Barristan wasn't sure what to make of Domeric Bolton when the young knight first arrived at King's Landing. Though he said Ned had sent him to be a companion for his bastard, it was clear he was intended to guard the boy after his injury at the River Gate. Barristan could understand being concerned about his son, but he was a squire set to become a knight, he would be injured. Ned knew this, so why would Eddard Stark send a guard for his bastard?
Thankfully the Bolton heir was a good hand to have around. He helped Jon come to ride even better than already he did. At times it was as though they were centaurs, both of a par at the lance while Loras wielded it with natural ease. When he'd first arrived Jon had clearly focused on learning the sword but had grown skilled beyond it, wielding lances, daggers, spears, axes all with similar skill.
Soon their number grew again as word began to spread of the Flayed Knight who arrived at King's Landing to join the Flower and Bastard Squires. Though Mace trusted Loras' assurances of Eddard Stark's bastard being a true knight, he couldn't do the same once he heard the Bolton had arrived. Even in the south there were tales of the Boltons who wore their enemies skins as cloaks, with rumors that they still flayed their enemies despite claiming to abandon it millennia earlier.
They were shocked to find the companion Mace Tyrell sent for his squired son was a pale eyed rotund boy with the collar of his surcoat lost beneath his chins, the scarlet huntsmen embroidered across it marking him a Tarly. Jon maintained an even expression while Domeric observed him carefully and Loras bit back a more biting smile as three other men-at-arms followed the boy in dismounting.
"Welcome," Loras said he extended a hand which the boy hesitantly shook. "I'm Loras Tyrell, squire to Lord Renly Baratheon."
"Samwell Tarly," he said with a quick nod, "son of Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."
"My father spoke well of yours," Loras assured before looking to his companions. "These are my friends, Ser Domeric Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, and Jon Snow, bastard to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."
Sam smiled sheepishly to the two beside Loras. "I look forward to knowing you."
Loras nodded to the huntsman on his surcoat. "Do you enjoy hunting?"
Sam shuddered but looked reluctant before admitting, "I hate it."
Domeric offered a smile, "And I dislike flaying people." Seeing Sam's eyes go wide with fear, Jon chuckled and elbowed Domeric. "I'm joking, of course, Lord Tarly. I quite enjoy it."
Loras laughed as Sam's face paled, Jon noticing the men behind him looking equally concerned. "Don't mind him," Jon assured Sam, "Domeric would rather sit and play his harp all day than wield a blade."
That seemed to wash away Sam's fear, gaining his interest. "You play the harp?"
Domeric's brow arched. "Do you as well?"
"Oh no," Sam said shaking his head. "I enjoy listening and making up songs but I can't play any more than I can wield a blade. Give me a book though and I'll tear through it like Arthur Dayne."
The boys chuckled while Domeric nodded. "Aye, me as well. I've found the library of the Red Keep more than adequate. I could show you once you've settled in."
Samwell was to be a companion for Loras since he couldn't well squire to a squire. Instead Lord Arryn secured him staff quarters near Jon and Domeric. While Domeric found light work in the stables Sam found his maintaining the library. The boy was shy and awkward, making it hard to get to know him at first.
Their first time in the yard had been a disaster when Domeric him him twice in a row and Samwell fell to his knees holding his head. "I yield," he pleaded, "don't hit me!"
The knight and squires frowned seeing him shiver in fear. Jon hopped off the rail and hurried over, kneeling down to grab the man's arm and help him stand again. "It's fine, we're not going to hurt you, Sam. We want to help."
"It's no use," Sam said with a sniff as he wiped his eyes. "A dozen have tried and failed. My father he-" Samwell froze suddenly, glancing at Loras before lowing his gaze and shaking his head. "It's no use."
Jon and Domeric shared a glance while Loras frowned. "Your father what?" Domeric asked, crossing his arms.
Samwell's large throat shivered as he gulped and shook his head. "He's tried before and it never works… I've been forced to sleep in chainmail, paraded through the bailey in my mother's clothes to shame me into valor, bathed in aurochs blood by warlocks from Qarth, none of it worked."
Jon had known Loras thought poorly of Sam. He imagined it was less to do with his build, which Mace Tyrell supposedly shared, and more to do with his awkwardness and ineptitude. Yet Jon watched as all those things fell away as anger painted Loras's concerned expression.
"That's awful," Loras said shaking his head. He had been lucky that his place in his family meant what he was could be ignored, but Sam had been tortured because he wasn't what his father wanted. That had been Loras' nightmare as he came to realize what he was, who he was. To see what it did to someone made Loras thankful for his family and his place as third born son.
After that Loras was more patient with his companion, the three of them doing what they could to train him in the yard, but more often than not he sat aside while they sparred. He would join them for rides, though rarely joined them in practicing with a lance.
Instead it was Domeric and Samwell who managed to make Jon take an interest in reading and history.
They had been sat in the yard one day while Loras was off with Renly and Ser Barristan guarded the queen. Domeric and Samwell were discussing books they'd suggested to each other while Jon listened to them and picked at the remnants of the food Sam had brought them. His interest shifted when he spotted a Mandon Moore trailing the princess and her uncle. Once she spotted them she glanced at Tyrion and diverted her path.
Spotting the princess walking over to them Samwell gasped and sat up, making Domeric glance to Jon, the squire's smile telling him who it was before he turned. "Good afternoon, Princess Myrcella, Lord Tyrion."
"Ser Domeric," she said with a curtsy. "And Ser…"
"Samwell Tarly, your grace," he said with a bow. "No ser."
With a polite smile she looked to Jon. "I take it Ser Barristan guards my mother?"
Jon chuckled. "That he does, princess."
"Tarly," Tyrion said with a smirk to the fat man. "I'd heard Tyrell sent his son a companion as well, though I'm surprised he didn't send a knight. Are you sure you're able to keep up with the bastard and his companions?"
Sam put on a smile as he looked to the little lord. "It was either this or risk an accident on a hunt."
While Myrcella looked confused, Tyrion's brow rose as he saw Domeric and Jon's faces darken. Loras has been furious when Sam told them of his father's ultimatum, partially because he blamed himself for it.
After receiving a letter from Mace Tyrell asking for have Randyll send his son to King's Landing and be a companion to his son, the Lord of Horn Hill called his son into his room with two men-at-arms bringing him to his solar. He had a scroll on the desk before him as he stood and looked to his eldest son.
"You're nearly a man and my heir," he said carefully. "You've given me no reason to disown you, but I will not allow you to take the title and lands that should be Dickon's. Heartsbane must go to someone able to wield her and you are not worthy to touch her hilt." His hand pushed the scroll forward. "You've decided to make a name for yourself and relinquish your place as heir to Horn Hill. To achieve that I've done you a final favor as a father and secured you a place as companion to Loras Tyrell in King's Landing. If you fail at that and return we shall have a hunt and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble and you will be thrown from the saddle and die," he said meeting his son's terrified eyes, "or so I will tell your mother."
Sam had spoken it to them calmly but Loras was worked into a rage that left bruises on Jon when they went to the yard that day.
"He's no knight but he is a scholar," Domeric offered, reaching over to pat Sam's shoulder.
"Do you seek to be a maester?" Tyrion asked. The way Sam's face paled as he shook his head left Tyrion confused and saddened, wondering what the boy had suffered.
"No," he said with a shaky laugh, "I simply prefer to read. Ser Domeric and I were just discussing a book I'd finished last night. Lost Children, Tales of the First Men by Maester Cregan."
Myrcella's brow raised with a smile. "I've read that!"
"You have?" asked Domeric.
Myrcella nodded. "I wanted to know about the Old Gods so Maester Pycelle told me of it. It talked of how it's believed the First Men inherited the Old Gods as a part of their Pact with the Children of the Forest. I'm not sure I believe them about the First Men being from the Essos. That they were basically Dothraki."
"Perhaps the North changed us," Domeric said with a smile. "Maybe back then men of the North truly were savages and the pact helped us settle."
"Then I wonder why the Dothraki haven't sailed since if the First Men found Westeros," Myrcella said with a laugh. "Perhaps only the craven stayed behind and that fear of crossing the sea became a part of their culture?"
Samwell smiled. "I've also read another theory in Maester Mikal's Traces of Valyria that the First Men could be from Valyria."
"I read that last week," Myrcella began with a nod.
Tyrion found himself feeling pride as he watched his niece hold her own in a discussion with the two older lordlings. Then he found amusement in looking to Jon Snow who seemed a bit lost from not having read the books they discussed. He also found the hint of jealousy he saw interesting as well.
Tyrion thought Myrcella had all her mother's beauty and none of her nature, and he was never more certain of that than when she spoke of Jon Snow, who kept appearing in more of Myrcella's stories whenever Tyrion asked how she'd been while he was away. Whenever she mentioned the dark haired squire her eyes softened in a way Cersei's never did. Her smile held such delicate hope even beneath a solemn veil of knowledge that because of what he was they could never be. It was in those moments a part of him wished Jon Snow the kind of bastard who would do as Rhaegar had years ago and steal his own Lyanna Stark, but he knew the boy enough to know that would never happen.
Worst was Tyrion had an inkling the boy would be good for her. When he'd first looked into Myrcella's garden and noticed the winter roses he'd been shocked to hear who gave them to her. Then he'd heard the tale of his injury at the River Gate and understood her adoration of the boy. He cared for her enough to go out of his way to get her a gift no one else would and nearly lost his life doing so. No wonder she was smitten.
He'd taken a chance to look into the boy after that, asking around the court and finding that that the worst people had nothing good to say of him but nothing bad either. The worst Cersei had said was that he was a bastard, which the boy knew clearly thanks to his time with Joffrey, who considered him a dullard because he never rose to Joffrey's insults or even seemed to bristle at them anymore. The Small Council considered him a quiet, simple lad, but Renly said Loras spoke of the boy as though he were his own brother. When he asked him of Jon he found the Tyrell answered simply, "Jon is the best person I know."
Most shocking had been Jaime, who said, "Snow was wasted in the North."
"Is that so?" Tyrion asked tilting his head.
Jaime thought back to the boy he saw in the yard of Winterfell venting his frustration on a straw soldier. "Before this he intended to go to the Wall," Jaime told his brother. "They made him think that was the best he could do, go spend the rest of his life sworn to a brotherhood of thieves, rapist and turncoats. All because Catelyn Tully was terrified he would be the Daemon Blackfyre of the North."
"And you don't think him capable of that?" Tyrion asked arching his brow.
"Oh he's absolutely capable," Jaime said with a laugh. "I've no doubt he could ride to Winterfell now and slay every man there, but he wouldn't. He loves his siblings, still writes to them from what I understand. When we spar he sometimes mentions things they wrote."
"You spar with him?" Tyrion sat up, finding that just as telling.
"From time to time." Jaime shrugged. "No need to be clever or second guess words."
Tyrion's jaw shifted as he held back a smirk and took a risk saying, "Perhaps that's why Myrcella cares for him."
He watched Jaime's lips sink slightly. He knew. He'd known for a while, and felt similar to how Tyrion did. "It's possible. Jon won't try anything though. He knows better."
"You know this?"
Jaime seemed to shift uncomfortably before glancing to the door and nodding. "He's said as much."
Tyrion's eyes widened. "He has?"
Jaime chuckled. "I asked him about it. Poor fool looked like he was going to piss himself, expecting me to gut him. Then he told me why he got her the flowers for her garden."
"Why?"
"He saw how much she liked your nameday gift and realized no one else in court was making a fuss like they had for Joffrey so wanted to cheer her up." The fondness in Jaime's somber smile surprised Tyrion. "But he knows his place. He knows the king and queen would never allow her to marry him, even if he rose to be a great knight or founded his own house. Even with Robert showing the boy some favor, being a bastard is a stain he can't wash away."
The somber tone when Jaime spoke of Jon's bastard stain stuck with Tyrion as he saw Jon recognize his jealousy and look down frowning. With a slight shake of his head he seemed to squash what he was feeling listening to Myrcella speak with his friends and looked up with his usual even expression. He flashed a small smile when Myrcella finished and said farewell before leading Tyrion toward the library to pick up a book Samwell had mentioned.
It was after that conversation that Jon had taken to visiting the library and spending his nights reading in his room once he was done with his duties for the day. After that Barristan found that Jon devoted himself nearly as much to studying history as he did training.
"More to learn from," Jon said when Barristan asked him why he took a sudden interest in reading. "I don't have experience in battles like you do, but I can read about them and learn from that. I can try to understand things and people more by reading about them. It could help."
Barristan was glad to see the boy expand his interests. He'd been so focused on training it seemed all he ever did, but he retained that intense, single-minded focus with everything he did. It seemed he was determined to better himself, but never let his duties dwindle. When he was guarding with Barristan he was focused, when he was training he pushed himself, and when he was at the library it was hard to pull him away once he was deep in a book. Barristan was sure he could give the squire a spoon and tell him to tear down the castle and in a month he would return to find piles of bricks laid before him.
His sudden interest in history was nothing compared to the surprise Barristan felt when he finished a shift guarding the queen and found Jon sat across from Domeric and Sam, his long fingers strumming at a harp set against his shoulder. Barristan felt something flicking at the back of his mind with each string struck. Jon wore a wary expression, looking from his fingers to the kingsguard stood off to the side.
"Ser Barristan," Domeric said with a tone of relief as he looked from the kingsguard to Jon, "would you tell Jon that playing an instrument wouldn't make him less of a knight."
Barristan nodded. "Plenty of knights play an instrument or two."
Domeric looked to Jon. "Surely you've heard of the Tourney of Harrenhal?"
A frown took Barristan's lips as Jon nodded. "Of course."
"Ser Barristan," Domeric said turning to the kingsguard. "You faced Rhaegar that day in the finals, you knew him before King Robert killed him. Surely he was a fine warrior if he beat you that day."
Barristan nodded, putting together the point the lad was trying to make. "Aye, he was, but even finer at the harp."
"I'm not some silver haired prince," Jon said sourly.
"Though I'm sure you'd like to steal a princess," Domeric teased.
Jon shook his head as Sam snickered. Looking down at the harp Jon strummed an off key melody which somehow made Barristan's stomach stir as he watched the sullen boy play the strings before looking to Domeric. "Why do you want to teach me?"
"Because it's more fun playing together," Domeric answered. Sam offered an almost apologetic look as if his lack of skill was to blame. Seeing Jon still hesitate Domeric tilted his head in thought. "Maybe I should offer to teach Loras."
"Gods," Jon sighed, "could you imagine the women if their Flower Knight serenaded them?" The boys shared a laugh before Jon looked at the instrument and nodded. "Fine, I'll let you try and teach me."
After that whenever Barristan saw Domeric giving the squire lessons on the harp he felt oddly unsettled. It must have been Domeric's comment about Rhaegar, but all he could think of was the dragon prince going from reading in the library to training in the yard and then serenading the court with his silver stringed harp, crafting melodies that drove women to tears.
Seeing his squire grow so quickly gave the man a swell of pride, enough to make him doubt not knighting him after seeing how somber Jon was after watching Loras be knighted. The Tyrell had been Jon's first friend in Kind's Landing and his rival. Seeing Loras surpass him, leaving Jon as the only squire of their group, might have disheartened him, yet he remained happy for Loras.
It didn't help that not long after Loras was knighted word spread of a tourney to be held on Joffrey's thirteenth nameday. Lords and knights gathered to King's Landing, including Tywin Lannister and even Walder Frey. Loras would have pages to bring him lances, so suggested that Sam act as squire for Domeric during the joust rather than sit in the stands.
"Will you need me for the tourney?" Jon asked Barristan one morning as he helped the knight prepare for his shift.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll ride, won't you?"
Barristan nodded. "I had considered it."
"I was hoping you could go without me," Jon said carefully.
Barristan looked to his sullen squire and smiled solemnly. "There's no need to be ashamed because you're behind them, Jon. They're older."
The boy looked down as if he'd been caught. "I know."
"I'll find another to hand me lances should I decide to tilt," Barristan assured.
"Thank you, Ser."
"Now go," Barristan said with a laugh. "I've a queen to guard so I release my shadow upon the world."
Jon smiled as he followed Barristan out of the room, though that fell as he turned and made his trek to the Street of Steel in Flea Bottom. Jon had been with Loras when the newly knighted Tyrell purchased his armor from the shop of Tobho Mott, so made his way there with the purse King Robert had given him for the cut on his leg. Barely lighter from the toy he bought for Tommen's nameday, he knew from how much Loras and Domeric's armor had cost that he could afford a set of his own.
Stepping into the largest house on the Street of Steel, he found the owner walking around examining the works until one of the serving girls spoke to Jon and he made his way toward him. "I'm afraid we've not finished the armor yet."
"I assumed as much, but I've come hoping to buy my own set this time," Jon said with a glance to the door before adding quietly, "without my friends knowing."
Tobho nodded and said quietly, "Ah. Hope to play the mystery knight? Will you want a full set or shall you piece together my spares?"
Jon looked around before spotting an unfinished bull head helm sat in the corner. "I'd like a helmet like that."
The apprentice near it looked up and shook his head. "You can't have it."
Tobho turned back to his apprentice. "Gendry!"
"He can't," he repeated firmly. "It's mine. I made it for myself."
"Could you make me one like it?" asked Jon. "Maybe shaped different?"
Tobho turned back with a nod. "He could if that's what you wish."
"I'd like the helmet custom, but the rest could be off your racks if it's easier for you. For the shield, would you paint that as well?"
"We could," Tobho nodded. "What did you have in mind for the sigil and helm?"
Jon thought about it, trying to think of what he could choose. Domeric had told him of the Knight of the Laughing Tree and he'd considered asking for a sullen tree, but it might have been too obvious. Instead, Jon thought back on what had led him here. He'd wanted to go to the Wall and become a crow yet ended up leaving Winterfell to squire for the Lord Commander of the kingsguard.
"A white crow," Jon said looking to the smith, smiling as he added, "with green eyes."
Tobho nodded. "The back?"
"Black. A crow for the helm as well, if you can, though it need not be white. Better to match the armor."
"We'll give you a mighty beak, Ser White Crow. Now let's pick out the rest."
When Joffrey's nameday came knights gathered and Barristan found himself disappointed Jon had chosen to take the day to practice the harp and study on his own. He'd hoped the squire would at least come to see his friends ride, but maybe he had underestimated how down on himself he'd been. He still remembered how Jon had apologized for failing to stop the gate captain's murder, blaming himself for it. Part of him wished the boy could take some of the arrogance from Jaime or Loras, else he may drown in self doubt or end up as skittish as the Tarly boy.
During the procession of knights Barristan noted among them a man in a pieced together set of armor with a crow's head helm and a black shield housing a white crow with green eyes. The moment the smallfolk saw him the whispers began as they always did when a mystery knight took their ranks.
Barristan found himself smiling, thinking back to when he rode as a mystery knight and Prince Duncan Targaryen dubbed him Bold.
The king chuckled upon spotting him. "Fuckin' mystery knights."
"Who do you think it is?" Joffrey asked tilting his head back and forth as if that would help determine the knight's identity.
"I think that's the mystery," Myrcella said looking at the Knight of White Crows.
Joffrey shot her a glare until the king laughed, "It's probably some noble's son come to find his glory."
Loras stood out more than most knights thanks to his resplendent armor littered with gem encrusted flowers and a stallion draped in a blanket of roses. His first went to the queen, and his second to the princess, who took it with a polite smile and nod. He rode down the first of the Frey men, knocking the bulbous knight from his horse with grace that left the women swooning.
That was soon followed by a hush as Domeric Bolton rode onto the field atop a red stallion. He wore dark armor with crimson slits invoking the sinew of bared muscles, as though he were his house's signature flayed man. Even his helmet had a similar pattern, with red steamers down the back like a horse's mane.
The quiet of the crowd broke when they saw him speed across the field and break lances with a knight. As they came around for a second tilt, he seemed to push his horse even faster before shattering his lance against the knight, knocking him from his saddle without being hit. The crowd cheered when Domeric raised his hand and pat his stallion's neck as they rode back.
Jaime Lannister rode next, garnering smiles from Tywin in the stands, who only grew more smug as he watched his son unhorse a knight of the Vale. Ser Barristan managed to unhorse Gregor Clegane, who glared at him before storming off, knowing better than to challenge the Lord Commander. His brother Sandor broke two lances against a man from Dorne before taking the victory.
When it came time for the mystery knight to tilt he rode atop a gray horse with a bare black caparison. He seemed to ignore the crowd who cheered while he stared down the lane toward the Westerland knight. The knight wore thick armor with a half green and brown shield housing the badger of House Lydden. The Knight of White Crows' armor was light in comparison, the only color apart from black or dark gray that may as well have been black was the white and green on his shield. He wore no streamers, no flourishes. The only thing that made him stand out were his beak-like helm and the question of who wore it.
Barristan knew on the first tilt it was Jon. He'd seen the boy ride for years now, so recognized how he rose slightly in anticipation of the impact, dug his boots into the stirrups and thrust the lance forward as hard as he could, throwing the Lydden rider back hard enough the man flipped, making his horse turn in a moment of panic. The gasp from Sam when Domeric leaned down to tell him something made it clear Barristan wasn't the only one to recognize him.
He was tempted to ride out and box his squire's ears, not for entering the tourney but for playing Barristan. He'd been concerned the boy was going to end up as sullen as most thought him, wallowing in self pity, but instead here he was proving his place among the knights of Westeros.
When the knight returned he moved to the back of the group, away from the others so Barristan guided his horse to him. Knowing none would overhear them, Barristan raised the visor of his helm to reveal a smile. "I don't know whether to be proud or tell you do laps of the keep."
The Knight of White Crows chuckled. "I'd hope proud."
"I am," Barristan nodded, glancing back at the others. "But why?"
"I didn't want anyone to know," Jon shrugged.
Barristan arched his brow. "Even if you win?"
"Especially if I win," Jon said with a laugh as he gripped his rein. "I can't let Queen Cersei know a bastard crowned her daughter queen of love and beauty."
Barristan found himself thinking back to the tourney at Harrenhal. Though he knew nothing could come of it he had still wanted to win and name Ashara Dayne queen of love and beauty. Of course Rhaegar Targaryen would go on to win and crown his own which led to tragedy.
"Come, Ser White Crow," Barristan said with a smile. "I wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you, Ser Barristan," Jon said with a nod as he followed the man back.
"Ser Crow," Domeric begun as he spotted them returning. "I wonder why your sigil bears green eyes. For the lady who holds your heart perhaps?"
Jon could practically see Domeric's smile through his helm. "They are green for the wildfire that burns in my heart." Sam chuckled and Domeric shook his head while Jon quickly added, "Or so I told them when I signed up."
Domeric snickered. "Good. I'm glad you've come, Ser Crow. I hope to meet you in the finals."
"Assuming you make it that far," Jon teased.
Loras came next, returning from his second tilt, coming to a stop beside him. "I hope you didn't pay much for that armor," he said looking him over. "I plan to claim it for ransom when I unhorse you, and I know squires don't have heavy purses, much less bastard ones."
"I'll have plenty once I ransom your armor," Jon said with a smirk as he glanced at the Flower Knight. "Of course even if you refuse I'll have a fortune from the gems alone."
"Good luck, friend," Loras said holding out his arm.
"You as well," Jon said, raising his to tap the back of his forearm against Loras'.
Domeric sat mounted beside Loras as Samwell frowned watching Jon ride out to find himself looking down the lane to Jaime Lannister sat in gilded armor. "Do you think he'll win?" Sam asked with a concerned frown.
"I hope so," said Loras. "I want to face him."
"You face him all the time," Sam said glancing up at the knights.
Loras shook his head. "It's not the same. It's different here. It matters more. The only truer test is on the field with live steel."
Domeric nodded. "I hope we never have to face that test." A light laugh came from Loras, ever surprised by how softhearted a flayed man could be.
Staring down the Kingsguard, Jon felt his stomach twisting into itself. He didn't want the glory of victory, he wanted to know he could win. To know he had a place here, not just in King's Landing, but in Westeros. He couldn't just stand among the rest, he needed to be better, to prove that everyone who ever looked down on him for being a bastard was a fool. That someone like him could win and name a princess queen and not have people question it. He didn't care about the women that he could take to bed, not if it meant fathering another bastard. If being the bastard of the Lord of Winterfell could be such a shroud upon his life, what would it mean to be the bastard of a bastard?
He could win this, name Myrcella queen of love and beauty and then dump the armor somewhere like the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Let the Knight of White Crows remain a mystery while Jon Snow earned his own knighthood. Let them wonder who he could have been, who would dare name the princess queen and leave without a word. He would miss the melee, but it would be worth it. He'd even consider turning down the winner's purse if claiming it would risk outing his identity. If he did he could hand it to the small folk, build the legend even more and keep enough so he could buy the others a meal and get a sword for Arya so he'd have it whenever he returned to Winterfell.
Gripping the lance and reins, Jon dug his spurs into the horse and leaned forward, his jaw set firm as he rose from his seat and thrust the lance forward with such force his hand numbed as it shattered. So did his shoulder where Jaime's lance snapped against his pauldron.
Dumping his lance he took another, his knuckles white beneath his gloves as he rode forward again. He tilted his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the gilded kingsguard as the crowd hushed before their lances shattered. He turned again and rode back, his head down, staring at the head of his horse until he took a new lance and turned to face Jaime again.
"Crow!" Sam cheered. "Crow!"
"Crow!" A man in the crowd cheered.
"Crow!" Others repeated, chanting it as he rode forward.
He rose from his saddle slightly as he moved to drive the lance into Jaime's pauldron, but when he did found the kingsguard tilted his body while thrusting his lance into the overlap of pauldron and chest plate. It felt like Jon was locked in place as his horse rode out from beneath him, leaving him to fall to earth as the crowd gasped.
Jaime tossed his lance aside with a laugh as he turned his horse and rode back to the fallen knight, who groaned and pushed off the ground to stand.
"I'll claim the helmet first," Jaime said raising the visor of his lion head helm to reveal a smirk.
The crowd went quiet as as the Knight of White Crows stared at him for a moment before reaching up and removing his helm.
"Fuck my giddy aunt," Robert said sitting forward, clutching the arms of his chair.
"I knew it," Jon Arryn said shaking his head despite his smile.
Myrcella gasped, putting her hands to her mouth as she suddenly felt tears prickling her eyes. She'd spent the match cheering for her uncle, but if she'd known…
Tommen bounced his chair, grabbing Myrcella's arm. "Jon, it's Jon!"
Joffrey scoffed, crossing his arms while Cersei raised her chin with a haughty smile, glad her brother showed the bastard his place.
Sam peeked out from behind the hand he raised to cover his eyes when he saw Jon fall and frowned as Domeric and Loras sighed. The crowd broke into a murmur with those who recognized him telling others he was Ser Barristan's squire.
Sat atop his horse Ser Barristan Selmy knew. Maybe it was because Jon was older and had grown into his looks, but he recognized the nose, his chin, even his hair and eyes though they were the wrong colors. In that moment stood upon the field in dark armor it was like all the little things he'd noticed came together to form a melancholic specter stood behind the sullen squire.
Jon Snow was not Eddard Stark's son. Jon Snow was a dragon.