Jon II

"The city is boring!" Arya complained loudly. Their chambers were next to each other in the Tower of the Hand, so they actually spent more time together than they ever had at Winterfell, which was both good and bad.

"There's the tourney," Jon pointed out, stroking Ghost behind the ear absentmindedly.

"That won't be for another month! Father is in boring meetings all the time, and Sansa is even worse!"

At least Sansa was busy with her prince. They went everywhere together, which meant Jon went everywhere with them. King's Landing was a wonder, as hard as that was for a Northman like him to admit. The whole family went on a tour, led by Joffrey himself. Jon had never seen so many people in one place before. He rather liked the Great Sept of Baelor, though that odd boy seemed much more excited about his drains and stone tunnels built under the streets. They smelled foul, but once the reason for them was explained, Jon saw the sense in it. He'd hate to have visited the old stinking city people talked off like it was ancient history, though only a few short years had actually passed. Pity the dragonpit was gone, the old stone put to other uses. A queer sort, that prince, but a doughty fighter withal. Jon had plenty of time for fighters.

There was a Baratheon badge on Jon's tunic, which was strange enough. After years of being denied the direwolf of Stark, the bastard boy wasn't sure what to make of his new station in life. People who'd never seen him before showed immediate deference and respect when they saw the crowned stag upon his breast. No one much cared he was a bastard, or really inquired into his background. Jon was just "the prince's man" now.

When Prince Joffrey Baratheon himself offered to take Jon as a sworn sword, he'd never seen his father smile so wide. Escaping Lady Stark was just a bonus.

I hope Robb is doing well. They say that the Manderly girl he is to wed has green hair. The image made Jon chuckle. Would the babes be green?

Suddenly, Ghost and Nymeria both looked up at once, which meant Lady was near, which meant Sansa and Joffrey were near. Sure enough, not a minute later, there was a knock on the door.

"Arya! Jon! Are you both in there?" came Sansa's voice from the outside.

"Finally!" Arya stood up at once to let them in. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, with their three wolves as large as small horses now, but they managed. "I want to do something, Sansa!"

The elder sister smiled sweetly down at the other. If you wanted Jon's opinion, she was much improved once she got her heart's desire. Sansa would wed the handsome prince and be queen. Who wouldn't be in a good mood after that?

"Joff wants to do extra training down in the yard, what with the tourney and all. We were wondering if you two might like to join us," she said.

"Yes!" Arya cheered. She did a happy little dance and rolled around with Nymeria, not caring one whit if she dirtied her dress. Jon smiled at it; his little sister had always loved swords and fighting, pity she was a girl.

"Father added a squire's melee just for me," Joffrey explained. "I need to sharpen up so I don't shame myself."

Arya and Nymeria stopped wrestling and froze. Her eyes went wide in excitement. "What's a squire's melee?"

Joffrey smiled. "A melee for squires."

"That's not an answer!" Arya whined.

Jon caught the prince's eye, and they both started laughing.

"Stop making fun of me!"

"Sorry, sorry," Joffrey apologized, but there was still a grin on his face. "Normal melees are mounted. Falling off a horse is dangerous for anyone, but more dangerous for growing boys. A squire's melee is on foot, but the same general rules apply."

"And what are those?" Arya asked. Nymeria was sitting by her side, making them of a height. The wolf looked just as interested as she was.

"There's a big field, and they have each participant in a ring along the edges. When it starts, you fight it out until one man is left standing. Blunt weapons only."

"Every man for himself? What's to stop the weaker ones from teaming up on the better fighters?"

"Nothing," Joff answered, then he thought for a moment. "Honor, I suppose. Interfering when two men are engaging in single combat is thought ill of. Still, two on one and three on one happen all the time."

"Think you can win with those odds?" Arya teased.

"Joff will win! I know he will!" Sansa declared with absolute certainty. Joffrey's tight smile was less certain.

***

During the first few rounds, the prince overwhelmed him with size and speed. Every blow, even those Jon managed to fend off, rattled him from his toes to his teeth. It was like fighting thunder. But as things progressed, Joffrey started getting tired, and Jon started seeing patterns.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Thwack! He saw an opening and rang the prince's head like a bell! When his opponent staggered back, Joff called for a water break. Though it was a chilly day, steam rose from Joffrey's head like Winterfell's hotsprings as soon as he took off his helm.

"I've gotten too used to axe fighting, I think. Used to be trickier with the sword, but since I got my black axe..." Sansa ran up to check Joffrey for wounds while Arya clapped happily, and the wolves took the opportunity to run around in the open.

"Aye, my prince," Jon agreed. "Of course, if you were swinging that piece of Valyrian steel at me, I'd be dead."

Joffrey sighed. Sansa was still fussing over him. "True enough. I'll need to use a tourney sword in the melee, so I don't kill anyone. These are friends I'll be fighting. Speaking of which, do you mean to compete?"

Jon considered it, but ultimately declined. "Father mislikes that we're holding a tourney at all, calls it a waste of money."

"He's not wrong, but the sewer project is complete, or at least the core of it is. We spent years on it. It's worth a celebration, and your father being Hand is also a pretty big deal, you know."

Jon did know. A week past, all the Starks and Jon Snow had a serious conversation, family only. Lord Eddard was Hand, Sansa would be queen, and Jon was sworn to the prince. Their family fortunes had risen precipitously, and there would be many jealous houses. They must be on their guard.

"I want to fight!" Arya declared suddenly. As if to back her up, Nymeria stopped chasing Ghost and Lady and padded to her side.

Jon ruffled her hair, which made her angry, just as he intended. "Girls can't fight in melees, sweet sister. Look how big the prince is, and there'll be men grown among the squires. Some are never knighted their whole lives."

"That's true," Joffrey said thoughtfully. He sipped a goblet of water Sansa had brought him. "Thank you, dear."

Sansa almost exploded with glee when he called her that. On the one hand, Jon was happy for his sister, but on the other, he felt a stab of jealousy that cut deeper than any sword stroke. Girls stared at the prince whenever he walked by, sometimes running into walls. What did Joff have that he didn't?

"But you know, I am the prince," Joffrey said thoughtfully. "Women warriors definitely exist. Why not ask your father for training?"

"You mean I can just ask?" Arya said far too loudly. Even in the open yard of the Red Keep, it made his ears ring, or mayhaps that was from the last time the prince hit him.

"There's no harm in asking, and between you and me, people hardly ever tell me no. I have to be careful what I ask for, because I'm like to get it."

"I will ask!" Arya stated strongly, a new determination in her eyes. "Learning to fight would make wintering down here not so boring!"

While they were talking, Jon spied two knights enter the yard leading their mounts by the bridle, having a difficult time by the looks of it, too.

"Ah, crap," Joffrey muttered. "Could you all bring the wolves in?"

"Ghost, to me!" Jon commanded while Sansa and Arya called their wolves as well.

"Sorry about that. We're going to have to get the horses used to them." He turned and raised his voice. "Uncle Renly! Loras! Over here!"

The two knights were clad in green plate and bearing lances. The horses they were leading still looked quite disturbed, so they tied them to a hitching post at the side of the yard and walked over.

"Well, if it isn't my nephew and his pack of wolves," Lord Renly, the king's brother, japed. "I was wondering why Chestnut was so skittish."

"And my mount, Sweetstep," Loras added. Ser Loras, actually. The man was young and prettier than he had any right to be, but he was an anointed knight and a man grown, Jon reminded himself.

Joffrey shrugged. "Where the Starks go, the wolves go. Do you want to try getting your horses accustomed to them?"

"We thought to practice tilting at quintains," Loras answered, "but I suppose we can share the yard with you. Are you going to compete in the joust?" he asked in interest. "I've been looking forward to you entering the lists for years."

The prince shook his head. "Not this time. The squire's melee is enough for me. You know very well I'm just a middling lance."

"You sell yourself short, my prince!" Loras complimented, sounding oddly sincere. "You've got a good seat, and put the lance just where it needs to be. In a few years, you'll be riding with the best, mayhaps champion." He put a hand on Joff's shoulder. "A big, strong lad like you will give us all fits!"

The young knight was smiling, but Renly and Sansa were frowning. Jon didn't quite know what to make of it.