Chapter 48

By the middle of the day, things were in full swing all over the camp. Some soldiers had already downed four or five cups of wine or ale, and it showed. Steffon on the other hand had judiciously avoided the alcohol; no one wanted a repeat of his episode before the Battle of Tarth. He'd noticed Edric had already had already broken up at least one drunken fight, which was to be expected. Steffon had been a bit wary of the free-flowing drink, half-worried that Tywin would seize the chance to attack him while his host was trying to escape the reality of war for the day. Out of habit, he found himself walking the perimeter of the camp, ensuring that the sentries were keeping watch.

"You alright, Steffon?" He heard a voice say. Steffon turned around to see the completely unexpected sight of his betrothed in a white-and-grey dress with a direwolf stitched across the chest.

"Arya . . . you're . . ."

"Wearing a dress, I know." She rolled her eyes and walked up to him. "Are you okay?" She asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"Just worried." He admitted. "What if my grandfather decides to attack now? Half the men will be too drunk to fight in an hour."

"Everyone's taking a moment to consolidate, I think." Arya said. "He's probably trying to work out how you won at Tarth."

That prompted a laugh from Steffon. "You mean how you won. I was nearly dead halfway through the battle."

"I came back to get you, Stag Boy." She said, trying to reach up to ruffle his hair but failing. "Seven hells, I didn't realise how much you'd grown."

"I have?" He asked. If Steffon was being honest, he hadn't had much time to notice if he'd grown or not, considering that all the available space in his head had been taken up by planning for the war.

"Yeah, you have. You're a lot taller than the boy I met at Winterfell." She smiled.

"And you're still short." Steffon laughed slightly, prompting a slight pout from Arya.

"Thanks for reminding me." She said grumpily, causing another laugh from Steffon.

"Sorry. I'm just . . . I'm still getting used to seeing you in a dress." He said, his eyes looking her up and down. She wasn't a little girl anymore, that was for sure, and the dress hugged her body in all the right areas to get his mind racing. All he could think about was what they'd do after everything had-

"Steffon? You there?" Arya asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

"Sorry, just . . . you're wearing a dress!"

"You already said that." She said, sounding distinctly unimpressed. Of course, it was only now that he noticed the sword frog that allowed Needle to be affixed at her hip. I"ll have to remember not to make her angry, even in a dress.

"I thought your preferred dress would've been black?" He asked, desperately trying to shift the conversation.

"Oh it would have been, but I can't just turn down something Shireen gave me." She said, taking his arm as they moved back to the camp. Steffon had come to appreciate the closer moments with Arya when they had them. There wasd little chance for that with the war going on, but maybe she had a point. With Renly dead and his forces scattered, everyone was taking a moment to catch their breath before the next stage of the war began, which would hopefully end it.

As they arrived back into the camp, they saw that a few of the knights and soldiers were organisaing themselves for the predicted tourney. No doubt Ateffon and Arya wuld be expected to watch it. And think of some boon for the victor,Steffon thought. That part was easier said than done in the middle of a war, so hopefully one of the humbler fighters would win it. As they were heading to the two seats that had been placed on a hastily-constructed wooden platform for them, they heard a particularly loud argument coming from the sidelines.

"You're not the King, are you, bastard?!" One voice said.

"Waldron, I swear to the Gods-" Another said as Steffon marched over to break it up. He wasn't surprised to see the two arguers were Edric and Waldron.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.

"I'd suggest putting a leash on the dog, Your Grace." Waldron sneered at Edric. "He forgets his courtesies to his betters."

"I'll give you a courtesy you . . ." Edric raised a fist, but quick as lightning, Arya restrained him.

"I've had enough of you two fighting." Steffon growled in his best kingly voice.

"I have a suggestion." Arya said. "Have these two fight in the square. That should settle things."

Edric nodded. "Yeah, that works for me."

"Me too." Waldron growled.

"Alright then." Steffon sighed. "Swords and shields, standard rules."

"But he always fights with a shield!" Waldron complained. "That would give him an advantage!"

"But he doesn't fight with a sword. I'm making this as equal as possible. No more complaints, okay?" Steffon said with a tone of finality. Waldron opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut and nodded, resigned. "Good. Clear the square! We have a special bout!"

It had taken a long time for the two of them to be armoured up and ready to fight. Edric had taken the offer of a blunted sword and wooden shield from Shireen, as had Waldron. Before he closed the visor of his helmet, Edric sword he could see Waldron's eyes narrow at him, but brushed it aside. He was an upstart, and Edric would make that plain to see when he beat him into the dirt. He tightened his grip on the sword hilt in anticipation.

"This duel will be between Edric Storm of House Baratheon and Waldron of House Frey." Steffon announced from the platform. "It will last for three rounds and be fought under standard rules." He continued. Edric resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead closed his visor. "Salute!" Steffon called. Both Edric and Waldron tapped the flats of their swords then pointed them at each other in salute before assuming their stances. "Begin!"

The two circled around each other for a second, trying to assess each other's weaknesses. Waldron was seemingly comfortable in his stance, Edric noticed. His sword was pointed over his shoulder and his shield was held at an angle, covering as much of his body as possible. If I had my hammer, I'd pound the little shit into the dirt!

But he didn't have his hammer, and he was only average with a sword. A point that was made moments later when Waldron unexpectedly closed the distance and quickly thrust his weapon forward. Edric barely managed to raise his shield to parry when Waldron pulled his thrust and instead landed a cut on Edric's uncovered left shoulder. He grunted and called out the hit. "Shoulder!" He shouted as the two of them moved back to their positions.

The second exchange went similarly. Waldron feigned an attack at Edric's head, Edric would attempt to parry with his shield, and Waldron would then pull his attack before landing a strike to Edric's uncovered side. Frustrated, Edric finally charged at Waldron head-on, but it ended with a result he really should've seen coming, as the Frey simply sidestepped him and with an almost arrogant ease, landed a strike on the back of his helmet.

Under the rules, three hits to one fighter meant the round was over. Edric nearly tore off his helmet in frustration. This was supposed to have been a realtively simple fight, but Waldron was proving to be a better swordsman than he realised. Maybe he hadn't simply abandoned Steffon at the Battle of Tarth? Edric tried shaking off the doubts he was feeling but it didn't work, and his mind was still elsewhere when the second round began. After Waldron struck him with the pommel, Edric decided he had to slow down his aggression, and wait for an opening.

Eventually, Waldron made a mistake. He had assumed Edric would attempt to parry his next attack with his shield, but Edric had learnt to fight other ways. He batted Waldron's sword to the side with his own before smacking it with his shield. Edric noted, with some satisfaction, that he'd caught Waldron completely off-guard as he brought his sword up, connecting with Waldron's breastplate. The Frey staggered back, surprised at the swiftness Edric had moved with. The next exchange was very similar, with Edric catching Waldron off-guard with another riposte.

As the final round began, Edric realised that the two of them had finally sized each other up, so he would have to get crafty. He immediately dove in for an attack, thrusting his sword forward. Waldron attempted to bat the blade away, but Edric managed to pull back in time and cut at Waldron's exposed side. It seemed as though the Frey had been expecting that, and he parried the blow with his shield before landing a strike on Edric's head.

The two of them pulled back. A call came from outside the square announcing this as the last exchange. Edric took a moment to refocus as the two of them closed in. Waldron was a better swordsman, so he had no chance of beating him if he fought like a swordsman. He had to fight like he was carrying his hammer; that would catch the little shit off-guard.

The two closed and began trading blows. They'd gained each other's measure by now, but Edric still was hoping to lull Waldron into a false sense of security. He began to slow down, to make it look as if he was tiring. He'd done this in practice duels at Storm's End, and it had either gone really well or really badly, so he hoped that Waldron would take the bait. In the event, he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Exactly as he hoped, Waldron raine dblows on Edric's shield, and he dropped to one knee, playing things for all he could. He swore Waldron was smirking under his visor.

"Now you see, bastard. You are not worth the dirt under my feet." He snarled, drawing his sword back for a dramatic swing. This is even better than I hoped, Edric thought, as he noticed the idiot was also puling his shield back. Smirking to himself, Edric blocked the blow with his shield before slamming the back edg of his sword into the side of Waldron's helmet.

The Frey staggered back slightly and went for another strike. it was in anger, and really quite pathetic. Edric however, wasn't going to let him off easily. He batted the Frey's sword aside with his own before dropping both it and his shield. With a shout, he charged forward and tackled Waldron to the ground, tearing his visor open and drawing back his fist to punch the daylights out of him. He was stopped however, by the feel of a very, very sharp sword pressed against his neck.

"The duel is over, Edric." A voice said calmly. He slowly turned around to see none other than Stannis standing over him, blade ready to slip into his neck.

"We're done here." Edric said, standing up and removing his helmet. Without even accepting the congratulations, he headed off the square and back to the armoury tent. As he finished removing his breastplate, he felt a pair of soft hands wrap around him from behind.

"You fought well, Edric." Mira said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"He deserved it." Edric muttered as he untied his vambraces and let them fall to the floor.

"I never liked him." She said quietly.

"No one does." Edric replied, causing them both to laugh. He knelt down to untie and take off his greaves before turning to kiss the Forrester girl gently. Mira smiled as the two heard the sounds of swords clashing again, signifying another duel.

Arya knew that she had to be at this for the sake of appearances, but with each bout, she was getting progressively more bored. if there was a fight going on, she wanted to be involved in it. Just watching it was boring, and from the look on her betrothed's face, he agreed. Though she suspected that had more to with Steffon's dislike of pomp and circumstance than actual boredom. From the looks of it, he'd rather be spending his day buried in books than watching fights.

She found herself idly wondering about the future; what things would be like after the war if they won. Steffon likely would have Joffrey executed for the crimes he'd caused, but that'd be about it. She wasn't certain what punishments he'd cast on Jaime and Cersei, or Lord Tywin for that matter. She was certain he'd let the Tyrells off; he was angrier at the deserters who'd presented him with Renly's head than he'd ever been about any of their enemies.

There was also still the matter of their marriage. Steffon had promised that they'd be married when the war ended, but Arya didn't know whether they'd be married in a private ceremony or a massive public one at the Great Sept of Baelor with all the banners and music that Sansa would always talk about when she was fantasising about her wedding to a handsome prince. Who'd have thought it'd be me marrying a King? She thought. Certainly not her. She supposed it helped that Steffon adored her warrior side and usually didn't get in her way.

After another hour or so, the tourney was finally finished a winner was declared. Thankfully, all the winning knight had asked for was a place in Steffon's Kingsguard after the war was concluded. With the tourney over, everyone began splitting off to find their own amusements before the feast that was scheduled to be held that evening. She could already smell the huge joints of aurochs being roasted on the cookfires, and could see the square being taken down and tables being set up. She felt Steffon's hand on hers.

"Come Arya. We should get ready for the feast." Steffon said as they both stood up and began heading towards their tent. Almost as soon as they arrived there, Arya felt Steffon's arms wrap around her, her backside pressed against his crotch. "Do you have any idea how good you look in that dress?" He rasped, pressing kisses along her neck.

"I hate dresses." She murmered, her eyes fluttering shut as she only half-half focusing on what she was saying. Steffon's lips on her neck were very distracting.

"But you look so stunning in them." He said, turning her around and kissing her deeply. Their mouths melded together in a practiced fashion before Arya backed him into the chair, straddling him as he stumbled back into it.

"Is this better?" She asked, smirking as she began to grind against him, prompting a grunt from Steffon.

"Gods, Arya." He muttered, his arousal growing. She kissed him again, harder this time as she wound her hands around to play with the strands of his hair, eliciting another groan from the Baratheon boy. Arya resisted the urge to smirk again; she just anted to make Steffon feel good right now. It was his nameday after all.

She could feel herself getting close, and could feel Steffon getting close too, when they heard the sounds of another fistfight, this one only a short distance from their tent. Arya stopped her grinding and sighed. "We should . . ." She said reluctantly.

"Unfortunately." Steffon sighed.

"Later, okay?" Arya said, nipping his ear gently before standing up. The two of them stormed out of the tent to see Edric and Waldron in the middle of a fistfight with the soldiers around them seemingly cheering them on.

"What are you two fighting about now?!" Steffon thundered.

"The bastard is a fucking cheat!" Waldron said indignantly. "He fought without honour!"

"Bit rich taking a lecture on honour from you, Frey." Edric snarked. Waldron shouted and charged at Edric, only for Arya to stick out her foot and trip him. Waldron went face-fist into the dirt, prompting laughter from the other soldiers. His face went even redder than it was before, likely from the combination of anger and embarrassment.

"Both of you, stop acting like children!" Steffon ordered. "We're at war. Yes, we're not fighting right now, but we could be at any moment, so stop acting like a pair of five year-olds. Waldron, you're meant to be my squire, so show some bloody dignity and accept your loss. Edric, show some humility for once in your life. And no, I'm not asking, I'm ordering."

His tone caught Arya off guard. Steffon was . . . genuinely angry this time; one of the few times he actually was. Suitably chastised, Edric and Waldron grumbled and walked off.

"Are you okay?" Arya asked Steffon as the crowd, disappointed they'd gotten no fight, melted away in search of their next drink.

"I'll be fine. Tempers are high and it's my job to suppress them. Even if Waldron is a cunt." He said. That prompted a laugh from both of them before they began to wander through the camp, seeing the preparations taking place for the night ahead.