Chapter Eight: Myrcella III
Myrcella made her way across the tourney grounds with her watcher for today, Ser Arys Oakheart. The Kingsguard had been somewhat apprehensive to see her walking around with so small a guard, it had been a simple detour from the archery butts, and the destination was the Lord Commander's own tent.
Inside, Jon was with Hammond preparing Ser Barristan's arms for the joust.
"You made it back!"
"I made a promise, Princess."
"Well. Do know that I will hold you to stringently to your words from here on. Will Ser Barristan be permitting you any opportunity to exhibit your own skills this tourney?"
"Only in the melee. And only with Hammond accompanying me."
"I see." Myrcella drew up to her meager height and affected as haughty a tone she could muster. "Since I am already here, might I bestow you my favor?"
Jon blinked as the only sign of his surprise. "The melee isn't until tomorrow"
"That doesn't mean I offer it now."
The young squire looked to Ser Barristan, who already had a tourney blade at the ready. Jon took it and held the guard out to Myrcella. The Princess deftly wrapped it around the weapon and tied it off. Once she stepped back, Jon held it aloft and inspected her work.
"Thank you for your esteem, Princess Myrcella," he said, "I will be sure to do it credit on the field."
"Come, Princess. Let's not distract the squires from their duties."
"Indeed, Ser Arys." She turned once more to the tent. "I will look for you on the field tomorrow."
"Of course, Princess," both squires said, bowing in unison with Ser Barristan.
Along their walk through the labyrinth of tents, Myrcella looked back at Ser Arys, and asked, "Can I trust you to hold your silence on what you saw? At least until after the tourney is done with."
"I am the soul of discretion, Princess."
Myrcella smiled back at his answer. She knew there was a reason why she liked the young knight, and now she had more reason.
[TSS]
Myrcella's return to the royal box was largely ignored until she sat down, letting Joffrey's continued existence serve as a buffer between her and their mother.
"And where were you?" Cersei asked the moment she was settled.
"Watching the archery contest." She couldn't very well say that she was granting her favor, much less admit to whom it was granted. Not yet, at least.
"You would do well to not tarry in the future. Your father was about to send out a search party."
"Of come off it, woman," Robert rumbled. "She's here now, and she wasn't anywhere she wasn't told not to."
Cersei's frigid gaze turned to the King, little effect as it had. Another crisis averted, or put off for another day. On that account, at least. Myrcella smoothed her skirts over and reflected on the past years.
Times alone with Uncle Jaime were few and far in between, so any effort at growing competent with a sword would be hampered by sporadic lessons, further undermined by a need to keep it secret. It did, however, give her an idea.
Archery was not precisely considered a lady-like talent to cultivate, and thus, not actively encouraged among most courts, least of all the Red Keep. But neither was it expressly discouraged, and therein lied the loophole.
Her stitching was coming along nicely, as was her singing. she had taken up sketching. She was keeping up, or even staying well ahead in her other lessons. So it was a simple matter of assuring her Father that her lessons would not suffer should she take up an additional hobby.
Surprisingly, Father allowed it. Encouraged it, even. Though that may have just been another of her parents' many arguments, one Myrcella was scarcely ashamed to have exploited. She knew force had its place, but why use force when negotiation and subterfuge could get just as much without resistance or fostering grudges in the process?
It was a lesson Mother apparently never learned. It was always her way, or nothing at all. And Myrcella wondered if her mother resented her for it.
Joffrey turned slightly her way and sneered.
"What business do you have at the butts?" he wondered. "It's not as if you'll ever compete."
"I wager my chances are better than you at the melee," Myrcella shot back with a smile.
"Myrcella!"
Joffrey was only partially correct, ignorant as he was about most anything concerning martial affairs. It would be a year or so yet before she would be confident enough to participate and have the upper body strength to truly compete. Until then, she was content to observe the current contenders and study their motions from afar.
"Did you give it to Jon?" asked Tommen.
Bless Tommen and his innocent soul, but he could be observant at just the right moments and blurt out his observations at entirely the wrong ones. Vexed as she was, Myrcella still smiled at her younger brother.
"He wouldn't have asked," she replied without really answering.
"And what did you give to the bastard?" Mother asked, lips pulling into a sneer.
Myrcella smiled blandly, and answered, "Just bestowing my favor."
The sneer deepened and twisted. "Surely there are far better men, already knighted, to carry such a thing. It implies far too much, and the bastard will not last long against seasoned men. Offering him such attention will raise his aspirations far too high for them to be crushed."
The first contenders lined up for the tilt, saluting the king before facing each other.
Mother's contempt was concealed by a thin veneer of motherly concern. "If you are truly searching for a warrior to defend you, I am certain your grandfather has a great many noble candidates to choose from."
"I have enough of your cousins running around the Red Keep," Robert cut in. "I'll be damned if I let you stack anymore at ever post. Now let me watch the joust in peace. We can put this business off 'til later."
And that was that. Reasonably confident that her mother wouldn't force the issue just yet, Myrcella settled into her seat as the first lances broke.
[TSS]
The next day, Ser Barristan was on duty, and had released his squires for the duration of the melee. Alongside Hammond, Jon stood tall with half-helm with a shield in one hand and a longsword in the other, boiled leathers and chain mail providing protection.
Much to Myrcella's surprise, her father had elected not to join in, still seated in the royal box with the rest of his family with an ale horn in hand.
"I see you're not going to make a spectacle of yourself, Your Grace," Cersei dryly noted.
"I can hardly risk braining Ned's son in his first melee, can I?" Robert gleefully replied, and drank deeply. "I'll save a bout with me when I won't have to worry about leaving him permanently damaged."
He was not a man considered to be particular intelligent or wise, but he had a keen eye for what interested him, and it would come and go at a moment's notice. Whatever had roused it for the occasion likely had something to do melee, and Jon's participation.
This on her mind, she couldn't hear the King's words over her beating heart as she glanced slightly at her mother. Would she have already arranged something to see Jon harmed?
It was too late to verify the threat to her friend, and no time to convince him to withdraw. He would not flee anyhow. Battle horn sounded, the mass of bodies, leather, and metal surged into the field, columns and ranks of warriors meeting at the middle in a cacophonous collision.
It was difficult to pick any one fighter out of the crowds, and Myrcella lost track of Jon and Hammond in the furor. Minute by minute ticked by, and soon the first combatant began leaving the field, or were dragged away, insensate. One by one and two by two, more participants bowed out on account of injuries, exhaustion, or simply choosing discretion in the face of the tightening competition, leading to more space for the remaining pockets to be seen
Finally, she spied Jon, just as Hammond bowed out, limping off the field and leaving Jon on his own. Before she could worry overly much, the younger squire quickly repositioned himself to compensate and oriented himself to the edges of the field to avoid being attacked from behind.
Jon wasn't given to showy displays or unnecessary flourishes. Patiently waiting for his opponents to make the first move.
"Ser Barristan, why haven't you knighted the boy yet? He's already faced battle, and for his first time in the melee, he's holding up well."
"I am waiting for him to prove himself on his own terms, Your Grace."
"As if the bastard won't shame himself in front of King's Landing. He keeps hiding at the sides of the fighting like a coward."
Father didn't cuff Joffrey, though the fury in his glare was nearly as potent, his eldest son flinching, and shrinking away further as he growled, "I won't have a boy who can't even hold his sword properly judge a squire who's already making something of himself." The King turned back to the field and slouched back into his chair. "Until you've seen the same as he has, keep your tongue from wagging."
Mother glowered at Robert, then turned her attention to soothing Joffrey as he sniffled from the reprimand, much to Father's disgust.
"If he were half the man Ned's son is, he wouldn't need such correction. Now watch closely, Joffrey. You might learn something."
At that moment, three knights came after Jon, saying something likely meant to intimidate him into yielding. When Jon refused, they all rushed him, so he rushed the rightmost, checking the opening strike and circling around to put the man between his companions and their intended target before kicking him forward, stumbling the second knight and parrying his strike before rounding on the third, catching a blow against his shield.
After so much abuse, the shield finally gave way, and was swiftly discarded, thrown at Jon's foe before running in to knee him into the turf, forcing the man to yield before turning back to the next opponent throwing themselves at him. He then drew a blunted dagger, using it to lead strikes and close with the knight, checking him against the shoulder to throw him off balance, then out of the field altogether.
Myrcella clapped, rising with the rest of the spectators as the final clashes were had, the last falling away, leaving Jon alone on the field.
Robert laughed, booming, "I think we have your sworn shield for our princess."
Like water poured over an open flame, Myrcella's excitement vanished, as Cersei all but rounded on the King.
"You cannot be serious, Robert!" Cersei ground out. "He's a bastard! He's not even a knight!"
"Let's remedy that, shall we." He smiled and stood, his voice booming across the grounds as he commanded, "Jon Snow, stand before your King."
Jon approached and knelt before the King, bowing his head.
When Robert held out a hand, Ser Barristan offered his sword. Drawing it free, the King began tapping him against the shoulders as he recited the charges recognizable to everyone within hearing.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Crone, I charge you protect the old and the weak. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to carry out your duties with strength, and to defend that which he builds." The King held the blade up. "Before the eyes of gods and men, do you swear to uphold these oaths until your dying breath?
"I do, Your Grace," Jon answered, clear and resolute.
At last, the sword graced against the top of his head. "Then when the Stranger comes, I charge you to face him without fear, and with all the virtues of knighthood." he pulled the sword away, handing it back to the Lord Commander. "Now rise, Ser Jon, Sword of the North!"
A/N: Before I renamed the series, I originally planned on naming this fic "Sword of the North". Trouble is, Jon role is expected to evolve as the story progresses, and thus I went with a different title, the reasons for which shall be illuminated eventually. Though, if you can figure it out in advance, I offer a spiritual high-five and an imaginary cookie.
Along a similar vein, I was originally planning on holding off on Jon being knighted until later into the story. But Old Bobby B. had some other ideas, and it fit the general trend in the SoIaF 'verse of things never going according to anyone's well-laid plans or intentions. In this instance, derailing Barristan's plan to give Jon a couple more years and/or a more practical grounds for knighting him, which Jon was completely fine with. Not only is he now knighted now, but he also has his new duties, though the latter is on schedule with my original plan. On the plus side, there's less room for Cersei's arguments for not having a "proper" knight to guard her daughter. She'll find something else to complain about, though.
You know the drill. Question? Comments? Concerns? Speculation? Some detail I misremembered or gleaned from fanon that got taken as gospel by mistake? Let me know in a PM or review.
Until next time!
Winterman, out.