The Tourney
Author's Notes: Hey ya'll. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for your encouraging words this past week. You don't know how much it means to me, so thank you. I was able to find some time to write a hellaton, so it's a pretty long chapter this week. I thought about holding off on posting this chapter until Sunday, but I decided that I've delayed enough. So instead, this Sunday I'll just post some art for you guys. Just forewarning, there's a lot to unload in this chapter.
Chapter 27
The Tourney
Harry participated in the Hand’s Tourney with Buckbeak in a paddock fashioned especially for the hippogriff. It was spacious and the fence containing him was twice as tall as standard ones. The same guards that protected him in the Red Keep were stationed there as well, making Harry feel slightly better about exposing the steed to so many onlookers. And there were many.
Hundreds of people gathered round to view the steed, drawn by the stories and rumors and the sightings of Buckbeak flying over the city and the surrounding areas with his rider and the king in tow. It was the time to get a better view of the creature to be sure there had been no deception. With this being his official public debut, Harry had wanted to be sure that Buckbeak made a good impression. He spent ages that morning brushing him down and grooming him to perfection, he even snuck in a bit of magic to make him look a little grander. It seemed to do just the trick since under the light of the bright sun, his feathers shone like silver, adding to his regalness.
None could deny he certainly looked like a royal steed. And their dramatic arrival to the tourney only cemented the impression.
Harry's leather armor was still being fashioned and wouldn’t be finished for another month, so at the suggestion of Lord Stark, Harry wore his finest riding clothes, boots, gloves, and his gambeson jacket, having cleaned and shone it all carefully with some practical magic. Buckbeak only needed to wear his saddle, though it was discussed that perhaps he ought to wear a rug similar to what the jousting horses wore which would have draped under the saddle and flowed from off his hock to sport both the Stark’s colors and sigil on one side and the king’s sigil and colors on the other. Harry was able to save Buckbeak from it by explaining that he worried how well he would fly with it flapping haphazardly in the wind. In truth he wasn’t sure how much of a hindrance it would really be, but the lad had no intention of finding out. It seemed enough to dissuade the squire who had suggested it, since they weren’t able to brazenly risk the king’s life, so the idea was quickly forgotten about.
Robert had wanted to arrive at the tourney on Buckbeak in a flamboyant display, so he arrived at the paddock wearing the fine clothes that he had been fitted for the day before, then he and Harry flew off that morning when the attendance was at its busiest.
Buckbeak circled the tourney twice, gathering up the onlookers who pointed at the sky in wonder the very moment the steed and his riders were in sight. It was enough to gain a massive crowd around the designated paddock and the moment the hippogriff had landed, there was an answering applause. Harry spotted Lord Eddard, Sansa, and Arya standing among the onlookers looking just as eager as the crowd. The direwolves were not with them, as Lord Eddard had worried how well they would behave around so many people, so they had left them that morning in the paddock. Though they had been around Buckbeak plenty already, they were still eager to see how he behaved with additional riders, as they would also have the privilege of riding him today, if he allowed it. Once the king had dismounted, everyone went quiet for his next words. Robert seemed genuinely excited, which was considerably different from how he normally was during his few public appearances.
With Robert’s arms raised, everyone went silent. In that moment he looked every bit a king.
“Let the Hand’s Tourney begin!”
With Harry’s urging, Buckbeak gave an answering, deafening “CAW” and flapped his wings behind the man, turning up dust and raising a bit from the ground with that. The effect was so impressive that the surrounding crowd conceded their approval with another answering roar of applause. To that, Robert left the paddock, surrounded by his kingsguard, who had arrived early, to find his seat for observing the jousting. Harry stayed where he was and tended to Buckbeak as the crowd gathered more behind the fence.
From the sidelines a young boy cried out to Harry. “What is it?”
“Is it a griffin?” An older girl beside him asked.
“This is Buckbeak. He’s actually a hippogriff,” Harry explained to the crowd of commons, lords, ladies, knights, and even a band of maesters that had gathered on the side. Before Harry knew it, he was taking this opportunity to educate the people surrounding him, much like Hagrid had done for their first class with him. “While griffins are hybrids of eagles and lions, hippogriffs are hybrids of eagles and horses. There are varying differences between griffins and hippogriffs. Namely being, griffins will very rarely allow you to approach them. They are also rarely able to be domesticated. Hippogriffs can be tamed for the most part, and they will allow you to approach but they are as proud as any high lord or lady. It is customary to bow to them before approaching and only if they bow back, after you do so, are you able to get any closer. They also love compliments. It’s recommended that you flatter a hippogriff if you intend to ride one.”
“What happens if you insult one?” The same boy asked.
Rather than answer that question, because he had a feeling some idiot in the crowd would do it just to see what would happen, Harry chose to answer with a question of his own. “Well, what do you think happens if you were to insult a dragon (if they lived today), another proud creature of magic?”
The boy to ask the first question paused as he imagined such a scenario. “Er…”
“Nothing good,” Harry informed, hoping to let their own imaginations do the work of dissuading anyone who wanted to test that theory. “When in the presence of magical beasts, most people don’t live long enough to make a second insult. I've seen Buckbeak maul at someone who made that blunder some years ago, and I had to save someone who made the mistake of approaching Buckbeak both without bowing first and while insulting him. It was not a pleasant experience for anyone and I still sport the scars it cost to keep Buckbeak from ripping them apart. My suggestion is: Don’t. Do. It.”
The boy went silent but the girl beside him called out with another question. “Are there other hippogriffs that exist?”
“There may be others in the wild, but they’re illusive and can easily evade capture. They tend to avoid populated areas and can sense approaching humans for miles around. They nest on the ground and tend to lay a single large, fragile egg at a time. The egg hatches within a full day and the baby hippogriff is able to fly within seven days of being born. Additionally, the young are often left to fend for themselves after only a year with their parents. Some humans they can take to well enough, but few people know how to approach them.”
“May I try?”
The voice came from somewhere behind the gathered crowd and several people parted to reveal Princess Myrcella standing with her hands politely clasped in front of her while she smiled serenely. A look of determination graced her as she stared forward at both the hippogriff and his keeper.
“I’ve been told before that the best way to learn about something is to be exposed to it. I would very much love the opportunity to educate myself of them and increase the number of people who can learn how to approach them.”
Harry had already been instructed to allow riders if Buckbeak would accept them, but only for the court. So, he nodded to the girl. “Very well. Princess, if you will…”
Myrcella ducked under the gap in the fence and came forward, leaving her guards behind while doing so. Harry took a few steps away from Buckbeak, granting him space to decide for himself whether to accept this newcomer or not.
“As I said before, when you approach a hippogriff, it is absolutely essential for you to bow to them. They will also accept a curtsy if you are a lady. This is known as a submission move, to show that you mean no harm to them. If they accept you, then they will bow back and you will be allowed to come closer. If he doesn’t return it, then you back away slowly while still maintaining your bow or curtsy.”
Once she had the necessary instructions, Myrcella smiled to Buckbeak and lowered into a curtsy. The hippogriff regarded her very briefly before returning her bow with a deep, respectful nod of his own head. It seemed to Harry that Buckbeak had taken to the princess a lot faster than he had taken to the king, but he wasn’t about to say so to the surrounding crowd.
“May I pet him now?” Myrcella asked, to which Harry nodded, showing her the best way to hold her hand out. Surprise of all, she didn’t have to move from her spot as Buckbeak eagerly came forward, nudging her hand with his scalp.
“That’s a first,” Harry said, stunned by Bucky’s behavior and how well he seemed to accept the little princess. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers so well.”
“He’s so beautiful up close,” she declared, earning a satisfied chirp from Bucky. More surprising of all, he actually started to lower a bit, urging them both to get on so they could go flying.
“I guess he’s going to let you ride him,” Harry said, understanding all the hippogriff’s cues by now.
“What?”
And like that, Harry lifted her up and set her on the front of the saddle while he climbed aboard from the back, clipping his safety harnesses in place.
“You can hang on to the saddle’s handlebar there. But don’t pull out any of his feathers, he won’t thank you for that.”
And before she could say a word, Buckbeak was galloping off and launching into the air with various cries of alarm and delight from the crowd that they left behind on the ground. Myrcella couldn’t contain her own small yelp as she was carried off into the sky.
“Whoa!”
She clung so tightly to the handlebar in front of her that her palms shook and went white with the strength of her grip. She had closed her eyes the moment they had taken off and was too afraid to open them for a long moment, but after some time of calm flying, she felt brave enough to chance a peek. When she did so, she found they were flying right over Blackwater Bay and off in the distance was the Red Keep.
Myrcella took the sight in, unable to decide what to feel about the experience as the wind whipped in her face so strong that tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Then she looked at Buckbeak’s neck while he pointed forward and coasted over the waves, dipping his talons into the water as they flew rapidly by. Her eyes switched to look up at Harry, whose focus was on the journey ahead of them and his arms braced around her, caging her between the handlebar of the saddle and his chest and made her feel perfectly safe as they flew together.
He must have noticed her gaze as he looked down. “Are you alright? Should we head back?”
“No.” Then her face split into a delighted smile as the full force of the flight took hold of her. “Can we go higher?”
“Okay. Hold on tight, though.” He patted Buckbeak, urging him to ascend.
They followed the path of a massive cumulous cloud and Myrcella couldn’t resist reaching out and touching a bit of it as they passed over. She always thought clouds would feel like cotton or feathers, instead she only got a watery mist. It didn’t diminish the experience, though. This feeling was like magic and she wanted to stay up here forever.
“I had better get you back before they start thinking I kidnapped you,” Harry finally declared.
“Oh please! Can’t we fly a little longer?” She begged, but Harry only shook his head.
“I really shouldn’t have taken you to begin with. I don’t want them chopping my head off for keeping you.”
“I’d protect you if they tried that,” Myrcella teased.
“I would definitely need you to,” he responded, in the same teasing tone. Then he steered Bucky back, much to Myrcella’s disappointment. Over the trees they saw that an even larger crowd was gathered for their landing.
Myrcella gripped tightly to the handle as Buckbeak dived with alarming speed. She thought he would crash into the ground with the momentum he was going, but just suddenly when they were mere feet from meeting the paddock’s sand, he halted in midair when his body arched as his wings fanned out, bringing up a large gust of wind that sent up spirals of dust before he gracefully touched the ground.
Myrcella had been concerned when Buckbeak hadn’t slowed for the landing and her stomach had gone up into her throat with the sudden airborne halt, but the addictive adrenaline it had built in her made up for the deceit.
“That was amazing!” Myrcella cried out as Harry slid from the saddle and helped her down. “Can I go again?”
“Better not; Today at least.” Then they noticed the onlookers and with him holding her hand they each bowed (or curtsied in Myrcella’s case) and the answering applause proved that the gathered crowd was even more impressed by the show.
Following the princess’s flight, the rest of the day proceeded with other lords and ladies attempting to win a ride on Buckbeak, but the hippogriff was picky, and he did not accept everyone that stepped before him. The few riders that he took were Lord Eddard, Sansa, Arya, Jory, Jaime Lannister (much to Eddard’s surprise), Ser Barristan, and a lady from the Vale named Aida Stone.
The others that tried, well… Buckbeak certainly made himself very clear who he would not accept. There were far more people who were rejected, that was for sure. More than once, Harry needed to stand in front of them while they made a hasty retreat out of the paddock. It made the crowd that much more hesitant about approaching him, so after the first one to be rejected, many more were dissuaded into trying their hands. Lord Baelish had a moment where he thought out loud that he might try, but after the fierce ejection of Ser Boros Blount, he decided better. There was even a moment when Ser Myran Trant tried his hand at a bow that Buckbeak became so wild and violent that Harry had to step right between them, repeatedly telling the beast, “No!” And trying to distract him with a toss of a dead ferret.
Buckbeak ignored the treat entirely, which wasn't at all usual, and it seemed that he wasn’t just interested in defending himself, but keen on tearing the man completely in two for some reason. Harry wouldn’t let him though, as any direction the beast tried to go, Harry stepped in the same place, blocking him off at every move. He wasn’t afraid of his friend as he was sure the hippogriff would never purposefully hurt him, but Buckbeak made it abundantly clear that he despised the knight for a reason Harry didn’t know.
“I’m very sorry, Ser, but it looks like he hates you,” Harry said, not completely sorry for the man as he grabbed hold of Buckbeak’s neck when the hybrid attempted to force his way through. Harry used the very skin of his teeth to keep him from reaching the man and advised the kingsguard member to make a hasty retreat, which he eagerly complied with, giving Harry the chance to calm his beast. He was still agitated even as he had settled down and Harry decided against accepting any more riders that day.
“I’m sorry. We need a break,” he told the disappointed crowd. “No more rides today.”
There was visual and audible disappointment but no one protested with the decision as the beast bucked and continued to be frantic. As they disbursed, Harry held Bucky’s beak, looking him in the eye while he consoled the creature in English. “Hey there, what’s got you so worked up over? You weren’t even this agitated with Draco. Did you smell something you don’t like?”
Bucky stamped the ground in answer, but Harry didn’t know what he meant by that. “Damn my own blindness. You can understand me just fine, but try as I might to understand you, I always come up short.”
He decided to take him back to the Keep, figuring the crowd would only agitate him more if they stayed. It was still light out, by that time so once Harry had attended to Buckbeak’s needs, he walked down to the tourney to watch what was left of the jousting. Plus, the prospect of the evening feast was reason enough to return.
He managed to navigate his way towards the main jousting and spotted the Starks where they sat with the other courtiers surrounding the royal family in their box of honor with their kingsguard protecting them on all sides.
Harry made his way towards the benches and was greeted by several people he didn’t know who wished him well as he passed them. He was relieved when he reached the Starks as it saved him from having to make small talk with anyone. Ned sat at the end of the bench next to Sansa, Arya next to her, and Mordane next to Arya.
“Might I join you all?” He asked with a tentative smile.
All of them looked pleased to see him.
“I thought you would be with Buckbeak all day,” Arya said upon greeting.
“We both needed a break,” he explained. “No more rides for the day.”
“Tired of ferrying around lords and ladies?” Ned asked with amusement.
“I’m not the one carrying them.”
“Here, you can sit between me and Sansa.”
Arya scooted over as did Sansa to make room for their ward. He took the space between the sisters, grateful. “Thanks. How’s it been so far?”
“One of the Vale knights died during Ser Gregor’s second joust,” Arya told him a bit queasily. “The point of his lance struck him under the gorget. There was so much blood.”
Two years ago, Harry might have been horrified to hear of such an accident, and he was, but it was slightly diminished compared to what it once would have been. Had anyone died during a Quidditch match, it would have been cancelled, but it seemed not to be the case for a jousting tourney. Now it was just commonplace for the world he lived in. Accidents of that nature weren’t unheard of during a joust (it was quite a dangerous sport), but he was disheartened to know that Arya and Sansa had to witness such a thing.
“Are you both alright? That had to have been terrifying.”
“We’re fine, just a little shaken up,” Sansa told him. “I’ve never seen someone die before. It was…” she struggled to find the words, “not something I want to get used to.”
Arya nodded. “The Mountain sure is a beast. I’ve never seen someone as big as him.”
“I think I saw him for a moment by Buckbeak’s paddock,” Harry recalled. “He stood taller than everyone and no one wanted to stand too close to him. Quite a mean-looking brute.”
“Enough talk about that man,” Eddard interrupted. “Sit quietly and watch the joust.”
Their gossip halted as they stared forward just as a knight in elaborate armor rode into the square. His rich plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. Lord Eddard told them that this was Loras Tyrell, the youngest son of Lord Mance Tyrell of the Reach and more publicly referred to as the Knight of Flowers.
While it may not have been a very masculine title, he seemed to have justly earned his fine armor on his jousting skills alone. Harry sat with the others and watched him win one joust after another, and after each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm, ride slowly round the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from his horse’s blanket and toss it to some fair maiden in the crowd.
From Harry’s perspective, it seemed like Loras was quite the womanizer. Or, that’s what he first assumed, until he had come right up to where their party was seated and handed Sansa a bright red rose.
“Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you.” Sansa held it delicately, like it was the most precious gift she had ever received and stared at it, blushing, and grinning from ear to ear.
As everyone’s eyes were on her reaction, Harry looked back at Loras, feeling that was a little bold of him, especially since she was the first prince’s betrothed. But then Harry locked eyes with Loras and his mouth went quickly dry when the knight suggestively winked directly at him.
It took a moment for his brain to make sense of that exchange. Sansa, nor the rest of the people seemed to have noticed it at all. Lord Eddard looked a little indignant but likely only because the knight had so boldly given his favor to Eddard’s daughter while he sat right there on her side. Arya’s face was turned away and scrunched up, disliking the unsightly romantic moment. Then the knight was trotting away, his smirk still in place.
Harry glanced back at the rose in Sansa’s hand and decided he had just imagined the wink, or Loras had meant it for Sansa, even if she hadn’t seen it.
That’s what he firmly told himself.
After that, the jousting continued, only Lord Eddard was called away suddenly by one of his men and left the children to watch the rest with Mordane.
As the matches continued, Harry found that more than once, one of the girls would grip his arm for comfort if one of the riders fell too violently. It was especially prevalent when either Ser Gregor or his brother the Hound jousted. Perhaps the death of that Aryn knight was more frightening than they had let on.
Ser Balon Swann also fell to Gregor, and Lord Renly to the Hound. Renly was unhorsed so violently that he seemed to fly backward off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit the ground with an audible CRACK that made the crowd gasp. Harry watched with bated breath, but it was just the golden antler on his helm. One of the tines had snapped off beneath him. When Lord Renly climbed to his feet, the commons cheered wildly, for King Robert’s handsome young brother was a great favorite. He handed the broken tine to his conqueror with a gracious bow, but the Hound only sneered and tossed it into the crowd, where the commons clawed and punched each other for the bit of gold, until Renly had to restore order. Harry had stood to help him, but the Master of Laws had gotten control of the situation without his aid.
Later a hedge knight disgraced himself by killing Beric Dondarrion’s horse and was declared forfeit. The cheers of the crowd were replaced with shouting and screaming. The wails of the horse as the lance burst through its neck soon muted everyone in attendance and filled the entire square. The cries of the poor animal were so heart-wrenching that Harry couldn’t bear standing by doing nothing, so he had been able to get up from his seat then and helped.
He knelt beside the animal, placing his hand on its mane and whispered a spell to ease it, though he wasn’t sure how well it worked without a wand. It went still at his touch, just the same, and heaved several gargling breaths. Everyone watched the scene with fascination. Others helped the young lord, who seemed to be unharmed despite his rough falling, and he stood shakily, watching his steed bleeding to death in front of him. Even at a glance, it was easy to see that there was no saving the creature, so Harry gave the man a shake of his head. Lord Dondarrion closed his eyes slowly and opened them, issuing a nod that Harry understood. With that, he took his own knife and put the steed out of its misery with a quick thrust to the temple.
After that, the hedge knight was disqualified, yet Beric was able to continue if he so wished. Harry didn’t know if he did or not, as the lad needed to step away for a bit to maintain his composure or else he might have dishonored himself.
Myrcella watched from her place as Harry got up from his seat and tended to the dying horse. At a single touch from him, the horse’s terrible cries went quiet and it lied in the dirt trembling and breathing raggedly. The sounds and the sight of it was terrible and stirred her heart for the poor creature enough to make her want to cry. She watched the exchange of Lord Dondarrion and the quiet nod issuing his approval to end the poor horse’s suffering. While normally an executioner may have been called to do the nastiness, the horse had stopped moving before they even knew what had happened. It was only after Harry wiped off his own knife that anyone knew he had killed it himself. After that, the carcass was dragged away by the mules and Beric had saddled a new mount to continue. Harry had quietly slipped away before anyone had even seen where he went.
The tourney continued but Myrcella couldn’t focus on any of it. She wanted to know where Harry had gone, to see if he was alright. It seemed clear that it had bothered him, and while it had certainly bothered everyone else, they were quicker to move on about it. Perhaps the ordeal had worried him about Buckbeak.
She wanted to excuse herself to go looking for him and found a moment when she feigned needing some air.
With her sworn shield, Arys Oakenheart, following behind her, she searched the crowd for Harry’s face, figuring she would recognize him by his glasses.
At last, she spotted him, tucked away between two tents as he sat on a barrel and fiddled with something in his lap. She smiled at the sight, and took a moment to fluff her hair and pinch her cheeks before approaching him.
“Hello,” she spoke softly.
His face snapped up at the sound of her greeting. “Princess Myrcella.” His eyes swapped between the girl and her guard. There was a brief moment of acknowledgement between the two young men, before Arys faced the passing crowd, stoically guarding his charge in silence and Harry turned back to the princess. “Um… hello again. What brings you this way, Princess?”
“I saw you with the horse and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’m doing better now. I just needed a moment to regain my composure. I hope I didn’t worry you.”
“No. Well… yes, but I don’t mind worrying about you.”
He looked away, regret clouding his eyes. “I’ll need to mask my emotions better next time.”
Myrcella wanted to say she liked his emotion, but thought it wouldn’t be appropriate, so she just took a seat on one of the barrels next to him.
“It’s always hard to see an animal suffering,” Harry explained. “Animals are innocent, even seemingly vicious ones. They act on instinct. When they attack it’s for food or self-defense or because they’re forced to by their masters. There’s no animal in the whole world more vicious and crueler than the ones we’re surrounded by on all sides.”
“And what animal is that?”
“Humans.” He let the sad word hang in the air and Myrcella had to think of that, trying to find the fault in his reasoning. Then he looked at her, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Myrcella nodded, feeling eager to hear one of his secrets.
“If you want to know a person’s true nature, watch the way they treat animals or children when they think no one is looking.”
Myrcella blinked. The secret was not at all what she had been expecting, but in some way, it made total sense to her. As unexpected as it had been, it was also a strangely revolutionary concept. Was that the secret to understanding all things? By how one treated children and animals? She supposed that anyone she actually liked was someone who treated things weaker than them with care and respect. What a fascinating realization.
She mulled over his words as her eyes drifted to the whittling in his hands.
“What are you doing? Carving something?”
“Just finished actually. It’s a unicorn. Do you have unicorns in the crownlands?”
“There are unicorn knights in Tobho Mott," she told him, reciting what little she knew about the strange beasts. "I hear they’re goat-like. What are they like where you come from?”
“They’re pure, beautiful creatures, more equestrian than goats, born golden in color, then they gradually turn silver as they age and then become as white as pearls once fully grown. They have silver blood and drinking it can save you from the brink of death, but by harming a creature so pure, you live a cursed, half-life from there forward.”
The description enchanted Myrcella and her eyes fixed on the wooden trinket, wondering what it would be like to meet such a creature in real life. “It’s beautiful.”
He offered it to her. “Here, you can have it. I’ll make another one.”
Myrcella took it, delighted. The detail of the creature was remarkable. The mane and tail whipped in an imaginary breeze, wispy and graceful, and the horn was a perfect spiral perched on its brow like a crystal pillar. The princess held it to her chest protectively. “Thank you. I love it.”
“By the way, how’s the spoon holding up?” Harry asked.
Myrcella smiled at the reminder of her favorite thing. “Very well. I never eat a meal without it. May I ask for a fork and knife to go with it? I’d be happy to pay for them.”
“I can do that. Do you want orchids on the hilts again?”
“Yes, please, but what about Joffrey’s chess set? How is that?”
“Damn! His chess set!” Harry slapped his forehead in remembrance. “I knew I was forgetting something these past weeks. I’ve been so busy with Buckbeak and my other tasks that I haven’t thought of it even once. Thank you for reminding me.”
“You’d better see to finishing that first then. I can wait for my utensils.”
“Thank you, Princess.”
There was a momentary pause as Myrcella considered what other topics she could discuss with him.
“Are you going to go watch the melee tomorrow?”
“Not likely. I don’t like the sight of killing. I… always feel like I should stop it.”
“Why?”
“Life is very precious in my custom. We don’t go around wasting it. Lord Eddard had to remind me that these are men-grown who already know the risks and consequences of their choices, so I’m not to interfere. Just the same, I prefer not to watch such a thing. It’s… unsightly.”
"I see, but don't you fight as well?"
“Well, yes. But I don’t particularly enjoy it. Of course, I do it and I train, but I feel like for too many it’s everyone’s first resort to conflict of any kind. Things are very different in Westeros than they are back in my home.”
“In Lorath?”
There was a breath of a pause to that statement. “Yes, Princess, in Lorath.”
After a time, Harry asked if she would like to take in the rest of the tourney. There was much more than just the jousting. Merchants and performers had come from miles around to attend the festivities. Harry walked with the princess and her sworn sword, taking in the rest of the tourney as they strolled. They passed tents and stands and even a puppet show that Myrcella lingered at, watching the toys with marvel as the story of the Winged Knight and the Tower Princess played before them. To Harry, the story felt similar to Rapunzel as she too had hair that was long enough to climb up and the story ended with the death of Arryn’s falcon, leaving the two lovers to climb from her prison tower by using her hair for rope.
With that show over, they resumed their stroll. By that time the sky was darkening, and they had heard from several passersby that the king had ordered the last tilts to take place on the morrow. As they knew the feast was soon to start, their trio switched directions to search for the designated area. Unfortunately, Myrcella tended to get distracted quite often and there were numerous times they lingered at booths and merchants to view their wares if something managed to catch her eye. It was then that they came upon a crone sitting by a meager green tent of her own. A small crate covered with a violet drape and a leather pouch spread out in front of her. She was aged, wore a green wool cloak and strings of shimmery beads draping from her grey hair that gathered into dreadlocks and braids like strange glittering curtains. She reminded Harry a lot of Professor Trelawney and if she had the same bulbous glasses as his old teacher, then she could have been a relation.
Myrcella spotted her the same time Harry did and walked up curiously. “Are you a fortune teller?”
“Aye," the woman said in a withered voice. “I read from the bones.”
“Bones?” Myrcella was intrigued, but Harry was wary. There was always a measure of caution one had to exercise when dealing with fortune and those who predicted it. His only experience with a true prediction had been the on the night that he and Hermione had vanished from their homeworld.
“Perhaps we might return to the woman later, Princess?” Arys suggested, and Harry was grateful for the suggestion to move on. “Your family awaits after all.”
The girl wanted to argue but the smells of the feast were already reaching them, and if they lingered any longer, they would miss the first course.
“For certain you don’t mean to leave just yet?” The woman smiled at Harry, beckoning him forward now. “Let me tell you your fortune, good lad?”
But Harry only smiled kindly to her. “In the line of work I’m in, there’s really only one big surprise, and I’d sooner leave it a mystery.”
He moved to turn the princess away but then the woman’s face changed and she stopped him with a gnarled hand. Her eyes went suddenly vacant and an echoing voice that didn’t sound like hers a moment ago erupted from the depts of her throat.
“The door shall open once again!
Two lions enter and two lions leave,
Two to accept, and two to grieve,
three to free, one to surrender,
Three to save, four to honor,
Two to be raped, three to wander,
One to drown, and two to flounder,
Three to be seized, and one to forget,
Two to redeem, and all to regret,
From chains to crowns,
From wands to swords,
From paws to claws,
And from revered to adored,
All to consider their crossroads together,
Two worlds to change and alter forever!”
With the final declaration, a wave of exhaustion seemed to hit the woman just then and Harry barely had a moment to catch her before she could collapse to the ground. It took several long seconds but eventually the woman straightened all on her own. Her small eyes squinted at Harry confusingly.
“Dear me, young man, did you say something?”
It was a frightfully familiar experience. Whatever spell had been over her seemed to have lifted. Myrcella stood with her mouth gaping in shock and Arys looked prepared to cut the woman apart.
“You just—”
“No!” Harry said, cutting the princess off. “No. Nothing.” And with that, he turned their trio sharply and they left the stall quickly. Myrcella, however, had questions abound for what had happened.
“What was—was that woman talking about me or you? Lions? What did that mean? I thought she read bones, like chicken bones. Why would she—”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s mad. Pay it no heed.” But Harry was having a hard time taking his own advice. He had heard a prediction like that once before when he was thirteen on the very day he had disappeared from his home world. And he had heard that prediction from a supposed fortune teller, much like that old woman. Now look at him. Was this prophesy foretelling his and Hermione’s return? No. It spoke of four. But, undoubtably, two of the lions spoken about had to have been Harry and Hermione. So, who were the others? It had happened so fast, and Harry had been so ill-prepared for it that already he was forgetting the woman’s words.
He remembered the part of being raped, though.
Was that talking about Hermione?
A seed of fear buried itself in his chest. No. Two to be raped. Then, did that mean that another lion would be raped? Did it mean raped in the literal way? Who were those other lions? Harry felt a new desperation to find those people that moment and… and what? Protect them? Warn them? He had no idea. He didn’t even know if that had been a true prediction from a true fortune teller. He tried to remember her words.
The door shall open once again!
That could only mean the portal! Would they be able to go home after all? Should he ride to Old Town and find Hermione about it?
Two lions leave, two lions enter
So… they, Harry and Hermione, both Gryffindors who's sigil was a lion, were the ones to enter, but who would be the ones to leave?
Could it be referring to the Lannisters? That seemed likely. Was it referring to Ser Jaime and his brother Tyrion? That also seemed likely.
Two to be freed, two to be… what was it? Remember? No, surrender. But what was the rest?
“Princess, do you remember the rest of what she said?” Harry asked, fretting incessantly over the troubling prediction.
“Some of it," Myrcella answered. "She was speaking so fast, though.”
“I’m trying to recall it, but I too am having trouble,” Arys offered.
“Let’s see," Myrcella mused, looking up at the darkening sky, "she said something about a door being opened once more.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“And two lions leave, and two lions enter.”
“Right.”
“Two to be freed and two to surrender. Then all the middle was hard to follow, but I remember the ending. All to consider their crossroads together. Two worlds to change and alter forever.”
Harry stared forward. His world of Earth and this world of Westeros. That was what she had to have meant.
He could feel the princess’s eyes on him and knew she wanted to know more.
“Harry, what does it mean? I know you know. Tell me. I order you.”
It was a formal royal order so Harry could not refuse. He considered his words very carefully before speaking again. “Prophesies are seldom what you first assume they are and rarely to be taken in the literal sense. It could be that the prediction meant real lions, it could be they meant House Lannister, or it could be it was about another house who sported a lion. There are others. Maybe it was about people who could be described as being lion-hearted. More often than not, predictions like that only confuse you. But trying to flee from your fate may just bring you down the path to meet it, too. It might not be known until it is seen. My advice, try not to worry about it, and speak of it to no one. That’s what I suggest.”
“Do you think others might take it badly and think something awful will happen?”
“I think… it’s more a matter of belief. I’d just rather not be called a fool or mad or be told I was imagining things by people who don’t know anything about it. Or really, I’d just rather believe that old woman was playing some mummer’s farce on us.”
“So, that’s what you’re going to do? Just ignore it?”
“From what I can tell, it seems to be the best path to take, but it’s your decision on what you prefer to do about it as well.”
"I think I would have to agree with him, Princess," Arys added, and Harry was greatful to have him on his side on this one.
Myrcella went quiet as she thought about it, turning their words over in her mind. She was smart for her age, so he hoped she would see the sense in what he first said about it.
“I think… you’re right," she finally decided. "It wouldn’t be smart going around and opening up a cage of bears.”
Harry smiled; glad she was able to decide that for herself even if he had sort of led her to that conclusion.
They walked to the feast in silence. After accompanying her to the table where her family was seated, he spotted Lord Stark and the rest of his house and took up an empty seat with them. Though, when he looked at their faces, he noticed that both Arya and Sansa were grinning knowingly at him while Lord Eddard looked worn out and annoyed.
“What?” Harry asked, his eyes switching between all of them.
“You can’t begin to imagine how many betrothals I’ve received for you today,” Lord Eddard grumbled out. The lad’s eyes went wide with those words. Surely, he hadn’t heard that right.
“B-betrothals?” Harry’s mouth went dry, and his face heated up.
Arya seemed to find the entire thing absolutely hilarious.
“You should have seen it,” she giggled. “One after the other, from the very moment we got to the grounds till we reached our seats. First it was some portly lord from the Vale wanting you to meet with his girl who’s my age. Then after him was an old lady who was also from the Vale asking about you for her granddaughter. Then a lady from the Crownlands wanted to ask for your hand for her old daughter—Harry, she’s thirty and really fat! Then a Frey was here and after that, a woman from Dorn. Even Beric Dondarrion was asking if you could consider a cousin of his. I thought I would split a side with how much I tried not to laugh. Father got so angry.”
Beside her, Sansa also found the ordeal amusing.
“You’d think you were some fair princess with the way they flocked over asking about you. At first, they thought you were Robb, which explained the first few higher houses that approached us, but then all these lesser houses came by once they found out you were a ward and not an actual Stark.”
“They all think you’re the Winged Knight reborn,” Lord Eddard said, all but rolling his eyes.
“O-oh…” Harry was so flummoxed he didn’t know how to respond. He knew enough about the Winged Knight. There were so many stories about the hero of the Vale. No wonder there had been more Vale houses to come forward. Was that also the reason for the puppet show earlier?
“You weren’t even competing in the joust, and they still all want to get their hands on you,” Arya announced.
Harry was glad for the dim light because his face was probably beet red with those words. Then he jolted as an altogether different thought occurred to him.
What was he doing? This was a tourney made in Lord Stark’s honor, not his! And it seemed like Harry went and upstaged him.
“M-my lord, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe this is happening at… at your tourney.”
“I will admit it is quite the headache but considering I didn’t even want this tourney to happen in the first place, I know certain parties made this situation unavoidable. I’m aware it was unintentional on your part.”
Harry knew who Eddard meant by “certain parties” as his eyes swerved over to where the king was seated with his wife and family. They seemed to be growing in a heated debate of some kind, but from where the Starks and Harry were seated, they couldn’t hear it very well.
Just then, they turned to see Joffrey approach their group and he smiled at Sansa who looked delighted to see him.
“Sansa, would you join me at our royal table?”
She didn’t need so much as a moment to think about it, and before anyone said a word, she was whisked off to sit with her prince. Arya rolled her eyes, and Harry might have done the same but he at least had better restraint than the little lady.
They sat together as the courses were served. Singers sat before the king’s pavilion and filled the dusk with music. A juggler kept a cascade of burning clubs spinning through the air. The king’s own fool, the simpleton Moon Boy as most called him, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Harry doubted he was really simple at all. The thought caused him to wonder why someone would go about pretending to be so. What was the motivation in that?
As Harry was wondering such a thing, Moon Boy continued with his jokes, singing a little bard about the High Septon that caused Arya to laugh so hard that pomegranate juice came up her nose while she was drinking it. All the while, the courses came and went.
There was first a venison and barley soup, salads of sweetgrass, spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts, then snails in honey and garlic, which honestly tasted like a rubber balloon to Harry, even with the overly sharp seasonings. Neither Arya nor Eddard seemed to care for them any more than Harry did, and after the first bite, they pushed their plates to the side and welcomed the fish course. After that was at last the meat and Harry thought the end would come with the pudding, but then came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar.
It made Harry’s eyes bulge by how much these people ate. Compared to the meals at Winterfell, he was surprised by how they were able to sustain such a gluttonous lifestyle. He would have understood if this was a feast at Hogwarts because, well—magic—but how were muggles like this able to afford so much? He glanced towards the royal table and King Robert who was eagerly eating his fill.
I guess being a king does have one or two perks, Harry thought to himself.
Eventually, Arya became so tired that she fell asleep right in her chair. Lord Eddard decided to end the night there as he picked his small daughter up and carried her back to the Red Keep to put her to bed. Harry wasn’t yet tired and was in a friendly debate with Jory about chess strategies when they were distracted by the king suddenly shouting.
“No!” He thundered, in a voice that silenced every other sound. Harry’s face turned with everyone else’s as they all watched him stand, wine in his hand as he yelled at his queen. “You do not tell me what to do, woman! I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!”
The queen’s face was a blank mask, drained of all color though a spark of fury glinted in her bright green eyes as she gathered up her skirts and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind her.
Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king’s shoulder, but Robert shoved him away hard. The knight stumbled and fell, and the king guffawed. “The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer.” He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. “Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!”
Jaime Lannister’s eyes glinted just like Cersei’s, then he rose and dusted himself off. “As you say, your grace.” His voice was stiff.
It seemed that Robert’s good mood from the morning hadn’t lasted and Harry’s opinion of him was now remarkably less than it had been before. He exchanged a look with Jory and they both knew a great deal of gossip would sprout from this incident.
“I think that will be the end for me as well,” Jory patted Harry’s arm. “You get your rest, lad. I have a feeling your day will be just as busy tomorrow, too.”
Harry nodded, getting to his feet. He looked towards the royal table to see that Sansa was now looking up into the face of Sandor Clegane as he gripped her arm and pulled her up briskly, just about dragging her away. Harry glared, searching for where Joffrey was, but the prince had gone and Harry did not like the idea of Lord Stark’s daughter being alone with a man like Clegane. So, he got up and followed the two.
They were silent at first during their walk back towards the castle and Harry watched them both closely, their figures illuminated by the torch Clegane was carrying. Sansa seemed to be trying very hard not to look at Sandor’s scarred side, focusing on where to place her feet as she walked. Then she said something Harry couldn’t hear yet seemed to cause Sandor to snarl.
“Spare me your empty little compliments, girl… and your ser’s. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?”
Sansa’s response was too soft for Harry’s hearing, but her words made Sandor madder.
“Some septa trained you well. You’re like one of those pretty birds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite.”
Harry heard her response as she declared that to be unkind and added that he was frightening her. With those words, Harry quickened to close the gap between them.
“No one could withstand him,” the Hound repeated, mocking her. “That’s truth enough. No one could ever withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of business. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasn’t fastened proper. You think Gregor didn’t notice that? You think Ser Gregor’s lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that? You’re empty-headed as a bird for true. Gregor’s lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. Look at me. Look at me!”
The moment he saw the knight grip her face, Harry felt a burst of red-hot fury course through him like a fire on spilled oil. Silently, he stepped out of the darkness, reached up and tightly seized the wrist that held her. Both their gazes snapped towards him, shocked by his sudden appearance.
In Harry’s other hand he held his wand, fully prepared to jinx the dog if he made a single move the young wizard didn’t like, witnesses be damned. No one treated the Starks like that, and certainly not one of his foster sisters. In the meantime, he poured as much magic as he could into the grip he had over Sandor. He wanted to hurt him for touching and talking to Sansa like that.
When he spoke at last, his voice was heavy and threatening. “Let. Her. Go.”
Harry wasn’t sure if it was his tone or the magic he was channeling into his arm, but the man seemed to sober at the sight of the youth. After a moment to study Harry, as if uncertain the boy was even real, his hold dropped away from Sansa at last. With that, Harry stepped between them and he took her hand while discreetly sheathing his wand.
“Thank you, ser, but I believe I will take it from here. Your services are no longer needed.” And like that, he pulled her away and they walked off together. Sansa was trembling as she gripped his arm. The ordeal and the anger of that enormous man had clearly shaken her, and Harry was glad he had decided to follow the two.
“Are you alright?” Harry asked gently, once they were decently away.
“Y-yes. Thank you, Harry. Thank you.” She clung to his arm and they walked together in silence for a while. He had no torch, but luckily, he knew where he was going. Since his first animagus transformation, Harry had developed remarkable night vision and with the half-moon glowing above them, it was enough to light their way.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Sansa asked as she followed him blindly.
“Yes,” he answered.
They walked on until Harry found a moment to speak about the ordeal he had just rescued her from. “That Sandor Clegane certainly has a way with words.”
Sansa could only nod in the dark.
“I don’t like that man sniffing around you," Harry declared, "and he should never, ever be permitted to touch or speak to you like that. I want you to steer clear of him from now on.”
“H-he is Joffrey’s sworn sword; there will come moments when I will interact with him,” she rationalized, even as her voice wobbled a bit. “It is unavoidable.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to stand by and leave you alone with him. Him and some of the other kingsguard are not trustworthy. That one Ser Myran Trant gives me a bad feeling and Buckbeak absolutely despises him. I’m not sure why, but I want you to stay clear of him especially.”
“But—”
“Please, Sansa, don’t question it. Just promise you’ll do it. You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she would agree, but then she thought and must have decided he would never wish her ill, so she nodded. “Alright. I'll try.”
They resumed walking towards the castle and the silence was almost as thick as the darkness. They each began to fidget nervously until Sansa broke the tension with small talk about the day.
“I wish you were competing in the tourney yourself, Harry,” she blurted after some thought.
“I can’t exactly compete in a competition for knights if I’m not a knight.”
“The Hound is competing and he isn’t a knight.”
“Indeed, but The Hound has trained for jousting and melees before. Maybe next tourney, but for now, I’m pleased enough to watch.”
“Perhaps that will be resolved soon. You being knighted, that is.”
“I’m in no rush. My knighting will come in its own time. And according to that charming dog, there doesn’t appear to be many knights worthy of the title.”
“Harry, that is rude,” she reprimanded.
“Which part?”
“Both!”
“Yes, it’s rude, but it may be true. There’s a lot of uncomfortable truths in this world. Just the same, try to pay attention to these people and how they behave. Their dispositions may change in the presence of certain people and that should tell you what you need to know about them.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because if your situation ever changes, the way they treat you may change as well. They may treat you less if you’re no longer important to them.”
“They would never,” she argued.
Harry didn’t rebuff that assumption. Only gave her a look that she couldn’t see in the dark.
“Why do you think that?” Sansa finally asked.
“I don’t like Sandor one bit, but he may be right. He’s been here a long time and has had more opportunities to interact with the people we’re surrounded by, especially the royal family. Pay close attention to them and try to understand why he would say those things from before.”
Sansa went quiet, possibly to think over his advice, and that was where their conversation ended, until they arrived at the Red Keep and Harry had left her at her quarters. She thanked him for his help and bid him goodnight. He told her to sleep well and left to return to the paddock where Buckbeak was already curled up in his den.
The day had been so long and so much had happened, that Harry was asleep as soon as he had tucked into his bed and closed his eyes.