If you want to help me financially, you can do it on https://www.patreon.com/NeverluckySMILE
The pyre that had held her husband smoldered for nearly two full days after she'd lain her husband to rest atop it. And now, well after the ashes had cooled, Dany sat before the scorched land with her breast exposed and her infant son – their son – nursing at her breast while her other child, her dragon, stumbled and pounced around her in a form of play. Hearing the soft crunch of the charred ground beneath heavy footfalls, Dany turned her head just enough to see Ser Jorah standing behind her, clearly doing everything in his power to not look down at her as she fed her son from her breast.
"They are waiting for your decision, Khaleesi."
Looking past Ser Jorah, Dany saw what remained of her and Drogo's khalasar. Those who had stayed loyal to her and her husband even after he fell from his saddle. They barely numbered twenty. Twenty…out of over forty thousand just a few days prior. 'They didn't even wait for their great khal's son to be born before riding off to kill one another in hopes of taking Drogo's place,' she thought with no small amount of spite as she felt her son let go of her breast, allowing her to cover herself and rise to her feet. 'And now those that remain are waiting to see what I will now do. Return to Vaes Dothrak as is expected of a widowed Khaleesi. Or press on. We will see just how many remain when I tell them my decision.'
Rising to her feet with Rhaego in one arm and her still yet to be named dragon on her shoulder, Dany paused beside Ser Jorah. "I am not the only one who has a decision to make, Ser Jorah," she said, giving him a pointed look. "Are you with me? Or against me?"
Ser Jorah blinked, clearly caught off guard by her sudden question. "Khaleesi, I—"
"Do not rush your answer, Ser Jorah," Dany said, holding her head high as she passed him by. "But know that I cannot trust a man who pledges himself to me, yet still retains his loyalty to one who would see myself and my child dead."
As she approached, she saw that the first to gather themselves where her faithful handmaidens; Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah. And right behind them were perhaps the most capable fighters she had left besides Ser Jorah; Jhogo, Rakharo, and Aggo. The few others that remained positioned themselves behind her handmaidens and bloodriders, waiting to hear her decision. "My Sun and Stars, Khal Drogo, and I had a vision of the future. One where the Dothraki were no longer looked down upon as simple raiders. We were to forge a new Valyria. And our son, he who will mount the world, would lead this great empire. But now, through treachery and deceit, my husband is dead. But our vision is not. Our son, the son of Khal Drogo, still draws breath. And as long as I still have strength in my body, I will see to it that my Sun and Star's vision comes true! I will not simply return to Vaes Dothrak and become Dosh Khaleen and fade into obscurity. I will ride. I will conquer. And I will forge a new empire here in Essos for my son! The son of Khal Drogo! The stallion who will mount the world! Some of you may not agree, and I understand. If you wish to leave, you may do so now and I will not judge. But for those who stay, I promise you a place by my side from here until my final day. Make your choice. For I have made mine."
Her three handmaidens, her friends, were the first to move and were doing so even before she'd finished her speech. As one, they went down to their knees before her. "We will serve you, and only you Khaleesi, from this day until our last." Doreah said, while Irri and Jhiqui nodded in agreement.
Next came her three remaining bloodriders. Each of whom slapped their chest with a closed fist and bowed their heads. "We will fight for you, Khaleesi," Rakharo said. "You and the stallion who will mount the world. We will see the great Khal Drogo's vision brought to life."
The few remaining of her khalasar all went to their knees, swearing themselves to her and her cause. 'I might only have this small number to my name…but they are mine. My people. My warriors. Not my brother's. Not my husband's. Mine.' Turning, she eyed the last one still standing. "And what of you, Ser Jorah. Do you stand with me? Will you help me forge a new home for myself and my son? And in turn, find a new home for yourself?"
She could see the struggle Ser Jorah was having with himself. She disliked putting this on him so suddenly but given her circumstance she needed to know that she could trust him. Finally coming to an answer, Jorah's shoulders slumped as he pulled out his sword and stabbed the tip into the ground. "Varys, your father's and now Robert Baratheon's spy master, contacted me before you arrived in Pentos. He told me to keep an eye on you and report anything of note back to him. They offered to pardon my crimes and allow me to return to Westeros. It was what I wanted. But now…now I have found something else. Something worth fighting for." He tilted his head to look up at her. "I will fight for you, Khaleesi. Even against those I once called my own should the need arise. I will stand by your side, and your son's side, from now and until my dying day. If you will have me, now that you know what I once was."
Dany had been half expecting it, after all Jon had warned her about him multiple times. Yet still, the sting of betrayal was almost enough to make her want to call for one of her bloodriders to end him here and now. Yet she didn't. It was his eyes. He meant every word he spoke. He would fight for her, for her son. "I accept your oath, Ser Jorah," she said, which made the older man nearly sag with relief. "And I forgive your past transgressions against myself. Yet I will not forget."
Nodding, Ser Jorah rose and sheathed his sword. "Then I will spend the rest of my life correcting my transgression, Khaleesi."
"Good," she said simply before turning back to the rest and switching to dothraki. "Take everyone you can find. But pack light, focus on food and water above gold. We need to travel fast while the rest of the khalasar fight amongst themselves. Bloodriders, and Ser Jorah, with me. And someone fetch a map. We have to decide where we are heading."
Her few followers split and began breaking down the few tents they had while scavenging for what little supplies they could find. As they did, Dany stood amongst her three bloodriders and Ser Jorah as the old bear of Westeros produced a worn map of Essos and began pointing out possible locations they could, and could not, travel to. Jorah took his time, showing how their options were very, very limited. North was out as she would be expected to return to Vaes Dothrak as a Dosh Khaleen. And if they encountered what remained of her dead husband's khalassar, they would ensure that would be her fate. However if they went east then they would encounter Pono, the first of her husband's ko that declared himself the new Khal before Drogo was even dead. And he would not take her, or her son, alive. To the south and west were the lands of the Lhazareen, and they would not accept her at best, at worst they would be outright hostile to her given her relation with the Dothraki.
"Our numbers are small, Khaleesi, but that might benefit us now," Ser Jorah explained in Dothraki for the benefit of all those present. "Our best chance will be to use our small numbers and avoid the Lhazareen settlements to the south and west and make for either Braavos or Pentos. Perhaps we can find allies on the coast."
'No.' Dany thought, frowning at the map. 'I cannot go back. Not yet. I must move forward. The comet was a sign…I know it. I must follow its path and there I will find what I need to remake that which was lost.' Reaching out, she placed her finger on the one spot on the map that Ser Jorah had neglected. "No. We travel here. Through the Red Wastes."
None of the men around her seemed pleased with the idea of crossing the Red Wastes. "There is nothing in the wastes, Khaleesi," Rakharo explained carefully. "This is known. Little water or food. The few people that were once in the wastes have fallen to Dothraki blades. Few travel the wastes. And fewer survive."
"Then we know that we will not be followed then," Dany replied, her decision made. "Find as many water skins as you can and fill them til they overflow. Then do the same with what barrels you can find. Empty the wine as well if you have to. We will carry as much water as we can throughout the day. At nightfall, we leave for the wastes."
Her decision made, her three bloodriders all slapped their chest with closed fists before turning and seeing that her orders were carried out. Her son still in her arms and her dragon on her shoulders, Dany turned to the south-east, where the red wastes and her future awaited.
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said from just behind her. "Have you…thought of a name for your dragon?"
"I have," Dany nodded, glancing towards the dragon who was now nudging her face with its snout. 'I wonder if this is how Jon felt when he bonded with his direwolf…and now his own dragon.' "She's a female, yet I would honor my late husband with his name. Droga. That is her name."
Droga's head perked up at being named and Dany could sense an almost…wave of not quite pleasure coming from the little beast. "Droga," Ser Jorah repeated. "The first and only dragon to be born in over a hundred years. The rebirth of the dragons, just like yourself Khaleesi."
'She is not the first. And just like myself, she is not alone.'
Ducking out of his tent in the early hours of the morning, Lord Eddard Stark, now officially Hand of the King, stared around at the Northern encampment that had been set up outside of Harrenhal. If it was not for the fact that this was a tournament, the largest perhaps ever seen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, then Ned would've sworn he was back within a war camp about to siege the ancient and imposing keep. Adding to the look were the dozens, no, perhaps a hundred or more men and women of the North who were waking and donning their armor and preparing their arms for the start of the day's events. 'The melee, the one event that actually has the attention of the men and women of the north,' Ned thought, nodding to a few faces he recognized before turning towards the guards that were standing watch. "My sons and daughters?"
"Already awake, milord," one of the guards reported quickly. "Lady Arya was…excited to start the day. And Lord Robb and Lady Talisa decided to take them all to break their fast. Said they'd meet you in the stands before the first bout."
Nodding along, Ned glanced towards the Noxs tent. "And Lord Nox?"
"He and Lady Nox left before first light milord," another guard answered. "Lord Nox, he, um…dismissed his guards and walked away with Lady Nox…We didn't ask questions, milord."
Frowning, Ned scratched at his beard. He was sure that Nox was not one to need, or even want guards around him. But as a new member of the Small Council that helped to run the Seven Kingdoms, there were certain expectations. "Lord Nox's business is his own," Ned decided, turning towards the large arena that had been erected outside of Harrenhal that would house not only the joust, but would also house the final bout of the melee today. "Let's see if we can find my sons and daughters."
As he walked through the camp, almost every man and woman he crossed paths with gave him a nod of greeting accompanied by either a simple, 'Lord Stark' or 'milord' or in the rare cases 'Lord Hand'. And that was it. No flourishing bows or groveling. Just simple acknowledgment. It was simply the way of the North. And it was something he knew that he was going to miss after this tournament was over and he was forced to go to King's Landing with Robert and take up his new position.
"Milord Hand! I offer you the best—"
"Shit on your best! I have what you need Lord Han—"
"—Lord Hand, please, I—"
"Lord Hand! I think you will find—"
'Or perhaps I will not even have to wait that long to miss the simplicity of the North,' Ned near groaned. Word must have somehow spread the moment he awoke, because no sooner than had he left the comfort of the Northern encampment he was barraged from just about every angle. Merchants. Low-born beggars. Kiss-ass knights and Lords. They just kept coming and coming, each of them doing what they could to garner even a moment of attention from himself. 'Gods…is this what Jon Arryn had to deal with day in and day out? If so…I might never again leave the Tower of the Hand.'
"Ah, my Lord Hand, congratulations on your appointment."
Recognizing the voice, though it was one he had not heard for years, Ned stopped his guards and turned towards the source. Making his way through the crowd, with his own guards gently making a path for him, was the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. Seeing that Ned had stopped, Baelish smiled easily and motioned towards the arena. "I assume you are heading towards the festivities that are about to start, no? Perhaps we might share the road together and talk."
"Lord Baelish," Ned nodded back in greeting, waiting for the man to draw even with him before pressing on.
Ned could think of a hundred reasons as to why he did not want to walk with the man. Chief amongst them being that he simply did not want to. But Nox had mentioned something about Baelish before, about how the man was attempting to 'blank slate' himself whenever Nox was around. Or in simpler terms, he was consciously trying to suppress all emotion whenever he was in Nox's presence. Unfortunately, Ned did not have Nox's ability to test it for himself, and none of his children had been close enough to the man to try either. 'The man is trying to hide himself, Ned.' Nox had told him the previous night as the two had discussed the various members of the Small Council. 'He is doing all he can to hide himself and his intentions from myself and others. And from my experience, there is only one type of person who does that. A snake. One who is just waiting for the right moment to strike. And Baelish is a snake if I have ever seen one.'
"A lovely day for a tournament is it not, Lord Stark?" Baelish asked as they walked side by side. "Almost as if the gods themselves are blessing this event. And speaking of the gods, I do hope the incident yesterday did not do any lasting harm to relations between House Stark and the crown. I daresay, whoever thought they could trick the crown prince into trying such a course of action… Though I fear that what happened yesterday is just a taste of what is to come with yours and Lord Nox's appointment to the Small Council."
That made Ned stop and turn towards the Master of Coin. "And what makes you believe that?"
"Because I have been dealing with the 'faithful' ever since I stepped foot in King's Landing and took up my own position on the Small Council, Lord Stark." Baelish explained calmly. "After dealing with them and their ilk for years, I can safely say that only the truly devout hate more than a man like myself who deals in my trade are those who worship the old gods and, more recently, those who can use this strange magic that Lord Nox has. To be blunt, House Stark is both of those in one. Plus, you have now been appointed to arguably the most powerful position in the land. Not something the faithful are pleased with. And there is also the fact that you are well known to be an 'honest and true' man, Lord Stark. A rarity in King's Landing. And something that makes more than a few uneasy."
"And why would an honest man make others uneasy?"
"Because everyone in King's Landing is dishonest, my Lord Hand. Even myself." Baelish replied with a smile. "And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. It's the honest one's that you have to watch out for because you can never be sure just what they will do when presented with certain…choices, shall we say."
Narrowing his eyes, Ned stared at the Master of Coin. "And why should I trust the word of an admittedly dishonest man?"
Baelish's smile never left his face. "You are learning, Lord Stark. Good. You will need to keep your instincts sharp in King's Landing. But as for why you should trust my word…well…you can't. Because as I said, I am a dishonest man, my Lord Hand. But in this case, I am doing what I am for one reason alone. Catelyn Tully. May the gods grant her a peaceful rest. It is for her that I am doing what I can."
Before Ned could ask what was meant by that, Baelish turned and continued towards the arena. After a moment's hesitation, Ned picked up his own pace and drew even with Baelish as the two walked. If possible, the area around the arena was even busier than the encampments. Dozens, no, hundreds of knights in full armor and their squires were milling about waiting for their turn in the melee while perhaps a thousand or more smallfolk tried to find a place so that they could see within the arena. "Ah, I was not sure if he would make it into the preliminaries or not."
Baelish's sudden words caught Ned unaware. Following Baelish's eyes, Ned saw that the Master of Coin was staring at a young knight, who was without a squire, wearing newly polished plate steel. "Who is that?" Ned asked, recognizing the young man but not able to place him exactly.
"I'm not surprised you don't recognize him, Lord Stark. I believe you only met him once before, years ago, in passing." Baelish replied. "He is Ser Hugh of the Vale, Lord Arryn's squire who was raised to knighthood just after Lord Arryn passed. Though how he managed to get the coin for such good armor is beyond me. Lord Arryn did not leave him any coin and his House is not wealthy… Yet that armor is of the like only worn by those belonging to a great house or royalty."
Ned did not comment immediately. Baelish was correct. The armor was of very high quality. Ned did not know of any newly made knight who could afford such armor unless they were given a substantial amount of coin to do so from a benefactor. "And when did you become so knowledgeable about weapons and arms?"
Baelish simply shrugged. "I am not. Your brother gave me a very cutting lesson that the sword and shield are not my weapons. But while I may not know weapons and arms, I do have a very good eye for things that cost a significant amount. A necessity given my position on the Small Council. And that armor would have cost even a seasoned knight a small fortune in gold, especially to have it crafted in such a short time… Now that I think about it…He was perhaps one of the only members of Lord Arryn's retinue that not only managed to survive the fever that swept through the Tower of the Hand, but he managed to avoid being sick completely… Something not even Lady Lysa Arryn was spared. Curious…" Shaking his head, Baelish gave Ned another smile. "Forgive my thoughts, Lord Hand. Merely passing thoughts from a turbulent time. Now if you will excuse me, I have a few wagers to place and I need to make sure my girls are ready to sooth the egos of those who are about to lose today. Lord Hand."
And without waiting for a dismissal from Ned, Baelish gave him an embellished bow and quickly turned heel, disappearing into the mass of people around them. 'Nox was right,' Ned frowned as he tried, and failed, to find the Master of Coin in the crowd. 'That man is a snake. Pointing out Ser Hugh and departing on such a leading comment. Still…gods damn it. This needs to be looked at. I'll need to ask Nox if he has any of his 'Hands' in King's Landing and if he can confirm Baelish's tale of Hugh managing to avoid being sick and why. And just how a newly named knight from a poor House managed to afford such high-quality armor without a benefactor. Gods damn it…only one sunset into my tenure as Hand of the King and I already must deal with these southern games. I wonder if it is too late to turn Robert down and head back North to live with my children, and if gods are good, my grandchildren.'
Making his way through the stands, he emerged out into the open arena surrounded by high raised stands that could sit perhaps several thousand. There was a clear divide in the stands, however. About half of the arena the stands were little more than raised benches for people to sit, or rather stand. The other half were all sectioned off, each section clearly marked with the sigil of noble Houses of Westeros. He noticed that his own sigil of the direwolf was hanging over one such area. Specifically, the one situated to the right of the King and the sigil of the crowned stag, and underneath the section were his children, Robb, his good-daughter Talisa, Sansa, Arya, and even Bran. None of which had seen him yet as they were all talking excitedly with one another as they waited for the festivities to begin.
"Ned!"
Ned had taken only a single step towards his family when the booming voice of Robert cut over the rumble of voices in the arena. The king was sitting in the section reserved for the royal family, a large horn of ale, or at least he assumed it was ale, already in his friend's hand despite the early morning. Beside him was the Queen and the Crown Prince while Robert's other two children sat a bit further down from them. "About time you showed up, Ned!" Robert yelled again, taking a drink and belching. "Get your arse up here. You are sitting with me today."
Nodding, Ned made his way up the stands, sparing a glance towards his children and giving them a nod before settling in next to Robert. He would've preferred to sit with his children, but Robert's word was law. "Your grace," he said, greeting Robert before turning and greeting the Queen and the Crown Prince in turn. Neither of whom even seemed to acknowledge him despite his greeting.
"Pay attention, woman, boy," Robert growled at his son and wife. "The Lord Hand greeted you both. And after the shit you both tried to pull, you would be best to at least return it."
The Queen grimaced and the Crown Prince shrunk in on himself slightly. "Lord Hand," the Queen greeted him cordially, though he could feel the cold ice in her tone and her eyes. "A fine morning to you."
Nodding politely, Ned took his seat to Robert's right and gazed out over the arena and the people fighting to try and get a place to watch the festivities. "Gods," Robert burped. "Never thought this shit would get this sort of turn out! The melee alone has over five hundred that have signed up as of this morning!"
Frowning, Ned mulled over the number. The last he had heard, the melee had only four hundred. Apparently more than a few late comers had decided to test their luck. Not that he was necessarily surprised. The purse for winning the melee was said to be fifteen thousand gold dragons and one of the pieces of Northern steel that had been commissioned for the crown specifically for this tournament. Even the richest amongst the great houses would be interested in the purse. And for those not of a great house or even of the nobility, that much coin would be enough to purchase a plot of land and perhaps even secure a favorable marriage.
The trouble, however, came when trying to figure out just how to have a melee consisting of near half a thousand men without it turning into a full out skirmish. To this, a new idea was being used for the tournament. Those that'd registered would be drawn into lots of forty men. Those forty would then battle till only two remained. And then that would continue until all the participants had had their chance. Then, at the close of the day, all of those who won would gather once more for the final melee. And then, from that last group, they would name a true champion of the melee.
"Who do you have your coin on, Ned?" Robert asked as the heralds began clearing the grounds, signaling that the first melee bout was about to begin. "Selmy has put his sword in the ring, as has the Kingslayer. And word is those flowers have two good blades in Garlen and their youngest boy Loras."
Ned knew just how good all of the men Robert had listed were with the exception of the youngest Tyrell. He'd seen Garlen with a blade himself. And Barristan's a living legend. As for the Kingslayer, even if Ned did not care for the man in the slightest, there was no denying his skill with a sword and in the joust. "I never put my coin on games such as these, Robert," Ned finally replied as one of the heralds began to loudly explain the rules of the melee and the bouts before calling for the first contestants to enter the arena. "You've known this since we were but boys."
Robert just laughed. "Aye, I do. But thought ya might just surprise me by loosening those purse strings of yours. And speaking of surprises…I take it that one is one of yours, Ned?"
Glancing towards the field, Ned immediately spotted who Robert was speaking about. It wasn't hard, considering she was the only woman on the field. Something which Ned knew was drawing no shortages of whispers from the common folk and nobility alike. Unlike almost all the others in the arena who were wearing heavy plate, she was wearing scaled armor over boiled leather and the helm she wore left almost all her face exposed, giving her a far better advantage in sight compared to the others who only had a small slit in their helms to see through. Her blond hair had been done in a tight braid that had been further curled in on itself at the nape of her neck and instead of a sword and shield, she was instead wielding a tourney spear. And etched onto her chest piece was the sigil of House Stark.
"Aye," Ned nodded. "Osha, my daughters sworn sword and shield. Though she prefers neither and instead stays with the spear that she knows better than perhaps any save for Prince Oberyn Martel."
"One of your pet wildlings, Lord Stark?" It was more of a statement rather than a question as the Queen stared down in distaste at the former chieftain. "I suppose we shouldn't expect a wildling, even a former one, to know proper weapons and armor expected of nobility in a tournament."
Glancing towards the queen, Ned gave her a look before leaning back in his seat. "Osha was a former wildling spearwife. And she has been trained personally by Lord Nox and even managed to duel Ser Garlen Tyrell to draw during the Tyrell's time in Winterfell. If anyone underestimates her, they do so at their own peril."
"Well, looks like we're about to have a rematch then," Robert said, nodding towards some of the other fighters. "That one there is Garlen Tyrell. And the one in that shinny armor is Jon Arryn's squire…fuck can't remember his name now. And there's also Oakheart down there as well."
Eyes on Osha, Ned watched as his daughters sworn sword rolled her neck and shoulders while the heralds finished introducing the field to the audience. He could also see that more than a few of those close to Osha were speaking with her, and he doubted that their words were kind given the way she was pointedly ignoring them. That was of course until someone said something that caused her to stop what she was doing and glare at one of the knights. 'Idiot.' Ned thought, practically feeling the rage despite the distance between them. 'Just because she's a woman they underestimate her. A fatal mistake…and one that they will regret soon enough.'
"Blah, enough of this ass kissing shit!" Robert finally yelled, bringing an end to the herald's speech. "Get this shit on with already! These good people came here to see a melee! Not to listen to your long-winded horse shit!"
The herald sputtered and quickly ran off the field and towards a large bell that had been set to the side. Raising a padded mallet, the herald struck the bell once, signaling the start of the first melee.
The moment the bell rang, the fighters all immediately turned on one another as the sound of clashing steel echoed, only to be out done by the sounds of cheers coming from the common folk watching the display. Ned kept his sight fixated on Osha. Almost immediately she was set upon by the knights that'd been jeering at her before the start. And now they were about to pay for their folly.
The first to reach her, the one that had drawn her attention before the start of the match, lunged sloppily at her. Osha simply used the tip of her spear to knock aside the lunge before sidestepping and then bringing her spear tip down hard on the side and back of the charging knight's knee. The blow, combined with his sloppy footing and weight of his armor, brought him to the ground. Normally all Osha would need to do would be to point her spear tip at the man's neck or face and he would be considered dead and removed. But Osha had other ideas. Using the butt of her spear, the former chieftain struck the fallen knight right atop his codpiece with enough force to dent the metal plate inwards. She then brought her spear back up and struck again, this time against his visor again with enough force to cave the metal inwards on his face. The knight, who'd screamed in pain at the first strike, immediately went silent and limp at the second strike.
After seeing one of their own go down so quickly, the remaining knights that'd decided to start with Osha suddenly appeared far more cautious than they were at the start. But their apprehension did them no favors as Val went on the attack. Her spear moving as quick as a serpent, striking at vital weak points on each man near her and felling them one after another. While there was no doubt that Osha could not keep up with the strength of some of the men's arms nor their armor, she more than made up for it with her quickness and flexibility that her lighter armor afforded her. She was able to quickly weave through the combatants while staying in their blind spots that were created by their helms. A fine strategy against green boys. But Ned knew that once she was up against a more seasoned opponent that they would quickly adjust and give her a good fight.
The next to fall was Jon Arryn's former squire. The young lad apparently thought his armor would do all his work for him as his defense was next to nonexistent as he recklessly charged at Osha. Just as she had done with all of the others who'd tried their hand against her, Osha was able to make short work of the young man, planting him firmly on his ass with her spear tip pointed at his exposed throat in less than five moves from herself.
Quickly enough, almost the entire field was eliminated. Leaving only Osha, the Kingsguard, Ser Garlen and another hedge knight that Ned did not recognize nor know. Despite Osha having taken out near half the field, the hedge knight apparently decided that she was the easier opponent when compared against Garlen and a member of the Kingsguard. Rushing towards Osha, his banner woman quickly brought her spear up to block his downward strike, but the shaft of her spear gave to the force of the blade, leaving Osha with half a spear length in each hand. Osha did not hesitate despite her weapon breaking. Shifting her grip, she held the two halves of the spear as if they each were short swords and began to rain down a flurry of overhead blows against the hedge knight. The hedge knight could do little more than cower behind his shield and quickly backpaddle, trying to give himself some room to breathe against her onslaught. But Osha did not give him a moments rest. One blow after another clashed against his shield, forcing the hedge knight to bring his sword hand up to help reinforce his hold.
The moment both of his hands were on his shield, Osha made her move. Landing one more set of blows against his shield, she spun and squatted before the knight. With his vision impaired by the shield and his visor, the hedge knight was helpless to see that Osha had shifted her aim from his shield to his unprotected legs. Several quick blows against the man's armored thigh and knee were enough to send him toppling to the ground. The moment his back hit the ground, Osha was atop him, her spear point aimed right for the slit on his visor. The hedge knight was done.
"Ha! A true woman of the North ya found there Ned!" Robert laughed as they all watched Osha rise back to her feet and turn to the last two contestants, Garlen and Oakheart, who were both busy trading a flurry of blows.
"That she is," Ned nodded, just as Garlen did something no one expected, and shoulder charged his Kingsguard opponent the instant the man's guard opened slightly. The charge was enough to disorient Oakheart, and while he did not go to the ground, by the time he could right himself Garlen had his sword resting against the man's shoulder right next to his neck.
"Haha! Good showing all of you!" Robert laughed as he rose to his feet while the crowd cheered. "The winners of the first bout are Ser Garlen Tyrell and Osha, sworn sword of Lady Sansa Stark!"
Osha and Garlen stood side by side in the center of the arena as common folk and noble cheered for their victory. Of course, the most boisterous of those were the men and women of the North. Arya was on her feet almost screaming in triumph, and even Sansa was on her feet applauding, though whether she was applauding her future good-brother or Osha he was not entirely sure. Most likely both. But even with the near deafening cheers, Ned noticed that there were many in the crowd that were not necessarily pleased. Though that was more than likely because all those not cheering were in the process of pulling out coin to settle wagers.
Keeping his composure, Ned calmly applauded Osha for her victory as the two champions made their way out of the arena as various squires and hired hands went about resetting the arena in preparation for the next bout. 'One bout down…and more than ten to go,' Ned thought as he settled himself further into his padded seat. 'This is going to be a long day.'
Walking side by side with his wife through the masses Nox, while he would not admit it, was having trouble concentrating on his Force Sight to avoid running into people. Thankfully, his reputation preceded him and almost all who saw him coming quickly cleared out of his path as if he were either a King or an avatar of the Stranger, as many southerners had taken to calling him. The main source of his distracted state was none other than his wife, whom, if one could see through the Force, was positively glowing in joy and glee. The reason for this? By some phenomenon, the slight spark of Force sensitivity that she had had since the death of their son had grown. No. Grown was an understatement. Her connection with the Force skyrocketed by an almost exponential degree. She still did not have the strength of even his weakest of acolytes and would have only perhaps lasted a day or two at Korriban before an Overseer disposed of her. But her strength was now enough to use the Force to push and pull lighter objects, and perhaps even more once he had more time to train her. But even though her strength in the Force was only marginal at best, it was still enough to make his wife glow with happiness.
What baffled him however was just how her connection grew so much and so quickly. The only reasonable explanation he had for the phenomenon was the red comet, the Force nexus, that'd passed so closely to the planet. But even still…there were theories about those who lived near a Force nexus developing Force sensitivity. But could a passing comet really cause such a phenomenon? And could it also be the reason for this world's relatively high concentration of Force sensitive individuals? The thought was more than enough to distract him from the here and now, and if not for his wife holding onto his arm and guiding him, he was sure that he would've run over more than one person as they made their way towards the arena that'd been erected for this tournament.
"Come on, Alim," his wife said, almost bouncing in excitement from their discovery this morning and the prospect of watching the tournament. "We've already missed all the preliminary melee bouts, the only events left for the day are a few opening tilts of the joust and the final melee."
Making their way into the arena, the two had barely made a few steps into the stands before the King's loud voice called out to them. "Sorcerer! About time your ass showed up! Get up here with your wife and take a seat next to Ned! The first of the jousts are about to start."
Homing in on the voice, Nox found the Robert sitting next to Ned and the Queen, while next to them were their children and the rest of those who could be considered 'close' to the royal family. Taking Nyra's hand, Nox carefully led the two of them up the stairs and towards a pair of empty seats that'd clearly been reserved, or recently vacated, for the two of them.
Ever the polite one, Nyra curtseyed to the King once they were close enough to do so. "Forgive our tardiness, your grace," Nyra said politely as Nox helped guide her to her seat. "My husband and I had a few…private matters to discuss."
Robert laughed, "ha! Is that what you people are calling it now? Not that I blame you, Sorcerer. If I had a fine Northern lass like your wife, I would be 'tardy' to everything cause we would never leave our chambers!"
The King either didn't notice, or more likely didn't care, about the wince that went through those nearby and the glare that was sent his way curtesy of the Queen. "She has been known to keep myself, and those who have chambers close to our own, awake during the night," Nox teased, earning a playful glare from his wife as well as a few chuckles from those nearby and a full bellied laugh from the King.
Turning his attention to the arena below, Nox noticed there were perhaps a two dozen knights waiting for their turn to joust while the herald introduced each one by one. The only knights who would be participating in this initial round of jousting would be those who failed to reach the final melee, which would take place immediately after the last joust and just before sundown. This was so that those entering the final melee had a chance to rest before competing again. There was no set tournament bracket like Nox was expecting, instead lots would be drawn by the herald to determine who would be jousting.
"Tell me, Lord Nox," the queen said as the herald signaled for lots to be brought forward to determine the first tilt. "Do the knights of your homeland compete as ours do? Or do your people not even have knights?"
Watching the first two riders line up on either side of the arena, Nox only paid half attention to the joust as he answered the queen. "There are athletic events of sorts that my people could compete in, but they were few and far between. And as for knights…my people did not have them, nor did we have need of them."
The first tilt ended in only a single pass as a knight wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard quickly unhorsed his one riding against him, much to the delight of the crowd. Once the field was cleared, the herald stood up once again and drew the next set of lots. "Ser Hugh of the Vale!" The herald announced, drawing the first competitor. "And his opponent shall be…Ser Gregor Clegane! The Mountain-Who-Rides!"
A hush fell over the crowd as the two clearly mismatched competitors took their positions on opposite ends of the arena. The young Ser Hugh appeared calm, but Nox could feel the nervousness coming off him in such strength that he was surprised the boy wasn't shaking in his saddle. As for the Mountain however…Nox could sense a darkness around him. He'd only met the man once, back during the siege of Pyke, but the man was still the same mad dog that had little conscious thought beyond who he could kill next.
The herald dropped the flag, and the two riders charged at each other, their blunted lances slowly lowering as they approached each other. The two met with a thunderous clash, though only Clegane's lance made contact not with Hugh's shield, but rather against the boy's chest plate. Meanwhile Hugh's glanced harmlessly off the Mountain's shield. The younger knight was thrown from his horse in a shower of splinters. When he landed on the ground, a gasp went through the crowd while many of the women present covered their eyes.
Embedded in the young knight's chest and neck were several large splinters from the Mountain's broken lance. The man twitched, spitting up blood over his face and onto the ground as he gasped in agony. "It's no use," Nox said, placing a hand on his wife's leg, who had already been starting to rise to her feet to try and do something to help the young man. "He's already dead. His body just doesn't know it yet."
The young knight gave one last twitch and gasp, then went still as his blood continued to flow freely from his chest and neck. "Ah shit," the King grumbled as hired hands quickly made their way out onto the field to clean up the mess and remove the now dead knight. "Jon actually liked that lad…Bad luck to draw the fucking Mountain on his first joust."
While the King was disappointed in the young knight's death, Nox felt a spike of…satisfaction and relief as well. Though these feelings came from the queen for some reason. And next to him, he could sense that Ned was thoughtful and almost…curious about the knight's death. As if something was suddenly wrong. "We'll discuss it later," Nox said lowly to Ned so that only the two of them could hear his words.
Nodding, Ned retained his normal stoic look as the jousting resumed with the next set of contestants being chosen by the herald. The rest of the joust was, in Nox's opinion at least, boring. And he was starting to dread the fact that he would have to sit through several days of jousting seeing as it was the highlight of the tournament and the event with the most participants. 'Perhaps I can find a way to conveniently be busy during the jousting.' Nox thought as he watched through the Force as the next two competitors failed to land solid blows against one another, causing their lances to slide harmlessly off their shields. 'Shouldn't be too difficult to find a legitimate excuse to be absent. It's not like I'm short on things that need to be done.'
Finally, the last inaugural joust wrapped up, which then brought out the herald and the hired hands to take down the makeshift dividing fence that'd been set up for the joust in order to prepare the arena for the final melee. With the grounds mostly cleared, the herald retook his place in the center of the arena and spoke loudly enough for all to hear him who were in the stands. "My Lords! My Ladies! Good King Robert and fair Queen Cersei and our honorable new Hand of the King Lord Eddard Stark! I present to you, the greatest knights of the Seven Kingdoms who have battled their way through their preliminary melee and now have the honor to stand before you in the grand melee finale!"
The crowd roared as the combatants entered the arena. The group numbered between twenty and thirty, but Nox immediately dismissed roughly a third of the field as he could tell with just a passing glance that they would not last long. Not against this level of skill. There were two of the Kingsguard in Ser Barristan and Ser Jamie. Both Tyrell boys, Garlen and Loras, had made it to the finale as well. There was a large imposing figure from the Stormlands that drew his attention for several reasons. Then there was also Sandor Clegane, who seemed to keep glancing towards the stands were the Northern houses were seated. And lastly from the North he noticed that Osha and one of the Karstark lads had made it in as well.
"Well Ned, what do you think? Willing to put any gold on your tamed free folk lass? Or perhaps that other lad from the North?" Robert asked as the competitors arranged themselves around the edges of the arena, teams already forming amongst some of them despite this supposedly being a free-for-all.
"My answer has not changed, Robert," Ned sighed. "I do not risk my coin on tournaments."
"You need to loosen up, Ned," Robert huffed before turning his attention to Nox. "What about you, sorcerer? You willing to put your coin on anyone from the North?"