Preparing For The Hand's Tourney

Daveth was in his bedchamber, sitting in front of his desk writing letters. To his left sat a pile of history books, to his right laid a pile of documents he had been working on to be sent out later. Ever since his father King Robert announced a tournament was going to be held, Daveth tried his hardest to bring down the costs and call in additional favors with his group of anonymous contacts.

Ever since returning to King's Landing, Daveth felt a sense of relief to be back in his known element. Work, work, work, and more work. The Crown Prince's days at court was never done.

As he put the final touches on the paper, Daveth took a moment to look it over.

"To the noble lords and ladies of Westeros,

You are hereby invited to attend the royal tournament at the capital city of King's Landing in honor of the appointment of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North as Hand of the King at the will and word of His Grace Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Prizes for the winning champion of the joust competition include 40,000 gold dragons, with the runner-up being awarded 20,000. The champion of the melee competition will be given 20,000 gold dragons, and the champion of the archery competition will be granted 20,000.

All necessary arrangements have been made. Seats and quality items, along with food, drinks and entertainment will be provided to visiting dignitaries, their knights and their squires by the Master of Coin.

Seven blessings to all.

Signed,

Crown Prince Daveth Baratheon · Heir to the Iron Throne"

Not saying anything, Daveth calmly folded the paper and sealed it with wax, stamping it with the royal seal of House Baratheon. He sighed and set it aside, still weary from today's work… and, of course, his argument with the King.

ooOoo

"I will not hear another word!" King Robert shouted. "If there's going to be a tournament, there will be a tournament!"

"The Crown is already deeply in debt to many creditors. To grandfather, the Iron Bank…" Daveth argued. "And you still plan to plunge the realm deeper into debt? We simply cannot be able to afford it, nor are we in a capacity to repay it, Father."

"You think I don't know that, boy? I know I'm half a kingdom in debt to your bloody grandfather, Tywin Lannister! And you will watch yourself with me, boy. You might be my son and heir, but you're still speaking to the King."

"Be that as it may," Daveth corrected, "you still neglect your duties and responsibilities. Instead, you pass them off to the Small Council, to me, to Jon Arryn…" he abruptly stopped arguing and briefly took a moment to compose himself, his face showing a brief sense of hurt.

Robert's tightened face loosened, hinting at what Daveth's words meant.

"I know it seems rather unfair, and I know how much Lord Arryn meant to you. He fostered Ned and I as children at the Vale, remember? Never had much to teach me, but at least he did right by you. Spoiled you rotten, I'd think. But I somehow knew you were happy."

"The only time. Before Lannisport," Daveth shook his head, speaking more calmly again. "Forgive me, Father. I know I shouldn't speak out like that."

"Bah! Let that go, and make plans for the tournament already," Robert quickly dismissed.

Daveth, not wanting to argue anymore, simply turned to leave the room before being stopped again.

"And one more thing," Robert said, "you'll be entering as well."

"Me?" Daveth asked surprised. He wasn't expecting his father to simply order him to compete again. "Why me?"

"Because one I'm the King, and two your sixteenth nameday is coming soon," Robert answered as he took another cup of wine, drinking it rather loudly. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "And you will do as you're told, boy."

ooOoo

Daveth shook his head in exhaustion, taking a moment to stand up from his desk as he looked in the mirror. He took a moment to groom his hair, change into proper attire befitting a man of his stature and slightly massaged his stubble, feeling the small strands of hair against the tip of his fingers.

Once done, Daveth approached a mannequin holding his armor – which was rather similar to that of the Kingsguard in design pattern but was different from other knights; the plate armor itself was jet black of color, with charcoal-grey chainmail, scarlet red sleeves with brown gloves and a golden cloak. On the front of the breastplate was the sigil of House Baratheon, but was a gold stag with a white crown around its neck; this indicated it was reversal of the House Baratheon sigil, as was Daveth's own personal banner.

'Young Stag, Oathkeeper, Black Lion…' Daveth thoughtfully contemplates as he examined the armor. 'All of them names that all but replace a man's very own.'

Hung on the wall was his longsword which Daveth named "Stormbringer." The crossguard and rain-guard featured the stag of House Baratheon, the grip and pommel with a lion's head with ruby eyes decorated with Lannister gold, and the blade itself forged from Valyrian steel. Aside from its sharpness, Valyrian steel is recognizable by its strength and lightless weight in comparison to ordinary steel, as well as by a distinctive rippled pattern visible in blades made from it. Since the Doom of Valyria, the amount of Valyrian steel in the world is finite and extremely rare. It was gifted by Lord Tywin Lannister as a gift to Daveth during his grandson's fourteenth nameday.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!*

Daveth turned to the door. "Come in," he said.

The door opened and in came Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, causing Daveth to smile warmly at seeing the two. They were the only ones to make the stoic and serious Oathkeeper to smile.

"Is it true, Big Brother?" Myrcella asked. "You'll be competing in the tourney?"

"Can we watch you?" Tommen asked.

Daveth rolled his eyes in amusement. "It would appear so," he told them. "Father was rather adamant about it. And don't worry about whether or not you'll attend. You two will be seated with the rest of our family: at the very front."

Myrcella and Tommen squealed in delight. Not only was their eldest brother competing in the Hand's Tournament, but they'll also get to watch him too. Maybe he'll even win!

"I know you'll win," Myrcella remarked. "You always find a way."

"Tournaments aren't always about winning and losing, 'Cella," he said to his sister. "Sometimes it helps knights from across the realm hone their skills, to make them into something more than that. But other times most tend to confuse it as a chance for glory."

"Why?" Tommen asked puzzled.

"Let's just say that there are some knights… who don't normally abide by the oaths they swore to uphold," Daveth tried his best to explain. "Some of these men might see it as a chance to settle whatever differences they have with other competitors."

Myrcella and Tommen looked a little worried, but giggled as Daveth ruffled their heads.

"But don't worry about that," he reassured them. "Your brother knows what he's doing. I'll be fine."

On que, Queen Cersei Lannister enters the room; taking a moment to take in the warm sight of seeing her youngest children with her eldest. It warmed her heart knowing how much Myrcella and Tommen loved their brother and vice-versa. Daveth turned to notice his mother entering as well before returning his attention to Myrcella and Tommen.

"Alright, you two. Time for you to take a bath. Be sure to get yourselves cleaned and look presentable. All the lords and ladies will be gathering at the King's Gate within the fortnight," Daveth told them.

Myrcella and Tommen nodded and ran past their mother Cersei out of the room, leaving Cersei alone with Daveth.

"It's always nice to see how much they adore you," Cersei said. "They think of you as their favorite."

Daveth looked at his mother. "Tommen and Myrcella are good, decent children. Innocent," was all he said as he returned to properly shuffle his papers. "They both are."

"It's a shame the feeling isn't shared with Joffrey," Cersei said frowning.

"Does it come as a surprise, Mother?" Daveth frowned. "You might not believe so, but we both see Joff for whom and what he is."

A brief tense moment soon loomed over them.

"I hear you'll be competing in the tournament," Cersei changed the subject.

Daveth nodded plainly. "What about it?"

Cersei strolled over to the window, still keeping her eyes focused on Daveth. "You know how much it bothers me; a lioness concerning herself with the well-being of her cub, that's all."

"Are you on that again?" Daveth rolled his eyes.

"You're still my darling boy, no matter how much you grow."

"We all have to grow up sometimes. Cubs eventually have to leave their mothers and find their own way in life. That's how it works, doesn't it? In the end it's unavoidable," Daveth remarked. "Besides, I stopped being a boy since Lannisport."

Cersei didn't like it. "Of course," she merely said. "Kings do get their scars at some point, I'm certain. Yet you've already proven yourself as a warrior like your father."

Daveth shook his head. "I'm not like Father."

"When Aerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, your father was a rebel and a traitor. Someday you'll sit on the throne and the truth will be what you make it."

Daveth knew the game of thrones, picking out pieces of Cersei's words bit by bit and didn't take long to figure out his mother's intention yet kept his own well-hidden.

"What do you think of your intended?" Cersei asked.

Daveth looked at Cersei, wondering what caused her to ask that. "Sansa? What about her?" he pressed.

"She's very beautiful and young," Cersei pointed out. "Do something nice for the Stark girl."

"I intend to," he said as Daveth moved to walk out of the room. "The occasional kindness could spare anyone all sorts of trouble down the road."

"If you don't like her, you only need to see her on formal occasions and when the time comes, to make little princes and princesses," Cersei said. "And if you'd rather fuck painted whores, you'll fuck painted whores. And if you'd rather lie with noble virgins, so be it."

Daveth stopped and looked over his shoulder, looking coolly at Cersei. "Take a good look at me, Mother. Do I look like Father to you?" was all he said as he left before Cersei could say anything.

Cersei frowned deeply and scowled as she watched as her firstborn leaving, feeling the sharp sting to her wounded pride at being reminded of King Robert's infidelities. It wasn't long before one of her handmaidens arrived with word from the North…

Bran Stark survived the fall, regained consciousness… and someone tried to kill him!

######

At the gates…

Catelyn and Ser Rodrik arrive at King's Landing, tiredly entering through a back entrance as a result of their long journey from Winterfell.

"Fewer eyes back here, my lady," Rodrik calls out to her. "But still too many."

"It's nine years since I've set foot in the capital. And no one knew who I was the last time I came either."

The grizzled old man still remained on guard, ever since the confrontation the failed assassination attempt on Bran's life while he slept. To find proof that the Lannisters were involved in the attempt on her son's life twice, Catelyn went to seek out her old friend Petyr Baelish's help.

As Catelyn massaged the bandages on her hands, Rodrik calls out, "My lady!"

Two City Watch guards pull up to her on horseback.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark," one of them greeted. "Would you mind following us?"

"I would," she said. "We've done nothing wrong."

"We've been instructed to escort you into the city."

"Instructed? I don't know who's providing your instructions, but…"

He showed her a ribbon. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a mockingbird, in grey wax.

"Follow me, Lady Stark," he again requested. This time, Catelyn followed behind.

The guardsmen left their mounts outside the walls and escorted her through a narrow postern door, then up endless steps to a tower. They soon arrived inside a small building, but Catelyn was disgusted by the sight as she realized she was led into a brothel. Once turning the corner, Catelyn saw Petyr with two whores. He was seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he wrote. When they ushered her inside, he set down his pen and looked at her.

"Cat!" he calls out quietly as he turned to the prostitutes. "Go on. Go upstairs."

They leave the room.

"You little worm!" Catelyn snapped at Petyr. "You take me for some back-alley Sally you can drag into a…"

She is interrupted by two more prostitutes, who leave as Petyr snaps at them to leave.

"I meant no disrespect to you of all people," Petyr looked contrite.

The look brought back vivid memories for Catelyn. He had been a sly child, but after his mischiefs he always looked contrite; it was a gift he had. The years had not changed him much. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still in his mid-thirties. They went well with the silver mockingbird that fastened his cloak. Even as a child, he had always loved his silver.

"How dare you bring me here! Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

Petyr rose his hands up. "No one will come looking for you here. Isn't that what you wanted? I'm truly sorry… about the local."

Catelyn narrowed her eyes. "How did you know I was coming to King's Landing?"

"A dear friend told me," Petyr smiled slyly as Varys made his entrance.

"Lady Stark," the eunuch greets.

"Lord Varys."

"To see you again after so many years is a blessing," Varys said politely as he took her hands to examine the bandages. "Your poor hands."

Catelyn yanked her hands out of his grasp. "How did you know I was coming?" she asked.

"Knowledge is my trade, my lady," Varys bobbed his head. "Did you bring the dagger with you, by any chance?"

Catelyn stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. How did he know about the dagger?

Varys smiled. "My little birds are everywhere. Even in the North. They whisper to me the strangest stories," he said. His "little birds"―often men, women, children and those who suffer from dwarfism―are the names he gives to his massive spynetwork, which earned him the nickname "The Spider."

Ser Rodrik pulled out the dagger from beneath his cloak and gave it to Varys, who began examining it with exaggerated delicacy.

"Ah. Valyrian steel," Varys exclaimed.

"Do you know whose dagger this is?" Catelyn asked, as if pleading for answers.

Varys looked at her closely before shaking his head. "I must admit I do not."

"Well, well, this is an historic day," Petyr laughed amusingly, annoying Varys. "Something you don't know that I do," he said as he looked at Catelyn again. "There's only one dagger like this in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It's mine."

"Yours?" Catelyn looked surprised. It didn't make sense to her; Petyr never even stepped foot Winterfell before.

"At least it was, until the tournament of Prince Joffrey's last nameday and Prince Daveth receiving his knighthood," he said, crossing the room. "I bet on Ser Jaime in the jousting, as any sane man would. When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, I lost this dagger."

"Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain.

"Tyrion Lannister," said Petyr as Varys watched Cat's face. "The Imp."

######

In the Queen's chambers…

As soon as word reached her, Cersei Lannister immediately summoned her twin brother into her chambers. As soon as Jaime stepped, Cersei slammed the door behind her.

"How could you be so stupid?" she sneered.

"Calm down," Jaime said, but Cersei was in no mood to listen.

"He's a child… 9 years old," Cersei said mentioning Bran. "What were you thinking?"

Jaime was starting to get a bit annoyed. "I was thinking of us," he answered. "You're a bit late to start complaining about it now. What has the boy told them?"

"Nothing," Cersei replies quietly. "He said nothing. He remembers nothing."

"Then what are you raving about?" Jaime pressed incredulously.

Cersei looked nervous. "What if it comes back to him?" she asks. "If he tells his father what he saw…"

'The tower,' Jaime thought. Of course, it had to be the moment when Bran climbed the tower and saw Jaime and Cersei having sex. Back then he did whatever it took to silence him, but the boy survived the fall in the end.

"We'll say he was lying," he answered as he approaches his sister. "We'll say he was dreaming. We'll say whatever we like. I think we can outfox a 9-year-old."

"And my husband?" Cersei asks. "And my son?"

"I'll go to war with them if I have to," Jaime responded. He had no quarrel about possibly fighting King Robert Baratheon despite his vows as a Kingsguard, yet deep down both he and Cersei were bothered at what might happen if Daveth were to one day oppose them. "They can write a ballad about us," he smirked arrogantly. "'The War for Cersei's Cunt.'"

*SLAP!*

Cersei slapped Jaime, but to her surprise, her twin turns back and starts chuckling in amusement. She moves to slap him again, but Jaime overpowers her, spins her around and hugs her from behind.

"Let me go!" she yelled.

"Never," he whispers into Cersei's ear.

"Let me go," she pleads.

Jaime held Cersei tight, whispering with fire in his voice. "The boy won't talk. And if he does, I'll kill him. Him, Ned Stark, the King… the whole bloody lot of them, until you and I are the only people left in this world."

Cersei looked at her brother, her thoughts now focusing on her children. Daveth, Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella… she loved her children, all of them. Despite their differences and occasional clashes, Cersei's main concern is what would happen to her first boy if Jaime had indeed planned on carrying out his supposed threat.

'My children…' Cersei thought worryingly.

######

Outside in the courtyard at sundown…

"You always did like to come here, even when you were a boy," Barristan called out to Daveth, who spent the day looking over the balcony to take in the sights of King's Landing below. Each of the houses had already lit their candles by their windows. "You'd sit at this very spot and take in the sights."

"I liked the view," Daveth replied humorously at the old knight. "And you always knew where to find me."

Barristan said nothing as he moved to join the Crown Prince. "So you'll be competing in the tournament?" he asked.

"I am, though not by choice," Daveth answered honestly. "Father was insistent about it."

"Maybe it's his way of wanting to show you off," Barristan suggested.

Daveth shook his head. "I don't believe that's the case, Ser Barristan. If he wanted to parade me around like a trophy he would have done so years ago. He never did such a thing. Why he would put my name forward without consulting with me first I have no idea."

Barristan and Daveth chuckled as they talked.

"You remember when I was knighted?" Daveth asked.

Barristan smiled. "Of course, my Prince," he answered. "I was there as you knelt before your Father and swore your oath. You were fifteen years old, and no longer a squire."

"It meant a lot to me that you were there," Daveth said before looking over the balcony. "I believe that was perhaps the first and only time Father was ever proud of me. Within a day it was back to the same routine."

"Try not to dwell on the past, my boy," Barristan said as he put his hand on Daveth's shoulder. "Even if His Grace doesn't show it, I know he's still proud of you."

"I'd like to believe that, Barristan. I do, but even that only goes so far."

Barristan looked at his former squire, studying his posture and came to a conclusion.

"Perhaps a night's rest is called for," he suggested.

"I'm not—" Daveth tried to protest.

Barristan merely cut him off.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard, Prince Daveth. I understand you feel as sense of duty and responsibility. As a knight and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I understand what you're going through. But that doesn't mean you have to carry that burden alone. Don't forget there are people in the city who'd be willing and able to help you," he said before motioning him to return to the Red Keep. "Come. A good rule must at least be able to get a good night's rest."

Daveth didn't protest, as he merely leaned off the balcony.

"Fine," he conceded. "I suppose my ranting and raving could wait another day."

The two began their walk back inside as the sun beginning to fade in the distance behind them. Tomorrow would be a new day and Daveth had to get himself prepared.