Tourney at Harrenhal II

Tell me if you got the reference in this chapter. I thought it was not bad. I was going for the same thing, but of course, I couldn't do it. I still hope you like it.

________________________

- 281 AC -

- Winterfell -

(Rickard POV)

I hear the knock at the door. 

"Come in," I mutter and see the door open. It's just as I thought, he is a strange one. How could he have heard that?

"Good, you're here. Then let's get to the topic at hand."

I watch as my youngest son walks in casually and then sits on the chair in front of the desk. His demeanour is usually the same one of indifference. He has truly grown a lot over the years and has reached the height of a grown man at the tender age of 10 and 3. 

I don't speak and neither does he. He looks me in the eyes, ever the confrontationist that he is. I don't see any form of fear or any other form of emotion in his eyes. I look him over. The strong muscles that bulge his clothes, his canines like those of a wolf and then that blonde hair. The one thing that I hated about him. 

Ever since his birth, I couldn't help but feel apprehensive about Leman. His strange behaviour and looks. Never did he scream for food or because he shit himself. Nothing seemed to ever faze him. He never fell, never took time to learn and immediately understood things, didn't make babe noises as is usual and instead started speaking perfectly when he was 3 name days old. 

His strength was always higher than his peers. I saw how he refused to fight his siblings when we wanted to introduce him to the sword. The arrogance, I thought he had when he claimed to already know how to fight and then the bruises he gave me when I challenged him to prove it. The humiliation he gave me that day is something I know, I will never forgive him. His win against Jeor Mormont while good to know, wasn't really surprising. 

I began to dislike him. The feeling, which started out as a small whisper in the farthest depths of my mind, grew gradually as Leman showed more and more promise and abnormalities. I began to hate his strength, his calm demeanour, the lack of faults and his successes reported from Bear Island. I tried to undermine him and his progress, to make him pale in comparison to his brothers. That was the true reason for sending him to Bear Island. I hid this from everyone of course. Lyarra might have guessed the truth but never said anything. The threat of the Ironborn was also something I counted on ... but here he sits, not weaker but stronger than ever.

I don't know how it got to this point but I realised that everything started with the colour of his hair. That blonde hair he has, which is so unlike anything a Stark is supposed to have and the implications it has. 

Betrayal. 

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he asks. 

"How are you?" I ask him. 

"Good."

"... Is that it?"

"Aye."

"You haven't changed at all."

"..."

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he asks again making me angry. 

"Open your mouth, boy. Show your father some respect!"

"What would you like to talk about?" he asks me nonchalantly. 

I stop myself from exploding in anger since I know that it wouldn't help in any way. Instead, I start with what I wanted to talk about.

"Now, that you have come of age, it is time for you to help the family and House Stark. This means you will have to marry in the future. There were a surprising amount of marriage proposals for you. Most of them were for Brandon, but he has already been engaged to Hoster Tully's oldest daughter, Catelyn Tully. Eddard also has a few options open and that leaves Benjen and you. I have already decided on whom you will wed. It is for the stability of the North that you will wed Lord Cerwyn's daughter, Jonelle Cerwyn."

"..."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. I watch him for any reaction but he doesn't say anything. Thinking that he is accepting the situation grittingly, I continue.

"Since yo-"

"No."

"... Come again?"

"I said no. I won't marry Jonelle Cerwyn."

"You will and there is nothing you can do about it."

"I will not. And there are a lot of things I can do about it," he says, angering me greatly. 

"You will do as I wish and that is final!" I say angrily. 

"No. I think that it is only fair that I tell you, that I will choose my own bride, should I ever take one. I am your youngest son and child, you have more than enough to forge strong bonds with the North and do not need me. If the North's stability was so important to you, you could have allowed Brandon to wed Barbrey Ryswell since they were in love already. But you chose to wed Brandon to Catelyn Tully, who is not only a fish, but a southern fish. So don't tell me you want to use my marriage as a way to stabilise the North, because it isn't true."

I don't say anything for a moment. He is right and managed to point out my ambitions, but still, his words make me angry. The gall of this boy to say this to my face, to the face of his father. I feel my anger overwhelm me. So I do what I shouldn't do ... I shout. 

"As long as you live under my roof, you will do what I tell you to! I am the Lord of House Stark and you are but the youngest of my children and have no right to demand or ask anything of me! You think you are responsible and can act on your own? 

Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with swords the the power to do it. Who's gonna do it? You? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for making your own choice in choosing a bride, and you curse the times you live in. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know -- that Brandon's little love story with a nobody, while tragic, probably benefits House Stark in the future; and my choice to have my children, ALL of my children marry for the benefit of House Stark, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is for the betterment and future of our House! 

I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a boy who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very security and prosperity that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it.

I would rather that you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up the pace and stand the post, dealing with the political nightmare that is Westeros and the North. Either way, I don't give a DAMN what you think you're entitled to!"

...

I breathe heavily after this. We look each other in the eye and he doesn't break it. He doesn't look fazed in the slightest still. On the contrary, he looks ... amused. Before I can continue my monologue and give out punishments, he stands up to full height. We are the same height now. 

"That was a good speech, Father. I admire your skill with the tongue, maybe you should focus on that. Poor Mother, she might have had a lot of fun in the bedroom, if you didn't act like a pouty child and show her the cold shoulder. 

You are right in what you say, but you forget a few things. The security and prosperity you provide weren't provided by you alone but by the culmination of those who came before you. Your economic acumen is close to zero, your arrogance is far too high for the amount of skill you show, I never weep and ... I am no boy.

When I say I choose my own bride, I choose my own bride and there is nothing you can do about it. So you better decide right now, Rickard Stark. What will it be? Will you 'allow' me to do that, or will House Stark turn into a laughing stock, because you can't keep your son under control?

This is a world where only the strongest get to have a voice and power and I ... am the strongest. I am the executioner, the one you call when you want the unkillable killed, the Wolf King and the Great Wolf!"

*WWOOOSSHHHH*

The gale came from nowhere as if the chamber wall had been punched out into the void. The force of this unknown wind knocks me sideways, flooring me. My vision reels and my head cracks hard against the stone floor, blood running down my face. I hear what sounds like thunder breaking.

With a lurch of recognition, I realise the rush of this wind is not natural and it is also no coincidence that it arrived at this moment. My vision darkens as I lose more blood. With one final glance, I look at Leman ...

The game is over. The Wolf King has arrived.

...

.

.

I try to open my eyes and wince in pain. Who would have thought that the simple act of opening my eyes would cause me this much pain and difficulty? When I finally manage, I notice that I am in my bed. 

"Ah, Rickard! You're awake!! Thank goodness. I'll go call the Maester at once," I hear Lyarra say. She rushes out of the room like a whirlwind ...

Wind? ... right, that's the last thing I remember before everything went dark. That strange wind came from nowhere and knocked me to the ground. And then Leman ... it was him, wasn't it? He used something on me. Magic. The Starks have the blood of the First Men in them, so having magic is not the most unrealistic thought ... but that would mean ... that he truly is a Stark. 

Wargs or Greenseers are somewhat frequent from the legends here in the North, but not the ability to control wind like that. As long as it was wind. Thinking back to it-

"ARGH!!"

Pain. Lots of pain. 

Just trying to think about it, gives me the feeling of hundreds of swords piercing my skull. 

"Haaa haaa haaa ..." 

I breathe heavily. Enduring this pain uses a lot of energy. I take deep breaths and try to calm down somewhat. The last time I felt this way, was when my father had to teach me a lesson and brought me to Wolfswood to hunt. That was the first time I saw a Direwolf. 

...

Wait! What happened? I feel like something happened that caused me to act so estranged from both Leman and Lyarra. But I am not sure what it is. My memories are all confusing and I feel like they're not my own. I think-

*Boom*

The door is slammed open and Lyarra rushes in. She looks very worried for me. I neglected her for a long time now, because of the jealousy and shame I thought she brought upon me. I thought she bedded another man and sired Leman. But looking at her now ... I know this isn't true, so what is going on? What happened? Why did I start to act that way? And where did those foreign thoughts come from?

"How do you feel, Rickard?" she asks me worriedly and takes my hand into hers. 

"Wa- ... ter..." I croak. 

"Of course, my love. Let me get some water for you," she says and gets the jug of water.

She looks worried but controlled. Clearly, things went as planned in the treatment. Or at least I think so. It pains me to see her like this. I was unjust to her and despite my actions, which I feel weren't my own, I know that I hurt her for no reason. Somehow, my mind was confused and jealousy fostered which is ridiculous to think about. I used to love Leman especially because he was so different, but still so much like a Stark. His demeanour and strength and his connection to the Wolves ... why did I do that?

Then the Maester walks in. 

"Lord Stark, I am glad to see you awake. How are you feeling, my Lord?" he asks me. Hearing his voice unsettles me for some reason. 

I take a sip of water and then cough to clear my voice. 

"Whe-re ... are the ... chil- dren?" 

"They were worried about you and wanted to stay. I told them to go to Harrenhal to clear their heads, but they refused. They might not make it comfortably if they don't go soon," Lyarra tells me. 

They should go. That would give me time to recover and gather my thoughts. I was unfair to my youngest and that will have to change. Now that my mind is clear again, I will need time to get back on my feet. The children shouldn't see Rickard Stark this weak. 

"Bring them in..." I say finally.