"The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too. "
― Ernest Hemingway
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A few weeks had passed since our first practice session, and in that time I had begun to learn much about both myself and my Ser. First among those lessons was the discovery of a talent within me, one I would never have noticed had Ser Alekyne not drawn my eye to it.
Had he not done so, it might have remained buried forever. What this talent was is hard to name. Even now, I struggle to put it to words, for it revealed itself only recently.
It was nothing remarkable, not when set beside the great knights of history. I am certain many before me possessed the same gift, and more besides. Still, knowing it was there stirred a quiet pride in me, one I kept carefully reined in. I had no wish to grow swollen with it, like the Lannisters and their cubs.
I watched my Ser as he drove his horse hard across the grass, his lance held low. My eyes stayed fixed on him, and I began to see what I had missed before. The way his body leaned slightly back to the left, lessening the force of a strike should one meet him. The way his right side pressed forward, ensuring his own blow would land first, and with greater weight.
I noted how he aimed above the shield while keeping his own low, his favoured approach. He knew most knights would not strike for the helm, deeming it dishonourable.
That was my talent. What lay before my eyes unfolded clearly to me. I may not have been gifted with the sword, but my sight held its own value. For now, it served my Ser well.
My Ser, too, had changed in many ways, some small and some not. I could not rightly say how, only that he felt the same and yet different. There was a weight about him now, one I was not used to sensing.
Ever since that letter arrived, his manner had shifted. I asked him what it said, but he never answered, only muttered something about his sibling being ridiculous.
Family troubles were something I never understood. How could one quarrel with their own blood, bound by kinship? Should a man not guard his siblings with his life?
That was what my father had always taught me, may he rest in peace. A brother, he said, was as vital as breath itself, for family was the only thing one could truly trust in this cruel world. Though, thinking on it now, my father had been a cynical man.
I sat upon the grass, knowing that after this last joust we would return to Bitterbridge, and from there gather our things and ride for Ashford Meadows. I could barely keep still, my thoughts consumed by the coming tourney. It had filled my waking hours and my dreams alike.
And yet, those dreams had changed. The one I had when we first arrived no longer returned. The golden dragon no longer haunted my sleep, nor the sight of my Ser bearing the marks of House Targaryen.
Looking back, it had been strange, but I never doubted my Ser's explanation. A dragon meant a Targaryen, that much we both believed.
Still, why would one of the king's blood travel so far to compete? Perhaps without dragons they sought to prove themselves through steel and skill. Even so, the dream had troubled us both.
It could have been Maekar the Anvil, or his famed brother Baelor Breakspear, the same man my Ser had once faced and lost to.
I bit at my fingers as the thoughts gnawed at me. What had it meant, my Ser turning into a dragon? Was he fighting for one of them? And why would he?
Each question birthed another, leaving my mind with no rest.
The crash of my Ser's lance against the shield snapped me free. I realised then how close I had come to tearing my nails down to nothing.
He raised his visor, watching me closely. "What troubles you?" He paused, then nodded as understanding dawned. "Do not let dreams rule you."
I nodded. I knew he was right, yet they crept back all the same. Had it not been for him, I might have drowned myself in ale, or as I liked to call it, piss broth.
"I know," I said quietly. "But I cannot help it. When I think of the tourney, my thoughts return to that dream. I fear for you. What am I to do if you die?"
The truth struck hard. I had nothing without him. No place to go. Perhaps I would bury him and return to that village. Perhaps Rhea's family would take me in.
I shook the thought away. It was too much to ask of near strangers.
Before my mind could wander further, I felt arms pull me close. A hand rested at the back of my head, drawing me against cold steel. Safe there, I broke, tears slipping free.
"Why me?" I whispered through them. "Why must I fear a future not yet born?" I clung to him, unwilling to let go. "Why must I suffer so? Have the gods turned from me?"
"Shh. Shh." Ser Alekyne kept a steady hand at my back, his touch firm and sure as he tried to calm me. "It will end well, my boy. I will live, and we will go on as we always have."
"Do not worry."
I pulled back from him at last and rubbed at my eyes, giving a small nod as I steadied my breath.
"Now tell me," he said, lowering himself onto one knee so we stood eye to eye. "Will you pass my lance in the tourney to come? Will you remain my squire, without fear?"
I met his gaze, and in that moment there was no doubt in me. Only one answer fit.
"Always."
He chuckled softly and ran a hand through my hair. "That is my boy."
He rose and turned away. "Come. It is time we head back and pack our things."
I nodded and hurried after him.
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"Is everything packed?"
I turned toward my Ser as I finished strapping the satchel to the horse. It held rations for the both of us and would last the whole journey, so long as we did not linger on the road too long.
I gave him a short nod and pulled the strap tight to make sure nothing would shift. "Yes. Everything is packed and tied down properly."
"Good. That means we can start early." He patted his horse's mane before climbing into the saddle.
I followed and mounted my own, running a hand along the white courser's long, well-kept mane. "Seems the stable lads have been spoiling you rotten, haven't they, Largemouth."
The horse neighed at my words, feigning ignorance as if it had no idea what I meant.
I chuckled at the familiar act. I had grown used to its strange habits over the years, and I had grown rather fond of them. With all its odd quirks, it felt like the most unique horse in Westeros, though truth be told I had not ridden many others.
I hoped it would remain that way. I could never imagine parting from the beast. My Ser liked to say it looked more like a donkey than a proper horse, but I ignored him. Largemouth might not have the strength or presence of my Ser's mount, yet it was far kinder in nature.
Once settled in the saddle, I took the reins and urged the horse into a slow walk, falling in behind my Ser, who held the lead.
I steadied my thoughts as we rode. This journey would not be long, not like the wandering roads we had taken before. It would be a simple ride to the tourney grounds.
My first true tourney.
Perhaps they would even hold contests for squires. If they did, I might have a chance to take part.
Perhaps not.
I turned my eyes toward my Ser. It would all depend on his judgment, on whether he believed I was ready. I felt that I was, yet I was still inexperienced. It was wiser to trust the word of a man who had already proven himself in the lists.
The road grew busier with every passing hour. At first we rode alone, the fields stretching wide around us. Yet before the sun reached its highest point, other travellers began to appear.
Wagons creaked along the road, piled high with goods and pulled by sweating horses. Smallfolk walked beside them, speaking loudly and laughing as they talked of the tourney ahead.
They stepped aside when they saw my Ser approach, giving respectful nods as we passed.
Not long after, we overtook two hedge knights riding side by side. Their armour was worn and mismatched, their shields painted with faded sigils that were hard to make out. One carried his lance poorly, the shaft wavering in his hand.
My Ser slowed his pace and glanced back at me. "Tell me, lad. What do you see?"
I blinked at the question before turning my attention back to the riders ahead and studying them carefully.
I pointed to the one on the left. "He will not fare well."
"And why is that?"
My eyes settled on his lance. "His grip is wrong," I replied. "The lance moves with every step of the horse. If he strikes like that, it will not land where he intends."
My Ser watched the man for a moment longer before giving a grunt of approval.
"A fair eye," he said. "And the other?"
I studied the second knight. He sat straighter in the saddle. His lance rested more steadily in his hand, though his shield hung slightly higher than what my Ser had taught.
"He will last longer," I said slowly. "But he leaves his side open."
My Ser let out a soft chuckle. "You see more than most your age."
I looked at him, unsure how to take the praise. Yet as I held my hand close to my chest, I felt a swell of pride. It pleased me that he had noticed.
We continued on, the road growing crowded with travellers. Merchants with wagons, farmers with carts, knights with squires hoping to test their luck. The closer we drew to Ashford Meadows, the more lively the road became.
It was near midday when my Ser spotted a banner flying above the road.
"What house does that belong to?"
His question caught me off guard, as I had been too busy watching the passing crowd. I turned my eyes toward the banner and studied it. A red apple upon a yellow field. A house of the Reach.
My Ser often mocked their sayings, though he never truly disliked them.
"It is House Fossoway."
My Ser nodded, pleased that his lessons were beginning to bear fruit. "Good. From now on I will question you on the heraldry of every house we see."
"Understood?"
I nodded at once. "Understood, Ser."
"Good."
We rode on after that, and my Ser wasted little time in continuing his questions on the heraldry of each house.
Every banner we passed became a test. Some I knew well. Others forced me to guess, and when I guessed wrong he gave nothing more than a quiet grunt.
Still, he seemed fairly pleased.
We rode further along the road, and the path grew wider. Knights became more common. Some travelled with full companies, mostly lords with their sworn men. Others rode alone with only a squire or servant beside them.
Smallfolk filled the road as well, all eager for the same thing.
The tourney.
By the time the sun began its slow descent, the land ahead of us started to change.
The fields were no longer empty.
Tents had begun to rise across the distant meadows. Hundreds of them, far more than I had expected for a tourney. Some were small and plain, others large and bright with long banners flying high above them.
I leaned forward in the saddle, my eyes widening at the sight.
"Ser," I said quietly.
"I see it," he replied.
Ashford Meadows.
Even from this distance the noise reached us. The clatter of wagons, the shouting of men, the neighing of horses. Somewhere beyond it all rang the sound of steel striking steel.
My heart began to pound again, just as it had when I first watched him ride with lance in hand.
This was it.
My first true tourney.
I tightened my grip on the reins and followed behind my Ser as we rode toward the sea of banners.
One stood out above many others.
House Baratheon.
I grinned at the sight. My Ser was to face such powerful houses?
For the first time since that dream, my mind held no worry.
Only excitement.
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And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen, this chapter has come to a close.
I apologise for the late chapter. I was unable to push this chapter out early as a result of some work propping up and turning my focus away from writing for a while. Hopefully, this chapter will be good enough to make the wait worth it :)
Anyways, if you have any tips and ideas on how I could improve, please drop them down in the comments or reviews, since it would be very much appreciated in helping me improve my writing for you guys to enjoy even more.
As such, have a good rest of your day/night.
Tac Out