297 AC
"I love it when you let me be on top," Lady Nym whispered sweetly in his ear before rolling off and resting her head on his chest. "Most men wouldn't, you know."
Domeric didn't know, actually. Apparently, being open to different positions made him weirdly progressive by this world's standards. The first time he went down on her, Nymeria Sand's eyes bugged out. Mordaena too, now that he thought of it. You would think a Dornishwoman and the daughter of a courtesan would be ready for something like that.
It was just so damned strange, what was normal here. The woman who was basically his wife, with a newborn in her arms, mind you, threw another woman at him. Oh, and there was another woman he was promised to, couldn't forget that. When all was said and done, he would have babies by three women, which was not a lot by singer standards, Domeric understood.
"Try to get some rest," he said into her hair. "The sun isn't up yet, but we'll be at Strongsong by tonight." She nuzzled him and closed her eyes. Sometimes, when he woke in the middle of the night to piss, he'd return to his bedroll, and Nym would want another round before they went back to sleep. Since it was literally the middle of the night, they tried to be quiet, but Dom didn't doubt they'd woken up a few of their people. Oh well.
They were journeying through a pretty inconvenient part of the Vale, just now. Once you passed the Bloody Gate and the actual Vale of Arryn opened up, you needed to turn north again and cross over a hilly country, lead the horses through a narrow mountain pass, then journey up a river the locals called The Snake. Strongsong rested beside a lake fed by snowmelt from the mountains, which itself fed the Snake River that meandered all the way to the sea. Land was at a premium here, so fields of wheat cleaved to the river's edge while shepherds grazed their flocks further up in the rocky areas. Most of the villages didn't have inns, at least none with available beds, so they slept in tents.
Domeric closed his own eyes. This time tomorrow, they'd be beneath the walls of Strongsong.
***
Men and women both dressed and armed inside his pink silk pavilion, a new, larger one he'd bought after winning the Tourney of the Queen in King's Landing. Since nearly half the party was Dornish, or so it seemed, nobody particularly cared about being seen naked.
Lady Nym dressed as his lady, wearing Bolton colors proudly. Her gown was pink silk trimmed with Myrish lace. It clung to her tall, willowy silhouette like a second skin. Her belly was still completely flat, but then, it would be. They'd only been coupling for about a month, and she might not even be with child yet. It took Domeric and Mordaena a few months, if he remembered correctly.
She wore costly jewels, rubies and pink diamonds, from her neck and fingers and ears. There was no way he was going to let her look less than impressive. No woman here, wife, widow, or maiden, was going to wear more wealth than Nymeria Sand today.
That was something Domeric really liked about this world. People liked to shine here. It wasn't weird to be dripped out. Bright colors, jewelry, the finest fabrics, it was almost expected on both men and women.
To literally top off the outfit, Nym wore a pink conical headdress with a tassel of sheer silk that danced lightly with the slight breeze coming off the Snake River.
"You look beautiful," he told her sincerely.
She did a little twirl for him. "Don't I? I feel like a princess." Lady Tyene, her sister, gave her an unladylike snort while big sis Obara helped her into her own dress. "Jealousy is unbecoming, sweet sister."
"Jealousy is unbecoming, sweet sister," Tyene mocked back under her breath. Obara gave a good yank that crushed the breath from Tyene's lungs and started to lace up her bodice. Her dress was pretty as well, a light confection of periwinkle blue slashed with purple velvet underneath. It was like wearing the sea.
Domeric sighed. The Sand Snakes, as much as they loved one another, bickered constantly. Their biting remarks were a constant companion on the road. "Okay, bring it in, you two," he said to his two squires.
Broad-shouldered Alesander Frey and straight-as-a-spear Elia Sand dressed alike in boiled leather jerkins and woolen breeches. That was the only thing about them that was alike. "Ser," he said respectfully. Elia just folded her arms and looked sullen.
Honestly, this girl...
"I was able to bully them into letting you enter the lists. I said you can enter, Elia, but Al will have to be your squire."
"I don't want him touching me!" she complained.
"I touched you plenty the last time we crossed swords!" was his retort.
They're children, just children, he told himself. Though maybe they were teenagers by this point. It was hard to tell.
"None of that," Domeric said sternly. "We're all together here, and will be kin."
"What do you mean, kin?" Elia demanded. "I've got nothing to do with Al!"
Dom rolled his eyes. "Use that head of yours for once, Lady Lance. I'm to marry Al's sister, and your father is going to marry my aunt. Think, Elia, think!" He tapped her forehead with a finger hard enough to hurt. "Oh, and if you didn't notice, I'm lying with your sister every night. What do you think happens after that?"
She had no answer, so he continued.
"I trained Alesander myself. He knows how to properly fasten every bit of steel from gorget to greaves. You'll be safe in his hands. I trust him, and so should you."
"But Ser, who is going to help you into your armor and hand you lances?" Al asked.
"Obara and Jack will take turns. They'd rather do that than sit in the stands with the highborn fops." He rounded on Elia again. "I think I've managed to train you out of your bad habits, so you could win a few ransoms today, with luck."
"What do you mean 'bad habits'?" the bold girl questioned.
"You're aggressive in a bad way, Elia. You lean too far forward in the saddle. It's better to keep a neutral seat, harder to unbalance. Remember what I taught you: fall forward, as a hawk strikes straight down in one smooth line. With a good, balanced seat and a good, steady lance, your horse will carry you right to the target."
To this, at least, she was paying attention. "Fine," she agreed, somewhat chastened.
"And you, Al, you've been practicing with the battleaxe more often, and I like what I see. You can use it in the melee today." The boy's eyes lit up. "That's right, it's your first real melee, but never forget, you're a boy, a strong boy, but still a boy. There will be grown men and knights you're up against. Remember the danger ring; dance in and out, and move your horse, just little nudges with your hips and leaning in the saddle. It only takes the smallest movement to shy away from a blow and take the sting out of it. Be safe, both of you."
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Domeric's chief task was to keep his squires healthy. They could be bruised, not broken. Half his mind was on this Conn and his clan. There would be war in the mountains, and Domeric was just the man to fight it. And, plainly, he liked the sound of "Domeric Scalp-Taker."
"Oh, I almost forgot. This tourney will have a different format. There will be four champions: Lord Belmore's best knights. That's four for the four big harvests they've brought in this year, not losing a single bushel to raids. You have to earn the right to challenge one of the champions. There are four golden ears of corn. The first four tilts will decide their owners. To challenge a champion, you have to have the golden ear of corn in your off hand and tap his shield with your lance. To get a golden ear, you have to challenge somebody who already has one. However, if you lose when you challenge someone, you're out. It's best to be strategic. Only call out someone you think you can beat. Once it's down to the four champions, they'll narrow it down to two, then one grand champion, just like the tourneys you've seen so far. Make sense?"
Both his squires nodded.
***
Unlike other tourneys he competed in, they were saving the melee for last. Maybe he would try to double dip and watch Al's back if he wasn't too beat up from the jousts.
Domeric's reputation must've preceded him, for he had the honor to compete in the very first tilt and win one of the golden ears.
"Your favor, my lady?" He extended his arm to Lady Nym, who blushed slightly as she tied a strip of orange silk around his arm. She didn't seem used to the "lady" treatment, which was kind of cute. The highborn ladies around Nymeria looked horrified by his flayed man demon armor, which was also a lot of fun. Not a one of them wore half as many jewels as his girl, either. It was nice to flex. The next time he was in King's Landing, his girl, whether Mordaena, Nymeria, or Alyx Frey, would wear more jewels than the queen, he vowed.
"Ser Jasper Redfort, heir to the Redfort, has entered the lists!" cried the herald.
Oh, good. This would be easy. When the trumpet blew, Domeric shut his visor, lowered his lance, and swept forward. Skinchanger, his red courser, knew just what he wanted, and took him right where he could blast his old foster brother right out of the saddle.
"The golden ear of corn belongs to Ser Domeric Bolton!" the herald announced to somewhat tepid cheers. It was the armor, he was sure. It frightened people. There was no point in wasting time, so he rode directly to the four champions and tapped the one people said was the strongest, Ser Oswald Belmore, Strongsong's master-at-arms. He was from a lesser branch of the family but highly regarded. They said he was the best knight in this part of the Vale. Well, they were about to find out.
The man looked a little surprised at being challenged so early, almost insulted. "Very well, Ser. I shall see you in the lists," he said with stiff courtesy.
Obara looked like she was having a good time when she handed him a fresh lance. She and Jack were openly fondling each other and just living their best lives. It was so romantic when two ugly people found each other.
Ser Oswald took a bit longer to get ready. Once he had a lance in hand, Domeric raised his in challenge, and they were off. Skinchanger was nice and warmed up now and accelerated to a furious gallop, every stride with bad intentions. With a single resounding crash, Domeric drove the point of his lance into the center bell of the Belmore shield. The man didn't seem ready to take the blow and fell oddly, thudding into the dirt on his side. When he rose, he couldn't lift his arm.
This time, they cheered, and Domeric took his place among the other three champions, who were also all Belmores and didn't particularly want to speak with him.
What followed was terribly boring, as every knight who won a golden ear scrupulously avoided challenging him. The Belmore knight next to him was challenged once and won, but lost the second time when he was called out by a Waynwood knight. Then another Belmore lost to Ser Lyn Corbray, who was well known. Things finally got interesting when Elia challenged for a golden ear and won. Immediately afterward, she rode up and tapped the last Belmore standing on his shield.
A hiss went up, and people started complaining. She was a woman, and worse, Dornish! Domeric tried to look around menacingly and terrify the peanut gallery into silence, but there was only so much he could do from the little holding pen they kept the champions in.
A hiss became a roar when Elia unseated the last Belmore and took her place among the four champions. "How did I do?" she preened.
"Still leaning too much," he told her honestly, making her pout.
The remaining holders of the golden ears challenged Elia once, then twice, then thrice, and she rode down every one, though in the last she needed four lances to unseat him. Riding against so many in so short a space looked to be tiring her.
"Challenging the champion you think is weakest is craven!" he called out. "Why not try me next?"
But none dared. Was he going to spend the whole tourney only jousting twice?
The next time she was called out, Elia was holding her shield shakily. Her arm underneath was obviously bruised. Watching her ride stressed out Domeric more than fighting for his life. Ser Creighton Redfort managed to unseat her in three lances, but she appeared to land clean and rose easily. Still, he would need to be punished.
Eventually, the field was whittled down, and after Ser Lyn Corbray defeated the last challenger, it was only the four champions remaining. Domeric was so mad, he rode down that Waynwood knight with contemptuous ease, then faced Ser Creighton in the finals. His old foster brother was having an uncommonly good day and managed to edge out Ser Lyn Corbray, not that it saved him from Dom.
With one final broken lance, Ser Domeric conquered all and crowned Nymeria Sand his Queen of Love and Beauty. She looked thrilled to receive the honor. Immediately afterward, he checked on Elia, and the Maester confirmed her arm was just bruised, not broken. That seen to, he changed into plain steel for the melee. Dom and Al made a terrifying duo, hammering opponents with blunted axes, and cleared out the tourney ground in under an hour. Once it was just the two of them, Al yielded immediately. Funny, Domeric was planning to yield to him so the boy could win his first melee. Well, maybe next time.
During the feast afterward, Domeric thought only of war. Every song he played was militaristic, stirring marches or ballads of revenge. He would send a bird to Fairmarket, and one to Barrowton, placing orders for arms, armor, boots, and swordbelts. The mountains would bleed before the end.