Lannisport, 276 AC - Tournament in Honor of Prince Viserys' birth
I soaked it all in, allowing myself to feel the atmosphere, to be steeped in it.
But only for a heartbeat, then I shut it down. All of it.
I let my breathing settle, let my focus narrow to the point of my lance and the distant lion-shaped chestplate of my opponent; I let the shouts of the crowd wash by me like waves crashing against a boulder.
A trumpet sounded—a distant thing in my state of mind, but I was aware enough to tighten my hold on Smoker with my knees, and that was his cue.
The horse bolted forward, churning sand beneath its hooves. Adrenaline shot through my veins like lightning. I moved on instinct—shield raised, lance couched tightly beneath my armpit.
My eyes locked onto Tygett. The Lannister knight thundered toward me above his stallion, the fancy barding covering the animal streaming in the wind. He was well-trained and more experienced than I was. His form might as well have been plucked out of a textbook, lance pointed straight at my chest.
It wouldn't do him any good.
Though a crucial practice for knights, jousting wasn't a reflection of a real battle. For an individual soldier, even a noble, war was about enduring. Keeping yourself in the fight, oftentimes by simply outlasting the enemy. Father beat this into my head when I started to train in the yard, and I gladly took it to heart.
No, jousting wasn't a battle, a place where battle-hardened veterans usually carried the day over the inexperienced youths.
Jousting was the single moment. The inch over the mile.
In this account, none could match me. Whatever force put me on this world had made me… better. More. Special. I didn't particularly care about why or how, all I cared about was leaving my mark on this earth. And Tygett was in my way.
We met at the center of the tiltyard, and for the crowds in the viewing stands, it must have been a blur of men and metal.
But I saw it all. I saw it as our lances nearly scraped against each other as they zipped above the barrier separating the tilt lanes. I saw it as Tygett leaned forward on his saddle, his body language letting me read his intention in that split second and lift my arm to match his thrust, so that his lance would slide harmlessly against my shield instead of hitting it in full.
More importantly, I saw it as his injured left shoulder dipped as he moved above the horse. An unconscious thing, and also the whole reason why I had targeted that shoulder three runs in a row.
The point of my lance slipped above his shield and slammed against his chestpiece. The impact sent a jolt through my whole body and I tightened my hold on my horse.
Splinters flew as the lance broke, showering me in wood, but by then I was riding past him and Tygett Lannister was a human-shaped speed bump on the sand.
Smoker came to a stop at the end of the lane and I let myself relax with a deep exhale. The frantic heartbeat rattling in my ears was drowned by the cheers of the crowd.
Turning my horse around, I noticed why they had let themselves show so much support for me in front of Tywin. On the royal stand, beneath the canopy that had been erected to protect our rulers from sun and rain, a silver-haired man had stood from his seat, and he applauded me quite enthusiastically.
King Aerys Targaryen seemed to approve of Lannister bashing.
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 Lannister 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.
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 more 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 as 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 white barding with deep blue stripes 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 of Duskendale 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 showed 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.