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The Last King by Greed720
 Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Percy J., Words: 184k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 5k+, Published: Jan 22, 2018 Updated: Oct 27 1,644Chapter 9
AN: Hi all, it's me again. I decided as a thank you for all the support my last chapter received, and all the support my readers have given me thus far that I would get this chapter out sooner than I intended.
I hope you all enjoy it, as I had to rewrite a few bits, to get it to the point at which I was happy enough to publish.
Hope you all leave a review at the end.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones.
( - )
(Last Time)
These visions including those of a large white tree upon a frozen hill, and a dark, dank, bone filled cavern that was underneath it. The cavern and its sole occupant hidden from view by the ancient trees gnarled roots.
He also dreamed of three dragons, flying through the skies. The shadows their mighty forms cast, passing over a mighty walled city in some arid and dry country.
After that he saw a field of ice and snow, through which a vast army of undead men and women marched. Their forms rotting and decaying, some little more than bones held together through the sheer will of their masters.
Then finally the last thing he saw before he woke, the one which struck him most, was the image of striking, young looking girl, with golden brown skin and bronze coloured hair. A slightly mischievous smile on her face as she peered at him from around the trunk of a tree.
That was the last image he saw before he vaulted up in his bed. His breath coming out ragged as he sat up in bed, his body covered in a film of sweat and his green eyes wide.
( - )
Chapter 9
( - )
(In King's Landing a few days later)
"It's the Hand's Tourney that's causing all the trouble my Lords." Ser Beric Dondarrion, the Commander of the City Watch reported gruffly as he stood in front of the Small Council.
The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties with cropped brown hair and dark eyes, scowling as he stood before some of the most powerful Lord's in Westeros. His golden helmet held under one of his arms, whilst his gold cloak was swept over his shoulder, the rest of his outfit consisting of similarly gold coloured armour and chainmail, all of which was to be expected from the Commander of the City Watch, colloquially known to many as the Gold Cloaks.
Tytan let out a slight sigh as he heard that, not because he was frustrated with Beric. No in fact he was quite fond of the man, which is why he had seen to it that he was named the Commander of the City Watch. The man was reliable, efficient and loyal to a fault, promoting him to his position had been one of the better decisions Tytan had made.
He was a far better choice that the easily corruptible and untrustworthy Janos Slynt, a fat turd of a man, who Tytan had swiftly booted from any position of power. The man after all couldn't be trusted, and was loyal only to the one who paid him the most. Which for Tytan just didn't work.
No, the reason he was sighing was because of the trouble the tournament was causing. As, for the last few days much of his time had been spent putting out metaphorical fires as he strived to maintain order in a vastly overcrowded city. Often times he had to be called in by Beric or one of his captains to intervene himself when it involved high ranking nobles, Tytan's own position as Crown Prince trumping anyone else position in the hierarchy and allowing him to deal with any issues or problems they might be causing.
Of course when this did happen, Tytan ensured that his irritation with the situation was impressed on the offending nobles when it came to him dishing out the necessary punishment.
"The King's tournament," Eddard Stark interrupted abruptly, a frown on his face as he did so. The Lord Hand being more annoyed that Tytan, due to the fact that he had a lot more to deal with. After all Tytan was occasionally called in to help, Ned meanwhile had had to oversee every aspect of the tournament "I assure you, the Hand wants no part in this matter."
"As you say my Lord, but even so knights have been arriving from all over the realm to participate, and along with them, there's the Lord's entourages, craftsmen seeking work, sellswords looking to enter the melee and many more." Beric continued, his voice filled with frustration as he tried his best to show the Councilors just what he had to deal with. "On top of that, this cursed heat is causing tempers to rise, and has meant that sickness has started to spread in some of the more crowded areas. And all of this is only made worse by all of the visitors to the city. Last night alone we had a drowning, a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters, an attempted rape, three knife fights and a number of other similar crimes. Including the death of a knight, Ser Hugh of the Vale, the silly bastard, who ended up drinking too much before he fell in a river and drowned."
"Simply dreadful…" Varys commented lightly, his voice filled with false sincerity. Though there was certain gleam in his eyes as he heard of the death of the late Jon Arryn's former squire, Ser Hugh.
"If you can't keep the King's peace Dondarrion, maybe I should find someone else who should." Renly spoke up a scowl on his face, acting in the way that was expected of the Master of Justice, even though all those present knew he held no real power. "Maybe it was wrong to appoint you to the position of Commander, maybe Janos Slynt should be put back into the position."
"Well that might be difficult considering he's been reassigned to sewage duty." Tytan replied dryly, his expression not quite as stern as the others. "Besides in a city of nearly half a million people, crime is something that is just going to happen, no matter what. The only thing we can really do is attempt to mitigate the worst of it, and see to it that the culprits are punished so severely that it will stop others from attempting the same."
Renly frowned as he heard that, but still nodded his head, unable to refute the Prince's words, even if he wanted too.
"I take it the culprits have been caught." Tytan added on, his expression now on Beric.
"Yes my Prince, the attempted rapist has been castrated and will be sent to the Wall. The men involved in the horse race are now spending some time in the stocks. As for those caught fighting within the city limits, they've been imprisoned for now and may be punished depending on what evidence my men find." Beric replied dutifully, knowing that the Crown Prince, although a generous and kind benefactor, expected results. It was one of the things Beric respected about the man, he would never ask you to do something that he himself wouldn't do, but when he did ask you to do something he expected it done right.
"Good, though we'll need to increase the amount of men at your disposal if we are to continue to manage the volume of visitors and the rising crime rates." Tytan spoke up, a slight frown on his face as he drummed his fingers on the table top. "How many men do you have in your command at the moment?"
"Five thousand men my Prince, though half of those are spread over the Crownlands, under the command of trusted captains, with those outside of the Capital working to keep the peace." Beric replied, the number of men under his command having grown since he had become Commander of the Gold Cloaks, with the Prince's patronage. "I also have another three thousand men spread over the rest of the Kingdoms as well, though they are assigned to hunting down bandits and ensuring order on the King's Road."
Tytan nodded at that, eight thousand men, all of whom were trained and loyal, that was something Tytan had ensured. Eight thousand Gold Cloaks loyal only to him and the realm. Plus the other forces he had been building in King's Landing and the Crownlands, it was a lot, but was it enough?
Tytan smiled grimly as he looked over to the other Lords, "Two thousand five hundred men to try and keep the peace in a city filled with at least five hundred thousand souls? That's a tall task."
"You make a good point." Ned finally spoke up, a slight frown on his face as he looked at the Crown Prince. The northern Lord having not quite decided what he thought of the younger man. He seemed decent enough, and he had witnessed the unnatural powers he possessed, powers that had most looking at him as blessed by the Gods. Despite that though there was just something off about him. He had old eyes, and his actions weren't those of a young Prince, but of a hardened leader, one who was used to making the difficult choices. On top of that Ned also got the sense that the Prince didn't particularly like him. "How many men do you need Commander?"
"As many as possible my Lord." Beric replied bluntly as he looked away from the Prince and instead met Ned's stoic gaze, with his own grim look.
"Hire one hundred new men." Ned finally said, glancing over at Renly as he did so, only to be surprised when he saw the man was no longer paying attention, the other man having given up any presence of control now. Not that is mattered, as Ned instead turned to Baelsih. "Lord Baelish will see that you get the coin for it."
Littlefinger was rather surprised by that as he raised an eyebrow in surprise, "I will?"
Ned nodded his head in response, "You managed to find the funds for this entire spectacle. I'm sure you can find a bit more to hire a few more guards."
"Or he might not have to." Tytan spoke up, a slight smile on his face.
The comment garnering him the attention of the rest of the Council, a number of the other men giving him suspicious look. Not that Tytan gave a damn about their opinions.
"How do you mean Prince Tytan?" Varys asked softly, a slight patronizing tone in his voice, "I see no other way to get the needed men to keep the King's peace, you yourself made that quite clear."
"Yeah, but I wouldn't trust a sellsword to run a bath. No I wouldn't want anyone of questionable loyal like a sellsword to be inducted into the Gold Cloaks and given any kind of authority over my people. Instead I'll lend Ser Beric some of my men." Tytan replied with a shrug of his shoulders, "I've got a company of three hundred within the City, some of them the Baratheon guardsmen who my father assigned to my protection. I would be willing to part with a hundred of them for now."
Littlefinger looked up at that, his eyes narrowing. After all those three hundred men were the ones the Prince had guarding Baelish's, now the Prince's, property and keeping an eye on him. If some of them were to be reassigned, it could spell an opportunity for him. "That's quite the large contingent my Prince. I was not aware you needed so many?"
"Well I am the Crown Prince and a representative of the Small Council on my father's behalf." Tytan replied as in answer to Baelish's question, even if it wasn't a particularly enlightening answer. Before without another word he dismissed Baelish and instead looked over to Beric. "So as I was saying, I'll lend you a hundred of my guardsmen for now. If you need more, you can just come to me."
"My Prince." Beric replied with a curt bow.
"I'd lend you more, however many of them have duties to fulfil around the Capital." Tytan added on vaguely, his gaze meeting Baelish's for a moment. His sea green eyes flashing dangerously when he saw Baelish's smirk, instantly suspicious at the look.
Ignorant of this, Ned merely gave Tytan a nod of thanks before he added his own contribution, "And I'll lend you fifty of my household guards to serve with the City Watch until the crowds have left." Ned added as he turned back to look at the Commander of the City Watch.
"Thank you, my Prince, Lord Stark." Beric replied with a short bow of his head to the named men and the rest of the Council, "I shall make sure I put them to good use."
With that said Ser Beric gave another brief nod before he turned and left the room, the two Gold Cloaks who had accompanied him, following after him, after giving their own short bows to the Council.
With that issue settled, Ned sighed before he turned to the other members of the Small Council, "The sooner this is all done with, the better I can sleep."
"Events like these aren't so bad." Varys spoke up softly, an amused look on his face as he saw Ned's reaction, the northern Lord having obviously not gotten used to the bureaucratic nightmare that was running the Seven Kingdom, "They can actually be a rather good source of money, a way for the Crown to continue repaying its debts to the Iron Bank, and the Lannisters."
"Varys is correct my Lord Hand," Pycelle added on, shifting around in his seat as he did so, his aged eyes now resting on the Hand, "The realm prospers from such things. It gives the chance for some to earn glory and the commonfolk a show, a distraction to keep them entertained and happy."
"If done correctly, a tournament can be beneficial to the Crown." Tytan spoke up next, his expression amused.
"Which is exactly what the Lord Hand is doing." Pycelle replied swiftly, his eyes now on the Prince, a hint of distain visible in his gaze.
Ned sighed as he heard that, sensing that the assembled men might be about to descend into squabbling and sniping, again. Which was something he had no time for today, which is why he rose from his seat and gave them all a nod, "I hope you are right Grand Maester, now unless there is any other business I would like to call an end to the meeting today."
After a few moments of silence, Ned proceeded to nod his head and call an end to the meeting. The different members all getting up and beginning to leave, with Varys, Baelish and Renly leaving quite swiftly, none of them hanging around for long.
Tytan himself also stood up quite quickly, his gaze shifting over to the side of the room where his Uncle Jamie was idly leaning. A bored look on his face as he stared off into space, the blonde man having likely zoned out due to the tediousness of the meeting.
"My Lord Hand, till we meet again." Tytan said with a short nod to Ned, getting Jamie's attention as he did so.
"You as well Prince Tytan." Ned replied absently, his attention instead turning to the shuffling figure of Pycelle.
Ignoring that Tytan headed for the door, the armour clad Jamie following behind him. Before he left the room though, he was able to hear Ned calling Pycelle back. Asking for a word about the death of Jon Arryn.
Frowning as he heard that, Tytan paused momentarily before leaving. A part of him somewhat suspicious about what Lord Stark was up to, after all Jon Arryn had been an old man, and had died of a fever. As far as Tytan was aware there was nothing untoward when it came to his death. Which of course begged the question of why Ned Stark seemed to be investigating it?
Ignoring Lord Stark's actions for now though, Tytan instead began to make his way through the hallways of King's Landing. Already planning to head to one of the nicer brothels he had 'liberated' from Baelish, where he knew his men would be waiting for him. The airy and well-furnished brothel being a much more pleasant place to spend his time than in the crowded Red Keep, which at the moment was filled with hurrying servants and visiting nobles.
"So tell me Jamie, do you reckon you'll enter the tourney this year?" Tytan questioned as he weaved his way through the corridors, Jamie following along next to him.
"Maybe in the jousting," Jamie replied in amusement, a slight smile on his face. "After all the competition this time looks like it will be quite entertaining."
"Not the melee?" Tytan replied with a slight smirk.
"Considering how many men there are that wouldn't mind slipping a knife between my ribs, I think I'll give it a miss this year." Jamie replied dryly, exaggerating his unpopularity somewhat. "What of you Tytan, do you think you'll enter both?"
"The jousting certainly, plus I'll give the melee a go too. We wouldn't want someone running off with too much of the Crown's gold after all." Tytan replied a slight grin on his face.
"You make it sound like you would gift the prize money back to the Crown?" Jamie said, a look of disbelief on his face. After all his nephew was a good man, a generous one too, but he wasn't a fool.
"Not freely," Tytan replied vaguely, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
"Oh really, and what does that mean?" Jamie asked with a light frown, trying to work out what it was his unpredictable nephew was thinking this time.
"You'll see." Tytan replied still smirking, a slight twinkle in his sea green gaze as he looked over to his Uncle.
( - )
(A few days later, with Sansa Stark)
For Sansa this was a big day, in fact she'd been looking forward to this day ever since she had first come to King's Landing and heard that the King was hosting a tournament in honour of her father becoming the new Hand.
So far King's Landing had lived up to her expectations, sure a part of her missed her pet, Lady, but another part of her knew that the Direwolf would likely be happier back in Winterfell. On top of which Sansa was confident that maybe in a few months, or after she had married Joffrey, that she would be able to have Lady brought back to her. With the Direwolf then, hopefully being fully grown and fully trained.
For now though she was simply excited, excited to see what the day would bring. After all she would finally be able to see all of those noble knights riding their mighty horse and wearing their beautiful armour that would shine and gleam in the midday sun. It was something she had dreamed about since she was a little girl, the handsome knights parading before her, engaging in elegant and honourable combat. All so that they had the honour of naming the tournaments Queen of Beauty. Which incidentally was why she had worn her finest dress this day, and had spent the last few hours making sure she looked as radiant as possible.
Currently both she and her friend Jeyne Poole, the daughter of her father's steward, and Septa Mordane were sat in a box filled with cushioned seats, with many of the high Lords and Ladies of Westeros who had come to watch the tourney. In fact the only slight blight on what was looking to be a perfect day, was the fact that her younger sister, Arya, was also here.
Sansa's plain looking sister having been forced to take a break from her silly little 'Dancing Lessons', to be here at their father's request. Not that Sansa really believed Arya was doing 'Dancing Lessons', her sister had no sense of rhythm and her coordination was atrocious. Still Sansa wasn't going to let someone like Arya spoil her special day, not when the sun was up and the tournament was about to begin.
Speaking of her father at that moment he was sat in the stands just behind her, holding a brief conversation with a sly looking man, with cropped black hair and a thin moustache. Or at least he was before the King's brother, Lord Renly Baratheon interrupted them, engaging them in conversation. Not that Sansa found this particularly interesting.
Especially since the tournament had just started, and the knights had just begun to ride out onto the arena like field.
Looking out over the dusty field, the auburn haired girl and her friend couldn't help but sigh in wonder as they watched the knights ride out astride their might steeds. All of them bedecked in gleaming plate armour, with Lord's and knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms having travelled to take part. Their banners showing their Houses sigil being carried behind them by their squires.
As this was happening a loud cheer rang out, mainly coming from the commonfolk who were watching from some separate very crowded stands, most of them having to stand because of the lack of seats. That's not to say the nobles didn't make their own enthusiasm known, as noble ladies politely clapped and noble men stamped their feet and cheered. For once the rich and the poor being united in their excitement for the event to come.
For Sansa it was obvious to see why they were all so excited, the knights all looked magnificent as they paraded up and down the field, their helmets held under their arms as they continued to enter, a half dozen quickly turning into a dozen, then even more as they rode in one at a time to the cheers of the crowd. The latest entrant being the famous Ser Jamie Lannister, who rode into the arena on a large white horse, his golden plate armour gleaming in the sunlight, his equally golden haired head free from its helmet as he smiled and waved at the crowd. The armour he was wearing being somewhat reminiscent of his Kingsguard armour.
Seeing the man, the one touted to be one of the most handsome men in the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa couldn't help but turn to look at Jeyne and share an excited smile/ giggle, her cheeks going pink at the sight of him.
Before either one of them could say anything though, they were distracted by the trumpets that rang out, the crowd of smallfolk and the nobles who were watching, taking it as a sign to take their seats or quiet down, whilst the armoured men in the field below began to ride off to their lists.
Turning her head, Sansa then watched as the Royal family sat in their own private box. The King slouching in his throne like chair, the stag themed crown on his head and his cheeks already red and flushed from the wine he had been chugging for the last few hours. His thick, dark beard already matted with a mixture of food and wine.
Seeing the fat King, Sansa had to hide a grimace. A part of her not sure how the elegant and beautiful Queen Cersei could put up with being married to such a pig of a man. The man was nothing like the stories her father used to tell her and her brothers, instead he was just some fat, flatulent old man, not that she would tell him that.
Thankfully though his children were better, with Joffrey, her betrothed sitting his own chair a slight smirk on his beautiful face, and his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he idly drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat, resplendent as he was in a beautiful red silk jacket and leather breeches. Beside him his younger brother and sister were also sat, both of them dressed respectably, with eager expressions clear to see on their face as they too watched the knights.
Taking her eyes of her betrothed and his younger siblings, Sansa tried to find the dashing Crown Prince, Tytan the Blessed. Despite looking though, the Prince was conspicuously absent from the Royal box, which was a shame as Sansa found him quite pleasant to look at. Not as beautiful as his younger brother, but still good looking. A black stag as oppose to a golden lion.
( - )
(With Tytan a few minutes earlier)
Letting out a slight sigh, Tytan continued to stare off into the distance, a wistful smile on his face as he just gazed into the distance, not looking at anything in particular.
As Tytan was doing this, Matthias, one of his personal guards, was tugging at the straps of the Prince's armour. A slight frown on his face as he tightened some of the buckles around the torso and loosened the ones on the shoulders.
"Oi arsehole, what you thinking about?" Mathias grunted as he looked up and saw his liege Lord was staring into the distance. "You should have your mind on the competition, if you keep on day dreaming you're going to get the shit knocked out of you!"
"Well looks like someone is in a mood today?" Martin, another guardsman, said lightly as he walked over to the two, The Prince's ornate helmet in his hands, the man having to hold the expensive piece of armour carefully as it had two majestic antlers protruding from it, the razor sharp antlers having been crafted from Balerion the Dread's bones, just like the Prince's shield and the hilt of his sword had been.
"Yeah, I mean you do realise that Tytan over there is the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, he could literally have the tongue ripped from your skull for talking to him like that." Ivar said dryly from where he was sat on a nearby crate, a wine skin in one hand as he looked over at the others. The blonde haired man not really doing anything as the Prince had given him the day off, not that he had much else to do but watch the tournament with his mates on a day like today.
"Yeah but Tytan wouldn't do that, after all then he'd have to find someone else to buckle his armour on for him." Matthias replied absently, his brown eyes narrowed as he finished adjusting the Prince's armour. Not really concerned about any potential retaliation from the Prince, after all the man counted him as a friend, and if there was one thing the Prince was, it was loyal to his friends. Which meant that he let things slide that other Lords wouldn't, within reason of course, and as long as there weren't other nobles around.
"Hmm, what?" Tytan asked, as he blinked and looked over to Matthias, a note of curiousity in his voice as he saw the man roll his eyes.
"He was wondering what you were day dreaming about, oh and he called you a piece of goat's turd." Ivar spoke up helpfully, a sly grin on his face as he saw Matthias scowl at him.
"To be fair I just said you were an arsehole." Matthias added on, as he stood up and met Tytan's amused gaze.
"Coming from a dickless wildling like you, I'll take it as a compliment." Tytan replied dryly, not really putting any effort into his counter insult.
"Dickless wildling? I thought you were more inventive that that?" Martin said in amusement as he handed Tytan his helmet.
"Yeah sorry, I've just got my mind on other things. I've been having dreams lately, a recurring one that I keep dreaming about almost every night." Tytan replied absently as he put the helmet to one side.
"Oh really, was it the having sex with a horse kind, or the farting out a fireball kind?" Ivar asked loudly, and with a bark of laughter as he took another swig from his now depleted wineskin.
"I don't know what kind of shit you dream about Ivar, but no, I'm not quite as fucked up as you." Tytan replied a bemused expression on his face.
"Then what was it?" Matthias replied absently as he turned and grabbed the Prince's warhorse, pulling it over from where it had been tied up, fully saddled and amoured, with finely crafted steel armour covering its chest, neck and face.
"A few things really, I dreamt of a large Weirwood tree in the far north and of a skeleton riddled cavern below. On top of which I also saw an army of the dead marching through a frozen tundra and three giant dragons flying over some city in Essos, I think." Tytan replied a slight frown on his face as he looked to his fellow.
"Well shit, that is pretty weird." Ivar finally said, a frown on his face as he leant forward.
"Do you reckon your dream meant anything? Maybe a vision from the Seven?" Martin asked, his mind going back to Tytan's unnatural abilities and the pretty well established fact that it was due to him being blessed by the Gods.
"Maybe, I've had them before, but not for a while." Tytan replied, thinking back to the dreams he used to have as a Demigod. "They could be things that have already happened centuries ago, things that are happening now, or things that may or may not happen in the future. That or they could just be a meaningless dream that felt more real than usual. Though I hope not."
"Why, your dream seems pretty dire?" Matthias questioned, a frown on his face as he gave the Prince a confused look.
Tytan shifted uncomfortably at that, before he shrugged his shoulders. "The last bit of my dream, there was a girl in it."
"Oh ho ho!" Ivar said loudly and with a large grin on his face, "Ok this seems a bit more normal! So what did she look like?!"
"She was strange and beautiful, unnaturally so. I don't think I've ever seen anyone like her before, even now I don't think any words I say could give her justice... she… she was just all consuming… no more than that, she was…" Tytan trailed off, the words dying in his mouth as he tried to describe the girl he had seen in his dreams, even now he wasn't sure whether she could possibly be real. She was enchanting and fascinating, and had seemed to possess an almost inhuman grace.
"Well shit, it seems like you're smitten. I mean I've seen you with dozens and dozens of women, from whores to noble ladies, and even a few peasant girls. But I've new seen you like this, sure you've been fond of some but this, this is different." Martin said a faint smile on his face as he looked down at the slightly younger Prince.
"Bullshit, how can he be in love with someone he's never met, I mean Seven hells she might not even be real!" Ivar said, a confused look on his face.
"I know, but I hope she is. I really want to meet her." Tytan replied softly, his mind going back to the girl, and remembering not only the mischievous smile on her face, but also the look in her eyes, it was one of sadness…
"Of course you do, after all you clearly want to…!" Ivar replied with a grin, before he trailed off as he saw the almost somber look on the Prince's face as he once again stared out into the distance.
Before anymore could be said, the sound of trumpets rang out over the field.
"Shit, looks like it's about to start!" Matthias suddenly cursed as he dragged the horse over. "Come on Tytan, get your head in the game."
Tytan nodded at that, shaking away the thoughts of his dream as he instead hauled himself up in the saddle of his steed, ignoring the horse's muttered curses about having to carry the fully armoured Prince.
( - )
(With Sansa a few minutes later on the Tournament Grounds)
A light gasp left Sansa's mouth as she saw a final armoured knight ride into the field, this one arriving just after the trumpet had sounded. Not that the crowd seemed to care, because upon seeing him and the banner that flew behind him the crowd roared louder than ever. The youngest Prince and Princess went as far as to jump to their feet in their box and cheer loudly. The Queen meanwhile even cracked a slight smile at the sight.
Immediately Sansa could see why the armoured knight received such adulation, after all it was Prince Tytan, and Sansa could safely say he looked magnificent as he rode through the field, clad in gleaming silver plate armour with intricate gold patterns running along the edges. His head currently bear of a helmet, his mane of black hair and his dazzling sea green eyes on full display.
Under one of Prince's arms the he carried an intricate silver helmet, with pale white antlers protruding from the top, whilst in his other arm he held a pale white shield, which had the Baratheon Stag painted on it in bold, black paint.
Just looking at the man, Sansa could see that he embodied everything she thought a Prince should be. He look positively kingly as he rode past her, a slight smile on his face and a twinkle in his sea green eyes as he gave the Royal box a slight nod as he passed. Receiving adulation his two youngest siblings, a gargled shout from his drunken father, and a faint smile from his mother as he did so. Joffrey however noticeably sneered at the sight of his brother parading around, much to Sansa's disappointment.
Though she was sure he had a reason. Putting that out of her mind, Sansa instead turned to watch the proceedings. An excited smile on her face as she saw it had begun.
What followed next was a loud cheer from the crowd as a finely dressed man in the King's colours called the name of two knights, announcing the first tilt of the day. With the first tilt being between Ser Balon Swann, and Ser Meryn Trant, a member of the Kingsguard. Which was over almost as fast as it started as the two men rode to the opposite end of the fields, their squires running over to them with a lance.
Ser Balon resplendent in his silver armour, with his House's sigil, a swan, displayed on his shield. Meryn Trant however was wearing his Kingsguard armour, with the usual gold coloured helmet having been replaced by a different helmet, with this one having a visor.
Despite the lead up to the match though, it didn't last as long as Sansa had expected as Ser Balon scored two broken lances on Ser Meryn chest, and unhorsed him with the third. Effectively winning the match with almost embarrassing ease. Much to the amusement of the nobles and commonfolk alike, who all jeered as Ser Meryn was dragged from the field on a stretcher.
From beside her Sansa could hear Arya's muttered exclamations of glee at the violence of the competition. Not that the elder sister paid her much attention, as she was more caught up in the young Balon parading around the field celebrating his victory. Of course she also heard her father commenting on Ser Balon's style, and questioning whether it would be as effective in a 'real fight', not that she paid much attention to that either.
A number of matches followed this, as the crowd got more and more excited. With the King's crier calling the names of the next two competing knights and the crowd cheering as they rode onto the field, both of them looking proud, noble and confident. After which there was silence as they waited for the tilt to begin, before the crowd once again erupted with noise when it did.
Throughout it all Sansa was star struck, a smile on her face as she saw the noble knights ride onto the field and compete in glorious battle, their long lances held with one arm and their shields with the other. The proud warriors riding fearlessly against each other, each one of them fighting to win the honour of being the tournament champion.
Soon enough though, the number of competitors was whittled down as the jousting progressed through the day and into the midafternoon. With Ser Jamie, Prince Tytan, Ser Balon and Ser Loras Tyrell being the four knights who outshone the others. Each one of them defeating every one of their opponents. With the Prince often unhorsing his opponent with the first strike, much to the enjoyment of the crowd.
Despite that though, or at least to Sansa's untrained eye, she considered Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers to be the more skilled knight. As each time he rode he did so with grace and elegance, his lances striking true, but lacking the brutality that Ser Jamie and Prince Tytan used.
Sansa almost leapt to her feet and cheered as Ser Loras and Ser Jamie rode against each other, the match being a close one as Loras narrowly defeated Ser Jamie. With his final lance striking the other knight in the head, denting the Kingslayer's helmet, and winning Ser Loras the match. Much to Sansa's pleasure of the younger of the two handsome knights triumphed, a joyful smile on his face as he swept of his helmet and waved to the crowd.
Of course after that Sansa was soon distracted by the presence of Ser Loras Tyrell who, fresh from his victory, took that moment to approach the box she was in, a charming smile on his face as he met her gaze. The elegant knight not even looking winded, despite having just ridden against, and defeated, one of the most famous knights in the Seven Kingdoms.
His soft brown eyes and long flowing hair, coupled with his beautiful features and glorious armour, almost making Sansa swoon as he stopped in front of her. Her eyes widening and a blush forming on her face as he then proceeded to offer her a flower, a beautiful red rose.
"Your beauty is unmatched my lady," Ser Loras said, his voice soft and charming, "But this flower might at least hold some candle to it."
As she took the rose, her cheeks very red now, Sansa was only just able to get out her response, "Thank you Ser Loras."
That for her had been the highlight of the day so far, and it was only made better when she saw the jealous look on Jeyne's face as Sansa brought the rose to her nose so she could smell its sweet scent.
About an hour after that, the final joust of the tournament was set to begin, with Ser Loras Tyrell facing off against Prince Tytan Baratheon, who just twenty minutes before had narrowly defeated Ser Balon Swann. The other Knight having broken two lances on Tytan's chest, before the Prince had finally prevailed. Delivering a brutal blow that shattered his lance on Ser Balon's helmet, and nearly unhorsed the older knight.
Looking on with giddy smiles on thier face, Sansa, Jeyne and Arya all watched as the two mounted knights faced off. Ser Loras atop his pale white horse, a smug smile on his face as he took his helmet from his squire and put it on. Covering his handsome features with an intricate silver helmet, which had golden flower like patterns coiling around it.
Tytan however, was astride his giant black steed which even as she watched seemed to be shifting around strangely, a slight frown on his face as he too pulled on his antlered helmet. Before with a call of "Lance!" one of his guardsmen ran over with one of the Prince's black and gold painted lances. The slightly familiar looking guardsman, one who she vaguely recognised as one of Tytan's swornswords, struggling to carry the fourteen foot, wooden lance over to his Prince.
The Prince however barely flinched as he took it in one hand, holding it as easily as a child might a stick. As this was happening Loras too had taken his lance, only with his being slightly shorter than the Prince's.
"Ready!" The King's crier shouted, as the crowd went silent. "Now!"
The second the word left the man's mouth, both the horses sprang forward, the two knights astride them leaning forward in their saddles and lowering their lances as they neared each other. Leaning forward herself, Sansa once again noted that Ser Loras seemed to have the better form, as the Prince looked like he was having a bit of difficulty controlling his horse, which in turn caused the tip of his lance to waver in the air.
From beside her Sansa almost jumped as she heard her father speak up, "It seems Ser Loras's mare is in season, a dishonourable trick, but one that will likely work."
"Ser Loras wouldn't do that." Sansa protested as she watched the two men closing in on each other. "He's and honourable man."
Her father didn't reply to that, as he instead watched the two jousters clash, both of them managing to strike the other in the chest, though the Prince's lance seemed to glance off, failing to break as his horse yet again shifted about causing his lance to falter at the last second.
Sansa bit her lip as she saw this, a part of her fearing that her father's comment about Ser Loras's integrity had merit. After all there did seem to be something wrong with the Prince's horse, and she had seen him ride before during the journey south, and as such knew he was a skilled horseman.
During next tilt when the two rode at each other once more, Loras once again managed to deliver a clean strike against Tytan, his lance shattering as it made contact with the Prince's pauldron, almost knocking the Prince of his mount. Tytan's lance however missed altogether, as his horse bucking, throwing his aim off and making it glance off of Ser Loras's shield, the wooden spear failing to break yet again.
"It seems like the Prince is about to lose, unless of course he manages to unhorse Ser Loras in the next tilt." Ned said, an strange look on his face as he watched the jousting. "But he put up a good fight, unfortunately though Ser Loras was the trickier fighter."
"Is what he's doing against the rules?" Arya spoke up a slight frown on her face.
"No, it is a low trick, but not one that breaks any rules." Eddard replied, knowing as he did that he would never use a trick like that, or at least not in an exhibition fight like this one, where the only thing at stake was a person honour and a bit of gold. Still he could appreciate the finesse of Loras's actions, underhanded as they were.
As Eddard said that the two competitors turned to do their last tilt, with the Prince noticeably leaning down and apparently muttering something to his horse. Not that it would do him any good, or at least that was what Ned thought. After all unless the Prince could somehow miraculously change the gender of his horse he was going to lose, and despite him possessing unnatural abilities gifted to him by the Gods, that was not one of them. Or at least Ned didn't think it was.
A few moments later though, as the two armoured men rode for their last and final tilt, the Prince's horse was noticeably calmer. Allowing the Prince to get off another strike, this one hitting Loras straight in the chest and almost unhorsing him. Almost being the operative word as Loras managed to both stay on his horse and break his own lance on Tytan's chest, narrowly winning himself the match, and making him the champion of the tourney.
"Well it looks like that's it, for today at least." Ned said as he looked down at his daughter. "Though we still have the melee and the archery tomorrow."
"Will we be going to the feast?" Sansa asked as she too made to stand up, her eyes still on Ser Loras as he rode around the field, celebrating his victory. The shine for Sansa having somewhat disappeared after hearing of the noble knights deceit.
( - )
AN: So what did you all think, I didn't want to drag the tourney out so will likely finish it next chapter so I can progress the story more. Still I'm looking forward to writing the melee, after all Tytan will likely need to release his anger after being cheated like that.
So I am sure some people noticed a few changes already as I begin to show the impact Tytan's presence has had on the South. Something I was quite eager to do, but didn't want to rush as I wanted to have his character and some other characters fully established first. Still there are changes that are noticeable in both this chapter and the last. I am sure many people have noticed them, and some may realise what that could mean for canon.
Also there were quite a few people attempting to guess who the girl from the dream is. I can quite safely say that no one has guessed correctly yet, though I encourage you to keep trying if you want.
Thanks for reading and I hope you leave a review.
Greed720
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