"You want me to lie?" Harrold said, at first raising his voice, then his eyebrow. "You? The good and honorable Lady Anya Waynwood, who bleeds chivalry and pisses gallantry, want me to lie?"

He felt a familiar sting on his cheek as she slapped him, he winced back in pain and brought his hand up to his face. When he was young, there was nothing he feared more than her hands, but now he was used to them.

"I'll have less lip from you boy, this is a serious matter. You're a scoundrel and a reprobate when it suits you, but now when you can help our house, you become a paragon of honesty!?" She said, crossing her arms and standing on the other side of her desk. "Lyn Corbray's brother is an influential man, and he has friends who are yet more powerful than that, friends we are indebted to."

It seems integrity is lost whenever it suits you. He thought but didn't say.

"We or you?" He said.

"We, you've as much Waynwood as Arryn blood in your veins, no matter what you pretend." She said. "Now, when Lord Arryn asks you, you will tell him you saw the Stark bastard start the fight, Lyn Corbray only defended himself and there was no child on the back of Corbray's horse, understood?"

"Fine." He said, rolling his eyes and looking away. "I've no loyalty to the bastard in either case, but you better remember this favor, my lady."

And he did not have any loyalty to the bastard, the boy was fool, regardless of his skill.

'all you do is chase is empty vanity and pleasure' what a dimwit, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Hardyng thought, the bastard might know how to wield a sword, he might know how to organize a kidna— a forceful seizure of a Frey, but he was a complete and utter moron.

The two of them soon strode out of her makeshift office in the Waynwood pavilion, the same room he had confessed to her what he had seen in the stables earlier that day, and the same room where she now bid him lie for her own sake.

They walked along quilted ground to the dining room where Donnel, Anya's second son and right hand of the blackfish sat in one of the chairs awaiting them.

"Has the maester finished with the bastard's shoulder?" she asked, Donnel shook his head.

"Not yet, they'll send word when they're ready for us." Donnel said. "And you can call him by his name, he's a good lad."

"It does not change what he is." Anya said.

"I think he's due some respect." Her son said, leaning back in his chair. "How many squires have you seen perform so well in a knight's melee?"

"After lying to the gamemaster about his knighthood then attacking another finalist before the contest." Anya said, shaking her head. "A bastard if I've ever heard of one."

How he makes the finals of the knight's melee while I can't even triumph in the squire's melee is beyond me. Hardyng thought, ignoring the conversation around him as he remembered sparing with the bastard, the countless times he was thrown off his feet with no effort, his opponent may as well have been a wall of stone for all the progress Harrold made.

He's good enough to scar Corbray, what hope did I have? Which did raise the question of why the two had actually fought, he would parrot whatever Anya told him of course, but he was deathly curious why Jon would take a fight like that, and how the child played into all of this.

Hardyng had tackled Corbray off his feet when he saw him about to kill Jon, as he would any man about to kill another in a stables. Then he moved to free the bound child, and in the chaos that ensued between the guards, the raving Corbray and rushing Jon to the maester, the child had vanished.

But soon enough the messenger from Lord Arryn would arrive and the three of them were off towards the great castle, it housed the Arryn in the winters and so of course, held all of the structures and rooms befitting a castle of a lord paramount, including a great war council that the three Waynwoods ascended many staircases to reach.

Inside the room was a table, at the head of it sat the Lord Arryn, Hardyng's great uncle, his skin was leathery but there much life in him yet even at this age. He was a man who defeated the Targaryan dynasty, a man Hardyng would do anything to impress.

One would expect the presence of such a man to completely dominate the room, to overwhelm everyone else around, but Corbray was a war hero and a knight of boundless talent, he sat with a straight back to the Lord's left, his face was bandaged but otherwise carved from stone.

At the table too also sat the Bronze Yohn, as well as the blackfish, Lord Hunter and Lord Redfort, all men of stories and great deeds, all men who bent their necks to none but their king and their lord paramount, the latter would be Hardyng one day, gods willing.

Part of him was expecting Jon to fold under their presence, slump his shoulders and lower his gaze, but not only was he comfortable sitting to Arryn's right with his left arm in a sling, he too had an aura about him, even among the men of legend he was surrounded by, it was an air entirely unbefitting of a bastard, one that demanded as much attention and respect as any other man in the room, despite being a nameless green boy with tainted blood.

Tainted blood it may be, but it's still the blood of the kings of winter flows in his veins. Hardyng thought, a familiar sting of envy in his heart. And I've the blood of the Falcon kings.

He tried to broaden his shoulders and straighten his back as they entered, they were not alone, he also saw the Lady Arryn walking and turning behind Lyn Corbray, as well as Robar Royce behind the bastard, Anya gestured for them to go and sit on Corbray's side.

"I would take the word of the good and honorable Ser Corbray over that of some bastard squire." The Lady Lysa said, stopping and crossing her arms, then looking towards the blackfish. "Uncle, would you truly stand with a stain on Cat's honor?"

"He only earned squireship by rescuing Cat's children, your nieces and nephews." The blackfish said, a dry tone to his voice. "And in the time that I've come to grow familiar with him, he's proven to be a decent and honest man, regardless of his birth, he would not strike out against Corbray unless he had reason."

"Bastards are deceitful by nature." Lord Redfort said, nodding his head. "We must not forget that he forged a knighthood to enter the tourney."

Mychel is to squire for Ser Corbray soon, his lord father will take the knight's side. Hardyng reminded himself. Are all the lords as self-serving as Anya?

"I forged nothing." Jon said, his tone stern and his eyes meeting the Lord's. "I went to the lists and no one stopped me, I never claimed to be a knight."

"And I was the one to encourage him to enter the melee as a mystery knight after I sparred with him, am I a deceitful blackguard for that, my lord Redfort?" Ser Robar asked. "We must also remember Ser Samwell Stone, who has honorably served Runestone for decades, there's more to most bastards than their births, and so, I too have no reason to believe the boy would do something as drastic as assaulting a knight for no reason."

"And yet, he had none, ser." Lyn said, his gaze meeting Robar's. "I would have his hand for drawing steel on me."

"Oh, you shall have it, child raper." Jon said, he rose to his feet waving his uninjured fist in front of him, while the blackfish tried to restrain him, Corbray rose to his feet as well and smugly crossed his arms, meeting the boy's challenge, Hardyng could hardly believe what he saw.

Does he have no sense!?

"Enough!" Lord Arryn said, sitting at the head of the table, his tone and stare cowed both men into submission, and eventually, the two sat back down, though they still resumed their glaring. "I will not maim Ned's son, mine own namesake, regardless of what happened, and there will be no violence at this table, Snow."

"Banish him then," Lyn said. "His ilk has no place in the Vale, he is as much a stain on our honor as he is on his father's good name."

"I will not do so on your word alone, Corbray, not when we have a witness to what happened." Lord Arryn said, his gaze turned towards Harold, he froze, but managed to move his lips at the very least

"Yes, milord." Harold said, then kicked himself for sounding like a commoner, he rose to his feet regardless, trying to ignore the dozen gazes on him.

"No need to be so nervous, son." The lord Arryn said, his expression turning fatherly for the first time in the meeting. "You're my sister's grandson are you not? I see her face in your features. Alys was an honest woman, as befitting our blood, and I would expect no less of you."

His gaze turned serious once more, and Hardyng found it hard to keep his face straight, but when he glanced back as Jon, the boy's face was as cold as ice.

Damn you bastard.

"Now speak the truth, boy, what is it you saw in those stables?" Lord Arryn asked.

"I was returning my horse when I heard loud clanging, uhm, like the clash of steel, the sound of fighting." Hardying said, bundling his fists and sinking his nails into his palm to stop them from shaking. "So I called the guards, then I rushed towards the fighting, it was Jon and Ser Corbray crossing blades."

"Everyone agrees that much of the story was true." Lord Arryn said, his gaze peering into Hardyng's soul. "But it's the details we care about, was there a child bound on the back of Corbray's horse?"

His lips sealed shut at the question, his gaze swiftly darting between the two men sitting on Lord Arryn's sides, Corbray struggled to contain a smirk, while Jon only looked towards him expectedly.

'No', two letters, come, you can say them.

"Yes." He said, then grimaced internally. Why did I do that? "Jon and I saw Corbray with that child before then as well, his hand grasped around his throat, he said he was taking him to you, my lord."

The room descended into chaos at his words, and he saw Anya glaring daggers at him, the Bronze Yohn and the blackfish shouting over Lord Redfort and Hunter, Lyn looked close to exploding and Jon looked at him thankfully.

I didn't do it for you, bastard. Hardyng thought, but then, what other reason did he have?

"I demand trial by combat." Corbray said, rising to his feet, the entire room with all its lords and ladies fell deathly silent at the declaration, no one was foolish enough to take the offer.

"I accept!" Jon said, he too rising to his feet.

Well, almost no one.

"There will be no trial by combat." Lord Arryn shouted slamming his palm at the table and quieting both knight and bastard once more, his face was red and the vein on his forehead looked close popping. "How can you demand a trial by combat when you are not on trial Ser Corbray, and Snow, how do you expect to fight in a trial by combat with one arm!?"

The Lord then winced back into his seat and brought his hand to his temple as he cursed in pain.

"My lord Arryn!" Lord Yohn said, rising to his feet, but the Lord Paramount only waved him off.

"I'm alright, I'm alright, tis only a passing migraine." The Lord Arryn said, he sat with eyes closed and fingers pitching his temple for a moment, before shaking his head clear. "One I have not felt since Robert and Ned were still children. I consider this matter resolved, neither of you will cross paths again, if you are so much as seen in each other's company, I will have you both flogged, understood?"

He turned his face between the two of them until he received begrudging nods, then waved his hand to dismiss all.

The next few days passed by rather uneventfully, at least compared to the anarchy that arose from Ser Corbray and the squire of the blackfish being found clashing arms in the stables, each sprouting a different story.

Anya had shouted and screamed and slapped him, yet he still saw her taking a seat next to the blackfish at the stands, his burning of the bridge with the Corbrays had also come with the potential of a closer relationship with the Gates, not that she gave him any credit for it.

Mya and Donnel had come and thanked him for his honesty, Redfort would not cease with his questions, but he hardly paid any of them any mind or care. Even as he watched Ser William the Hedgeknight triumph against the four other men in the finals of the melee and Ser Robar Royce unseat Ser Waxley in a climactic final tilt of the tourney, his mind was still elsewhere.

The feast that followed was a cold and tense affair, even as the Lord Arryn tried to bridge relations between his lords. Corbray was not a forgiving man, and he did not forget the lords and knights that stood against him, he would not mingle and chatter and laugh with them, and he expected the same from the lords which had taken his side.

The visiting lords and knights of course cared little, but all the lords of the Vale had soured the atmosphere too much for any hope of a merry feast to ensure, and so when the night finally came a close, Harold was relieved, as he imagined most everyone else was.

Is there now a fissure between in the Vale? He wondered. Did I play a part in creating it?

Soon, it was time for them to leave the Gates behind them and return to Iron Oaks, on the final night of their stay, he wandered the castle, under cover of stone arches and wooden roofs as moonlight glimmered off the pouring rain, his mind playing back the events of the tourney a thousand times over.

But then, as he walked under a torchlit stable, he heard heavy thudding above him, he thought it hail at first, but it was heavier and less rhythmic.

He walked out in the rain to see where the thudding noise was coming from, and there a familiar figure on the roof, with one arm in a sling, and the other wielding a wooden sword as he moved and shifted from one form to another and struck and weaved countless blows against empty air.

"Jon?" He called out in disbelief, the bastard stopped and looked down towards him, he could see a grin growing on the bastard's face under moonlight, before he leapt eight feet in the air to land on the mud next to Harold.

"Hardyng!" Jon said, opening his arm invitingly. "Thank you for saving my life! And then again for being truthful in front of Lord Arryn."

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Harrold said, ignoring the boys words.

"Training." Jon said, and Hardyng felt a familiar indignity inside him, a familiar wroth in his veins.

"In the rain!?" he screamed. "With stiches on your shoulder and your arm in a sling!?"

"You gave me a second chance at life, Hardyng, and I will not waste it." Jon said. "It was some nameless boy I've not seen since or before that Lyn was after, but what if it was Mya? What if it was one of my sisters or brothers? What law can protect them if I am too weak to?"

He looked off into the muddy courtyard, Hardyng followed both his gaze and his questioning as the two boys were soaked in rain, truth be told he had no one in his life he cared that much about protecting, enough to push him to train even with one arm under rainfall.

Cissy maybe? He thought of the comely maid from Iron Oaks, she likely missed him by now, but he only missed fucking her. Could I ever love her as she loves me?

He knew the answer to that question was no, then felt something in his chest that had been unfamiliar to him before the tourney, before crossing paths with the bastard, a sting of inadequacy and guilt.

"Justice is only as strong as the steel behind it." Jon said finally, his tone and face as commanding as they were in front of the lords. "And I will never be found brittle again."

He saw then that spirit, that determination flare in the boy once more, truth be told it was that determination that Hardyng was envious of the most, more than his skill with a blade or his command of a room, Hardyng longed to have the same force of will.

A bastard is more dedicated towards some nebulous concept of justice than I am about being worthy of my birthright. He thought, remembering the countless whores and drunken escapades, the late mornings and the disinterest he gave most thing. Isn't that a pathetic state of affairs?

"Care for a partner?" Hardyng asked, Jon turned back towards him with a grin and levied his sword.


I hope Hardyng's face turn was at least a little believable, it was honestly the hardest and most fun part to write

Tune in next week for the beginning of a new arc and the introduction of a certain mysterious tall, dark, and handsome character. Though warning itll be much less combat focused than this one

Bonus gem I found when perusing the wiki: 'Jasper Waynwood(harold's uncle, also half arryn)died at the age of three after getting kicked in the head by a horse.'

How does a three-year-old get in range of a horse kick, what are the waynwoods doing?