The Day the Smiles Died
Tristifer wearily prodded his spoon into the stew, fatigue settling in after a week of feasting. Alongside Addam, Robin, and his five guards, they sat outside their tents, silently breaking their fast around a warmed pot of humble stew.
Maybe joining the lists would have been a wiser choice if only to stay fit. Today marked the final day of feasting, with the last jousts scheduled for this afternoon. It would prevent him from growing fat, unlike Robin, who seemed a bit rounder, though it wasn't a major concern given his age.
As the majority of the nobles prepared to leave Harrenhal on the morrow, Tristifer contemplated his own destination. The dismantling of lavish tents and pavilions had already begun, signaling the end of the festivities. Returning to Sow's Horn held little appeal, and the thought of living in the quiet village beneath it was unappetizing. Reuniting with his grandfather would be nice, but sustaining seven people in an inn would deplete his wealth rapidly.
Reminded of his guards' loyalty, he decided to reward them with a bonus for their past actions and continued dedication, both during the bandit encounter before the tourney and their ongoing service for a salary of silver stags.
The thought of the Ivy Inn and the charming Elenei crossed Tristifer's mind, but he knew that without a clear goal, he might lose focus on restoring his house. Becoming a lord was imperative, the logical progression from knighthood. Tristifer delved into books on how lowborns and bastards had risen in the past, but he wasn't a son of King Aegon IV and did unfortunately not possess a secret Targaryen Prince as a squire. So it wasn't particularly useful in his case.
"Ser Tristifer, just the man I was looking for," a cultured voice interrupted his thoughts. Turning, he faced Prince Rhaegar, accompanied by Ser Arthur Dayne, Lord Jon Connington, and the prince's two knighted squires, Ser Richard Lonmouth and Ser Myles Mooton.
Tristifer rose, his companions following suit. "My Prince, how may I be of service?"
Prince Rhaegar's pleasant smile didn't mask the calculated look in his indigo eyes, indicating this was no casual encounter. Though Tristifer doubted anything the prince did was spontaneous, the Targaryen seemed very calculating in contrast to his unstable father.
"Well, I realized we have failed to converse and intended to rectify this," the Prince said, moving beside him. "You have impressed greatly, and I am not just talking about your melee victory. You are remarkably well-spoken for someone not born to nobility or trained as a maester," Prince Rhaegar acknowledged with apparent genuine interest.
Tristifer blinked, still a bit sleepy. "I really have Addam to thank. He's the baseborn son of Ser Roger Hogg. Though not residing in the castle, he was fostered with my uncle and Robin's father. Addam received lessons from the castle's maester, and, in turn, taught me my letters and numbers." Tristifer shot a grateful look at Addam, who responded with a slightly embarrassed eye roll.
"The library, with no offense intended, was quite underutilized. My position as a castle guard afforded me more privileges than merely being Addam's foster brother during my free time," Tristifer added, subtly criticizing the martial Ser Roger for neglecting the wealth of books and tomes.
Rhaegar looked impressed at both Tristifer and Addam. "A truly heartwarming story, and your diligence and your friends' loyalty seem to be longstanding," the Prince remarked, pausing as he glanced speculatively at Robin and their guards. "I do wonder, though, if you have any plans after this tournament?"
Tristifer exchanged a glance with Addam before responding, "No, my Prince, it is something we have been wondering as well, in truth," Tristifer chuckled slightly, intrigued by the Prince's comment. Was there an offer in the air?
"If I may skip beating around the bush, I'm interested in hiring all of your party. I assume you are familiar with the City Watch of King's Landing? The Gold Cloaks, as they are called," Prince Rhaegar inquired. Tristifer was taken aback; he hadn't expected the Prince to show interest in the Gold Cloaks, the city's law enforcers. They were notably kept away from the Red Keep, where the personal Targaryen men-at-arms guarded.
"We are familiar," Addam replied, breaking the silence that had settled, indicating Tristifer's absorption in his thoughts.
"After Lord Tywin's resignation as Hand, Lord Owen Merryweather has been appointed in Lord Lannister's stead," the Targaryen prince explained. Tristifer had heard of Lord Lannister's resignation, with the theft of his golden heir being the last straw. However, the news of a new Hand, Lord Owen Merryweather, was unknown to him.
"It seems the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, one Ser Bertrand Crakehall, has followed suit, as I just received word of him leaving for Crakehall," Rhaegar informed them, appearing almost irritated. "A creature of Lord Tywin, he has proven, but as Lord Lannister himself admittedly competent."
Tristifer was unfamiliar with both Lord Owen Merryweather and Ser Bertrand Crakehall, relying solely on the Prince's judgment.
Rhaegar paused as Robin made a motion with his hand. "No disrespect meant, but what does this have to do with us?" Robin's directness surprised Tristifer; he wasn't very awake either if he dared to question the Crown Prince in such a manner.
"I am almost there, Ser Robin," the Prince said with a patient smile, though a flicker of irritation hinted at his unfamiliarity with being questioned. Lord Jon Connington, in his red attire, took a step forward, hand on his sword hilt, wearing an incensed expression. "No need, Jon. He meant no disrespect, and I understand how this may seem unimportant to some."
The hidden insult wasn't lost on Tristifer. While he found himself more irritated by Prince Rhaegar's subtle jabs compared to his father's overt insults, he decided against testing the Crown Prince's patience.
"This all leads to my reason for recruiting you fine folk. The new Hand's appointment worries me. A young and inexperienced Ser Arnell Merryweather is now Commander of the City Watch. While I may not be allowed to comment much on nepotism, I greatly doubt this young man's competence. He is here at Harrenhal, and so far, he has not convinced me otherwise." Prince Rhaegar said with a small smile and some humor. Tristifer mirrored the Prince's small smile, at least he was self-aware.
Tristifer had some inkling of Prince Rhaegar's motivations but did wonder when the prince would get to the point.
"My father would never allow me to appoint the Commander or any Captains of the City Watch. His Master of Whispers, Varys, would keep him well informed if I tried," Prince Rhaegar added, sending Tristifer a significant look.
"I have, however, been able to arrange for two open positions as serjeants at the Gate of the Gods. The city's gates, like everything in this realm, have a hierarchy, but the Gate of the Gods is one of the most prominent, being the one closest to the start of the Gold Road. The pay is generous, in my humble opinion, and I assure you that promotion would not be far in the future if you continue to impress as you have here, even without my sway."
Tristifer finally had a question. "Would not this Master of Whispers notice your influence? I thought he reported to your father and halted any such schemes, if I am allowed to call it that."
Prince Rhaegar smiled with glinting eyes. "Well, you see, none of the members of the court are without their own ambitions, not necessarily lining up with my father's or mine, though Lord Staunton does come close." Ser Arthur snorted at this comment. Tristifer knew that Lord Staunton was the Master of Laws, though not very respected, given the Prince's comment and Ser Arthur's reaction.
"Varys and I do share opinions on certain matters, but he would have to report me trying to appoint any Commanders or Captains, if only to stop the other Small Council members from running to the king themselves. My father has little patience for any treason, real or otherwise," the Prince emphasized the last part, and Tristifer, having observed King Aerys's obvious paranoia, needed no convincing that the king cared little for extensive evidence of treason, regardless of facts.
"Serjeants, however? And rapid promotions through the ranks? My father's other councilors are not that... attentive to such details, so Varys would be free to let it slip his mind," Prince Rhaegar calmly explained. "And up until Commander, promotions within the Gold Cloaks are internal and decided by the Commander himself or at specific gates, the Captain. Again, with your competence, you may not even need me to influence things, ideally."
"I fear that the standards will start slipping quite rapidly with Ser Bertrand's departure. It would not surprise me to see the Lannisters and their men holding these... sandcastles together and then letting them collapse in their absence. Some young Reach knight certainly would not be able to stop that," Prince Rhaegar once more paused, his look significant.
"And I will need loyal and, most importantly, competent men to either hinder or fix this sometime in the future. Such a service would be rewarded greatly if you're successful," Prince Rhaegar finally stated, making it clear what he was alluding to. Tristifer's answer seemed to have fallen right into his lap, though it would be foolish to accept it offhandedly.
Tristifer exchanged looks with Robin and Addam, even some of the guards, though they looked quite clueless before returning his attention to the Prince. "I believe we need to discuss this among ourselves and come back to you if we are allowed?"
"Of course, it is a big decision, and while I would be greatly appreciative, I would not force you to do this in any way. You have until midday tomorrow at the latest, hopefully, sooner rather than later, though," Prince Rhaegar said with a final polite smile as he waved and departed with his entourage in tow.
"What do you think?" Addam eventually broke the silence as they all returned to their seats around the pot. It was obviously directed at Tristifer.
Tristifer was conflicted. The prospect of becoming a Gold Cloak seemed promising, given his familiarity from his time as a Hogg guard. The pay would undoubtedly be attractive, especially considering Prince Rhaegar's mention of it. However, the specifics of what the literal prince considered a good salary for a Gold Cloak remained unclear to Tristifer. The Prince didn't appear entirely disconnected from at least the Gold Cloaks, given the Prince's observations of Ser Arnell Merryweather and predictions about the Small Council's actions.
On the other side, it would be a decisive move, effectively hitching his cart to Prince Rhaegar's proverbial horse. The Prince appeared highly competent and intelligent, displaying a studied and attentive approach to smaller details. The Targaryen madness had a basis in fact, likely rooted in their incestuous practices, though not as physically affected as other peoples. Tristifer imagined that if he were to sire any children with a hypothetical sister, things would quickly get ugly, never mind the taboo, and certainly not to mention the potential consequences over several repeated generations.
"I-" Tristifer paused, an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. "I am inclined to accept the Prince's offer. Aligning with him carries risks, especially considering the battle lines drawn between supporters of Prince Rhaegar and the King's men. Being burnt alive is not how I want to meet the gods," Tristifer was careful not to specify which gods. His guards were followers of the Seven, even the Northman, though originating from White Harbor.
Tristifer believed that Robin also 'followed' the Seven, even if he wasn't a particularly pious man. Tristifer and Addam, however, had a more pragmatic approach. He didn't believe in any gods, though felt drawn to the less regimented Old Gods of the North and his ancestors. The fact remained that the Seven dominated almost all lands south of the Neck, and it wouldn't do to alienate them or risk being burned as an apostle. Addam, on the other hand, could care less. The Seven called Addam a sinner for simply living, and he held no connection to the Old Gods, so he remained godless.
"I agree with your assessment, but what other choices do we have? I must admit that the Prince's offer sounds a lot more appetizing than continuing to wander the idyllic Riverlander hills," Addam stated firmly.
Their guards chuckled heartily. "Aye mi Lord, don't believe you have lived before ya have seen the exotic knolls around the Stoney Sept," one of them heckled, and Tristifer snorted.
"I will take your word for it, Mern," Tristifer replied.
"What about the muddy plains beneath Acorn Hill, Ser? The shrubbery is to die for, I tell you," the dirty blonde Jaremy added, grinning.
"Very well, we shall not stay in the Riverlands, at least," Tristifer finally conceded. "I want your opinion, Robin, before I decide, though."
Robin seemed a little surprised but then grinned slightly. "Well, I have had enough herring to last a lifetime," they all chuckled before he shook his head. "I do believe we should accept the Prince's offer. This is not something we will stumble upon otherwise, and I think we will regret it if we don't."
Tristifer nodded resolutely, his family having spoken. "Well said, though I don't believe we will ever be able to escape the herring, Robin. Do inform the Prince or one of his followers of our decision, ideally before the joust so we are finished with it all at the feast tonight." Tristifer paused for a moment in contemplation. "I would not like to imagine Prince Rhaegar's reaction if we walk back on our word, so if we regret our decision, that's too bad unless we fancy our chances in the Free Cities."
"Council dismissed," he said pompously, and the others seemed to still be waiting. His companions finally walked away with chuckles. It would be interesting to see who would win the joust, he admitted. Prince Rhaegar had knocked Brandon Stark off his horse the previous day and was a definite favorite. Ser Arthur still stood undefeated, and Ser Barristan Selmy was legendary for his jousting, joining his charge and brother. Lord Yohn Royce once again impressed, snagging the second-to-last place, with Ser Brynden Tully filling the last position.
As the last five contenders, they would face each other in a sort of semifinals, and the best and second-best would meet in the finale. If there were multiple contenders at the second place, they would have one more tilt, assuming it was only two contenders that were tied, to decide. It promised to be an interesting competition.
Eddard Stark was grateful that this was the final day of jousting. With his brother defeated, he couldn't muster enough care to cheer for anyone, though Lord Yohn Royce was his favorite if he were forced to decide.
Ser Tristifer, as he was now called, sat on his right with one of his 'shadows' missing—Ser Robin, if Ned wasn't mistaken. This meant Ser Addam sat on Tristifer's right side again.
Brandon and Benjen were seated with the Darling of the Vale, Ser Elbert Arryn, and a few other friends that Brandon, of course, had made during this brief week at Harrenhal. It was not surprising, as Ned's brother had always been the more gregarious one of the two—of all three Stark brothers, admittedly. Ned believed he had spied a Mallister, Dustin, Royce, and Glover man surrounding his two siblings a little way away in the stands.
On his left meanwhile sat his sister, Lyanna. As the tourney drew closer to its end, Ned only felt more frustrated with his sister and her betrothed. His best friend, Robert, Ned could concede that his sister had not received the best first impression with her future husband. It had happened almost immediately after the northerners and his party from the Vale had met at the junction of the High Road and Kingsroad.
Gods, that felt long ago, even if it was only a moon ago. A damned runner had been sent from Lord Jon himself to inform Robert in person. It had obviously been meant to reach them before the Kingsroad but they were not that lucky, quite the opposite being possibly the worst timing.
Needless to say, Lyanna was not amused, and Robert celebrating briefly didn't help. His friend could, at times, act before his brain could catch up, unfortunately for the Stormlord. Robert, in Ned's eyes, was the perfect husband in some ways. He could've befriended a feral wildling with his gregarious nature and without a sliver of shyness. He did of course have his faults as well, but was that not human, no one is perfect. Ned knew he was biased to some degree but for the loyalty he held for his friend, he could not believe him a bad person, flawed undoubtedly but not a bad man.
He thought Lyanna was beginning to drag it out of spite now, seemingly focusing on every minute detail she did not like about Robert. Ned's friend always broke fast with the Starks, and only Brandon's social skills kept it from being an awkward mess most of the time. It would not surprise him if Lyanna were doing it, as she could be quite childish from what he remembered before his fostering at the Eyrie.
Lyanna was still as willful as ever, even having received a large bruise on her stomach of all places. When he had noticed and asked about it, she had mentioned slipping and falling on the edge of a table. It seemed quite farfetched and sounded like a lie to his ears, but he didn't imagine bluntly announcing this to her would yield any results. Besides, it was thankfully completely hidden under her long-flowing blue dress that she had decided to wear today.
Eddard couldn't claim to know much about women's fashion, never mind his sister's wardrobe, but it was a noticeable shift from her woolen dresses that she had worn at the start of the tourney. He wasn't even aware she possessed such a dress, to be honest, but now he was questioning what he knew about her after suspecting her of lying, so there was that. Like had she ever worn her hair in a braid before? He could not recall.
His jumbled thoughts were soon pushed to the back of his mind as the finalists rode out to cheers in front of the crowd. He absentmindedly noticed Ser Robin arriving, whispering something in Tristifer's ear before taking his seat. Tristifer, in turn, seemed pleased but didn't reply, as his eyes were still focused upon the jousters who were now lined up neatly.
Eddard let his eyes drift down to the contestants and was immediately drawn to Prince Rhaegar's night-black plate armor, with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated in rubies on its breastplate. The Prince's distinctive black helmet had gold, red, and orange streamers resembling flames, though it was presently hung on the Targaryen's majestic mount, displaying Prince Rhaegar's handsome face to them all—a maiden's dream from a song of some kind, Eddard imagined. And the perfect man in many ways too; Ned could not name any faults, at the very least.
The Prince curiously let his gaze pause in their direction for a few moments. Ned could not distinguish Prince Rhaegar's exact focus nor a reason for the man to focus so heavily on them. The silver-haired prince soon let his gaze slip from them, and Ned, in turn, let the peculiar moment move to the back of his mind. Strange.
"Any predictions or favorites, Lord Eddard?" Tristifer asked casually as the final contenders were announced and the finals explained by a herald. "It was unfortunate that Lord Brandon was defeated, but I would claim that it wasn't an unexpected result either. Prince Rhaegar's lance never seems to miss."
Eddard shot his sister an irritated look as she bumped into him before answering. "I do agree. I imagine Brandon would admittedly have needed quite the lucky run to end up in the final, never mind becoming the victor. So with him eliminated, I would hedge my bets on Ser Barristan Selmy and support Lord Yohn."
"Fine jousters both, I will, however, have to say that Prince Rhaegar is my favorite. He has won in the lists against all but the Blackfish and Lord Yohn, though they have never met either," Tristifer analyzed.
"Anything can happen," was Ned's reply, though he did agree that Tristifer's assessment was probably quite reasonable. They would have to see, though.
The first jousters, Ser Arthur Dayne against Ser Brynden Tully, lined up, and the flag soon dropped. The first tilt was indecisive as both lances glanced across the opposite's shield. The clash of wood and metal resonated through the air before cheers replaced it.
As the tension mounted, two more tilts followed in rapid succession. Ned keenly observed the subtle shifts in the jousters' stance and the controlled power in the horses' movements. Yet, with each pass, it became evident that Ser Brynden was the less steady of the two, struggling to maintain his balance.
His assessment proved correct as, in the final pass, Ser Arthur's lance found its mark with precision. The impact was audible, and Ser Brynden, valiant in his efforts, was unseated from his saddle. Despite the fall, the Tully knight executed a skilled roll, preventing any serious injuries. The crowd erupted in applause, acknowledging both the victor and the defeated knight in this display of skill and chivalry. A fine joust, indeed.
Ned would not argue against that jousting had its moments because that would be a bald-faced lie, he was however resolute that it probably wouldn't gain anything more than a glancing interest from him.
As the jousting continued, the next two matchups unfolded swiftly: Ser Barristan versus Lord Yohn Royce and Ser Brynden Tully versus Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. The clashes seemed to fly past in a blur of precision and skill.
In a decisive display, Ser Barristan triumphed over Lord Yohn Royce in just two tilts. The swift and calculated movements of both knights showcased their mastery, but ultimately it was Ser Barristan who emerged victorious.
Similarly, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen exhibited his prowess in a brief but impactful joust against Ser Brynden Tully. In a single tilt, the silver-haired prince left the crowd in awe of his exceptional horsemanship and lance control. The onlookers murmured with anticipation as Ser Arthur Dayne lined up against Prince Rhaegar after a small break.
"Think he's tired?" Tristifer inquired once more.
The Stark shook his head with firm conviction. "After just one joust? No, none are in better condition entering this round. Ser Arthur had a longer break but secured victory in his fifth tilt, and Prince Rhaegar just finished a single joust with a comfortable water break in between."
"One of the finalists may well be determined right here though," Ned added, and Tristifer chuckled lightly.
"You Northmen don't beat around the bush, do you?" Tristifer remarked in amusement. Ned nodded resolutely, taking pride in his straightforwardness.
"Aye, winter waits for no one, and needless conversation won't make it any warmer," Ned answered calmly as Ser Arthur and Prince Rhaegar thundered toward each other.
A great crash echoed through the air, and splinters from the broken lances scattered. A moment of tense silence hung in the air as both jousters leaned heavily on their horses, only to be replaced by cheers from the crowd as they swiftly regained their composure, accepting new lances.
"How are the winters at the Eyrie then?" Tristifer inquired with curiosity as they observed another clash of the jousters, both struggling to land a clean strike, unfortunately.
"I would not call it mild; it varies, as far as I have gathered. During the winter season, the Arryns of the Eyrie have to move down to the Gates of the Moon, a castle at the foot of the Giant's Lance," Ned informed the knight factually before smiling. "Though, of course, it is nothing compared to the North," half in jest.
"Of course," Tristifer parroted drily, with obvious amusement.
Ned was reminded of his sister's presence as she gasped and leaned into him. He followed her gaze and saw Prince Rhaegar bent back on the horse once again. The fact that she had been so quiet was unusual in and of itself, but such a 'feminine' gasp; he guessed it was nice for Robert to know that Lyanna wasn't missing a feminine side, even if her horseriding skills and rebelliousness were quite prominent. Why his sister was so shocked by the jousting, he did not know, however.
Prince Rhaegar managed to right himself up once again, and the jousters lined up for their fifth tilt of the round. The horses soon charged forward, and there was still some dust in the air from their previous tilts, so Ned didn't see the impact of the lance clearly. What he did witness was Ser Arthur being launched from his saddle and giving Prince Rhaegar his second victory.
Ser Arthur seemed a little shaken from Ned's position as he rose to his feet but didn't appear to have sustained any serious injuries either.
"Could've ended quite ugly, that fall," Tristifer remarked casually, and Ned simply nodded.
As the Blackfish and Yohn Royce prepared for their round, Ned rose to his feet. He would return for the finale, but he wasn't interested in sitting for the entire time. There most certainly were some merchants gathered; maybe he would peruse some wares to pass the time, he thought.
Tristifer glanced at him briefly but offered no other reaction.
Tytos would have to admit that, while it was a nice display of jousting, it had not been too extraordinary. The matchup between Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur had proven interesting, as friends jousted against each other, but many of the other rounds lacked that special flair.
They had now reached the finale, however, and it came as no surprise to Tytos that Prince Rhaegar and Ser Barristan ended up as finalists. His brother Jammos had placed a bet on one of them, though he wouldn't reveal which.
His other brother, Edwyn, and sister, Alysanne, remained much more reserved, observing with neutral expressions. Tytos was aware that both of them did not have much interest beyond books, as the extensive library at Raventree Hall was one of their most frequent destinations.
The final jousters lined their mounts on each side of the fence, with lances raised in the air and visors open. The two had yet to meet, having both firmly secured first place in the semifinals with three wins each. For the sake of excitement, it was decided to forsake their semifinal and move directly on to the final.
The two nodded respectfully to each other before lowering both visor and lance. A young boy held the flag and scurried back as soon as he let it drop, and the horses began to thunder toward each other.
Time seemed to slow as Tytos watched the two jousters maneuver their lances moments before impact. Unfortunately, Ser Barristan's dipped at the last second, hitting and breaking against the Prince's shield and side. The Prince managed a much better strike, hitting the older knight directly in the chest—an almost perfect strike, one could say.
Ser Barristan managed to endure the strike, and they continued to their second tilt. It was an uncharacteristic mistake for the famed Kingsguard knight to drop his lance at such an unfortunate moment.
In their second clash, they both struck each other firmly, though Rhaegar once again emerged as the 'superior' in the encounter, looking a lot more steady than his old mentor and protector. If Ser Barristan's intention was to wear down his opponent, then Tytos feared that the Prince would not be the first to fall in a war of attrition.
The third, fourth, and fifth tilts were all indecisive, as none were felled, and neither competitor managed a solid strike. That after five tilts, Ser Barristan had yet to deliver even one well-placed blow seemed very strange to Tytos. As he reviewed the previous encounters, he reluctantly arrived at an unfortunate conclusion. Was the knight purposely conceding victory to Prince Rhaegar? He didn't like to entertain the thought that the chivalrous and almost legendary knight would do such a thing, but it seemed like the only logical assumption left.
Tytos could sense something different in the air as the jousters lined up for their sixth tilt. There was an excited buzz from the smallfolk in the stands as they whispered about how many tilts it would take to bring down either competitor. Many more experienced jousters in the stands seemed as confused as he felt and he assumed they had explored the same assumptions as he had.
The two jousters charged toward each other. The distance rapidly shrank, and a split second before clashing, Prince Rhaegar leaned forward in his saddle, and his lance broke perfectly upon the now battered breastplate of the Kingsguard knight.
Tytos frowned as Ser Barristan was finally unseated, with not one successful strike to show for it. The fact that the knight's shield hadn't even managed to block the prince's final strike seemed... sloppy. It either spoke of a great diminishment of skills for the famed knight or hinted at a planned affair.
The cheers from the crowd drowned out any discontent from the more observant nobles. Tytos clapped as Prince Rhaegar rode past in a victory lap. The Prince had performed admirably in this tourney, and as Tytos observed the unkempt form of the King, he wondered privately how long it would be before the Prince was no longer Prince of Dragonstone.
Tytos didn't anticipate a second Dance or anything so drastic, but a quiet coup in the Red Keep and a Great Council soon after would not surprise him. The unstable mental fortitude of the King only became more apparent to every lord in the realm for each day that passed.
He was about to depart, uninterested in any closing ceremony for such a disappointing joust, before stopping himself as a hush descended, and Edwyn tapped him on the side. He followed his brother's shocked gaze and was initially confused about what was so startling.
Prince Rhaegar held the crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty, hanging it on the tip of his lance. What Tytos quickly realized, with a small sense of dread, was that the man's wife, Princess Elia, was already behind him as onlookers desperately tried to understand where the dragon prince was going.
The mount slowed in front of a grey banner adorned with a direwolf, an unmistakable sigil that could not be further from the yellow and orange colors of House Martell. This was most certainly a mistake, but not in Prince Rhaegar's mind as he extended his lance toward the sitting and admittedly comely figure of Lady Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar's cousin's betrothed, as if it couldn't get more problematic.
The crown of winter roses landed in the girl's lap, and Tytos winced at her smitten smile. By the Gods.
The Prince then departed with a nod and soon disappeared into one of the tunnels.
Tytos looked to the girl's brother, the second son Eddard. The ward of Lord Arryn seemed completely horrified. After all, he was the foster brother of Lord Robert Baratheon, Tytos reminded himself.
Tytos let his gaze move briefly to the form of Tristifer on the opposite side of Eddard again. Tytos' acquaintance wore a completely calm expression on his handsome face, but Tytos swore he could see great annoyance in the man's distinctive eyes even from this distance. What was that about?
Tytos soon left with his family in tow; he could not bear to stay there for a moment longer. However, from a distance, he did witness Robert Baratheon's blazing red face. 'Ours is the Fury' indeed.
Tytos and his family opted to skip the feast scheduled for that evening, choosing to turn in early in their tents.
The next morning, Tytos woke early and was soon joined by Edwyn. The two exchanged greetings before directing their servants to start disassembling and packing their tents and belongings.
After breaking his fast briefly, Tytos woke Alysanne and Jammos. By midday, the sun had shifted, and everywhere around him, servants went back and forth, loading endless carts and carriages. Horses were taken from stables and watered.
They were soon ready for his family's departure, though they would wait for their vassals Bigglestone, Shawney, and Paege. Tytos simply sat by his trusted chestnut-colored palfrey when he saw Ser Tristifer Mudd appear.
"Ser Tristifer," he called, and the young man changed his course for the Blackwood heir.
"Ser Tytos," the Mudd greeted once close enough.
"Well, I did say that I would forego my title as long as you lacked one, but I hope we still can be more casual in private?" Tytos requested, and Tristifer nodded with a small smile.
"Of course, Tytos, I will never forget your friendliness even to a completely unknown man such as I was a short week ago."
"I thank you for the kind words, but do not sell yourself short," Tytos said, smiling. "You are no ordinary man; surname and knighthood besides, do not forget that." He did not know where the words came from, but he felt a fondness for the impressive knight even with their brief knowledge of one another.
"And where will you end up next then? Raventree Hall would be open to you and yours, I assure you, for a time at least," Tytos offered with a curious look. He was a little surprised when Tristifer gained a hard expression.
"I thank you for the generous offer, but I am afraid I may not be able to take you up on it for quite some time," the young knight replied curtly. "The Prince already extended an offer for a position in the gold cloaks yesterday before noon, something I accepted. My cousin barely managed to tell him of our acceptance before the joust."
That explained things. And it was very unfortunate for the ambitious Mudd knight. There had been, for many years, nothing to criticize the crown prince on; a good amount of that goodwill had dried up from his stunt yesterday. The moment the smiles died, some called it, and Tytos could not help but consider it an apt name.
"I wish you luck in your future endeavors, Tristifer, and hope that even in this turbulent time, you may continue to achieve great things," Tytos eventually said, and he could see that Tristifer was genuinely grateful for the Blackwood's words.
Everyone had been so focused on the rift between the King and the Heir that the increasing disillusionment of the lords and the crown had almost been ignored. This was on full display as the Arryns, along with the two wards of Lord Jon, Eddard Stark, and Robert Baratheon, had left for the Eyrie the previous evening without even informing the host, Lord Whent, and more importantly, the Crown. Tytos had heard rumors that the King had been enraged at the disrespect.
"I must depart now, Tytos. May our next meeting be better," Tristifer said with a respectful tone.
"I hope so as well, Tristifer," Tytos replied before the knight nodded and then turned on his heel and left.
Tytos couldn't help but gaze at the dragon banners of House Targaryen. While an intimidating banner, it had been many years since it had been enforced with a live representation. Without those beasts, House Targaryen seemed a lot less formidable, even if it had taken many decades for some to realize. They sure as hell made the same mistakes as the common man.
End of Chapter
And there we have it. The moment the smiles died. Rhaegar's first folly and the first domino of the fall of House Targaryen. With Tristifer right in the middle of it, I would not say his side is not completely clear yet though we shall have to see if he chooses a side in the rebellion or maybe takes his own side. You will have to wait and see.
Tristifer's time at the tourney has been very productive though with many connections forged that may help him or be a detriment to him in the future.
I have written quite a lot this time. I have written almost 22,000 words for this story this past week, many you have seen, and some for future chapters. The Story is fully planned out until the time of the Greyjoy Rebellion so the only thing that will slow me down is writing blocks for specific chapters and the looming threat of exams that will probably take a lot of my time as we get closer to the summer.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please review if you have suggestions, questions, or praise.
Next time we will briefly visit Sow's Horn before Tristifer and Addam's initiation as gold cloaks. Robin meanwhile will be doing a Littlefinger. Until next time.