Finally, a man took down the names and appearances of each of the participants who would fight tomorrow in the Meele. The prince was among them.
"You want to maintain the appearance of a mysterious knight, eh?" said the man, looking at him suspiciously. "The men will go after you, you know, you took down the Tyrells and Connington," said the man.
Jaehaerys shrugged. He had registered under the name "The Knight With the Red Cloak," even though he wasn't even a knight.
He looked into the distance at Connington. The man accepted defeat with shame. To tell the truth, Jaehaerys expected more of a reaction from him. That he would go mad, or deny he had lost, anything like that.
He seemed more depressed.
Jaehaerys wanted to take off his helmet to show him his face, to see if knowing his identity would change his opinion about how he felt at that moment, to see if sadness would turn to anger.
Jaehaerys left the battlefield quickly, took out his horse, and when he arrived at his mansion, he locked it away from prying eyes. He felt a little bad, but it would only be for a day. In the meantime, he had to go to his mansion to continue working on his castle. After all, fighting in the melee was only a means to an end.
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"And I struck down the Rose with a single blow!" Jon Umber shouted, loud as ever.
The man, along with the Tullys and Starks, had organized a small banquet at the Stark mansion. The giant man was shouting about his exploits on the battlefield. Brynden was in a corner, drinking mead. Eddard walked in his direction.
"Congratulations on the victory," Ned congratulated him.
He had won a battle against all odds. It was admirable, even though Ned himself despised tournaments. After accepting the deal with Jaehaerys, he had only stayed at his children's request, who wanted to experience a tournament.
"That boy won, the one in the red cape. Damn beast!" said the man. "I've never seen a man fight like that. He used his sword like a damn spoon. Still, no one could beat him," he said, a little indignant.
Jaehaerys, of course, Ned knew who the man was, had fought masterfully on the battlefield, cutting off the heads of the leaders. He moved in and out of the ranks with incredible ease. Ned didn't believe that even Robert could do such things in his best moment.
"The king wants to meet him in person. He plans to give him the white cloak after the tournament, regardless of whether he wins," said Ned, taking a swig from a horn filled with beer.
"If he wins the million, I don't think he'll want to wear the cloak," said Brynden, shaking his head. "Either he's from a good family, or he's an ambitious bastard," he explained. "The boy has a good head on his shoulders, you know? And he's not afraid to take the lead... I doubt the white cloak would suit him," Ned knew that Jaehaerys would never accept the white cloak. He had things he couldn't put aside. And he didn't seem to have a good relationship with the king.
"Corbray is dead," Ned said in a more bitter tone.
Brynden shrugged. He didn't seem happy about the man's death, nor did he feel remorse for him. Accidents happen, and to Brynden, he was just another man who died in the tournament, a man who sought to betray him as well. The details of his death were not entirely clear; some say the dog smashed his head in.
"And Lady Forlon disappeared," said Brynden. House Corbray had offered an enormous reward for whoever found her and returned her to the house. "He carried a deadly weapon, and he lost it. The Corbray family must be furious."
"An ancient weapon, stolen," Ned said, finding the situation bitter.
"Yeah... poor fool," Brynden emptied the contents of his horn in one go. "Speaking of fools, who is the idiot bothering my niece?" he asked.
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"100 yards. I can hit a sparrow 100 yards away, you know?" Sansa heard Theon Greyjoy bragging.
She had had the misfortune of falling victim to the charms of the Iron Islander. The man had already proposed that they run away together. Only the decorum of the occasion had prevented her from slapping him in the middle of the impromptu banquet. The young man had snuck in with a group of northern men, whom he had beaten at archery.
"Very impressive," said Sansa.
And it really was quite an incredible feat. Few could do such a thing. But the way the man bragged made her nauseous. He was like a little boy who had only one good quality. He was the son of the current Lord Greyjoy, Balon. He was third in line to inherit the lordship of the Iron Islands.
"I know, that's why it was no problem for me to win the tournament," he said as he took a glass of wine. "Won't you have a drink, my sweet lady?" he offered her a glass.
"I heard you came in third, Jalabhar Xho and a boy named Anguy surpassed you, my good lord," said Sansa, watching the ironborn's face sour.
She had tried to be polite, but his crude comments and bragging did nothing to make Theon seem likable. His eyes wandered too often, and Sansa even wondered if the clothes she was wearing that day were too revealing.
"What is Prince Jaehaerys like?" Now it was Sansa who was bitter. "I heard he fell off his horse... a pity for him. If My Lady feels lonely..."
"A dragon for a squid? Sounds like I ended up changing gold for copper," she said before walking away. "Let go of me, Lord Theon," she said. Theon had taken her by the wrist. "I'll assume the drink is clouding your judgment."
"Listen to me!" Theon quickly let go of her, as if remembering where he was. "I can make you my salt wife. The salt wife of the next Lord of the Iron Islands," he said confidently.
"Salt wife?" Sansa asked, as if the man in front of her had lost his mind.
"It's a lot for a woman with a bastard," he shrugged.
Sansa looked at him. He seemed drunk, but not drunk enough to say such stupid things out loud.
"The salt wife of Balon Greyjoy's third son," she scoffed, it will be more prestigious to be the wife of Walder Frey.
"I will be the Lord of Pyke," he told her. Sansa walked away. She had already wasted too much time with this guy. She wanted to see her daughter; she didn't think it was right to make the little girl lose sleep over the banquet, so she had sent her to Jaehaerys. "Oh! You'd rather be the dragon's whore!" the man shouted at her.
Sansa didn't even stop, though she lowered her head as she walked. She felt a strong arm on her shoulder. "Father," she knew who it was before she looked up.
"Go, I need to have a word with young Greyjoy," Eddard said. Sansa smiled a little. Her father was a good man, protective. He wasn't one to allow anyone to disrespect his family in public. He was the man who wielded the sword.
'What would Jaehaerys do in this situation?', she wondered.
She watched him walk toward Theon, who was drowning himself in wine, and choked when he saw Eddard approaching. Sansa didn't hear what Ned said to him, but she certainly enjoyed the Ironborn's expression of pure panic.