Cold Wind Blows

This is an AU of George R.R Martin's 'A Song of Ice and Fire' universe but it will follow, in a way, the plot of the series. The story will integrate the Legend of King Arthur into the story. I do not own anything, nor do I claim to.

Chapter 16: Tourney – Melee

Tiredness was in his bones, and the young Black Lion was gruff and snappish with most people, he had been for the past few days. Ever since word came of his Uncle Tyrion's capture and imprisonment in the Eyrie with his cousin and said cousin's squire.

To top it all off, his rash Uncle Jaime had decided that, due to marriage, Eddard Stark was the closest person he could harm that was both related to the Lady Lysa and someone the Vale had once cherished as their adopted son, in retaliation for Tyrion's unlawful capture.

The night before last, Jaime had ridden out to join Arthur's Grandfather, who had launched a successful counterattack on the Riverlords. And now, with Ned Stark incapacitated, King Robert preferring to drown in his cups, the state of affairs had fallen to his Mother… and Joffrey.

Arthur really could not be bothered with his older brother, although the twinges of guilt still remained whenever his blue-green eyes met with the grey or blue of the Stark children. So far, the tourney for Ned Stark's anointment as Hand of the King and his Nameday celebration would be over by the days end; it was the day of the melee.

The Melee of all melees, the one were Arthur would gain his Knighthood.

But right now, he wasn't overly concerned with the melee. Rather, he was more concerned with the beautiful brunette enclosed within his arms, their nude bodies stuck together by their own sweat, derived from their vigorous lovemaking.

Even though she was six years his senior, and a former whore to boot – even though Arthur had taken her virginity the same night she had taken his – Arthur craved this girl. This woman; a Dornish woman. He desired her as his bride. He had, ever since his time spent in the realm of the sleeping, back when he had dreams of an older version of himself with the woman… and calling her Rhaenys.

The dream was pleasant enough, but calling her Rhaenys. Arthur shrugged it off at first, believing it to be nonsense. But then he noticed, per mistake of course, how similar she was to a mixture of Dragon blood and Dornish blood. The purple eyes, a Valyrian trait, her dark skin, the Dornish trait.

At first he passed it off as her being an abandoned bastard of someone of House Velaryon, but then he had remembered her age; she was six years his senior, just like the former, long lost Princess.

Arthur knew he would never reach the same intelligence, or even be on par, with the mind of his Uncle Tyrion, nor would he have the mind for politics, like his Grandfather had. But, the young man believed himself to be of average cleverness, which was something many men could not claim, after one too many blows to the head.

But it did seem oddly… peculiar that a woman, of twenty Namedays just happened to be in that whorehouse, untouched and cautiously willing to enter his bed, was the same age as Princess Rhaenys and of similar appearance to the dead Princess Elia. It was far too convenient.

And yet still, the Black Lion still did not approach her, the woman whom he held and who he knew held his heart. She arched sleepily into his form and Arthur quickly shut his eyes and pretended he was asleep.

The black haired Prince pulled her closer to him and he heard a contented sigh escape his lover's lips. He opened his eyes after a moment and considered Ariana; perhaps she had just moved unconsciously.

Arthur remembered when he first laid eyes on her; with her long hair and tanned skin, tight body wraps of pure white wrapped around her precious parts and practically summoning the lust crazed lords who desired a virgin girl.

But, alas, Arthur beat them to it; he dragged her to a private room he knew his Uncle boasted of and he explained who he was. He was patient and he charmed her, and the two spoke.

He took her from the whorehouse and to the house he had bought for her the very same night he had taken her. And still they spoke. He made no advances on her and this allowed her to open up more.

He was patient, and a week after their first encounter, she came to his bed willingly. She gave herself to him, willingly. And he stayed with her for two more days before promising to return with a deed for the house and some ladies in waiting for her.

And return he did. He was rewarded, of course, Ariana rewarded him for a second time with her tight cunt.

Silently, so that he would not wake her, Arthur withdrew from the comfort of her bed and dressed quietly. As he left, he dropped his thoughts on Rhaenys and Ariana, and instead, he focused on the upcoming Melee.

A strike dispatched the fallen. The knight in the majestic steel plate armour (with gold trimmings and a stag helm) moved effortlessly through the mass of metal bodies and the swing of sharpened blades.

He blocked and attacked as he moved, knocking down the men to the cheer of the crowd. He raised his sword to the roaring of the crowd's approval and then he turned to counter a quick strike from a lightly armoured fighter.

Arthur batted the man's next blow to the side and collided his left fist across his opponents face. The man reeled back and Arthur's gaze locked onto the man's.

The sound faded and all Arthur could hear was the pounding of his heart, the pump of his blood and the heavy breathing echoing from his chest.

He blocked a quick strike and countered with a quick disarming motion. As his opponent's sword fell to the floor, Arthur lifted his foot and buried it into his opponent's stomach.

The Black Prince pivoted quickly and backed up at the sight of Ser Barristan Selmy. Selmy engaged him calmly and Arthur brought up his sword in an arc to block the incoming strike.

The Prince retreated, his sword clanging as he fought with extreme effort to keep pace with the old, but exceptionally skilled Knight.

He backed up, right into the royal box, with his sword dancing with the old Knight's as he fought for what he wanted.

With the speed of youth, and a fair amount of luck, Arthur executed a move from his Uncle Jaime's arsenal; he waited for Ser Barristan's next overhand strike and he leapt sideways, out of the sword's sharp edge and smashed the hilt of Roaring Fury over Ser Barristan's helm.

The strike had splintered the stag's head, spraying wooden shards everywhere and then Arthur finished the manoeuvre by kicking Ser Barristan in the back of his leg.

It was a testament to his experience that the elderly Knight stood afterwards and turned once more to face the Prince.

But before either one could strike at each other, Arthur was looking up at the sky, his helm a good five meters from his body and his hand empty of his sword. The crowd fell silent as the Black Prince, still dazed, stayed on the floor from the unexpected attack of Darkstar, who was now in a serious engagement with Ser Barristan.

The King could be heard, roaring for his second born to get to his feet. "Get up, boy! He barely touched you! On your feet man! Where's the fight?"

Then, slowly, still completely out of it, Arthur scrambled to his feet and promptly fell back down. The Prince shook his head, his midnight black curls waving as he shook his head, as if to clear it from whatever was effecting him.

He reached for his sword and straightened out.

Arthur breathed heavily as his eyes measured up Darkstar. As much as he loathed to, the Prince simply could not go to the aid of the Lord Commander. His attacker was slowly, but surely hammering the old man down and, as Arthur took a quick glance around, leaving himself, Darkstar and another young man.

While Arthur was having a breather and cautiously keeping an eye on his two opponents, Darkstar had just knocked out the elderly man with a vicious kick to the jaw.

Then, like a predator, he turned around.

Abruptly, Arthur straightened and raised his sword. Darkstar removed his helm and smirked. The third man was balancing irregularly on a sword-staff, swaying and made no move to remove his helm.

Darkstar dropped his helm and raised his own sword. Together, the three were separate in equal lengths, and they stepped in tune with one another as they circled, waiting for the first move.

Arthur wasn't stupid enough to rush either of his competitors; he simply watched and waited, whilst his guard refused to drop.

The third warrior was much the same; after all, he was favouring his left leg and was in no hurry to aggravate his injury.

It was simply a matter of Darkstar's impatience, or if one of them took a step to quick and neared the other as they continued to circle.

But, Arthur thought, it was more than likely Darkstar's impatience than their misstep.

And he was right. The silver haired man rushed the man with a gimp, and Arthur immediately launched himself at Darkstar. Obviously the violet-eyed idiot had thought that Arthur would stand by and watch, again.

Even so, it was still a free for all contest, Arthur mused as he hastily ducked a swinging sword-staff and countered before spinning and blocked Darkstar's sudden advance.

Arthur threw a blind mule kick at the Third with a gimp and ushered Darkstar forward with an elaborate strike.

His strike was countered and Arthur pivoted out of the way of the retorting attack. Just in time, as the Third launched himself at Darkstar, only to be refuted and kicked in the gimp.

Arthur glanced a bow off the hilt of the Third's sword-staff, likely chopping a finger off in the process, and turned to counter Darkstar's vicious thrust. The disgraced Knight of the High Hermitage Dayne's smirked at the second-born Prince. His eyes, those purple eyes, crinkled with dark humour. Arthur realised a second too late that he had exposed himself to the Third man. He tried to turn, to put himself into a position to block both of his adversaries but the Third had thrusted quick and true – Arthur barely managed to get out of the way – and the blade pierced Darkstar.

Darkstar gasped, dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Blood spurted out of his mouth and words followed along with it. From these words provoked the renowned Baratheon rage and Arthur's sword swooped through the neck of Darkstar as if it were thin air; the swipe was that powerful that it cut through the chest shaft of the Third's sword-staff and rested at his throat.

Darkstar's head rolled in the sand and all around him the crowd was roaring.

He'd won the tourney but had done so dishonourably.

He wasn't worthy of being a 'Ser'.

"What was that out there?"

Arthur was before the King, hours after he had killed Darkstar and won the melee of the Hand. His father was furious – relations with Dorne weren't powerful to begin with, but now… nobody, save mayhaps his father, desired a war yet it looked to be looming because he couldn't control his temper.

"Eh boy? What made you kill that man?"

Arthur didn't respond. He couldn't. The Darkstar had told him some revelations that, if true, was not something he desired to be brought out into the open.

So instead of telling the truth, he decided to lie. "Well?"

After some hesitation, he replied "Darkstar told me that he'd raped a friend of mine. I got angry and… you saw the rest."

Robert eyed him shrewdly and turned to his Hand. "Send a letter of apology to Dorne… not much to be done about an irreversible act."

Arthur watched as Eddard Stark bowed and left the hall. "The only kin of that Dayne bastard are the ones from Starfall… and if there are any truths to the rumours of Darkstar, not many people will be said to see him go. But that doesn't mean you aren't getting punished – go to the practice yard with Ser Meryn, Clegane and the Kingslayer."

As far as Arthur was concerned it wasn't too bad of a punishment for disrupting the King's peace – but then he realised he had killed someone on his Nameday… he'd reap what he had sown all year long know.

He also realised his punishment was to protect himself against the Hound, his uncle Jaime and Meryn Trant for the rest of the day. The blunted swords they used fucking hurt and they all returned to the keep sporting bruises and cuts of various shapes and sizes in the early hours of the morning.

Arthur, in the sheets of his bed, established that Darkstar's claims that Ariana was Rhaenys Targaryen lay too close to his previous observations to be good. He'd confront her on the morrow.

Yet when the morrow came, she was gone – she wasn't in any whorehouse, nor in any other establishment that offered whores – not in the Red Keep and most certainly not in her home. A letter rested on his bed the evening he returned from fruitlessly searching for his lover.

It was addressed to Arthur and signed off as Rhaenys.

It's been over a year since I last updated this. For personal reasons, I decided to leave the story as it was, only half-finishing chapter sixteen with stuff that is not what I originally had in mind – it is therefore a rushed piece of half-decent words.

I doubt it would abate the anger nor the annoyance you must feel at this, but I have, from this time on, elected to pose a rewrite that would be a lot more elegant than this.

I have started to write it, but I will only upload when I have rewritten all of the original chapters and that will be once a week, giving me a good time to update.

Thank you for supporting this story and reviewing, those reviews were what helped me realise I needed to rewrite.

TheInsaneDuckkie