Knights of the Seven Kingdoms
"Congratulations on your victory," another noble said as he passed by Robin's cousin. Tristifer had been greeted by numerous lords and nobles with empty congratulations, while others displayed a more superior disposition, delving into questions about Tristifer's heritage and surname.
Robin finally for once recognized the lord – the green and yellow colors of House Hayford were familiar in Sow's Horn. Although the elderly Lord Perkin had never visited the Hogg lands in Robin's lifetime, he had heard his father mention meeting the Lord when he was much younger.
His father had not painted a nice picture of the man, rumored to be brutal to every criminal, no matter how petty. Murder or pickpocket, Lord Hayford cared not, exercising his lord's rights of pit and gallows without hindrance.
The magnanimous smile on the man's lips now, however, was almost convincing, if not for the cold eyes that shifted from Tristifer down to Robin and Addam, who flanked Robin's cousin on each side in the stands. The lord's eyes glinted in recognition when they passed Addam but he did not react otherwise.
"I heard you hail from my lands. Or my vassal Ser Roger's, at least?" Lord Perkin mentioned.
Addam twitched at the mention of his father; Robin knew his friend had barely interacted with Ser Roger, so often at Hayford instead of his own seat. But to at least acknowledge his bastard was more than many nobles did to their lowborn children. And Addam could recognize that as well.
Tristifer portrayed the humble champion, smiling in turn. "Indeed, maybe the gods blessed the water in your lands?"
Lord Perkin chuckled, unable to conceal a proud smile. "That, only the gods know, but I am pleased to see you representing the Crownlands so well. Couldn't have a Vale lord be the winner, and a Royce at that?" The lord expressed it with a hint of scandal as if the very notion was outlandish.
As far as Robin knew, Tristifer had barely mentioned being born in the Crownlands, never mind hailing from Sow's Horn. How Lord Hayford had obtained that information, and how Tristifer represented his lands, Robin knew not.
The antagonism toward the Vale was not unexpected considering the arrogance of the crownlords who thought the fact that they could smell King's Landings stench from their chambers made them more important than Lords in different kingdoms.
"Of course not," was Tristifer's final reply as Lord Hayford shuffled past toward his seat.
Robin scanned the stands surrounding them, seated in the noble section of the arena as the champion of the previous event, Tristifer, and his 'entourage' had earned this privilege. The heat grew in Robin's new woolen doublet, a stark reminder of the position they now occupied.
Tristifer had promptly put the winner's prize to use, investing in matching doublets for all three. Tristifer and Robin donned brown doublets, with Tristifer's featuring a stitched Mudd crown. In contrast, Addam wore a red and blue one, representing his Waters surname and Hogg heritage.
Robin suggested stitching a drowning hog's head as Addam's sigil. However, it was deemed a bit presumptuous to establish sigils, especially considering none of them had been knighted. Consequently, they decided to hold off on that decision for the time being.
"Tristifer! Congratulations are in order," a voice suddenly exclaimed, and as they turned, they were met with the Stark family, with Brandon at the head.
Tristifer smiled genuinely, and Robin couldn't help but mirror the smile. His cousin deserved these congratulations, and finally, an honest noble graced them. The Starks' refreshing honesty was admirable — when they said something, they meant it.
"I was unable to see your duel with Robert, but my siblings were mightily impressed; however, I did catch your duel against Bronze Yohn. It has to be one of the most impressive duels I have ever seen in my life. You truly are a phenom with a blade," Brandon said with a big smile. "And I know from first-hand experience trying to break Yohn Royce's guard-"
"He seems to know where you will strike before you even move your blade, right?" Tristifer said with a certain amount of awe.
"Aye, he can read minds, that one. But you defeated him, a great feat and one of many to follow, I am sure," Brandon finally stated.
The Starks took their seats in the row behind, and the second son, Eddard, spoke up. "A most impressive outing, though I am sure Robert will have something to say in the future," the normally reserved sibling of the Stark pack said with some humor.
"You should've heard him ranting as he came up to us!" Lyanna, their sister, suddenly exclaimed with a degree of glee. "And how he fell silent when he spotted you and Lord Royce duel, indescribable."
Benjen nodded excitedly, while Brandon smiled widely. Eddard, meanwhile, soon defended his friend.
"He has always had a great temperament aye, but it is never long-lasting," Eddard stated simply, and Tristifer nodded. Before he could reply, Lyanna piped up again.
"Not the only thing that isn't long-lasting, I am sure." Brandon failed to hide his snort of laughter. Lyanna had a small smile on her lips as she finished.
Robin felt his lips betray him. Wasn't this supposed to be her betrothed? It was interesting to observe that the excitement of the match did not seem to be reciprocated. The more time he spent in the company of the nobles, the veil of superiority seemed to slip. The Lords and Ladies in their high and mighty castles were as human as the rest of them, only in more expensive clothes.
Eddard simply sighed in defeat, while Benjen remained blissfully unaware. "You were amazing!" he said suddenly, looking at Tristifer. "Could you teach me and my friend Howland? He was being bullied, and Ly- eep," he suddenly stopped, and while Robin didn't see the direct reason, he caught Lady Lyanna's intense gaze on her brother.
Amused by the siblings' antics, Tristifer grew thoughtful before looking over at Brandon. The eldest Stark looked almost as excited.
"Well, we could certainly have a session or two in the training yard. Know, however, that it would not be some magical way to become proficient with the blade. I have trained diligently since I was but a child younger than you, and I would expect you to dedicate yourself to this as well if you expect real results." Even Lyanna and Eddard seemed intrigued. Well, Lyanna was not so unexpected considering what Robin had seen until now; she was no helpless maiden, that was for sure.
Benjen meanwhile nodded with an adorably solemn expression.
"I think we all would be interested," Brandon eventually stated eloquently before breaking out in an easy grin. "I am also quite aware that we never faced each other in the melee Tristifer."
Before Tristifer could reply, Eddard suddenly poked his brother in the side in a small panic.
Brandon looked quite confused as he looked down at his younger brother before suddenly jumping to his feet. "Unfortunately, I must leave you here; the lance won't joust itself!" Lyanna and Benjen snickered as their eldest brother hurriedly rushed out of the stands.
Tristifer and Addam both had laughter in their eyes as the remaining Starks turned back. Robin couldn't help but comment. "He is not how I imagined the heir to Winterfell being."
His cousin and friend both seemed to agree and looked at Eddard with obvious curiosity. The Stark shrugged. "Certain Starks are said to have something my father calls 'the wolf's blood.' He mentioned this about both Brandon and Lyanna. I am sure even in this brief time, you have noticed they don't always think through what they say and do?" The second eldest Stark said with a pointed look toward his sister.
Lyanna had a simple grin on her face, seemingly unabashed. "It is not my fault you possess the adventurousness of a pile of snow," she replied in an innocent tone.
"Need I remind you who has traveled more kingdoms?" Eddard said with a raised eyebrow, causing Robin and his friends to chuckle goodheartedly as Lyanna's face fell.
A booming horn blow interrupted any retaliation from the Stark lady as they all turned their eyes down toward a herald.
"The good Lord Walter Whent welcomes you all to the introductory rounds of the Joust!" The herald announced.
"For the next five days of jousting, we will surely be treated with a spectacle great enough to echo the grandness of the tourney itself, as the melee of yesterday already proved." Many turned toward Tristifer, who wore a polite smile. Robin had to give it to Tristifer; his cousin could certainly wear a mask, outwardly unfazed by the hundreds of eyes that passed him.
"The current Queen of Love and Beauty, defended by her champions in the form of her uncle Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard and Lord Walter's four gallant sons, is the delightful Lady Sarra Whent!"
The young woman was undoubtedly comely, with silky dirty blonde hair and prominent light brown eyes. She couldn't hide her smile as she waved from her prominent place beside her Lord Father and the King, who seemed willing to remain silent for now.
Two servants lifted a curtain underneath the royal box, revealing four shields decorated in yellow and black Whent sigils flanking the centrally placed snow-white shield of the Kingsguard.
"Our eager contenders will then simply tap the shield of the one they want to challenge; one can only challenge the champions of Lady Sarra, and if defeated, one cannot try again." The Herald took a noticeable breath of air, letting the crowd murmur excitedly before continuing.
"If they win, they will take the place of the champion until they either are the last left or are defeated in turn. The champions are allowed to challenge any of their fellow champions if they are so inclined, though the defeated may only gain custody of their arms and mount. The position of champion will have to be challenged by non-champions."
The herald once again paused after he had explained the 'rules.' Every tourney did things differently, and while not much may change, there was a precedent to explain them before the first joust for those unfamiliar.
"The current champions of Lady Sarra's honor, from left to right, are her brothers Ser Steffon Whent—" A great cheer erupted as the knight in question trotted out upon a strong pale stallion underneath his sister and the shield in question.
"— and Ser Willem Whent!" Another young man trotted out on an almost identical stallion. Both men possessed the same wavy brown hair.
"Her uncle Ser Oswell Whent!" This time, the cheer was even louder; Kingsguard were greatly respected, but almost every knight of King Aerys' Kingsguard was renowned in their own way. Though one couldn't say Ser Oswell Whent held nearly as much renown as his brothers Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, or even Lord Commander Gerold Hightower.
"And remaining brothers: Ser Walton Whent and young Symond Whent." The two youngest sons of Lord Walter looked quite nervous as they trotted out. Symond couldn't be older than Benjen Stark, while Ser Walton was of age with himself, Tristifer, and Addam. They nevertheless received polite applause and soon looked excited by it all as well. Both had manes of brown hair, with only Lady Sarra not being graced with the brown hair of the other Whents.
"I shall delay no longer, let our first contender present his challenge" The then Herald looked down upon his long scroll. "Introducing, the famed Sword of the Morning Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard!"
The White cloaked figure then rode out into the sandy arena being greeted with the greatest cheers yet. Ser Arthur had left his infamous milky white blade, the ancestral Dayne Greatsword, and the reason for Ser Arthur's title as Tristifer had told Robin, Dawn. Ser Arthur still looked resplendent in his immaculate Kingsguard armor however and the Dornish sand steed beneath the man looked equally as impressive.
The Dornish Kingsguard knight tipped his head and lance at a violet-eyed beauty sitting in the stands. Robin extrapolated that she was the knight's almost equally famed sister, Lady Ashara Dayne, one of Princess Elia's dearest handmaidens. Her breathtaking beauty was obviously not overstated, as she smiled back at her brother as he passed.
Ser Arthur rode right before his brother Ser Oswell and resolutely tapped the white shield above him.
"Ser Arthur Dayne challenges Ser Oswell Whent," the herald announced grandiosely as the two knights took their places.
A black and yellow flag was soon raised and then fell in front of the two knights, prompting them to charge each other. And so began surely the most anticipated joust in recent memory, with a white cloak charging another.
Tristifer had sat there the whole afternoon as joust after joust crashed into each other in front of him. Ser Arthur Dayne won against his Kingsguard brother and remained undefeated since, besting the few foolish knights who had too little common sense to stop themselves.
All of Lady Sarra's brothers were eventually defeated, some more swiftly than others. Notably, Brandon Stark later challenged Lord Walter's eldest, Ser Steffon Whent, triumphing over him in just two tilts. Brandon's remarkable horsemanship allowed him to maintain his position against numerous challengers who initially believed the Northman would be the easiest contender. However, they were promptly disabused of that assumption.
Though Stark and Ser Arthur Dayne were the most prominent champions left at the end of the first day of jousting, with a knight of House Blount, a Frey knight, and finally, a knight bearing the colors of House Haigh rounding out the rest of the champions' spots.
Tristifer suspected that the three knights only had those places because the better knights hadn't gotten the chance to joust yet. Even to his inexperienced eyes, they did not seem to be good enough to retain their spots for long.
Seated once more in the bustling Hall of a Hundred Hearths for the fourth occasion, Tristifer opted to share the lower tables with Addam and Robin. The noble tables presented a bothersome dining experience, with certain lords attempting to assert their supposed superiority, either by overlooking his family lineage or questioning him as if suspecting fraud. Unfazed, Tristifer consistently found himself more knowledgeable than his counterparts. While the finer details of his ancestors remained somewhat elusive, he had diligently combed through every tome mentioning the Riverlands or the Andal Invasion.
In contrast, the servants and minor knights surrounding them proved much less aggravating. While they did recognize him, their conversations primarily revolved around his encounters with Robert Baratheon and Yohn Royce.
Discussing those duels posed no trouble for him; he couldn't escape a feeling of pride when reflecting on them. He already knew he was skilled, but those encounters provided the first real tests for him. Oddly, he hadn't felt nervous; the outcome was binary, either in his favor or not, and so there seemed no reason for worry. Still, he couldn't help but feel glad that it all concluded so well.
The thought of returning to Sow's Horn defeated, with nothing to show for his efforts, not only haunted him but also filled him with dread. He couldn't bear to contemplate how his grandfather would react. Tristifer acknowledged that he struggled to recall any instances where he had disappointed his dear grandsire, and preserving that honor meant a great deal to him.
"Brother," Addam suddenly said, shaking Tristifer out of his thoughts. "Time for the mysterious Tristifer Mudd to make his appearance. I do believe I see at least three lords sniffing around after you."
Tristifer took a moment to register what Addam had said before nodding with a smirk. "Then Tristifer Mudd they shall receive."
"Good luck, cousin," Robin said from his other side, and Tristifer slapped him on his shoulder in return.
"I will most certainly need it, thanks." And then he was off through the crowds of retainers. Soon, however, he was walking past the landed knights and minor vassals, and before long, he found himself in the lion's den.
The atmosphere got less raucous that was for sure, with more small groups of people conversing about one thing or another.
"Ah, Ser Tristifer!" an excited voice exclaimed suddenly. He turned towards the portly, green-clad man and offered a warm, amiable smile. The man was undoubtedly a Tyrell, evident from the golden rose adorning his doublet. Despite his healthy auburn hair, it seemed like his generous stomach had indulged a bit too much in the bounties of the land.
Flanking the Tyrell was a stern-looking man donned in a darker green doublet, featuring a red archer on his flat stomach—a clear indication of a martial disposition. Both men were a few namedays older than him, though not by many.
"I am no knight, my lord, but I am at your service," he replied with a courteous bow. The martial man nodded in a stern acknowledgment.
"A distinction one should most certainly maintain. The title of Ser is not granted frivolously but earned through the honor of knighthood." The man turned to Tyrell during this discourse, and after a moment of blinking, he nodded respectfully to Tristifer. "Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill," he gruffly introduced himself.
"And I am Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell," Tristifer had already surmised. Although there were many male Tyrell cousins, he couldn't picture any of them in such ostentatious attire.
Seated at an expansive table surrounded by Reach lords, he observed the flaming towers of House Hightower, the fox emblems of House Florent, and the grape sigils representing House Redwyne. Various glances were cast his way, distaste more discreet in some gazes than others. The figure he presumed to be Lord Florent regarded him with evident indignation. Nevertheless, most returned to their discussions, even if their attention did not necessarily follow suit.
"An honor, can I expect any of you in the lists?" Tristifer inquired politely after a brief moment.
Lord Mace chuckled heartily. "Oh, I believe you'd be hard-pressed to catch a glimpse of me wielding a lance, let alone participating in a joust. However, my vassal here is known to showcase his prowess from time to time."
Tristifer turned to Lord Randyll, who gave a confirming nod. "I would like to test my lance against Lord Brandon; his horsemanship is truly admirable."
"Ho ho ho, high praise indeed, Lord Randyll. I've been impressed by the Stark myself. Still, having witnessed Prince Rhaegar at Storm's End during the late Lord Steffon's tourney, I won't be changing my bet," Lord Mace remarked. While initially casual, the Lord Paramount's brown eyes soon gained a curious glint.
"Say, Tristifer, I must confess that I cannot recall a House Mudd from my lessons." The Tyrell lord maintained a friendly smile, while Lord Tarly furrowed his bushy eyebrows, whether in response to Tyrell's somewhat abrupt change of topic or due to unfamiliarity with Tristifer's family was unclear.
"Well, I am not surprised, in all honesty," Tristifer reassured the lord. "It has been many years since my family held any notable sway, and while it's an interesting tale, I understand the Lord of the Reach has more pressing matters to delve into."
"To address your question, we once ruled the Riverlands as kings for centuries until the Andals arrived, approximately two millennia ago if our maesters have done their calculations correctly," Tristifer explained with a polite tone. Though the probing questions were irritating, he could spot them from a league away and had grown accustomed to such inquiries.
"Fascinating," Lord Mace responded with a bland smile, maintaining a polite level of interest, as Tristifer would describe it.
"We all have a heritage, no matter how brief, ancient, or recent. I am confident you will contribute significantly to your legacy, at the very least as the melee champion of the Tourney of Harrenhal," Lord Randyll stated bluntly, casting a pointed look at Lord Mace.
Tristifer nodded almost imperceptibly in the man's direction, and it seemed that Lord Mace grasped the implications, one should not start to throw stones in a glass house, so to speak. After all, House Tyrell's most notable achievement before Aegon the Dragon had been a brief regency for a Gardener king and a lengthy stint as stewards, and little else.
A subtle red blush adorned Lord Mace's face, and it was clear that wine was not the sole culprit. Lord Randyll reciprocated with a small nod. It seemed they had come to an understanding.
"Once again, an honor to meet my Lords, but I believe I saw Ser Tytos around; I do so enjoy his japes," Tristifer announced politely. Ser Tytos may not be a jester, but he proved more agreeable than the haughty Lord Mace and considerably more helpful.
"We shall hold you no longer," Lord Randyll interjected before Lord Mace could respond, a courtesy for which Tristifer was genuinely grateful. It appeared that the rumors regarding the Tyrell lord's reliance on his mother's guidance were not entirely unfounded.
With a final bow, Tristifer took his leave, continuing his stroll. Some nobles offered greetings, but thankfully, none attempted to engage in conversation. The smells of rich meat and wine wafted into his nose as he got closer and closer to the high table.
In the distance, Tristifer spotted the imposing figure of Robert Baratheon seated at one of the tables, accompanied by a knight clad in a yellow woolen doublet akin to Tristifer's in quality but adorned with human skulls and kissing lips—the unmistakable House Lonmouth sigil, if Tristifer wasn't mistaken. Recalling that Prince Rhaegar had once had both a Mooton squire and a Lonmouth squire, this must be the latter.
Numerous empty tankards cluttered the space between them, and new ones were brought in as Tristifer passed. It appeared that Robert hadn't allowed his recent defeat to diminish his enjoyment.
In navigating the crowded area, Tristifer had to squeeze past a man dressed entirely in black as they brushed against each other. The man abruptly halted, recognition lighting up his eyes.
"The winner of the melee, correct?" The black-clad man continued when Tristifer nodded hesitantly. "Recognized that nice emerald-studded crown of yours. Fine clothes for a lowborn," the man commented without hesitation pointing at his doublet. "You see, I am a recruiter from the Night's Watch. How would you like to dedicate your life to something? To follow a long and proud line of watchers on the Wall?"
Tristifer looked at him quizzically with some hidden irritation. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. The Wall doesn't call me, and I would not dare to taint the Watch's dutiful ranks with doubts." He was aware that it wasn't the most diplomatic response. His ancestors had not been deposed for long the last time the Watch had been seen as anything close to prestigious in the south. He knew the North had a different perspective, but that was one thing they wouldn't agree on.
Effectively a penal colony in all but name, the proposition as an alternative to execution compelled Tristifer to perceive it as an indisputable reality. However, during discussions with the Starks, Brandon and Eddard vehemently disagreed. While acknowledging the honor achievable by voluntary members, Tristifer harbored doubts, recognizing that there was honor to be gained but also a greater stain.
"A smart mouth and a fast blade; you would've fared well with my brothers. Perhaps after a black eye or two," the recruiter said before walking away without further conversation.
"Like flies to a pile of shit, those recruiters," a male voice suddenly said, and Tristifer once again turned.
"Jammos, how are the arms doing?" Tristifer greeted with a grin.
The youngest Blackwood rolled his eyes with a smile. "They pulled through, though not without a bruise or two, which I have been reminded of constantly since our little bout," he said as he slung one of them around Tristifer's shoulders and walked him further along between the tables. "My brother thought you would be interested to know that Lord Whent requested you."
"Then I shall pay our dear host a visit. You sure you're not interested in a few training sessions with me, young Benjen Stark, and Howland Reed?"
The young knight looked completely deadpan. "Leave the children alive, will you?"
Tristifer simply winked. "Oh, they are much more resilient than you, I'm sure. Those summer snows I have heard about, very hardy those Northmen." Ser Jammos rolled his eyes before departing.
"I will take that as a no," Tristifer said to Jammos' retreating form. The knight simply shook his head, and Tristifer chuckled. While Tytos was a good man, Tristifer hadn't discovered any real sense of humor. The Blackwood heir may not be open enough to him yet. Ser Jammos, however, seemed to have inherited an appreciation for japes.
Tristifer drew immediate notice as he ascended the dais. Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Arthur Dayne, their hands instinctively on their swords, initially reacted, but a wave from none other than King Aerys, seated across the high table, allowed Tristifer to pass through the imposing protectors of the royal family.
The high table was not fully occupied, with Prince Rhaegar conspicuously absent, replaced by an olive-skinned man at Princess Elia's side. Judging by the man's proximity to Princess Elia, Tristifer surmised him to be her infamous brother, Prince Oberyn Martell—a prince traded for a prince.
Apart from the Martells, the King sat somewhat sullenly, positioning himself as far away from the Dornish contingent as possible. Lord Walter Whent occupied the space between King Aerys and Princess Elia, three empty seats reserved for his presumably eldest sons. Whent's wife sat beside their youngest son, Symond, and their daughter, Lady Sarra, was positioned closest to the Princess.
"Tristifer Mudd, the man of yesterday's hour," the Dornish prince exclaimed loudly as he approached.
Lady Shella Whent displayed a subtle frown at his arrival, while her husband maintained a bright yet somewhat vacant smile. Tristifer could already discern who held the true reins of power in Harrenhal. As per his understanding, Lady Shella was the daughter of the previous Lord Whent but had to marry her cousin to consolidate their claims.
While a dance of the bats might not be as destructive as dragons, Tristifer couldn't imagine any family willingly succumbing to internal strife, especially given the existing external threats. The prospect of it being a union of love seemed unlikely, given the noticeable distance between the two and their contrasting dispositions. Tristifer wouldn't be too hesitant to place a bet on that observation.
The youngest son seemed almost starstruck, echoing the awe Tristifer had noticed in Benjen earlier. His sister, on the other hand, displayed a healthy blush—whether attributed to his presence or the infamous reputation of the Dornish prince only a few seats away, Tristifer couldn't discern. Nonetheless, he was pleased to witness her eyes dip in embarrassment as his gaze met hers. Appreciation was one thing, and Tristifer contemplated how he could forge connections in this situation.
Princess Elia, on the other hand, extended a kind but visibly tired smile.
"Prince Oberyn," Tristifer greeted in return.
"You know, I was a guest at the Citadel for a time, and during my stay, I recall some Maesters debating the existence of the Mudd Kings. Your appearance here would likely make a number of them very happy, and others not so," Prince Oberyn remarked with an inquisitive tone. "Assuming, of course, your claims of heritage are true."
"Words are so easy to say, even if your only claims are on a pile of rocks in a corner of the Riverlands." The Dornish prince finished with a smirk.
"Brother, no need for this inquisition. Young Tristifer has proven himself with his performance in the melee. And it is not your place to question his heritage," Princess Elia interjected sternly, earning a genuinely grateful smile from Tristifer. Prince Oberyn seemed pacified and promptly rose to his feet when his sister coughed suddenly.
"I-I believe I will retire for the night, my lords, ladies," the Princess said before being led away by her brother. Tristifer noticed King Aerys leaning as far away as possible when they passed, his expression marked by disgust.
"A wonderful woman, Princess Elia," Lord Walter suddenly remarked, and Tristifer sensed he wasn't the only one who caught Lady Shella's disgruntled look at her husband, followed by a subtle throat clearing. Lord Walter blinked before redirecting his attention to Tristifer. "Ah, yes. Congratulations on your victory. I don't believe I've had the opportunity yet."
Tristifer responded with a courteous bow, uncertain about Lord Whent's intentions. The lord didn't seem entirely present.
"There were some concerns over your duel against Lord Baratheon," Lord Whent paused, wearing an apologetic look. "Some found it quite unseemly, and there were even demands for your disqualification and the revocation of your prize. I, of course, assured them that such actions would not be taken, but I would recommend caution in not overstepping your bounds." Lord Whent evidently believed he was offering valuable advice to Tristifer. A flicker of irritation churned in Tristifer's stomach, but he managed to swallow it down.
"My thanks for your advice; I will certainly keep it in mind," Tristifer responded diplomatically, though Lady Whent narrowed her eyes once again, clearly not a fan of his.
"A wonderful performance, young man," the uncomfortably wheezing voice of the King suddenly exclaimed. "There are some Lords in these lands who can't help trying to crawl up to places they are not supposed to be, and it was a joy to see you drag them back down to the gutters where they belong."
The way the king could insult everyone he mentioned with one sentence was almost impressive, if it wasn't at Tristifer's expense. However, he couldn't say he took it very personally as he simply smiled 'gratefully' in response.
Lord Whent's eyes widened almost comically at the King's comment, while Lady Shella managed to hide her surprise better. Their two present children appeared very much confused by the situation, with the son displaying more bewilderment, and Sarra seeming to absentmindedly observe Tristifer.
"It is my pleasure to serve your Grace," Tristifer replied, and the King's sickly, blank violet eyes seemed to light up with a giddy look.
As the minstrels began playing and tables were scraped in preparation, an idea popped into Tristifer's head. The King appeared to relish his presence, and the one thing the Mad King liked even more was disgruntled but helpless nobles.
"If there is nothing else, I would like to ask for a dance, my Lady Sarra. Your title as the Fair Maid does not do you justice." The eyes of the maiden in question widened dramatically, and while she seemed very eager, a shrill voice interrupted any reply.
"You have overstepped! How dare you even ask such a question?" Lady Whent said incredulously.
"Let them; it is my command as king. They are simply children," King Aerys' voice interjected, the unmistakable cruel glee in his tone confirming Tristifer's earlier intuition. Lord Whent, who had initially looked affronted, wilted immediately, and Lady Shella, though mutinous, did not utter anything further.
Tristifer extended a hand to the young lady. Sarra cast a hesitant look at her mutinous mother but made a split-second decision to allow him to help her to her feet.
"One dance, and if I see as much as a finger even close to any inappropriate place, I will have them cut off personally," Lady Shella declared as a parting comment as the two left and joined the now-dancing lords and ladies on the floor below the dais.
Sarra gasped in surprise when he put his hand on her waist, but apart from an excited glint in her eyes, she soon assumed her position, and they began their dance.
"I hope I haven't caused any trouble between you and your mother?" he asked with a concerned tone. Her face softened, and she shook her head as firmly as she could in their calm dance.
"I don't know what came over her, and I apologize for it. You are wonderful—" She stopped herself with a small squeak. "I mean, you have been perfectly respectful," she finished with burning cheeks. They kept their eyes locked on each other, and Tristifer imagined his own thoughts were a tad more coherent, given her expression.
Tristifer simply smiled kindly but was inwardly quite amused. He remembered Lady Lyra from Sow's Horn and thought of the coincidences. Sarra Whent was more unsubtle, probably a little inebriated. However, like Lady Lyra, he would not let it lead anywhere. He was admittedly reaching way above his station, and he liked all his appendages attached—arms, legs, and others.
That didn't mean he couldn't make a lasting impression on the girl, at least. Perhaps one day, if she remained unattached and he gained a lordship? House Whent was not a minor house; even if not highly respected, they possessed wealth, the great castle of Harrenhal, and were among Lord Tully's most powerful vassals, holding sway over all the lords and knights bordering the God's Eye.
There was, of course, the curse of Harrenhal to consider, Tristifer thought with amusement.
That she was so enamored with him in a castle filled with almost every other noble in the Seven Kingdoms was a boost to his ego. It also gave him reason to look into a potential marriage between them in the future. Tristifer recognized that marriage was often used as a political tool in the nobles' games, but he hoped to marry someone who, at the very least, didn't harbor animosity towards him, in addition to bringing value to his house. He wouldn't sacrifice a beneficial union for the first pretty face he encountered.
The two finished their dance silently, Tristifer contemplating the feast until now, and Sarra, well, he was sure was not thinking of very appropriate things.
A cough from their side startled the two, and Sarra's eldest brother, Ser Steffon, stood there with a stony expression, though Tristifer believed he spied a certain amount of fondness and exasperation in the man's brown eyes.
"Brother..." Sarra said almost guiltily, though Ser Steffon was mostly focused on Tristifer.
"May I have my sister back?" He said after a moment with a tight expression, and Tristifer nodded, turning back to Sarra. He kissed the back of her hand.
"It has been a pleasure, my lady. It seems your beauty has distracted my courtesies. Ser Steffon." He released her hand and once again nodded to both before leaving as Ser Steffon all but dragged his sister back up to the high table. Even better for Tristifer if he was her only dance this feast; he could imagine Lady Whent hiding her daughter away after this. It would make the moment all the more lasting for the girl.
When he let his gaze sweep over the assembled nobles, he decided that he probably should retire. He had had his fun and was beginning to tire of the lords and their never-ending games.
As he walked to the great open doors, he continued looking around. He saw Eddard Stark trailing after his brother Brandon as the two approached the tall and unmistakable beauty that was Ashara Dayne. It seemed like the elder brother's courage was a tad larger when it came to women.
He was a little surprised when he finally spotted Prince Rhaegar with a harp in hand, performing a hauntingly beautiful song that made many ladies weep. What was curious was that Lyanna Stark was one of that number—curious.
He eventually made it out of the suffocatingly warm hall and was soon greeted with a refreshing night breeze. As soon as he reached his tent, he offered a tired greeting to his 'guards,' Addam's recruits. Before slipping into his cot, he was soon fast asleep, the excitement of the day finally catching up to him.
Tristifer was truly gifted with a blade, and while that didn't necessarily mean an ability to teach, it seemed like Addam's friend possessed skills in both.
He and Tristifer had decided to skip the earliest tilts of the day, as watching knight after knight try and fail to challenge Brandon or Ser Arthur soon grew stale. Prince Rhaegar would be in the lists in the afternoon, so they opted to wait for that. To fill the time, Tristifer had kept his word to young Benjen and invited the Stark and his friend to the training yard.
Lord Howland Reed was of an age between Benjen and Tristifer, around Lady Lyanna's age if Addam wasn't mistaken. But it was obvious that he wasn't very well versed in martial matters. The younger Benjen was a lot more familiar with the blade even if he didn't quite have the strength yet to wield it gracefully.
Addam was leaning on the wooden fence that surrounded the small training yard. With a castle as large as Harrenhal, finding a more out-of-the-way training yard wasn't too difficult.
Tristifer had his students running laps around the arena since if there was one thing they both lacked, it was stamina.
"Go wash off!" Tristifer eventually shouted to the boys, who rushed over to a couple of water-filled buckets that Tristifer and Addam had prepared. Tristifer then walked over to Addam with a grin on his face.
"It truly is something else to be the one to order the exercise. I now know how that damned Captain Warrick felt when he held me back after training and did the same."
"And now you do the same to those boys?" Addam replied with a grin, and Tristifer nodded.
"Well, see how I turned out. If I had to sacrifice some sweat and tears, then so do they," Tristifer said half-jokingly.
"Tristifer!" The voice of Robin suddenly sounded to their left, leading the three of their guards. All four in the run-down courtyard turned to Robin. "The King has announced a manhunt for a mystery knight that was present at the lists. He insists to everyone who listens that it was Jaime Lannister, having defied the King's orders."
"Sounds a bit unlikely. Did you see the mystery knight?" Addam eventually said as Tristifer turned thoughtful.
Robin nodded in affirmation. "Yes, I saw him joust and defeat three knights. When they requested to ransom their equipment, the knight said that they ought to teach their squires respect."
Addam looked at his friend, almost amused. "Well, now I am sure it wasn't Ser Jaime. One can see his ego coming a league away. No way he would care for some obscure squires."
"What is happening, Ser Addam?" Benjen suddenly said from their side, and Addam and Robin turned to the two boys.
"It seems the King has called a manhunt for a mystery knight that was in the lists this morning. You are finished here, so I'm sure one of our men is willing to escort you and Howland back to your families," Addam replied, sending a look at one of their guards who soon gestured for the boys to follow him.
He paused to look over at Tristifer; their leader remained silent. "Did this knight have any distinguishing features or mannerisms?"
Robin followed his look at Tristifer before answering. "He was quite short, with ill-fitting and ill-matching armor. He did have a shield decorated with a Laughing Weirwood Tree." Robin seemed to be reviewing his memory. "And a booming voice, a fully concealed helm, of course."
"Would you think it hard to acquire this ensemble?" Tristifer suddenly asked.
Robin shook his head. "No, all was probably armor pieces this mystery knight found in an armory someplace; the shield, though, would be harder; it was quite distinctive."
Tristifer nodded then with a cunning expression. "Well, then I want you, Robin, to recreate this armor. Try armories and such in the castle, while Addam and I shall search for a cutpurse or something, and then we meet back here in the afternoon."
"You see, I highly doubt they will find this mystery knight with so little to go on and such a large city of tents; it would be almost impossible. So what if we 'find' this mystery knight instead?" He didn't mean to... Addam's eyes widened, and Robin looked similarly surprised.
"Let's not dither; we have a knight to capture. In the unlikely event that this knight is found, we will, of course, abort this scheme," Tristifer said as he began walking away with determination. Addam and Robin shared a look but Robin soon rushed off, Addam could only hope they were not found out.
Ser Addam maintained a stone-faced expression, not allowing even a sliver of his inner nervousness and doubts to show in his demeanor. He also paid careful attention not to give away any other tells with his body language, walking with a straight back toward the royal box. Tristifer was on the other side of their 'prisoner,' looking very serious—something Addam was sure was one of the man's many masks.
Robin trailed behind them to finish the procession as more and more Lords and Ladies noticed their approach walking through the now greatly diminished stands.
The King fidgeted, his eyes flicking with obvious paranoia. He had stayed in the jousting arena since he issued his command. While a shield had been found by Prince Rhaegar leaning against a tree, the mystery knight had not been found—until now, Addam thought sarcastically. Sometimes Tristifer's schemes even made him nervous at how generally well thought out they were, always exploiting some weakness or another.
The 'mystery knight' was not a knight at all; he was a middle-aged fisher with seven boys who was on his last legs—physically quite fit for a lowborn but financially struggling. When Tristifer suddenly arrived with a bag of clinking silver stags and handed it to his family, vowing to add a bag of golden dragons in case the fisher died, the man agreed to don the armor they had provided and followed them unflinchingly as they approached the 'Mad King.'
"My King, I present to you the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He was in the process of trying to return his stolen armor to one of Lord Whent's armories when my cousin Robin and I found him," Tristifer announced, seamlessly incorporating the absent armor they had pilfered from the armories into the narrative, neatly tying up any loose ends.
The King's attention was wholly focused on the 'knight,' his delight evident.
"Guards! Have this vermin thrown in the dungeons. He shall receive an appropriate punishment for his shameless thievery and treasonous behavior," the King screeched. Addam carefully avoided wincing at the unpleasant sound, not daring to imagine what King Aerys considered 'appropriate.'
What was worse was when the fisher was escorted away by Targaryen guards. The King then put on a smile, if the display of hideously yellow display of teeth could even be described as such. Addam didn't miss the meaningful glance that the fisher sent Tristifer as he passed, being dragged between two Targaryen guards, nor Tristifer's imperceptible nod in return.
"You once again impress, Tristifer Mudd. Your loyalty is unmatched, and the results speak for themselves. You and yours have proven yourselves as leal servants of the Crown, and for that, you will be rewarded." The king turned to his closest Kingsguard. "Lord Commander, I wish for you to knight these servants of the Crown."
Gerold Hightower bowed and moved to them. "Kneel," he said imperiously in front of them.
Addam took a step back. "I already possess a knighthood." Hightower simply nodded as Tristifer and Robin kneeled in front of the Kingsguard knight.
The sound of steel sliding along leather echoed around the now completely silent arena. The castle-forged blade soon landed on Tristifer's armored shoulder with a clink.
Addam spied Prince Rhaegar looking surprisingly conflicted, with a torn expression from his position beside the King. Perhaps the prince knew what fate awaited the 'mystery knight' under his father's mercy. Addam had no idea what else could make the prince's control of his emotions slip.
There were not nearly as many nobles present as during the jousts or highborn melee. Addam could spot the absence of the Starks, Tyrells, and Martells, along with many of their bannermen. The reluctantly impressed figure of Robert Baratheon was present, sitting beside his bannerman's grandson, and according to Tristifer, drinking partner Ser Richard Lonmouth. Addam believed he heard Robin mention that the two had promised to unmask the mystery knight, so their sour expressions were not unexpected.
The nobles' reactions could be summarized in three groupings: the indifferent ones, the envious nobles now aware of Tristifer's rapport with the King, even if that wasn't necessarily a very enviable position, having the attention of 'King Scab'. And finally, those who looked impressed. This included the Blackwoods, led by Ser Tytos, who seemed very surprised at Tristifer's rise. Addam could also see Lady Sarra looking somehow even more enamored with his 'brother.' Even her brothers looked impressed, even if they tried to hide it with varying degrees of success.
"Tristifer of House Mudd. 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 defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. Rise, Ser Tristifer Mudd, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." Ser Gerold Hightower shifted the sword from shoulder to shoulder at every sentence before finally raising it when Tristifer rose. Ser Tristifer, Addam reminded himself.
The knight nodded to Tristifer before moving to the still-kneeling Robin and repeating the ceremony. "... Rise, Ser Robin of Harrenhal, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." As Robin didn't possess a surname, he was treated as a Hedge Knight and granted the surname of where he was knighted.
The two newly knighted men received a healthy applause before Ser Aerys rose to his feet.
"You are dismissed," he croaked simply before turning around and disappearing from the Royal Box. The Kingsguard knights followed their king while Prince Rhaegar stayed for a moment, staring at Tristifer before following his father.
And now they were all knights. How much had changed in barely a year? Addam almost didn't believe it if it wasn't because he had lived it all. Was this the highest House Mudd and Tristifer could rise? Addam doubted it, but one command of an unstable king could change everything; they could not forget that.
End of Chapter
And there we are. Ended up being a slightly longer chapter as I only got more and more ideas, especially during the feast where I sprinkled in events mentioned in the wiki throughout the whole scene.
Tristifer uses his smarts to once again manipulate Aerys' distaste for the nobility in his favor by first stealing a dance from Lady Sarra Whent and then his bloodthirstiness to not read anything further into how lucky it was that Tristifer 'found' the Knight of the Laughing Tree, it seems the real identity of the mystery knight will forever be unknown. Tristifer and Robin are knighted, finally. Now Tristifer doesn't need to correct Mace Tyrell any longer. Rhaegar seems to know something (I wonder what?) and his interest is piqued by our dear Mudd.
I have searched for Mudd stories and found myself disappointed with the quantity, so hopefully, this will do the obscure house justice.
The next chapter will be The Day the Smiles Died. Please review, I am always interested in feedback, and I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.