Lord Whent's Great Tournament
Addam strode purposefully through the disorderly collection of tents, his expression revealing a mixture of concern and frustration. Three affluent young men, surrounded by a haphazard crew of opportunistic bandits posing as guards, could never bode well. Tristifer, for some inexplicable reason, seemed unfazed.
His gaze lingered distrustfully on the smattering of bandits around him, their ragged attire and rusty equipment marring the camp. Even though they hadn't faced an attack yet, Addam feared that, if it came to pass, these men would prove less than reliable.
Beside Addam walked his brother in all but blood, Robin. Since their departure from Sow's Horn, Robin had shed some of his usual joking manner—a change quite understandable given the circumstances of their exit.
But that was a year ago now and while he had thankfully lost his somberness after their stay at the Ivy Inn he still had something in his eyes, they still hadn't regained their glint. Regardless, Robin was as loyal as ever to both Tristifer and Addam. Their brotherly bonds had never been stronger.
Approaching Tristifer's tent, Addam cast a watchful eye over the surrounding outlaws. Tristifer's undisclosed promises had prompted Addam to seek out more reliable individuals, ones who seemed promising. His recent recruits engaged in a game of dice nearby, strategically keeping their weapons within reach, setting them apart from the more dubious outlaws. As he passed, they nodded respectfully, a gesture he reciprocated.
The five recruits consisted of Harden and Jaremy, recruited from Maidenpool, and Kennet, Mern, and Raymond, recruited from Saltpans. All of them, except for Harden, hailed from different towns and villages along the Riverlands, forming a diverse group. Harden, on the other hand, originated from White Harbor, adding a Northern touch to the mix.
Raymond claimed the title of the oldest member among the recruits at one and twenty. The rest, including Tristifer and Addam at seventeen, fell within a similar age range, all driven by a shared eagerness to make something of their lives for one reason or another.
Their group now included two horses, a sturdy cart, twenty outlaws, and six recruits, including the original three, making a total of twenty-eight men. Addam couldn't shake off the thought of the party's unusual size for a supposed group of traders. As they approached Harrenhal, a mere day's march away, he couldn't help but worry about how Tristifer would explain this motley crew to the Lords. It was highly unlikely that a gathering of common folk would be welcomed at their grand tourney.
They wouldn't be posing as traders either, and Tristifer intended to exploit his heritage as far as he could, but a caravan guard in itself would be bad enough but then the fact that they were remnants of the recently defeated Kingswood Brotherhood? Addam just hoped Tristifer knew what he was doing.
They arrived in front of the tent and Addam led the way through the opening. He was greeted with the sight of Tristifer hunched over a small table that they had been taking with them since Maidenpool.
"Addam," Tristifer greeted, lifting his head from the open book before him. Cracking his neck from an undoubtedly uncomfortable reading posture, the handsome man acknowledged Robin with a nod. "We have work to do," Tristifer announced as he rose from his seat.
Walking over to a small desk with four chairs, Tristifer gestured for them to join him. The three young men sat down, awaiting Tristifer's explanation.
Folding his hands, the Scion of House Mudd sighed. "I am not unaware of certain tensions in our little party, and these brigands would be a recognizable and unwanted addition to the dragon prince's Grand Tournament."
Addam felt relieved; for some time, he had genuinely worried that Tristifer might be deluded enough to keep the bandits. He was grateful to be proven wrong.
"And how are we to ensure their separation? You promised them quite a reward for helping us these last weeks," Addam inquired. He hadn't heard anything, but a mutiny of sorts definitely wasn't impossible with brigands of questionable loyalty. Especially if they felt 'betrayed'.
Addam looked over at Robin he could see his foster brother gain a glint in his eyes.
Tristifer pondered for a moment. "Well, I do have a plan for that. We are outnumbered, but they lack discipline and caution," he surmised.
"They need to die" Robin suddenly proclaimed. Addam looked at the younger man in shock only heightening when Tristifer nodded with a small smile. For Addam at least not so much the suggestion as the person proclaiming it, it seemed that Robin had changed more than he had thought.
Robin had been more reserved but... Addam shook himself from his thoughts, the bandit problem took priority.
"Indeed, we can bear rumors if they pop up, but evidence of me 'harboring' former Kingswood bandits would surely catch the attention of the King or someone equally disastrous, which would end with our heads being lined prettily along the Traitor's Walk," Tristifer paused for a moment before adding, "Or a pile of ashes, as the King is wont to do, according to rumors."
Addam tried to rationalize and slowly saw the truth of it. "I... I agree. However, associating with that rabble in the first place was a foolish decision," he said, the whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth.
Tristifer shrugged. "Gullible idiots who know which side to hold a sword with a salary of hopes and dreams are not easy to find, and they were a good way to discourage other idiots on our travels."
Robin finally spoke again. "Very well, how do you intend to do this, then?" Tristifer simply smiled before beginning his explanation.
Tristifer, adorned in his well-crafted armor, stood shoulder to shoulder with the three other 'officers.' Addam assumed his position on Tristifer's right, while Robin positioned himself on their leader's left. Though their attire was limited to chainmail, it was meticulously maintained, setting them apart from the bandits clad in weathered leathers.
Addam maintained a composed demeanor as he surveyed the gathering of 'soldiers'—a mix of loyal recruits and Brotherhood bandits. His satisfaction stemmed from the well-equipped state of his recruits, while the bandits presented a varied picture in terms of attire and alertness.
Recognizing the potential for resistance, the idea of openly eliminating the bandits was swiftly dismissed. They had discussed it earlier and deemed it too risky. Outlaws, even shoddy as these, still possessed some skill in their arms and they did outnumber them.
Tristifer energetically raised his hands. "My friends, our journey through the Riverlands has led us to a pivotal moment!" A buzz of excitement reverberated among the bandits. "A city of tents lies just a day's travel away, where the wealthiest men and women in these lands have gathered for the grandest festivities seen in decades."
Addam, maintaining composure, observed as Tristifer echoed the carefully prepared speech from earlier. It might have seemed bold, but they all agreed that to catch the bandits off guard, they had to align with the Kingswood Brotherhood's anti-lord narrative. It was a daring move, but these desperate brigands would surely take the bait.
Tristifer continued talking down the corrupt tyrannical lords and how they were going to be remembered for all of eternity for leaving the greatest lords looking like beggars. It was quite over the top in Addam's opinion, but these were not the brightest men and ale soon began to flow. Robin handed Tristifer a goblet which he raised toasting their changed fortunes.
Tristifer set down the water-filled goblet and eased into a more relaxed posture. The ensuing hours unfolded with the men filling the air with boisterous songs and engaging in lively dances around the twin campfires of their little encampment.
Addam kept a sharp eye on his recruits and was pleased to see them limiting their alcohol. Long after the sun had disappeared and with the moon placed centrally overlooking them Tristifer raised his goblet once more though this time the few bandits that remained were so deep in their cups that there wasn't even a reaction.
Tristifer nodded and drew his blade out of its scabbard slowly followed by the officers and recruits. The ones moaning around the campfires were soon dispatched with a hand over the mouth and swords to the necks painting the dirt below red and dark.
Addam felt no pleasure as he repeated the motion on two more. It was going flawlessly the bandits only meters away remained unaware even as men were killed right beside them. The campfires were soon cleared and the tents followed. The whole sordid business was concluded within half an hour or so, and at the end, he simply felt drained.
Tristifer gathered the group, eyeing the bodies scattered around them. "Before the first light, stack them up and gather their weapons. Take an ear from each man," The Mudd directed the five recruits, who nodded in silent agreement. "Each of you will receive 10 dragons as compensation and a token of appreciation for your loyalty and discretion before we set off tomorrow." Tristifer fixed his gaze on each recruit individually, dismissing them with a casual wave.
While the recruits weren't exactly overjoyed, it was clear they had no qualms about the recent events. The extra reward served as a fitting recognition of their service. Without hesitation, they began the grim task at hand.
Tristifer turned to Addam. "Quietly inform Lord Whent that we've located and dealt with a small Kingswood remnant. His men are welcome to confirm our claims if the severed ears don't suffice." Addam barely had time to nod before Tristifer shifted his attention to their youngest companion. "Robin, gather the weapons. Load them onto the cart before we depart; it'd be a shame to leave them here to rust."
Tristifer pivoted on his heel and made his way toward his tent. He paused for a moment, calling over his shoulder, "Leave their tents be. Pack only our equipment and anything that can be traced back to us." With that, Tristifer disappeared into his tent.
"Are you satisfied?" Addam suddenly asked Robin, his tone bordering on accusatory, though he wasn't entirely certain who or what he was frustrated with.
The dirty blonde youth locked eyes with him before nodding. "It was a choice between us or them, Addam. But they've proven useful," Robin gazed into the crackling fire. "We were attacked three times from Sow's Horn to the Ivy Inn—a week-long journey. Since the bandits joined us, we haven't faced a single threat in three weeks. We've been able to trade and profit without fear and minimal expenses, given their nonexistent salaries."
Addam found no fault; indeed, they had enjoyed an undisturbed journey, with his main concern revolving around the bandits, a worry now laid to rest.
"I agree with you, but this—" He gestured towards Harden and Raymond carrying a body devoid of its ear. Robin interrupted him before he could elaborate further.
"Was necessary; they would have surely killed us, either before reaching Harrenhal or once they sensed our vulnerability. The only reason they hadn't so far was due to the absence of a leader, and they felt secure resting for a while." Robin gestured towards one of the corpses. "I know he saw himself as the leader, stirring up support in the shadows. A shrewd man, if only he had chosen better company."
Addam gazed at the lifeless body, its neck and tunic stained with dried blood. The cold, dead eyes seemed to stare unfeelingly up at the night sky.
"Goodnight, Addam. Let's get some rest before tomorrow; it's bound to be a significant day," Robin remarked before retreating to his tent. Addam soon followed suit, surrendering to the night chill as he crawled into his sleeping bag, hoping this had been worth it.
Ser Tytos Blackwood let out an exasperated huff as his youngest brother, Jammos, playfully tapped him on the shoulder.
"Are you even aware that you're a knight now?" Tytos asked, a mix of irritation and amusement evident in his tone. Meanwhile, Jammos seemed entirely disinterested, not bothering to meet Tytos' gaze.
Ignoring his brother's antics, Tytos followed Jammos' line of sight to the seasoned warrior in gleaming white armor leading a procession of men. "That's Ser Barristan Selmy!" Jammos exclaimed.
As the two brothers observed, they noticed two more Kingsguard knights trailing behind Ser Barristan: the legendary Sword of the Morning and Ser Oswell Whent. In the forefront, two banner bearers flanked the dragon prince, resplendent in dragon-themed black armor with a red cloak flowing over his shoulders and back. A regal horse-drawn carriage rolled alongside, presumably carrying the princess.
Tytos simply hummed in response to his little brother's exclamation. The crown prince Rhaegar, known for his studious nature in his younger years, had evidently not neglected his martial education. With Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan Selmy, and the esteemed Ser Arthur Dayne as mentors and companions, proficiency was almost inevitable he imagined.
"An impressive man for his age, though with a large shadow to escape," remarked a voice from behind the Blackwood brothers. Tytos spun around to find his liege lord standing there.
Bowing his head respectfully to the Tully, a man twice his age of one and twenty, though the lord's healthy mane of auburn hair showed no signs of aging.
"Barely a nameday older than me," Tytos mentioned, and Lord Hoster nodded.
"Indeed, though his eyes seem to have seen a lot more, Ser Tytos," the Blackwood heir agreed. The purple-eyed prince's gaze was dark and concentrated, sweeping over the assembled crowd of nobles, knights, and smallfolk. Despite his polite smile, his eyes bore a more serious demeanor.
"Ser Jammos, my congratulations on your knighthood. Ser Jeffory is a competent knight, and I am sure he makes a fine teacher. His brother, Lord Jason, certainly doesn't lack proficiency when he leaves Seagard for a tourney," the Lord Paramount suddenly remarked to his hitherto silent brother. The younger man nodded quickly, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.
"Thank you, my Lord. Ser Jeffory was delighted with our skirmish against some bandits around Hags Mire, and he granted me a knighthood, even though I only squired for two years," Ser Jammos said proudly.
"One and six is an impressive age to be knighted. I'm sure you will continue to impress," Lord Hoster praised good-naturedly before turning back to Tytos with a more serious look. "How fares Lord Brynden? I hear he is bedridden?"
Tytos sighed at the mention of his Lord Father. "He never fully recovered from the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Each day, he appears more fatigued, and some part of me fears he won't survive until our return to Raventree." He knew that his father had served under Lord Hoster during the war, and he figured the man would appreciate a more detailed account than he would usually admit about private family matters.
Lord Hoster nodded wearily. "Your father's a good man, and I only hope he will get to depart painlessly whenever the Stranger calls him." Both Tytos and Jammos nodded respectfully.
"I believe we will take our leave now; my other siblings have probably gotten themselves into some trouble already. I am sure we will meet at the feast tonight, my lord," Tytos said politely.
Lord Hoster nodded with a smile. "And congratulations on the new son as well. I hope Lady Morya is well?"
"As well as can be, my lord, and thank you again," Tytos replied before departing, with Jammos following him.
They weaved their way through the vast crowd toward the sea of tents visible over the heads of the assembled people. Looking to his left, Tytos saw Harrenhal's Kingspyre Tower stretching into the sky, the top part bearing the scars of melted stone from the Targaryen's dragonfire. It was where Black Harren and his sons had hidden until their last moments. Further down, an arching bridge connected it to the higher levels of the Widow's Tower.
That his ancestors had played a role in constructing the impressive feat of engineering left him with a bittersweet feeling, especially considering the circumstances. A many times great-grandfather of his had faced execution for treason due to his refusal to contribute to Black Harren Hoare's construction. This decision had not only impoverished his family but had also affected almost every other Riverlord and many Ironborn lords over the four-decade construction period.
Tytos let his gaze fall once again and was pleased to notice that they had entered the sea of tents. Banners fluttered all around – Crownlanders, Valemen, Westerlanders, Reachmen, Stormlanders. Rosby, Hayford, Redfort, Hunter, Lydden, and dozens more passed his eyes as they walked, displayed on banners as well as surcoats and decorating tents.
He had never witnessed so many lords and nobles gathered in one place, and the Dornish and Northmen hadn't even arrived yet. His eyes suddenly focused on an initially unassuming brown tabard that Tytos was ready to ignore if not for the sigil – a golden crown adorned by green emeralds.
Most wouldn't likely recognize the royal Mudd arms after so many centuries since they allegedly disappeared, but the extensive libraries at Raventree Hall, coupled with Oldstones' relative proximity, had always kindled his interest in the legendary and fellow First Men house. The tales of the Hammer of Justice and Artos the Strong had always fascinated him, along with the tragedy of Tristifer the Last, of course.
Raising his gaze to the handsome youth donning the brown tabard, he was met with a striking blend of green and blue eyes beneath short brown hair. The man was accompanied by a slightly bigger figure clad in chainmail, with brown hair a shade lighter than the Mudd's and tawny brown eyes.
Tugging his brother along, Tytos walked over to the Mudd and his companion, or guard.
"Apologies, Ser?" Tytos began as he neared the younger man. Tristifer Mudd turned to face him slowly.
"Only Tristifer Mudd, Sers, Blackwood?" The man replied after a moment, glancing briefly at Tytos's brother. He possessed a surprisingly mature voice, around the age of Jammos but more seasoned.
"Ser Tytos Blackwood and this is my brother, Ser Jammos," Tytos introduced before casting Tristifer an intrigued look. "I must confess that House Mudd was the last house I would've imagined at this tourney, Ser Tristifer."
The sudden appearance of an extinct house was highly unusual, and Tytos would have been extremely skeptical if a member of House Strong or Qoherys had made an unexpected entrance. However, an ancient house like House Mudd? It would be an odd choice for impersonation, and its sigil was not something one stumbled upon in most lords' libraries.
"I am no knight, Ser Tytos," The Mudd corrected him, shaking his head before Tytos could apologize. "It matters not. I thought it was high time for my house to reemerge after our extended absence. My homeland has called me, and I answered," Tristifer said with an easy smile. Yet, like Prince Rhaegar, his eyes seemed to betray a seriousness that transcended his casual demeanor.
"I believe we will have much to discuss. How about you join us for a meal now so we aren't half-starved at the feast?"
Tristifer looked a little surprised at the suggestion before turning to his companion. Tytos could feel his brother's gaze burning into his side as he simply waited for the two men to finish their silent communication.
Tristifer finally turned back. "If my friend, Ser Addam, could join us, then I would gladly accept."
Tytos was slightly surprised at the man beside the Mudd being knighted, considering the man's chainmail, but saw no issues with it. "Certainly, do you have anything else, or can we leave for our tent immediately?"
The Mudd shook his head. "I am afraid that I planned to sign up for the melee, but we can join you afterward?" The young man said inquisitively.
"Very well. Our families were great allies in the past. We even have personal memoirs of a few of the Mudd kings, not the Hammer of Justice, unfortunately, but his son and a few older, now long-forgotten ones," Tytos admitted. They were in bad condition, but it was fascinating to read what could be deciphered.
The Mudd's eyes finally brightened with obvious interest; before, they had been guarded and cautious, but now there was an obvious 'hunger,' one could say.
"Memoirs? My grandfather has been desperate to patch together what remains of knowledge of our house, and it has only been from maesters' years after Tristifer the Last and of questionable bias. To have first-hand accounts—" Tristifer mumbled the last part, but Tytos still picked up on it.
Tytos wasn't sure why he believed the man's story so readily. Perhaps it was a massive error, and he was being foolish, but the sheer happiness in the Mudd's eyes only solidified his assumption that this was fate in a way. The Blackwoods were now the only First Man house south of the Neck, and he felt they were only becoming more and more isolated with each passing year.
They had friends in the Mallisters and some other Andal houses, but that was because they seemed to ignore their First Man heritage altogether. The marriage of King Aegon V and Betha Blackwood had been a boon for their house and still felt to this day.
The Brackens, their greatest rivals, seemed to be kept around only to try to drag House Blackwood down to the Seven Hells with them. The current head of House Bracken, Lord Jonos Bracken, was a farce of a human being, let alone a knight. Only his name made Tytos' cold fury rise. He was thankful that Lord Whent had had the peace of mind to separate and place the two houses on either side of the encampment.
Hopefully, they would gain a new ally in the region if Tristifer managed to secure himself a noble marriage. Tytos had an unmarried younger sister, but a marriage was premature. However, he harbored the hope that there would once again be a union between House Mudd and House Blackwood in a generation or two.
Tytos, however, believed that aiding his fellow First Men in gaining a foothold would ultimately fortify the Blackwood's position. While he held honor in high regard and considered assisting the fallen house a righteous cause, his pragmatic side recognized the value of having a friendly neighbor—one bound to stay amicable, if only out of gratitude for Tytos' intended support.
"I'm certain you'll find them to your liking, Tristifer. Can I expect you within the hour?" Tytos finally inquired.
"Of course, Ser Tytos," Tristifer responded with a genuine expression, a hint of respect in his gaze.
"Tytos will do. If you lack a knight's title, then I shall forgo mine in our conversations," he declared, leading his brother away from Tristifer and his knight with a sense of finality.
The feast roared on, a lively spectacle, as Tristifer found himself seated beside the Blackwoods. Their prominent positions beneath the Royal dais owed much to Tytos' insistence. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths, though cavernous, brimmed with the largest gathering since the Great Council of 101 AC. Lords and knights crowded closest to the royal dais, filling benches and tables that extended into the distance.
Tristifer's entire entourage occupied a more distant section, leaving him amidst unfamiliar faces, with the exception of the Blackwoods. Their earlier meal, despite being their first meeting, proved surprisingly pleasant.
Jammos, brimming with energy and a mere nameday younger than Tristifer, eagerly proposed a sparring match after the meal. His recent knighthood, granted only weeks before the tournament by Ser Jeffory Mallister at the age of sixteen namedays, showcased an impressive achievement.
In spite of Jammos' accomplishment, Tristifer maintained confidence in his own abilities. Ser Robert Hogg, though lacking in certain areas, demonstrated remarkable proficiency in martial matters, as did his Master-at-Arms. This solid foundation became evident as Tristifer found satisfaction in decisively winning their bout. Despite Jammos being above average in swordplay, Tristifer struck the younger man five times, meeting their goal, while only enduring one hit—a conciliatory one from Jammos as Tristifer momentarily slipped up. The Blackwood exhibited an impressive series of strikes that eventually breached Tristifer's guard.
Tytos' other brother, Ser Edwyn, proved far more reserved. While he joined Tytos in observing Tristifer and Jammos sparring, he refrained from commenting and only offered a polite farewell when Tristifer departed.
The sole Blackwood girl, Alysanne, presented a striking figure with her raven-black hair framing a lovely face. Standing taller than most girls her age, she reached a height that allowed her to meet Tristifer's eyes, despite him being two years her senior. The Blackwoods collectively possessed the trait of being tall and lithe, with Alysanne, at five and ten, likely having attained her full height. Her demeanor exuded courtesy and politeness, reflecting the reserved nature of her older brother Edwyn.
Tytos remained courteous and friendly, maintaining his reputation as an honorable and chivalrous man. Despite receiving knighthood in the Faith of the Seven, he held steadfast beliefs in the Old Gods—a seeming contradiction to some, but one that appeared not to bother Tytos.
Tristifer didn't perceive the Blackwood heir as naive; instead, he found himself speculating on possible motives behind the noble's amiable attitude toward him and his apparent goal to help restore House Mudd or, at the very least, build some bonds. Tristifer could entertain the idea of a historical alliance between the two houses in the distant past, but that seemed far-fetched as the sole reason for Tytos's friendliness.
Perhaps the real incentive lay in the fact that it would put Tristifer and his family in a personal debt to the Blackwoods. As things stood, if Tristifer had his way, they would be neighbors. Despite being unable to discern any obvious ploys, Tristifer decided to accept the Riverlord's assistance, acknowledging that any eventual obligations would have to be handled appropriately if they arose.
"Ser Tytos!" A strong voice suddenly resonated from behind them, causing both Tristifer and Tytos to turn in surprise at the sudden noise.
A tall and handsome man with brown hair and a trimmed beard stood behind them, wearing a wide smile and holding a tankard in his hand. The direwolf sigil on his grey-white doublet revealed to Tristifer who he was looking at.
"Brandon, it's good to see you. I haven't laid eyes on you since yours and Lady Catelyn's betrothal feast. How many years has it been now?" Tytos inquired after standing and shaking the Stark's hand.
Brandon Stark's grey eyes narrowed in thought. "Oh, four or five years ago now. Has it really been that long?" he mumbled before turning to Tristifer. "Never mind that. Who is your young friend here?"
Tristifer joined Tytos in standing as the Blackwood introduced him. "This, my friend, is Tristifer Mudd. I must admit that I only met him earlier today, but he has proved proficient with a sword, and his family name caught my interest."
Brandon and Tristifer shook hands firmly as the Stark intensely held his gaze. This continued for a moment or two before the heir of Winterfell's face broke out into a smile. "Good with the sword, eh? New opponents are always exciting. Do you plan to participate in any of the events?"
"I have signed up for the melee, Lord Brandon." The Stark's surprisingly expressive grey eyes, considering the Northmen's cold reputation, lit up at his words, making Tristifer feel slightly nervous.
Laughing, Brandon gripped Tristifer's shoulder. "Well then, we will see each other's capabilities there, and call me Brandon." Brandon's attention then shifted to the other part of Tristifer's introduction. "And what is this about your family? I must confess that House Mudd doesn't ring any bells in my Northern mind," the Stark heir admitted with an obviously curious look.
"House Mudd ruled the Riverlands as kings from Oldstones once upon a time, but after the Andal Invasion, they were scarcely mentioned in any history book. It is curious to see one appear after such a long time," Tytos eventually explained. Brandon looked intently at the Blackwood before his eyes lit up once again, though this time in recognition.
"Ah, the family of the Hammer of Justice?" Brandon proclaimed in a strong voice at the lengthy title. With Tristifer's nod, the Stark continued, "Indeed, the First Man king who won ninety-nine out of a hundred battles. I still remember some of my lessons, you see, though my brother Ned could probably tell you more," Brandon said in a proud voice as his gaze swept around them.
"Ah, there he is!" Brandon finally exclaimed, looking at a brown-haired young man surrounded by another with a similar appearance, a brunette, and a massive black-haired man. Turning back to the two, he gestured with the tankard. "Come, join me. I don't believe either of you have met my brother Ned or Benjen, and you, Tristifer, haven't had the pleasure of my sister Lyanna."
Tytos snorted at the last remark, and Brandon cracked a smile as the Blackwood quickly turned behind them. Tristifer followed his gaze over to the distracted Blackwoods; Jammos was in conversation with a purple and silver-clad knight a few namedays older than Tytos, whom Tristifer had learned was Ser Jeffory Mallister, the man that the Blackwood youth had squired under. Ser Edwyn and Alysanne were engaged in a quiet conversation.
Turning back to Brandon, they both nodded. As they walked, both Brandon and Tytos greeted Riverlords and Northmen as they passed. Tristifer looked up to the dais where Prince Rhaegar and Lord Whent sat side by side. Spread around were Princess Elia, Lady Whent, Lord Whent's four sons, and sole daughter.
As they neared the Stark siblings, Tristifer soon deduced the identity of the black-haired man. The crowned stag on the lord's doublet was obvious as they approached. Robert Baratheon, being the only one facing them in the group, was the first to notice their approach.
"Ser Tytos," the young Lord of Storm's End greeted in a booming voice. The other Starks turned and nodded as Tristifer and the two others sat down next to Lord Robert. Tytos ended up next to the young lord paramount, with Brandon in the middle and Tristifer on the far side, opposite Lady Lyanna.
Lord Rickard's only daughter, to Tristifer's shock, looked bored out of her mind as her dark grey eyes passed disinterestedly from Lord Robert over to Tytos. They brightened when they passed Brandon and lost interest again as they landed on him. She was a pretty woman, he supposed, with long brown hair and a long face showing the family connection to her brothers. She was no delicate beauty like Princess Elia but held her own charm.
He was unsure of how he was supposed to react, having never experienced a noble lady being so apathetic. He was soon brought out of his thoughts as he heard his name being called.
"So, this is Tristifer Mudd; he will participate in the melee," Brandon introduced him to his siblings and the Baratheon.
Eddard seemed to be the only one who recognized his family name, though he didn't say anything. Neither Benjen nor Robert seemed to know of it, and the Baratheon simply sent him a lazy smile.
"I will look for you in the melee; you look like you could put up a good fight," the Lord of the Stormlands said bluntly. This seemed to be relatively high praise, especially from such an imposing man. Though if it was genuine remained to be seen.
Before Tristifer could reply, the hall hushed to mere whispers, and the minstrels and bards fell silent. More and more heads turned toward the entrance, where two massive doors were placed to the side between the dais at one end of the hall and the start of the tables closest to the dais.
The doors were open, revealing the white-armored figures of two Kingsguard knights. Between them stood a thin and gaunt figure. The man's white hair was unkempt, obviously not washed for some time. A long, equally unkempt beard hung from his face, and his fingernails, closer to claws, visibly protruded from his hands.
Upon the frail frame of the Targaryen, an expensive-looking black robe adorned with a red three-headed dragon appeared dirty. The golden crown, with dragons rising from it, was the only element that prevented Tristifer from dismissing the man as a beggar who had dragged himself from the dirtiest puddle in Flea Bottom.
The unmistakable King Aerys II stumbled through the doors toward the dais. Tristifer had heard rumors from King's Landing, of course, but had dismissed most as completely outlandish. The monarch's appearance, however, seemed to have been understated from what Tristifer now witnessed.
He was aware of the King's kidnapping during the Defiance of Duskendale, and the subsequent rescue left King Aerys forever changed. However, to think that this was the legacy of the infamous Targaryen dynasty was hard to believe. The evidence, though, was right in front of him, as the monarch struggled up the few stairs leading to the dais.
The entire High Table was on their feet, each wearing expressions of shock. While Lord Whent's daughter openly displayed poorly disguised disgust, both the Prince and Princess exhibited fear. Although they quickly concealed their emotions behind neutral expressions, Tristifer had keenly observed the initial reactions.
"Such a... grand gathering," croaked the voice of whatever entity was posing as King Aerys. It shouldn't have carried over the massive hall, but the absolute silence allowed the voice to reach every corner. "It was a shame that my heir forgot to invite his liege. A simple mistake, I am sure," the king added with a dangerous undertone, slipping past his son and settling into the lord's chair.
There was utter silence as the king began noisily eating from Prince Rhaegar's plate, disregarding the gold-decorated cutlery and opting for his hands. It created the most tense atmosphere Tristifer had ever experienced.
After a few drawn-out moments, the High Table slowly returned to their seats, each behaving as if an apex predator were in their midst. Prince Rhaegar now sat apart from Lord Walter Whent, separated by the hunched form of his father.
Unbeknownst to Tristifer, he had risen from his seat. As he descended back onto the bench, a single thought echoed persistently in his mind: How could this creature be the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?
End of Chapter
And we have finally arrived at the Tourney of Harrenhal. As you can see Tristifer is quite ruthless when needed. He is also adaptable with how he goes from Bandit leader to almost noble? He doesn't hold titles or any real power other than himself and his men but uses Tytos Blackwood to legitimize him and introduce him to other nobles in the realm. I have yet to choose Tristifer's side for the Rebellion so it is not set in stone yet.
I think it makes sense for the Blackwoods to still have records of house Mudd considering their proximity and the fact that both were old first man houses that didn't capitulate to the Andals.