A Knight in Dented Armour

Lyonel ran to the tourney grounds to see the mayhem going on. Loras Tyrell sat atop his white filly, trying to calm down the crowd that was shaken by the **** enacted by Ser Gregor on his own steed. The Knight of the Flowers, as any rational man, didn't expect any **** to be directed at himself, but the Mountain was not in any sense rational. He strode forward and with a single punch of an armoured fist, Clegane knocked both Loras and his horse over, the former getting his feet stuck in the stirrup and not being able to stand back up again, while the Mountain loomed over him.

This time, there was no Sandor Clegane in the city to save Loras. But he had something better; someone who knew what was going to happen, and was ready to thwart it. Sure, Bran's unexpected company may have distracted him, but he had already considered the possibility for this, and Lyonel now sprang into action. Having the privileged position of the Crown Prince meant that his tent was the closest to the tourney grounds, and as the confrontation went ahead he was able to reach the scene quicker than anyone. As Clegane lifted his sword above his fallen foe, a white shield of the Kingsguard that was previously hung near the grounds alongside other heraldic shields stopped the sword in its path, and Lyonel Baratheon stepped into the fray.

The two men engaged, and Lyonel could hear the shrieks from the stands, though they sounded as if they were coming from a thousand feet away. Queen Cersei could be heard, demanding her father's bannerman to stand down and the king's voice drowned out all others, demanding Clegane to lay down his arms. But it was too late. Lyonel could see it in his opponent's eyes. Gregor Clegane was more of a mad dog than his brother ever was, and now he has bitten through his leash and is lashing out at the entire world.

Clegane's sword stuck his again, making Lyonel realize the danger he was in. Not only was Clegane easily the strongest opponent he had ever faced, but probably the first one who actually came at the prince with murderous intent.

He was quick too, quicker than his size would have you believe. Clegane's sword struck Lyonel's shield over and over again, causing wooden splinters to fly. The strikes were delivered with such brute strength that even with the shield and the gauntlet protecting his hand and he could already feel bruises forming in it.

Lyonel was pushed back with a flurry of strokes. A small crowd formed around the two. One man shot a crossbow bolt at the Mountain, only for it to be deflected off his armour and nearly pierce his ear. "Stop shooting!" Ser Barristan commanded. No one could, or would, step in, with the life of the prince also being in danger. The fight was his, to win or lose. That doesn't mean the prince had to be in such a state of disadvantage either.

"Catch, my prince!" Ser Barristan shouted, while signaling his squire. Bran Stark, who had been holding Selmy's sword, threw it at the fray. Lyonel looked up, and realized with a warrior's instincts what is going on. Throwing what remained of the ruined shield at the Mountain's face, Lyonel grabbed the sword midair and unsheathed it in one move. Now they were on equal grounds. More than that. Lyonel had an advantage that nobody in this world has; foreknowledge. For example, he knows that Gregor Clegane is frequently disturbed by debilitating headaches, caused by, among other things... loud noises.

Lyonel swung his sword upwards, making it clash alongside the entire length of Clegane's sword, creating sparks and a horrible screeching noise. It left his torso horribly exposed, but the gamble paid off. The mountain stepped back, flinching, before coming back to him. But the single moment of distraction sufficed. Lyonel swung his sword, and the head of Gregor Clegane flew off, while his headless body sank into the ground. The first of many monsters he would hopefully rid this world off of.

A silence smothered the grounds. Lyonel looked up to the stands, to see the relieved faces of his all of his family, which comforted him. Well, all of the faces except Arya's. Relief was there too, but so was pride, and a hungry, wolfish ambitious look that conveyed that she will learn that exact move from him the next time they met. Arya too, was the first person to recover, standing up and clapping enthusiastically. That broke the spell, and the cheers spread around the arena. The king's booming laugh of pride filled the grounds, as his family smiled and broke into tears of happiness. The lords and ladies clapped politely at the display of chivalry and prowess, while the crowds broke into rowdy, hearty cheering for the beloved Prince of the City.

The handsome, heroic Crown Prince stepping into save his equally beloved uncle by slaying an evil knight, one who has already brought much grief to this city's populace? Why, that is a story too good to be true, like one of Sansa's favourite songs come to life. Or maybe it is a sign, that true knights protect the realm once more.

A few minutes later, Lyonel, Loras and Renly were gathered in the prince's tent. Lyonel, armourless, now sat in a folding chair, grimacing as a kneeling servant girl tied a cloth around his bruised hand. Loras sat in the opposite chair, holding a glass of Arbour Gold. After his initial thanks to Lyonel, the Tyrell fell as silent as a grave, staring into the distance while mindlessly stirring his wine without drinking it. Evidently, the knight of Summer was quite shaken by how close he was to go to eternal Winter.

The silence of these two would be recompensed by Renly, who, after swearing eternal gratitude to Lyonel, was now spending his time pacing around the tent, ranting and raving, complaining about everything. He accused his brother the king, the Hand and the tourney organizers for letting a monster like Clegane compete, blamed Lord Tywin for cultivating such a monster and even blamed Loras for daring to play tricks on such a man.

Fortunately, Renly's tirade was cut down by a group of visitors who were finally able to extricate themselves from the stands and come to his tent. Margaery ran in first and hugged her brother, delicate hairdo askew and composure, for once, forgotten. She was followed by Cersei, Myrcella, Tommen, Tyrion and Arya, with Jamie stepping in behind them reluctantly, making it clear that he was only here in his capacity as a Kingsguard.

Tyrion, seeing Lyonel well, nodded heartily and went directly to the jug of wine to help himself. Queen Cersei grabbed her son's head kissing it and pressing it tightly against her chest. Lyonel allowed himself to be blissfully smothered by his mother's cleavage, oblivious to the jealous glances thrown at him by her brother Jamie. Eventually Cersei stepped back, allowing her son to stand back and being hugged by his siblings and Arya, all of whom inquired about his hand.

Cersei, meanwhile, satisfied of her son's condition, poured herself a glass of Arbour gold and began to rant as Renly had done. "I could not believe me eyes, when that Mountain attacked you. It's all my late grandsire's fault, you know. He was the one who raised the Cleganes from lowborn kennel masters to knights, and that was a folly. You can put as much armour on a peasant as you like, but that wouldn't make him any less a peasant. Father should have stripped the Cleganes when he became lord, instead of rewarding them," Cersei declared, concern for her son making her momentarily forget about her respect to her father.

"And where is Lord Tywin?" Lyonel inquired.

"He'll be here soon. He had to soothe your father's and Mace Tyrell's ruffled feathers first," his mother replied, her scorn implying that she believes the only one Tywin Lannister should apologize is to her own son.

"Oh, but isn't this marvelous, Lyonel?" Arya asked giddily. "You took down the Mountain so easily! And everyone saw how great of a fighter you are!"

"Yes! I think you are as good of a fighter as Uncle Jamie!" Tommen gushed, oblivious to the said uncle's look of derision at the comment.

"Yes!" Myrcella joined in. "I don't even know why we are continuing the competition. You are clearly the best fighter here. They should just name you victor now and be done with it."

"Oh I don't know about that," Lyonel chuckled. "There are better fighters here still. Ser Barristan, for one."

"Barristan Selmy is soo ooold," Myrcella said, rolling her eyes.

"Aye, but that also means experience. And he's very smart and skillful as well. For all his strength, Clegane was a troll in armour."

Myrcella, stubborn as ever, opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped when her aunt Margaery, who was finally done inquiring after her brother, stepped forward. She took Lyonel's bandaged hand and kissed it, ignoring the three sets of hostile, female eyes that immediately fell upon her. She then curtsied deep and low, and for the first time appeared to do it genuinely, without any seductive intentions.

"Your Grace," Margaery intoned, sober and more formal than she has ever been. "You have the deepest thanks of me and mine house. If not for you, I would have lost a brother today. My father has invited you to sup with us at the feast tonight. You may or may not be the best fighter here, but it matters not. Whatever happens, you will be a hero to House Tyrell, tonight and all other days to come, and we want to treat you as such."

Lyonel, taken aback by his usually light spoken aunt, recovered and bowed. "I accept, Lady Margaery. The honour is mine."

A look of her old playfulness seeped into his aunt's green eyes, and she gave her usual smirk. "Very well then. Thank you. And now, I must get my husband and my brother ready for the next jousts. With your leave, we shall leave."

"Of course," Lyonel replied, with a knowing smile. Margaery probably overheard the news of Tywin's impending arrival to the tent, which was why she was so eager to leave. Renly, with Tyrell backing, is the loudest voice in court in pointing out the overt Lannister influence on the throne, and while his sarcastic uncle may able to say witty comments on the Lannisters when their lord is in the other side of the continent, it is extremely foolish to do such things in his face.

Either way, both Renly and Loras (who seemed to have broken away from his shock) hugged him goodheartedly and promised to speak more later tonight.

Lyonel sat down. For the first time the tent was truly silent, and he was able to finally recognize what the missing feeling he was getting is. "Wait, where's Sansa?" he asked, looking at her sister for an answer.

"She had to leave early because she wasn't feeling well. Maybe it was seeing all that fun," Arya said scornfully. Clearly her idea of fun is very different, and more bloody, than her sister's.

The prince wanted to inquire more about his betrothed, in whose honour this tourney was partially held, but a herald announced the arrival of Lord Tywin Lannister, followed by the Lion of the Casterly Rock coming in himself. The change was palpable. All noise died, and all the Lannister children straightened up, even Tyrion, who was trying too hard to pretend that he wasn't affected by his father. This was the first time this new Lyonel was meeting his grandsire, and one thing was immediately clear to him. This is a man who expects absolute command wherever he goes, and he gets it without fail. That was Lyonel's first impression of Tywin Lannister, as deep blue eyes met the gold flecked green eyes.

"Grandfather," Lyonel remarked, shaking Tywin's hand.

"Your Grace," Tywin replied. "You lost me a good servant today."

Cersei was incensed but held her tongue, while Tyrion chortled at her expression.

"Your servant was a mad dog. Eventually such things bite back their owners too, and I had to put it down beforehand."

"Well, you have got your father's nerve alongside his looks, I see. But your skill with the sword you have gotten from your uncle, that's clear."

This time, Jamie's frown was quite clearly visible.

"Either way, you are right," Tywin continued. "Rest be assured, your grace, I have already taken steps to let my displeasure be known."

Tywin's tone chilled Lyonel to the bone. "What did you do?"

"House Clegane, which is virtually extinct anyway, has been stripped from all lands and title. As for the Mountain, his torso is being fed to my hounds outside, for all to see. I thought it was a fitting punishment, considering he's a kennel master's whelp. His head, conveniently removed by you, is stuffed in a box and on its way to Dorne, as a symbol of reconciliation for the Martells, considering the crimes Ser Gregor committed against Elia Martell and her children all those years ago."

The confidence with which Lord Tywin said those words almost made one forget that it was he who ordered the said crimes. Almost.

"Well," Lyonel said drily. "That is a nice gesture, but I don't think it'll improve your standing with the Martells anytime soon, grandfather."

"Of course not!" Tywin declared. "That is why my messengers will declare that the head is your gift, not mine." Silence followed. "Do you object?"

Of course he could not object. While this different world could go down many paths, Gregor going rogue in the tourney still remained a possibility, and Lyonel had already planned his actions and their repercussions in such an event. With a single stroke of a sword, he had hoped to not only save a good man, but win the goodwill of three of the seven kingdoms; the Stormlands, the Reach and, hopefully, Dorne. He even thought about sending a token to Dorne, except his plan involved Gregor's gigantic sword rather than any decapitated heads. Either way, it is the best and most politically savvy course to take. However, it still galled Lyonel that this step was unilaterally taken without his consent, even if it was identical to his own plans.

"Well, we'll see how the Martells receive it," the Prince replied drily.

Tywin nodded in a self-satisfied manner, and his eyes rested on Lyonel's wound for the first time.

"How is your hand?" Tywin asked. But that wasn't what he was really asking.

"I'll be able to compete."

"Good."

When Tywin said that word, Lyonel was reminded of a line from the book. Of how Lord Tywin never smiled, but occasionally he would threaten you with the hint of one. It seemed as if he had made a good enough impression on his grandfather to receive such treatment for the first time.

Checking on the cloth around his hand once more, Lyonel stepped outside the tent to compete once more... and was met with the broad, proud, welcoming smile of his father who enveloped him in a warm embrace.

Ser Jamie Lannister watched as the tourney went on. The crowds were impatient and restless, but no such thing resembling the previous excitement happened again. In fact, it made the rest of the tourney a bit more dull, in his opinion. Renly Baratheon was clearly distracted, and a bit drunk, and was easily unhorsed by one of his bannerman, Lord Beric Dondarrion. Loras avenged his lover by defeating Dondarrion, but the Knight of the Flowers clearly wasn't himself yet, and was defeated himself by Dondarrion's brother-by-law, Edric Dayne, the young upstart from House Dayne. With his white hair and purple eyes, the handsome young knight immediately became a crowd favourite, who whispered how he was the Sword of the Morning come again. Jamie scoffed at this. The boy was good, but not to the legendary level that his uncle had once risen... something Jamie proved by easily unhorsing the boy.

On the other end of things, Jamie watched Lyonel Baratheon and had to admit that his nephew had some skill as well. The boy unhorsed and Bronze Yohn Royce and Jason Mallister of Seaguard, all formidable opponents, and then had to face Ser Barristan Selmy himself. The two men went at one another in six rounds and broke six spears, before Ser Barristan conceded. Jamie respected the decision. While Selmy was still formidable with a sword, jousting is young man's sport, and the fact that he was able to compete until the semi finals was impressive. And when he was outmatched, he bowed out. The greatest talent a warrior can have is to know if he can win a fight or not before it even begins, Ser Barristan had told him in his younger days, and Jamie believed that.

And with that, the final joust of the day was here; Ser Jamie Lannister the Kingslayer against his nephew, Lyonel Baratheon, the Prince of the City. Jamie could see his opponent on the opposite side of the ground. He was surrounded by his family, including his mother. Queen Cersei was brushing her son's dark hair while talking endlessly, presumably giving him advice. Jamie could feel bile rise to his throat. Not just at the fact that in every tourney before this, his sister had come to him, but also because seeing Cersei reminded him of what happened earlier that day... with Shae.

Jamie remembered what happened, of how he was on his knees, eating out Shae's cunt as instructed. He has never done such things before. No matter what he did with Cersei, she wanted to see his face while doing it, probably because it resembled her own. Shae, despite being a decade and a half younger, was far more experienced, and Jamie was eager to obey her instructions. The Kingslayer moved his lips upwards and finally slipped inside her, feeling the bliss he has not felt for nearly a year. It was all going well, when, nearing his peak, one word slipped out of his mouth. "Cersei!"

Jamie immediately felt himself go soft and he stepped back. He was aware of how ridiculous he must have looked, his torso adorned in grand, Lannister armour, his lower half bare with a flaccid cock hanging out. Even for a professional like Shae, it was a hard task to stop her lips from curving around in a smile, though she quickly recovered. "It's fine," she had purred in her Essosi accent. "I can pretend-"

"Get out!" Jamie had roared, and Shae had enough sense to know that was not the time to push him.

A blast of a trumpet, heralding the beginning of the final joust, brought Jamie back to the present, and he was glad that his helm covered his reddened cheeks.

Jamie got on to his horse and breathed a sigh. This is what he was good at, what he was born to do. A squire clambered to give him his jousting lance and he immediately felt confident. Here is a spear that will not fail him.

I will show them all! Jamie thought as his horse stepped into its spot. I'll show father and the rest of my family that I am better than that upstart nephew of mine. I'll wipe that smug, proud smile off of Robert's face. I'll show Shae who I really am, if she is in the stands. Most importantly, I'll show Cersei that I'm still the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, worthy of her love and attention.

Another blast from the trumpet. The final joust has begun.

The two opponents rode at one another, the black knight of Baratheon against the white knight of the Kingsguard.

Their lances struck the shields of their opponents, both splintering at the contact. Jamie jolted at the strength of Lyonel's strike, and knew a bruise would be on his shoulder now, which made him all the more angry, and eager to get it over with.

The two riders were on opposite corners again, being equipped with new lances by hasty squires. Then they rode at one another once more, Jamie in his eagerness leaning forward in his saddles, nearly all his weight on the stirrups.

Jamie's spear met its target and splintered once more. And Lyonel... missed, his lance only lightly thumping on Jamie's arm. A smile of scorn was already forming on the Kingslayer's mouth, before he realized what was wrong. He was already off balance in his eagerness, and that almost gentle touch was all he needed to fall of his horse.

Jamie Lannister was not just unhorsed, but tumbled several feet in the ground in full armour, for all the realm to see.

When he came to his senses a few moments later, the first thing Jamie felt was the mud seeping through his armour. The shouts came next, a deafening roar of cheers at the victor. Jamie wiped the mud off his visor to see his foe, Lyonel Baratheon basking in the glory of his victory. A wreath of roses was put at the tip of his spear, so that he could name a maiden of his choice as The Queen of Love and Beauty in this tourney.

However, what hurt most was the sight he saw at the stands. His father, his brother, but most importantly, his sister, all standing up, applauding and cheering, his foe's victory... his defeat. And for the first time in his adult life, Jamie Lannister felt tears of humiliation stream down his face, their salty flavour mixing with the mud in his mouth and dissolving as quickly as his pride did.