The Bastard Prince

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Chapter 39 (The Dragon vs The Mountain), Chapter 40 (A Plan and Traitors), Chapter 41 (An Alliance), Chapter 42 (A Flower in The Garden), Chapter 43 (The Melee), Chapter 44 (Leaving Highgarden), Chapter 45 (The North), and Chapter 46 (Winterfell) are already available for Patrons.

A stab, a swing, sidestep to the right, and then another swing. Jon repeated these four motions in an almost mechanical fashion over and over against his straw-filled opponent. It was early in the morning, dawn had just breached across the sky, and the Highgarden had just recently begun springing back to life. For Jon, however, had been repeating this process for the past two hours.

He had gotten used to waking up early a long time ago; Arthur and his daily morning drills ensured that. Yet, in all those years, he had not subjected his body to the strain of recent days.

It had been a fortnight since their arrival in Highgarden, and tomorrow, preparations for the tournament will finally be complete. The atmosphere around the Hightower and even in the city itself was notably lively, bright even. It was for that very reason he was so disturbed and hadn't been able to sleep soundly since arriving at the highgarden.

Another strike and thrust toward the wooden training target caused small puffs of straw to explode from every corner of the bag tied around the wooden post. With each swing, however, more and more of that very same anger started to become reflected in his steps. The second swing pushed too far, the other thrust missed its mark, and finally topping it off, he attempted lazily to move his legs to the right and swing once more, this time hitting the target dead on. Yet, the force caused the weapon to shake violently away from his hand and launch it out of his grip.

"Seven Hells!" Jon exclaimed with exhaustion, falling lazily onto the floor.

The hard cold stone managed to cool him off some from the crushing heat he was feeling in his body. It was nothing new. The work put into fighting a straw dummy was tiring, to say the least, not to mention an excellent way to break a sweat.

As he got up from the ground to pick up his training sword, he heard a rustling coming from the sides of the courtyard. Had the men-at-arms already come to the practice? 'No, it's still far too early for that.'' he thought. Yet his question was soon answered by the small clump of dark hair peeking out from behind a set of boxes.

"I suppose you think you're being sneaky, don't you?" Jon said with yet another sigh.

Obara reacted quickly; he had to give her that, at least. But scurrying back behind the boxes did little to hide her from Jon; in truth, he might not have even noticed his sister if it weren't for the shadow. After a long moment of silence, Obara stepped out.

"Are you mad again?" Obara questioned, walking closer to him.

"Why would I be mad?" Jon answered with his own question, picking up the wooden practice sword and approaching his oldest sister.

"Because the dummy's bleeding faster than a pig with its throat cut." Obara peeked out, showing off those same steely dark eyes all the Oberyn's children had.

"Very observant. I suppose father taught you that line?"

"Tyene, she said some butcher's boy told her about it, how pigs bleed faster 'cause they've got bigger veins."

"That does sound like something Tyene would ask about..:" Jon muttered, sitting down on the front row of boxes.

Obara eventually found a spot beside Jon.

"Now, why are you up so early?" Jon asked as she started playing with one of her many knives.

"I could ask you the same..." Obara muttered.

"That's not important, bis sister. Has Daemon done anything to you?" Jon asked protectively; Obara smiled before rolling her eyes.

"If he did, right now, he would be a eunuch, but I heard you. You've been going out here for some time now; I just wanted to see why."

"Nothing better to do, eh?" he could see the nod from his big sister an ocean away. "I can't say I blame you. Highgarden is a city bustling with life. But it seems that doesn't extend to us. We're too low for the courtiers, too low for the guards, and too noble for the servants. And House Tyrell hates our guts."

"You sound just like father." the oldest sand snake chuckled.

"Yes, that's what Nymeria tells me as well. Arianne reminds me of that one too." Jon muttered, thinking of the princess again. She had told him after their eventful morning that the best time to approach Lord Tarly would be after the Melee after he wins and shows himself as a powerful warrior. The man respected strength above all, and according to Arianne, she had gathered information that Lord Tarly had sent his firstborn away to The Citadel so his second son could inherit the lands.

Jon had listened to the idea, and his father told him he would be the first to approach the man.

"How are things with you and Arianne?" Obara asked, looking at the pointy end of her knife; despite looking at her blade, Jon knew she was paying attention to him.

"Good. I suppose me and Arianne have known each other since... forever. I like her fierce personality; despite being a princess, she's not some fragile lady that can be broken easily; her eyes remind me of a night around the fire, the way she handles herself, and the way she smiles-" "Ohh, brother. I simply asked how you were with Arianne. I didn't ask for her personality." Obara interrupted with a giggle; Jon rolled his eyes playfully before looking away from her.

"Has my little brother fallen in love?" Obara asked teasingly.

"Stop," Jon said playfully, not really meaning it, as Obara kept laughing, slapping his shoulder.

"Didn't know she had you wrapped around her fingers, or maybe I should say your balls," Obara said in the midst of laughter.

"I hate you," Jon murmured, looking away from her, avoiding her at all costs. After she stopped laughing, she sneaked her hand around his.

"Hey, I'm just teasing. I don't see anything wrong with you liking Arianne, and don't worry, if she does something, just tell your big sister, and she will fix the problem." Obara said teasingly, kissing his cheek and making Jon turn to look at her.

"Oh, what would you do?" Jon asked with a raised brow.

"You don't want to know, little brother," Obara answered with a little smirk, looking like a snake.

Jon was about to ask his sister if she would come with them to the North when someone decided to enter the courtyard.

Bastard Joffrey very noticeably appeared into the courtyard from the entrance, his red linen robes shining amid the sun's peeking gaze. Behind him stood the Hound, Sandor Clegane, adorned by his signature black steel and helm. The differences between the two were palpable, to say the least, and it seemed Joffrey at least knew the leverage he could pull just by the sight of Clegane at his beck and call. Jon kept a calm look when he realized the prince was heading right toward them.

"It's the royal bastard." Obara hissed, barely keeping her voice down, her hand grasping the pommel of her knife with the strongest poison.

The siblings both stood up in unison, exchanging gazes with the two persons approaching them respectively. Joffrey smirked and slightly raised his head while the Hound remained still as the grim statue he was.

"Look at these two bastards, dog. Staying together like snakes caught in a trap. What brings you here so early in the morning?" Joffrey announced more than he spoke. Obara glared at them; she didn't care what others called her but calling her little brother any names was a death sentence. Jon grabbed her wrist, knowing his sister was on the brink of killing the bastard.

"Greetings, your Grace, Ser Clegane. Me and my sister were preparing for the upcoming tourney. We decided to come early and not bother anyone later."

"I see. Good decision. We don't need your filth strolling around when Warriors like me start the day." He boasted, looking back at Clegane, who kept a neutral face. Jon tightened his grip around Obara's wrist. She looked ready to kill him, and while Jon would have nothing against it, it needed to wait.

"It seems you were enjoying tearing up defenseless heaps of straw," Joffrey commented, looking at the dummy Jon had torn apart a few minutes ago. A strange, sinister smile formed on his lips when he turned to look at Jon and Obara. "I can relate, but I much rather enjoy when they can scream."

"Indeed." play along for the game. "I enjoy that too, your grace, especially when they beg. I like to take my time and fill them with hope. It is enjoyable to see the hope in their eyes fade away like blowing a candle." Jon spoke with a snake-like grin, his voice low and calm, tilting his head slightly at the side, which made Joffrey gulp, taking a step back, almost stepping on Clegane's foot as he did. Jon noticed the way Sandor was eyeing him, but he ignored him. His eyes settled on Joffrey, whose face had gone pale.

"T-Then I commend you. Though you may never come to surpass me or the dog here, your determination shall make you a fine knight, no doubt."

"My thanks for your words of encouragement, your Grace. However, I do have a question of my own, if you will permit."

"I shall since you have been so willing to entertain me." he waved his hand leisurely while inspecting the damaged dummy left behind by Jon's outburst.

"Why are you here?" the game could not be played forever, and it was clear from Jon's tone that any sense of polite conversation may just be thrown aside. He could only endure so much venom-encrusted courtesy for so long.

Joffrey's smile faded, and for a moment, it seemed he was ready to sick his Hound on Jon. He chipped a crack in the little Stag's pride. One does not question the Prince's motives. It would seem. But soon, that same smile returned, filled with even more contempt than before.

"I wanted to see what the famous sand snakes could do. All I see is a boy playing knight and his whore sister." Joffrey taunted with a smirk. Clegane's face remained impassive, but the way his eyes twitched, it seemed he wasn't enjoying spending time with Joffrey.

"Let me burn him, my dear brother. I will burn him alive for daring to talk like that with a dragon." Rhaenix roared in his head with fury, almost like she was standing right next to him.

Jon could feel her anger. He himself was furious. Jon was really tempted to say 'Yes.' And just burn the worm right there, but that had to wait until he started the war. Knowing he was a cocky moron, someone like him could make his job even easier. After all rumors of his questionable antics had already spread, the common people would much rather accept Jon than someone like Joffrey, and if he died right now, next in line would be Tommen, someone who so far was much softer.

"Well, they say you need to see someone in action to truly measure them. The Tourney is tomorrow. I'm sure you won't be disappointed." Jon kept his calm and low tone that made Joffrey gulp, especially his snake-like smile.

"Excellent." the Prince quickly performed a clap of his hands, yet his tone showed no signs of excitement. It was clear that he expected a different reaction. "I shall not be alone. My father has instructed that senile old man Selmy to watch for new recruits. I heard the Mountain would be there. I'm sure House Martell will be happy to see him," Joffrey said, smiling smugly, but his smile wavered when he didn't have the desired reaction from Jon.

"It will be quite something to see the Mountain," Jon said, keeping a completely calm face, but inside he was boiling. He wanted nothing more than to burn the fucker, and soon The Mountain would fall. Elia and Aegon would be avenged soon. And as quickly as he arrived, Joffrey and the Hound left the courtyard, leaving Jon and Obara alone once more.

The courtyard fell silent, with only the life above them and beyond being heard. Yet after a few moments, Jon felt a tug from behind. Obara looked furious. She looked ready to burst into flames.

"Why didn't you challenge him? I'm sure you would kill him." Obara questioned after Jon let go of her wrist.

"That was an option, sister, but remember what our father always says. Keep your calm, and people won't tell you that you're approaching. They will only feel the sting of your venom, but it will be already too late for them." Jon said, turning to face her and holding her hand gently before giving it a little squeeze.

"You're just like father," Obara commented before they both walked away from the Courtyard. Obara eager to ask Jon for details of his nights with Arianne, shamelessly.

Tomorrow

Jon tightened the straps around his armor as the squires saddled his horse and readied his lance. The horns outside his tent blew away for the first bout of jousting. The crowds cheered as two knights charged toward one another, their lances aimed low, and their shields raised high.

Putting on the last of his shoulder plates, Jon called to the two. "Breastplate," he ordered, extending his arms, and the squires quickly put the front and back plates on his chest, tightening them on both sides simultaneously. He would have to remember what these boys looked like. They were good at their job, a skill not often found in squires. His father told him they would help him.

"What are your names?" he asked them simply.

"Uther, Ser." the ashy blonde-haired one was the first to respond. A lanky little fellow, with dark brown eyes, without the sun to light them, almost looked pitch black.

"Luther, Ser." the other squire, with brighter red hair, responded afterward. Opposite to his ashen friend, he was much bulkier but also seemed to be a bit older.

"You two don't seem to be brothers. Cousins?" he lowered his hands as the two boys finished putting on the breastplate. Stretching around a bit, he tested the armor a bit for any loose placings—a perfect fit.

"No, Ser. My mum's a Frey." Uther responded. "His an Ornfast," he said, pointing to the red-haired Luther.

"Ornfast? I never heard of you. Where's your House from, boy?" Jon continued questioning the boys, who stood beside one another in front of him now.

"Riverlands Ser." Uther cut in once again despite the person Jon had put his attention on being the boy right next to him. Luther himself seemed to have no intention of answering, and Jon quickly caught on to the two's dynamic. "He's from the Twins as well, Ser. His family became Castellans for the Freys after me da, Walder Frey, he once had one Ornfast girl as a mistress so- OW!" A punch quickly cut off Uther's little explanation on the shoulder from the older boy. "What was that for?!"

'That explains it, I suppose. The little lordling and his servant. One's the large and quiet type, and the other's the small and talkative one. It doesn't matter much, I'd assume. The little Uther boy must be so long down the succession line they're practically on the same level.'

Another horn blew as the match from the current jousters finished. From the sound of the crowds, it seemed a favorite had won the match. It mattered little to Jon. He had no real reason to participate in this whole damnable affair, nothing but a pouting session by the Tyrell pig organized to celebrate his daughter's birthday. But Jon wanted to talk with Lord Tarly, and what better way to show his strength other than winning the damn tourney.

Finally, he put on his gauntlets, buckled his sword to his belt, and put on his helmet. Fully armored now, his horse Winter neighed. The girl was undoubtedly as restless to get this over with as he was. She was a feisty horse, a gift from his father all those years ago.

From what Jon had observed. Anywhere where there was ale and women, someone could most likely find The king. The Queen had her own little pets in Trant and Blount, while the children mainly kept beside their mother, aside from Joffrey, who had Sandor Clegane as his guard dog. He had always wanted to fight that one, see how well the name of "The Hound" truly fit him. 'You can dress yourself in fancy armor and scowl all you want. A blade can pierce your neck all the same.' he thought.

Taking the lead of his horse in his hand, Jon signaled the two boys to follow him. "Come on, wouldn't want to keep the people waiting." as soon as he said so, another pair of horns sounded off, and the hooves of two horsemen quickly became drowned out by the cheers and expectations of the crowd.

Standing at the edge of the jousting grounds, Jon and his two squires watched the spectacle unfold in front of them. Some new Vale knight was up next, a bright and haughty-faced boy who looked to have just come out of his childhood years, with his shiny bright armor hanged a crescent white moon in a field of blue. It was only once he had managed to get a better look at the boy's face did he recognize him as Jon Arryn's old squire. Jon had heard that the king had knighted the boy in Jon's 80's name day, a kind sentiment, all things considered, but it was clear to anyone who knew the boy he was not even fit for jousting, let alone an actual battle.

"Up next, Ser Hugh of The Vale!" the announcer spoke.

He turned to see Uther and Luther sharing a scowl, "Not a fan of the up-and-comer? Let me guess. You lost a bet against him at some point."

"Betting on Tourney jousts' Lord's work Ser," Uther responded, his brow still heavily furrowed and directed at the young Knight of the Vale.

"True enough, doesn't stop the squires from having their own little versions of it, does it?" he responded.

"Whoreson..." Luther said simply, nearly growling at the lad.

"And his opponent!" the announcer cut Jon off from his thoughts. "Ser Gregor Clegane, of Clegane's Keep!"

Jon felt his blood boil hearing that name.