ser Loras did not deserve to die so brutally…

"All I can offer him is my sword and help him place in the competition by my honor as an Arryn." Jasper said with his lords voice and he lowered his voice to above a whisper. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I'm often alone in my councils." A lone falcon soaring alone. You got what you wished, father.

"You would hurt yourself to please a ghost?" Myrcella asked.

"He was my father."

"And he never loved you. That will not change, no matter how many fights you win or oaths you keep."

Jasper stiffened and brushed her hands away at her honest words that burned. "I won't get hurt and don't speak of matters, you know, precious little off." His cheeks felt hot. "Is that what this is about?" His tongue twisted in his throat as his heart pounded in his chest like a loud drum. "Do you think me so weak that I'm incapable of fighting?" He was no boy hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"Ser Loras could fight well and it did little for him."

"I'm not some dainty flower." Jasper glowered.

Myrcella looked teary-eyed and his heart softened. She is just worried about you. Don't be a dolt. It was strange how beautiful she became in his eyes. Few ever cared for him. It was alluring, but worrisome. Jasper knew deep in his chest he loved it. Is this love? Jasper wondered. Or simple fondness? He hoped the latter it would hurt less when he inevitably ruined it as he did everything Jasper touched. He smiled fondly as he touched her crown. "Don't worry about me, princess." He said. "We shall build a garden together. A fine garden that is filled with life and beauty. It shall be ours." He voiced, imagining the beautiful sight and how he dreamed of it. When Jasper closed his eyes, he saw it as clear as day. "I'm sorry. I can be a terrible brute."

She leaned into him, burying her blond curls into his chest. "You are no brute, my lord. You are as brave a man of the Kingsguard, but I cannot marry a corpse." It was a silly fear of a woman, and he almost told her so when she pressed her lips against his own. It was sweet as he remembered it to be and he lost himself like a love struck boy in a kiss of summer. "For good luck." She told him, blushing.

Jasper knew in that moment he could defeat Ser Barristan the Bold in armed combat. "Myrcella I-" He couldn't bring himself to say the words in his chest that he knew to be true. Once spoken, it could never be unspoken, and it was unmanly to speak about such emotional sentiments.

"Yes Jasper?" Her green eyes twinkled.

"I-"

The stable doors opened with Marwyn Belmore peering his large boulder shaped head in. "My lord." He bowed. "The hour approaches for the melee." He wanted to curse the man, and himself, for being a coward. I'll have another opportunity to say those words. A lifetime in the Eyrie to say those words.

"My victory approaches, then." He gave a confident show for him. "I'll be out shortly." He kissed Princess Myrcella's hands like a gallant knight from a song. "Do me a favor, princess. Feed Honor some more carrots. I think he grew tired of watching us bicker, but not too much. I don't want him fat." Jasper japed.

Myrcella giggled. "Good luck Jasper."

"Thank you, princess." He said with a lord's courtesy.

The melee was a field of chaos that had Jasper grinning like a boy beneath his visor. Swords flew with neck breaking speeds and shields slammed knights into the ground as men groaned and cried out. It was as close to a field of battle as a man could find without being in serious risk of death. Someone even waved a flaming sword like the songs of legend, and he lost himself in the dance of fighting like a martial lord they all needed him to be. He was going to win this too and Hugh would place. He swore. The sword was light as a feather and he felt as strong as the warrior himself. Nothing can touch me! Jasper finished his foe with a naked woman on his shield. He stomped on his hand to prevent him from picking up his sword, likely breaking a finger or two. "Yield!"

"I yield." The reply and Jasper didn't waste another moment and found Hugh beating a free rider from Dorne into the dirt. "Fine show ser!" Jasper cheered. "Victory will be ours."

"Aye my lord." Ser Hugh said.

Jasper could see it all clearly when he saw him. The Gods themselves showed him favor. Armored in the simple way of the north, Jasper saw Snow pressed by four knights of some talent. One of them bore a purple unicorn on his chest plate. I won't have to face him again. He wouldn't embarrass himself again. Snow fought well, as he always did, even outnumbered with the same tenacity and skill he displayed in the courtyard. If it was real steel, Snow might even have won. One knight fell with a brilliant strike to the helm, likely sending teeth flying and a beautiful feign sent another reeling back, but numbers bore out and his sword flew and they struck him down. But the blows did not stop. He must have yielded by now. He yielded! Jasper raged. He didn't love him, but Snow didn't deserve that. An honorable foe deserved an honorable end. By the Seven, did they mean to kill him? Jasper tightened his grip on his hilt. They shame the oaths they swore. An oath of a knight.

And despite the bitterness in his chest at the sight of him, he screamed. "As High as Honor!" And charged, determined to make those false knights bleed out on the ground.

Jon

Ser Barristan leaned against the stoned wall, chuckling. "Relax squire, you are going to do fine." He squeezed his shoulders. "You are as fine a swordsman as I've ever seen."

"I know." Jon said, taking a breath. "I wish to do better than fine." If he was the last man standing when the dust cleared, King Robert might drape the white cloak around his shoulders. He would no longer be Jon Snow Bastard of Winterfell. A stain on his father's honor, but a Knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Jon Snow of the North. Two spots were open, and who knew when the next opportunity would be to earn the white cloak? This was a once in a lifetime chance to make his mark; with a simple vow, he could wipe away the bastardry and make a name of honor. When his sister was queen, he would protect her and her children like Aemon the Dragonknight. If only Bran could see it happen. He would love it. Maybe they would even be sworn brothers one day as well? Jon would like that.

"Just remember what I taught." Ser Barristan said. "Trust your instincts. They'll serve you well."

"Thank you ser. For everything. I'll see you afterwards. I swear. My winnings shall go to the orphanages." It would have been easy for Ser Barristan to disown him and give in to the pressure no blood tied them together, but he had stuck with him. Ser Barristan was a good man worthy of the white cloak. The only would that has impressed me. And he would try to live by this code of honor as well as he could to honor him.

Ser Barristan gazed at him fondly and something flashed in his ancient eyes as he looked deep in thought. "Ser Barristan?" He asked.

"It's nothing." He said. "You simply reminded me of someone."

"Who?" Jon asked curiously.

"After the melee, I'll tell you." Ser Barristan promised.

Jon didn't press him.

When he left him, Jon pulled out a white handkerchief with the symbol of House Stark stitched on the soft fabric. Soft against the skin. Sansa told him he shall always be a Stark in her eyes and she was rooting for him. He hid it away and focused on the fight that was to come. I'm going to win this time. No one would stop him. Especially not Lord Arryn. King Robert should not have called that match. He had a shot of unhorsing him, but this is where he excelled. Ser Rodrick always told him he took to swords like a duck to water and Ser Barristan had honed his skills every day in his care. He would win the melee. Jon vowed.

The open stages of the melee were a mass of knights and free riders hacking at the other with blunt weapons. Jon cut through them like a knife through butter. They groaned and cried out as he made his way through the field. One on one, he was better than them all and he could feel the white cloak around his shoulders.

Then he saw the purple unicorn sigil of House Brax. "Bastard," He spat out. "You humiliated my cousin Robert. Do you recall him?

"I do." Jon said. "He didn't impress me much."

The knight reddened. "I Ser Adrian shall restore the honor of House Brax!"

"Have at me then." Jon said, unafraid of this Ser Adrian Brax.

One became four all of them were knights of the Westerlands cousins or brothers of the squires that he humiliated and they wanted to put him down. Jon found himself hard pressed. If this was real steel… But it wasn't. He smiled with a flicker of hope as he incapacitated one with a perfect strike to the helm. Ser Barristan would have smiled if he saw. And a feign almost knocked off a third.

Almost

The numbers won out, and he drowned in blows. Painful purple welts marred his skin. In the morning, he would have nasty bruises that would make Sansa weep. He curled up, trying to protect his head and neck. His cheeks burned as he uttered. "I yield." A dream of a white cloak fading for this day.

Ser Adrian pretended as if he didn't hear him and stuck him with swords and boots, laughing.

Ser William of Kennning sneered. "You will be done when we say so."

"As High as Honor!"

Adrian Brax turned too late as a glancing blow slammed into his helm that made his knees buckle. A savage kick from a steel boot finished him. Lord Arryn was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Falcon's wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision. Another man followed him dressed with less ornament, who fought the slow knight Jon thought himself dreaming. What the fuck was he doing here? He groaned. Every breath was like swallowing glass. Ribs were cracked. Jon undid the strap to his half helm. Above him was a dance of steel between Lord Arryn and Ser William, a middle-aged knight with forceful blows. Of the four, he was the most skilled, and he was winning the contest of blades. Lord Arryn's blows became sluggish. He was tired. Exhausted. A shield slammed into his helm. It stunned him. A slash struck him in the chest that would have killed had it been real steel. He stumbled back and Ser William swept his legs. Lord Arryn fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing, and with it his chance for victory.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved, boy." Ser William said, and he swung to finish him, but he was the one who screamed. "My eyes!" Ser William clutched his face, stumbling back. In one last push of energy, Arryn rose, lowered his head and tackled him to the ground like it was a tavern fight in Winter Town. He removed his foe's helm and tossed it and rained down blows upon him with a mailed fist until, with a loud cry, he rolled off the broken knight.

"Fuck me, I'm done." Arryn croaked and collapsed on the ground spent.

Eyes locked with the other and neither said a word for an awkward moment as the ringing sound of kissing steel echoed around them. "My than-"

"Don't talk to me!" Lord Arryn voiced with disdain and command of a high lord. His blue Tully eyes harsh with judgement. "Not one word, bastard, I'm resting. Be a good Snow and hold your tongue." He commanded.

Fire burned in his chest, and something roared, begging for release. Jon stirred slightly and wrapped his fingers around his sword. He felt stronger. Arryn scoffed and beneath that helm, he was likely sneering. "You wish another go at it, then?" Jon's eyes spoke the truth. Arryn, ever competitive, stirred as well. He wouldn't stay down from a challenge.

"I'm not done." Jon said.

"So be it Snow."

One more fight between them and no king would prevent its conclusion.

He has the problem with me, and he would beat him again. Jon vowed.

Crack!

Lord Arryn's helm cracked from the force, and he collapsed to the ground with a word on his lips. "Hugh." He said. "Why?" Another blow landed with a loud crack. "I yield." He mumbled out. "I yield." He said again, louder, thinking that his man had not heard him. The blows did not stop and his hard eyes confessed as much.

"He yielded." Jon said.

"This is none of your concern."

Jon stiffened. "It is." He declared. "There is no honor in hitting a fallen foe." Jon straightened, not knowing what he was thinking. Battered and bruised and tittering like a leaf in the breeze, it would not be an easy fight to win. It's the right thing to do. He may not be a Stark, but he could still be a man of honor. His resolve turned hard as stone and he swung.

Jasper

He hated Jon Snow. He hated Ser Hugh. He hated his father, but Jasper only truly hated himself. Fool! You damned fool. Everyone would suffer because he was blind and rash. Too blind to see a betrayal under his nose. Too rash in preventing knights from killing the damn bastard. A wiser lord would have let them do it. What was he to him? Absolutely nothing. Fool! Fool! Fool! His eyes grew heavy and Jasper wanted to close them. To sleep and ignore the pain. Jasper tried to concentrate, but it was blinding. Sleep. He needed sleep. A thousand years of sleep.

"Stay awake Arryn."

Jasper groaned.

It was a voice he knew and made him bitter with shame. "Go away." He moaned. "I'm fine. Sleep. I'm going to sleep." And he wrapped an arm around him and lifted him up. "I told you-"

"I didn't think you were one to give up Arryn."

"I'm tired."

The world spun around him, and darkness wished to claim him. "Why did you help me?" Snow asked. It was a stupid question with an obvious answer. He chuckled. A weak, raspy sound. "It was the honorable thing to do." Snow said something in reply, but he didn't hear him. Darkness finally wrapped around him and he remembered no more.

Authors note: I got to this point and I realized I still had half of the POVs I wanted to do done and I was already well beyond my longest chapter. I thought it better to split it up in two chapters. I love reading reviews helps with the writing process! Next up Robert makes Ned Regent, Cat arrives in the capital, and Ser Kevan makes a discovery.

Barrz: Thanks for the review I hope you like this chapter!

Guest: That would have been epic having Jon/Jasper fighting the Mountain, but I felt it was too contrived. Funnily enough, it was my backup plan if I decided against killing Loras.

Natman717: Wont lie Ive always loved the concept of Robert leaving for Essos. The only reason he didnt in canon was cause he cared just enough not to let Cersei/Joffrey run the whole Seven Kingdoms into the ground. Here Joffrey is gone. Tommen seems to be toughening up a little bit in the Vale and Ned seems to have a strong hold on the capital. Now is the perfect time for him to say. "I'm leaving!" It would be pretty cool if Robert got into some adventures in Essos, no idea if it'll happen, but thats the current trajectory. Yeah, Loras got vaporized.

Leo-writing: Yeah, the thing about Jasper though is he knows that he can't do that for political reasons. Big picture stuff. It tears at him, but he has enough self control to not humiliate him. But yeah, I don't see any world Jasper and Jon are friends, but I think it's certainly possible that they may respect each other somewhat.

Amok: Glad you enjoyed it!

Darkwarrior44: If google translate failed me Im sorry. Id say there is plenty of fault to go for both sides. But yeah, Arya isnt going to like Jasper. If some random cousin of yours comes on by and hurts your favorite sibling you just arent going to like them. At least thats the way I see it.

ATP: Yep, poor Loras. Glad you like it