chapter 10 jousting

In the dim light of my tent, my father and I shared a quiet moment as he sipped on his wine, preparing me for my upcoming joust.

"So, are you ready to joust your uncle? The greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying both curiosity and concern.

I grinned cockily. "You mean was the greatest. He lost that title the day I got my first sword." My confidence was unshaken.

My father chuckled. "My son, your uncle is strong, skilled, and has experience ten times your age. You're still only eight name days old, while he's been fighting since he was a boy."

I waved off the concern, still smiling. "I know, father. But don't forget, I'm of giant and lion's blood. Even with all his skill and experience, I can win easily with brute strength."

"Brute strength doesn't always win, son. The quill is mightier than the sword," he said, his tone shifting to that of a teacher.

I laughed. "That's only true if you're me, father, and can pierce the quill through a man's throat."

He chuckled at that. "My son, the mighty giant, both strong and smart. You have a gift, but you still need to learn more about the world. Some men break the norms, stronger than they seem."

I pondered his words for a moment, but then that same devilish grin crept back on my face.

---

As I sat on my horse, lance in hand, I lined up for my first joust. Across from me sat my uncle Jaime, the so-called Kingslayer, dressed in pristine armor on a white horse. I glanced toward the royal box, where the King, Queen, my father, and grandfather sat watching. Cersei, her gaze fixed on Jaime, wore that familiar lustful look. How does no one see it? I wondered, shaking my head. These people are blind.

The signal came from the man with the green flag. "Ready... go!" he shouted.

Both horses thundered forward. I lifted my lance, tossing my shield aside for added speed. The crowd gasped at the reckless move. Jaime aimed his lance square at my chest, but I aimed right back.

We hit simultaneously. His lance shattered against my chest, but I felt nothing more than a tickle. He, on the other hand, was thrown backward off his horse, crashing to the ground. Disqualified. The crowd erupted in cheers, but my attention shifted to the booming laughter that echoed across the arena.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" The King laughed heartily, spilling his wine. Cersei's eyes shot daggers at me, her fury palpable. I returned her icy stare, making her flinch and clutch her swollen belly.

My grandfather looked pleased, as if he'd expected nothing less, while my father's grin showed his satisfaction. Many had bet on Jaime, and now the gold would flow our way.

---

My next opponent was Ser Gregor Clegane—the Mountain. It took me three shattered lances to knock him off his horse. The brute was massive, but in the end, he fell just like the others.

After that, everyone I faced fell in one strike, just like Jaime. I was declared the winner of the joust, earning 40,000 golden dragons in prize money and another 50,000 from the bets. Even Littlefinger and Varys had placed bets, one on Jaime and one on the Mountain, but neither had bet as much as some of the merchants and nobles.

Now came the part where I had to choose a "Queen of Beauty." What a ridiculous tradition. I scanned the crowd. Cersei watched me closely, perhaps expecting me to hand her the prize. I almost laughed at the thought. The woman despised my father, and in the future, she would try to have him killed. No chance she would get any honor from me.

I rode over to my father, who sat next to her. "Who should I pick?" I asked with a smirk.

He hummed thoughtfully, ignoring Cersei's piercing gaze. "Why not throw it into the crowd, son? Let the women fight for it."

I smiled at the idea. "Alright."

Riding toward the crowd, I flung the token into a group of women, and chaos erupted as they fought for it. I chuckled and turned back toward my father, who was now laughing along with the King. Cersei, however, looked ready to explode with fury. My grandfather, Tywin, didn't seem to care about my antics.

---

Back in my tent, I found my grandfather waiting for me, his expression unreadable.

"Did you enjoy my win, grandfather?" I asked.

"You mean your little game, playing with children?" His voice was serious.

I smirked. "I'm technically still a child."

"A child at nine feet tall and 450 pounds of pure muscle. Put any man beside you, even my son, and they are the child."

I shrugged. "Maybe. But father seems to think the King will give me a real challenge."

Tywin narrowed his eyes. "Robert Baratheon hasn't touched a sword since the Greyjoy Rebellion. He's either drunk or with whores. And yet, he's still king."

"So?" I asked, intrigued.

"So, don't kill him unless you want to start a bloody war," he warned, his tone hard.

I chuckled. "Who says I don't want to?"

He stared at me, his gaze cold and calculating. After a moment, he sighed. "Just remember, Caesar, you're still a boy. You're already so strong, so untouchable. When you're grown, I wonder what you'll become."

I smiled, feeling the weight of his words, but not fearing them. "I wonder the same, grandfather. I wonder the same."