Robb Stark. Winterfell.
At the dawn of the next day, the royal family, along with their attendants, and the Stark family gathered in the castle courtyard for the duel. A crowd of gawkers had also joined in, seating themselves wherever they could, even though it was so early in the day.
I looked around with my hand on the hilt of my sword, Lord Solomon's gift lying close to my heart, waiting for its moment.
The king, who had gotten up after a night of drinking, was standing not far from us with an obviously displeased look on his face. Next to him were the queen with a stoic face, her two brothers whispering about something, and her son looking smugly at Arya. And the prince's bodyguard, nicknamed "The Hound," was staring glumly into nowhere.
Father and mother waited silently for the start. Sansa played the concerned damsel in love, Bran and Rickon stood behind their parents under Sir Rodrik's supervision, and Arya...
She was still sulking that she wasn't allowed to go to the duel herself. She was giving me a resentful look, aggressively stroking Fou as if it were my fault. And to that I could only shake my head, simply resigning myself to her behavior.
Speaking of "White Eater," as we dubbed Fou because of the amount of food he eats. I can tell you that he is a very smart animal. Frighteningly smart, to be exact. He definitely knows how to get what he wants. At the past feast, Fou, who is usually pampered by Arya, took advantage of his looks and charmed Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, taking all their attention for himself. Everyone who saw it and asked what kind of beast it was had no answers, as we don't know that either. So everyone agreed that it was some kind of rare species.
Back to the king's youngest children. They too arrived with the king and proved to be very nice people. During the feast, the princess didn't hide her sympathy towards me. At the same time, her younger brother was having quite a bit of fun with Arya. And of course, we had one dance each, as it is our duty as nobles. I danced with Princess Myrcella, Arya with her younger brother, and Sansa with her older brother, obviously not thrilled about it.
After the feast, Sansa and Arya decided to organize a "girl talk" with Princess Myrcella. As Sansa told me, she enjoyed the time with her, and so did Arya. Of course, they took Fou with them.
At the same time, myself, Bran and Rickon did the same thing they did, calling Prince Tommen. It went similarly to the girls, as we liked him too. At first the prince didn't open up to us, only occasionally engaging in conversation and giving one-word answers, but later things went his way.
As it turned out, he was very simple. In a good way, of course. He really liked tournaments because of the fights and of course the girls that were usually there. Bran and Rickon quickly found common ground with him when I was feeling a bit separated. Maybe because of age? Who knows.
To summarize, both Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen were shy, good-natured, and... not like their older brother. While those two were playing with Fou and spoiling him as best they could, the Crown Prince wanted to gut Arya's favorite and make a stuffed animal out of him. Obviously, my little sister took it negatively.
It almost started another conflict, which thankfully didn't happen. Fou quickly realized what was going on and just disappeared, seemingly vanishing into thin air. Again, he's very clever, and the conflict was hushed up before it even started.
- Quicker we start, quicker we finish, - said the king, looking around the audience - Will you fight by yourselves or will you choose champions?
- Hound! - Prince Joffrey reacted instantly, glaring at his bodyguard. Sir Clegane silently walked out to the area we used for training, throwing off his cloak and maintaining a frown.
- And you, girl? - Robert Baratheon asked Arya. She glanced over at her father and, noticing the brief nod, sighed defeatedly.
- My brother. Robb Stark. He will be my champion. - Arya said, to which I did the same as the Hound.
At this, the king and queen raised an eyebrow and looked at my father in surprise. The rest of the gawkers did the same. Especially Tyrion and Jaime Lannister. And Princess Myrcella, of course.
The last one bothered because she likes me, but the other two and the king... Pretty much the expected reaction.
I'm the heir to Winterfell. I'm also the son of Eddard Stark, Lord of the North, and Catelyn Tully, daughter of the High Lord of the Riverlands. I don't mind losing, but my death? The answer is obvious.
Blood feuds are not uncommon. At the very least, the North and the Riverlands will demand it. And I'm not even talking about the Vale of Arryn, ruled by Mother's sister. There would be the risk of another civil war simply because of my death. I hope Lord Solomon's gift works.
- Is that all right with you, Ned? He's your heir, isn't he? - the king asked, looking at his father.
- I'm not, but there's no other choice. You're not going to let me fight, are you? Besides, my daughter's honor is at stake.
- What about your Master of Arms? Why not put him on it?
At those words, I froze.
Come to think of it, Sir Rodrik could take my place. He's old, but he still has his skills. He's the best swordsman of the two of us, there's no doubt about that, and the risk of a major conflict could be avoided. But...
- It's-" Dad was about to say something when I interrupted him with a firm, loud voice, while giving him a pleading look.
- No. It's okay. Arya's champion will be me.
I will inherit Winterfell after my father. And this is my chance. A chance to show I'm ready to protect my men and my family. To prove that the North will remain strong after my father's death.
My figure will stand firm and proud, defending my people against all threats that fate offers. And my sword will meet the flesh of those who dare to violate the sanctity of these lands.
At my words, my father looked into my eyes for a long time. The rest of the world disappeared in my eyes. All that mattered was his approval.
Please, father...
After a while, which to me was an eternity, he sighed tiredly and closed his eyes.
Father?
And when he opened them, I saw confidence and pride in his gaze, hard enough to make even the thickest ice seem like paper. Father then shifted his gaze to the king, who waited patiently for our mute conversation to end.
- Robb will be the champion. - Father said only.
- ... You know, Ned... I envy you now. When will my own son be able to do such a thing? Look me straight in the eye without fear, and I will look back with stag pride," the king said, grinning merrily, then looked around and raised his hands in the air, "Then it is decided! Fighters, get ready! I want to see a good fight!
I exhaled in relief, not even noticing how I held my breath, and then smiled.
Victory will be mine. To the North.
Winter is coming.
-0-
Eddard Stark. Winterfell.
My family and Robert's family gathered in designated areas and prepared to watch the battle.
Robb had grown. His eyes grew stronger and his will grew harder.
We didn't speak with our mouths, but with our hearts. He made it clear what he wanted to prove. And that really made me proud of him.
I looked around.
My men, my vassals, my family. They were all looking at him with burning eyes. They were no longer "Eddard Stark's son," but "Robb Stark, the next Lord of the North." Everyone understood why he'd done it. Some more, some less, but still. The fighting spirit of everyone in the North blazed with a bright fire that could melt even the Wall.
I grinned.
I wondered how many children would be named after him.
- I wasn't kidding," Robert said casually, "I'm really jealous. My heir can't even raise his head when talking to me. What did you do to make him like that?
- 'Nothing,' I replied, 'He did it all on his own.
- Оh? All by himself?
- The Magician only directed him slightly.
- The one who lived in your castle? - Robert raised an eyebrow and grinned - Maybe he can do the same with mine? Where is he? I'd like to talk to him.
- I don't know - I shook my head - I wouldn't mind meeting him again myself.
- Heh. And he managed to impress you, huh?
- Maybe," I smiled and pointed to the training ground, "It's time for you to give the signal. The fighters are just waiting for you.
- I'm the goddamn king! They'll wait until tomorrow if I say so! - he said cheerfully, and then turned toward the court - Start the fight! Let the gods decide!
Robb immediately sheathed his sword and stood, and his opponent did the same. After that, neither of them moved but studied their opponent, waiting for the first move.
After a few seconds, the Hound moved first, swinging his sword in a wide arc and aiming for his arm. Robb moved to meet it and parried the blow with the flat side of his blade, causing the Hound's sword to slip downward.
Taking advantage of the fact that his opponent's sword was temporarily unable to reach him, and Robb himself was still moving without changing the position of his blade, he tried to strike the Hound with the hilt, but missed.
The Hound leaned over, and, taking advantage of the momentum of the unstopped sword, turned in a circle, attempting to strike now at his legs. Robb met that blow with his own, making the sound of steel meeting steel. The Hound recoiled from the force of the blow and the weight of the sword, and then broke the distance slightly.
- Not bad, boy. You have a strong strike. - With a serious look on his face, the Hound remarked and took the sword in both hands.
- So do you, Sir Clegane. - answered Robb.
- Then I will fight seriously. - The Hound said, and ran at Robb with his sword in front of him, aiming for his neck.
When Robb was already swinging for a horizontal strike to block his opponent, taking advantage of the length of his sword, the Hound ducked under him, changing the target from his neck to his stomach. Robb managed to react and sidestep, somehow forcing the Hound to retreat with his swinging blows, but the side of his leather armor was still nicked and his face grimaced slightly.
- Why don't you give up, boy? - Hound asked.
- No, it's only a scratch. Let's get on with it. - Robb replied, putting his hand to the armor and showing a very small amount of blood.
The fight continued.
Robb fought well. After blocking the Hound's blows a couple times, he began to try to parry or dodge. Although he was armed with a long sword as opposed to Robb's two-handed sword, his blows were still strong and weighty. On top of that was the Hound's speed, which he surpassed Robb with.
Everyone watched the fight in silence, leaving only the clinking of steel to their ears. Tension was in the air and grew stronger each time the two fighters clashed blows and tried to snatch victory.
The Hound had chosen the tactic of fighting to exhaustion. Robb was still young, and the strength required for a two-handed sword was considerable. Eventually, his opponent wore Robb down, forcing him to go into a deep defense. His breathing became labored, his movements sluggish, and his sweat glistened in the sunlight.
Robb missed punches, causing more and more cuts and holes to appear on his clothes. The wounds were not deep, but they were enough to drain his already dwindling strength even faster. The main missed blows were on the torso and shoulder of the leading arm.
The Hound missed a few punches as well. When he realized that Robb's blow would reach him, he instantly put his steel armor in place, making dents and cuts. A little blood leaked from his shoulder and chest, soaking his clothes.
At one point, parrying Robb's counterstrike, the Hound took advantage of the moment when his opponent opened up and aimed his blow straight at his chest. Robb couldn't defend himself. He was out of time. But instead of doing something to save his life, Robb quickly shoved his hand into his pocket as if trying to find something.
- Robb! - A startled Kat shrieked.
My eyes stayed open from the blade, my heart froze, and my hands clenched tightly into fists.
But when Hound's sword almost reached its target, the unbelievable happened.
Robb suddenly began to move with tremendous speed. His figure blurred in my eyes. It seemed so fast to me that compared to it, everything else moved no faster than an old lame horse.
Even considering the fact that I didn't blink and was watching intently, everything ended up incomprehensible and illogical.
One moment the Hound was almost piercing Robb's chest with his sword, and the next, my son was standing behind his opponent's back, sword at his neck, ready to cut off his head. One hand held the hilt of the sword, and the other clutched some thing tightly in his fist.
The posture in which the Hound was striking had not changed in any way. His eyes ran from side to side, not realizing what had happened, but feeling the icy steel against his skin.
Robb's breathing was heavy and ragged, blood gushing from his wounds and his hands trembling. But the clothed expression never left his face.
I froze with shock, trying to comprehend what had happened right before my eyes.
How did this happen?! What the hell did I just see?!
- Do you... surrender... Sir Clegane...? - Robb squeezed the words out of his mouth, staring his opponent in the back of the head.
He didn't answer. Everyone present stared at Robb with their mouths wide open, seeing how fast he moved. It was as if the gods themselves had intervened in the duel and performed a miracle.
I froze.
"A miracle?"
After a second, a realization came into my mind.
Solomon's gift, wasn't it?
- What the hell was that shit! - A shocked Robert shrieked, looking at Robb.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and the tension left my body.
I guess now I owed Solomon a debt of gratitude... I wondered, for the umpteenth time?
-0-
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