Chapter 115– Hand's Tourney
The tourney began beneath a hard blue sky, with banners snapping in the wind and dust rising from the lists beneath the horses' hooves.
Artos stood near the participants' camp with Robb and Loras.
He looked at Loras in his armor, wearing the sigil of the Demonwolf, his own house sigil.
Artos smiled to himself. It was a proud moment to see a boy he had brought into his home and taught, now representing his house in a tourney held in his honor.
"You look good, Loras. I hope you are ready to win," Artos said, genuinely smiling.
"Thank you, Uncle. I am ready to bring you that honor," Loras said with confidence and with clear admiration for Artos.
Robb nodded and smiled. "Aye, Uncle. He has been doing a great job in the knockouts."
As they spoke, Ser Barristan Selmy came toward them.
"My lords," he said, greeting them all.
Each of them nodded in return.
Barristan continued, "Congratulations, Ser Loras, for reaching the semifinals. You have been doing very well."
Loras nodded. "Thank you, ser. It would have been a joy if you and Lord Artos had participated as well."
Artos laughed softly. "Leave us alone, Loras. We are already busy enough protecting the king and running the realm. It is no small task, I tell you."
Robb laughed as well.
Ser Barristan smiled. "Well, that is the reason I am here, my lord. You will need to go to the king. It is urgent."
Artos was surprised. If Ser Barristan said it was urgent, then it was serious indeed.
He nodded. "Let us go, then."
He gave Robb and Loras a parting nod and followed Barristan.
As they walked, Artos asked, "What is the issue, that it is so urgent?"
Barristan smiled faintly. "The king wants to participate in the tourney. He wants to take on the winner himself."
Artos scoffed. "Fat chance of that happening. Did you try to stop him?"
Barristan smirked. "I did. But the king does what he wants."
Artos shook his head. "If a king always got what he wanted, mine, my brother's, and Robert's heads would have been on the Mad King's court walls."
They reached the king's camp.
Artos stepped inside and saw Lancel Lannister, Robert's squire, trying and failing miserably to buckle a breastplate onto him.
"It made it too small, Your Grace. It will not go," Lancel said.
"Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat arse, did you know that?" Robert said. "You cannot even put armor on a man."
Artos scoffed and laughed. "You are too fat for it, Robert. Why trouble the poor boy?"
Robert looked at him and get close to him as if challenging and scaring him. "Fat, is it? Is this how you speak to the king?"
"Not fat, Your Grace," Artos said, smiling. "Fat as fuck."
Robert stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "Is that so, Arty?"
"Of course," Artos said. "You have been fucking, drinking, and shitting for a decade, on repeat, and sometimes all at once. What did you think was going to happen?"
Robert laughed again, then turned to Lancel and said sharply, "Didn't you hear the Hand? I am too fat for this. Go find me a breastplate stretcher. Now."
He spoke with enough strength and authority to send the boy hurrying off at once.
Artos and Robert both laughed.
"The breastplate stretcher," Artos said, amused. "Really, Robert?"
Robert laughed. "How long before he figures it out?"
"It should not take long," Artos said. "Though I do not know. He is a Lannister. It might take a day or two."
That made Robert laugh again.
Artos shook his head with amusement but got serious a moment later "Robert, what the hell are you doing? I thought we spoke about this. You said you would not pull stupid shit like this."
Robert shrugged him off. "That is why I said I would only joust with the winner. I am not taking part in the whole tourney."
Artos shook his head. "You will be knocked on your arse before you even know what happened. You are too old and too out of shape for this shit."
Robert was not pleased at that. He struck Artos in the stomach with the back of his hand, more as a joke than anything else, but still with enough force to show the strength behind it.
"See? I am still strong."
Anyone else would have been doubled over on the ground. Artos only grimaced and said, "Ouch. That hurts."
Robert and Artos both laughed, then sat down.
Robert handed Artos a drink, and Artos accepted it.
"Too fat for my armor, huh?" Robert said.
"Aye," Artos replied, clearly enjoying himself.
Robert laughed again. "All right, all right. I Better get outside then. At least I can watch it happen."
He started to leave, then Artos called after him.
"Robert, wear something. My king is naked right now, showing his grace with his belly."
Robert turned back, looked down at himself, and laughed. "Ah, an inspiring sight for the people, eh? Come bow before your king, you shitheads!"
Artos shook his head and moved back to the stands, joining his family.
The noise was endless. Horns sounded.
Men shouted. Ladies smiled. The great and the greedy had all come to be seen, and to see what others would become when the crowd began to cheer.
Artos settled in with them, ready to enjoy the tourney.
Robb sat like a lord, with the bearing of one already grown into authority.
Margaery Tyrell sat near Robb with perfect grace among her kin, calm as a painted saint, lending his lordly presence the right sort of polish.
Near her stood Sansa Stark, young, serious, and trying hard to look like a girl worthy of being taken seriously. Recent lessons and time with the small council had made her more aware of the world around her, and of what was expected from her.
But the most surprising was Bjorn, who now carried himself with the hard, serious look of a lord. He had the air of a mature and clever man, though a war axe rested close to him, giving him a dangerous edge.
Artos smiled when he saw it.
Looks like that night had an impact on the boy. Good, he thought.
Arya was seated close to Artos, giving off the same wild, chaotic energy that always seemed to follow her.
This was the semifinal between Ser Jaime and Ser Loras.
Loras, mounted and ready to joust, rode up before Sansa to ask for her favor.
Sansa had stepped forward with a small, delicate favor in her hands, a soft ribbon chosen with great care.
She offered it to Ser Loras Tyrell.
Loras looked almost startled by the honor, then bowed with practiced charm and accepted it as though the whole realm had stopped for that single gesture.
A murmur moved through the stands at once.
Artos's good eye flicked to Robb, noticing something.
"There," he said, amused, keeping his voice low enough for Robb alone. "Is there something here that I do not know?"
Robb followed his gaze and saw Loras on horseback, smiling with easy confidence and pleasantness like winning the whole Tourney, and Sansa with faint color in her cheeks, looking pleased by the attention.
"I do not know, Uncle. What are you talking about?" Robb said in a normal voice, though years of knowing him told Artos that there was more going on.
Artos gave him a dry look. "Of course you do not know."
The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to cut.
Robb frowned, then sighed. "You are thinking too much, Uncle."
Artos only smiled and shook his head.
Did I miss something back home, or am I thinking too much of this? he wondered, amused by what was happening, especially by Loras's expression.
---
Shout out to new member Patcharapol Wankanapol . Thank you man . Welcome to the Pack.
Please, please join the Patreon. Its really a genuine request. Please join it.
Thank you for your lovely support
Please join the patreon and join the pack
www.patreon.com/Cregantheblackwolf
Thank you for your support and I am really grateful