2 Chapter 2 - The Titan of Tarth

Lannisport, 276 AC - Tournament in Honor of Prince Viserys' birth

I raised my broken lance above my head, relishing on the spike of noise from the crowd. The commons loved their mystery knights. Anything to make them forget about their miserable lives. After enjoying myself for a bit, I tossed the lance to the side and rode back the way I came. I still had an image to maintain.

Ser Tygett Lannnister was in the process of climbing to his feet with no shortage of groans and whines when I stopped by his side. "Well ridden, ser," I told him simply.

In Westeros, there's a saying that you only get to know a man once you have clashed in the field. From the last four tilts trading lances with him, I believed I had the measure of Tygett, and anything other than the bare minimum acknowledgement would be taken as a patronizing snub. Better to be direct with someone who thought himself to be a martial man.

Using the barrier as support, Tygett was finally able to stand on his own, and he wrangled his helmet away angrily before throwing it to the ground. His shoulder-length blond hair was matted and sweaty, sticking to his skull in a rather unflattering way. He turned glaring green eyes up at me.

For a second, I thought he might go the spoiled brat route and act like a sore loser, or perhaps even call for swords to finish our match—an option traditionally used only by tourney finalists after a very contentious jousting match. Then he seemed to think better of it and spat to the side. He grunted, looked back up at me and nodded.

"Well ridden," he said gruffly. He stared at me up and down, as if investigating me for clues to who I was.

I wasn't wearing anything that might've hinted at my identity. I knew better than to give the game away too soon. Smoker wore a blank white barding and my armor was a simple silver, polished but unadorned. The only distinguishing feature I had was a sapphire-blue favor wrapped around my left vambrace by the elbow.

"Do I get to have the honor of meeting the man who bested me?"

I chuckled. "Not yet, Ser Tygett. Not until I'm bested myself." Or until I won it all, though that went unsaid.

A bout of laughter coming from above interrupted us. "Yes, yes, indeed. I would rather you don't spoil the surprise, Lannister."

I glanced up to see King Aerys leaning over the wooden rail of his royal balcony. He had a gleeful smile on his face directed my way, no doubt because of the systematic destruction I had been doling out to the Westerlanders in the lists. And now I'd taken down a Lannister too. The King was loving it. It seemed that relations between the Hand and the King were rotten even before the Defiance finally broke whatever sanity Aerys still had.

Tygett was quick to bow his head. "As you say, Your Grace."

The king's eyes shot to the side where Tywin sat on the royal stand for a second. The Lord of Casterly Rock brooded imperiously on his seat surrounded by his pretty-as-dolls children and his sister, and he gave the king no mind. Ten-year old Cersei watched her surroundings apathetically, no doubt because the Crown Prince was not on the field, while Jaime was bouncing like a spring on his seat, stars in his eyes and an eager smile on his face. It seemed I had a new fan.

Aerys' mood suddenly shifted. The smile he had gave way to a cold sneer and he waved a disinterested hand to dismiss us before quickly turning away. He hadn't gotten a rise out of Tywin like he wanted.

I felt a knot dissolve in my stomach and took my chance to ride away. Getting in between the Lannister-Targaryen feud was not on my to-do list today. That was reserved for a few nights ahead.

xxx

Pate was waiting for me at the end of the tiltyard and we made our way to one of the smaller stables to see Smoker settled in until my next joust. There were few horses still there and no stableboys that I could see, so I dismissed going to the large pavilion delegated for competing knights and stripped out of my armored suit right then and there. And though he didn't ask, I favored Pate with a couple of silvers before I left. For his help taking care of Smoker for the next couple of days and for his silence.

After splattering some water on my face and quickly putting on the clothes I had stashed away behind the stables, I took the long way around the grounds toward the Stormland section of the noble stands. I was done for now but the day wasn't yet over, and I hoped to catch the last few tilts of the riders I'd be competing in the semi-finals and finals in two days' time.

As I walked, I took note of all the activity around me. Hundreds of tents and pavilions in as many colors dotted the fields on the western side of Lannisport, the grounds reserved for the tourney being squeezed between the city itself and the jutting castle-mountain of Casterly Rock.

We had been invited to stay at the Lannister castle given our rank, but the small company of men we'd brought with us were staying here amongst the many knights, lordlings and freeriders that weren't high enough on the totem pole to make it into the Rock.

Even with the jousts still going on, hammers rang incessantly as carpenters and smiths worked on crafting lances and repairing armor for their lords and knights. Washerwomen knelt by frothing tubs clucking and giggling to each other; men-at-arms watching over their respecting tents mingled around unlit campfires with the low-end prostitutes too old or too ugly to make it into the brothels at Lannisport.

A tournament this size didn't just happen with a few stands hastily thrown in and a simple tiltyard. Thousands of smallfolk and hundreds of nobles had flocked to Lannisport for this tournament, and the lord responsible for hosting was naturally judged by their peers in how successful the whole thing turned out.

Tywin Lannister had promised the best tourney in living memory, and so far he was delivering it. Of course, I knew that should things proceed as they are supposed to, Harrenhal would blow it by miles in just a short five years. Five years of peace before the realm was thrown into chaos and old traditions were swept away in the wind. Five years before a little fish like me could make a big splash.

Instinctively dodging the reaching hands of a drunk whore, I picked up my pace and started to go around the small hill where the smallfolk could stand shoulder-to-shoulder and watch the jousting. Cheers rose from their midst. The last knights were riding already.

I made it to our section in the noble stands just as Ser Arthur Dayne unhorsed a knight from House Rowan of the Reach. The rowdy Stormlander lords and knights roared in approval as the man with a golden tree stitched into his tabard had to be carried away on a stretcher. It seemed Ser Arthur had enough clout that his dornish-ness was disregarded for the moment, and the Stormlanders' hate for the pompous men of the Reach was a close sentiment to the animosity for their dornish cousins.

I elbowed my way past some of the minor nobility, mostly landed knights who traveled without their families and attendants, toward the tiny box on the edge of the stand with reserved seats for my family. Despite being only fifteen, I stood tall enough that none of the drunk knights dared try anything beyond glare at my back once I squeezed past. The nice clothing helped too, I would think.

A guardsman wearing our colors let me through after recognizing me and I jumped the short railing that separated our box. Alysanne almost jumped when my feet hit the ground just behind her seat.

"Father above, Gal!" she said in a chiding voice. "Don't scare me like that."

I smiled at the girl, mussed up her blond hair before she could slap my hand away and dove in for a kiss on her cheek when her guard was down. She gave up after she couldn't stop the second kiss and crossed her arms, pouting.

"Where were you?" Arianne asked calmly. Despite being the older of the two by scarcely a year, she often acted like she was an ancient being of infinite wisdom. Some days I was inclined to believe her.

I didn't even try to muss up her hair, instead kissing the top of her hand when she offered it like a proper lady. If I had tried to mess with her in public like I did with her sister, I'd wake up with goat shit smeared all over my clothes and dead rats stuffed on my sheets. Believe me, I know. I still hadn't figured out who she'd gotten to do the deed for her. I refused to believe a twelve-year-old girl had twisted the head of the rats by herself. That ice-princess behavior was all a front she put up though, and it was to my room that Arianne ran to on the nights she had her frequent nightmares.

"Oh, you know your brother," I said, inclining my head innocently. "Sometimes I get lost on the road of life, other times I'm helping old ladies carry their fruit baskets."

Arianne narrowed bottle-green eyes at me.

"And what was it this time, hm?" Lady Addison asked coyly, pushing her chair out to greet me.

"Mother," I greeted, kissing her cheek. She shot me a wink and I rolled my eyes. Of course Father had told her. "Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. But I'd be happy to regale you with my adventures later." Coughing into my hand, I quickly turned to the last person in the box. "Father, could I have a word with you. Alone?"

Lord Selwyn Tarth was leaning over the railing, watching the tiltyard with a sheen of sweat on his brow. Mother was quick on the uptake and distracted my sisters with promises of sweets and gossip.

On the field, Ser Arthur Dayne was giving a lap around the lanes to the cheers of the crowd. The white cloak of the Kingsguard fit him to perfection, streaming behind him like a superhero cape as he rode. His handsome face could've been chiseled from stone, all sharp planes and a strong jaw. The Sword of the Morning certainly looked impressive.

The Evenstar turned to me with a sharp nod and swiftly pulled me to the side. He pointed at Ser Arthur. "You understand that is the man you must unhorse in two days, don't you?" he whispered.

I groaned. We'd had this conversation before, many times back home in Tarth and at least nightly on the road to Lannisport. Mind you, the joust had been our compromise. Lord Selwyn had been inflexible when it came to the melee. Despite seeing me demolish the best knights in the island and even handedly defeat himself and the master-at-arms of Evenfall Hall with sword in hand, Father still didn't believe I was ready for a real, chaotic melee.

I couldn't blame him. Not truly. I was only fifteen, and he didn't know there were very few men in the world who could defeat me in a conflict of arms. He likely thought I was just a normal prodigy in the making. Good enough to try my hand at the joust and risk a bruised chest and a hurt ego, but too green for the melee where I could take a warhammer to the back of the nogging and he'd suddenly find himself without a male heir.

"One of them, yes," I said. "I intend to win it all, father, not fall in the semi-finals. He's just the first on the list."

He watched my eyes as I spoke, as if wanting to catch me on an empty boast. He seemed to like what he saw and nodded. "I would ask if you were sure about this once more but…" he trailed off.

But he knew what my answer would be.

Switching gears, I put both hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer. "What about the meeting, Father? Did you get it?"

A sour expression spread across Lord Selwyn's face. He slipped away from my hands and sat back on his chair with a heavy sigh. "I did, Galladon," he said, seeming suddenly tired. "It wasn't easy to sell the idea to our lord, as I expected. Should you fail, he will look like a fool right beside me. I used more favors than I thought I had with him."

I started. "Lord Baratheon knows I'm the mystery knight, then?"

He kept silent for a moment.

"Have you heard what the commons are calling you because of that blue ribbon of yours?" Lord Selwyn turned away from me to look out across the tiltyard. "The Sapphire Knight." From where I stood, I could see how the corner of his lips curled minutely before he got control of himself. "I did teach you Tarth is only called the Sapphire Isle for the color of our waters, no?"

"You did."

He glanced back up at me suddenly, face a mask. "Yes, I told him about it, and Steffon came to me during the noon break. Your performance out there—the way you rode like you were born for the saddle—is the only reason he agreed to go through with this. And after seeing you against that Lannister, well…"

His worried expression slowly turned into a confident smile. Pride radiated near blindingly from him. "Screw it, as you're fond of saying. I would give you fair odds, my son."

Something heavy settled on my throat. I suddenly had the urge to blink. "I won't disappoint you, father," I told him. "You know I won't. Have my ideas not helped our House before?"

Lord Selwyn let out a quick laugh. "They are the only reason I even contemplated this mad plan of yours, boy."

Three quick trumpet blasts sounded, and the announcer by the royal stands started shouting out the names of the knights that would be coming out. We were seated too far away to make out any of it, but my father seemed to know exactly who was still to go.

"Now, forget about this for a while and come sit by your old man." Father motioned to the chair on his other side. "You missed Ser Barristan unhorsing the Mallister knight after you left the field."

"That means…" I started.

"Yes," he said. "The Prince of Dragonstone is to ride next."