The gods seemed to have blessed the tourney days. No rain, no harsh winds—only cool breezes, warm sunlight, and clear skies. Near Harrenhal, stands, pavilions, and the massive structures needed to host the largest tourney in recent memory were already in place for the festivities.
The event would begin with the mounted melee, following the ancient tradition: seven against seven in each charge.
Teams—mostly composed of noble houses and their sworn knights—would need to unhorse their opponents to advance to the next round. Alongside the melee, there would be axe-throwing contests, archery competitions, and even a bardic contest filled with songs and tales.
Yet something unusual caught the attention of the clerk responsible for registering participants in the melee. At the entrance of one of the stands, he froze when he saw three figures approaching—figures whose presence made his spine go cold.
"Ah! Wh–who are you?"
Before him stood three warriors clad head to toe in heavy plate armor, decorated with steel lines shaped like runes along the joints and edges. Their helms were fully enclosed and bore metal masks: one smiling, one weeping, and the last twisted in a furious, beast-like snarl. On their cuirasses, belts, and small side plates, the same mask motifs appeared again—sometimes engraved, sometimes enameled.
"Who are we?" said the knight with the smiling helm, his voice resonating coldly from inside the steel. "We are the ones who will win this tourney."
The clerk swallowed hard.
"You… you wish to sign up for the melee? But… there are only three of you."
"Three? Is there a minimum number?" asked the Smiling Knight.
Still trembling, the recruiter explained the rules: teams of seven, mounted combat, elimination rounds.
"Twig, should we go back to fetch the horses?" asked the furious-masked knight.
"No, Aron. It's too far. Even if we ran, we'd arrive late for the melee, and the horses would be exhausted," Twig replied.
"Then what are we going to do?" asked the smallest of them, the weeping mask.
"I have an idea, Jenny. I won a bet that gives me the right to a horse. But perhaps I can trade that reward for three borrowed mounts," Twig said, already calculating his next move.
"But Twig, aren't we supposed to bring four more people to participate?" Jenny asked.
Twig turned his masked face toward the terrified clerk.
"We will participate as three against seven, recruiter."
"But, sir, you can't—"
"Who says? We will enter with only three members."
"T-that's madness. You'll be throwing your lives away!"
"Let us worry about our lives, recruiter. You worry about your own."
After registering, Twig and the others left the stand in search of the horses they needed.
Now I need to find a Stark, Twig thought.
As the three armored figures moved through the crowds, they drew more and more stares. Their armor was unlike anything Westerosi eyes had ever seen—intimidating, almost monstrous.
Elsewhere in the tourney grounds, two Stark siblings were in the middle of one of their signature arguments.
"Leave me alone, Ned. I'm not sitting by your side to watch that shameless man you call your friend. I'll stay with our own—the people of the North—as a Stark should," Lyanna said, exasperated.
"Lyanna, by the old gods and the new, why must you be so difficult? Your hand was promised to him by our father. You keep running from him, ignoring his attempts to talk to you—"
"Our father can have whatever plans he wants for the South, but I was born a Stark, and the North is my home. He's condemning me to a life far from my land and chained to a womanizing fool."
"Watch your tongue, sister. We're not alone in Winterfell for you to shout insults about another noble," Ned scolded.
"Ned, if you like him so much, marry him yourself!"
Before Ned could retort, a voice cut through:
"Lady Stark?"
Lyanna turned, ready to snap at whoever dared call her Lady—but the words died in her throat.
Everyone nearby fell silent as three predatory suits of armor stepped into the area.
"What in the seven hells…?" muttered a Vale guard.
"Who are you?" Lyanna asked, startled.
The closest figure pointed to the metal smile carved into his helm.
"Did you forget our wager already, Lady Lyanna?" Twig said.
"You're Robert—the Merchant Jester?" she asked.
Lyanna hesitated. The masked figure before her resembled the same Foolish Merchant she had met days earlier, but now he wore a full suit of armor so menacing it felt like facing a different man entirely.
"Hmm? Yes? But today, I am not a merchant. I am a Hedge Knight."
"You're a Hedge Knight? You intend to join the tourney?"
"Yes. My companions and I will fight together in the melee."
"These two are with you?" she asked.
"Don't worry about them. I came only to collect my prize from our wager."
"All right," Lyanna said. "I won't break my word—but you didn't have to bring backup to intimidate me."
Ned stepped forward, protective as ever.
"Hey, you—how dare you talk to my sister like that?"
Hmm. Young Ned Stark, still green. What a sight, Twig thought.
But before he could answer, Lyanna cut in:
"Stay out of this, Ned. I lost a bet, and that's that. I'll honor it. You don't need to interfere. Follow me," she said to the bizarre trio. "The horses are in our family's stable."
Ned watched, frustrated, as his sister willingly walked off with the armored strangers.
At the stables, Twig halted and called to her:
"Lady Lyanna."
"Stop calling me that. Just Lyanna," she grumbled. "And why don't you take off those dreadful helmets? How do you even breathe in those things?"
"If you prefer Lyanna, then Lyanna it is," Twig replied. "As for the helms—they stay on. Now, I have a proposal: instead of giving me one horse as your debt, how about lending me three horses for the melee and the joust? I'll return them after the tourney."
"Why do you need more horses?"
"To enter the melee. I need one for myself and one for each companion. That makes three."
"I see," she said. "And what if they're injured? Or worse—you run away with them?"
She's sharp, Twig thought.
"To ease your worries," he said, "I can leave collateral."
He reached quickly into what appeared to be a simple bag—though in truth it was his inventory—and produced a small diamond, handing it to her like a magic trick.
"But this stone is worth more than the horses, Robert. Have you lost your mind?" Lyanna gasped.
"Think of it as insurance. When I return the horses, you return the gem."
"Trust is a complicated word," she said. "But honestly, if you don't return the horses, I won't complain. With this gemstone, I could buy thirty."
She paused, narrowing her eyes.
"Wait. You only need three horses… so you already have four for a team of seven. Who are the others fighting with you?"
"Who told you we'd be seven? Only the three of us will enter."
Lyanna blinked. "I thought you were mad for handing me this gemstone… but fighting seven-on-three? You're insane. You'll get yourselves killed."
"Believe me, young Lyanna. What you'll see in the melee will be unforgettable."
"You really are insane, Merchant. I mean— Hedge Knight. And seeing you dressed like this… I never imagined you as a warrior. A merchant, yes. Even a court jester. But a knight?"
"Robert, even this armor of yours… it's very different. Where did you get it?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know, Lyanna?"
"No reason. They're just… impressive. I'm curious. Must have been expensive."
"Well," Twig said, playfully, "what if I told you I forged them myself?"
"I doubt it. You're a ridiculous merchant and now you're claiming to be a blacksmith? As if someone like you could make something this magnificent. Give me a break."
"You wound me, Lyanna… but very well. I'll prove my worth in the arena. Let's get the horses," he said to his companions.
Watching the two silent knights follow Twig without saying a word, Lyanna wondered: Who are these people? Why won't they speak?
The three knights saddled the horses with impressive efficiency, mounting them with the ease of seasoned riders.
As they trotted away, Twig turned his smiling mask back toward her.
"Young Lyanna, a word of advice: stay away from princes. It will help you live longer."
He then spurred the horse forward, quickly catching up to the others.
"What does that even mean?" Lyanna muttered as she watched the fearsome trio ride toward the tourney grounds. "What did he mean by that?"