A/N: Thank you all for your patience with the series and I am proud to present you with another part of the saga of Stafford Baratheon, and the rest of his companions. I hoped you received Ellion's chapter well. Stafford will receive his first POV in Act II, and this is the longest POV I have ever made thus far, at a over 6,000 words. Stafford gets to formulate a plan with his uncle Renly about his participation in the tournament, and Stafford spends some one-on-one time with Sansa, as their potential relationship begins to take bloom. Stafford's pairing poll will conclude at the first POV chapter of Stafford in Act III, so there is plenty of time to vote. The winner of the poll will automatically become his next love interest. If it is a tie, then I might consider a full on three way pairing. Thank you all for the support and please continue to leave good constructive criticisms. The only way I get better at writing is through your voice.

Enjoy!

The council meetings got more interesting with Lord Eddard Stark in them. It made it less boring for Stafford to play messenger, as little a role he played in council meetings at all. He was but a spectator in the small council, he didn't have any say whatsoever, but he still got to enjoy the arguments that happened in the small council. A warrior is armored in steel, his soul saved by the Seven, and his mind clad in unmatched intellect.

It was too bad his father never attended small council meetings much, he would have enjoyed much of the arguments Lord Eddard got into. It was hard to be the hand of the king, especially in his father's small council. Lord Eddard, who had been against the tournament, had been arguing with them for a while now. Stafford wanted to use his new skills from the last tournament to achieve victory. Luckily for Stafford, Lord Eddard could not convince the council nor his old friend otherwise, so there would be a tournament after all. It would be a big tournament, so his father would probably not allow him into the melee, and just let him go into the axe throwing competition. While, Stafford liked the Axe throwing competition, he wanted to get a challenge in the melee. He wanted to test his mettle against the best swords or whatever weapon his opponents used.

On top of all of that, the bastard of Oberyn Martell's had also delivered Stafford's new axe, forged the style of Valyria by Tobho Mott and his apprentice Gendry. He couldn't wait to try it out. Stafford hoped his father would let him compete in this one. He didn't know what the hell what he'll do if he couldn't.

His uncle Jamie had done this when he was fifteen, and he definitely felt he could handle pressures of the melee. Stafford did not like being 'preserved', because he was the second child of the king, and have to sit out the tournament, because of it. His mother would nonetheless, not allow him to do that, nor his father, because even though he wouldn't be the heir to the crown, he was the heir to Storm's End.

When he came of age, he had a rightful claim to the ancestral seat of Storm's End, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to be a king of anything. He didn't care if he was just a household knight. But something told him, that Joffrey wouldn't make a good king, and if that were the case, he would have to do something about it. Even if it meant trying to take the crown he so desperately despised. His father told him the same thing about Aerys, who happened to be his uncle. Luckily, I'm only fifteen, father is perfectly well, and I don't have to worry about the damn game for a long time, Stafford thought. It would be quite a while before, Stafford would have to worry about the business of inheritance, as they were too young to even think about such business.

And on even worse matters, the small council was deep in deliberation concerning the fate of Oberyn Martell's bastard son. Stafford could still remember his first encounter with the Dornishman.

He and Sansa Stark had dragged him, japing like a mad fool between roars of pain and delirium, all the way to the Maester Pycelle's chambers. The poor man was covered in blood, shit, foul-smelling trash, and rotting silk robes. As Stafford brought Pycelle's supplies and hot water, Sansa helped the other Maesters strip Odyn Sand down to his undergarments, and his unconsciousness provided no hindrance to Pycelle's cruder stop-gap surgery of his slashed stomach. Cleansed and bleeding slower, he was carried to one of the Red Keep's empty bedchambers, and was lain down on a bed, and Pycelle and his maesters commenced the finer details of mending his wounds. All the while, though he said all would be well, Pycelle's grim eyes were filled with fear. Oberyn Martell would be most unhappy at his son's death, as vipers are best left un-treaded upon.

Neither Stafford or Sansa knew what had become of Odyn Sand after King's Guard led by Barristan Selmy had escorted them from the room, two of them staying to stand guard next to it. They all knew better than to disrupt a process as intricate as the surgery by distracting the Maesters, and after saying a brief prayer to the Seven, the two were brought to their royal chambers, passing by the uneased Lord Stark accompanied by his fellow counselors Lord Varys and Lord Baelish.

Later on in the night, both he and Sansa received explicit orders to not speak of the incident or visit the Dornishman from Ned Stark himself. The relations with Dorne were fragile and delicate like the healing of the Maesters, and even with only the slightest wrong word to the wrong person was like to lead to outrage and insurrection from it.

This was the first assembly the council had organized to discuss Odyn Sand. Pycelle was unable to attend due to Odyn's surgery, and a trusted aide of his was sent in his place. But despite the disparities in the character if the counselors, the agreement was unanimous: They must immediately alert Sunspear that one of Oberyn Martell's son's are wounded and in mortal agony. Withholding these facts would result in only stronger public outcry from Dorne. Accompanied by riders, Sunspear will send a convoy of guards and Maesters to protect and support Odyn's surgery, ensuring the safety of their interests.

It had been an odd sight to behold, a unanimous agreement between the council, and Stafford hoped that they shall muster the same unity in favor of his tourney participation.

After the consensus, which his father was not there for, Stafford quickly made his way to the dining hall, where he usually found his father. This is usually the time, when his father would 'listen' to the messages that Stafford had recorded in the council meeting. Stafford didn't like the job, and thought that it was something that took away from his training, his spare time, and even his time with his friends in the Red Keep and even King's Landing. Seven hells, the only friends he had in King's Landing before the Stark girls came was a blacksmith's boy named Gendry. He even tried to bring Joffrey with him to the blacksmith shop to get their weapons sharpened, but then he got all rude with Gendry, so Stafford had to get him out of there, before Gendry could beat him down. Gendry and Stafford seemed to have one common thing, they don't take anything from anybody. Gendry and Stafford even seemed to look more alike than Joffrey did to him, and Stafford found that hilarious.

Once Stafford got to the dining hall, his father, and the rest of his family, including Joffrey was there and they had served the first dish. It was some kind of soup, and Stafford sat next to his father to be served by the servers.

"Father, I have some messages from the council for you," Stafford told him.

"Just make them quick, and get to the things that require my urgent attention, I bore of this small council talk. Nothing, but realm planning and counting coppers to me," his father replied after which he took another swig of his drink from his cup.

"Indeed, well we planned out most of the rest of the tournament, that we needed," Stafford stated, "We planned there to be a joust, an archery competition, an axe throwing competition, and of course the melee." His father nodded in approval.

"Is the feast going to be large and grand? It must be fit for a king!" His father declared.

"Of course, and then there comes a matter with the expenses. Lord Baelish and Lord Stark wish to ask you what ways the council can mitigate the costs," Stafford reasoned.

"The feast must be grand no matter what the cost. Tell the two to spare no expense for the hand's tournament. Ned should be honored with how much the crown is spending on him," the server placed down Stafford soup and Stafford went straight for it. Stafford had had a long day today and he wasn't about to squander it with the problems the realm was having.

"As you say, I'll just tell the council what you think about the tournament, and I'm sure they will obey your command. They have no right to deny you anything," Stafford stated.

"Well said," the king stated as he continued to eat his meal. They brought more plates and dishes and they both devoured the plates fully, and it took no time to do so. The two would win any eating contest or challenge any gourmet in Westeros with the amount the two could eat at once. The only difference seemed to be that Stafford would put forth so much work in the training yard, and in his general training, that no one would notice that he had been an avid eater. Stafford knew how to control himself though, but his father seemed to have given in to the notion that food became a way for him to escape. Stafford just seemed to be hungry all the time, because of all the training he did. Stafford would train in the training yard for almost eight hour, with decent times for rest for meals and such, as to not overexert himself. He would make sure his physical prowess was good enough, and would be able to be used in combat against any of his opponent. Barristan always told him that if both men possessed equal technique, and equal skill, it would be the strength and endurance that would decide, who would be the one, comes out victorious in the end. His father was much different from his original self, who did eat as much as he did. From what his mother had told her, his father had been just as muscular and definitely looked a lot like him when he saw him when they were to be married. Her voice seemed to express some sort of sorrow in this, but Stafford did not notice this.

Stafford continued to eat as much as possible. Stafford needed to replenish all the losses he had taken when he had been sparring with people in the training hall today. He had always taken Arya there, whenever he had the chance, but they would only practice swordplay together when no one else was around. That happened rarely once every few days, and he enjoyed it. She always got better with each session, and definitely seemed like better practice than his other opponents. Stafford would just annihilate Joffrey in sparring matches, and he couldn't even fight back most of the time Stafford tried his hardest. Lancel, got cocky most of the time, and usually became more impatient each time Stafford managed to land a blow on him. Stafford would use this and wipe the floor with Lancel, as he left himself wide open for all sorts of attacks. The rest of the sparring partners he had were usually sons of household knights in the keep, and they weren't a challenge. His only challenge was when his uncle would come by periodically to get some practice in, some members of the kingsguard, which he managed to beat Meryn Trant in a one on one sparring session. This caused a lot of uproar in the keep, because Meryn Trant was not supposed to lose to a boy of fifteen, who had no experience whatsoever in real battle. Boros Blount also fell victim to Stafford in sparring sessions, and several other lesser knights within the keep. The only people, who managed to beat him were his uncle Jamie, Ser Barristan, Sandor Clegane, and when Gregor Clegane came to the landing sometimes, and decided to pick on the squires in the training yard.

"Joff, I heard from several people that you haven't been paying attention to your betrothed," The king stated as he finished chewing and swallowing down some of the food. Stafford looked up from his meal, and quickly continued without wanting to draw notice to himself. It was one of those times in the damn dinner, again. Stafford wished Joffrey would just accept some of the rebukes his father gave him without giving a response. Stafford thought it would make the dinners more silent and calming, but most of all more family oriented, instead of arguing with one another. That never happened, however and Stafford usually ended up having to listen to arguments all dinner. He remembered that one dinner when his father had stormed in all angry after Joffrey had cut open a pregnant cats stomach open to see how the kittens had looked inside. He admitted that it was messed up, and he probably deserved some of the beating he got from his father, but Stafford had never experienced anything like that from his father. To the naked eye, it seemed his father had always got along with Stafford. The king truly seemed like a father to Stafford, and although they were sometimes distant, and Stafford felt their relationship seemed only a consequence of their common interests of food, hunting, and sometimes even women. His mother had sword, she had given birth to a clone of Robert Baratheon that never truly got to exist in the world. Everyone always told him how much they reminded themselves of Robert Baratheon from before he became king. Sometimes he wanted to escape the shadow of his father, who always seemed to dictate his actions in an indirect sort of way. The burden of being a king's son, who everyone thought would act exactly like him, seemed to grow big for Stafford all the time.

"I have! You just haven't been seeing me do it!" Joffrey responded. Stafford had wished he could shut his brother up right now, but he just didn't really have the energy, or want to do so right now. He could let his brother talk all his right now, he wasn't about to have another Winterfell incident happen during the family dinner. Stafford's full focus was on his dishes, and he was about to devour the next plate coming to him. Stafford sort of felt bad for Joffrey, though. Not matter what he did he never seemed to garner any pride from the king, as he had. Even though tried to ignore it sometimes, it became apparent to Robert's actions. He always seemed to value much of the achievements from his second son, Stafford rather than his first born. Stafford would get pretty mad about being overlooked like that too. Ser Barristan, who was also guarding the king began to grow uneasy to. He looked at Stafford, which was always his signal, that he could intervene.

"That is not what some of the people in the castle have been saying. Ned has been telling me that Sansa has been crying herself to sleep for a couple nights now. Is that how you treat your betrothed?" His father boomed.

"It's not my fault, she's probably crying over something else," Joffrey adamantly retorted. Stafford really doubted that, for the past few days he had taken Sansa on walks away from the castle, because she looked like she was about to cry with the amount of neglect she was receiving from Joffrey. She looked up to him, she adored him, and Stafford did not understand why in the seven hells, Joffrey seemed so cruel to her. It would be like him ignoring Arya all day long while she tried to get his attention. Stafford wouldn't do that, and he'd sooner resurrect the mad king than do that. If Joffrey did have an ounce of care for Sansa, he would not let her be like that. All Sansa talked to Stafford about seemed to be how Joffrey felt about her, and Stafford had to keep reassuring her that Joffrey was just busy doing his 'duties'. Stafford hated lying to people, but if he could give Sansa an ounce of hope, by making Joffrey seem more important, he'd do it. I'm sure Sansa would be a lot more happy, if Joffrey would take notice of her more. She might even forget about all the neglect too.

"Why can't you be like Staff? He spends a lot of his free time with Arya, and definitely doesn't leave her alone for long. He trains his combat all day and still manages to find time for her. I'm not asking you to act like husband and wife already, at least be friendly with her like your brother is!" The King stated. Joffrey seemed to have lost in and got up from his seat his face red with anger. Stafford tried his hardest to stay in his seat and ignore it, but he could feel the glare of Ser Barristan, telling him to do something.

"It's always about your favorite, Stafford isn't? Why can't you be more like him? Why can't you like hunting, or literally obsess over a damn axe!" Joffrey exclaimed, almost flipping his plate over still half full with food in it.

"Alright, I think we need to cool down," Stafford tried to intervene.

"Stafford's right Joff, just calm down, maybe your father did go a little too far, but there's no need to ruin dinner over-" the queen tried to say, until she was cut off.

"Stafford is always right! He's always the taller one, always the right one, and always the good one to you and father right? But in reality, he's just an insecure drunk like father. He always blows things way out of proportion, and of course you women eat that all up!" Joffrey exclaimed. Stafford got up after he just got insulted in front of his other brother and sister. Tommen seemed to be looking up at Stafford, while Myrcella seemed to be indifferent to it all like it was a common occurrence. Stafford beamed at Joffrey.

"Watch it there brother, you're entering stormy waters with those words," Stafford stated bluntly.

"Or else what? Are you going to knock me out like in Winterfell? Or are you going to beat me up with your little friend, Arya was it? Either way you'd just be proving my point, you're just like father. And that's maybe why he loves you more than me!" Joffrey exclaimed.

Suddenly from out of nowhere Joffrey received a swift slap to the back of the head from what Stafford assumed was his father, as his seat was empty. When Stafford had looked closely there his father was standing over him, as he was on the ground.

"One more word…" The king told him. Their mother went to Joffrey and helped him up. He was clearly crying now.

"Robert…" their mother calmy said. The king scoffed.

"Take the boy back to his quarters, so he can think about what he has done!" Robert stated, "Talking back to me with all that disrespect, not just me, but his own brother." Stafford kind of saw where Joffrey was coming from, his father had never really done anything like that to him. To Joffrey, it looked like Stafford had never received this type of treatment from his father. This was in part to the fact that Stafford's opinions relatively were the same as Robert's. Stafford also had a deep fear of what his father would do to him if he had argued with him, and he knew the consequence. He knew he would easily make an example of him as much as Joffrey. In part it was because he knew he'd do the same. Stafford dealt with all, who disagreed with him much like his father with much hostility. Stafford, however, did not see where he Joffrey thought his mother favored him more. Joffrey had been babied by their mother, and definitely spent more time with her than Stafford ever had. In fact, he looked and acted more like a Lannister than he did a Baratheon, which was the opposite of Stafford. Stafford had lost his appetite.

"I'm going to get some air," Stafford stated leaving the dining hall behind without looking back. Joffrey and his mother were gone before he could exit the dining hall; Stafford usually didn't really go out to get some air when he did this. He usually went to go to where the Starks were to see if he could find Arya. The two sometimes watched the stars together, or periodically explore the dungeons below. Sometimes he even walked with Sansa, when Arya wasn't there for some reason. For some reason, Sansa always seemed forlorn when they walked together, but she cheered up every time they walked together.

"Stafford, wait a minute," his father commanded him. Stafford before he was fully out of the dining hall, stopped, and turned back to look, "The tournament is a grand occasion, but due to the amount of competition in the tournament, we have decided to make it so that only accomplished knights can enter the tournament. We're going to have to make you sit out the melee and the joust." Stafford couldn't believe what he had just heard from his father.

"Surely there could be-" Stafford tried to reason, but his father just sighed and shook his breath.

"Staff, I already had to deal with Joff tonight. My decision is final," His father told him, "Besides, I already tried to tell your mother that you could enter the melee, but she wouldn't allow me to. Just don't take it personally. You'll still get to compete in the axe throwing" Stafford knew better than to protest his father, when he was like this. Stafford simply nodded and went on his way.

Stafford now disheartened that he was not going to compete in the tourney at all seemed like he would have to find something else to do during the tournament. Of course there was the axe throwing competition, but only northmen and a handful of other people ever participated in that. Stafford easily won those competitions, and most people don't even come to the tourneys to watch someone throw an axe at things. Seven hells, the archery competition receives more attention, and much more purse than axe throwing. He made his way to the Starks hall, and along the way to the hall, a well dressed man in green ran into him.

"Ah, if isn't my favorite nephew. It's good to see you, have you relayed the messages yet?" the man, who was clearly his uncle Renly stated. Stafford looked at him, and nodded, "What's seems to be the matter, Stafford? You're looking awfully down."

"Nothing," Stafford stated trying to hide his emotions. His uncle chuckled and from that instant, it seemed Stafford knew what he was thinking about.

"Robert didn't let you compete in the melee or the joust did he?" Stafford nodded quickly found out by his uncle, "I assumed as much,"

"It isn't fair, I could probably take at half the household knights in the realm in the joust, and I'm not even good at jousting. The gods might not forgive me for the things I could do in the melee against the competitors in the melee," Stafford complained. His uncle Renly looked at him. He had a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Well, Stafford I could help you out with your little predicament. Just give me some time to prepare somethings, and I can get you into the melee," His uncle proclaimed. Stafford was definitely interested in this now.

"How? Mother would kill me if I even tried to compete in the melee, let alone the joust. I'll be recognized by the entire realm if I did that," Stafford stated.

"Have you heard the story about the Knight of the Laughing Tree in the tournament at Harrenhal?" Renly asked him. Stafford nodded. The Knight of the Laughing Tree was a mystery knight who fought at the tourney at Harrenhal. He defended the honor of a crannogman, who had been beaten down by a few squires of tournament knights by beating their knights in a joust.

"Of course, I've heard of the knight. Mother used to tell me about it when I was little," Stafford told Renly.

"Think of yourself like that, we'll introduce you as a mystery knight, who only goes by the name Howland the enigma, fighting under Lord Renly Baratheon, being me, of Storm's End. I'll explain everything two days before the tournament, you know Tobbo Mott?"

"Of course I do, he made me an axe,"

"Good, meet me in his shop two days before the tournament, I'll have everything you need to have and know by then," Renly stated as he bid Stafford farewell, and disappeared. Stafford sure thanked the Gods he had an uncle like Renly. Now his dream of competing in a tournament, wasn't completely dashed at all.

Winning the joust would be the hardest one of all of things he needed to do in the tournament. He was not the most skilled rider, he did not have very good technique with a lance, and most of all, his horse was used to much slower mounted combat with a pole axe. His horse was trained to absorb hits and not to go at very fast speeds, but he could go fast if he wanted to. He had faith in his horse, but the joust would be troubling. There were plenty of legendary jousters like Loras Tyrell, who was a boy of nineteen, much older than him and excellent with the horse. Loras couldn't beat him on the ground in the melee, not by a long shot, but he had the advantage against Stafford in the riding. He would have to get past stiff competition to even think about of winning in the Joust.

He rounded the corner and he got even closer to the Starks dining hall. He continued thinking about the tournament. This time he focused his thoughts on the melee. Stafford knew this would be the event, where he would show his strength. His axemanship at close and medium range were among the finest in the Seven Kingdoms. He could beat anyone in a fight if they both wielded axes. Only those, who were stronger than him would even stand a ghost of a chance at close range with Stafford. He hoped Sandor Clegane or his brother Gregor would decide to enter in the melee. Stafford knew his chances against either of them were slim, but if he played his cards right, he could best one of them. Not in actual combat, but in a tournament. There were certain factors that Stafford could use to his advantage that could help him claim victory in a tournament setting.

Stafford didn't want to formulate plans for the tournament regarding his combat strategy, as he was better at combat when he thought about it on the fly. Stafford could not imagine having to think about a strategy while fighting. He would formulate a plan when it came time to do something. He would push the action, and force his opponent to react to him only then would he be able to use his true skill.

When Stafford got to the Starks dining hall, Stafford saw that they were currently talking about things. Stafford usually came at a time when they were about to finish with their meal, but apparently it hasn't been able to finish this time. Lord Eddard had permitted Stafford to come to their dining hall to get Arya if she wanted to come with him. Stafford was lucky he allowed him to enter the dining hall. The Arryns wouldn't allow him into the Hand's dining hall, they didn't allow him for some reason.

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly," He heard him say. The door was wide open, but Stafford stood outside it, as common courtesy. He never really entered the hall whenever he came, he just waited outside most of the time. He didn't really want to go into the damn room to invade the privacy of another family.

"Oh, please," He heard a voice that sounded like Sansa say. "I want to see."

Some woman Stafford didn't recognize the voice of spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

"I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." Stafford saw saw Arya now as Lord Eddard declare. "For both of you."

"I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said, as defiant as ever. Stafford simply stood on the doorstep now, and he was being ignored by everyone. It seems they did notice they were there.

"It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted." Anger flashed across Lord Eddard's face.

"Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?" Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. Then, Stafford Lord Eddard turn towards him.

"Stafford…" He said. Lord Eddard clearly thought he had witnessed the entire event, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Stafford stated. Arya looked up at him, but she quickly returned to eating. Sansa just went back to talking with one of her friends that Stafford did not recognize.

"Pray excuse me," Lord Eddard announced to the table. "I find I have small appetite tonight. You and Arya are free to go if you want to," He walked from the hall.

"I'm feeling ill tonight, Stafford maybe on the morrow," Arya stated. She pushed away from the table.

"Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?" Septa Mordane asked. "I'm not hungry." Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies.

"May I be excused, please?" she recited stiffly.

"You may not," the septa said. "You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate."

"You clean it!" Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher. Stafford simply stood out of the way. Arya wasn't in the mood for it tonight. Stafford was about to turn and leave, but he heard someone call out his name before he got a chance to.

"Prince Stafford, mind if we take a walk?" the voice belonged to Sansa, who he was surprised to even be noticed by. Stafford seemed stunned, as Sansa had never really asked for him to walk with her at night before. She hadn't asked him to for a walk period, the only time she had ever even walked with him was when he ran into her near the red keep and they managed to run into the Landing and find the dornishman. He hoped he wouldn't find any of that this time.

"Sure, but may I ask why?" Stafford asked genuinely curious.

"I just want to, and I have to ask you a few things," Sansa stated. The men in the room stared at them as they left.

The two were walking the lantern lit castle at night, which Stafford had suggested were a perfect place to go. There were guardsman, who watched them at the distance, but Stafford and Sansa both felt like they were the only ones there.

"So what were you going to ask me?" Stafford asked. Sansa looked at him.

"Do you think Joffrey like me?" Sansa asked him, "I mean you're his brother and he hasn't even talked to me much." Stafford sighed. He wished he knew the answer to that question. In truth, he wished he knew his brother a bit more than he had. Stafford knew he could be a better brother, but sometimes he just didn't understand his brother.

"I'm sure he does. I mean, I don't know of anyone, who wouldn't like you," Stafford told her to try to reassure her. Stafford felt bad about this, he hated saying things that potentially weren't true. He just couldn't be as blunt as he could be with Sansa. Stafford couldn't hurt her with his honest opinion. In his honest opinion, Joffrey probably doesn't give a damn about her. And that hurt Stafford more than anything else.

"But why doesn't he talk to me then? You always talk to Arya and it seems like he always doesn't have the time for me,"

"Well, I mean, Joffrey and I aren't exactly the closest pair in the world. Seven hells, most of the time I hardly know what's going on in his mind," Stafford stated.

"Then he probably does hate me, is it because of the crossing?" Sansa asked.

"Listen Sansa, Joffrey will come around eventually. If he neglects you or even remotely tells you he hates you, and father finds out about it, he'll have another thing coming to him. But rest assured, he will come around," Stafford said trying her best to cheer her up. Sansa looked down at the ground.

"I hope you are right," Sansa said. Stafford could tell Sansa still thought highly of Joffrey. Joffrey just needed to stop acting like an idiot and do the right thing. Sansa never did anything but adore him, but he repays him with this.

"Are you excited for the tournament?" Stafford asked her trying to change the conversation to something else. The atmosphere began to feel heavy.

"Oh yes, I haven't actually ever seen a tournament before. We never had one in Winterfell," she stated cheering up a little bit.

"I promise you, you'll enjoy it," Stafford declared.

"Are you going to be competing in the tournament?"

"The axe throwing competition, but not any other event. Father nor mother would allow me to," Stafford stated not revealing Renly's secret plan to her. He wasn't going to risk losing the ability to perform if Sansa slips up and reveals Renly's plan to introduce Stafford as a mystery knight.

"That's nice," The two continued talking about the tournament together. Since Stafford had been in the meeting for the tournament, he knew most of the rules and who might be competing. He explained to Sansa some of the rules of the joust, and the melee, and some of the competitors. He told of some of the jousters, melee participants, and even some archers and axe throwers. Sansa listen intently to it, getting more excited and lively as she asked questions about it. Stafford and Sansa enjoyed their time together, and Stafford wondered if they would be able to do this again. Every time Stafford looked at her, he couldn't imagine how lucky his brother was. She was definitely a true beauty for her age. She was only two years younger than Stafford and three his brother. Stafford felt a little wrong he viewed his brother's betrothed like this, but it would be lying to say she wasn't beautiful.

"Prince Stafford?"

"Please call me, Stafford, there's no need to use that title around me,"

"Stafford, do you think we could do this again?"

"Whatever you want, Sansa,"