Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Mike God of Lore, Priapus, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 08: The Tournament Begins
– Margaery Tyrell –
"You aren't interested in joining the melee, Orys?" Margaery asked, making him turn to her with an amused smile.
"I know my skills. I'm a decent hand with a blade, but melees are dangerous business, and I'm no Uncle Jaime or Loras. The best outcome is that I give a middling performance and then get beaten. More likely, I embarrass myself in front of my future subjects and some no-name knight gets the dubious honour of humiliating their future King," Orys replied with a self-aware laugh. She giggled at his description as they watched the more martially inclined nobles and hopeful knights fight. "Maybe I should take up my training again, now that I'm back in King's Landing. My lessons with Uncle Jaime stopped when I moved to Casterly Rock, and my education from that point was more suited for a future king than a knight."
Orys had his pride, but he was very aware of his strengths and weaknesses. She knew he was taking part in the Archery part of the tournament, but he'd shown no interest in jousting or the melee, unlike his father, who was currently cracking skulls in the pit.
She suspected people were remembering just how powerful Robert had once been as he swung the warhammer around with incredible force despite the bloated belly that jostled with every blow. He wasn't the beast he'd once been, and he was clearly winded already, but more than a few of the fighters had realised that the obese king still held some strength as he sent them flying.
The current event was a team-based melee, skirmishing for the honour and the entertainment of the crowd. The King's team was doing well enough, but they were unlikely to win this. Eddard Stark looked like he'd rather be anywhere but in the pit, despite his impressive showing. He was not fond of tournaments at the best of times, let alone when his home was under attack.
"You'll forgive me if I cheer for my brother, instead of your father, won't you?" Margaery asked, squeezing Orys' hand as he laughed.
"I'm cheering for Uncle Jaime and the Westerlands team. I love my father, but he's not winning this. Age and his indulgences have caught up with him. I'll just be happy if he gets out of this with all his limbs intact," Orys replied, making her giggle.
Sitting in the royal box, she knew that her closeness with Orys had already drawn more than a few eyes. She had rarely left his side since their conversation, and Orys often took her hand in his.
The King finally lost his footing, and with it, the fight, she watched as Robert laughed and slapped his gut, joking with the squire who had knocked him down that he'd have shattered the man in half a decade ago. The poor squire looked like he was going to pass out, but Robert took his defeat in stride as he laughed and joked with Eddard Stark. A servant had already brought the King his wine before he even got out of the pit.
"Why isn't there a team from the North?" Jeyne Poole asked softly, clearly unsure of how to act around the Crown Prince. She'd been invited to join them since she was friends with Sansa, who was beside her brooding betrothed. This box was being used by the younger of the royals, though Myrcella and Tommen were exploring the tournament grounds at the moment, and Orys had invited Arya and Jeyne to join them.
"Father didn't want to take part at all, plus he didn't bring that many men south," Sansa explains.
"Plus, the North is being raided by the Ironborn. I doubt any Northern knight would want to play pretend down here while their home is under threat of the Ironborn," Orys pointed out, making Jeyne blush slightly at being directly addressed by the handsome older prince. She looked away, but Orys just smiled softly. "Don't worry, Uncle Stannis is already on his way North to put a stop to the Greyjoys' latest mistake."
Most of the people here didn't even know about the Greyjoys' actions, but then King's Landing was far from the cold wastes of the North. Fishing villages being raided didn't affect anyone outside of the North. She supposed that was why Lord Stark seemed so irritated to be playing around while his people were under attack, but King Robert had insisted, and the King got what the King wanted.
Jeyne gave him a grateful smile, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. She didn't think Jeyne was a threat, and Orys paid little attention to the girl's blatant crush. At the end of the day, it was her hand he was holding. In truth, she was glad that several girls were sniffing around him so she could watch how he reacted to them.
So far? Polite disinterest, which was a good sign.
"We should have put those barbarians down years ago," Joffrey grumbled petulantly. Orys merely hummed in response.
"Balon bent the knee when he was beaten, and he'd never sworn an oath to our father before that, so he wasn't a traitor. Sparing him was the smart move at the time. Father couldn't just cut off his head when he was just beginning his rule," Orys countered, his tone more patient as Joffrey scoffed. "If he attacks Uncle Stannis' fleet, that is treason, and the Iron Islands will suffer for Balon's arrogance. We beat them once, when Father was new to the throne, we can beat them again with a more unified Seven Kingdoms."
"If we'd just crushed them and put someone else in charge, someone trustworthy, the North wouldn't be under attack," Joffrey countered, making Orys nod.
"True, but we'd also be dealing with constant minor rebellions from them. People have tried to change the Ironborn before, and they have never succeeded. Any outsider would be stuck dealing with constant challenges from them," Orys lectured, his tone was calm and not condescending, but Joffrey took it poorly as he frowned darkly and went to respond.
"Such grim conversations for such a joyous occasion," a voice cut in, drawing their attention. Joffrey's already angry look intensified as someone interrupted him, but as he went to speak, Sansa squeezed his hand, and he went quiet, mulling angrily.
The voice was clearly Dornish, tinged with amusement and something darker as they turned to their newcomer. She already knew who she would see, spotting the tall man standing at the edge of the box like he owned it, with dark eyes and a smirk on his lips. She didn't miss the way the guards stiffened, nor the man's confidence, despite the way the guards reached for their blades as he approached without permission, stopping a few feet away. He was clearly a warrior, with sun-darkened skin and an impressive physique under the tight silks. He was the perfect definition of tall, dark and handsome, but it wasn't arousal she felt at his cocky smile and dark gaze, but wrath.
Prince Oberyn Martell, the man who had crippled her brother. Her smile didn't falter, but her knuckles whitened in Orys' hand at the sight of the man who crippled Willas and left the heir of the Tyrells broken. Willas himself never spoke poorly of Oberyn for the 'accident', but her Grandmother despised the Dornishman for his actions. She was more like her grandmother than her brother in that regard. Her mind going to all the pain Willas had gone through, the way he winced as he walked, and the smug smile on Oberyn's face. Accident or not, Oberyn didn't care for the pain he left in his wake.
He had two women by his side, and one she instantly marked as Ellaria Sand, his bastard paramour. Her grandmother referred to her as the Serpent's Whore, and Ellaria's dress did little to disprove that title. The exotic woman was wearing a form-fitting red silk dress that left far too much skin on display to be proper, every movement designed to be sensual. She even caught the barest hint of a nipple as Ellaria moved, shameless in her display. She was meant to entice and distract.
The second woman was younger, and it took Margaery a moment to place her, and the moment she did, Margaery stiffened in place. The second woman was dressed in a sultry forest green dress that clung to her buxom figure, sun-kissed olive skin and curly black hair on display. What in the Seven Hell was Arianne Martell doing here?
"Prince Oberyn. I have to say, it's a surprise to see you here," Orys greeted cheerfully as Oberyn bowed, not quite deep enough to be respectful. It was fitting for meeting a fellow lord, but certainly not the Crown Prince. It even had an almost mocking quality to it.
"How could I not, when the Old Lion is throwing such a celebration to honour your marriage? It seems like all of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond have come to see the future King," Oberyn replied, his voice like silk. Every bone in Margaery's body was telling her that Oberyn being here was an ill omen.
"The tournament has certainly gotten out of hand, true. Are you going to compete? I've heard tales of your skill with your spear, Red Viper, I wouldn't mind seeing it myself," Orys continued. His hand squeezed hers softly, and she realised that she wasn't the only one seeing Oberyn's presence as a problem.
"Perhaps. The free-for-all is later today, is it not? It could be fun," Oberyn purred, before he laughed. "But where are my manners? Prince Orys, allow me to introduce my fetching companions. This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour and the mother of four of my sand snakes," Oberyn continues, giving his paramour's buttocks a slap as she curtsied. Again, it almost felt mocking and the thin silks of the Sand Snakes dress parted more from the movement. "And allow me to introduce my niece, Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell."
Arianne stepped out of her uncle's shadow at that, curtsying to Orys with a look in her eyes that could only be described as hungry. She moved with all the grace of a courtesan and the confidence of a queen. Her green dress clung to her like a second skin, every movement meant to be watched. Her bow left her considerable cleavage on display, and Margaery noticed Joffrey's staring, but Orys kept eye contact.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness," Arianne purred, her tone husky and sultry as Margaery immediately placed the newcomer at the top of the list for potential threats. Every bone in her body was saying that Arianne was the biggest threat to her position she'd met yet.
"The pleasure is ours, Princess," Margaery cut in, moving her hand enough to draw Arianne's gaze to where her hands were clasped with Orys' own. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of the marriage this tournament was meant to honour, and she watched as Arianne's smile tightened, her eyes darkening before the other girl relaxed, a challenging smile on her face as she gave Margaery a once-over, the Dornish girls gaze lingering on her smaller breasts with a smug look in her eyes.
Oberyn just grinned, uncaring of the tension. Whatever he was doing, he wasn't here to help Arianne in whatever she was scheming.
"Indeed. I've heard so much of the beauty of Dorne and Sunspear, but I see that the tales forgot to mention the most beautiful sights Dorne had to offer," Orys continued, his hand squeezing hers at the same time. She paused for a moment, confused by Orys' compliments, before she relaxed. Despite the short time she'd known him, she knew Orys was not the type to be wooed by a hint of olive cleavage. He was up to something. "Would you care to join us, Arianne? It wouldn't do for us to send a princess to watch the tourney from a lesser box."
"I'd be honoured, your Highness," Arianne purred, a victorious smile on her lips. "If you don't mind, Uncle?"
"Of course not. You're a big girl, you can handle yourself. I want to look around the tournament grounds, scope out the competition… and the sights. I'll leave my niece in your hands, Your Highness," Oberyn waved off, resting against his spear with a casual smile on his face. "Come along, Ellaria, let's leave the kids to the show."
As he spoke, he blatantly copped a feel of Ellaria's buttocks, making her moan and lean against his chest. It was highly improper to do so in front of several noble daughters and a pair of Princes, but Oberyn didn't seem to give a damn as he gave his paramour a kiss too deep for a public setting and wandered off, acting like he owned the entire tournament grounds.
Orys gestured for the servants to bring Arianne a seat, placing her at his other side as he gently quizzed her on Dorne, clearly interested, but there was something in his stance that told her that he was stressed.
"Will you be taking part, your highness?" Arianne asked, making Orys nod.
"In the archery contest, yes. I'm far better with a bow than I am with a sword," Orys confirmed with an easy smile.
"And the joust?" Arianne asked, her tone pointed as her eyes flickered to Margaery. Her lips twitched, her words a pointed reminder of how Willas had been crippled. Orys didn't miss that either, his hand resting on hers in comfort, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand.
"That isn't for me. I'm a good rider and may take part in the horse races, but I've little experience in jousting," Orys replied, his tone even and relaxed.
"A wise course of action, then. Jousting is a dangerous sport, even for those who think they're good at it," Arianne agreed. It was taking Margaery's considerable self-control to keep her smile in place. "It wouldn't do for the realm to end up with a cripple as an heir, now, would it?"
Oh, that whore.
Margaery's control slipped. Her smile faded, replaced with a furious look at Arianne's smug tone and she almost rose. She wasn't sure if she was going to insult the Dornish Princess or just slap the smile off her face, but Orys cut in.
"What about you, Arya? Will you be joining me in the archery contest?" Orys asked, cutting off the argument with practised ease. Arya jumped at being addressed, having been focused on the fighting instead of the politics. It was one of the reasons Margaery was convinced that Arya was not a threat; she cared little for the game and had no interest in playing it.
"I don't think I'm allowed to. I'm too young, and a girl," Arya pointed out, but Orys just laughed.
"Please, I've seen you shoot and I'd wager that you're a better archer than half the contestants, at least. This tournament is in my honour, and I say you can take part. It's not like there's any danger," Orys waved off, making Arya perk up happily, beaming at him.
On second thought, if Orys kept this up, the she-wolf might just pin him down and mount him without bothering with the games. Well, if Orys were to be tempted by any other woman, she'd rather it be someone with no political ambitions like Arya.
"You are a good archer, Arya. If we're not making a showing in the melee, maybe you should represent the North in the contest," Sansa agreed, getting a surprised look from her sister.
Arianne pouted at the attention being drawn away from her and her 'subtle' insults, but Margaery didn't let her attention wander from the Princess as the servants brought more drinks and snacks, and the younger of the royal siblings returned, being introduced to their new guest.
Myrcella was sharper than she gave the younger girl credit for, and Tommen was far too shy to deal with such a sultry woman in a revealing dress. Her attention was distracted as Loras took to the field with the Reach team, going against a team from the Riverlands.
Loras was still mired in the scandal, and she mentally glared as some booed his approach. Her smile never faltered, but her grip tightened on the armrest. Once more, Orys gently squeezed her hand in comfort and solidarity, and it made her relax. Orys was right. The majority of the crowds were quick to forget the rumours when the Knight of Flowers took the field. Loras grandstanded more than usual, giving a noble girl in the front row a red rose, and she knew her grandmother had likely ordered it. Arianne leaned forward in amusement, her scheming eyes staring at her brother in a way that put Margaery on edge.
As the teams prepared to fight, she saw one of the Riverlands men shout out something to Loras, the words lost to the crowds. She didn't need to know the exact words, seeing Loras' stance stiffen and his smile grow slightly brittle. Loras had always garnered the love of the women and the jealousy of the men, and now they had something to use against him.
Loras took to the field, his usual charm and showboating giving way to a swift, brutal showing as he made sure to hunt down the man who had jeered him. His actions were precise, and the Fish was no real match for her brother, but she had seen Loras fight enough times to know that he was angrier than he was showing. He'd always been a bit of a gloryhound, and the stain to his reputation hurt more than Loras was willing to show as he led his men to victory. Her brother was more short-tempered than his flowery act would suggest.
"Your brother fights well, Margaery, but then he does seem so very fond of swords," Arianne added, but Margaery didn't let it get to her. She came here with Oberyn Martell, so Arianne's attempt at poking fun at Loras for his tastes lost their bite. The Dornish had no grounds to use Loras' homosexuality as an insult.
"He has always preferred the training field to the library," Margaery agreed, ignoring the implication with a sugary sweet smile.
"Uncle Jaime could easily best that filthy degenerate," Joffrey snorted dismissively. That made Margaery freeze, and she realised that Arianne wasn't aiming that comment at her to begin with. The Princess smiled sweetly at Margaery's look, a false innocence in her posture. She knew exactly what she was doing with that statement. Arianne was good at this, and that made Margaery dislike her all the more.
"Watch your words, brother. These roses have their thorns, and I'd hate for you to get prickled," Orys warned, his tone playful. "As for Uncle Jaime? We'll see. He's fighting with the Westerlands team. I'm sure it'll be a spectacle for the ages, no matter who triumphs."
Loras approached their box, bowing deeply as Orys nodded to him.
"Well fought, Knight of Flowers. I'm glad to have you on our side because I pity anyone who has to face your thorns," Orys said, his tone strong and clear. "Margaery spoke of your skill, but it appears she was downplaying it."
"You honour me, your Highness," Loras replied, kneeling before the future king. There was a quiet that fell over the crowd at the exchange, many eyes on Orys as he bypassed the rumours with a simple sentence, focusing on Loras' skill rather than the scandal. She had suspected Orys would not judge her brother's… inclinations after how he'd treated his Uncle Renly, but she couldn't deny that her smile grew softer as she looked to her future husband.
In the distance, she spotted her grandmother watching from the Tyrell box with an intense, barely approving expression. The King wasn't watching at all, clearly in the middle of some story from his wild movements as he acted out whatever he was describing. A nearby squire barely managed to duck as the King's arm flew toward them, barely avoiding being backhanded by the clearly inebriated man. She wasn't entirely sure where Prince Renly was, not seeing him in the crowd at all. Had he kept away to put some distance between himself and Loras? Smart, but she knew it likely hurt Loras more than any insult.
Loras left with his team, head held high and his smile back in place as he played to the crowds. She gave Orys a fond smile, and he simply raised her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. She was very careful not to give the Dornish slut a smug smile.
The team-melee took a break, moving on to duels as various knights, sellswords, and minor noble sons tried to make a name for themselves. It had spread far and wide that Orys was using the tournament to pick his Sworn Shield, and many wanted to use this to position themselves better, hoping to impress the Prince or any of the other high lords that were in attendance. Only one would become his Sworn Shield, but all hoped to make an impression and gain his favour.
Her eyes lingered on one of the fighters as a match began, Gregor Clegane entering the arena. She saw the way Arianne stiffened, her eyes searching for her uncle, and even Orys himself froze slightly. Arianne's mask was good, but not perfect, and Margaery could read the fear in her expression. Her posture went stiff, her eyes wide. She could only imagine what stories they told of the Mountain in Dorne. He was the monster from her bedtime stories, in the flesh.
"That's the Mountain? He's as big as they say," Margaery said quietly, watching as the 'fight' started, if it could even be called that. The Lannister's weapon crushed his opponent in a matter of seconds, sending some poor knight from the Vale flying.
"Yeah, that's him," Orys said, his tone tense. "Grandfather wanted him as my Sworn Shield, since his brother is Joffrey's. I refused. Gregor Clegane is truly a beast on the battlefield, but the man is a battleaxe, not a shield."
The until-now silent guard behind Joffrey scoffed quietly at that, a dark look on his burnt face.
"Wise, your Highness. Gregor is good at killing, but he's no bodyguard," Sandor Clegane finally said, getting an angry look from Joffrey.
"He's a butcher," Arianne said, her tone quiet but venomous. It was the most honest reaction the Princess had shown so far, a mixture of disgust and fear on her face as she looked at Gregor Clegane. "A mad dog that should have been put down years ago, not let off his leash. Ser Gregor Clegane, what a joke."
Sandor just laughed again, his hand raising to his burnt face for a moment. There was no humour in his laugh. Arianne looked at Sandor with a mixture of understanding and her usual scheming look, and Margaery could hear the wheels turning in the Dornish Princess's mind.
So that was why Oberyn was here. He was hunting the Mountain. It was why the Dornish Prince, who had distanced himself from the court politics of King's Landing, had come all this way. He was here for vengeance.
"Watch yourself, princess. He's a sworn knight in service to my grandfather, don't forget that," Joffrey cut in, a scowl on his face. "He's more of a knight than you are a princess. And he's far stronger than any Dornish warrior. Maybe I should ask Grandfather to give him to me, and Orys can have the Hound."
"Your funeral," Sandor grunted, utterly unbothered by Joffrey's suggestion. Arianne's smile faded for a moment, and somehow she knew that Arianne had just discarded Joffrey as a potential ally in her mind. Arianne had been positioning herself to give Joffrey a show throughout the day, revealing nothing but hinting at everything. Now, she turned away entirely, ignoring the second Prince.
"I don't know, little brother. Gregor has the size and strength, that alone isn't everything. Speed and skill are just as important. I wonder if he could even land a blow on someone as quick and slippery as Prince Oberyn," Orys countered, making Arianne beam at him.
"He wouldn't. Uncle is far too agile for the Mountain," Arianne agreed with a brilliant smile. She could see the way the girl was picturing Oberyn cutting down the Mountain.
"Jaime Lannister, Loras Tyrell, Gregor Clegane and Oberyn Martell all in one tournament. The crowd are certainly getting their show today," Orys said, resting his head on his fist for a moment with a calculating smile. The way he was leaning on his fist placed his head close to Arianne, who perked up at the action. Orys seemed oblivious to her attempt to angle herself to give him a good view of her chest, focused on the arena. "It's a shame the Northerners are otherwise occupied, I've heard your lands have some truly impressive warriors. I've heard tales of the pure strength of the one called Greatjon."
"He's massive, not quite as big as the Mountain, but it's close," Arya agreed with an excited smile.
"Who is the best warrior in the North?" Myrcella asked, making Arya pause.
"My father. He doesn't like showing off, but I'm sure he's the strongest," Arya said with all the certainty of a daughter who was incredibly proud of her father.
"That Valyrian steel greatsword certainly doesn't hurt. Ice, right?" Orys asked, making Arya nod. "And I believe you. Lord Eddard is the man who brought down Arthur Dayne. He might be older now, but you have to fear the old man in a profession where men die young. What he's lost in physical power, he's gained in experience. A shame he doesn't like tournaments. The Ironborn must be thanking their squid god that he went south before they started their raids."
The relaxed conversation, only marred by Joffrey's presence and Arianne's quips, trailed off as the next fight started. She didn't know the names of the fighters, but one was clearly the stronger as they easily bested their opponent.
"He's good," Margaery commented, watching the helmeted warrior leave the ring in triumph.
"Mhmm," Orys mumbled, a strange look on his face. "They certainly are."
"What is it?" Margaery asked, giving Orys a strange look before he laughed.
"You're half right. They are good, but that fighter is no man. She's a very large woman, but a woman all the same," Orys said confidently, making them all turn back to the unnamed figure.
"Are you sure?" Arianne asked, looking confused as she stared at the figure, clad entirely in steel.
"Very," Orys agreed.
"Then she should be banished from this tournament," Joffrey cut in, but Orys ignored him for a moment.
"No. There's nothing in the rules that forbids a woman from fighting, mostly because I suspect nobody considered it. Let her fight," Orys finally decided, leaning back with an intrigued look on his face.
"It's like a storybook! Maybe she'll win and become a knight," Myrcella giggled, making Orys chuckle. Arya seemed doubly interested, cheering a little louder for the potential woman. She suspected the she-wolf had just gained a new idol.
"Perhaps," Orys agreed.
"You'd allow a woman to become your Sworn Shield? Or do you simply enjoy them more… beefy?" Arianne asked, watching as Orys smiled.
"I want the best. If she wins the duelling tournament, then she would be the most fitting to defend me," Orys agreed, ignoring her second comment.
"It's a mockery, knights are supposed to be strong, honourable," Joffrey cuts in, making Orys laugh.
"Ask the man she just put on the ground if she is strong. As for honour? We'll see. She has broken no rules, and she fights fairly. For now, that's enough," Orys replied easily, relaxing in his seat as he enjoyed the show. "Besides, I could be wrong. I don't think I am, but I won't deny that it is possible."
Joffrey went to respond, but she saw Sansa whispering to him. It was hard to make out, but she read Stark's lips and realised that she was saying that Sandor looked far more impressive as a guard than some woman, making Joffrey relax with a look of 'cunning' and superiority on his face. No doubt he was thinking that Orys was going to embarrass himself.
Sansa was working for Orys. She was almost sure of it. It spoke of Orys' skill at the game that his brother's betrothed seemed to look to him for guidance, and even now, she was keeping Joffrey under control while flattering him. Joffrey hadn't noticed, and Sansa wasn't the best at this game, but it impressed her that Orys was ruthless enough to turn Joffrey's betrothed into a weapon against his brother.
Whatever Orys was going to say was interrupted by Arianne's excitement as the next fight began, Oberyn taking to the field with a cocky smile on his lips as he was pitted against a Lannister knight.
Her pleasure was blatant as Oberyn toyed with his food, almost dancing around the heavily armoured man for the joy of the crowd. It seemed unwise, personally. He was just asking for his opponent to get lucky, and she'd heard her grandmother rip into Loras for trying something similar when he was younger. Still, luck was not on the Lannister's side this time as his legs were swept from under him by Oberyn. Oberyn didn't strike the finishing blow, letting the knight recover just long enough for Oberyn to knock him down again, dragging out this one-sided embarrassment.
Embarrassing the Lannisters at the tournament they'd funded was not wise. The Lannisters might have done this to counter her family, but she respected the power they wielded. It was clear that Prince Oberyn did not.
Arianne cheered, bouncing slightly, which made her body move in a certain way, Joffrey's eyes devouring the sight as Orys kept his eyes forward, clapping as Oberyn was finally declared the victor. Sansa's face fell, her eyes moving down to her more modest chest, but she schooled herself quickly. Sansa had little to fear, the Northern girl was a rare beauty with her red hair and pale skin.
"Maybe we'll get to see if Prince Oberyn could truly bring down the Mountain," Arya said excitedly, and Arianne's eyes flashed dangerously. The Dornish Princess was clearly interested in seeing such a fight, but only because she was sure her Uncle would come out the victor. She suspected that Gregor wouldn't come out at all if the Dornish had their way.
"I doubt it. It would be one amazing spectacle, but I suspect Grandfather is going to put the Mountain back on his leash," Orys murmured as Oberyn stared at the Lannister box with a clear challenge on his face. He wasn't even hiding the bloodlust in his eyes, as Tywin met it with a gaze as cold as the gold his house was known for.
Orys' theory was proven right, as the next round began, only for it to be declared that the Mountain had pulled out of the tournament. Sandor laughed at the news, quietly and filled with dark amusement, and Arianne looked furious at being denied a chance to see her Uncle fight the Mountain. Soon after, another Lannister bannerman was pulled out as Ser Amory Lorch forfeited against an opponent he should have easily bested.
"Cowards," Arianne spat, glaring at the Lannister box for a moment before she turned back to Orys. "How fast they run when the Dornish they have to fight is able to fight back. Perhaps they'd be more comfortable if I were their opponent, rather than someone able to put up a fight. Too scared to fight one of the Dornish that's actually armed? I see the bravery of Lannister lions only shows itself when they are fighting women and children."
It was a blatant statement, throwing up what had happened to Princess Elia in Orys' face as a challenge. It was far too blunt for the court of King's Landing, but the Dornish seemed to do things differently. Tywin did not look happy, and as much as that amused the Tyrell in her, she knew that the Lion would bite back sooner or later. Humiliating Tywin at the tournament that he funded was not conducive to surviving. Oberyn was sticking his hand in the Lion's maw and daring it to bite him.
"Grandfather does hate losing assets needlessly. Gregor doesn't look happy, and such a public forfeit is a stain on Lorch's honour. The crowd are less than satisfied," Orys agreed, hearing the boos at the lack of a show. People wanted to see the Mountain move, and having him quietly drop out was unsatisfying. He wasn't wrong, Clegane's face was carved in fury, a hateful glare being sent to Oberyn, who was lingering near the Lannister box. Clegane paced, his hand on his blade, before he growled and stormed away, backhanding someone who happened to be in his way.
She was unsurprised when Loras was sent out again, the crowd-pleaser sent forth to distract the upset audience. His opponent was the potential woman, still clad entirely in steel. This time, she watched carefully, even as she cheered for Loras, watching the pair clash. Loras was the favourite, but the unnamed fighter from the Stormlands was the dark horse of the tournament after several easy victories.
It was unsurprising that many favoured her over Loras, galvanised by the scandal as many booed Loras. It wasn't as many as before, and mostly male. She wondered if they'd still cheer for the mystery fighter if Orys were right about their gender. As many booed her brother, she made sure to cheer louder as she rose from her seat, Orys chuckling at her enthusiasm. If this new view gave him a view of her buttocks, clad in a tight-fitting dress, all the better. Arianne was certainly doing her best to provide Orys with a show, and while her bosom was no match for the Dornish princess, she had her own… assets.
She had no idea what Arianne was scheming, but every action the Dornish girl took put her further on edge. Before Joffrey's outbursts, Arianne's flirtations had been scattered, teasing all three princes. Now, her focus had changed to Orys alone.
As the fight dragged on, she watched in glee as Loras managed to disarm his opponent, sending their morningstar away, before her eyes widened as the larger opponent simply tackled her brother to the ground, pulling out a dagger and forcing Loras to yield.
"Loras is a tournament fighter at heart. I don't think it ever occurred to him that someone would keep fighting after losing their weapon. Loras is fighting for glory; she's fighting to prove something, to herself or to the world, and that pushed her to keep going when Loras assumed he'd already won," Orys murmured, and Margaery thought about it for a moment before she nodded, accepting his point as he rose himself, clapping as he approached the edge of the box, looking over the arena. "Well fought, both of you. I knew it to be possible for Loras to fall, but I suspected the likes of the Mountain or my Uncle would have been the one to blunt his thorns, not a warrior without a name. Fortunately, I do love pleasant twists. May I ask your name?"
The unnamed warrior paused before reaching up and removing their helmet. The gasps of the crowd amused her as those who jeered her brother for his tastes realised they'd been tricked into cheering for a woman, as the female warrior stepped forward, kneeling before Orys, who just looked satisfied. She was far from a classic beauty with short blonde hair and broad features, and a silence fell over the arena.
"Brienne of Tarth, your Highness," Brienne said, her tone wavering for just a moment.
"Well fought, Brienne of Tarth. You do your House proud. The Stormlands are truly secure if the men of your house are even half as impressive in battle," Orys praised, his posture relaxed as Brienne straightened up. Again, she noticed Sansa preventing Joffrey from speaking up, whispering into her betrothed's ear. Brienne flushed at Orys' candid praise, and the Prince's acceptance of her gender made the crowds less eager to cause a fuss. The King seemed to be taking a backseat today, not taking the attention away from his son, not that King Robert seemed interested in Brienne's gender either, as he was just enjoying the show. "I look forward to seeing the rest of your matches."
At the end of the day, as he'd said, people loved surprises. She knew the Faith was against female warriors, and the same people who seemed most against Loras had now turned on the woman they'd just cheered for, but Orys's support silenced the worst of the grumbling. Somehow, she knew that the High Septon would have words about it, but whether Orys would listen or care was to be seen. He didn't seem overly religious, but neither was his father.
"You honour me, your highness," Brienne said, her voice catching slightly as she rose.
Brienne looked like she wanted to say more as Orys retook his seat, but simply bowed her head and made her way out of the ring.
"Your sworn shield?" Margaery asked, making Orys hum.
"Maybe. She'd be a controversial, yet safe, choice. She'd cause a stir, but she's also from a House that has served the House Baratheon loyally and is sworn to Storm's End," Orys explained, making her nod, seeing the wisdom. It bypassed the games that the Tyrells and Lannisters were playing entirely, picking someone already sworn to the Baratheons. She'd prefer Loras, but she could see his reasons and agreed with them.
"Is that the kind of woman that interests you, brother?" Joffrey asked, his tone smug and challenging as Orys simply rolled his eyes. Myrcella whispered something to Arya, making the other girl giggle as Joffrey scowled, correctly guessing they were making fun of him. He went to speak, being cut off by the arrival of more drinks as the tourney came to a break.
Orys wasn't much of a wine drinker, having had water or juice for most of the day, but he accepted the goblet easily as she did the same. Even his goblet was fancier than Joffrey's, something the second prince certainly noticed from the way he tensed up before he stormed off in a huff.
Orys watched his brother leave, telling the Hound to go and make sure Joffrey didn't get into trouble as he took a sip. She went to do the same, before Orys moved forward. His hand covered the goblet as she was about to drink, her lips colliding with the back of his hand, making her freeze in confusion as Orys sniffed the air.
"Nobody drink," Orys ordered, taking her glass from her and raising it and taking a deep whiff of the wine. She watched in confusion as he did the same to all the glasses and goblets, calling the servant back and asking if all the wine came from the same bottle, something that he confirmed. "Then why does Margaery's smell different to the rest?"
Margaery froze at his question, and Orys' actions had drawn a considerable amount of attention as Margaery sniffed them both herself, unable to tell the difference.
"Is there a problem, Orys?" Queen Cersei asked, approaching. She'd started after she spotted Joffrey storming off, but was distracted by Orys' deep frown.
"Fetch the Master of Whispers and the Grand Maester. I think Margaery's glass has been poisoned. It smells wrong, even though it's supposed to be the same wine we're all drinking," Orys demanded, a deep scowl on his face as Cersei paused in surprise.
She did the same thing that Margaery had done, smelling each with a frown, but after a moment, Cersei ordered Varys and Pyrcelle to be brought, placing the wine glass down. Margaery felt her heart speed up, seeing the dead-serious expression on Orys' face.
Before long, the wine was being tested by the bald eunuch and the old maester, and the entire court went silent as Varys confirmed Orys' suspicions in that soft voice of his, Margaery realising how close she'd come to death. The box descended into chaos, her grandmother furious, the King enraged, Orys stern and grim.
But… how had Orys possibly smelt the poison when she still couldn't tell the difference?
– Petyr Baelish –
Listening to the arguing, he felt his migraine grow worse.
How had Orys smelled a scentless poison? Orys, even in the middle of this tournament, was undeterred in his investigation into the ledgers and worse still, Littlefinger had heard that many of the businesses and lords he'd done business with were starting to send the ledgers Orys had requested. Ledgers that would not match the royal ledger. Orys had even sent Ravens to the likes of the Iron Bank and other places that Littlefinger had loaned money from.
Orys was like a bloodhound, tearing into his carefully constructed schemes, and the Ironborn had failed to distract him as Orys had delegated the task to his Uncle. So, Littlefinger had been left with no choice but to act, striking closer to Orys.
Still, this wasn't the end. Chaos was a ladder, and this tournament had so many people who could take the blame. The Lannisters and the Martells were at the top of the list, as Baelish made sure the tracks wouldn't lead back to him.
But seriously, who could smell poison?!
— Bonus Scene — Daenerys Targaryen
After so many years on guard, she'd grown to be a very light sleeper. It was an unfortunate necessity of the time she and Viserys had spent travelling in exile. Sharing Khal Drogo's tent hadn't helped her relax, even if she was confident none of his riders would dare try to target her. No, with their culture, they were more likely to openly challenge him for her and die for it.
It was that habit that caused her to rise up, the furs falling to expose her nearly-nude form as she heard someone creeping around. Drogo was not here, out on a ride with some of his men. She did not know where he was going, their language still alien to her, but she also didn't ask.
Her eyes locked to Viserys as he froze, her sword in his hand and a dragon egg under his arm.
Rising from the bed, she felt that now-familiar fury burn inside her chest. He had slinked away in defeat after his failed attempt to claim her gifts on her wedding day, and he'd been brooding for days, but to act like this?
"Resorting to slinking around like a thief in the night, Viserys?" Daenerys asked, her tone displeased and aggressive in a way she would never have dared speak to him before. The way he'd cowered away from her when she defied him before had shown her the truth. He was no true Dragon.
It was late, and there were no guards watching her tent. The Khal did not need guards outside his tent. Without the Dothraki bloodriders around, it seemed Viserys had found his confidence again as he stepped forward, his handsome features spoiled by the petulant rage.
"You do not get to speak to me, your King, like that. How quickly you forgot your place," Viserys snarled in that tone that used to make her shudder and submit to try and calm his rage. "I am the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, the head of House Targaryen, your House. What is yours is mine. It is not theft to take my property back. The dragon eggs belong with the head of the house of dragons, as does this blade."
He expected her to cower. She didn't.
"Put them down and leave, Viserys. Do you know what the Dothraki do to thieves?" Daenerys warned, watching his eyes widen before his shock was replaced by fury.
"You would threaten me with these… savages?! How quickly you fell into your new life as a horse lord's whore," Viserys growled, putting down the egg as he approached, his hand striking against her cheek harshly.
"I am what you made me, brother," Daenerys spat back, the fire inside her only growing hotter at his hypocrisy. The mere sight of Goldbrand in his hands sent her into a fury of her own. "Or have you forgotten that you made me marry Drogo? Give me back my sword, now. The Khal will only ride if I, his wife, ask him to. You mean nothing to Drogo and his riders, without me you have no army, beggar prince."
She knew she'd gone too far the moment the final words left her mouth, his eyes widening in true shock as Goldbrand clattered to the ground. She barely had time to think before he struck her again, harder as he punched her in the stomach, making her fold over as the air escaped her.
"You horse's whore," Viserys growled, the 'dragon' truly awakened as he lunged at her, sending her tumbling back to the bed. One hand was over her mouth, muffling her response as he glared at her with a hatred she'd only seen him hold for the usurper. "How dare you speak to the Dragon like that? You think being Khaleesi means anything?!"
As he removed his hand from her mouth, she went to speak, but another slap interrupted her as he grabbed her throat, his grip tightening as she gasped for air, seeing the fury in his eyes.
"You've awakened the dragon, sister, clearly you've forgotten what that means," Viserys snarled, a look in his eyes telling her of his intentions before he made his next move. Her sleepwear provided little coverage, riding up from the tussle, and her eyes widened as he pushed it up past her waist. "As King, I'm entitled to the first night. Your barbarian may have gotten you first, but you're going to learn your place."
She struggled, kicking and punching, but another strike to her face dazed her, and before she could recover, he was inside her. His hands moved up her sleepwear, tearing it and exposing her breasts as she swung her arm at his head, barely budging him and only angering him more. With one hand around her throat, the other forced her legs open as he began to move his hips, insults falling from his lips, curses and abuse spewed out at her as she felt a burst of rage inside her as he tried to kiss her despite the insults. In a moment of fury, she dodged his lips and leaned forward, her teeth biting into his ear and making him scream in pain as she bit hard enough to tear a piece of the ear away. With his mind distracted by the pain, she freed her leg from his grip and pushed him back, kicking him in the chest and sending him stumbling back as his downed trousers caused him to fall onto his backside.
She moved without thinking, lunging forward as she saw his eyes widen and true fear flood his veins as her hands gripped Goldbrand. She didn't stop, swinging the blade with a roar, watching as the gold sliced through flesh and bone without pause. Goldbrand glowed with a menacing heat, her brother's body bursting into golden flames.
The tent burst open, a rider entering just in time to see Viserys' severed head separate and hit the ground, his smouldering corpse still burning for a moment before the fires faded. His eyes moved, taking in the scene, her ruffled and torn clothes, Viserys' exposed manhood, before he shouted something in Dothraki.
As he called for others, they watched the body slowly burn with shock and awe, but as the flames died out and they went to lift it, she stopped them. Taking the blade, she stabbed it down, directly onto his already burnt crotch, removing the appendage with a cold stare.
He spoke to her as she stood there, warring emotions raging inside her, and while she couldn't understand his words, she heard the respect as he addressed her as Khaleesi and the riders took the body away. Her breasts were still out, her body on display, but the bloodrider kept his gaze away from her even as she made no effort to cover herself. She watched them carry the already charcoal black corpse into the distance, and yet as she watched her brother disappear, only one thought stuck in her head. Dragons shouldn't burn. But then, he was no real dragon, was he?
It wasn't long before Drogo returned, a fierce scowl on his lips as he gave orders in his tongue. She looked down at her hands, still feeling her blood pumping as Jorah Mormont stared in shock. He tried to approach, but the Bloodriders wouldn't let him pass, as Drogo led her back to the tent where the blood stained the hides which he had taken away.
Drogo spoke to her, and while she couldn't understand his words, she understood the intent as he comforted her. There was a respect in his tone that she had not heard before, holding her against his muscled chest without trying to claim her. His hand stroked her hair, and she knew he was trying to comfort her after her first kill.
As she lay there in his arms, she felt the heat from Goldbrand still warming her veins, and with her face hidden against Drogo's chest, she smiled.