The Warg King

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always.
Jon should do a service to the realm and teach Joffrey about consequences

 

[LazyWizard]

"And there you have it, people!" The announcer screamed, his voice carrying across the stands, riding over the roar of the crowd. "With that arrow, which seemed to have been guided by the crone herself, Lord Blackfish—er, Lord Brynden Tully—defeats Anguy and takes the win as the best Archer of the Tourney."


The crowd snickered at the herald's fumble, but who could blame him? Even the children recognised the veteran knight by his nickname rather than his true name.


"Curse it! I was sure that Anguy from Dorne would take the win." The Baker threw the wooden stub to the ground before stomping on it for good measure.


"How much did you bet?" Gendry looked at his friend with amusement as they retook their seats along with the rest of the charged crowd.


"5 stags," he admitted reluctantly.


"You put that much on a bet?" Gendry asked incredulously. "Did your father finally increase your allowance?"


"As if! The miserable old goat would bake all his money and eat it before he'd give me an extra penny," he snorted. "It's part of what I managed to save over the years."


"Stole from your father, you mean," Gendry mumbled, but the Baker ignored him.


"But I really thought the Dornish boy would win." He slammed his fist into his palm. "He always managed to hit the centre so easily before, so how did he fumble at just ten paces more?"


"I think it must have been the wind." Gendry glanced towards the flags fluttering in the wind. "They both tied at a hundred paces, and the only thing different this time was that the wind was flowing a little faster. Blackfish is a veteran of many wars, and has a lot more experience than Anguy, after all. Besides, it's already a great achievement for him to reach the finals against nobles like Swann and Blackfish."


"How would that help me?" he grumbled. "The Blackfish must be over fifty, right? So how could he hit a target that I can't even see from here?"


"I heard it's because he eats fish eyes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, every single day of his life."


An old farmer sitting in front of them turned his head and chipped in with a serious expression.


"Yeah, right," he scoffed, but a moment later he turned to Gendry. "That wouldn't help, right?" he whispered.


"Who knows?" He shrugged.


"Look, they are clearing the fields." He pointed at the men taking away the targets. "Are they finally going to start the lists now?"


"Let's see." The Baker counted on his fingers. "The archery is over, and we had that squire's melee before that, and the True Melee doesn't start until two days later, so I guess the final is the only thing left now."


"Why are they taking two days' break? Wouldn't it be better to do it all at once?"


"Well, they have to give the ones who competed in the Tourney a chance to take some rest, don't they?" He settled back while folding his hands. "And especially the two in the finals. Even if the pretty one from Reach doesn't compete, Jon Snow is surely going to be joining the Melee."


"You think so?"


Gendry scratched his head.


"But isn't he too young? I mean, I know he is talented and all to reach the finals against everyone, but it is one thing to compete on a horse and quite another to go head-to-head against monsters such as Sandor Clegane. The beast is at least a foot taller than him."


"He is not just any fifteen-year-old, though." The Baker shook his head. "Didn't you see those brats hitting each other with their wooden swords in that idiotic squire's bout earlier? They are probably the same age as him, likely even older, so do you think they stand a chance against him?" He raised an eyebrow.


"No." The answer came without any hesitation.


The answer left Gendry's mouth before he even finished thinking about it.


In fact, just imagining those fumbling padded squires standing against Jon Snow made him wince in sympathy. It would be too cruel.


"Exactly." The Baker leaned back and nodded. "The boy's been blessed by the gods, I tell you. He'll show us another amazing show in the Melee, I am sure of it."


"You don't expect him to win against the likes of Jaime Lannister and others, do you?" He turned to him with a strange expression on his face.


No matter how much you believe in someone, there has to be a limit to how far you can stretch it.


To have faith that a fifteen-year-old brat will outdo forty other veteran knights in a chaotic bout and come out on top was nothing short of a fantasy; one might as well believe that dragons will revive again.


"Why not?"


The Baker raised his chin. "I-It can happen," but his voice lacked the confidence his body was trying to exude; clearly, even he was having trouble imagining this coming to fruition.


"Yes, sure." Gendry rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his friend.


"People say that the boy has been fed wolf hearts since he was born, and has the strength of a hundred wolves."


The farmer turned and chimed in again.


"Where are you getting these facts of yours, old man?" Gendry smiled helplessly. "Have you even travelled out of the city in your whole life?"


"Why? Of course I have," the farmer retorted defensively. "I have been to many places like t-that Dunkesdale. I went there just last year to my cousin whose brother's son's maternal uncle was getting married, and I also—"


But before the old farmer could tick off all the places he had ever been to, the women sitting just below them, separated by a wide empty section, stood up and began screaming their hearts out.


Ahhh!!!


"W-What? What happened?"


Gendry stood up and looked around with alarm.


"I-It's Jon Snow. He is here." The Baker jumped in excitement and began pointing towards the fields. "Look! On that white horse! Damn, he looks good in that armour."


"That's it?!"


Gendry was left speechless by this exaggerated reaction from the women at seeing a boy they had been witnessing every day over the past week.


But despite his internal grumbling, he couldn't resist craning his head and taking advantage of his height to see the famous bastard in all his glory.


"He doesn't look that strong, though..." was the conclusion he reached a few minutes later, as he watched the boy complete a round of the grounds while waving at the crowds with a brilliant smile on his face.


"You wouldn't be saying that if you had seen him smash knight after knight from their horses as if they were toys, without taking a single hit." The Baker pointed proudly towards the field. "He is like lightning out there. One moment he is riding calmly and the next, whoosh! His lance strikes true. One can barely see him."


"Uh-huh." He nodded distractedly, his attention having been fully captured by the armour Jon Snow was sporting.


Black plate covered him from head to toe. Every piece fitted so closely that it seemed less like armour and more like a second piece of clothing made out of dark steel.


The edges of the plates overlapped with such precision; simply from the way he moved his arm, Gendry could tell that whoever made it had taken his measurements down to the smallest detail.


Not only practical, but it was also very beautiful, and every time the sun shone on the polished black surface, intricate details appeared that must have taken weeks of effort to create.


'Who could have made something like this?'


Gendry frowned as he went over the names of all the master smiths famous across Westeros.


'Even Master Tohbo wouldn't be able to create this... at least not without a lot of help from other skilled blacksmiths scattered all over the Seven Kingdoms.'


The screams from the stands gradually faded as Jon headed towards the white tent at the edge of the field with a flag showing a proud white wolf snapping in the wind.


Then another wave of screams rose from the women, mostly from the younger lasses.


"What is it this time—"


"It's the Tyrell boy!"


The Baker jumped again.


Gendry huffed and dropped back into his seat, not feeling very excited to see yet another noble boy who was good at riding horses because it was the only thing he had trained in since he was a child.


Their seats were on the left side of the grounds, and they sat close enough to Jon Snow's tent that Gendry could see the boy's armour in even more detail.


"Who's that red one?"


Gendry noticed Jon talking with a tall, muscular boy around his age standing in front of his tent with a smile on his face.


"Oh, that's Robb Stark, the heir of the North." The Baker turned towards him. "He is Jon Snow's older half-brother."


"They seem close," Gendry murmured, feeling a strange warmth in his chest for some reason at watching them like this.


'But what do I care if a bastard is accepted by his family?'


"Look! Loras is heading right there!" The Baker practically bounced in his seat.


"Why in seven hells are you getting excited about that?"


Gendry looked helplessly at his friend, who ignored him and kept his focus on the pretty Tyrell boy in white armour as he dismounted before the two Northerners.


"What do you think they are talking about?" The Baker asked aloud with intense curiosity on his face.


"Are they friends?" Gendry watched the two young boys, who were about to meet in the finals, trading jests and knocking each other's shoulders.


"Are they friends?!" The Baker squeaked as he turned with a look of disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? Have you been living under a rock?!" He pointed at Gendry as if he had just told him he didn't know who the Sevens were.


"Why?" The extreme reaction made even Gendry doubt himself, wondering if he overlooked something obvious.


"Don't you know that they are—"


"Look! It's Lady Margaery."


A young girl of about 18 suddenly screamed and jumped in her seat, being the first one to notice, drawing the attention of the two boys and everyone else sitting nearby.


"What is she doing there?"


Gendry stared in amazement as the Tyrell lady, who was easily the most beautiful girl he had seen in his entire life (which was saying something, considering he lived in King's Landing, the home of nobles), greeted the three boys and conversed with the two Northerners as if they had all known each other for years.


'They all seem happy.'


Gendry noticed, which seemed like a bizarre thing to notice, but when he recalled every other noble he had seen before, he remembered only faces with their nose up in the air, with disgust in their eyes or carrying a false, hypocritical smile on their faces that sent shivers down your spine... but they seemed different.


"You really don't know?" The Baker sat down and looked at Gendry as if he were a rare animal. "Haven't you heard the rumour?"


"What rumour?"


"That Lady Margaery and Jon Snow..." The Baker raised two fingers and slowly pressed them together "...are like this."


"Don't be absurd." Gendry scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Jon Snow is a bastard," he stated as if it explained everything.


"It would be more believable if you said the same about the red-haired one." Gendry pointed towards Robb.


"But it's the truth! Ask anyone out here." He immediately searched around for a target, and coincidentally the one closest to them was the farmer sitting in front.


"Oi, old man! You know about Jon Snow and Lady Margaery, right?" The baker grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. "Tell my friend here that I am not lying about them."


"Huh, oh, yes. He is telling the truth." The farmer nodded, though reluctantly for some reason. "There is indeed something going on between the two."


"But he is a bastard..." Gendry had a look of utter incomprehension, as if the world wasn't making sense. "Even if he belongs to one of the Great Houses, there is little chance that there would be any future between them, right? So how is anyone even allowing that..."


"That's what makes it so interesting, you fool!" He slapped Gendry's back in excitement. "It's just like in the stories, a lowly bastard who rose up from the bottom because of his hard work, and a beautiful high noble lady who fell in love with him because of his chivalry..."


"You are really not making this all up?"


"I am not—"


"Your friend's telling the truth." The excitable young girl sitting in front of the farmer turned to join the conversation. "I saw the two just yesterday; they were alone, by themselves, shopping in the market, just the two of them," she insisted with her eyes wide open, as if she couldn't even believe her own words.


"Did you really see them?" A middle-aged woman sitting beside her leaned forward with a gossipy expression. "How did they look?"


"So pretty." The girl clasped her hands together. "Like a match made by the Sevens."


The farmer let out a sigh.


"It is truly regrettable, though, that such a noble lady from a good family like hers has been beguiled by the wiles of a bastard, even if he is good-looking and knows jousting."


"Watch your mouth, old man?!"


"Yes, who are you calling lowly, you old fucker?"


The middle-aged woman and the young girl wheeled on him together, with angry expressions on their faces, as if they were ready to fight.


The farmer was flustered, but didn't back down. "B-But everyone knows that bastards are products of sin, who are cunning, envious and treacherous, and will rob you of your wealth if you are not careful."


"He has enough money to buy all thirteen of your generations. Where the fuck do you get the guts to call him lowly?"


"I... I..." The farmer stuttered in embarrassment, but he couldn't find the words to retort.


"Sheena, look!! She is taking out a ribbon," the young girl's friend said, shaking her shoulder, and taking her attention away from the pious farmer.


"Really?"


The girl's head snapped towards the field.


Gendry followed her gaze and finally spotted the thin red string in Lady Margaery's hand.


"I bet she's going to put it around Jon!" she squeaked.


"You think so? But her brother's right there." The friend seemed torn between Loras and Jon, as if unable to decide which one to support.


"Doesn't matter. She'll choose Jon, because he is her lover after all." The young girl was confident.


"But she can't just embarrass her brother like that in front of everyone, right?"


"How about a bet then?" she provoked with a smile That new red dress of yours would look good on me," she provoked with a sly smile.


"T-That, only if you bet your brother."


"Which one?"


"The younger one."


"Deal!"


..


.


"What the fuck is wrong with these two?"


Gendry looked at the Baker.


The Baker stared back.


Both of them shivered before simultaneously shaking their heads, deciding to purge the conversation from their minds.


They turned their attention back to the field where the drama had intensified.


Both the contestants had put their hands in front of Margaery, seemingly leaving the decision to her.


For a moment, there was complete silence in the stands as everyone held their breath and focused their eyes on them, watching to see which one Margaery chose to bestow her favour.


Margaery seemed to feel the weight of all those eyes upon her. She glanced towards the stands before looking back at the two boys.


But then, just as she made a decision and raised the ribbon, one of the hands in front of her reached forward and snatched it out of her hands before taking off.


"Oi!"


Jon yelled indignantly as he made to chase after him, but then, just after a few steps, thought better of it and stopped, realising it would be too childish to run around in front of the crowd.


"You'll need to win to get it," Loras shouted triumphantly as he waved the ribbon while running towards his horse on the other side, grinning all the way.


"You're going down, you brat," Jon called back before he turned and made his way towards Pegasus with a resolute expression, as if about to go to war.


Margaery, the reason behind the whole drama, was left standing alone with a powerless expression, before Robb offered her an elbow.


She accepted it, and the two began making their way back towards their seats.


"Did you see that, people? Did you see?!"


The herald's voice thundered across the field, positively delighted by the drama unfolding before them. "The stakes have been raised even further for the finals! Whoever wins the bout not only becomes the champion of the Tourney, but also gets the favour of the most beautiful maiden in Westeros, the rose of Tyrell."


"Looks like that Lord's not very happy with that announcement."


Gendry pointed towards the Tyrell stands.


A fat lord was standing against the railing, angrily waving his hands while shouting something at the announcer that they couldn't hear, raising a commotion.


"I think... that is Lady Margaery's father, Lord Mace Tyrell." The Baker replied with a finger on his chin.


"That makes sense then." Gendry slowly nodded in understanding, but then his brows furrowed.


'Wait! No, it doesn't.'


"How did he not know about any of this before? About his own daughter?" He turned to his friend, "Is he a fool?"


Because, sure, he too didn't know about the rumours running through the city before today, but that was because he wasn't the kind to socialise, and more importantly, he was not the girl's father.


"Perhaps." Baker scratched his head. "Hm, now that I think about it. I've never really noticed him before at any of Jon's previous matches. Which is weird... because why would he stay away when all the other Lords were here?"


'Maybe he was kept away.'


Gendry thought, as he watched the fat Lord be forced back into his seat by a limping man and a strict old woman who seemed to scare him.


PWAAH!!


A loud, piercing horn tore through the stands as their attention returned to the list where both the contestants had taken their starting positions.


Slowly, the noises from the crowd ebbed away, and even their breathing became suppressed as every eye there went towards the two men on horses.


And then, with an abrupt swish of a red flag—


Clap!


Both the horses blasted off almost simultaneously, charging towards the middle with their lances at rest and their shields to the side.


The tilt was wide, stretching nearly the entire length of the stand from left to right, but even so, the two managed to clear it in merely 10 seconds.


Closer.


Closer.


And then, just moments before they reached the middle, both riders leaned forward, raising their lances to—


Boom!


Both their shields shattered as the lances struck almost simultaneously.


Gendry breathed out and realised that he could hear the roar of the crowd once again.


"RWAAR!!"


The people went wild with cheers.


But Loras and Jon didn't pay any attention to that, and without a moment's rest, recovered their proper position and wheeled their horses, took up fresh lances, and charged again.


And this time, Jon's white horse galloped even faster, its legs barely touching the ground.


"Hit him!"


Gendry didn't realise he'd shouted the words until they were already out of his mouth.


From where he stood, just from the posture, the speed, and the sheer confidence, Jon looked to have the upper hand, and until the very last moment, Gendry was sure of his judgement.


But then...


The lances met.


And then—


Screech!


It bounced off.


He didn't know how, but the Tyrell knight had somehow managed to shift his shield at the last possible moment, and turned a sure-hit, decisive strike into a glancing blow.


The crowd around him groaned at the missed chance, but, once again, they didn't even have the time to feel regret as the riders were already turning at the end of the tilt, taking fresh lances from their squires.


'Does it not hurt?'


Gendry wondered how these two had trained their bodies to absorb hits like that and continue without flinching.


"Once more!" "Once more!" "Once more!"


The crowd rose at once and began screaming and stomping their feet, their tempo growing faster with each shout.


As if mirroring them, Jon shot forward even faster— which Gendry didn't know was even possible.


His horse seemed to devour the ground beneath it, rapidly closing the distance while Loras struggled to match the pace.


"Send him flying!!!" screamed the crowd.


This time, they met not in the centre but halfway to Loras's side.


And on the third pass there was no competition, as Jon's momentum carried his lance forward and struck the very centre of the Tyrell rose on his chest and sent him flying.


"RAAHHH!!"


The crowd went mad with cheers.


But for just a moment...


As somehow Loras Tyrell, with his back almost flat on his horse, managed to stay in the game by locking his legs to the stirrups.


"Are you joking with me?! Are you fucking joking?!!"


The Baker cursed, throwing his hands into the air, and he wasn't the only one, as the crowd had also been caught off guard by the near win.


But unlike them, Jon wasn't shaken in the least by the false victory; in fact, the boy didn't even slow down for a moment.


Not even when the turn came.


He went wide, completed a beautiful arc to reverse his direction, all while maintaining his speed.


And then came the acceleration...


"Is he insane?"


Chills went down Gendry's spine as he saw the Northerner thundering down the list, moving faster and faster, until he was nothing more than a blur.


"What's he doing? No human can control themselves at that speed?"


Gendry couldn't believe that anyone would be this suicidal; at this pace, a single mistake could turn deadly for both him and his opponent, yet Jon was still rushing headlong, picking up speed as if he knew no fear.


"That's what I have been saying!" The Baker screamed in his ear, vibrating with excitement, but Gendry's whole being was focused on the two riders.


Loras took a while to gather himself this time, and by the time he began to build up a little speed, Jon was already there.


His lance was in front of him.


BAM!


Gendry almost didn't see it, even with his eyes wide open, as the two horses thundered past each other.


One second they were there, and in the next the shield shattered into a thousand pieces as Loras was picked clean off his horse.


To the crowd, it felt as if the boy seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before he went crashing into the ground.


The impact made Gendry wince.


But Loras rolled with it, bleeding away enough of the momentum that the crash did not become something worse.


"RAAHHH! RAAAH!!"


The stands erupted in cheers and began jumping in place, their excitement knowing no bounds.


Jon didn't, or perhaps couldn't, slow down until he reached the very end, where he finally controlled his horse down to a comfortable trot.


The broken lance and shield were thrown aside as Jon raised a shaky fist towards the crowd, who responded with screams so loud that they shook the ground.


"SNOW!" "SNOW!" "SNOW!"


Waving along as he went, Jon smiled at the crowd as he slowly made his way back towards where Loras lay on the ground, staring at the sky as if contemplating his life choices.


The Bastard from the North, soon to become a knight, removed his helmet and offered a hand towards the fallen knight, who accepted with a roll of his eyes.


"Look! That squire!"


The girl in front of them squeaked once again, while pointing towards a 10-year-old boy wearing Northern clothes with a white merman on his chest, running into the field towards Jon with a wild grin on his face. "Look at his hand; he's carrying a crown!"


'Does she have the eyes of an eagle?' Gendry wondered as he finally spotted the small wreath made of red roses the boy was bringing to Jon.


"He is going to declare his Queen of Love and Beauty—"


"Gendry!!"


A familiar voice shouted from somewhere behind them.


Both men turned.


Someone was pushing through the crowd towards their seats.


"Bard!"


The Baker waved.


Their missing friend had finally joined them after all this time. "Where have you been, you bastard? You missed everything."


"I got... held... t-the prince... the horse... the queen... crying..."


"What are you talking about?"


Gendry reached out and patted the back of the Bard, who was gasping as if he was on his last breath. "Take a deep breath, and then speak."


"It's the prince," he wheezed out a few moments later, while pointing behind him towards the city. "He's a goner!"


"What?!" Baker jumped as if he was a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and hurriedly covered his mouth. "What are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed?!"


"Mmh," The bard removed his hands. "I am not lying," he pressed, eyes wide in disbelief. "I-I mean, I am not sure if he is dead-dead. But he is definitely not in good condition!"


"Be clear. What happened?"


Gendry held back the Baker and stared at Bard with a serious expression, knowing he wouldn't be stupid enough to make such a deadly jest. "How would the prince be hurt with all his guards with him?"


"It was a horse!" He frantically waved his hands. "I guess it was being uncooperative or something, so he brought out a whip, but then—Bam!" he slapped his hands


"The horse went wild; he threw him to the ground and trampled all over him, at least two to three times, before it raced away," he finished with an excited expression, as if he had seen the show of a lifetime.


"Even one of the Kingsguard was not spared, and that one was dead for sure; I heard his neck crack."


"A-And you saw this with your own eyes!"


The Baker had gone pale with shock, and even the people around them were staring at the Bard with dumbfounded expressions.


"I swear on the Seven." He pinched his throat. "That prince! He's at least crippled for life."


Just then, loud whispers began to ring out from the other side of the stands, and all of them turned their eyes to see that the origin of the commotion was none other than the King.


The fat man, who stood even taller than Gendry, was halfway down the platform with a sword in his hand, which he probably intended to use to knight Jon Snow, but he had been interrupted halfway through by a Lannister guard.


They couldn't hear the conversation, but just from their expressions, Gendry could guess the news didn't please him.


The King looked annoyed for a moment before he nodded and handed the sword to Ser Barristan.


After patting the Old Knight on his shoulder, he said a few words, and then took off in the opposite direction, towards the tents where their horses were being kept.


'It can't be true, can it?'


///


Did you like that? If you did, then there's a surprise for you:


Introducing: The Golden Weasley— My new fanfic.


A Ron Weasley SI where the boy just wants to get bloody rich.


Be sure to go check and leave a review if you like it.

 

[Count Dragulia]

Lmaoooo that's what you get for being a sociopathic monster in a world with wargs.

 

[ATP]

Lmaoooo that's what you get for being a sociopathic monster in a world with wargs.

Click to shrink...

Could be worst.some rat could eat his dick during his sleep.or eyes.Why not both?
That aside, how it is possible?

Jon could not do that.Not during fight with Loras.So,who did it,and why?

But - Tommen as King would be much better,and we do not need civil war here to avoid psycho on throne.

P.S Which Kingsguard die? certainly not Jaime or Trant,both are too good to be killed by horse.

 

[Septaemus Meridaeus]

Could be worst.some rat could eat his dick during his sleep.or eyes.Why not both?
That aside, how it is possible?

Jon could not do that.Not during fight with Loras.So,who did it,and why?

But - Tommen as King would be much better,and we do not need civil war here to avoid psycho on throne.

P.S Which Kingsguard die? certainly not Jaime or Trant,both are too good to be killed by horse.

Click to shrink...

Could be any one of the northmen that came with him, that has the ability including Robb.

It may have been slynt (I think that's how you spell it, and I think he was in the kingsguard iirc.)

P.S. just a distinction but Wargs are typically skin changers that only skin change into wolves or direwolves (hence why the stark children barring Bran are referred to as Wargs) but any skin change (essentially drift/merge minds with an animal, like how one would in pacific rim with their twins/siblings, etc) into any animal (that may include wolves and direwolves but also have more, shadow cats, snow bears, eagles, etc) are typically referred to as skin changers as they don't just skin change into wolves or DireWolves wolves (that or skin changers was just the term those North of the Wall used, I can't remember the full lore though I think the first reason I gave is it, I may be wrong.)

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always.

It's the prince," he wheezed out a few moments later, while pointing behind him towards the city. "He's a goner

Click to shrink...

And the city weep for their prince, for all of 7 seconds

 

[LazyWizard]

An hour earlier


"What?"


Joffrey turned from the window. "What did you say?"


"They are dead."


Meryn Trant kept his eyes on the carpet. "The four we sent to capture him, and the ones who stayed behind in the warehouse. All of them have been found killed. The Goldcloak looks to have been tortured for information—"


"Useless! You are completely useless!"


Joffrey snatched up the nearest vase and hurled it at his Kingsguard, who didn't even flinch.


The colourful piece of crockery, worth more than a guard's yearly salary, shattered against his golden armour, scattering pieces across the floor.


"First, my uncle gets kicked out of the Tourney by that Tyrell boy after all his boasting. And now you tell me that the men you sent have failed too."


His teeth clenched.


"How incompetent do you all have to be that you can't even kill a fifteen-year-old bastard?"


"Apologies, Your Highness."


Meryn bowed as much as his armour allowed. "I underestimated him. I knew he was a good warrior after his bout with Ser Barristan, but even so, it should not have been possible for him to escape the ambush, especially with the help of that coerced knight." His hand settled against the hilt of his sword.. "But somehow he got away, and all our men died."


There were few things that unnerved Meryn Trant after all his years serving the Lannisters.


But what he had seen in that warehouse... has scared him a lot.


Eyes, ears, nose...


Nothing had been spared.


In fact, Meryn believed that the man must have already spilt all the information halfway through; otherwise, he didn't believe his captor would have been merciful enough to leave with any whole organs if he still had any use.


Anyone who could do those things to a person, and appear the next day in front of everyone acting completely nonchalant... was not one he wanted to offend,


Unfortunately, things had already gone beyond control.


"That's why I told you to use crossbows!"


Joffrey shouted as he kicked a chair and sent it skidding across the floor.


"It shouldn't matter how good the boy is. In front of a crossbow, even my uncle's prowess would be useless. So how could they fucking lose?"


"I did send those crossbows, but..." Meryn shook his head. "Something must have gone wrong. In the end, it was my fault for relying on street rats instead of hiring professionals to do the job."


He peeked at the brat's face and decided to divert his attention before he could get any funny ideas to punish him. "But don't worry, my prince. Even if he tortured some information out of the Goldcloak, the most Snow will know is that I had a grudge against him because of the Tourney. Your name shouldn't come out."


"What does it matter if it does?"


Joffrey waved the concern away.


"He is merely a bastard, and I am a prince. No matter how much he cries about it, no one's going to help him against me."


He snorted.


"In fact, I shouldn't have listened to Baelish from the start. That rat only knows how to hide and spin useless plans. Why the hell would a prince need to be discreet?"


Meryn kept his face carefully blank.


"I should have done this openly from the start. Gone straight to him and demanded that he keep his hands off the Tyrell girl."


Joffrey began pacing, the anger on his face giving way to excitement.


"A beautiful girl like her should belong to a prince, not someone of lowly birth."


Thankfully, we are alone here.


Meryn sweated just imagining what could have happened if some maid or a guard happened to be in the room and heard this idiot spout so brazenly about his plan.


He was sure that with the way things worked in the Red Keep, come morning everyone and their mother would know that the prince had conspired against the son of a Lord Paramount.


And even if nothing happened to the brat, Trant didn't believe he or even Baelish were going to be left unscathed from North Wrath.


"That's right."


Joffrey stopped.


"Why didn't I think of this before?"


He slammed one fist into his palm.


"I'll go straight to Father and ask him to marry the girl to me. Then everything will be solved, right?"


He resumed pacing, almost bouncing on his feet.


"She'll surely be grateful for the chance to become a queen. The Tyrells will worship me for the favour. And even Father will believe I'm all grown up if I marry and bind the loyalty of the Tyrells to the crown."


He turned eagerly towards Meryn.


"What do you think, Trant?"


"Great idea, my lord."


The corners of Meryn's mouth twitched as he forced himself to nod.


After all, it wasn't his place to teach the boy how things worked in the real world.


He would learn soon enough that the first ones to crush this particular fantasy would be his mother and his grandfather. Even a man like Meryn understood that the people who ruled the Seven Kingdoms had little interest in sharing royal power.


"The Tourney is going to start soon, right?"


Joffrey went to the window again.


"I really hope that bastard wins now. It will be wonderful to see his face when he wins and thinks he's accomplished some great feat, only to hear Father announce that the girl he was after has been gifted to me."


He laughed.


"Just imagining his face crumbling makes me happy... Perhaps I'll even parade her in front of him a few days later to tease him, hehe."


What a twisted brat.


"It will indeed be amazing," Meryn smiled.


"Let's hurry, then."


Joffrey strode towards the door.


"I don't want to miss the Tourney."


...


"Clean the dirt on your nose, boy."


The stablehand barked at his 10-year-old son following after him, as he led two horses by their reins.


"You will come in front of a lot of nobles in here, and they do not like dirty, ugly people, so take care of your appearance."


"Y-Yes." The boy nodded as he rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his tunic.


"You need to remember these things in the future, boy. A single mistake could cost you your life here." He warned with a strict expression. "I paid a lot to have you allowed into the royal stables after me. You'd better not waste this chance."


The boy was silent for a few moments.


Then, quietly, "Father... a-about elder sister, can we get her—"


"I'll break your teeth if you bring that up again."


His father's hand came up.


The boy flinched.


"It's all your useless mother's fault for making you all soft."


In the end, the man didn't dare make a scene here, and lowered his hand with a disappointed glare at his son before turning and continuing.


"You need to understand, boy. She was a girl. A burden. Your sister was bound to leave the house one day, so it's only a few years earlier."


The boy stared at the back of his father's head.


"And the place she went to isn't that bad. At least she'll have enough to eat and a place to sleep. That's good enough, so forget about her and focus on your life."


He knew his father was lying.


His mother wouldn't have cried so much, and his sister wouldn't have screamed and struggled if she had been going to a good place, but he knew begging anymore was useless, so he just nodded his head.


'I'll just buy her back from that place when I have enough money,' he swore with a resolute expression on his face.


"You should be grateful that you are my only son, brat." The man murmured with a backward glance.


"Otherwise, I would never have spent so much money bringing you into the Red Keep. Do you know what a great opportunity this is? How many people out there would give anything just to catch a glimpse of this place?"


He gestured towards the castle.


"Even some random passing noble might take a liking to you and throw enough gold your way to last our family a lifetime, so don't—"


The stablehand abruptly stopped speaking and lowered his head. "That's him. The eldest prince," he muttered through the corner of his mouth, as he took a peek at Joffrey, coming out of the Red Keep with Ser Meryn and a retinue of other Lannister guards.


"Now, remember everything that I taught you. Keep your head low, and only speak when you're spoken to. Underst—"


"You! Stableboy!"


One of the guards pointed towards them.


"Are all the horses ready?"


"A-Aye, m'lord." The man hurried forward with a fawning smile.


"Those two are the last ones, and I have fed and watered all of them, so they should be good for the whole—"


"Enough. I don't have time to listen to a story."


The guard snatched the reins from him and dragged the horses towards the waiting party, where the rest of the men were fetching their own horses.


"Your horse, my prince." He bowed with a smile as he handed one to Ser Meryn, then brought the other to Joffrey.


"Perfect." Joffrey nodded as he brushed his hand through the horse's mane. "No need to wait for Mother. We'll head out first."


"As you wish, Your Highness."


The gates opened, and everyone began mounting their horses, but just then something strange happened.


Mnegh!


"What the fuck is wrong with him?!"


Joffrey stumbled back as the horse snorted and violently shook its head, refusing to let him place his foot inside the saddle.


"Oi! Did you feed it wrong?" He turned on the stablehand in irritation. "It was just fine yesterday."


"N-No, no, my prince. I didn't."


The stablehand shivered as he hurriedly scrambled towards the horse, knowing well that death would be around the corner if the prince became displeased. "I'll check."


The man seized the reins. "Calm down, here, here," and began soothing it down.


Surprisingly, the horse barely fought him for a few seconds before it became fully calm and gentle... as if it had never been angry in the first place.


"There. It's fine now, Your Highness." The stablehand swallowed. "I think it was just the heat of the sun."


"Hmph."


Joffrey gave the man a disgusted look, but otherwise ignored the smelly man and let him leave.


And this time, thankfully, the horse let him mount it peacefully. "Let's go—"


Neeegh!!


The horse reared back again.


Joffrey barely had time to grab the saddle before its front legs kicked off the ground, almost standing vertical.


"Ah! Save me—"


Joffrey wailed as he was jerked off the back and violently thrown to the ground.


"Your Highness!" "My prince!"


Every living person there turned deathly pale as they rushed towards the fallen prince.


"It hurts!" Joffrey rolled onto his back, clutching his left hand.


His little finger had caught between the armour and the ground when he fell, and was bent at an awkward angle, already swelling into an ugly shade of red.


"Hurry!" shouted one of the Lannister guards, struggling to hold the horse. "Someone fetch a Maester!"


"It'll be faster if I take you inside, Your Highness!"


Meryn knelt beside him and reached out.


"Get away!"


Joffrey shoved him aside and got up on his own, his face burning from humiliation. His skin prickled as if the eyes of the entire castle were on him, mocking him for being a fool who couldn't even handle a horse.


"You!" He spotted the stablehand, hiding in the crowd, and surged towards him. "It was you, wasn't it?!" He grabbed the man's collar with his good hand and dragged him forward. "You did this!"


"N-No! M'lord! I-It was an accident."


The man cowered in terror, not daring to resist, and just let himself be manhandled while raising his hands to ask for mercy.


"Don't lie to me. You filthy cur!" He slapped him across the face, sending him flying to the ground.


"Tell me, who paid you? On whose orders did you do this?!" he roared as he kicked him in the stomach with all his might.


"I-I didn't... I didn't..."


By this time, everyone understood what was happening.


The prince was looking for an excuse, a way out of this embarrassing incident without looking like an idiot; he was the perfect scapegoat.


But no one felt any sympathy for the stablehand. After all, better him than them.


"I a-apologise! I—"


The man cried out again and again, but Joffrey was merciless.


"You won't spill your guts like this."


Joffrey panted, his fury not abating in the slightest. "Bring me my sword." He held out his hand towards his personal servant.


"Y-Your Highness?!" The servant, belonging to a small noble family in Lannisport, flinched and glanced towards the other guards around him, hoping that someone would be brave enough to help him calm this mad prince and stop him from doing something stupid.


Beating a commoner was fine.


Even crippling him wouldn't be a big matter.


But killing him out here in the open—that was a whole different matter.


Especially when so many nobles were in the city at the moment. It could easily become a big scandal, ruining the reputation of the Lannisters.


But no one cared for his begging eyes.


"Do you want to die too?!" Joffrey growled as he stepped closer, feeling even more humiliated at having his orders ignored.


The servant realised the danger, couldn't care anymore about the future, and hurriedly turned the hilt towards him.


"Good." Joffrey grinned as he unsheathed the blade and turned towards the quivering stablehand kneeling down in terror.


"No, please, n-no—"


"How dare you try to assassinate me, you bastard!" He cut down mercilessly.


"Argh!"


The man flinched and screamed in agony, having hoped until the last moment that someone would come forward to stop and help... but no one did.


"No, please, no!" he trembled while backing away in fear.


But Joffrey had no intention of stopping and followed after without stopping his cruel assault.


"How dare you! How fucking dare you!" he shouted again and again, each one accompanied by inflicting a new wound.


The courtyard had gone fully silent by now.


Even the people who wanted to look away couldn't.


Some of the older servants had gone pale.


They remembered another royal from decades ago, another one whose temper had filled these same walls with dying screams.


No one had dared intervene then.


No one dared intervene now.


"Please... mercy... I didn't..."


The stablehand breathed out in pain as he dragged himself across the dirt, with alarming wounds covering his whole torso.


A particularly large one on his collarbone was especially deadly, spurting a large amount of blood with every heartbeat.


"NO!"


The son finally broke free from the crowd.


"Stop!"


His legs shook beneath him as he stared in horror at his blood-soaked father.


Joffrey didn't care about the child begging, nor did he care who was watching him, because his anger had given way to the sadist in him.


He had begun to enjoy inflicting the punishment now, and wanted nothing more than to watch life leave the lowly man's eyes.


He was even thinking of sending men to find his family and then have them cut into pieces for this transgression.


NEIGH!


As if stimulated by the child's cries and the blood, the horse, which had calmed down under the ministrations of the guard, screamed again and began to furiously shake its head.


"Hold him still!"


Joffrey barked in anger at being distracted from his fun, and glared at the man struggling to hold back the horse.


"Don't worry, you're going to be next!" He grinned as he stared into the angry red eyes of the beast.


But just as he began to turn back, a piercing cry sounded, louder than anything before.


He snapped around just in time to see the horse kicking away the guards and charging straight at him.


MEIGH!


"NO! STOP IT!"


The guards screamed as they tried to stop it, but the beast had gone completely mad, flying across the yard, uncaring of the men in its path, slamming into anyone stupid enough to cross it.


"Ah! Fuck!" Joffrey cried in horror as he threw away the sword and ran towards the crowd in panic.


But just after a few steps, his heel caught a rock, and he stumbled to the ground.


"No!"


His eyes widened in terror as he twisted his head to see the horse right above him, with its hooves crashing down faster than he could scream.


"Save m—"


Crack!


A sickening snap rang through the courtyard as everyone froze in horror and watched the horse shatter the prince's spine.


"Aaaagh!"


A blood-curdling scream came out of Joffrey's mouth.


But it wasn't over yet, as the horse reared again, this time aiming for the legs.


"Stop him!" Meryn finally managed to free his sword and lunged for the beast, stamping on the prince.


But the second horse—the one that had been standing quietly beside him—jumped up at precisely the same moment, and slammed its hoof into the unsuspecting Kingsguard's back.


"Argh!" The Kingsguard crashed to the ground.


And before the man could regain his bearings, the horse thrashing the prince abruptly turned around and stomped at his skull as if both animals were coordinating.


Crack!


Meryn went still immediately.


For several heartbeats, nobody moved.


It had been only moments since the first horse had gone wild.


Yet somehow, in mere moments, a prince had been trampled, a Kingsguard lay dead, and the courtyard had become a blood-soaked nightmare.


The only thought crossing everyone's mind was, 'We are so fucking dead!'


"JOFFREY!!"


A bone-chilling wail came from afar, and the crowd turned to watch Cersei standing horrified at the bottom of the stairs along with the Lannister guard who had gone to fetch her.


Not far behind stood Baelish, with a shell-shocked expression— a rarity that hadn't happened in years.


"Save the prince!"


The guards woke up and screamed in hysteria as they unsheathed their swords.


But as if they had done what they came for, the two wild horses bolted for the gates without hesitation, ducking through the crowd and escaping the keep before the guards could surround them.


"G-Get the Maester!" "Someone stop the bleeding!" "Make a stretcher, we need to move him inside!"


The courtyard erupted in shouts and wails as everyone tried to look helpful.


But through all this, Baelish simply stood there numbly, feeling as if he were living through a dream.


He couldn't remember the last time he had been so caught off guard by an event.


Staring into the dead eyes of the Kingsguard, who had just last night informed him of the failed plan, and listening to the pain-filled cries of the prince, something cold settled in his stomach.


'It couldn't be him, could it?'


The thought came unbidden into his mind, and no matter how he tried, he could not suppress it.


'No, no, no, how could that be possible? It was just an accident...'


But despite his efforts, he couldn't remove the suspicion from landing on the boy's head.


He was the only one who these two had any recent enmity against, and for them to suffer so badly, with one dead and the other possibly crippled, just after they conspired against him. It was too much of a coincidence.


'But how...'


Baelish's fist closed and opened as he furiously ran through all the possibilities.


'Did he feed the horses something? Some kind of stimulant to make them aggressive, a poison perhaps...' He glanced towards the half-dead stablehand everyone was ignoring.


'No, that would be unreliable. Too many variables.'


There would be no way to know when the horses would turn violent. No way to guarantee they would attack Joffrey and Meryn rather than anyone else.


Again and again, his mind came up with logical reasons why it could not have been planned, but the gnawing horror in his heart refused to go away.


His instincts screamed that it could only be Jon Snow behind this.


"You said there was a boy too?"


Baelish turned towards the guard on his payroll—the man who had been the one to fetch him.


Perhaps some information could be gleaned from the son.


"Y-Yes, m'lord. He was right..."


The guard searched the crowd.


Left, and Right.


He scoured many times, but no matter how many times he tried, the result was futile. "He is not here anymore..."


For some reason, Baelish wasn't too surprised by this information.


'A loose end.'


"Go, take a few men, and search all the nearby streets. I want you to find him even if you have to enter every alley and sewer you see. Go bring him to me. Alive."


Baelish took a slow breath before turning towards the wailing queen.


The worst of the chaos was yet to come.


...


"...In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the weak."


The sword touched Jon's shoulder.


"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women."


Barristan moved the sword to the other shoulder.


"In the name of the Smith, I charge you to protect those who cannot protect themselves."


The old knight's voice carried across the tourney grounds.


"In the name of the Crone, I charge you to seek wisdom."


The sword came to rest against Jon's shoulder one last time.


"And in the name of the Stranger, I charge you to face death without fear."


Barristan lowered his sword. "Rise, Ser Jon Snow, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."


For half a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.


Then the cheers exploded.


Jon stood up and raised his fist with a grin.


People were shouting Snow, again and again, until the name seemed to roll across the tourney grounds like a wave.


He found Robb in the Northern stands, smiling amusedly.


Then there was Margaery.


She was clapping too, a beautiful smile on her face, the winter rose headdress in her hair making her seem even more striking.


Other nobles had risen as well.


Whether they meant it or not, Jon didn't much care.


For a moment, he simply stood there and soaked it all in.


'Sansa and Arya would have loved this.'


Half an hour later.


With the Tourney over for the day, the stands began to empty at a slow pace.


Jon walked alongside Robb as they waited for their men to gather their belongings.


"Ah, what am I supposed to tell Father?"


Robb looked at the sky with a depressed expression on his face. "His little Jon has gone ahead and forsaken the Old Gods to become a pretty knight who follows the Seven. What will he think?"


"I don't think he'll mind that much." Jon rolled his eyes. "Considering he grew up under House Arryn. Remember?"


"Eh, we'll see." He shrugged before turning to him with a grin. "Now, that I think about it, doesn't you becoming a knight mean that you'll get along better with Mother now? After all, she will finally have a fellow Southerner who worships the Seven with her in the house."


"I highly doubt it,"


Jon snorted with a shake of his head. "And I am not going to worship the Seven. This is just a cosmetic thing to make it easier for people to accept me when things change... After all, a knight is trusted more easily with power in these parts."


"You realise it's the opposite for the North," Robb said with a raised eyebrow. "You'll be a lot less popular there, now, especially among our Lords. They won't care for your reason; they'll think that you turned your back on your roots to please the South."


"You're speaking as if I am going to walk around with knight written on my forehead," Jon waved his hand. "It'll be months before news of this reaches the North, and even then it's only those few houses with ports that care for the happenings in King's Landing; the rest would be too busy with their own things to pay any attention to what happened in a showy Tourney down South."


"It will be years before it comes into question. And when that happens," he shrugged as he looked meaningfully at Robb, "I have just the trump card to silence them... After all, they'll hardly find anyone more in tune with the Old Gods than me in the North."


"Hm, I see." Robb nodded slowly, realising that his brother had thought about it deeply. "Ah, that reminds me, I saw the King rushing for the city earlier. Anything to do with you?"


Jon smiled in answer, before giving him the short version of events that transpired in the Red Keep, and the fate of Prince Joffrey.


Robb stopped dead for a few moments before hurriedly catching up with him. "When did this— when did you even find the time to do it?"


"Just before the tourney started."


Jon shrugged, not looking too concerned. "That reminds me. One of my men is bringing a family of three—a mother, a 10-year-old boy, and a girl of thirteen—to the port. I need you to send a message to our ships. They'll need to take them away tonight and settle them in a village nearby."


"Who are they?" Robb asked distractedly as he tried to think through the repercussions of all this.


He had known that his brother would retaliate after the recent ambush, but he hadn't expected it to be this quick and this brutal.


"The father got caught in between," Jon muttered with a frown. "And while he wasn't exactly a good man, I don't want the family to suffer because of it."


Robb nodded while staring at Jon with a strange expression on his face, wondering what kind of person could attack a prince of the Kingdom and then still nonchalantly go through a Tourney without acting any different.


"Let's go; it's our turn."


Their party exited the gates, and almost immediately they were blasted with a loud noise.


Everywhere they looked, they saw people, men, women, and even children, standing in a zigzag line in front of almost three dozen large pots of porridge on fire.


It felt as if the whole crowd who had come to attend the Tourney was out here, waiting for their turn to be handed a bowl of warm food.


"Looks like your idea is turning out to be quite successful," Robb commented as he stared out at the sea of people, feeling as if even the whole Wintertown wouldn't have this many people.


"Hm. Well, no one dislikes free food, right?" Jon grinned in satisfaction as he stared at the eager, happy expressions on the people. "There couldn't be a more perfect opportunity than this tourney to spread the word of my scheme."


"And you think giving them a taste for free once will tempt them to keep coming back?" Robb raised an eyebrow.


"Oh, I am sure there'll be quite a lot who'll turn away, scrunch up their noses, and disdain doing something so lowly, but the rest... they'll be happy to contribute a few hours of labour to get a meal. And when you see half the flea bottom working together to clean the streets of filth... you'll realise what a great plan"


"A great plan called— exchange shit for food." Robb shook his head, unable to keep a straight face.


"Don't make it sound so crude." Jon slapped his brother's shoulder.


"The one thing King's Landing doesn't lack is poor, hungry people. What I am doing here is just make use of resources that everyone else considers a burden." he shrugged with a gleam in his eyes. "They get free dinner for a few months, while I get decades' worth of work done in weeks. It's a win-win."


"That's good and all, but everything hinges on you being able to keep your supply of rations going."


He sighed as he turned towards the tents filled with food, which looked grand, but Robb knew that it wouldn't even begin to put a dent in the large number of gaping, hungry mouths in the city, not even for a week. "I know you have a lot of gold, but how long will the Reach be able to do this?"


"Oh, don't worry, Olenna promised that the ships wouldn't stop coming until I say so. So I am not too worried."


Jon breathed out as they bypassed the crowd and began their trek towards the city gates. "They are called the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms for a reason. Margaery even told me that they have to throw away a large part of their yield every year because exporting more drops the prices too heavily... They were only too happy to have a heavy spender like me as a customer."


"Hm." Robb nodded. "Well, let's hope your idea works out then..."


He raised his eyes towards the Keep in the distance. "So what do you think the king will do now? His precious son suffered such a gruesome fate." Robb's head tilted in curiosity. "You think he'll stop the rest of the tourney?"


"A normal father would," Jon's eyes narrowed, "But Robert Baratheon is not normal, and the brat isn't that precious."


"Tell that to them..." Robb jerked his head towards the Lannister party consisting of Tyrion, Jaime, and many more of their family, rushing through the city gates, probably having finally learned that it wasn't a minor injury that Joffrey had suffered.


"It's going to be a long night..."


///

You know what to do to read ahead: patreon.com/Lazywizard

And don't forget to check out my new fic: The Golden Weasley.

 

[ATP]

So,it was Jon work? HOW? wargs could not move warging into animals, and he was fighting Renly.How could he do that?
P.S killed servant - dude sell his daughter to brothel,so.... family should be better now.

 

[Septaemus Meridaeus]

So,it was Jon work? HOW? wargs could not move warging into animals, and he was fighting Renly.How could he do that?
P.S killed servant - dude sell his daughter to brothel,so.... family should be better now.

Click to shrink...

He stated he had it planned or done so before the tournament, so he must have skinchanged (from my understanding a warg and warning is only to do with skinchangers who skinchange into dogs, wolves or direwolves ((technically a subcategory) hence why the stark children bar bran are referred to as such, where anyone else with any other animals it's Skinchanging and them being a skinchanger, Bran, Blood Raven Varamyr, etc.) at least how George puts it (there's no difference in how it works just what animals they use, why canines have a specific name IDK.)

But I assume Jon skinchanged into the horses before the tournament began on that day and put it in their minds that these people are evil and should be attacked if not outright killed and that the horses should defend themselves from them (this should be possible with a skinchanger as they share the animals body and the animal can fight against them,( supposedly why they can't skinchange dragons) as you either have to bond with the animals and share the space as it where in the mind or you dominate the animals will (and other skinchangers) however this can be a constant battle and even when you've dominated it once it may still be their and break free from your dominant will (unless it's another skinchanger that you expel from the body AFAIK)

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always.