Chapter 9

Hello and welcome to a new chapter! I'm glad everyone's been enjoying this so far. It's going to be a very long story. Anyway, the first of my original ideas appears in this chapter. Keep an eye out for it. 

Ned had noticed that Steffon and Arya were growing closer, they had scarcely been seen without each other in the past couple of days. He has happy for them, though he wanted Arya to know the entire family she'd be marrying into, and that meant her accompanying Prince Steffon to Dragonstone when he visited his uncle, Lord Stannis, after the tourney.

"I still can't believe that the King wants this." Said Jon. Ned and Jon, being the two Northmen in the southern court, had decided to stick together early on, when Jon wasn't guarding the Prince of course. One thing that Jon was grateful for was Steffon rarely required him to stand guard all day, and always made sure Jon had some time to himself each day. Now was one of those times, and Jon had chosen to visit his father. Needless to say, he'd been stunned when he learned of the crown's debt and the King's order to prepare a tourney anyway.

"Neither can I. I'm still worried over the distribution as well." Said Ned.

"What do you mean?" Asked Jon.

"I told you we're six million in debt. That's made up of 3 million to the Iron Bank, 2 million to Tywin Lannister and 1 million to other benefactors, including the Faith. If we can't pay back the Iron Bank, they may instead fund the surviving Targaryens. If we can't pay back the Faith, they may demand to restore the Faith Militant as payment. If we can't pay Tywin Lannister . . ." Ned trailed off. Tywin Lannister was a man to be feared, and Ned merely hoped that the long arm of the Old Lion didn't stretch too far. Jon for his part, looked equally worried about the matter.

"Is there any way we can pay them back?" Jon asked.

"From what I've seen, no. Robert's reign has been an expensive one, and this tourney will only add to it. Prince Steffon's already voiced his opposition to it, but Robert wouldn't listen."

"Surely Lord Baelish-"

"Prince Steffon has counselled me not to trust Lord Baelish. He has lived in the south more than you or I have. I'm inclined to trust the Prince, but not Baelish. In fact, the Prince has counselled me not to trust anyone at all." Ned explained, sighing. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

"Things were simpler in the North." Said Jon.

"Aye, Jon. That they were. It seems like everyone here's waiting to backstab everyone. I assume you know of my plans for Arya?"

"For her to accompany Steffon to Dragonstone? Yes, he told me this morning. The King's assigned Ser Barristan to accompany us."

"A little extra protection wouldn't go awry, especially with these debts."

The mood in Winterfell was a little fractured when Tyrion arrived. Robb was full of anger towards him, as he assumed a Lannister had thrown Bran from the towers. Bran was more restrained though; Myrcella's tales from King's Landing had helped to soften Bran's opinion towards him. The meeting had gone okay, but Tyrion had instead opted to stay at the nearby brothel. As of now, the blonde haired girl and brown haired boy were back in Bran's room, with Bran still resting on his bed. He was awake though, something that had relieved everyone in Winterfell.

"You really like reading, don't you Myrcella?" He asked. She was, yet again, reading one of her books.

"Yes, I do. I think I get that from uncle Tyrion. Then there's Steffon, he loves reading too."

"I know. He's going to drive Arya mad." Bran joked. The two chuckled a bit at that before Bran sobered up, and decided to get serious. He had to tell her, it was now or never. "Myrcella, there's something I need to tell you." He began.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Well, I have to admit that I have become . . . fond of you, but not as a friend. I know it's not appropriate for a secondborn son to say this to a princess, but-" Myrcella dived forward and pressed her lips to his. Bran was at first shocked, but slowly began to kiss back. The two broke apart soon after.

"I feel the same way about you Bran." She said, her eyes glowing. Bran went to pull her head down for a kiss again, before being interrupted.

"Alright, Stark, pay up." Theon said, holding out his hand. reluctant Robb then dropped a small bag of silver into his hand. The two were standing in the doorway, and had seen the whole thing.

"You know what? I'm not even going to ask." Bran deadpanned.

Gendry was busy coaching the other recruits at Castle Black when Thorne walked over with another.

"What in Seven Hells is that?" Grenn asked, incredulously.

"They'll need an eighth hell to fit him in." Pyp responded. Gendry turned to see a man who was so fat and looked distinctly out of place at the Wall.

"Tell'em your name." Thorne said gruffly.

"Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill. Well I was of Horn Hill. I've come to take the black." He said. So he was a noble. Wonder what he did to end up here thought Gendry.

"Come to take the black pudding!" Said Rast, laughing. That was a bit uncalled for.

"Well you can't be any worse than you look. See what he can do." Said Thorne, signalling to Rast. Within seconds, Sam was on his back.

"I yield! Please, no more!" He begged. But Thorne wasn't the sort of person to let someone get away that easily.

"On your feet!" He shouted, but Tarly didn't move. "Hit him till he finds his feet." He ordered. Rast then beat Tarly with his sword. "Looks like they've run out of thieves and poachers down south. Now they send us squealing bloody pigs. Hit him harder." Rast was only too happy to oblige. Gendry however, couldn't let it continue. There was one rule in Flea Bottom: always protect your own. He may never have seen the Tarly boy in his life, but they were both to be a part of the Night's Watch.

"Enough!" Said Gendry, knocking aside Rast's sword. "He yielded." Throne merely scoffed in reply.

"Looks like the bastard's in love." He mocked "Alright then Waters, if you wish to defend your lady love, we'll make it an exercise". He signalled to Grenn, Pyp and Rast to attack Gendry first. In not time at all, Gendry had defeated the three of them without breaking a sweat. Thorne, clearly unhappy the Gendry had come out on top, barked out for the three to clean the armoury. The fat boy walked up to Gendry.

"My name's Sam, by the way. My mother called me Sam-"

"It won't get easier, Sam. You're going to have to defend yourself." Gendry replied, cutting Sam off.

"Why didn't you get up and fight?" Asked Grenn.

"I wanted to. I just couldn't"

"Why not?"

"I'm a coward." Sam admitted shamefully. "My father always says so." He continued. Gendry walked over to the armoury, retrieved a weapon and returned to Sam.

"They say a crossbow's a coward's weapon. Might as well learn how to use one. First, you put your foot in the stirrup, pull back the drawstring with both hands, load the bolt, aim and loose. You try." Said Gendry. Sam followed the instructions, but his shot went wide target's center, hitting the rim. "Might take a bit of practice, but you'll get there." Said Gendry. It takes courage for a man to admit cowardicethought Gendry. He might not have a warrior's courage, but he has another kind.

"It's the Hand's Tourney that's causing all the trouble, my Lords." Said Janos Slynt, Lord Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing. Ned sighed exasperatedly.

"The King's Tourney." He corrected, "I assure you, the Hand wants no part of it." Now, more than ever, he wished that Steffon were here, but the Prince was currently being trained by Jon. Ned chuckled inwardly at the irony of a prince learning swordsmanship from a bastard.

"Call it what you will, My Lord, but I'm going to need more men." Said Slynt.

"You'll get 50. Lord Baelish will see to it." Ned replied.

"I will?" Asked Littlefinger, slightly incredulously.

"You found money for a champion's purse. You'll find money to keep the peace. I'll also give you 20 of my Household Guard. Prince Steffon has also authorised 20 of his personal guard for the task."

"Thank you, my Lord Hand. They shall be put to good use." Said Slynt, bowing before leaving.

"The sooner this is over, the better." Said Ned.

"The realm prospers from such events, my lord." Varys began, "They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a reprieve from their woes."

"And every inn in the city is full. The whores are walking bow-legged." Said Littlefinger. The meeting was dismissed, but Ned retrieved a book from Pycelle before leaving. If Jon Arryn's death wasn't natural, then there was a murderer loose in King's Landing. As he walked back to the Tower of the Hand, he noticed Arya balancing on one foot. Noticing her father looking at her quizzically, she responded.

"Syrio says that a Water Dancer can stand on one foot for hours."

"Hard fall down these steps" Ned replied, amused.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better. Tomorrow, I'll be chasing cats." She said. "He says that every swordsman should study cats. They're quiet as shadows and light on their feet. You have to be fast to catch them." She replied, before getting down. She was relieved to hear that Bran had woken up, but a little disappointed that he wouldn't be coming south anytime soon. Plus there was that thing he had with Steffon's sister. Suddenly, her father asked a fairly awkward question.

"How do you feel about Steffon." He asked. Arya thought about it for a moment.

"Well . . . he's really nice, kind, caring, loyal and honourable. And I do like him. A lot." She said, blushing slightly, something Ned didn't fail to notice.

"That's it, Steffon. Thrust, upward cut, downward cut, middle cut, low cut, hanging parry, thrust. Well done." Said Jon He and Steffon had been training in the Red Keep courtyard for the last two hours or so. Jon had noticed that Steffon's skills with a sword were beginning to get better, despite the Prince's insistence he hadn't improved.

"Well I'm glad I did that right. I'm only any good with a bow." Steffon replied.

"That's good then. Someone gets past your arrows, you still have something to fight with." Said Jon.

"I suppose you're right. It's just annoying is all. Every noble's supposed to be a great swordsman, Princes doubly so. At best, I'm barely the equal of a common footsoldier; at worse, I'm no better than a peasant who's never held a sword in my life." Steffon said, slightly downcast.

"Steffon, you're a lot better than you think you are. Your strength's your brain. In swordsmanship, amateurs talk technique; professionals talk strategy. One thing you're good at is noticing weak spots. You just need to capitalise on that." Jon said, smiling slightly.

"Thanks Jon. You're dismissed for the res of the day. I promised I'd take Arya for a walk before dinner." Said Steffon, taking off the padding he had been wearing while they were training. As Jon left (probably to speak with his father), Steffon went off to find Arya. He found her balancing on one foot at the top of a small staircase in the Tower of the Hand.

"Arya, what are you doing?" He asked.

"Well obviously I'm planning to jump off this foot and out the window, plummeting to my death." She replied sarcastically. "I'm balancing on one foot, stag boy."

"I can see that, wolf girl. Anyway, you said you wanted a walk before dinner?"

"Yeah. You ready?" She asked.

"Of course I am. May I take your hand, Arya?" He asked politely.

"You may, Steffon." She replied, feeling his hand interlock with hers. The two walked along the walls of the Red Keep, overlooking the majestic ocean as the sun set. "Are you entering the jousting tomorrow?" She asked.

"Gods, no." he laughed "I'm no lancer. I am entering the archery competition though. Jon thinks I'm getting better with a sword and I'm alright with a bow. If I can win that, then I'll be good for something." He said. This took Arya slightly aback.

"Do you not have a good opinion of yourself, Steffon?" She asked.

"To be honest, no. I can't help but feel that I let people down. My poor sword skills don't exactly impress my father, my appearance displeases my mother, I refused my grandfather's offer to become Lord of Casterly Rock, which made him unhappy, I'm afraid that I'll mess this up between us. I'm afraid that one day, I'll mean nothing to a lot of people. I'm afraid of losing you, Arya. Not physically, but mentally." As Steffon said this, tears began to well in his eyes slightly. He was brought out of this by a sudden slap that echoed across the Keep. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Someone's got to smack some sense into you, stag boy. You mean a lot to a lot of people. You're always kind, you never say a mean word about anyone, and you believe in mercy. If you hadn't been at the Ruby Ford that day, I most likely would've killed Joffrey. You're a good person, Steffon. And if I have to smack you a few times to get that through your head, then I will. I care about you, Steffon. Quite a lot." She stopped there for fear of blurting out the 'L' word. Steffon stopped rubbing his cheek and looked at Arya.

"You mean that?" He asked.

"Of course I do, you silly boy." She replied. He took both of her hands in his.

"Then will you marry me for me? And not because our parents said so?" He asked.

" . . . Yes. Yes I will. As long as you say the same for me."

"Why wouldn't I? Arya, I thought you were stunning the first time I saw you. Now that I know you better, you're not just stunning on the outside, but the inside as well." He said, touching his forehead to hers. In a move that surprised both of them, Arya leaned forward and kissed him, and that's how they stood until the sun went down and they retired to their chambers.

From a window above them, Cersei had watched the whole exchange. How dare that wild northerner slap her son! What she saw next stunned her even more though; the two had kissed as the sun went down. Cersei would've laughed at the horribly cliched situation, if she wasn't alarmed by this. It would be much harder to break them apart now. Steffon was her son, and he didn't belong to anyone else.

And that's actually where I'll end it. Live long and prosper, my friends!