The Tales of Passion

The Tales of Passion

Old Town

The crowd's attention was diverted when the herald started to speak. Almost no one noticed Ser Jon finally making an appearance. He calmly navigated through the throng of people and climbed the steps. He stood on his tiptoes to look over the heads and found his brothers, they were sitting with the Dornish. With a small grimace on his face, he strode towards them, for he had also spotted the woman sitting behind them among the Prince's daughters.

"How was Torrhen?" Asher asked the moment Jon sat down beside him.

"Excited," Jon took his time to answer, he was tired and it was evident to any who looked at him. "My Prince, My Lady." He greeted Oberyn and Lady Ash – Ellaria.

"Greetings, Ser Jon. You seemed to be exhausted this morning." Prince Oberyn observed. Lady Ellaria smiled and gave him a slight nod.

"Aye, My Prince. Keeping a man not to piss in his breeches due to excitement is quite harder than I thought."

The Prince guffawed at the answer while the lady looked sternly at him. Jon had a look of abashment at that.

"What are you wearing?" Robb pointed at his chest.

Jon looked down at the small charm tied to a leather cord resting on his chest.

"This is called Mark of Smith. It is given to deserving people who set out to forge their own path, as a token of blessing. A lady of Faith gifted me this."

"But it looks the same as -"

"Aye," Jon didn't wait for Asher to finish, "the same as Freedom and Rose. Makes you wonder what Freedom was doing with Lord Umber, does it not?"

Any further questioning was drowned within the excitement of the first archer stepping up to take his shot. Jon concentrated on the arena, cheering for his friend while his hand clasped the small charm. He could also feel a pair of eyes boring into his skull. Eyes as purple as his own.

[CotW]

The darkness of the night once more saw five shadows tearing through it. Only this time they didn't venture out into the sprawling city by the Whispering Sound. Instead, they entered the small but dense forest outside of the city limits and traversed through it with expert ease.

The five men, after arriving at a small clearing deep within the forest, divested their loads and started hacking off dead branches of the surrounding trees. They didn't need to make too big a pyre as the departed had her remains rendered into nothing but bones after so many years. Working silently and diligently, the five men had a pyre prepared within half an hour.

Ghost and Grey Wind were only moments away from the birds to greet the five men as they entered the forest. The fearsome beasts and wilful birds made no attempt to approach their humans but sat quietly and observed them. When the pyre was built, they padded beside their humans as the birds flapped their wings to land on their shoulders.

"Wolf?" Wade called out with a lit torch in his hand.

Jon nodded, "Aye, my friend."

He took the torch in his hand and approached the pyre. But before setting it alight, he looked over his shoulder, "Does anyone want to say anything?"

Robb shook himself off the trance he felt himself to be under, "I would, but what does one say at someone's funeral that has been delayed by several decades?"

Torrhen smiled and started to hum a song quite well known in the North. It was a song that mothers sang to their children, a song of hope and happiness. A song which was full of promises. A song both he and Jon had heard his mother, Lady Anya singing to little Alys on stormy nights, to alleviate her fears. Jon felt it was quite apt, Lady Reed was finally getting her long-due rest. He touched the dried kindling with the torch. In mere moments, flames leapt up and consumed the pyre. He could swear that he heard a satisfied sigh from a phantom presence.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Honour the Lost Daughter!

Jon smiled as he went back to his brothers. They chose to sit down against the trees. Ghost had his head laying on his lap while Gale was on his shoulder with her head buried under her wing. Jon sunk his fingers into Ghost's soft fur and watched the fire dance.

He didn't know when he dozed off. Wade shook him awake when the fire was dying down. Jon looked around him to find all of them save Wade had nodded off. But the man had sat the whole night diligently looking at the pyre.

Jon nodded his head in gratitude and ushered Ghost off of his lap. The sun had just come out by the time the last flame blinked out of existence. They gathered the ash in an urn they had brought along and got ready to leave the forest. After a final round of petting and words of endearment to their familiars, the five men slowly trekked through the forest, they planned to have a short visit to the town proper to break their fast.

[CotW]

The Reach boasted of the largest army in Westeros. Naturally, it meant every aspirant Reach knights and squires along with the invited nobles from other kingdoms had taken part in the tourney of Old Town. On top of that, Lord Mace Tyrell had arranged for entertainments such as satirical plays and enactment of historical events of Reach after the archery, it gave the warriors an additional day to prepare for the melee.

Battered and bruised, Ser Jon Snow returned to his chambers after a long day spent at the yard. Divesting the sweat-soaked clothes off his body, he lowered himself into the tub that was filled with cold water. Back in the North, they couldn't even think about bathing in cold water even on the warmest days. In their childhood, they used the hot springs in Winterfell Godswood to learn swimming. But here in the south, the weather was warm enough to boil them in their breeches.

Jon sighed as he leaned against the side of the tub and closed his eyes. But his peace didn't last for long as there was a knock on his door. Swallowing the curse that almost emerged from his mouth, he called out –

"Enter!"

He could hear the doors opening and soft, almost faint footsteps approaching the side room where he was submerged in the blissfully comfortable bathwater. He was concerned for a moment when the still unnamed person took their time to announce their presence. It couldn't be any of the Pryor siblings, or more precisely, Lady Madelyne, since both of them had gone out to visit with some of the Vale nobles.

His breath caught when the doors to the side chambers finally opened and in came a woman, as naked as he was in the tub. For a brief moment, he thought that the Queen of Seven Kingdoms had invaded his rooms because the woman had long, wavy blond hair on her head. But then he realised that the colour was wrong. It wasn't the bright golden tresses of Cersei Lannister, but more the softer gold, almost brown locks of Lady Malora Hightower.

"My Lady… What…?" Jon stuttered.

Lady Malora gave him a wide smile as she slowly and sensually came near him. He could see the difference in her appearance. Her eyes were not cloudy, but sparkling pools of blue. Her pale cheeks had colours returned to them. Her breasts jutted out proudly with their pink tips exposed. A deep naval adorning a soft belly on a narrow waist flared out to wider hips. At his eye level was a patch of hair of the same colour as on her head but of a darker shade hid her womanhood. She lifted one leg after another and got into the tub with him. She turned around and gave him a clear view of her round arse as she gently lowered herself onto his lap.

Jon pulled the reins to his mind hard and asked in a choked voice, "My Lady, what are you doing?"

Lady Malora leaned against his chest and let out a contented sigh, "I am taking a bath, My King."

Jon tried again, "My Lady, this isn't proper. People can find us in this state. My brothers… Please, you must-"

Somehow, the lady managed to turn within that small confinement and faced the perplexed knight. She raised a hand and placed it over his mouth to stop him from speaking.

"I mustn't do nothing, My King. I mustn't act as brazen as a wily whore of Old Town. I mustn't sully my maiden cloak. I mustn't act against my lord father or my house. But above all else, I mustn't be a helpless puppet in the Gods' play. You have the same goal, don't you, My King?"

Jon could only nod.

Malora smiled at him. "As for your brothers and your men, they are all otherwise occupied and will remain so for the night, I have seen to it." She nudged into his neck, "I felt your grief the other night, My King. You gave Lady Reed the rest she deserved, yet you mourned at the loss of her life, her youth and her innocence. It is eating at your heart still. I wish to relieve you of that pain. If you allow me?"

Jon shook his head, he had freed his mouth to speak at last. "But this is not proper, My Lady. Think of what your action will bore, think of how it will affect your lord father. The old man loves you so."

Malora cocked her head to a side and smiled deviously at him, "You have a naked woman draped all over you, My King, yet you are speaking of things to push her away." She moved a little on the suffering man's lap, "It is only your reaction to me that I am feeling assures me of your desire. Else I would have thought you would prefer for me to have something dangling between my legs."

Jon had his eyes closed when the woman started to wiggle on his lap. He bit his lips to stop him from groaning out loud. It was becoming harder and harder for him to keep his composure, in more than one sense.

"My Lady, I have taken an oath-" He stopped speaking and was forced to groan as the lady's nails dug into the flesh of his chest. She had laid her head on his shoulder and was moaning as she rubbed herself against him while her nails were busy tracing the claw marks he had received from the bear back at Karhold.

"Oh, I know all about your oath, My King," she purred, "you do not want to beget any child out of your marriage bed, for you do not wish to curse them with a bastard's life." She raised her head to look him in the eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were darkened with desire. "You have my words, My King, our children will not be Flowers, but Hightowers. For I am sure that Father will grant me my wishes."

"C-children?" Jon almost squeaked.

"I see at least two in my future – the next White Bull for your Aegon, and a companion and later, a lady-in-waiting for your Aelya. I think Gerold would be a fitting name for the boy, and Nysa for the girl, don't you think?"

"You and I… we don't marry?"

"Oh no, My King," Malora laughed melodiously, "you are to marry one of the greatest beauties of the Known World. Forgive me for I can't tell you yet who she is. But know this, together, you will rebuild Westeros from the ruins of war and misery." She laid her head on his chest again and murmured, "I will remain your faithful advisor and constant companion till the end of our days. Then, the cycle will continue with your Aegon and my Nysa. Will he bed her? That is for them to decide."

"But they will be half-brother and sister…"

"And the world will need more dragonblood to tame the flame, My King. You have made it possible for magic to return, more potent than it was before. Bloods of the Winter Kings and Dragon Lords will be needed to rein in the magic, the more the better. The Song of Ice and Fire has begun, it will make everyone dance to its tune."

"Besides," she continued in between raining small kisses on his chest, "it also helps me to completely disrupt the Gods' plans for us. I have seen different times for both of us. You die blanketed within freshly fallen snow, whereas I die without even a chance for me to regain my mind. Then there is the time where you roam about in a wasteland, bereft of love and companions, and I die in the hands of Ironborns. But since you have caused me to awake, earlier than even the Bloodraven thought possible, disrupting the tapestry of our future altogether, this is our rebellion against powers greater than us. Don't you want the same, My King?"

Jon let out a long shuddering breath. He looked down to the woman lying on his naked chest, she was also looking up at him through her cascading tresses with a mischievous smile on her face, she hadn't relented her movements all the while she spoke, testing his resolves to their utmost.

"Oh, come here, you insufferable woman!" Jon growled and finally took his hands off the sides of the tub to grab the lady on top of him. His lips found her softer ones as she moaned against his mouth.

Soon, the small room was filled with sounds of splashing water, woman's giggles and loud grunts and moans of pleasure of the copulating pair.

[CotW]

Jon found himself to be very refreshed when he woke up the next morning. When his mind was awakened enough for him to remember last night's encounter, he whipped his head to his side to find the bed empty. A faint flowery smell still lingered on the sheets and pillow, but the room was devoid of the presence of the smell's wearer. His eyes found a folded piece of parchment on the empty pillow. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. He reached to pick up the parchment but was startled by a silk ribbon tied to his wrist. He lightly touched the ribbon for a few moments before shaking himself out of the reverie and picking up the parchment once more.

(***)

My King,

I am forever in your debt for waking me up from my slumber. I heard from our mutual acquaintance that you have been to the land beyond time and hearth – in person and in a dream. I know you have felt what I felt there, you also have experienced the magic of the lands. Although, I could have done without that irritating man's pranks.

Last night will remain alive in my mind forever. For a woman who suddenly woke up after her tenth namedays to find that the world has gone on for sixteen years without her presence, I had so few to know, so few memories to cherish. Then suddenly, I wasn't the girl of ten, but a grown woman. I didn't get to attend the dances or feasts. I didn't get to be fawn over by lords and knights. But I did have a prince, nay, king come to my rescue - A valiant, just and kind king. He took but a glance at me and strode fearlessly ahead to my rescue. A king from the tales I used to adore as a girl.

The above was from Malora, the little girl. But we need to put her to rest for trying days are ahead of us. As the Raven's Disciple, it is my duty to make you aware of your destiny. Kindly allow me to do so –

1) Send your trusted man to Lyneas' brothel. Ask him to look for a lad named Satin. He was born and brought up in that brothel and is being trained to become a bedmate for its patrons. His life is in danger for he has discovered the true identity of the youngest Sturdy Flower when he warmed his skin under a stormy sky. Save him before he is lost.

2) With Satin, you will find help to return the Little Bird to her home. But he must continue his journey further. The Lone Wolf up at North will be in need of him. Hidden behind the feathers of the Crows, the Gardeners won't be able to see him.

3) Beware the Grey Rats. Something is obscuring them from us. We won't know of their deeds beforehand, and afterwards, it may go beyond our reach to cause an effect. Be wary, My King.

You will soon find that your next destination has already been planned for you. For you are about to receive a proposal you can't refuse. You will be rewarded greatly. But you will be away for a long time. The Storm's child also awaits you, My King.

Neither Gerold nor Nysa graced us with their presence after last night. But there will be time for them to visit later. I will surely be waiting to hold them in my arms. Did I tell you that Nysa will have her grandfather – the Bard's hair but the eyes of the wild one? And Gerold will truly be the White Bull reborn.

I left my favour for you to wear in the melee, My King. The Grey will look quite fetching under the snarling white wolf.

Forever yours,

The Raven's Chick.

P.S. – You will be needing the sigil soon. One of them will be in use in the near future, the other, in a few more years yet.

(***)

In quite a daze, Jon picked up the second parchment. Unfolding it, he found two images drawn on it – the first one was of the Mark of Smith in white on a field of red.

The second one also had the Mark of Smith, but in black and again on a field of red. But this one also had a snarling white direwolf and a roaring white dragon facing the opposite sides from the other within the Mark.

[Line Break]

Jon did question his brothers on why they didn't seek him the previous night. He was amazed at their confused stares and admittance that it was him who had requested them to let him sleep and rest after a day of arduous training. Even the cook commented on how Wolf had asked for a platter of food sent to his rooms because he wouldn't be joining the men for supper. The platter he found to be on the bedside table after he and the Lady managed to get out of the tub.

His mind warring on the feelings of confusion, elation and suspicion about the Raven's Disciple and her abilities, Jon got himself prepared for the melee. The Stark brothers rode ahead at the front. People on the street openly pointed at the White Wolf as he rode by and whispered to each other excitedly. News travelled faster than them and before they were at the tourney ground, people had become aware that the White Wolf would be participating in the melee.

They gathered together before going into the pavilion made for the participants. Asher and Torrhen would climb up the gallery and Wade will join the men and Kurt at the front. But Jon asked them for a little conversation before they went. His brothers did make questioning glances at the silken ribbon tied beneath his usual kerchief on his arm but didn't ask about it out loud.

"I have a task for you, Wade." Said Jon.

"Aye, Wolf." He stood straighter, ready to perform the yet-to-be-named task.

"When the melee starts, all eyes of Old Town will be upon us. When it ends, in the commotion I want you to slip out without notice. You are to hurry to the brothel of Lyneas. Ask for a boy named Satin. Then you are to discreetly take the boy back to the manse and keep him there. Beware that the boy must not venture out, for his life will be forfeited if he does so."

"Am I to go alone?"

"Aye. You need to act as a drunk as well."

Wade smiled his usual, insane and fear-inducing smile.

"Jon? What is this about?" asked Robb.

"According to the information I received, we need to act quickly if we are to save a life."

Asher raised a brow, "And where did this information come from?"

"The Raven's Disciple." Jon looked straight into his eyes.

In a fraction of a moment, Asher's eyes widened with realization. He exchanged hurried glances with Robb and Torrhen before all three turned their gazes on Jon. In reply, the White Wolf only shrugged and indicated towards the mysterious favour tied on his arm.

"We will talk about this later. Wade, be careful with the lad. Do not scare him more than necessary."

"Aye, Wolf. You can trust me."

"I do, my friend, I do."

With a nod to the Heir of Winterfell, Wade left. The four friends looked at each other.

"Beware the Sand Snakes, lads. They are as vicious as their name suggests." Torrhen warned them.

"Aye, we will," Jon answered, Robb only nodded.

"We better get to our seats then." Asher patted the Stark brothers' shoulders. "Come, Torrhen."

Torrhen gave a last nod to them before turning away.

"Well, brother," Jon let out a long breath, "are you ready?"

[CotW]

Asher led Torrhen towards the place where they sat last. Lady Ellaria was also present, but only one of her daughters – Tyene, was there with her. The Prince of Dorne was nowhere to be seen.

"My Ladies, it is good to see you once again." Asher gave the two women quite a winning smile.

"My Lords." Lady Ellaria smiled at them softly, while Tyene, gave Asher quite an innocent smile. But her eyes belied that, for they were cold and calculating. Asher forced himself from shivering in an unknown fear.

As they took their seats, Torrhen glanced around to watch the people slowly trickling in to observe the melee. He leaned forward slightly to look beyond Asher who was seating between him and Lady Ellaria.

"Pardon me for asking, My Lady, but where is the Prince?"

Lady Ellaria grimaced a little, "My paramour decided to take part in the melee alongside his daughters. He hopes to keep them from causing serious harm to some of their opponents." She looked pointedly at the two Northern lords.

Torrhen nodded and exchanged a glance with his friend. Both of them turned their gazes at the arena where the herald started to announce the names of the participants.

[CotW]

Jon and Robb strode forward together. They stopped before the weapons rack to choose from the tourney weapons displayed there. Robb went for a medium metal shield and a longsword. Jon, as usual, chose a bastard sword and a small axe. A foot-long dagger also found its place in his belt. He checked the straps of his leather armours and fastened them once more to his satisfaction. He was about to walk away when his eyes fell upon a small rounded throwing shield. There was a hammered rounded piece of metal riveted into the centre of the shield as strips of metal were wrapped around the edge to make it more durable. He cocked his head in thought, then he shrugged and turned away. Mayhaps one of the days he will try his hands with throwing shields. Looking at his side, he took in Robb's preparation. He contemplated his brother's weapons of choice for a moment before plucking another foot-long dagger from the racks.

"Here, strap it on." He offered the dagger to Robb.

Robb tried to deny it, "I am more comfortable with a long blade and a shield, brother."

"It is not about comfort, Robb. You need to be prepared for every situation. Take it."

Reluctantly, Robb took the dagger and secured it at the small of his back. Jon chuckled at his petulance.

They straightened up when the herald started to call out the participants by name. They couldn't see any familiar faces within the sea of seemingly never-ending Reach men. But they did hear the name of Ser Hugh Pryor. Of late, the siblings were spending more of their time with the Vale nobles. Jon was yet to concentrate on this new development. They heard the names of Ser Lyn Corbray and Harry Hardyng. Apart from them, there were a few knights from the Westerlands and Riverlands. A few known names like Lord Berric Dondarrion from Stormlands were also announced. It was the names of the infamous Sand Snakes and their equally infamous father that made them frown a little. Among the Reach nobles, the names of Ser Garlan Tyrell and Loras Tyrell were also called. There was a rumour in the winds that Lord Mace Tyrell had plans to knight his youngest son after the completion of the melee, much like how Jon earned his spurs. The brothers snorted at the name of the youngest Tyrell son as they looked at each other. They could still read each other's expression and they both were thinking the same thing – Getting Loras Tyrell out of the count as early as possible.

As soon as they entered the arena, all the combatants divided themselves into small groups. Men outside from the Reach had banded together, and the Reach men seemingly huddled together. Jon could see Ser Hugh standing a little away from Ser Lyn and Hardyng, but he was with them nonetheless. Crownlanders, not eager to jump right in the middle of it, stayed around the boundary while the Stormlanders grouped behind Lord Berric. The Reach seemed to have entered into some sort of pact between houses as they sorted themselves, with the majority surrounding the Tyrell brothers. Prince Oberyn and his daughters kept a safe distance from the Tyrells.

"What do you reckon, Jon?" Robb asked.

Taking another look at the field ahead, Jon whispered to his brother, "I think the Crownlanders have the best strategy – remain on the fringes and take out any from the big groups who come for us."

The brothers stood shoulder to shoulder. Robb hefted his shield and twirled his sword. Jon stood stock-still. His eyes never stopped moving. The herald had finished announcing the names of the combatants. Lord Mace stood from his seat, bowed to the Queen and raised a hand with a red kerchief. All men and women on the field tensed up, their grips tightened on their weapons.

Lord Mace dropped the kerchief.

All took a collective deep breath.

The kerchief touched the ground.

Everybody roared.

The Stark brothers bent their knees and took up a fighting stance. A group from the Riverlanders broke off and advanced towards them. Their armours bore the sigil of the Twin Towers. The Freys again.

"Winter has come for them, Robb."

"With fire and blood, Jon."

With a matching wolfish smile, the Stark brothers charged toward the Freys.

[CotW]

Margaery Tyrell had learned at the feet of her grandmother. It was Lady Olenna Tyrell who had instilled the ambition within her. She knew about Lady Olenna's grief about her lord father. She too thought the man to be too ostentatious. Garlan and Loras had taken to their swords and seemed to have forgotten their grandmother's lessons. It was only Willas and her who had retained what Lady Olenna had told them. Her eldest brother Willas was once a prodigious rider. But he had taken a tumble when he rode against the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn and had shattered his thigh bone. Now, he was known to the Seven Kingdoms as the Lame Heir of the Roses. Although, none could say anything against his intellect. It remained as sharp as ever.

Margaery had become intrigued about the group of Northern nobles. The main reason for that was her companion, Meera Forrester. Whenever a raven came bearing a missive from Ironwrath, Meera had gushed about her brother Asher and his friends. Through her, she got to know about the infamous bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Her grandmother, the wily woman that she was, had eyes and ears even as far a land as Winterfell, deep within the heart of frozen North.

Through her grandmother, Margaery got another view of the so-called Wolf Pack. It was said that the lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark, couldn't stand her husband's bastard. Well, not to judge her too harshly, no woman could tolerate her husband's indiscretion. When Lady Catelyn bore the Stark heir, Robb, Lord Eddard had returned home with another babe in his arms. If it was her, Margaery would have left her husband's home within a week.

The news kept pouring out of the North, but all of them were mundane. The frozen savages had nothing in their lives to be excited about after all. Lord Stark's sons spend their days in the yard swinging their swords, much like her own brothers. And the Stark daughters learned to sew with the Septa. Then suddenly, the news came that Lord Stark had sent his heir and bastard off to fosterage. Lady Olenna speculated that it was inevitable since Lord Stark himself had been in fosterage under Lord Jon Arryn. Also, when her lord father grumbled about how the Lord Paramount of North never considered other Great Houses for his son's fosterage, Lady Olenna raised the point that Lord Eddard had grown up outside of North, had taken a bride, once again, outside of North. He had to send his heir off to one of his leal lords to strengthen the ties within the lands. While her father couldn't, Margaery understood the political move Lord Eddard had made.

It was since that time the news from the North had changed from mundane to most amazing. Lord Stark's bastard, Jon Snow, was said to slay a bear ten times his size when he was a little lad of twelve namedays. A few months later, Meera first stated about how her brother Asher, who had been in fosterage under another lord of North, had encountered the bastard while he was chasing after a group of wildlings and fought single-handed against them. Apparently, he had slain a man almost as big as the Mountain.

Margaery didn't know what happened but her grandmother was most upset about something. It seemed that her plant in the North had been exposed and exiled from there. Still, news came trickling from the frozen wastelands. Jon Snow, with a handful of men, fought off an Ironborn raiding party. Jon Snow led the charge to decimate wildling savages. Jon Snow ventured beyond the Wall and came home carrying a pregnant direwolf in his arms. With each of the stories, the exaggeration reached the point of ridiculous. Surely a mere lad who hadn't even reached his majority was capable of doing what those foolish bards were strumming about.

An invitation from the Capital reached their home, the King had arranged for a grand tourney and invited all the houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father was eager to travel the instant he had received the raven, but her grandmother, Lady Olenna raged at her son to finally dissuade him of the notion. For the past few years, Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, had been subtly increasing the annual taxes. That was aside from their increasing request for loans. House Tyrell had already lent a large amount of gold to the Crown against false promises and in return, had received only a pittance, if any. Lady Olenna had thought that the Tourney was a ploy to squeeze more gold out of the largest contributors to the Crown – namely, the Lannisters and the Tyrells. Lord Tywin wouldn't even blink to lend another cartload of gold to his goodson, the King, because the man apparently shat gold. But Lady Olenna refused to pay anymore. She ordered Lord Mace to send an apologetic message citing her bad health as a refusal to participate in the Tourney. Her father was truly upset, but he couldn't act against his mother's edict.

Then they received information that the Wolf Pack, which Meera said her brother's group of friends were known, had arrived at the Capital to participate in the King's Tourney. And the news afterwards became headache-inducing. Jon Snow, once again, was the centre of all the rumours. He, along with the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, had found dragon eggs from within the rubbles of the Dragon Pit. Surely that was a result of a drunken mind? Jon Snow recovered a cache of wildfire from underneath the Capital, a danger that none was aware of and saved countless lives. Apart from that, he was the reason that Jaime Lannister regained his honour. That man was not a traitor to his post, he was not a Kingslayer, but an honourable knight who remained true to his oath to protect the innocent. Boggled the mind, that did.

How her grandmother raged and ranted, within the confinement afforded by the ladies' solar, of course. It wouldn't have been proper for a lady of her station to appear anything but civil. But within the walls of the solar, Lady Olenna screamed. She raged about the lost opportunities of putting pressure on the Crown with the threat of withholding loans. Now that the Northern bastard and the Imp of Casterly Rock had gifted the Crown with a clutch of dragon eggs, all of their worries concerning funds had disappeared for the foreseeable future. Oh, they were certain that the Crown would beg once more, for it was well known all around the Seven Kingdoms about the King's proclivities of spending the golds. The dragon kings had left the Royal coffer full to the brims if the whispered rumours were to be believed. But the Stag King had managed to dry that seemingly endless ocean in just a decade. Lady Olenna was sure that the need for a loan would raise its head once again in the future, but for the time being, her plans, and those of the entire Tyrell family were put on hold.

At the King's Tourney, Jon Snow won the archery competition and earned second place in melee. Ser Jaime even knighted him on the spot. Margaery's father had scoffed at that. He claimed that the Lannister did that only to pay off his debt to the Northern bastard. But the Reach men who had been to the capital for the Tourney had sworn that the lad earned his spurs purely on his own merit. They said he was capable of dual wielding. He fought against Ser Jaime with two swords and it was only the Lannister knight's experience that decided the winner among the two. Her lord father had raged. He denied believing those men. Yet, Margaery had seen a feeble plan forming behind her father's eyes. She had exchanged glances with Willas and heard her grandmother groan about their father's lack of cunning. But she too was disappointed when she learned that her father planned for a tourney himself and that was where he was going to knight her brother, Loras.

Oh, but that was not the end at the Capital for Ser Jon, the White Wolf, no. He came out a winner in the joust, by unhorsing the likes of Lord Royce, the Bronze Yohn; Ser Barristan the Bold and the infamous knight of Westerlands, Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. The Mountain died in the Tourney but Ser Jon came out unscathed without feeling the wrath of Lord Tywin Lannister. It was nothing sort of a miracle.

Once information trickled to their ears that the Northerners were planning to travel to Old Town, Lady Olenna began her scheming. She merely stroked the desire of her son to arrange a tourney for only to knight Loras once more. But she put forth a caveat, Lord Mace would have to hold the tourney at Old Town, and he would say that it was to celebrate his wife's nameday. Lord Mace didn't want to understand or care for the nuances of his mother's plans. He was only so happy to do as he wished. Thus, the entire family save Willas travelled to Old Town, and preparation for a tourney grander than the King's Tourney commenced.

Willas sent a missive to their grandmother instead of waiting to tell it in person. The message read that Jon Snow had once again donned his saviour's garbs. He had rescued two women from bandits and escorted them to the Lord of Highgarden, or his heir. Willas had tried to engage the man in conversation, but he proved to be more interested in his hounds and hawks than talking politics. Lady Olenna frowned reading the missive, and Margaery herself was waiting eagerly to see the knight with her own eyes.

After the arrival of the Northern party, her father and Nuncle Baelor sent an invitation to them. When the three Northern lords and the infamous bastard knight appeared, Margaery wasn't impressed by them. The Stark Lord had the typical Stark features that her grandmother and mother told her – sullen, long face and a powerfully built body, but instead of Stark black hair and grey eyes, he had Tully red hair and blue eyes. The two other lesser lordlings were slender but otherwise didn't appear remarkable to her. That was when her eyes finally fell upon Ser Jon, the White Wolf. He was as tall as his half-brother and had the Stark raven locks. He wasn't as powerfully built as the Stark lord, but none could deny that he exuded confidence and power. His face, although long as the Starks, had features that made him look more handsome than the rest of his broods. But the thing that sent Margaery's heart aflutter was his eyes. She was drawn to those purple orbs, and if they had met alone for the first time, she would have latched herself to him and never let go.

They sat down to sup with the Stark lord at their table. Margaery tried to make small talk with the man but her eyes kept glancing at one of the lower tables where the other lords and the Northern knight sat with her companions and cousins. She frowned a little when she saw Meera smiling and laughing with the knight. She thought to have reprimanded her later, but then she remembered that one of the lords was Meera's brother, Asher. She didn't know where the irritation came from but she did grit her teeth a little.

The most surprising event of that night was her grandfather – Lord Leyton Hightower's sudden appearance at the feast. Her mother lamented so that her lord father had secluded himself ever since her aunt Malora fell ill. She had cast a surreptitious look about to find that even her grandmother was taken aback by the situation. Lord Leyton had called for the Northern four to sup at the high table with him and Margaery thought that she finally could put her curiosities to rest. During the inquisition, the questions asked by her lord grandfather and her lady grandmother were either skilfully deflected or returned as such that only bore light on certain rumours. She and her grandmother were of the same mind – the Northerners were either cleverer than they look, or they were simple enough to not understand their queries. Then there was the presentation at the Citadel. Margaery understood very little about swordplay, but she was impressed nonetheless by Ser Jon's display at the presentation. Loras, however, only scoffed, whereas both Willas and Garlan were thoughtful. Their father was also the same mind as Loras, loudly claiming later that day that his sons were better at swords than the Northern bastard.

When the Queen arrived for the tourney, Margaery tried to get close to her. But the woman was always distracted. She never answered any of her questions with more than a hum. She tried to befriend the young Prince and Princess, but they were mere children, they didn't understand how to play the Game yet. During the feast in honour of the Queen, she was appalled if not a bit resentful by the way the Queen danced with the White Wolf. She was a married woman and a mother of three for the Seven's sake. Margaery was sure that it wasn't only her who had observed the unseemly behaviour of the Queen with the knight. When she saw Meera talking with the knight and afterwards the man hastily made his exit, she had laughed heartily at the irritated look that appeared on that woman's face. She had to give the knight some praises, for he had the presence of mind to rush to his friend's aid even when there was a beautiful woman almost draped all over him. It was not lost to her either that given chance, the Queen wouldn't mind having the White Wolf ravish her in bed.

That brought to her at the present. She had invited the Lady Madelyne Pryor of Pebble to sit with her and her companions during the melee. Words were around that the lady and her brother, Ser Hugh, were banished from their spec of land. It was also heard that the lady had become quite close with the Northerners. The lady had danced with the knight at the Capital. They travelled together from Kings' Landing to Old Town. Even more, they were currently staying with the Northerners at the same manse. Margaery's grandmother insinuated that she should try to fathom the workings of the Vale lady. She did sit with the Queen the previous days of archery, but the Golden Queen wasn't very fond of conversations it seemed. And she could flirt only so much with an eight namedays old boy.

The Princess, however, appeared to be rather vapid with what little time Margaery had spent with her. During the archery, the little girl spent her time looking forlornly at the arena with intermittent glances thrown towards the part of the gallery that seated the lords of North along with, to her distaste, the Dornish. Margaery was sure that the little Princess was harbouring some feelings for the Heir of Winterfell. And wasn't that a juicy bit of information? The Princess of Seven Kingdoms aspired to become the Lady of Winterfell while her Queen mother was trying to bed the heir's bastard brother, the knight. Her grandmother managed to get her permission to sit by herself from her lord father while her mother, the Lady of Highgarden was to spend the day with the Queen. But she couldn't escape alone, because she was to entertain the little Princess during the event of melee. She was only thankful that she didn't have to wipe the Prince's nose too as his mother plain refused to let him seat anywhere but beside her. Thus, they were sitting a little apart from the Royal family. It could almost be said to be a private box within the Royal box, well away from the Queen's ears. Thankfully, the Queen didn't spot Lady Madelyne's presence before they all took their seats.

"I do enjoy watching brave warriors displaying their skills. Don't you, My Lady?" Margaery simpered as the herald started to speak about Lord Tyrell's generosities.

"I do too, My Lady," Madelyne agreed, "but I am afraid I have not seen many tourneys in my life."

"Come now, Lady Madelyne, the Vale sure has hosted many tourneys over the years. They are, after all, the birthing ground of the famed Vale knights."

Madelyne nodded, "They did. But I was unable to attend such. Since my mother died during childbirth, my elder sister was in charge of the Pryor household. But after her marriage, the duties fell upon me. I was just too busy with taking care of my father and his keep."

"But you have been travelling for months, far away from home, aren't you, My Lady?" Margaery would never ask directly, her grandmother taught her better than that. She would direct them towards the answer she wanted.

She wasn't disappointed by the unease and the little squirming that escaped the poise of Lady Madelyne. There is surely some scandal there – she smirked inwardly.

"Father wanted to arrange for my marriage." Lady Madelyne spoke through a smile that seemed a little strained to Margaery. "I begged him for leave to travel the lands before I become even more entangled with the responsibilities to maintain my lord husband's household. I haven't set foot outside of Pebble since my childhood, so my lord father lovingly granted me my wish and arranged for Hugh to escort me."

Margaery gushed along with the Princess at her impending nuptials, but in her mind, she was crowing in glee. The Lady of Pebble had set her sight on either to become the Lady of Winterfell or to become ornamental in the arms of one of the most promising warriors of this generation. She had to praise her for her ambition. But did she become aware of the dealings within the Wolf Pack in her time spent with them?

"I am sure you have loved the sights of the Capital then?"

"Oh yes," exclaimed Madelyne, "the Capital was breathtaking."

"But I heard that the stench of the city was enough to choke one's breath." Margaery so loved to make them all flounder for their words. From the side of her eyes, she observed the Princess too had a tinge of red on her cheeks. She had almost forgotten in her eagerness to poke at the lady of Pebble. She needed to watch what she said lest the little girl blurted out her not-so-innocent comments to her Queen mother.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I misspoke. It is only because of the way people always complain about the Capital."

Myrcella had become a little uncomfortable with everyone's attention turned towards her, blushed even more deeply and stuttered, "I-it is quite alright, My Lady. I-I also find the air too foul to breathe at times."

"I reckon it is because of all those people there, is not that right, Princess?" Meera chimed in.

"It probably is," Myrcella nodded thoughtfully, "Mother always complains about the unwashed people crowding whenever we venture out of the castle."

"How do you find Old Town, Your Grace?" Margaery couldn't help but ask.

"It is beautiful, My Lady. I have heard so many things about the Hightower castle and the Citadel from Nuncle Tyrion. But it was not the same as seeing them yourself."

Margaery gave the little girl a pleased smile, "Yes, my lady mother's family has been diligent in their care for the keep. It is their legacy and has been so for thousands of years. But you also must visit Highgarden someday. The view there from some of the balconies when the gardens are at full bloom will surely take your breath away." She winked at both the Princess and Lady Madelyne, making the former perk up while generating a slight downturn of the lips from the latter.

"Aye, the castle of Highgarden is as old as any of the Seven Kingdoms. The likes of Winterfell, Casterly Rock, Hightower and Storm's End." Meera enthused. Even after spending so much time in the Reach, her tone still took on a Northern lilt from time to time.

"Yes, Father always speaks the same for the castle of Storm's End. I so wish I could have visited there along with Joffrey. But Father said since they were going to attend a funeral, it wouldn't have been much pleasant a visit." Myrcella replied sorrowfully.

"Do you like the tourney so far, Your Grace? I am sure you must find it quite boring as you have seen so many of them."

"Oh no, My Lady," she brightened up, "I love tourneys. The archery is very boring, and the melee is quite violent for my taste, but I love jousts. I love the way the valiant knights look on horsebacks, their armours and shields." Myrcella sighed happily.

"And it is more enjoyable when the knight wears your favour and gifts you with the crown when he wins, isn't it, Your Grace?" Margaery said conspiratorially, adding a wink in the end.

"Yes!" The little girl almost squealed in delight. "At the last tourney, Ser Jon won the joust. His armour looked so good, and his helm so scary. Did you know, he commissioned to have the helm look like a snarling direwolf? The blacksmith even added red paint to it to make it look as if there was blood on the wolf's fangs. And then, he gave Mother the crown, claiming her to be his Queen of Love and Beauty. And… and…" she blushed so fiercely that the others thought she would burst in flames.

"And what, Your Grace?" Margaery prodded.

"Then he stood atop his saddle and gave me a blood red rose…" Myrcella whispered, mortified to even utter the next few words, "He proclaimed me as his Princess of Love and Beauty."

Outwards, Margaery gushed at the romanticism Ser Jon had displayed, but inwards, her mind was awhirl. So it wasn't the Young Wolf the Princess was longing after, but the White Wolf. And her own mother was dancing in such a lustful manner with the same man. Oh, how scandalous. Grandmother would be so happy to hear this. And do I see a hint of irritation on Lady Madelyne's face? Did she expect to be crowned? She must have, rumours have it that she gave the knight her favour.

The herald was announcing the name of the participants for the melee. Margaery applauded when her brothers' names were read. As did Lady Madelyne when her brother, Ser Hugh's name was read.

"So ladies, who are we all cheering for in this melee?" She asked with a mischievous smirk on her face.

Her cousins spoke of either their favoured Reach knights or of her brothers. Meera said that since her brother Asher was not in it, she would be cheering for the Stark brothers. Lady Madelyne took a moment to deliberate her answer before somewhat forcefully saying her brother's name. When they turned their eyes towards the Princess, the girl blushed prettily.

"Since Nuncle Jaime isn't in the melee, I will be cheering for Ser Jon." She said in a hushed voice as if she was divulging an utmost secret.

Just then, Ser Jon, the White Wolf's name was read amidst the loudest cheers from the crowd. Margaery frowned a little, even her brothers didn't receive so loud a cheer when their names were called. But she shrugged off that thought. She watched closely as the knight raised his right fist above his head, mirrored by his brother and then both put their fists over their heart and bowed towards a part of the gallery. Margaery looked to find that lords Asher Forrester and Torrhen Karstark were on their feet, with their hands fisted over their hearts, bowing back to the brothers in the arena. She smirked at their quaint ritual. But then something else caught her eyes.

"Ser Jon is wearing a favour over his white wolf kerchief. I wonder who gave it to him." She thought aloud, looking sideways at the two admirers of the knight. Truth be told, she wouldn't have minded giving the man her favour, despite her brothers' participation in the melee. But she was not to blurt that bit of information out loud. She wouldn't have minded running her fingers over his strong muscles either.

She wasn't disappointed with the way Lady Madelyne's frown deepen, or the way Princess Myrcella pouted. She loved to spread chaos. Her grandmother had taught her well.

[CotW]

The Freys were not any challenge at all. The first overextended his reach and Jon ducked to let the attack sail way over his head. He straightened right after and grabbed the arm to slam the man into his nose with his left fist. The man quickly yielded when Jon's sword point touched his exposed throat.

Robb had let his shield take the strike of his opponent before he slammed it into the man's chest. His opponent crumpled on the ground unconscious before his disbelieving eyes. He couldn't even endure one strike. Shaking his head, Robb turned towards the next one.

One of the Freys proved to be a little intelligent because he didn't charge like his relatives. He stayed a little apart till the first few men engaged the two brothers. He discreetly padded towards a distracted Jon and raised his sword to strike at his unprotected back. But he didn't count for the brother's ferocity in dealing with their opponents, because Robb Stark was finished with his and just raised his head to see the man poised to strike his brother down. He jumped and raised his shield just in time to protect Jon. Hearing the metal clang from behind, Jon whirled about and in the same turn had the flat of his sword bash into the hapless Frey's temple, making him embrace the ground. He looked to his brother to find him smirking at him.

"Fucking Freys!"

Jon barked out a laugh, "Aye, Fucking Freys!"

Next on their path were a few knights from Crownlands. This time Jon charged at them while Robb hung back a few paces and kept a watch on their flanks. Jon ducked under the swing from the first knight, raised his left hand with the axe to block the attack from the next one and kicked him at his armoured belly to send him toppling over. The first knight, who had regained his balance after missing his strike at Jon and stumbling, found his way was blocked by Robb's shield. He tried to aim a few of his sword jabs at the sides, but he didn't make any dent in Robb's defence, so to speak. Suddenly, Robb swung his shield to parry an attack and jumped upwards, bringing the flat of his sword over the helm of his opponent. The clanging sound was as loud as a bell and Robb was sure that the man was dizzy as he dropped to his knees. He cautiously approached the man whose sword was gripped by a slackened hand as he was shaking his head from side to side to get rid of the dizziness. Robb pressed the point of his sword at his throat.

"Do you yield, Ser?"

"Yes, My Lord, I yield." The man said with a sigh.

Robb helped the man to get back on his feet and looked around for his brother. Jon was fighting two against one, with a sword and an axe, and quite expertly matching the two knights strike for strike. While Robb watched, Jon had the sword of the knight on his left locked and pressed down towards the ground by the curve of the axe head. He feinted a jab with his sword at the right-sided man and then pivoted instantly on his left toes, he smacked the left-sided one into his nose by his right elbow. As the man took a few steps back and clutched his broken nose, Jon dove forward and rolled over to jump up and thrust his sword to the other man's chest, the man deflected the strike, but Jon had the blade of his axe pressed against his throat.

"Yield, Ser?"

"Yes, Ser Jon, I yield."

Jon nodded and removed his axe from the man's neck and turned towards the other man. He was still just standing there clutching his bloody nose. As Jon took a step towards him, he dropped his sword and said, "I also yield, Ser. That fucking hurt."

"Do forgive me, Ser. You should see a Maester about that."

The man nodded, "Yes, I will do just that. Good fortune to you for the rest of the melee."

Jon gave the man a short bow. "Thank you, Ser."

"Should we take a little breath, brother?" Robb clapped on his shoulder as he reached his side.

"Aye, we should. But the Flower over there is looking a tad too smug for my liking." Jon indicated with his chin towards Loras. The youngest Tyrell was flanked by two of his friends and appeared to have left his brother's side.

The brothers marched towards the Reach trio. Robb gave a short nod of his head.

"Lord Loras."

"Lord Robb. Ser Jon." The mocking tone was quite evident in his voice.

"Shall we dance, My Lord?" Robb asked ignoring the slight to Jon.

"We shall, but I want to dance with him." Loras raised his sword lazily towards Jon.

"But of course, My Lord." Jon bowed from his waist.

They stepped back a little to prepare for the fight. Jon muttered to Robb, "Do you think you can take on those two at once?"

Robb smirked, "Please, brother. You wound me for even doubting."

They bent their knees and stood ready. Jon gave his brother a small nod.

Robb clanged his sword against his shield, "For the North!"

Jon clanged his sword and axe overhead, "For the North!"

[CotW]

Margaery jumped in her seat a little bit. She had been keeping her eyes on exactly four warriors battling in the arena – Her brothers Garlan and Loras, Lord Hardyng, and Ser Jon. All four of them were terribly good with their sword arms and she had enjoyed watching them fight. She even joined the Princess in clapping loudly whenever Ser Jon won his fight. But now, she was biting her nails. It seemed to her that her brother Loras had just challenged Ser Jon.

[CotW]

Robb was running in circles around the two Reach warriors. The men were lumbering about in their heavy plate armours, whereas the Stark lord was quite nimble in his leather armour. Their strikes never reached their target since the said target had moved away quite early. Synchronized attacks also had yielded no result, for the man seemed to have an uncanny awareness of what they were going to do and was prepared to evade even before they were committed to their moves.

Pretty soon, the Reach men were drenched in sweat, heaving laborious breaths. Robb swiped one of them off his feet while holding the other with his sword pointing at his neck. The second man was so tired that he was wheezing, leaning on his sword for support, not even having it raised.

"Yield?" Robb asked.

They could only nod their heads, too tired to utter a thing.

[CotW]

Jon put the axe back in his belt. He gripped the sword tightly and waited for the young Tyrell lord to advance. Loras, so sure of his superiority, had a condescending smirk on his face and strode swiftly forward. On the first strike, Jon let it wash off to a side as he stood sideways. Every strike afterwards, Jon dodged or sidestepped. He could see that the Tyrell lord was getting frustrated.

"Stand still, bastard!" He snarled.

Jon only smiled insolently in reply.

He did notice the predictability of the Tyrell lord's moves. They were big and flashy. Often with an unnecessary step or movement threw in. Also, there was a very distinctive pattern in the way he confronted his opponents – a swing from the right; a follow-through swing from the left; two short jabs at the middle; a decidedly too loud swing to the head from the right followed by a slash from the left shoulder to the right hip; and then the process would start anew.

Personally, Jon had nothing against the movements one felt comfortable with if they thought them to be their winning combination. Mayhaps he himself would have thrown in a few variations in between just so he wouldn't become predictable. In Loras' situation, he reckoned his previous opponents were either too intimidated by him or fearful of the prospect of his lord father's wrath if they had beaten him too badly. He did wonder what the young lord's brothers had said to him concerning his form. From what he saw, Garlan was a competent swordsman and he had heard about Willas' prowess on the field before his accident. And then there was Loras' tendency to perform for the crowd. It did halve his concentration to fully engage with his opponent.

"Stand still, damn you!" Loras almost shrieked.

Jon smirked and burst forward into action. On Loras' next shoulder-to-hip slash, he suddenly lunged forward and pushed the Tyrell lord's sword with his own towards the side. He then half turned and extended his left leg behind the man's left one and rammed his shoulder to his armoured chest, making him stumble. Almost immediately, he again pushed a little with his left hand still keeping the sword away while hooking the man's foot with his own and making him crash down on the ground. Loras was a little disoriented from the jarring impact against the ground. Jon calmly walked forward and put his left foot on the man's wrist to slacken his grip on his sword. He almost negligently pressed his sword at Loras' throat.

"Do you yield, My Lord?"

Loras looked up and met his eyes with a furious glare and gave a single nod. Jon bent down and picked up the sword. Even for a tourney sword, it was a work of art. The blade was decorated with golden vines and the pommel boasted a polished metal rose which Jon doubted to be made of gold. He could only shake his head ruefully at the pomp of these Grasping Roses.

[CotW]

Princess Myrcella was on her feet applauding heartily at Ser Jon's win. Margaery was sitting with a grimace on her face. She looked at her father to find the man had his face purpled with rage. It would be very foolish if the Tyrell lord did bestow the knighthood on his youngest son after this glaring defeat. She turned her eyes to her grandmother to see the old lady's stony visage. Margaery could only wonder what went on within the lady's mind.

As she watched on, Lady Olenna looked behind her and gave a subtle nod at the back where stood her personal guards whom she laughingly addressed as Left and Right. One of the men quietly made his way over to her grandmother and knelt. Lady Olenna whispered some command in his ear and the man nodded obediently before getting up and hurrying away. Margaery's eyes followed him to find the man stopping near her father and whispering something to the Tyrell lord. Lord Mace was scowling fiercely, it was evident that he was very much against what was being commanded to him by his lady mother, but he couldn't go against her edict. He deigned to not give any reply but turn his face back at the arena.

Margaery was sure that her grandmother had just ordered her father to not grant knighthood to Loras under the current circumstances. She could feel the headache already forming about how loud and how long would both Loras and their father's rantings would be. She looked toward the Northern lords sitting in the gallery to find them laughing their fool heads off. So much so that each had to keep the other steady lest they both fell down laughing. She could only scowl at their behaviour, and at those damned Dornish whores who had the smug looks of superiority on their faces.

[CotW]

Arthur Dayne was once again amazed at the Stark brother's proficiency on the field. Even though he was in charge of their training for the past eight months or so, he was still astonished by their progress in weapon mastery. The four young men from the North were among some of the best warriors he had seen in his life. He did languish for their sense of over-confidence and thought one or two defeats would instil humbleness in them, but he hoped that it didn't come at too large a cost.

He smiled indulgently at hearing Wade's outlandish explanations of some of the skills being shown on the field to the young lad, Kurt. He only had to clear his throat loudly once or twice when the commentary turned too much for a young ear. Wade had the sense of looking abashed for being caught and smiled sheepishly at him. He nodded his head once at Kurt while holding Arthur's gaze and then nodded towards the exit. Arthur returned with a nod of understanding of his own. He knew that Jon had charged Wade with a mission and the man needed to make himself scarce discreetly.

"Kurt, come here, lad." He called for the boy. The boy happily skipped over to him.

"Tell me, what did you learn from this melee, and I don't want to hear what your Maester Wade has been whispering in your ears, but your own opinion."

Kurt frowned thoughtfully, "Ser Jon and Lord Robb are too fast for those other lords. An' I think their leather armours help them move faster while the others are slowed with their heavy armours."

Arthur nodded proudly, "Good observation, lad. Yes, the others preferred to wear their platemail or chainmail as opposed to Jon and Robb who opted for their leather armours only. It helps with their style of fighting since they prefer to move a lot on their feet. But always remember, it is permissible in a tourney only. For in real battle, one must wear suitable armour to protect himself. What else did you see?"

"Lord Robb likes to bash with his shield. An' Ser Jon prefers to use his axe to distract and trap his opponents."

"And which style would you like to adopt given the chance?"

Kurt scratched his head, "I think I'll go with Lord Robb's sword and shield style. I ain't strong enough like Ser Jon to properly wield an axe against swords."

Arthur chuckled, "Not yet, mayhaps. But you are young still. One day you may grow up to be as strong as Ser Jon. But you should always choose your weapons as you become familiar and comfortable with them. Take that lad for instance," He pointed at Gendry who had been looking at the mayhem before him with a gleam in his eyes. "He is as strong as Jon, mayhaps stronger even. But a sword and an axe are the wrong weapons of choice for him. With his strength and hard training, he will be a true destructing force on the field of battle wielding a Warhammer."

From the corner of his eyes, he watched Wade silently slip out and vanish from the tourney ground. He didn't know what his mission was, but he wished him good fortune nonetheless.

"If it's true, then I won't mind learning how to wield a spear like the Prince. He is dangerous." Kurt said excitedly.

That brought Arthur's focus back into the arena. His old friend didn't tell him about his plans of participating in the melee. But he would take a wager that he did so to keep Rhaenys from lashing out at the Stark brothers. Although he did hear from both Oberyn and Ashara that Rhaenys had locked herself in her rooms for most of the time with the chest Jon left for them. And both of them were hopeful that there was a little chance for the half-siblings to make amends, but all of them agreed on one point – dragonblood was too unpredictable. They couldn't possibly ascertain the motives behind their actions till they come into play.

"Is the Prince's daughter going to fight with Ser Jon now?"

Kurt's question brought Arthur out of his musings. He watched on as his heart filled with dread. Indeed, Rhaenys was approaching the White Wolf with determination etched on her face. Arthur tightly clasped his hands together and sent a silent prayer to the Seven.

[CotW]

Robb stepped in front of the advancing Hidden Princess with his shield raised and his sword at the ready.

"Move!" Rhaenys growled.

Robb only shrugged his shoulders.

"I said move!" Rhaenys snarled as she viciously jabbed with her spear. Robb took it on his shield.

"If you want to reach Jon, Princess, you have to go through me beforehand," Robb spoke without care.

"I only need to speak with him."

"My answer remains the same."

Rhaenys scowled fiercely, "I will not ask again, Stark."

Robb smirked, "Great, then I won't have to repeat myself."

Rhaenys gritted her teeth, "So be it. I will make you learn the demerits of your arrogance."

Robb barked out a laugh, "Coming from you, Princess, that is indeed a hilarious proposition."

Rhaenys yelled as she charged forward. Robb once again deflected the spear jab with his shield and swung his sword at her, which Rhaenys too deflected by the other end of her spear. Robb was reminded of his spar against Mira Reed back at Greywater Watch. He had to employ even the last bit of his skill to gain an upper hand against the Northern lady. But Rhaenys was on a whole other level of skills. She was certainly faster than Lady Mira and more powerful than her, along with having a natural grace in her movements which made her a deadly opponent.

Robb had noticed a coiled whip at the woman's hip while he exchanged blows after blows with her. He was also quite certain that she had at least a hidden dagger or two on her person. His mild distraction had cost him as the weighted end of Rhaenys' spear slammed into his belly, making him double over in pain. It was blunted somewhat by his leather armour but it still hurt quite a lot. Rhaenys, taking this opportunity by the horns, didn't waste any time divesting the young lord of his sword. Robb shook his head to get rid of the haziness of his mind and brought himself back to the fight. He only had his shield and he desperately tried to find a way to end the fight.

Robb knew that even if he managed to lock the spear with his shield and wrenched it away from the woman's hands, the whip on her hip could be used to a devastating effect. His only chance to manage a win in this situation was some sort of surprise attack. He smirked which came out as a grimace due to the pain he was suffering from and readied himself for the execution of his plan. He loosened the straps of the shield on his left hand as he waited for Rhaenys' next attack.

At Rhaenys' next spear thrust, Robb deflected the weapon and pushed with his might to move the spear away from both their bodies. He grabbed the shaft with his right hand and twisted on his toes to throw the loosely held shield aiming for the young lady's head. Surprised by this sudden and unorthodox attack, Rhaenys raised her left arm to protect her head from the hurled shield. She hissed at the pain flaring in her arm but before she could do anything else, Robb had moved in closer and a firm grip on her wrist and another just below her elbow, had her off her feet and sailing over his shoulder only to crash down on the ground painfully. Robb had her right hand locked with his left and his right had found the dagger strapped at the small of his back by Jon's insistence. He had the dagger pressed against the soft flesh of the woman's throat.

"You needed to do better than that, Princess. Count yourself fortunate that it was me you faced and not my brother."

Rhaenys let out a groan before she looked at the young man who was almost laid on top of her with a venomous glare.

"Now that the pleasantries are done, do you yield, Princess?" Robb smirked.

Rhaenys growled.

"I only wanted to speak with him."

"And I told you that you needed to get through me to reach him. Do you yield? I won't be asking again."

"I yield," Rhaenys said through gritted teeth.

Robb gave her a patronizing smile, he knew that he was grating on her nerves, but he couldn't help himself. After their disastrous first meeting, he did put a considerable amount of thought to understand her behaviours at Jon's urgency, but he cannot completely forgive her after the insults she made to his family. But still, he was a hot-blooded Northerner who was very much attracted to this Dornish beauty.

"Now, was that so hard to admit, Princess?" He smiled toothily, Rhaenys was glaring up at him with a look of promised pain. "Even though I hate what you said to my brother and my family, I cannot deny the attraction I feel for you. So do forgive me for the liberty I am about to take." He leaned down and pressed his lips against the surprised young woman's own. He leapt off of her and ran away before the lady on the ground could form any coherent thoughts. It was only moments before she gathered herself and screamed bloody murder at him, but the Young Wolf was long gone by then.

[CotW]

Arthur could only splutter at what he had just seen. On one hand, he was protective of the young woman he saw as his own and same like all parental figures around the known world, would hunt down any despicable male who dared to even look at their daughter; on the other hand, he felt sorry for the young lord for what would be done to him when the young Dornish got her hands on him. But he did make a promise to himself that Robb Stark would face some terrible times the next they were in the training yard.

[CotW]

"Oh Seven Hells!" exclaimed Asher.

"Indeed. Do we write a letter to Lord and Lady Stark explaining their eldest son's wounds?" Torrhen supplied.

"What wounds?"

Torrhen pointed, "Look at Ser Eric and tell me you don't see the promise of retribution in his eyes."

"I repeat, Seven Hells!" Asher shook his head in consternation.

"What was that?"

They turned their heads to see Tyene pointing at her sister who was standing with her fists shaking at the retreating back of the Stark heir.

"Uh… that was Karhold, My Lady, a close combat style developed-"

"I do not care about the fighting style. Why did he kiss her?" Tyene asked impatiently.

"Oh," Asher squirmed in his seat, "You see, My Lady, Robb was quite smitten when he first laid his eyes on Lady Sarella, and then, well…" He trailed off.

Lady Ellaria, who was rubbing her temples to fend off the headache that threatened to form, was heard muttering, "Idiotic and hot-headed fool of a Stark, never knew the value of subtlety, the lot of them."

[CotW]

Margaery couldn't believe her eyes. Robb Stark had just then quite brazenly kissed a Dornish bastard out in the open for everyone to see. Granted that the woman was a daughter of the Dornish Prince, but still, she was a bastard. She looked at her grandmother to see the old lady also sitting leaning forward with a calculating gleam in her eyes. Oh, the scandal! Margaery was almost salivating. It was enough for her to forget about her brother's insulting defeat at the hands of the White Wolf.

[CotW]

Jon had lost track of his brother. The last he had seen him was when he stepped forward to stop Rhaenys' advance. Afterwards, he didn't know what had befallen his wayward brother. He couldn't spare a glance to look for him either as he was set upon by first Ser Lyn Corbray and then Ser Garlan Tyrell. He had only moments to enjoy his hard-earned wins before he found himself to be standing near the Prince of Dorne, the last man beside himself to remain in the melee.

"Are you prepared for the last fight of the day, nephew?" Oberyn asked with a smirk on his face. They could speak somewhat freely as they were the only ones to remain on the ground. Still, Jon hoped the Dornish Prince would maintain his composure a little more.

"Aye, My Prince, and we do need to watch what we speak, lest our conversation is being heard by unwanted ears."

"Pah, I don't care what these Grasping Vines hear or not. I am Oberyn Martell, no?"

A weak argument at the best, but Jon understood that his advisement would not be taken seriously by the man brimming with battle lust. To stop the man from making any more discriminatory remarks, he prepared himself for the last fight of the day with a sigh.

"Shall we, My Prince?"

Oberyn gave him a toothy smile, "Of course, nephew. We shall see if the ice of North has cooled the Dornish sun in your blood, no?"

Jon only nodded as he prepared himself. In his left hand, he held the sword he had won from Loras Tyrell, and in his right, the sword he had chosen before the melee. He scratched a line on the ground with the point of his right sword, earning him an unseen smirk from the man from whom he had adopted the habit.

Oberyn was the first to make a move. He swung his spear in an overhead strike only to catch the shaft of the spear by his left hand on its return to place it over his shoulders and push it towards Jon by balancing it over his angled and extended right arm, directly into his chest. The first swing was a feint to disguise the later jab which was the actual attack. Jon hurriedly deflected the spear with his left sword and swung his right to the Prince's torso, but the Dornish was nimble on his feet, he had no problem dancing out of his range.

It was another hard-fought battle for Jon when he finally managed to get the spear off of the Dornish Prince's hands. He had lost the visibility of his right eye since a deep cut over his brow from the Prince's spear had bled right into his eye. But in the end, the Northern endurance had proved better than the Dornish agility and Jon stood triumphant over a half-kneeling Prince of Dorne with his sword placed on the man's neck.

"Do you yield, My Prince?"

Oberyn remained undeterred as he threw his head back and laughed, "Oh, you are indeed your sire's son, nephew. I am proud to be lost against you. Yes, I yield to you."

Thankfully, his words were drowned by the cheering crowd. Jon helped the Prince to his feet as the herald announced him the winner of the melee. The crowd watched on fascinated as the White Wolf, after exchanging compliments with the Dornish Prince, took a knee and raised his sword in salutation towards the Royal box. They were confused at first before they saw Ser Jaime Lannister, after receiving an affirmative nod from his fellow Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart, stepped away from his charges – the Royal family. Then Ser Jaime Lannister, the White Lion, raised his own sword to acknowledge the greeting given to him by the winner of the melee, and his sometimes student – Ser Jon, the White Wolf.