"Ser," Owen began, for the gods only knew what number time that morning, swaying lightly back and forth like some nervous chicken as Thunder shifted beside him. "Are you certain?"
"Would you truly rather I left you back at the camp all alone," Vilon replied, "while I go off and enjoy all the fun of scouting whatever poor soul I'm meant to face in the lists?"
Provided, of course, he did well enough in the draw. Only the top fifty would advance past the first round, on to face the proper lords and highborn knights waiting further down the bracket. It would be a rare and grand honor indeed, unseating some lord in front of half the South. A bounty of silver would follow such a feat, certainly, but better still, it might catch the eye of some retinue looking to hire on a knight worth his salt.
