"What was that?"
I looked up at a confused Arianne, her gaze flitting between myself and the entrance of the pavilion where Ser Gerion Lannister had just left. I made sure she understood the seriousness of what she'd just witnessed.
"Something that you will never mention to anyone outside the family, understood?"
She shrugged. "As you say, brother. And if you must know, he was not lying to you."
"I do not think he lied either," I said, and I could only hope I was right.
"Yes, well, you think, but I know so." Arianne gave me a superior look and tapped a finger near her temple. "None can deceive these eyes."
I groaned. My sister was such an edgy nerd and she didn't even know it.
"Yes, your majesty, your wisdom knows no bounds," I joked, but she still preened at the attention. "Keep in mind, though, that while you may be able to see part of the truth—and I really want to stress the may be here, Ari—you will often lack the necessary information to paint a complete picture of things. Don't rely on these auras for everything."
Her face pinched. "It was good enough to catch what Ser Arthur was doing, wasn't it?"
"Oh it was?" I raised an eyebrow. "You said he was 'going below my arm' when I 'struck over his shield', right? Wasn't that what you said."
"I said it because he was doing it," she said with all the confidence of a spoiled child. "His aura flickered at the last second. It was so fast, I had to watch it happen a few times to actually understand. But yes, he was doing exactly what I said."
I smiled. "No, he wasn't doing that, Ari. He did it once, yes, likely the one time you managed to catch it. But he was actually changing where he struck, be it beneath my arm or somewhere else, no matter where I poked my lance either. When I went over his shield, he went below. When I tried aiming below and covered myself, he'd aim high at the gorget."
If it sounded simple it's because it was. It was the most standard jousting tactic out there.
The only difference was that Ser Arthur had mastered it to an extent it didn't even look like he was reacting. The shift happened so fast you didn't even know you had left an opening.
"If I had not noticed his movements myself and had only gone by what you told me, I would've believed he only had that one ace up his sleeve. When, in reality, he was simply a better jouster than me. His reaction time just that much quicker. The trick was to not give him anything to react to."
Her frown deepened. "Better than you? You?"
Her confidence in me was adorable, if laughably naive.
"Do you think I'm the only man in Westeros to dedicate himself to being a knight?"
I tried to flick her on the nose again, but she dodged back in time and shot me a glare. I put up my hands as a gesture of peace.
"You're smart, Ari," I continued, "and you have gifts that can make you even smarter, but you're still young and inexperienced. You've barely ever left Tarth. Trust me on this, there are better men than your brother out there. Stronger, faster, more cruel. Put this in your mind: you can't know what you don't know, and there's plenty in the world that you don't."
She stood thoughtful for a moment, and I could see the gears in her mind turning, slowly accepting my words. But as a know-it-all twelve-year old, the indignancy of being lectured could not be countenanced in silence.
"You haven't left Tarth, either, Gal," she whined, cheeks puffed. "You don't get to pretend to be some world traveler."
I nodded. "I know. I still have much to learn. I just want you to learn from my mistakes. No need to suffer the consequences of yours if you can simply use me as an example of what not to do, right?"
"I suppose you are quite prone to mistakes," she said after a second.
"There you go, something we can agree on," I said with a smile. "My point is that there might be ways to fool these auras of yours, or for you to misunderstand what it means. Whatever this power is, it's important and useful, and I'll be glad to help you in figuring it out once we're back home. But don't ever make it more than it is. It's a tool—a tool that you must use cautiously, lest you let it use you instead. Trust your gut, yes, but don't make your every decision based on it."
Arianne gave me a slow, measured nod. "I will… take your word under advisement."
"That's all a brother can ask for."
xxx
Later, from an out of the way spot on the edge of the tiltyard, we watched as Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Ser Barristan Selmy traded blows in a dashing display of violence and chivalry.
One trimmed with a ruby-studded, all-black suit that seemed to drink in all the world's sunlight. The other armored and cloaked in the whites of his office, shining like a beacon. Their steeds groomed and nobly barded. Plumes riding high on helms.
It was a spectacle.
Roars erupted when, for the eight time, lances broke on shields and neither budged an inch from their seat. The air vibrated with energy and the weight of history. So close to noon, the sun sat high in the sky like a brazier, with nary a wandering cloud to mar the perfect day.
To the crowd, it was the most exciting riding of the tourney.
I stared at it with brows furrowed. Arianne sat beside me under a roughspun cloak, while my own jousting armor was left in Pate's tender care back in the pavilion. Surrounded as it was by Lannister men, I had no need to worry about it being stolen.
My left shoulder throbbed constantly like an aching wound, though now I could move it without feeling that it would fall off at any moment. The maester had come, yanked my shoulder back into its socket, and left without barely saying a word while I was still groaning in pain. So much for bedside manners.
Hopefully, the pain would be gone by the time I'd have to don my armor and take my place on the lanes again. The noon break would give me a couple of hours of respite while the noble and smallfolk crowd entertained themselves with whichever show the organizers provided to them.
"They are magnificent," Arianne said.
"Perhaps."
"You do not have to be jealous, Galladon," she said, rolling her eyes. "I still like you best, if you must know."
I laughed. "Oh, they are magnificent. Of that, I have no doubt. Like Ser Arthur, they are both better riders than me. It's just… they're not really trying, are they? "
Just then, they clashed in the middle once again, lances shattering in a million pieces to the crowd's delight. Arianne gave me a doubtful look.
I had to give it to her. To the naked eye, it did look like they were having the joust of the century.
But maybe I had some kind of epiphany against Ser Arthur. An enlightenment of sorts, a keener insight into what makes a rider prevail against another, the subtle movements, the tiny shifts in their lance or how they seat the saddle.
And something did not seem quite right by the way they were riding.
"What do you see on their auras, then?" I asked.
She turned back to the arena, squinting.
There was no visible sign that she had activated her vision, as she called it, no golden light spilling forth from her eyes.
She could read people's auras and emotions right in front of them and they would be none the wiser.
Already, I could think of a dozen different ways to use this power of hers for the benefit of our house.
For my benefit.
I was not proud that the thought came so easily to me, but neither was I foolish enough to reject its advantages.
"Ser Barristan is…" Arianne started, seemed to think for a moment, then continued, "he is much like a beetle wrapped tightly around a cocoon of white. It's a sharp thing. He's so focused on the riding I can't even see his aura shifting."
Humming, I chewed at my tongue for a moment.
"Focus, or restraint? You ask me, I see a man purposefully putting on a show while avoiding going all out on his prince."
"Ser Barristan's honor is unquestionable. Even I know that."
Arianned spoke the words as if they were scientific fact, and I could hardly blame her fervor.
To most of the people in the Seven Kingdoms, they might as well be. Ser Barristan Selmy was the greatest living knight in the land.
Beyond his many wins in more than a dozen tourneys, he was also the hero of the War of Ninepenny Kings, who slayed Maelys the Monstrous and thus ended the male line of the Blackfyres, a scourge that had plagued the realm for generations and brought on no less than five failed rebellions.
And in a year's time during the Defiance, if things happened as normally, he would add climbing the walls of Duskendale and singlehandedly rescuing King Aerys to his already storied resume.
A feat of such daring and skill it seemed straight out of a fable.
But I knew all about Ser Barristan Selmy's honor.
In a way, Arianne was right. His sense of honor was unquestionable. Rigid. Unyielding.
So much so he would one day stand by and watch as his Targaryen king did unspeakable things that brought war and ruin to his kingdom.
It didn't matter, of course, so long as he kept to his own vows of obedience.
As of now, King Aerys had not burned lords and peasants alike. Had not imposed himself unduly and violently upon his queenly wife. So perhaps it was wrong of me to put that on Ser Barristan.
Had it been myself in his place, I was sure I would act differently.
But had it been a version of me born in this world, accustomed to its rules and traditions, then what?
Did that make him a lapdog that followed its master's words regardless of their merit, or was he simply a man doing the best that he could with what he was given?
Shaking my head, I pointed to the other man in the yard. "What about the prince's?"
Arianne looked at Rhaegar then. Her eyes followed him as he grabbed a fresh lance from his squire and galloped down the lane toward his foe.
"His is… scattered. Silvery like the moon now, then golden, red as a pomegranate, a deep blue." She grimaced. "I'm not sure what it means, but you are right that he doesn't seem focused."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
As I suspected, it didn't seem like the Prince was trying very hard either. Despite his prowess, I knew Rhaegar did not care much for tourneys and warring. Song and prophecy were said to be his true loves.
"It means I might be able to win after all," I murmured low enough she couldn't hear.
After another two bouts of clashing lances, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen finally unhorsed Ser Barristan Selmy to the thunderous cheers of the crowd.
They got even louder when he graced them with a lap around the tiltyard.
It was the closest they would ever come to a royal prince, and he surely seemed a figure of myth garbed in night-black steel as he was, the rubies in his chestplate gleaming like comets.
Whether the kingsguard allowed him victory or gave his best, I did not know. And whether the Prince even cared about the whole tourney, I could not tell either.
In the end, all I could do was head back to my tent and prepare myself for the finals.
xxx
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