36 Ch. 5 Prince Joffrey's Tourney

The Tenth Day of the Second Moon, of the year 298 A.C.

My calm and steady breathing echoes in my helmet as my eyes are focused on my target. The steel-covered shield strapped to my left arm feels as light as a feather. The wooden lance held in my right hand is in my complete control. My body effortlessly moves in sync with my destrier as we charge down this list.

I smoothly adjust my lance to strike the edge of the forest green shield of my opponent. Taking note of where the silver armored knight's lance is aimed, I shift my body ever so slightly to better absorb the impact.

The world seems to come to a halt, the moment before our lances are to collide into each other's shields. In this frozen world, I make dozens of calculations about my movement and my opponents. With a herculean effort, I force my body to move to the optimal position. No sooner than I finish moving into the desired position through the locked space, time accelerates to normal.

With an ear-piercing snap, my lance shatters into countless pieces over the green shield of the man who dared face me. My shield harshly jarred, but I successfully deflect the blow away from my body.

A wave of cheers and cries assault me from the spectators. Many of the smallfolk are jumping and shouting with intense excitement. I even catch the sight of several nobles leaping up from their chairs with varying degrees of joy.

Already knowing the results of the final match of the jousting tourney, I ease my destrier out of a gallop. Reaching the end of the list, I toss the remainder of my lance to the side. I pivot my mount around and look towards the opposite end of the field. My gaze immediately locks onto my fallen opponent, halfway down the list and still struggling to find his feet.

The sapphires and twining black vines running along the silver breastplate of the unhorsed knight have a thin coating of dust on them now. I can't help but think how ridiculous he looks with golden roses decorating the crest of his helm. The Knight of Flowers is a suitable name for the boy.

I'm forced to remind myself that Loras Tyrell is still just a teen at the moment. He may have been knighted a few months ago, but he is only fifteen years old. From what I seen in his earlier tilts, he performed well, but Loras's victory over my cousin was more luck than skill. I give more credit to Jaime being overconfident and not taking the match seriously than anything Loras Tyrell did.

That being said, I'm sure he will become an amazing knight in another year or two. Possibly even more so than in canon, since he didn't squire for Lord Renly Baratheon. Based on the looks I've seen them send each other, I wouldn't doubt the two are already stabbing each other.

I wonder what Renly's wife thinks of it? The Lady of Storm's End must be aware of her husband's nocturnal preferences.

Pushing the thought from my mind, I remove my helmet before raising a hand to wave at the crowd. Another thunderous cheer rises from the spectators. Playing my part, I take a small bow from atop my horse towards each of the viewing stands.

By the time I finish playing to the crowd, an unknown Reach squire has brought Loras' tall white stallion over to him. With the heir to Highgarden already on the side of the Royal Viewing Stand, I leisurely lead my horse over to the remounted knight.

Noticing my approach, the Tyrell heir removed his helmet. I have to admit that Loras is exceptionally handsome. His hair is a mass of lazy brown curls and ringlets, and his eyes are a light shade of brown. I can easily see why many women are smitten with his looks and charm.

I can't help but smirk at the thought of those women reacting to the news of the focus of their admiration fancying the company of men in his bed.

Oh, those poor ladies.

My smirk quickly drops when I notice Loras giving me what can only be described as an appreciative look. I think he took my smile for something way beyond what it was meant as.

"Easy there, ser," I said as I moved my destrier alongside his stallion. "You're not my type."

Loras' roaming eyes narrowed at my words for a brief moment before a startled look washed over his face. Before he can say a word, I turn my head to look at an intoxicated King Robert.

"Your Grace," I proclaim as I bow before the king. Loras quickly moves to mimic my words and action.

Standing up from his plush chair, Robert Baratheon stares down at us for a moment. "Well done, Lancel," Robert announced with a slight slur to his words.

I bowed my head a second time at the king's compliment. Once my future father-in-law retook his seat, I began to turn my massive horse towards my tent. Before I completely turn, I catch the eyes of Princess Myrcella, seating to the side of her father.

My betrothed's face turns a deep scarlet after I give her a small smile and nod of my head. Myrcella's red embroidered favor is displayed on my right gauntlet for all to see.

I was surprised when the queen and princess showed up at my tent at the start of the morning. I was nearly left speechless after learning the reason for their unannounced visit. Myrcella wished to bestow upon me, her favor, before the start of the tourney.

I have no doubts Cersei put her up to it. Especially considering Myrcella's face nearly matched the red of the scarf. I wasn't so dumbfounded that I didn't notice several mistakes in the embroidery. It must have taken her several days to make.

I had kneeled to allow her to tie the fabric around my gauntlet. The fact I was still a bit taller than the princess while I was on one knee was unsettling. Still, despite her age, I pledged to win the tourney for her. A promise that I now fulfilled.

I purge my displeasure at and all thoughts of Queen Crazy-pants. Cersei urging her ten-year-old daughter to make displays of affection for me is troubling. The incest doesn't bother me nearly as much as Myrcella's age does.

Smoothly dismounting from my horse, I give my nameless horse a few rubs on the neck before handing the reins over to a squire. With the joust finished, the melee should start within the hour. That's more than enough time to remove my armor and take my place beside Tywin in the viewing stands.

Stepping into the spacious Lannister tent, I begin to remove my armor and place it on one of the armor racks. Oddly enough, I'm the only Lannister that used the tent. Jaime used the King's Guard tent, and no other Lannister wished to compete against me.

I'm working on undoing the buckles of my tassets when the rustling of the tent flag grabs my attention. I glance towards the tent entrance and my hands' freeze at what I see.

Standing at the edge of the tent is a surprisingly tall and slender woman. With a heart-shaped face and pale unblemished skin, the woman was stunningly beautiful. However, her bright red eyes and long flowing hair the color of fresh blood made me anxious. But not nearly as anxious as her robes of scarlet satin and a red gold choker containing a large ruby.

"Greetings, Lancel Lannister," the red woman said in a deep and melodic voice. "I am..."

"I know who you are," I interrupted as I straighten to my full height, "Melisandre of Asshai."