Chapter Text
It was the second day of the tourney with the four last contestants of the joust, the two Clegane brothers, Ser Loras, and Jaime Lannister left in the competition. Then there would be the melee, a set of forty men crowded onto a field until one emerged victorious. Jon’s father had complained of how long it had taken to convince the King to refrain from competing in the melee.
After that, the final competition would be archery, where Theon’s name stood out proudly on a list of less prestigious names than either of the other events.
“Gods,” Jon groaned as he shoved his nose further into Theon’s neck amidst Theon’s laughs, “That perfume really is going to be the death of me.”
“Get off,” Theon shoved him with his shoulders, but Jon just latched back on to keep inhaling the perfect light scent, “I need to finish dressing.” Theon laughed again as Jon refused to back off.
“Hmm, no, I think we’ll stay here today.” Jon muttered, wrapping his arms around Theon’s waist.
Theon laughed and shoved his arms off, “I’ve got to compete.”
“Don’t remind me,” Jon muttered and then finally backed off, the scent still stinging in his nose like an afterimage, “More Kraken attire today?” Jon asked as he watched Theon grab a roll of cloth and start twisting it into something that Jon couldn’t even comprehend.
“It’s more comfortable,” Theon said, somehow making the twisted cloth into a sort of shirt that covered all of his back and front, only leaving scandalous open holes around the sides of his ribs, “With the gills open I don’t like the tighter fabric anymore.” Theon said and tugged at the side of Jon’s tunic. Jon batted his hand away.
“What, harder to breathe?” Jon ventured a guess, trying to make the Kraken necklace lay right on his chest himself today so that Theon wouldn’t tug more of his laces loose on his tunic.
Theon nodded, “Just feels oppressive, having them covered.” He said and then turned to Jon to mess with the neck piece anyway. Jon just rolled his eyes.
“We’re going to start dressing separately.” He joked with no inflection at all.
“Tired of having your chest on display already? I’m not.” Theon said with a wink.
“I’m sure the Dornish would love you.” Jon countered back and Theon threw his head back and laughed.
“You’re probably right, boatmen as we all are.”
There were a few folk from the Marches or Dorne in Kingslanding now, and Jon had to admit he’d been curious to see if anyone with enough Rhoynar blood to perform some water magic would show, but there’d been no sign of anything at all yet. Strong Rhoynar blood was rare after all.
They didn’t linger that morning as they had the previous day, joining Mycah and the guard and walking to the tourney grounds without any other distractions.
When Ser Loras streamed onto the field again, his cloak of roses trailing behind him, Theon leaned in front of them to tease Sansa again and Jon just rolled his eyes. It wasn’t worth listening in on whatever it was that Theon was saying. The four final competitors lined up in front of the king, Ser Loras, Jaime Lannister, and then both of the Clegane brothers standing on opposite sides of the group of four and towering over the whole tourney ground it seemed.
“Let the games… begin!” Robert Baratheon called and the tourney stands erupted in cheers. The jousting champions bowed and left the grounds.
“Plan on placing any bets today?” Theon asked and leaned over towards Jon, apparently done with teasing Sansa in front of him.
“Only on you.” Jon said and Theon rolled his eyes.
“You better.” He warned and both of them turned back to the jousting field as Ser Loras and the mountain took up both their sides. Loras’ horse was dancing around on its feet, shaking its head back and forth. Jon narrowed his eyes to look closer for a second before he understood.
“The poor mare’s in heat, what does he think he’s doing?” Jon muttered and Theon finally looked towards Loras’ horse and started laughing.
“Poor lass looks like she can’t wait to get out of here.” Theon chuckled.
The flag was drawn and Loras and the Mountain steadied their mounts on opposite sides of the jousting field. As the mare started racing forward, the Mountain’s stallion started to buck, refusing to go forward as the scent of the mare in heat hit his nose. Loras and the mare in heat weren’t halfway across the field before the stallion bucked off the Mountain, tossing him into the sand as the stallion raced away.
The Mountain roared as he hit the ground, but Loras was already leading his mare around the track, lance propped up high on his shoulder as he waved to all his adoring fans, taking the win of the joust without even tilting against the mountain. “What is he—” Theon said and Jon looked back at where the Mountain was stumbling back up to standing, grabbing a sword from one of the guards who came racing forward to catch the stallion and then both Jon and Theon were on their feet shouting along with half the crowd as cheers turned to sounds of horror.
The mare’s head fell to the ground faster than the mare’s feet stopped moving, but Loras was tossed off all the same.
The Mountain roared like a beast as blood dripped down his sword and fell onto the sand as he advanced on Loras. “He’s going to kill him.” Jon muttered, reaching to his side like he had a sword to pull, but nothing was there.
But Jon didn’t need to pull a sword and leap off the stands because the Hound raced forward seemingly out of nowhere and caught his brother’s violent swing on a sword of his own. The clang rang out through the whole tourney ground and silence fell.
The herald didn’t seem to know what to say as he looked up at the royal box for guidance. Some signal must’ve passed through because then the herald was calling out, “Ser Loras of House Tyrell advances to the final!”
Cheers drowned out the stadium again and people leapt to their feet clapping, hiding whatever conversation or looks passed between the Clegane brothers that ended with both of them stomping off the grounds in opposite directions.
“Well that was eventful.” Theon muttered and Jon just nodded, feeling uneasy now. It only reminded him of the knight who had ridden against the Mountain yesterday. The one who had bled out onto the sand and died in front of a crowd of thousands.
In comparison to the Mountain, Jaime Lannister took his loss with grace, falling onto the sand of the tourney ground and still coming up standing and giving a bow to the crowd even as he held his shoulder firm, no doubt knocking it as he fell.
When the Hound and Ser Loras emerged for their final joust, the knight graciously conceded, thanking the scarred and burned man for saving his life against his brother. The half of the crowd that seemed infatuated with the Knight of Flowers seemed to find this act even more attractive and there was still a shower of cheers as Ser Loras left the field for the Hound to accept his championship.
As the field began to prepare for the melee, Jon reached over and just rubbed his hand on Theon’s thigh. The archery contest was getting closer and closer and even if Jon said he would place his bet on Theon, he couldn’t help the spike of nervousness of seeing his mate in a competition in front of the king.
“You nervous to watch the melee?” Theon scoffed as he looked down at Jon’s hand.
“No.” Jon didn’t say any more than that and Theon shrugged, but let Jon keep his hand resting there.
If he hadn’t had his hand resting right on Theon’s thigh then he wouldn’t have felt the jolt in his muscles when the participants for the melee emerged. Immediately, the jump set Jon on edge the way that a change in scent from a fellow packmate would spark him to look around for threats. He scanned the participants riding into the field as they were announced one by one. There were countless knights, Ser Andar Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Horas Redwyne, and of course Thoros of Myr, the drunkard, or so Jon had heard, with his sword all aflame.
It took him a moment to remember why he knew that name and what feats the man was so famous for that tales were told of him across the whole of Westeros. The bombardment of Pyke. Theon would have been there, but he was a child at the time, was he not? He couldn’t have seen…
Jon trailed off in his thoughts and almost turned to look at Theon, but then stopped himself before he could twist his head even marginally in that direction. Theon hadn’t said anything. He’d just flinched, that was all. Jon shouldn’t overreact. He couldn’t even be sure that Theon was even bothered by the Myrish man.
Jon didn’t move his hand from Theon’s thigh, but he had to put effort into keeping it relaxed and not squeezing as if in reassurance as the melee began in earnest. The light of the firesword drew the eye around the field. It was clear, watching the group of forty men on horse battle, that only one knight stood out amongst the rest.
When Thoros of Myr unseated another knight and raised his sword high in the air in celebration, Theon flinched again. Jon instinctively squeezed Theon’s thigh back and then he closed his eyes briefly, knowing that the charade was up. Theon shoved his hand off of his thigh fast, making a small annoyed noise through his nose. Jon let the hand leave him.
He sulked for a minute, angry at himself for being so dumb as to give himself away like that. Then, Jon had another idea. He turned towards Theon, leaning close so he could whisper close to his ear fins, “Imagine a bastard sword up against all those Andal weapons.” He boasted and pushed one of his hands up the side of Theon’s stomach until he just lightly touched over the exposed gills on Theon’s ribs before sliding back down and resting the hand on the small of Theon’s back.
Theon seemed to shiver as the hand passed over his gills and Jon smiled. “A bastard sword on horse, though? It’d be too heavy with one hand to compete against their speed.” Theon argued back, still watching the melee in front of them.
“Too heavy for you.” Jon teased and Theon just huffed and a small smile appeared on his face. A blossom of pride bloomed in Jon’s chest. He’d resolved it, the conflict, with just a light bit of teasing.
They continued their own joust back and forth, chatting and making fun of the Andal knights as they fought across the yard. There was nothing else to do for the three hours of melee. When the last few knights were standing and Thoros of Myr was one of them, Jon didn’t say anything. When the last knight standing was Thoros of Myr, Jon didn’t utter a word or move of consolation. Half the knights in King’s Landing had been at the bombardment too, and on the right side of the war as well. There was nothing for Jon to do or say.
At the end of the Melee and after the King had awarded Thoros of Myr his prize, Theon left Jon’s side with a press on his shoulder. Jory came to take his place at Jon’s side, their duties to guard the girls and his father as they watched the tourney continue.
A group of squires ran out onto the field, Mycah not among them as he was likely following Theon around as he prepared his bow. The squires quickly measured out the first of the paces and set up the targets. The more skittish of the people in the stands quickly moved out from behind where the targets were set, unwilling to be fodder to stray arrows.
The collection of archers willing to test their mettle came out from behind the stands and the crowd cheered as the herald announced the names of each and every one. Most of the more prestigious knights had taken their chances at the Melee or the Joust which left the younger hopefuls keen on an appointment to the city guard or beside a knight of note to compete in the archery contest.
Theon came out with the group of archers for the contest, the herald announcing his name just as he had for the others and the cheers among the crowd were muted. The bow that Jon had made for the mating was clutched in his hand, quiver hanging off his belt at his side. Theon stood out, his ear fins bright and high and the gills on his neck and ribs obvious. The Southern archers avoided him, but the one Winterfell man there, stood by his side as they stepped back to let the first round of archers take their place at twenty paces.
Jon scanned the watching crowd as the first group fired their arrows. He looked over the people who would see Theon’s competition. Many of them were lords and knights who would have fought in Theon’s father’s rebellion years ago. They would want the measure of the Greyjoy heir and Jon knew that Theon was keen to show them. Only the wolves of Winterfell had ever seen Theon fight or his prowess with a bow.
Most of the Andals in the crowd would have never even seen a Kraken fight, unless they fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion. Krakens were known for their viciousness, for leaving no witnesses and taking no prisoners. They were not known as archers, but more as axe wielding, ship boarding monsters. They never saw the pride of Krakens, nor the beauty, but as Theon stepped up to take his place and make his first shot, Jon could see the poise in his body and the pride with which he held his chin up.
The archers shot their arrows one at a time down the row, polite claps after each shot around the stands. When it came to Theon’s turn, he put an arrow on the line of his bow and pulled it back and sighted at the target, but a moment later he lowered the bow. Jon leaned forward and didn’t even notice that he whispered aloud, “What is he doing?”
He watched as Theon handed his bow to the man standing closest to him and with a quick, fluid movement, pulled off his Kraken style shirt, tossing the fabric away onto the sand. He stretched then, pulling his arms back and puffing out his chest. The muscles of his back and shoulders appeared like sculpted stone. Jon felt himself blush as he watched. It was inappropriate, baring his chest like that, at least to Northern sensibilities. Yet even as he blushed, Jon knew that girls in the crowd would be whispering about Theon in the same way he had heard Jeyne and Sansa whispering about Lord Dondarrion and Ser Loras during the Joust. He felt almost protective of Theon, but at the same time, this was the kind of behavior that had been common back in Winterfell. The flirtatious side of Theon had disappeared over the months and Jon was shocked to find himself grateful at its return.
Theon took his bow back. The bow was heavier and larger than the rest of the archers’, the one that Jon had specially made for him. The crowd seemed to watch now with bated breath as he finally notched the arrow and retook his stance. Theon had drawn all of their eyes, saying without any words, “Watch.”
The arrow flew with more power than the rest of the field and pierced right through the middle of the target with a thunk.
Jon let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The crowd cheered and Jon held himself tall, feeling the pride sink into him as his mate moved forward in the competition.
The first round at twenty paces saw half the group of young hopefuls expelled for not hitting the eye of the target. At fifty paces, the man from Winterfell was expelled, a poor shot that Jon knew he was more than capable of. Theon gave him a pat on the arm as he walked off the field, the competition smaller and smaller.
Seventy-five paces and the group was reduced to four archers, Theon among the best even as he used the opportunity of each shot to show off his body to the whole crowd. Those eyes watching him became more serious and Jon could see them measuring the distance with their eyes between the sharpshooter that Theon was and the seat of the King in the stands.
At a hundred paces, the other three shooters went first, Anguy the Archer of the Dornish Marches, Ser Balon Swann, and Prince Jalabhar Xho, the beggar prince. Each hit the target, but even Jon knew they would not be good enough for Theon’s eye. He’d seen him hit and fell a deer at fifty yards.
Jon watched as Theon took his stand, his legs spread and strong in their stance. The muscles on his back rippled and bulged as he drew the arrow. His bow had the strongest draw of the competition and it was obvious based on the size. The grounds seemed to hold their breath, but it might just have been Jon all the same.
The arrow sailed with the characteristic confidence of Theon, no second guessing or doubt, only blind confidence. It embedded itself deep in the target.
“He’s won.” Jory said even before the man came forward to the targets to determine the winner, but Jon felt it in his body too, that Theon had won the contest. Theon turned around on the field and sought out Jon in the stands with his eyes. When he finally found him he raised a fist in the air with a broad grin, then brought the fist to his chest, the Kraken form of respect.
As Jon stared at him and the slight bow of his head that Theon gave, the herald announced him as the winner of the archery contest. Cheers went through the crowd and the other archers seemed to congratulate each other in the background, but Jon could only watch Theon. Theon, who had won them 10,000 golden dragons. Theon who had won the contest and instead of watching the herald announce his name as the winner had turned to Jon and signaled his respect. Theon who, from what Jon could understand from the gesture, had just dedicated his victory to him.
The herald continued to announce the end of the tournament and the folk around Jon began to talk of the banquet that would begin in the keep once dark had fallen, but Jon’s breath was still caught in his throat as Theon turned to greet his competitors. The world seemed to move around him as Jon stood still.
They were mated and now Theon had won them a hefty prize.
He looked over to where his father talked quietly with the King in the Royal stand, and he realized something quite dangerous. They were both men now, mated and with gold enough to take them anywhere in the whole world. Jon hadn’t realized what freedom tasted like and was even more shocked when he found the taste more pleasant than he ever expected.