A Vow Without Honor

The Tournament - Part II

(Warning - Violent Content Ahead)

Ned

"You didn't bring my token."

"Am I supposed to? You aren't competing anymore."

"Well, no, but it would have been nice."

"Are you pouting?"

He let the conversation between his daughter and Renly Baratheon fade into the background. Any day now, he thought, and the boy would come to him to ask for her hand. How strange it would feel to him, an image long past of Robert and Lyanna. But that was not it, no, and he should not think of it as such. It would be an ill omen, even if much of this felt...fated.

Sansa kept glancing up at the two of them, a sort of dreamy look in her eyes. As far as he knew, the prince had yet to speak to her again. He supposed she needed something to look to.

To her right, Littlefinger said something. Now here was a development he did not care for. He had needlessly involved one daughter in their affairs.

Above them, just to the left of where Renly and Myra sat, the two somehow coordinated again in shades of blue, Robert was strangely silent. Perhaps he had lied a little about no one wanting to strike him. Jaime Lannister would have, and Robert would have gone at him with such ferocity, at least one of them would have wound up seriously injured.

Although, Ned noted, Robert was unlikely to be unhorsed.

It was a terrible joke, yet somehow he could still hear his friend laughing.

Jesters that had been rolling about in the dirt for entertainment took off suddenly and the jousting began again. There were only three left that day, and the first belonged to Ser Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane. The introduction of the latter brought little fanfare, while the former received a great deal of shouts, and quite a few words from Robert's position.

"One hundred gold on the Kingslayer," Littlefinger declared to his right.

"I'll take that bet!" Renly shouted from above. "The Hound looks hungry."

He supposed the young Baratheon would know.

"And what does the lady think?" Littlefinger asked.

Ned glanced back to his daughter, who was rolling her eyes. "The lady thinks this cruel sport should end already."

He nodded. It was good to know this place had not changed her. Although, given the other night, he might have wished the opposite. Ned supposed it was much to ask of Myra, going against her better nature, but standing up before the King in the midst of his court was...dangerous, foolish, almost treasonous if spun the proper way. But when they had spoken, she'd had no regrets, and her eyes glowed with a familiar defiance that asked him to tell her she was wrong. He had given in with a sigh and a warning, which he knew she would take to heart.

The two jousters passed each other, and Sandor Clegane was nearly unhorsed. Cheers rose in the commons. Robert had gone silent again. Sansa was quiet, entirely captivated, while Myra gasped at every movement.

They went at it again, only now Jaime Lannister was the one in trouble. He fell off his steed, headfirst, and rolled in the dirt for some feet. The crowd stilled while Robert roared with laughter.

"Is he alright?" Myra asked.

"Of course he is," Renly reassured her. "A Lannister wouldn't dare die at a tourney. Now, Lord Baelish, about that gold of mine."

The young Baratheon was right. Jaime got to his feet, unscathed, although he appeared to be having some difficulty with his helm. It was dented, and in no time it was obvious to nearly everyone that he could not get the thing off.