10 The Knight of the Laughing Tree come again

[King's Landing 298 AC a few days later]

Brynden.

The wooden sword sang through the air so fast that Brynden could only raise his own to block it from striking his shoulder. When Jae nodded as he jumped back from another wide arc, Brynden felt pride swell his chest. They'd been at it for almost an hour now, and Brynden's arms ached from the weight of his sword. It was a good ache, an ache that made him want more. Left, right, a spin, downward, his King came at him relentlessly, pointing out any mistakes where he saw them and praising him when it was owed, Brynden feeling like his skill was growing with each second.

A few other squires had come to watch them, from young boys Brynden's age to men of Jae's who had yet to earn their spurs, to even older men whose knights had died many a year ago and found they didn't wish to serve another; they all watched, muttering from time to time. For one, the younger boys liked to speak about his birthmark, the almost straight sword-like defect garnering a few looks ranging from interest to disgust. However, the latter came mainly from the older boys, and Jae told him they were only jealous since the Gods gifted him with a talent for the material version of his mark.

Jae's strikes slowed, and Brynden knew at once that it was for his sake and no real weariness from his charge; in his thoughts, he'd not noticed how much time had passed, the fight becoming almost unconscious.

"That's enough for today," he said, putting the wooden sword away. "Go get yourself something to eat. One of Rugen's boys told me the armour was almost finished."

The armour was full plate, with a rounded greathelm, plain steel, though Brynden knew Jae cared not for ornament. "Looking pretty isn't going to better my chances," he'd told Brynden when he asked why he'd refused the smith's offer to add anything to the breastplate or helm. "The only ornament I would wear would get my head lopped off, too." Brynden knew at once it had been a dragon that Jae wanted.

Later, as Brynden sharpened Jae's sword, he stared at the shield and the sigil. "Why'd you take that as your coat of arms, Jon?" He asked, using the name Jae told him to until he said otherwise.

He watched Jae move to the shield hanging from the pole Winter was hitched to. Around where they made their little camp, other knights and squires rested for the jousts on the morrow. The archery happened the day before, though Brynden couldn't remember what had happened save for the winner, a skinny young man with red hair.

"It'll turn a few heads, for sure," Meera said when she finally returned to them. "At least the ones who were there."

"Aye, it will," Jae said, running his hand over the tree on the shield. "I'm sure that fat fool will want to see who's under the helm, too. He and my Uncle are both in for quite a surprise."

Brynden didn't understand. "Why would you want to go out with it on the morrow if that's true?"

Jae shrugged, turning. "Forty thousand dragons for the winner of the joust, twenty to the runner-up... that's a lot of money," he said. "I'm confident that Winter and I can knock down some of these men."

Meera agreed. "I watched some of them riding at rings. You're better."

"Far better, ahorse" Jojen nodded. "But they're better lances."

"That's true," Meera admitted. "But your lance means nought if you can't ride properly. I saw a knight shifting in his saddle; the horse scarcely moved. Of course, he was a Frey, so... not much to say there."

Brynden laughed a little as Jae did, though he didn't understand why.

"Even if I come second is good," Jae said, sitting down. "That coin will get us a ship to Pentos."

Brynden watched Jojen move. The crannogman sometimes frightened Brynden, not that he'd ever admit it aloud, but he was Jae's friend, so he couldn't be so bad. "Are you certain it's the right path?"

"Aye," Jae nodded, pulling an old book from his sack. "My aunt is good, that much I'm sure of... My Uncle, however, I'm not sure. Dany says he supports me, but I can't see him not hating me, even a little."

It was confusing when Jae woke one day saying he'd spoken to his aunt in the far east, Brynden fearing that he'd gone mad and only calming some when Jae told him that it wasn't the first time Jae was able to speak to someone through his dreams, only the first he could feel them. He was taken away from his thoughts when Meera started talking.

"We should go to Astapor first," she said. "I don't like it either, so don't look at me like that. As much as a wolf, a girl, and two boys can accomplish, the Unsullied can guard you far better."

"I'd sooner seek out the Company of the Rose for that," Jae frowned. "I would rather have men of the North watching my back than slaves."

"The Company of the Rose?" Jojen echoed. "Hmm, that's not a bad idea."

"What is that?" Meera asked, looking between them. "Sellswords? How are hired men better than bought ones? The Unsullied won't betray you. Sellswords will if the price is right."

"I don't think these ones will," Jae told her. "The Golden Company may claim to be of Westerosi decent, but they're made up of Essosi blood. The Roses are northmen and women down to the bone. They have ice in their blood as much as I do, as much as you do."

"Still," Meera urged. "What if they DO betray you?"

Jae's eyes darkened in the campfire light, and he looked up from the words in his old book. "Fire has always melted ice," he said, and Brynden shivered. Finally, Meera relented and said he was right, though Brynden knew she hated admitting she was wrong.

"So if you think you can do well in the lists," Brynden asked. "What do you think about the melee?"

"With the things I've learned as Daemon, Aemon, and Baelor," he said. "I can make it far enough. But I don't care about that... I just want him."

Meera and Brynden glanced at each other nervously, Jojen having closed his eyes again, probably off spying on someone or another with that bird of his. Brynden knew Jae was a good fighter, and with his dreams — living the lives of his kin — Brynden knew that he was likely one of the most talented swordsmen in Westeros, but the man Jae wished to face was talked about as an inhuman, hateful monster.

"Are you sure you can beat him?" Meera asked after a silence.

Jae didn't lift his eyes from the words in his old book. "Beat him? No, not as I am now..." he said. "Now, killing him? That... That I can do."

[King's Landing 298 AC]

Sansa.

Sansa rode to the tourney grounds with Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole, and a begrudging Arya in the Queen's own litter with yellow silk curtains so thin you could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold, for the Lannisters loved their gold. She nudged Arya as they passed under the King's Gate, her sister glowering at her before she saw the smile. They looked out the window together then, watching hundreds of pavilions as they passed by, Arya naming off any knight she knew and Sansa listening close since Arya knew them better.

"There's Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard," she pointed. "See the eagle on indigo? Oh, and there's the Bronze Yohn Royce's banner..." On and on her sister went, Sansa happy Arya was getting out of her downtrodden mood from being forced to keep the wolves away for a day.

They found the seats her Father had promised among the high Lords and Ladies of Westeros. She was dressed in the colours of her House, a grey silk dress that left her arms bare and a white silk scarf to cover the bruise from when she'd played with Lady in the Godswood the night before. Arya kept muttering the names of each Knight she knew when they came forth, the seven of Kingsgaurd in their splendid milk-white scaled armour. Ser Boros Blount, Meryn Trant, Mandoon Moore, Preston Greenfield, Jaime Lannister, and last, but certainly not least, Barristan the Bold.

"Ser Jaime and Barristan are the only ones who actually know how to fight," Arya said. "I could beat that piggy man, Blount if I wanted."

Septa Mordane chastised her, and Arya grumbled as she sank back into her seat, ignoring Jeyne's sniggering. Sansa leaned over to her sister. "I believe you... and he does look like a boar, doesn't he?" She asked and saw the little smirk forming.

Just then, Ser Gregor Clegane thundered passed them like an avalanche, and Sansa swore half the stand shivered. She noted Bronze Yohn Royce now, with his sons Andar and Robar riding beside him. Then came Lord Mallister, with a helm Sansa thought only a little impractical. 'What if someone grabbed the wings?' Sansa and Jeyne giggled at the warrior-priest Thoros of Myr until Septa Mordane told them he had been the first through the breach on Pyke. Other riders Sansa did not know, hedge knights and freeriders and new-made squires.

"He wields a flaming sword," Arya whispered excitedly. "He'll use in the melee, no doubt. No one likes to be burned, so he'll win." Sansa had to agree with her.

At last, came a knight in plain steel without device or ornament on a beautiful black stallion; Sansa thought him simple as can be, but it seemed the Lords and Ladies around them did not, for they fell into a hush before whispering frantically with each other.

Sansa and Arya cheered for Jory as he unhorsed Ser Horas and a Frey of the Crossing, and she winced when he fell to a freerider named Lothor Brune. With the smiling weirwood blazoned on his shield, the Knight rode better than anyone Sansa had ever seen, unhorsing Patrek Mallister and two Freys and taking a hard-fought match against Andar Royce.

Soon, Jeyne's screams drowned out the gasps in the stands when Ser Gregor's lance pierced the neck of a young knight from the Vale of Arryn, and she had to be taken away by Septa Mordane. The Knight had flown off his horse so far that he almost reached Sansa's feet. Arya gripped her hand tightly, Sansa staring as the red spurted from the man's neck and mouth like a fountain of blood.

Later, when they'd carried off the body, Sansa shook her thoughts away and refocused on the tilts. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, as she'd heard many and more proclaim him, unhorsed Thoros of Myr; the two traded nods, and the red priest watched with an odd look on his face as the Knight rode off to prepare for the last rides of the jousts.

Ultimately, it came down to five; the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, Jaime Lannister, and The Knight of the Laughing Tree.

The latter had unhorsed two of the Kingsguard earlier, Ser Boros and Ser Meryn, and had overthrown half the Freys to the loud cheers of the Riverlanders watching. Ser Loras had done splendidly, taking Ser Preston Greenfield and Robar Royce and others Sansa did not care to remember. The two Knights stood together as Ser Jaime and the Hound lined up to face each other; they were talking, Ser Loras laughing at something the other Knight said and shaking his head as he patted his mare's neck.

So intent on the black stallion beside the mare, Sansa did not notice the start of the joust, but she heard it when it ended, lances exploding as a shimmer of gold caught her eye. She turned quickly and saw Ser Jaime Lannister rising from the dust to catch his blood bay. Next, the Knight of the Laughing Tree mounted his stallion, and the horse moved without so much as a kick, almost showing off as he rode to take a lance from a young boy with a queer mark over his right eye.

The Hound had not left the yard; he would ride immediately after, yet he seemed unbothered by that. She saw her sister lean forward in her seat, almost bouncing excitedly as the horses trampled down the lane. The Hound took a hit to the shoulder, rolled it, and cracked his neck; that would leave a bruise. Next, the smaller man took a blow so flush Sansa was surprised he managed to stay ahorse.

On and on it went, three lances, five, until something strange happened. Those who had bet on the Laughing Tree to win shouted as he leaned to the side, no doubt fearing the loss of their gold, but Arya shouted loudly, pointing. "He's doing it on purpose! Look!" Sansa saw it then. His reins were wrapped around his forearm tightly. The Knight of the Laughing Tree led the Hound where he wanted him, and the large man took the bait.

At the last second, when the Hound when to thrust, the Knight of the Laughing Tree twisted in his saddle, pushed his lance upward, and the Hound took the blow flush in the chest and was flung from his saddle. The crowd roared, and the King bellowed a laugh, Sansa and her sister jumping to their feet to add to the cheer.

It was nearing dusk, and the crowd were tiring, so the King announced the last of the jousts would be on the morrow before the melee. Sansa would pray the Knight of the Laughing Tree won, for a man of the north winning in a tourney in her Father's name seemed only fitting.

[King's Landing 298 AC]

Jaehaerys.

He threw off his helm only when they reached their camp, Jae choosing not to attend the feast to rest his aching muscles. Brynden was leading Winter, excitedly talking about the day's jousts, and Jae couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm his squire was showing.

"You beat the Hound!" He was saying as Meera and Jojen came up to them. They had watched the lists with smallfolk. "Meera, he beat the bloody Hound!"

"Aye," she laughed. "I saw it. Nearly screamed my throat raw when Jon started leaning."

"It was very clever," Jojen said. "But risky."

"Life is full of risks," Jae told him. "At least second place is mine, and twenty thousand gold dragons along with it."

Brynden's eyes shot wide open. "I forgot about that!" Jae and Meera laughed while a slight smile crept across Jojen's lips.

He sat and ate the food they'd packed, jesting over the small campfire and thinking about what he'd learned Ser Loras would be doing. Jae didn't fault the man for it, but he might have if it had been anyone other than the Mountain. Still, he didn't look forward to facing Loras after Clegane fell, the Knight being a far better lance than anyone Jae had ever seen and an accomplished rider, too. It would be a challenging match.

The next day, he stood with Brynden in his armour, the shield blazoned with the same smiling weirwood his Mother had once donned slung over his back. Jae watched the man who killed Elia Martell and his brother Aegon try to control his monstrous destrier. He glared through the slits of his helm, grinning when the man took a brutal hit to the ribs and fell, taking the horse with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

"I hope that hurt, you big fucker!" Brynden shouted, and Jae clipped him round the ear, though he ruffled the boy's hair afterwards. But when the Mountain called for his sword, he pulled Brynden behind him, hoping to shield him from the display that was about to occur.

The Hound and the Mountain clashed before the latter could end Loras Tyrell, and for what felt like hours, they hammered at each other ferociously. 'It would be so easy,' Jae thought, reaching for the dagger's hilt wrapped in leather to hide the ruby pommel. 'His neck is exposed... I could kick his knee in and slit his throat.'

But he didn't move away from his horse. Perhaps he wanted it to look more like an accident in the melee, or was it something else? Then it clicked. He wanted to see the life drain from Clegane's eyes; killing him from behind wouldn't do Aegon any justice, nor would it avenge Elia. No, Jae had to look the man who took them before their time in the eye and watch him die.

"STOP THIS MADNESS," Rober Baratheon boomed across the tourney grounds, "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"

After the Knight of Flowers thanked the Hound graciously, even going as far as to offer the reward for whatever placement he received after the final tilt, Jae mounted Winter and took the lance Brynden held out. He rode toward Loras and bowed his head.

"Seems to me the Gods favour you, Loras Tyrell," he said. "Even a mountain withers before the rose."

Loras laughed and donned his helm. "And it seems to me your horse likes the scent of mine," he pointed.

Jae leaned down to slap Winter on the neck, the horse whickering in annoyance as he was urged away from the possible mate. "Don't let him fool you, Ser," he said, shaking his head, "Winter here won't fall for your mare's skanky schemes. He's been trained better."

"We shall see," Loras said, lowering his visor. He tipped his lance to the King, and Jae copied the action, only pointing it slightly more toward his sisters. "May the best man win, Ser."

"Aye," Jae said with humour. "I will."

Loras chuckled and shook his head, kicking his horse softly and riding to the end of the list. Winter moved without command, and the herald announced the last match before the melee was about to commence.

They rode eight tilts, four to Jae and four to Loras, neither willing to fall. Jae's whole body was burning by the ninth tilt, and his shield arm was in agony. Jae told himself it didn't matter if he won; he already amassed a small fortune today, so Jae simply enjoyed this match as best he could. He shifted in his saddle, but so did Loras, and their lances exploded as they each stuck flush. And the next moment, Jae felt himself falling.

He rose as the dust began to settle, ready to pay his respect to Loras on a fine victory, but when he saw Winter and the grey mare rushing off together, he was confused. Until he saw the sheen of silver from the corner of his eye and turned; Loras was on the ground, groaning.

Finally, he heard the cheering of nobles and commoners alike and felt pride swell in his heart. Holding his left arm, Jae made his way over to Loras and offered him his good hand. The Knight of Flowers looked at him, laughing, and clasped his forearm before Jae helped him up.

"A bloody fine match, Ser," Loras admitted. "You ride spectacularly."

"It's all the horse," Jae said.

"Ah, and humble, too," Loras took off his helm, held it under his arm, and watched the two horses race back to the stables, their squires chasing after them. "Perhaps I'll have a foal of your stead's brilliance soon."

They both laughed before Robert's voice boomed over the crowd's cheers. Jae knelt before the Usurper and his Queen, his eyes low, knowing that his hatred would leak through the slits of his helm if he faced the man, and Loras knelt beside him.

"I wish you good fortune, Ser," Loras whispered.

"Aye, you too," Jae said.

After an agonisingly long silence, everyone waiting for the King to name the winner, Robert unsteadily to his feet. "The winner is you, Ser, the Knight of the Laughing Tree," he laughed loudly at the name, and the crowd cheered so loud that Jae's teeth rattled.

"Rise, and let's see who's under that fucking helm once and for all," he added when the stands calmed. Murmurs spread through Lords and Ladies as Jae rose with Loras. He shook Loras's hand before the Knight of Flowers left the field and faced the King. "Go on, take it off, or are you too ugly?" Some sniggered, but Jae gave a false laugh and reached up.

"Quite the opposite, Your Grace," he said, lifting the helm over his head. Sansa gasped, Arya shouted his name, and his Uncle went pale.

A voice in the crowd shouted. "Snow!"

—————

First off, I have to admit this isn't the best chapter :p

I've never written anything like this, so I hope you all give me some ways to help me improve. But I hope you liked it either way and thank you for reading.

And, yes, I know it's unrealistic for a kid of sixteen whose never jousted before to beat grown men who have been doing it for years but come on, it's fanfic! Don't talk to me about realism in a world with magic, dragons, and blue-lipped anorexics who can fucking teleport.

Anyway!

BYE :D

-Alex.