Harrenhall

"Welcome to the finale of Lord Strong's nameday tourney!" The crowd erupted in cheers, though the guest of honor, Lord Strong, was absent. His son Harwin hosted the tourney in his stead.

Aerion focused on the knight across from him—resplendent in shining silver armour, the silver eagle of House Mallister emblazoned across his chest. In contrast, Aerion's own armour was dark, his lance resting loosely in his grip, ready for the clash.

A horn blasted.

Their horses surged forward with ferocious speed, hooves pounding the earth like thunder. The wind tugged at Aerion as he leaned forward,, lance raised and his shield arm braced. His eyes, hidden behind a dark visor, narrowed in concentration.

The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum as time seemed to slow. His horse, snorting with exertion, moved as if it were an extension of his body. The Mallister knight's lance lowered, angling to catch Aerion unawares.

But Aerion shifted at the last second, raising his lance and tilting his shield just right so that when—

CRACK!

—the Mallister's lance glanced off Aerion's shield, splintering harmlessly. Aerion's own strike, however, hit true—dead centre. The force of the blow lifted the Mallister knight from his saddle, sending him crashing heavily to the ground with a thunderous thud.

The crowd erupted into deafening applause as Aerion, almost casually, raised his half-broken lance above his head in triumph. The cheers swelled, the excitement rising in waves around him.

He did a customary slow victory lap, taking his helmet off barely out of breath. Before he got off his horse, retreating into the tent and taking a seat, his adrenaline draining from him.

He'd become used to this he admitted, it had been quite a few moons since he'd started this journey. He sighed as he clamped his breast plate, unwanted thoughts forcing themselves into his mind.

His journey to change the future…he'd put some pieces together. The fact that Rhaenyra was killed…by a dragon was quite telling, the memory alone sent chills down his spine. 

Whether it was a rebellion, or simply a dispute was still unknown. But he couldn't help but think he wouldn't have been given these dreams, visions, his gifts if it was simply to stop a single woman's death. 

His dreams hadn't helped the matter either, only confusing blurs and unknown visages seemed to invade his nights now. He ran a hand through his dark hair, wincing slightly at the pain in his forearm.

His eyes caught onto a form approaching, it was Marq with a small pouch of coins in his hands. A smirk on his tanned face, his eyes shining as he threw the pouch towards Aerion. 

"50 Dragons" Marq informed as he sat opposite Aerion. The bastard looked down at his winnings with a hum before handing it back to Marq. The tourneys pretty much paid for any and whatever expenses the new duo could possibly spend, they'd even saved quite a bit. 

But it had also been building, growing and changing his reputation. The Blackwoods had spent quite the time building the 'Skinstealer' image of him, a dastardly bastard that practised forbidden magics and stole human skin.

But over the tour, he and Marq had entered almost 10 small tourneys across the Riverlands. They were nothing compared to a Royal Tourney, but they still spread a new image of him. 

Well throughout the Riverlands at least, but in Westeros word always spread fast.

It was accidental on his part, he simply wanted to enter a small tourney by Maidenpool only for Marq to mention the potential. 

"You should have entered the Melee" he said to the Heir of Smallwood, the older teenager nodded. 

"I should have" Marq said as Aerion slowly, and routinely took off his plate armour.  The leathers beneath would be enough for the celebrations. "They weren't very competent were they?"

Aerion shook his head "They weren't" he agreed, the Melee was dreadful, Marq could have easily won them some more winnings. 

They both made their way through the tent flaps, making his way through to the Lord's stand. It was common courtesy for the winner to speak to the host afterwards. 

Though Marq stayed behind, eyeing the lords' stand with slight contempt before he walked through to the nearby markets with nary an explanation. Aerion continued on after a brief pause, his curiosity piquing. 

Harwin Strong, the Heir of Harrenhall, overlooked him curiously, the crowd cheering and celebrating among themselves. His crippled younger brother stood behind the man, his skinny form forgettable.

"That was quite the tourney you've had Ser" Harwin complimented, the man had brown hair that dropped to his shoulders. His form was both taller and broader than even his Uncle Garth. 

"My thanks, My Lord." Aerion responded casually, his eyes briefly wandering back to the younger brother. The shorter man's eyes seemingly focused elsewhere. 

"Though I hear that winning is becoming all too common for you?" Harwin asked, though the man clearly knew the answer. Aerion hummed and then nodded, the far younger knight had been building a reputation.

"I'd be glad to have a knight such as you in House Strong's service" he offered, Aerion attention piqued as he eyed the far taller older man, he couldn't help the prideful grin that lit on his face at the man's words.

Though he didn't consider it, he'd been offered service at the Crown Princesses side and rejected it, this was of no consequence.

"I'm already in the service of Lord Bracken" Aerion admitted "Though I must thank you, for the offer"

—-

The night air was cool, the moon casting long shadows over the empty Kingsroad. Harrenhal loomed behind them, its massive towers blotting out the sky. The road ahead was silent save for the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves..

They had left the tourney, Marq riding beside him as they left the nighttime celebrations behind. The humongous, towering Harrenhall left looming in the distance as they rode along the Kingsroad. 

They've already toured the Major keeps and Lords of the Riverlands. But neither of them wanted to return home, the journey freeing for both of them. 

"What was Strong like?" Marq asked, breaking the silence, Aerion looking over curiously.

"He offered me a spot in House Strong's service" Aerion mentioned, a small smirk tugging at his lips. It wasn't everyday a knight was offered service to a noble house, nor without having previous ties or connections to the house. 

"No, the cripple" Marq insisted, his gaze sharp as he kept his eyes locked onto the bastards. Aerion blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he eyed his friend.

"He didn't speak, why?" He asked, did Marq not like cripples? 

"Keep an eye out for him" Marq insisted "I've known him a while, he's…" he paused, trying to find the correct words, but couldn't so he sighed in resignation. "…just keep an eye out, Larys is clever" 

Aerion eyed his friend in confusion before nodding, the serious look in the other man's eyes was enough for Aerion to trust his word.

—-

I'm thinking of doing the timeskip over a few short chapters like this that build through it