The Black Lion: Game Of Thrones Fanfic

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…Daemon Pov

The sound of steel hitting a training dummy in the courtyard reverberated—Daemon, after his little conversation with the little finger, left him with a rise in emotions, leaving him to unleash his emotions on a training dummy.

Whilst amid his anger, he started to ponder while he struck the dummy with a grace far higher than the standards of those with his station.

'A tournament is coming up—this..as he said could prove to be an opportunity for me to grasp,' I said internally. 'Knowing his grace, he would probably add in a melee, a joust, and an archery contest.' Daemon said in his pondering.

'The joust is out of the question—father nor the king would allow it, no squires have ever taken part in a joust. I'm not good with a bow; that's a coward's weapon—more of an up close and personal type of guy, so the only choice left is the melee.' He continued.

Even while not focusing purely on his strikes, he still kept true to his training, moving and sidestepping as if he were fighting a real opponent. His strikes were firm and quick, causing splinters to fly wildly with each hit.

'Now…how would I approach this? Mhm…oh! Every year, there is always a mystery knight. Perhaps I'll have to declare myself one, but…there is the armor problem. I'll need a new armor set and sword.' He continued his rant while striking the poor dummy.

He was about to strike the dummy with a riposte, tensing the muscles in his right hand but was interrupted by a soft voice.

"So this is where you were, Daemon?" Myrcella said with dissatisfaction in her tone.

"It's rude to make a princess wait, cousin." She reprimanded him causing him to smirk before resting the blunt sword at his side.

General Pov

"Sorry princess…. I was caught up with something, and I needed to release it." Daemon said.

"And? You didn't think of at least telling me?" She asked Daemon, causing his smirk to falter. "I swear you only think with your sword." She finished.

"Now, I wouldn't say that I use my head most of the time, or would you prefer.." Daemon remarked in a snarky tone causing Myrcella to raise her voice in embarrassment.

"Daemon!-" She said, "Fine, I'm done teasing you, but it was something urgent, Cella." He called her by the nickname he gave her.

"Good…but what had you releasing your frustration onto that poor dummy—you didn't even hear me coming up to you." She asked.

"Oh...I ran into Lord Baelish; we had an interesting chat, so to speak," Daemon said. "Oh, I hope he didn't patronize you." She said with a lower voice which Daemon caught on.

"Don't worry; nothing was said—well, other than the fact that your father, his Grace, wants to hold a tournament," Daemon told her, causing Myrcella to perk up.

"That's what I wanted to tell you about, father decided to hold a tourney for my 10 and 5-name day." She said excitedly.

"About that…I was planning on joining the melee, don't tell anyone, Cella." Daemon whispered to her.

At the mention of this Myrcella opened her eyes in shock before staring straight at Daemon as if he was mad and moving to hold the hand that held the sword.

"Are you crazy! You do know there are going to be men twice your age participating, possibly in the mountain should he feel the thirst for blood!" she said, squeezing Daemon's hand.

"Possibly—but I need this; I need to prove myself ready to be knighted- I don't give a fuck about the mountain or anyone should they participate in the melee; just promise me you won't tell my father." He said, overlapping her hand with his, squeezing it as if reassuring her that he would be fine.

Myrcella looked at him knowing her cousin was stubborn when it came to certain things, this being one of them as he always wanted to be a knight like her uncle.. seeing that he had his mind set on it she sighed before replying,

"...fine I swear I won't say anything just promise me you won't be hurt." She said softly.

"I can't promise that because…it's, you know- a melee, but I can promise you I will come out of it in one piece." 'And hopefully knighted,' Daemon said.

"That's better…somewhat..now can you accompany me to the gardens" She said

"Very well, princess," Daemon said with a mock bow, causing her to giggle in amusement.

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(Small Council Chambers)

"How are the coffers looking like Lord Baelish?" asked Jon Arryn with a tired expression. 

"Nothing's changed lord hand—the coffers have been low…dangerously so now that the king declared a tourney." Petyr Baelish said with his usual smirk on his face.

"No…no…I won't allow this-" Jon Arryn said but was interrupted, "Need I remind you that the king is pretty adamant about this? The king gets what he wants, Lord Hand." He continued, his smirk widening by an inch.

"Where are we even getting the coin to fund this tournament Lord Baelish? You are the master of coin so tell me!" Jon said, infuriated at how close the kingdom was to becoming bankrupt and the smirk of the man.

"The funds are being covered by a loan the kingdom requested from Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock on his grace orders," Baelish replied swiftly.

"Seven Hells…I'll need to speak with the king about his constant spending on tourneys and such, but anyway, let's focus on some more important matters," Jon said turning his eyes to the Master Of Ships, "Lord Stannis, how is the Royal fleet coming along have we recovered what we lost since the Greyjoy rebellion?" He asked.

The Lord of Dragonstone would have worn an expression of seriousness as he was addressed by the Hand of the King, particularly known as his elder brother.

Stannis Baratheon is a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair—a common look amongst most Baratheons even though his hair was sparse and formed a fringe around his head; he has dark blue eyes while his face was tight like cured leather with hollow cheeks and thin pale lips.

"The Royal fleet was rebuilt to a significant degree after the rebellion though not what it once was before my brother's rebellion; the fleet consisted of 210 ships and 80 galleys, 50 at King's Landing and the rest at Dragonstone including the galleys." He replied firmly.

"Sheesh, brother, it seems you have been taking your duty seriously; dare I say, you are close to the numbers before the rebellion," Renly said, causing Stannis to stare at him with a cold expression.

Stannis harbors cold feelings for his brother, particularly after his eldest gave him Storm's End, their ancestral land after he withheld a siege which he had to face starvation for.

Renly Baratheon, like his brother, was a tall man but with a slim and graceful figure—With the traditional black Baratheon hair and storm-blue eyes, but unlike his brother, Renly was regarded as the more pleasant looking of the two and was similar in appearance to the king when he was younger.

"Good—at least someone is taking their post seriously," He said, not addressing who he was talking to, but the message was clear. 

"Lord Renly, there have been minor outbreaks in Flea Bottom. I suggest you start being effective as a Master of Law. If this tournament were to happen, we don't want any casualties." Jon said sternly.

"What are you insinuating, Lord Hand?" Renly remarked looking at Jon with narrow eyes. "I'm hearing information from Lord Varys that the Gold Cloaks in the city are suffering from corruption and not maintaining order so I suggest you do your duty." He said calmly.

"As you say, Lord's hand…as you say," Renly said, but there was a tint of hardness in his tone.

"Anything from the east, Varys?" Jon Arryn asked the eunuch. 

"No, my lord hand, it seems the dragon siblings, as of late, are rather quiet; not even my little birds have been able to hear any whispers," Varys replied.

The Master Of Whispers was a bald man of round proportions with pale skin and a round nose on his round face. 

"I see—seeing as how we have addressed the most important things let's discuss-" Jon Arryn says.

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…Chapter Ends