[b]Near the Royal Pavillion[/b] Visenya nodded at Ser Towers, a faint smile of approval gracing her features, "Certainly, ser. There are hundreds of competitors and we can find room for another, especially one who has won the king's favor. But if you wish, you may also enter the lists again if you like. A knight was injured in a duel over a maiden's favor and his spot is currently unoccupied. Another was found dreadfully drunk and could not mount his horse. It would be a trivial matter to arrange you to fill their places. I saw you ride at these Stepstone curs, and I am certain you would do well. Either way, I shall see to it you have an honored place at tonight's feast. And you may certainly accompany us in our enjoyments." The bastard princess chuckled and grinned in response to William, "No offense taken my Lord. I am a Waters after all, but you are lucky our revered Mistress of Whispers was not in earshot. Regardless, I am confident I can assuage your requests of wine and wenches." Amusement crossed Visenya's face as she talked to Ser Aerion, "There is no need to stand on formality ser. I am what I am, you may simply call me Visenya if you wish. But I thank you. I shall escort you to the stands. My royal cousins and many high lords and noble ladies are seated there. They will no doubt be charmed by you. Afterwards I will find your friends their amusements." Visenya nodded at them all and escorted the whole party to the stands, where the crashing of the joust and cheers of the crowd blanketed all else. The Kingsguard on duty inclined their heads, and Visenya nodded her head in return as she mounted the steps. Many of the great houses of the realm were seated in this section, protected from the sun by silk awnings, attended by all manner of servants, with a feast's worth of refreshments on hand. Queen Daenerys sat over them all on a wooden chair carved into the shape of a flying dragon, with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a trio of Dothraki Bloodriders, and a cadre of Mother's Legion behind her. Princess Arianne Martell and Ser Aegon sat next to her and all were having pleasant conversation. Prince Aemon and his bride Julianna were rapt in conversation nearby, joking among themselves. Several small council members including Willas Tyrell, Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister, and Asha Greyjoy were present, along with all their retinues and family members. Lord Brandon Stark, his cousin Lord Robin Arryn, and their uncle Lord Edmure Tully sat with their vassals and houses, and discussed matters of state, while the children either watched the tilts or got to all manner of games and mischief. Famed heroes such as Dickon Tarly, Brienne of Tarth, Jorah Mormont, Edric Dayne, and Davos Seaworth were present as well. Even the Freys were present. On the face of it, they were all calm and cordial, even pleasant, but a discerning eye could see subtle signs of rivalry in enmity in the air as the families formed alliances based on seating arrangements and conversational groups. Tyrion Lannister, his hair so white he almost looked like a Targaryen, approached Willas Tyrell, extending a goblet of wine, "Ah Willas, fine day for a wedding is it not? Care for a sip? It is my own vintage, Imp's Delight. To die for, if I do say so myself." Sansa, smiled prettily at Willas, "Thank you for attending our daughter's wedding my lord, the presence of your family means a great deal." Tyrion chuckled, "Even though you had to be here, we appreciate it all the same. It is a triumph in itself we are gathered here today. Just a few decades past, we would have all been at each other's throats." Meanwhile, Alerie was approached by Princess Baella and Prince Jahaerys. The Princess, a maiden of six-and-ten, smiled widely at Alerie, "Welcome to the capital, you must be Alerie, Lord Willas' daughter. I am Baella, this is my brother Jahaerys. Your father is a charming man and quite brilliant. How are you finding our city today? I trust you enjoy the festivities?" Jahaerys, who was the same age as Alerie, bowed and kissed her hand, "Your father is a gallant and kind man; but it is a great crime that one so beautiful as yourself was kept away from court for so long. Men have been hanged for less." Jahaerys smiled at Alerie. The youth was famed for his eloquence, and his chivalrous compliments and it was unclear whether his praise was anything more than polite. Baella for her part, immediately began introducing Alerie to other luminaries of the court while asking her opinions on topics such as the latest fashions, the arts, and what life was like in Highgarden. [img]http://davidstillart.com/port-images/davidstill-brightflame.jpg[/img] Meanwhile on the field, Prince Viserys mounted his horse. His armor was black but seemed to glint in the sunlight and was enameled with bright flame patterns. His great helm was in the shape of a horned dragon, it's mouth opening to reveal his comely face with his violet eyes and silver hair. His horse, a big black destrier was barded with dragon and fire patterns. Viserys' squire handed him his lance and he charged down the list at his opponent, a young Mallister knight. They had already broken three points against each other and the crowd roared as the two knights rode at the other, horseflesh furiously pounding down the lists as lances dipped. Viserys rode his mount as skillfully as he did his dragon Seraxis, a golden beast who perched above the lists nearby. Viserys smoothly lowered his lance straight on at the silver eagle while the Mallister youth lowered his at the last moment, before the crash of impact. Viserys buckled in his seat but stayed ahorse, while Ser Mallister fell off of his mount with a crash. Viserys opened his helm and waved at the crowd and its thunderous applause while Mallister was helped off of the field by his squire. The Prince of Summerhall had already beaten one of the Conningtons, a Prince of Dorne, and Ser Terrance of the Kingsguard. He was renowned for his skill at the lists and was a crowd favorite. Viserys was intent to defend his mother's crown as the queen of love and beauty, and he seemed well on track to do so. Visenya watched Aerion and nodded in approval, "My cousin may be a braggart, but not without good reason." She bowed to the Queen before turning to Aerion, "You may sit where you like, and approach whomever you wish. Even the Queen, she is the friendly sort. Just take care to keep your hands where the guards can see them. Best of luck Ser Aerion, I have no taste for this game myself. I shall find more simple pleasures." She nodded at Aerion, holding his gaze for a moment before departing with the others. [hr] [b]Fairgrounds[/b] Visenya led the gathered warriors back to the fairgrounds. She pointed out a group of a few dozen young lordlings and knights from all of the kingdoms who were forming a circle around two men wrestling in the mud, shouting and yelling all the while. She called out to Lyvia, "The young lords are having their own wrestling tournament. The reigning champion so far is Jeor Mormont, one of the She-Bear's sons." The young Bear was wild and strong. He could not have been more than six-and-ten but he was rippled with muscle, with arms, legs, and chest covered in black hair. He roared as he pinned one opponent to the ground. His opponent, a hapless Sisterman, by the looks of it, yielded to the jubilation of the crowd. Nearby, two Westerlanders, a Lannister and a Marbrand, clashed blades playfully. The lion knight knocked his opponent's blade out of his hands and held the point to his throat as his friend ruefully raised his hands. "Gerion. A second cousin, but quick with a blade." Visenya pointed at a fist fight between two Dragon's Teeth, "My men are fond of fisticuffs, and the company has gathered together a pool for the one who beats all challengers. I hear it's a fair bit of coin." There were many more martial distractions and after pointing them all out Visenya led them to a pavilion of colorful silk tents. Inside where beautiful concubines of all colors and descriptions, hailing from all over the known world. Silver-haired lyseni cavorted with dark-skinned Summer Islanders and pale YiTish as well as girls from all the kingdoms. There were scores of girls, and more than a few men, but between them all they had barely enough clothing for a newborn babe. Their customer base was just as diverse, with a multitude of soldiers, sellswords, knights, and lordlings among them. Most were young, and filled with more lust than they knew what to do with. Visenya knew many a bastard would be sired today. Visenya hailed a thin and lithe young man with a thin black mustache, "Bird, my friends are looking for entertainment. On me." She threw him a pouch of coins which he deftly caught in the air with a wide grin, "Of course. Anything for you Visenya." He snapped his fingers and a long line of prospective companions arrayed themselves before the band. Visenya grinned and said, "Pick whichever one, or two, whomever you like. Then I'll take you to my favorite winesink." Wenches in hand, the knights then made their way to find some drinks. [hr] [b]Food Tent[/b] Theon listened attentively to his daughter as she spoke at length about her travels and her journeys. He rarely interjected, only briefly interrupting to supply a question or the odd jape, but for the most part he let her speak. All the while, Theon felt his apprehension melt away and he gazed at his daughter. He saw much of himself in her. Not his one-time arrogance or vanity, not his hunger for glory, but he saw a thirst for adventure and life that he recognized all too much. A small smile crossed his face as he considered his daughter, and more than a pang of regret run through his mind as he considered how different his life may have been if not for a few choices. He smiled widely at Taria and nodded his thanks before flipping several coins on the table and gesturing at the proprietor, "Ale and the day's catch, fried, for me. My daughter can have whatever she likes." Saying the words out loud drove home their reality. His daughter. His flesh and blood. The thought made him both joyous and sorrowful at the same time. Theon turned to Taria and began speaking, the shadow of a grin crossing his face, "Don't be so formal. You're my daughter, a Greyjoy by blood if not by name. Call me whatever you like. Father, Theon, arsehole, it matters not, so long as it is not Lord Commander. I get that enough from my sworn brothers." He chuckled, "It was a long time ago but I believe I know who you mother was. I would remember those eyes and that hair anywhere. Now she was one of my favorites. I wonder how she fares now." The serving girl brought both their drinks and Theon raised his tankard, "To your mother. And to family. What is dead may never die." He clanked his tankard against hers and drank deeply before slamming the tankard back down and gesturing for another round. "If truth be told, perhaps it was for the better that you were never trueborn. Between my uncle and the Boltons, you never would have survived. And if you were a named Greyjoy now... well my sister raised true Ironborn, and that is both a blessing and a curse. But I am glad, we are here now, and you are the woman you grew up to be. Snow or Greyjoy, you are my daughter and for that I am forever thankful." Theon held eyes with Taria and smiled warmly. "As for stories, well I suppose I have a few." Theon's drink was refilled and he began to tell her of his life, his adventures, his failings, and triumphs. While he drank, and ate, and laughed, he told her of his childhood growing up on Pyke; then at Winterfell where he grew close to the Starks. He told her of his days riding under the Young Wolf, his encounters with Stannis Baratheon, the war with Euron Greyjoy, his climb from lowly turncloak to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He told her many farcical jokes and stories involving Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and many other legendary and powerful people he had known. He told her nothing of the Siege of Pyke, of his betrayal of Robb Stark, his time held captive by the Boltons, nor of the War for the Dawn. All of those were dark memories, and he wished for his first meeting with his daughter to be full of only mirth. When he was finished, and on his third fish, he drained his newest tankard and said, "The Wall may be a place of high honor, but the food leaves much to be desired. As does the company in many cases. Unsullied do not make for fine drinking companions. It is dark, windy, full of cutthroats and thieves. And damn cold. But it is beautiful. Perhaps someday I can show you the Wall. There's nothing like standing at the end of the world." Suddenly, a large group of warriors with whores on their arms entered the tent with much cheer and humor on their lips. Theon smiled and embraced one of them, none other than Black Visenya herself; clad in her black and red leather. He laughed, "Visenya Waters, the most ruthless cold-hearted warrior outside the Iron Islands!" Visenya chuckled back, "Theon Greyjoy, as flattering as ever." "Visenya, this is my daughter Taria." "My sympathies Taria, your father is a rogue of the highest order. And I mean that in the best way possible." "And Visenya is almost as good an archer as I was at her age. It is a shame they don't allow women on the Wall, Visenya, you'd be First Ranger in a year." "What do you mean they don't allow women? You're the Lord Commander!" Their shared laughter bellowed through the tent and Theon slapped Visenya on the back before doing the same to Taria. Theon turned to his daughter, "I've had a wonderful time, but duty calls now. I must mingle with the nobles, convince them to keep supporting the Watch. You are free to join me, you'll have a place of honor and get to meet the likes of the Imp, and the Silver Queen. But if not, come to the Red Keep later to the wedding feast; and all the visiting officers of the Watch will be quartered there as well. Otherwise, Black Visenya will certainly provide you with entertainment." Theon waited for her answer before embracing Taria and departing, either with her by his side or not, but with the promise of seeing her again in the future. Black Visenya threw the proprietor another heavy bag of coin, "Another round on me!" The whole tent, wenches and customers both, shouted in approval as the serving girl brought them all drinks. Visenya humorously wrapped an arm around the inebriated Lord Bolton and raised her tankard to the air, "To the White Wolf and the Silver Queen! To Prince Aemon and Princess Julianna! To the Targaryens! Fire and Blood!" The whole tent shouted with her, "Fire and Blood!" Then they all shouted cheerfully and began downing their drinks, with Visenya finishing hers in one long pull. [hr] Rhaenys tugged on Jenn's skirts, "Let's go to the stands Jenn, we should watch the tilts. I hear Viserys is going to be matched up with the Tyrell boy. I want to see who'll win, come on!" The children, half-dragged half-led Jenn to the tourney stands with Lyrax flying over to perch next to her sibling as the gang ran up to join the audience in the private boxes, leaving Jenn free to converse with her kin to her heart's content. [hr] Jon was strapping on his armor with the help of his squires, one of Brandon's sons and one of Aegon's. The plate was white, the color of a weirwood, and patterned like dragon scales with swirling enamel designs evoking blood spatters. The pauldrons depicted snarling white wolves with red eyes and bloody teeth. His helm was topped by black spikes shaped into knives and patterned like a crown. The armor was more opulent and rich than was his preference but Tyrion and Dany had long ago convinced him of the important of such ceremony and appearances to both the commons and the nobility. Jon strapped on his sword, a plain bastard sword with a white wolf pommel, when he looked up in the mirror and saw his sister standing silently behind them all. "How do you do that? I didn't hear a thing. Neither did Ghost." Indeed, the direwolf looked up at his master's sister and padded over to sniff her. Nymeria slunk into the room and the two wolves immediately ran off together out of the tent. Arya simply said, "We need to talk." Jon nodded to his squires, "Leave us. Wait for me near the melee grounds." The two boys bowed and silently retreated. He turned to Arya, "Well?" "We found a would-be assassin in the Keep. I had been tracking him, but a Frey slew him when he entered the guest wings. He had been sneaking around the Martell quarters. It is lucky we already had Viserys' family moved to Maegor's Holdfast." Jon's face darkened dangerously, "On my grandchild's nameday? On my son's wedding day? That rat is lucky, he is already dead. How did he get in? The guard was doubled." "We think he either found one of the secret passages, or... had alternate means of travel." "Neither bodes well." "Indeed, we must act." "I took prisoners, perhaps they know something of this Pirate King's location. Gather what intelligence you can. Give me a target. And when this wedding is done, I will wipe these scum from the face of the Earth." "I have a few ideas about how that can be achieved. After the feast, at the council meeting, I shall present my findings." "Good. Now, I have a melee to attend. Time runs short." "Your son intends to face you." "I know." "He is intent on the Kingsguard, intent on gaining your favor and respect." "I wish he would choose differently. Aemon is the one who shall rule, his duty is his birthright. But Rhaegar need not make himself a slave to honor and duty, he is young; and has not tasted life's treasures. He does not know what he would be giving up." "He is his father's son." Jon smiled, "Yes. He is." Jon donned his helm and walked out of the tent, Arya by his side. The melee would begin within the hour. When he rode onto the field in his white armor, atop his red and white barded destrier, the cheering of the crowd's rang in his ears as several cried out, "WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF!" He rode onto the field with no Kingsguard. They would have been a valuable asset in the competition, but they would have only fought at his side and would not have given their all when fighting him. However many worthy competitors had taken to the field with deadly arms and strong mounts. The Commander of the Winter Wolves, himself a young Stark, rode onto the field with a wolf-like helm and a black-furred cloak. A Corbray Winged Knight with his falcon-winged helm and silver plate armor cut an imposing figure while a cadre of Green Hand knights threw several roses into the stands to the approval of the bystanders. A Dothraki, one of the Bloodriders, shouted in his foreign tongue and twirled his curved arakh in his hand as a tall, broad shouldered Dragon's Tooth sat quietly atop his horse; and a Martell princess with leather armor made a show of twirling her snake-headed spear above her head and behind her back while standing in the stirrups. Morros Slynt, in his gold gilded steel atop his gold barded mount had a broad smile for the whole field, assured of his victory. The lightning lord in his black and purple plate waved at the crowd while a burly Drumm reaver readied twin axes, a Mormont She-Bear pounded her mace on her shield, and an Alchemist in fire patterned robes wielded a sword aflame with green fire. One man of the Watch, a ranger with a cocky grin, had two swords strapped to his belt; and one of the Manderlys rode onto the field bedecked in merman armor, looking as if he had rode in from the sea. There were over two hundred competitors in all, many veterans of the old wars, but many more youthful warriors itching to prove their worth. Jon knew his son would soon be among them. [hr] [@Masterkeun][@DrunkasaurusRex][@bloonewb][@kingkonrad][@Abefroeman][@Greenie]