"Steel, Shadows, and a Queen’s Choice"
Chapter 24 – "Steel, Shadows, and a Queen's Choice"
The morning sun cast a golden hue across the lists. Trumpets sounded once more, and banners snapped in the breeze. But the crowd had changed since yesterday. They were louder, more eager — for the semifinals had arrived.
The stands were packed with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the four remaining knights in the tourney: Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Gregor Clegane, Ser Loras Tyrell, and Cregan Stark — the Wolf of the North.
From the Stark pavilion, Cregan sat sharpening his axe while his blacksteel helm rested beside him. Shadow lounged nearby, as still as death, while Lyanna Stark sat braiding ribbons into his tail.
"You'll win today too, won't you?" she asked.
Cregan glanced at her, one brow raised. "Only if my little queen keeps cheering."
She beamed. "If you win, I'll give you a crown made of snow and wolf fur!"
Cregan grinned. "Better than gold."
Nearby, Robb tightened the straps of his armor. "You're up against Jaime first. You sure you don't want a lighter lance?"
"No," Cregan said simply. "I want him to feel it."
---
In the royal box, Robert Baratheon leaned forward in anticipation. "Now this will be something," he said, elbowing Jon Arryn. "A lion and a wolf. I'd wager three barrels of mead on the boy Stark."
"You'd lose," Cersei said icily. "Ser Jaime will not fall to some northern sellsword."
"He's no sellsword," Ned murmured. "He's my son."
The small council sat tense. Varys watched with his usual unreadable expression. Renly leaned in with amusement. Littlefinger, noting the rising stakes, quietly made a dozen more bets — most against Cregan.
---
Cregan Stark vs. Jaime Lannister
The two knights took their places. Jaime, clad in golden armor, his lion helm glinting in the sun, raised his lance in salute. Cregan, clad in black steel, gave only a small nod, shadowed by the wolf's snarl etched into his helm.
The horns sounded.
The horses charged.
Cregan leaned forward, lowering his blacksteel lance like a spear of vengeance. Jaime angled perfectly, the precision of years behind him.
Their lances struck in a burst of splinters — Jaime rocked back but held, while Cregan rode on, jaw clenched.
Second pass. Faster. More brutal.
Jaime struck Cregan's shoulder, but Cregan's lance slammed into Jaime's breastplate, throwing him sideways. He recovered quickly, but his pride was clearly pricked.
On the third tilt, Cregan's animal instincts took over. He leaned just enough to avoid Jaime's lance, twisted at the final moment, and drove his point hard into Jaime's shield, ripping it apart and sending the golden knight flying.
The crowd gasped.
Jaime hit the ground hard, his helm rolling off. He lay there a moment, dazed, before letting out a short laugh.
"I'll remember that one."
Cregan dismounted, offering a hand. Jaime took it.
"That was no knightly pass," he said.
"I'm no knight," Cregan replied.
Applause thundered through the stands. Lyanna whooped from the Stark side, arms flailing with joy.
"That's my uncle!"
---
Loras Tyrell vs. Gregor Clegane
It was a mismatch from the start.
Gregor Clegane rode a destrier nearly the size of a stable. His lance was thicker than a child's arm, and he wore armor that looked like it had been forged from melted chains.
Loras, graceful and agile, wore the Tyrell rose and favored speed.
They rode.
On the first tilt, Loras's smaller horse veered just at the last moment — a deliberate maneuver — and Gregor's lance struck too high. Loras's struck cleanly.
The second tilt repeated the maneuver. Loras's mare sidestepped with uncanny precision, and again Gregor's blow glanced, while Loras's hit true.
On the third tilt, the same trick. Gregor's lance missed altogether, and Loras's shattered on the Mountain's chest. The crowd roared in disbelief as Gregor was unhorsed.
It was done.
But Gregor Clegane was not a man who accepted defeat easily.
He rose in a fury, drew his greatsword, and advanced on Loras. The Tyrell knight backed away, calling for peace.
The king stood to shout, but before any command could be given — Cregan was already moving.
He vaulted the barrier and landed in front of Loras.
Shadow lunged to his side, hackles raised, teeth bared.
"Put it down," Cregan said coldly.
Gregor bellowed in rage and swung. Cregan dodged and slammed a fist into the giant's jaw, staggering him.
The two circled, but the guards arrived, pulling them apart.
"You defend this trickster?" Gregor snarled.
"I defend honor," Cregan growled. "Not cowardice."
Robert's voice thundered from the stands. "Enough!"
Gregor stormed away, roaring curses.
Loras, pale and shaking, gave Cregan a grateful nod. "Thank you."
"Next time, ride straight."
---
That evening, Loras formally withdrew from the final due to injury.
He presented Cregan with a fine black cloak embroidered with a silver rose. "For courage," he said.
Cregan accepted it with a rare smile.
The match was his.
---
In the royal box, Cersei hissed. "The northern dog again."
Robert laughed. "You just don't like wolves."
"They don't belong here."
Robert raised a cup. "Then perhaps we need more of them."
---
Cregan stood at the center of the field the next day.
Shadow stood at his side, silent.
Lyanna ran forward and placed a crown of wildflowers and black feathers on his head.
"I name you the King of the Tourney," she declared. "And myself your Queen."
The crowd laughed and cheered. Some were bemused. Others charmed.
And so it was that the Queen of Love and Beauty was not a fair southern lady, but a northern wolf pup with ribboned braids and a furious pout.
And the victor — not a golden knight, but the wild steel of the North.
The South had never seen the like before.
And it would never forget.
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