The grand tourney grounds bustled with excitement and anticipation as nobles and commoners alike gathered to witness the spectacle of the Hand's Tourney. The air was thick with the scent of horses, sweat, and the mingling aromas of roasted meats and ale.

A jousting field stretched out before them, its surface meticulously groomed. Flags bearing the sigils of noble houses fluttered in the gentle breeze, adding vibrant bursts of colour to the scene. Spectators filled the stands, their voices echoing with animated chatter and eager cheers.

The tournament field itself was a sight to behold. Knights in shining armour adorned their horses, their banners billowing behind them. The gleam of polished armour and the jingle of chainmail filled the air as they prepared for the impending contests. Horses snorted and pawed the ground, their muscles rippling with anticipation.

At the centre of the field stood a raised dais, where the lords and ladies of the realm watched, clad in resplendent finery. The sun's rays glinted off their jewelled adornments, casting a dazzling display of opulence. Their expressions ranged from smug confidence to fevered anticipation, their eyes fixed on the ensuing spectacle.

As the heralds announced the competitors and the rules of the tourney, the crowd's energy heightened. The blare of trumpets filled the air, signalling the commencement of the first joust. Knights charged at each other with thunderous gallops, lances lowered, aiming to strike their opponent's shield or armour.

Spectators held their breath, their excitement building with each thunderous clash of hooves. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as knights displayed their courage and skill, their lances shattering upon impact or striking true.

Meanwhile, beyond the jousting field, a myriad of other events unfolded. Archery contests tested marksmanship, melee battles showcased the strength and agility of combatants, and the lords and ladies mingled, discussing alliances and whispering secrets.

Lord Eddard Stark the Hand of the King sat next to the king's family on the high dais, they were to now watch the melee as the first round of jousting was over, as to give the competitors time to rest.

Ned couldn’t help but frown, while it was truly a spectacle to be held it was not needed. Ned had felt tense ever since he left Winterfell and since taking on his duties of the Hand it had made him even more tense. Though he had to admit he felt a smile come on his face when he turned his head to his daughter, Sansa had been having dreams of the South since she was but a girl, so being able to watch a tourney was a dream come true for her.

Though a frown did appear on his face again when he saw that Arya had slunk off somewhere “Sansa, where is your sister?” Ned asks with his gruff voice.

Sansa turned to her father and then turned to the seat next to her noticing that her sister wasn’t there anymore “I’m not sure father, probably playing around in the muck or pretending to be a knight” Sansa mocked, before giving her attention back to the upcoming melee.

Ned sighed, he knew his daughters were like ice and fire, complete opposites in all aspects, but he did wish that they would try and get along as family would.

‘Where are those daughters of mine’ Ned thinks to himself as he scans the crowd.

———————————————————

“Ow! Ow! Arya that hurts!” A girl said as a piece of armour was strapped too tightly to her chest.

“Stop being a baby it’s supposed to be tight” Arya replies mockingly as she continues putting the armour on the girl.

“Maybe for you… but I actually have tits” The girl groans as she adjusts the breastplate.

“Just means I’ll be a better fighter when I’m older” Arya replies.

“Like that would ever happen, I’m already better than Robb and Theon, soon I’ll be the best sword in Westeros,” she says pride evident in her voice.

“Pfft, with tits like those you’ll be some lord's mistress before that happens” Arya states with a laugh, getting a laugh from the older girl back.

Arya then grabs a helmet and holds it out to her “You ready?”

The girl breathed out, she had tied her shoulder-length curly brown hair in a small ponytail. Her violet eyes were full of determination, she dons her helmet concealing her face and picks up her shield.

She looks back at Arya “Hurry back to father now, he’ll wonder where you are” she says her voice muffled by the helmet.

Arya nods her head “Good luck Lyarra, win this so you can buy me a new sword and armour” she says as she exits the small tent they had occupied.

Lyarra breathes deeply and then leaves the tent heading towards the melee. She’d prove to everyone here that she could stand with the best fighters in the realm, and she’d do this by beating Jaime Lannister.

———————————————————
“Hurry up and start the Damn thing!!! Been waiting for days!” Robert Baratheon shouted before sitting back down in his chair, next to him was his best and oldest friend Eddard Stark, it wasn’t common that he’d take a seat right next to the King but the Queen had chosen not to attend the tournament meaning the royal children did not attend either.

So as of right now, the King sat with the Hand and his family right at the top of the dais, for anyone it would be an honour however Ned just wanted to go back to his chambers and end the day.

“This is real fighting Ned, none of that poncy horse poking shit. A ring full of men all trying their best to beat the living shit out of each other, that’s what the real tournament should be” Robert says to Ned who shakes his head with a small smile at his friend's attitude.

“I can’t imagine the melee will be very entertaining, most seem to be hedge knights and third sons” Ned states as he looks at the field.

“HA! Don’t forget the Kingslayer went and signed himself up, something about him showing the Tyrell brat his place” Robert shouted with humour as he drank from his cup.

“What about you Barriston, who’d you reckon will win out of the two of them,” Robert asks as he looks to the Lord Commander who was currently guarding him.

“Jaime, he’s easily one of the best natural swordsmen I’ve ever seen, Loras would take the jousts but Jaime is still a league above him when it comes to the sword” Barriston replies bluntly, Ned agrees with the analysis as he can be seen nodding slowly.

“Bah! I do wish there would be some excitement, every tourney it’s always the same cunts winning time after time” Robert huffs out in annoyance.

Ned chuckles and looks at his friend “I’m afraid stories where the small folk rise and win against knights who’ve trained their entire lives are just that, stories”

Robert tuts as he shifts in his seat, suddenly he gets up “LITTLEFINGER!, place 1,000 dragons on the winner being anyone but the Tyrell boy or the Kingslayer” he shouts to the skinny man who smiles and nods his head.

“I’d be happy to play those odds, your grace, though I’d be betting my gold on the Kingslayer” Littlefinger replies drawing a chuckle from those around him.

Ned sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose “Come on Robert, you know the Lannister is going to win, don’t be foolish”

“HA! When have I ever not been foolish Ned” Robert replies, getting a look of agreement from Ned.

———————————————————

In the moments leading up to the fight, a charged atmosphere enveloped the melee ring. Lyarra Snow stood resolute, her eyes scanning the competition with a focused intensity. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she mentally prepared for the impending clash.

Around her, the other combatants displayed varying degrees of confidence and anticipation. Some paced back and forth, their eyes locked on their opponents, gauging their strengths and weaknesses. Others stood stoically, their expressions betraying a hint of determination or perhaps a touch of nerves.

The crowd surrounding the melee ring buzzed with excitement, their murmurs and whispers building a sense of anticipation. Spectators leaned forward in their seats, craning their necks for a better view of the impending spectacle. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the energy of eager anticipation and the promise of a thrilling contest.

In the midst of it all, Lyarra maintained a focused demeanour. Her mind cleared, shutting out the distractions of the bustling surroundings. She visualized her movements, the precise strikes she would deliver and the evasive manoeuvres she would employ. Her heartbeat steadied, and a steely resolve settled over her.

As Lyarra Snow observed the other combatants in the melee ring, her attention was particularly drawn to two renowned warriors: Loras Tyrell and Jaime Lannister. Their presence commanded respect and admiration from the crowd, their reputations preceding them.

Loras, the Knight of Flowers, stood tall and graceful, clad in armour adorned with his house's sigil. His youthful countenance belied the skill and agility that made him a formidable opponent. His brown hair shimmered under the sunlight, reflecting his unwavering confidence.

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, exuded an air of commanding presence. Dressed in golden armour that accentuated his imposing stature, he held his head high with an undeniable aura of self-assuredness. His green eyes sparkled with a mix of daring and arrogance.

The crowd's anticipation heightened as Loras and Jaime prepared to face each other in the upcoming melee. Whispers of excitement spread through the onlookers, mingling with the rustle of silk and the clinking of goblets. Noble lords and ladies leaned forward, their eyes fixated on the impending clash of these two distinguished fighters.

Loras twirled his longsword with practised elegance, his movements fluid and precise. A confident smile played upon his lips, as he showboated for the crowd.

Lyarra snorted to herself as she watched the performance, she’d never been into the poncy arrogant knights like Sansa was. She’d never really been in love or attracted to anyone, like Arya she focused more on mastering martial talents, Theon tried a lot to get Lyarra out of her clothes though she usually ignored him or said if he won in a spar. He never beat her in a spar not even once.

Lyarra composed herself, she had to win, she couldn’t have her identity exposed otherwise Father would kill her, he had wanted her to stay at Winterfell, refusing to take her to Kings Landing like with his other daughters, so Lyarra grabbed a horse and ghost and followed them. She didn’t understand what her father was so worried about, for the entire time the king stayed at Winterfell she was told to keep out of sight, it hurt to think that her father thought she was a stain on his honour, why else would he want to keep her away from the king.

As the crowd surrounding the melee ring buzzed with anticipation, the air became electric with the energy of impending combat. Spectators filled the stands, their eyes fixed upon the field, eagerly awaiting the spectacle that was about to unfold. The sounds of armour clinking and the murmur of voices blended into a symphony of anticipation.

The herald's voice rang out, echoing across the field, commanding attention and signalling the imminent start of the melee. A hush fell over the crowd as the tension reached its peak. Lyarra felt a surge of exhilaration, her focus sharpening, blocking out the distractions of the bustling surroundings.

The horn sounded, shattering the silence and igniting a surge of movement. Warriors, fueled by adrenaline and determination, charged forward, their battle cries filling the air. Lyarra's wild smile revealed her unbridled excitement as she sprinted towards her first opponent, her eyes locked upon him.

The man, adorned in fancy steel armour etched with an obscure house's sigil, initially appeared surprised at the sight of the lithe and agile warrior barreling towards him. Smug confidence flickered in his eyes, underestimating the capabilities of his diminutive adversary.

In a calculated moment of deception and speed, Lyarra defied his expectations. As his sword swung in a sideways arc, aiming for an easy victory, she displayed her agility and dexterity. With a precise duck beneath the swing, she evaded his attack with ease.

But it was the next move that took her opponent by surprise. With a wild grin, Lyarra unleashed a devastating counter. Utilizing the edge of her shield as a weapon, she struck with remarkable precision, aiming for his knee.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the air as her shield made contact, sending her opponent toppling to the ground in a crumpled heap. Moans of pain escaped his lips, a testament to the force and skill behind Lyarra's strike.

The man practically screamed yield when Lyarra went to knock him out fully. She nodded her head and turned around looking for her next victi-opponent.

As Lyarra Snow's gaze fell upon her next opponent, her heart quickened its pace, a mix of excitement and anticipation surging through her veins. Standing before her was a formidable figure, a hulking man with thick muscles and a towering height of nearly seven feet. In his hands, he wielded a massive sledgehammer, a weapon that spoke of raw power and brute force. His attire, consisting of leather armour, hinted at his mercenary background, a sellsword forged in the crucible of battle.

As Lyarra approached the imposing figure, her confident stride betrayed none of the trepidation that may have lurked within. The man looked down at her, his eyes filled with amusement, and in a deep, booming voice, he jeered, mistaking her for a boy. "Are you my next opponent, boy?" he sneered, underestimating the diminutive warrior standing before him.

With a muffled voice emanating from beneath her helmet, Lyarra responded, her determination and resolve evident in her words. "I will be your last opponent," she retorted, her voice carrying an air of quiet confidence and hidden strength.

The man's laughter rumbled through the air, filling the arena with its echoes. The crowd looked on, curious to see how the seemingly mismatched duo would fare against each other.

With lightning-quick reflexes, Lyarra Snow leapt backwards, narrowly evading the thunderous overhead swing of the sledgehammer that threatened to crush her. Her lithe form gracefully hit the ground, and in a display of acrobatic prowess, she sprang onto the very weapon meant to be her downfall. Balancing with skill and precision, she launched herself forward, her target the unprotected face of her towering adversary.

Lyarra struck with lightning speed. Her metal-clad knee guards made the blow all the more impactful as she delivered a devastating strike to his face. The sellsword bellowed in agonizing pain, dropping his weapon in a stunned daze. Undeterred, he retaliated with a powerful punch aimed at Lyarra, only to find his hand meeting the resilient barrier of her shield. Another roar of anguish escaped his lips as the impact reverberated through his bones.

Seizing the opportunity, the sellsword's rage blinding him, he lunged forward, snatching at the shield that still encased Lyarra's arm. Caught off guard, she found herself lifted into the air, her body entwined with the shield. The forceful throw sent her hurtling through the air, her instincts kicking in to minimize the impact. Twisting her body midair, she managed to untangle herself from the shield, her eyes fixated on the ground.

With a dancer's grace, Lyarra landed deftly on her feet, utilizing the momentum from being thrown to her advantage. In one fluid motion, she spun around. Aiming, she hurled the shield back at the disoriented sellsword, a swift and unexpected counterattack.

The shield sailed through the air, propelled by the force of Lyarra's throw. The sellsword, still reeling from the impact of her initial strike, had little time to react. The shield collided with him, eliciting a pained grunt as it crashed against his body.

As Lyarra closed in on her winded opponent, she could sense the weariness etched across his face. The impact of the shield against his chest had momentarily stunned him, providing her with a precious opportunity. Swift and determined, she closed the distance, her blade poised to strike.

But the man, refusing to succumb easily, managed to evade the swing aimed at his head. The near miss served as a wake-up call, reinvigorating him with a renewed sense of urgency. He knew he couldn't afford any more mistakes if he wished to emerge victorious. With unwavering focus, he prepared for the next clash.

Lyarra swung again, pouring all her strength into the strike, hoping to overcome her opponent's defences. But this time, to her astonishment, he caught the blunt blade in his hand. His grip was unyielding, and despite her efforts to pull back, he held firm. A triumphant grin spread across his face, relishing in what he perceived as a decisive advantage.

In a split-second decision, Lyarra's agile mind devised a daring plan. Bending her knees, she utilized his tight grip as a makeshift ledge, using her opponent's strength against him. With a swift and skilful manoeuvre, she flipped herself over his arm, maintaining a tenacious hold on her sword. The leverage exerted upon his arm became unbearable, threatening to snap it if he did not release his grip.

A mixture of surprise and pain contorted the man's face as the pressure on his arm intensified. The realization dawned upon him that he had underestimated his diminutive adversary. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he relinquished his hold, granting Lyarra the freedom she sought.

Seizing the opportunity, Lyarra swiftly freed her sword, her movements fluid and precise. In a graceful spin, she unleashed a powerful strike directly at his face, her blow connecting with devastating force. The man grunted, his body recoiling from the impact, before finally succumbing to the ground.

As Lyarra caught her breath, her body slick with sweat and her heart still racing from the exhilarating battles she had fought, she cast her gaze upon the remaining combatants in the melee ring. The crowd roared with excitement, their cheers and chants reverberating through the air. Among the sea of fallen opponents, only two figures remained, locked in a dance of lethal prowess.

Loras Tyrell and Jaime Lannister, two renowned knights of great repute, now faced each other in an epic clash of skill and determination. Their swords clashed and sparks flew, their movements a symphony of deadly grace. The crowd held its breath, their eyes fixated on the electrifying duel unfolding before them.

Loras, the Knight of Flowers, displayed his finesse and agility, his lithe form moving with almost ethereal grace. His strikes were swift and precise, seeking out the chinks in his opponent's armour. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, fought with the raw strength and calculated strategy that had made him a legendary warrior. His every move was calculated, each swing of his sword a testament to his honed prowess.

The clash of their blades echoed through the arena, their swords meeting in a dazzling display of skill and technique. Each parry, dodge, and counterattack was executed with a deadly precision that left the audience in awe. The ground beneath them became a battleground of shifting sands, as they danced with the grace of seasoned warriors.

As the duel between Loras Tyrell and Jaime Lannister reached its crescendo, it became apparent that Loras, despite his undeniable skill, could not match the prowess of the renowned Kingslayer. Their blades clashed in a dazzling display of swordsmanship, each strike and parry executed with precision and finesse.

Jaime, drawing upon his years of experience and innate talent, saw an opening. With a deft feint, he deceived Loras, causing the Knight of Flowers to momentarily lose focus. In that split second, Jaime's blade found its mark, knocking Loras' sword from his hand. The sound of metal meeting metal reverberated through the arena as Loras' weapon clattered to the ground.

The crowd gasped in collective surprise, recognizing the significance of this pivotal moment. Loras, his face a mix of frustration and admiration, conceded defeat in that instant.

If Lyarra’s heart was beating fast before, now it almost burst from her chest. The time had finally come for her to face off against the best blade of the realm, if she could beat him she’d prove her worth against all those who doubted her. She’d prove she was more than a bastard and a woman, it was as if her whole life led to this moment, all the studying of different sword fighting styles and the times she practised till her hands bled.

Lyarra picked her shield up from the floor and approached the Kingsguard who stood there with a smirk on his face, he was confident that he’d win this melee, so confident that he’d neglected to even wear a helmet, so his golden hair shined under the sunlight.

Jaime looked at the approaching warrior “Come, boy, better to yield now, the melee is as good as over” Arrogance was laced with his words as he stood there assured of his victory.

Lyarra smiles under her helmet “Be careful how high you perch yourself, my lord, it’ll hurt all the more once you’re knocked down” she said her voice still muffled under the helmet.

Jaime smirks, he even dares to throw his shield onto the floor implying he won’t need it. Lyarra never one to back away from a challenge does the same, though in truth she was a lot weaker than Jaime so a shield to block his blows would’ve been invaluable, however, her pride wouldn’t allow her to win anything but fairly.

With swords gripped firmly in their hands, Lyarra and Jaime stood face to face, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze. The crowd's cheers faded into the background as they prepared to engage in a battle that would test their mettle.

Jaime swung his sword down with a resounding force, aiming to overpower his opponent. But Lyarra, nimble and agile, parried the blow expertly, her blade intercepting Jaime's with a resolute clash. The clash reverberated through the air, a testament to their skill and determination.

As their swords danced in a flurry of motion, Lyarra's acrobatic prowess became evident. She leapt and twirled, using her agility to her advantage. Jaime, his movements calculated and precise, analyzed each swing and strike, seeking any opening in his opponent's defence.

Lyarra, recognizing Jaime's strength, relied on her speed and agility to evade his strikes. She deftly sidestepped, her body twisting and bending as she avoided the lethal arcs of his sword. Jaime, ever perceptive, adapted his approach, seeking to capitalize on any misstep or momentary lapse in Lyarra's defence.

Their blades clashed and clashed again, a symphony of metal ringing through the arena. Each parry and riposte showcased their mastery of the sword. Jaime, with his wealth of experience, anticipated Lyarra's moves, countering her slashes with precise blocks and calculated manoeuvres.

As the swords clashed in a symphony of steel, Lyarra and Jaime engaged in a breathtaking display of skill and finesse. Their every move and interaction painted a vivid picture of their clash.

Jaime initiated another exchange with a powerful overhead swing, aiming to cleave through Lyarra's defences. She swiftly raised her sword in a graceful arc, intercepting the blow just in time. The impact reverberated through her arms, sending a jolt of force up her shoulders.

Lyarra retaliated with a lightning-fast thrust towards Jaime's chest, aiming to exploit a momentary opening. But Jaime, ever the vigilant warrior, sidestepped with impeccable timing, his body flowing like water to evade the strike. The tip of Lyarra's blade grazed the air where Jaime had stood a moment before.

Undeterred, Lyarra executed a series of rapid slashes, her blade dancing in the air. Jaime parried each strike with precise movements, his sword meeting Lyarra's in a brilliant display of skill and finesse. The clash of their blades echoed in the arena, a testament to their mastery.

In a daring manoeuvre, Lyarra executed a swift spin, her body twisting gracefully as she aimed a sweeping strike towards Jaime's legs. But Jaime, ever-alert, anticipated her move and leapt backwards, evading the attack with a calculated leap. His boots landed firmly on the ground, and he retaliated with a lightning-fast thrust of his own.

Lyarra, showcasing her acrobatic prowess, somersaulted backwards, her body arching in mid-air to avoid the lethal trajectory of Jaime's sword. She landed nimbly, her feet barely making a sound upon contact with the ground.

As the duel intensified, Lyarra lunged forward with a precise lunge, her blade aimed towards Jaime's chest. Jaime, displaying his unmatched reflexes, deflected the strike with a well-timed parry, the metallic ring of their swords filling the air. The force of their clash reverberated through both of their bodies, sending a jolt of impact up their arms.

Jaime, seizing the opportunity, unleashed a flurry of rapid strikes, aiming to overwhelm Lyarra with his superior strength. She, however, dodged and weaved with remarkable agility, her body flowing like water to avoid the arcs of his blade. Her movements were a graceful dance of evasion and counterattack.

Lyarra retaliated with a quick succession of strikes, her sword whirling through the air like a blur. Jaime, demonstrating his seasoned expertise, matched her speed and precision, expertly parrying and deflecting each blow. The rhythm of their duel was a mesmerizing spectacle, their swords a blur of motion.

Lyarra could feel she was on the losing side of the duel, Jaime had stopped holding back and was relentless in his assault putting her on the back foot. In a bold move born of desperation, Lyarra shifted her stance, adopting the unorthodox form of the bravos water style. With one hand held behind her back, she positioned herself sideways, her sword angled towards the ground but poised for a swift strike.

As Jaime launched his next attack, aiming for a powerful strike, Lyarra swiftly parried his blow with a deft movement of her blade. But instead of engaging in the usual exchange of blows, she unleashed a lightning-fast thrust, channelling the unique techniques of the bravos water style.

Jaime, caught off guard by the sudden change in Lyarra's approach, adjusted his stance and arced his sword in a semi-circle to deflect her strike. However, he found himself taken aback by the speed and precision of her attacks, as the loose grip on her blade allowed for increased swiftness and agility.

Lyarra's relentless assault put Jaime on the defensive, his usual tactics and strategies are no longer effective against the unfamiliar Bravoosi water style. He found himself forced to react instinctively, relying on his reflexes and years of experience to parry and dodge Lyarra's rapid onslaught.

As Lyarra continued to employ her swift and fluid Water Style techniques, Jaime found himself initially on the defensive, struggling to keep up with her unpredictable movements. Her graceful footwork and agile swordplay created a mesmerizing display, leaving Jaime momentarily off balance.

However, Jaime's keen analytical mind quickly adapted to Lyarra's unique fighting style. Observing the patterns and rhythm of her attacks, he began to decipher her movements, predicting her next steps with uncanny accuracy. With a newfound understanding of her techniques, Jaime altered his approach, seeking an opening to turn the tide of the duel.

As Lyarra launched a series of rapid thrusts, her blade whirling through the air, Jaime anticipated her trajectory. Timing his move perfectly, he deflected her incoming strike with a swift parry, redirecting her sword away from his body. Seizing the opportunity, he followed up with a decisive swipe, knocking her helmet off with a resounding clang.

The whole crowd seemed to hold their breath as the unknown warrior's face was finally revealed. With high cheekbones, full lips and a slim jaw, if the crowd did not think that the warrior was a woman before they did now. Her silky dark brown shoulder-length curly hair had come undone framing her face perfectly. Even sweating and panting she still could be one of the most beautiful girls in the realm. Most who know who she is suspect she takes after Ashara Dayne. However it was only those who knew the Stark family that could tell she looked exactly like the late Lyanna Stark, but even more beautiful as she had much more delicate features as well as violet eyes.

The whole arena was shocked to silence, the dais was shocked, and the king was shocked. Ned was panicking inwardly as he looked at his friend's face. But none so more than Lyarra’s opponent Jaime.

Lyarra had a wild grin on her face, not even noticing that she was no longer disguised. Lyarra swiftly transitioned back to her Westerosi knight sword style, she gripped her sword with both hands and unleashed a powerful overhand swing towards Jaime. His initial shock was quickly replaced by a focused determination as he raised his sword to parry the strike.

Their blades clashed with a resounding clash, their weapons locked in a fierce struggle. Lyarra's attack was forceful, driven by her determination to prove herself. Jaime recognized the opening in her defence, a brief moment where her guard was compromised. However, he couldn't bring himself to exploit the opportunity.

In that crucial moment, Jaime's hesitation became evident. He held back, Lyarra noticed this which brought her out of her battle focus, she touched her face noticing she no longer wore a helmet and frowned.

“I Yield” she simply says shocking almost everyone there.

Before Jaime can even ask “You held back, it would not be a victory for me if I did not fight you at your best. You would’ve knocked me out with that swing so the victory is yours my lord” she says with a bow before quickly leaving.

Eddard Stark watched his daughter run out of the arena with a grim expression on his face. Made worse by the recognisable look of lust and obsession he saw on the King's face.

———————————————————-

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done!” Ned shouted as he looked at Lyarra who had changed out of her armour into a black tunic and breeches.

Lyarra looked up at her father in defiance “I wanted to prove myself, otherwise I’d forever be nothing more than Lord Starks bastard daughter” she stated aggressively.

Ned huffs in frustration as he paces around the tent “There were so many ways for you to prove yourself, but you had to pick the most troublesome one”

“Why does it matter so much? All I did was fight in the melee” Lyarra shouted, as she felt this treatment was completely unjust.

Ned kneels in front of her “Lyarra, I’ve had your winnings taken and put on a ship loyal to the north, you’re going to get on it and travel to Pentos”

Lyarra felt her heartbreak at her father's words, her eyes started to water as she couldn’t understand why her father wanted her gone “I-I’m s-sorry father, I promise I won’t do it again” she stutters out through tears.

Ned sighs and looks upset as well “I’m sorry Lyarra but this is for your safety, I don’t know if I can protect you anymore” he says guiltily.

Lyarra looks up at him “What do you mean?” She says sniffling.

“You look just like your aunt Lyanna, The King was in love with her, though it took me a long time to realise it was mere obsession and lust. I saw the same look in his eyes that he gave your aunt directed at you. You’re no longer safe here, do not think I do this because I do not love you” Ned explains.

Lyarra can’t help but kick herself as this would’ve never happened if she had listened to her father, but she insisted on going and proving her worth to the world.

Ned takes a letter out of his jerkin “Read this once you’re at sea, and make sure you’re alone, once you do burn it” Lyarra takes the letter and nods her head.

“Promise me,” he says sternly.

“I promise” she replies.

He smiles sadly at her “I love you Lyarra, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the life you deserved” he says before kissing her on the forehead and leaving the tent leaving her sitting there confused.

———————————————————-

*Lyarra, I’d hoped to delay telling you this for as long as I could, I didn’t want to put even more weight upon your shoulders than you already had. But the truth of the matter is that I am not your father, but your uncle. Your mother was Lyanna Stark and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Do not believe yourself to be a product of rape as it is not true, Rhaegar loved Lyanna and she loved him, they married in secret making you a true born. When I found your mother in the tower of Joy she made me promise to look after you, I believed I fulfilled that promise by keeping you alive, but I realise that I was wrong, keeping you confined to Winterfell was wrong you belong out there experiencing the world, so I hope now you can do so. This ship will be taking you to Pentos, the last known location of the Targaryens, they are your family as well so you should know them. I hope we will meet each other again and instead of seeing someone who wants to be more, I see someone who is content with who they are.

Be well Visenya Targaryen.

Your Father, Eddard Stark*

———————————————————-

As the sun began to rise, casting a warm golden glow over the camp, Aegon and Arthur found themselves seated side by side, their attention fixed on the unconscious figure of Viserys. He had not been doing too well as of late, he drank more often and a lot earlier in the day than he used to, the mocking laughs he'd get from the Dothraki had started to weigh heavily on him.

"I do admit that it is sad to see him this way," Aegon says with a sad shake of his head, before picking up a berry from the breakfast basket that had been given to them and flicking it aiming for Viserys open mouth.

"Well you are somewhat responsible" Arthur says as he watches Aegon's berry hit his cheek. He then picks a berry of his own and throws it, though it just falls short of his mouth.

Aegon turns to Arthur with a raised eyebrow "And how did you come to that conclusion"

"Ballad of the Sorefoot King..." Arthur simply states.

"Pfft, if Jorah hadn't told him what it meant we wouldn't even have this problem" Aegon replied, grabbing another berry and throwing it.

Arthur shrugs "What do you think about Jorah?" He asks Aegon who continues throwing berries at Viserys.

"I think he could be a spy, a Mormont would have no reason to serve a Targaryen let alone Viserys" Aegon says with a chuckle.

Arthur frowns "That was my thinking as well, what shall we do about it?" Arthur asks.

"Nothing" Aegon replies.

"Nothing?" Arthur asks incredulously.

"He won't be able to inform whomever he's spying for until we reach Vaes Dothrak, and that's if there is a trader present" Aegon reasons.

Arthur turns his body to face him "That doesn't remove the problem of him spying... unless" Arthur's eyes widen.

"What're you planning to do!" he asks in a loud whisper.

Aegon faces him “What makes you think I’m going to do anything?”

Arthur lets out a cynical laugh “Because you’re a sneaky fucker and you always have something planned, which you usually neglect to tell me for god knows what reasons”

Aegon laughs as he keeps attempting to throw berries into Viserys mouth “If I’m honest with you Arthur, I don’t tell you the plans because it’s amusing seeing your reaction when they finally come into play”

Arthur shakes his head with a sigh “Somehow I do believe you are capable of doing that”

“Or perhaps I wish to relieve you of the guilt of what I’m going to do to these people” he continues, sending a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

Though Aegon relieves the tension when he finally throws a berry into Viserys’ mouth, he stands up with a cheer not noticing that his uncle is choking.

Arthur is pretty impressed at the shot as Viserys is a fair distance away “Not bad, do you think you could do his nose”

Aegon strokes his chin before grinning “I don’t see why I couldn’t” he says before sitting back down and throwing another berry at Viserys though his shaking makes it bounce off him.

Aegon huffs “I can’t do it if he keeps shaking like that”

Arthur looks at Viserys “I think he’s choking…”

Aegon looks closer “Hm, so he is… well go do your duty Kingsguard” he teases making Arthur sigh as he gets up and puts Viserys on his side before kicking his back making the berry fly out his mouth.

Viserys sputtered and coughed as he had fully awoken from the experience in a panic he looked around only to see Arthur above him and the smiling form of Aegon a bit further away.

———————————————————-

Aegon rode with Daenerys and Arthur as they finally rode into Vaes Dothrak passing under the Horse Gate. Daenerys was in awe of it all, as they rode down the godsway, hundreds of different symbols of god from many different cultures littered the roads, she had never seen anything like it before.

“It’s quite the sight is it not,” Aegon says to his aunt as he rides beside her his lute in his hand, though it’s noticeably different than the one he usually used.

Daenerys eyes are wide as she can’t help the gleeful smile that appears on her face. Having Aegon come into her life was like a blessing from the gods, he’d taken her worries away from her and now she could just enjoy the extraordinary sights to see without worrying about where she was “It’s amazing I’ve never seen so many different cultures before”

Aegon smiles back at her “Well you should become accustomed to such things, if you travel with me and Arthur you’ll find yourself in foreign places quite frequently” he stated as he strummed his lute.

Daenerys couldn’t help but feel her eyes drawn towards his lute, it was a pale ash colour that seemed to have a face carved into the base.

Aegon notices her interest and holds it up “This is my special lute, it’s made of Weirwood and is truly one of a kind” he explains with a smile.

Daenerys smiles as she raises her eyebrows “What makes it so special” she asks sarcastically.

Aegon smirks back at her “It’s magic” he says with a wink.

They were led through the city, Aegon was quite impressed with what they had managed to build, or rather impressed with what they had made others build. They had all done him a favour by making the majority of its wood. Finally arriving at where Khal Drogo’s Khalasar would be hosted they got off their horses, with Aegon helping Daenerys off of hers.

Aegon looks at Daenerys and cups her cheek “Do not be afraid sweet aunt, tonight you’ll no longer have to worry about the Khal sharing your bed, we shall ride out of here unopposed” he says with a smile that makes Daenerys melt into his hand.

“Arthur!” Aegon shouts to the Kingsguard.

“You don’t need to shout I’m right here” Arthur stated with a sigh as he stood right behind them.

Aegon chuckles “Make sure to grab Viserys before we leave, knock him out if you have to” he commands getting a nod from Arthur in return.

Aegon can see that Daenerys looks worried “Please rest at ease, Jorah will be with you when you’re presented to the Dosh Khaleen, and I’ll join shortly afterwards” he says with a smile.

He turns to Arthur “Make sure you grab provisions and horses, don’t forget your weapon either I’m sure House Dayne won’t appreciate you losing Dawn again”

Arthur goes to argue but just sighs and nods before walking away. Though Aegon can hear a few curses being thrown his way.

———————————————————-

Aegon sat alone in front of a campfire, the sun had just set and darkness rolled over the lands, there was no moon tonight making the only lights the torches that had been lit around the city. Aegon could hear the celebrations of the Dothraki as they enjoyed being home once more.

Aegon breathed deeply as he prepared himself for what he had to do, it weighed heavily on him sometimes making him wonder how he could even stand. But he had to do it, the Dothraki were in the way so they had to be dealt with, more than that they were a threat to his family.

Aegon stood up and headed towards the celebrations, this was a private celebration for the Khal's closest comrades, they enjoyed the best food and the best wine and also got their pick of the slave girls.

In a secluded alley near where the celebrations took place a Dothraki raider was taking a piss against the wall, Aegon snuck behind him removing a dagger from his boot and opening his neck, he then grabs his shoulder and spins him around letting the blood pour on the lute he had strapped to him. The pale white wood soaked in the blood was not being discoloured by the red liquid one bit.

Aegon looked the man in the eyes as the light finally died in his eyes. When he set down on this path he had always resolved himself to look a man in the eyes if he directly takes their life, it was the honourable thing to do.

Aegon put the knife back in his boot and left the alleyway, his hands were covered in blood as he started plucking on the strings of his lute, an ethereal sound being played, as he approached the 30 Dothraki who was enjoying themselves. And in the deep guttural sound of the Old Tongue, he started to sing.

 

In a desolate land where shadows creep,
Lived a shepherd tending his flock of sheep.
One eve, he found a lost soul in despair,
A creature he mistook, with wool so fair.

With naive kindness, he took it as his own,
Unaware of the horror that had just been sown.
The wolf blended in, amidst the woolly white,
But darkness lurked within, hunger burning bright.

As night fell upon the pasture, the wolf did strike,
The sheep's fearful bleating, a sound so alike.
One by one, they fell, devoured in its jaws,
Their innocence lost, consumed by wicked paws.

The shepherd watched in horror, his heart gripped with fright,
Realizing his mistake, he stared into the night.
The wolf's eyes gleamed, hunger never sated,
And now it sought the shepherd, fate sealed and fated.

In the barren land, a shepherd's scream was heard,
A grim reminder of trust betrayed, a lesson learned.
Beware the disguises that evil may wear,
For in the face of darkness, innocence becomes ensnared.

As his words mixed in with the ethereal sounds of the lute being played the Dothraki found themselves starting to get sleepy, some stronger than the others tried getting up but found they collapsed on their backs straight away. Eventually, all of the people celebrating were fast asleep and unconscious.

Aegon looked upon them his purple eyes glowing as he looked at them with a cold menacing expression. He placed his lute on his back before approaching them, he started dragging their bodies around.

It took a while but he had finally finished, he had dragged their bodies around and organised them into a spiral shape, something that looked quite ominous, all of their bodies were connected whether by hands or feet and at the centre of it was the Khals blood rider.

Jon approaches the centre of it and removes his dagger again and cutting his hand he chants a word in High Valyrian lighting it on fire. He looks down on the sleeping bloodrider, the only comfort he takes from doing this is that none of the people here are innocent.

“Jaelagon yn daor, zaldrīzoti rȳbāzma. Vezhvenāk dōhaerī.”

“Jaelagon yn daor, zaldrīzoti rȳbāzma. Vezhvenāk dōhaerī.”

“Jaelagon yn daor, zaldrīzoti rȳbāzma. Vezhvenāk dōhaerī.”

Aegon chants as he plunges the flaming dagger into the man’s heart, the blade sticks out of his chest while still being on fire. He gets off the man and exits the spiral formation. The bodies all start to groan in pain increasingly, some even screaming. Aegon watches as the fire on the dagger starts to die down before extinguishing. And suddenly all the bodies are still, and a dark mist rises from each of them as it takes the form of 30 different humanoid shadows.

‘When light is extinguished, darkness rises’ Aegon thinks to himself as he watches the scene with no expression.

The shadows all look to Aegon as they form as if waiting for something, as soon as the last ones form Aegon simply says to them “Dothraki, Perzys ānogār” and they all run off in different directions some even crawling.

Aegon picks up a torch and starts to make his way to the building where the Dosh Khaleen resides, as he goes he sets every building he comes across on fire, any Dothraki he comes across that try to stop him, find themselves impaled, or throats cut by creatures they can’t see. Very soon the screaming starts and it doesn’t take long for the streets of the city to start running with blood.

Luckily for Aegon, the Dosh Khaleen resided a bit further away from the main city so the screams could be misinterpreted as celebrations. A fire could be explained as celebrations getting out of hand, he didn’t believe anyone would attempt to help when the city was already full of Dothraki.

Aegon had finally made it to the road that led to the Dosh Khaleen, he could still hear the sounds of people being slaughtered and the fires were starting to spread from the place where they were first set. Aegon turned and headed towards the large temple-like building.

———————————————————-

Daenerys felt nervous as she was presented to the Dosh Khaleen, she had been stripped in front of them and inspected, something that she really didn’t like, especially since Jorah was in the corner of the building. She could feel him leer at her which made her uncomfortable, to say the least.

Khal Drogo also stood by them waiting for their answer, he was a superstitious man and believed the red star was a bad omen, that perhaps his new Khalessi was tainted. He waited respectfully as the last member of the group went back and they all spoke in whispers.

The woman in the centre was the one who spoke “She is of good breeding stock” she states in Dothraki.

Drogo nods his head “The star?” He asks wishing to know if he was right.

“We believe it to be a good omen, the coming of The Stallion Who Mounts The World” she replies getting a look to shock from the Khal.

Daenerys didn’t understand what that was but it must have been good news as the Khal looked incredibly happy, which was a change from his usual stoic nature.

“You are right!” They hear a voice shout out loudly at the entrance to the temple. Daenerys turns to see Aegon who had walked in with a smile on his face, he had also barred the door as well.

“You dare interrupt the Dosh Khaleen!” Drogo shouts out at Aegon who doesn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

“Your Dosh Khaleen are right Khal Drogo, The Stallion Who Mounts The World has come, and he’s right here” he says as he points at himself, a few of the other Dothraki laugh.

He walks up and stands next to Daenerys “You insult us with your presence outsider, to say you are the Stallion is a disgrace” one of the Dosh Khaleen spits out with venom.

“It is Khal Drogo who will father the Khal of Khals” she continues to the agreement of those around her.

Aegon smiles coldly at them and then walks over to a brazier “If what you say is true, then he will not die when I do this” he says as he pushes the brazier over lighting the building on fire, he then pushes another one blocking the entrance to the door. They are all trapped in an inferno with no way out.

Daenerys starts to panic as she looks around for any place to escape but is stopped when Aegon grabs hold of her. He holds her face in his hands, their violet eyes staring at each other “What are you” he simply says to her.

Daenerys looks confused but is snapped out of it when she sees the fire spread even further “Aegon we need to leave! The fire is everywhere” she says in a panic.

“Daenerys… What are you?” Aegon asks slowly as realisation dawns on her.

“I am a dragon,” she says to him.

Aegon nods and smiles “And fire cannot harm a dragon” he states as he kisses her amidst the flames the sounds of screaming and the smell of burning flesh being drowned out.

 

Title translates to: City of Fire and Blood in Dothraki

(AN: So you’ve been introduced to Lyarra, I’m trying to base her personality off Visenya but less of a cunt. Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter they are off to the city of ghosts next chapter. Though ngl not sure when that will be. Anyway hope you enjoyed it)

Starting a new fic as well haven’t really thought of a title yet but it’s going to be my First Crossover. A Song of Ice and fire x Hunter x Hunter. Though it won’t be the characters it’ll just be the nen that will be present in A Song of ice and fire. Anyway the details of the fic are on my supporter page, though it’s not much just me explaining how the fic will work. I’ll probably post sample chapters on there as this will be very hard to write and I’m not sure about the harem yet. I’ll also be taking longer with the other three fics, writing over 10,000+ words each day is kinda exhausting.