The Joust Continues

The Mother holding the Peasant Boy cries as they lift him up and away. Her blonde hair is a pleasing tone, even with the few strands of grey. You imagine there will be some more grey hairs there thanks to the day.

Her husband took her away, all while she was crying amd hurling anger at you. It was quite miraculous that someone recognised your son's armour and you. He had a frown on looking back at you, looking between you and the King's fiancee, before strangely smiling and nodding. Too late you recognise his face from one of your nights working for Littlefinger.

~○~

After six more rounds "your son" was in the final with eight different competitors. The King had dropped more coins down your front and eventually you did shake enough for your breasts to fall out. The King bid you hold for a moment so he could appreciate them, and even had Sansa lift them to tell him if she was looking forward tonthe day she grew tits as large as yours. There were a two Peasants, three Knights, the famous Flower Knight Loras Tyrell, and the dreaded Mountain.

Some were still talking about how easily forgiven the Tyrells had been for declaring for Renly. But Tywin Lannister had led the Tyrells to drive off Stannis and let them stay at King's Landing while he left to lead the naval defence of the Westerlands.

Ser Brom was riding against a Hedge Knight after Ser Loras finished unhorsing a Peasant. Whoever won would ride against the Flower Knight.

You had to watch as Loras and the Mountain wrecked their competition. You were in awe of their skill. You knew if Ser Brom were to beat them both you would be powerless to stop him demanding more than one night.

Of course Ser Brom won. His claims of his prowess were quickly proven truth and later tilts had just made you more anxious. And made the King weigh down your dress' front with Gold.

~○~

Before the final contestants rode, there was a feast thrown. Begging the King's pardon, you left him to go to your son's tent. Ser Brom removed the armour and your son left to masquerade as the one who was close to victory.

The partying people would be told you were cleaning your son's armour. In truth, you were washing Ser Brom. Stripped to just a slip, you washed one of the Heroes of the Blackwater while he soaked in a tub of heated water. Rubbing ointment into cuts and washing and combing his hair, you didn't stop him enjoying touching and groping your body.

~○~

The Mountain destroyed his last opponent, he went to his tent to await his last victim. Your Son or Loras.

As you approach Ser Brom, a small boy dressed as a servant of Hoise Tyrell approached you with a note from Ser Loras. You took the note from the boy, he then waited on you. You read the note to yourself;

• If your son throws the match I will treat you for the night and give you five hundred gold pieces.

He seemed to be trying bribe his way into winning the contest. The boy then handed you a quill to write Ser Loras back. You shake your head and slap the boy, sending him off in tears.

"Noble Son," you say loudly, before leaning close so the rest will only be heard by Ser Brom, "Ser Loras writes me, saying if you throw this match he will pay me gold and treat me for the night." You feel Ser Brom's leg tense. "He wants from me what you have earned. Unhorse him and you can keep the gold from selling the horses of the men you've unhorsed... and for your night with me, no hole will be forbidden."