"He could make songs and poems and recite, knew how to joust and dance, to draw and write."
— The Squire in "The Canterbury Tales"
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Standing at the edge of the field, my attention stayed fixed on the lance held by Ser Alekyne. He lowered it and drove it forward, smashing it with brute force into the shield we had set upon the tree trunk.
The lance broke on impact, splintering into countless pieces, yet my Ser kept his gaze forward. He showed no concern for the shards that flew past, nor the chance of one striking his face.
You usually look up just before impact, I reminded myself, recalling his words from our stay at the villagers' home.
As he came back toward me at speed, I quickly took up the second lance we had prepared. I lifted it just as his horse thundered past. He leaned down and caught it cleanly from my hands.
As though he had practised the motion a hundred times over. Perhaps he had. I would never know unless he chose to say so.
With the lance set firm in Ser Alekyne's gauntlet, I watched the way he carried himself. His shoulders were loose. His grip tightened as the distance closed between him and the waiting shield.
The lance lowered gradually, sliding into position above his own shield until it sat level. The world seemed to slow around him. Each second stretched as the hooves struck the ground in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat echoing against my chest.
I pressed a hand there, feeling how fast it raced. This was only practice, yet it stirred me all the same. What would the real thing do to me? I almost laughed at the thought.
The sharp crack of splintering wood snapped me back to the field. Another lance lay ruined by the tree stump, its remains scattered across the ground like kindling. Ser Alekyne rode on a few paces before slowing and turning back toward me.
He looked down at me from atop his steed. "You did well for your first attempt at passing a lance mid-joust." He paused, his gaze sharp. "You flinched."
I tilted my head at that. I did not remember flinching at all. By my own reckoning, I had done well for a first try. He waited, perhaps for me to argue, but I swallowed those words. "I am sorry, Ser. I would not have noticed if you had not said."
"Aye, most would not," he replied, a trace of pride hidden in his tone. "Even I might have missed it." His mouth twitched. "Your only fault was pulling back as I leaned down to take the lance."
He shook his head lightly. "It near made me miss my grip. That would have gone poorly." A short chuckle followed. "If this were a true tourney, that is."
I nodded, staring down at my hands near my waist. "I will correct it, Ser." I looked up again. "I will not make the same mistake twice."
He grunted and inclined his head. "We all err, lad. That is why we practice. So the mistakes do not follow us into the lists."
He gestured with his chin. "Now fetch the next lance. We still have a few to break."
I hurried to one lying on the ground and lifted it with both hands. It was heavy, that much was clear, but not beyond me. I set my jaw. I was a squire. Weakness had no place in that calling.
Passing the lance into his hand, I caught a small smile from him before he lowered his visor back into place.
"Hya!" He kicked his horse forward, hooves tearing at the dirt as it surged into motion.
I did not know if the shout was needed, but it lent him presence all the same. I let out a quiet chuckle, remembering how often he had scolded me for making pointless noises. Yet when we sparred, he never did.
Why had I done that back then? Was I truly so bored that I filled the silence with animal sounds? I shook my head and forced my focus back to him, pushing the memory aside.
His lance dropped as it had before, but this time it did not bounce with the horse's stride. The tip stayed fixed, unmoving. It looked unnatural. Could a man truly be so skilled that his lance would not waver in a full charge?
The lance in the next second shattered into the shield once more, this time causing the shield to snap in half and the lance to be jammed halfway in instead of splintering. My Ser almost pulled off his horse as a result; his body jolting back before he reacted swiftly by letting go of the lance.
My body almost moved toward him before I saw him regain control of the reins moments later. A loud breath left me before I realised I had been holding it. What would I have done if my Ser had fallen and broken his neck?
It was unlikely, yet still possible. Always expect the unexpected. That lesson had been drilled into me countless times as he spun and struck from strange angles during our spars. Impractical, he called them, yet they had landed all the same. Had those blades been steel instead of wood, my belly would have been opened without question.
I wiped my brow as he rode back toward me, his visor lifting.
"Well, that was a surprise," he said with a short chuckle.
I managed a crooked smile. "Aye."
"A wooden lance biting through a shield," he went on. "Must mean I am getting my edge back."
I nodded. "That must be it, Ser."
My eyes lingered on the shattered shield, unease creeping in despite his calm. He noticed and spoke at once. "Do not fret, lad. As long as you wear plate, nothing will get through."
He slapped his breastplate with a grin. "Though it will be some time before you have your own."
That only deepened my frown. "That is not very comforting, Ser."
"Good. It was not meant to be," he said, smile still present. "A man who grows comfortable grows fat and lazy. Why do you think the throne is made of swords?"
I considered it, truly, but the answer escaped me. I had never understood why the Targaryens shaped their seat that way. Perhaps they enjoyed being stabbed for sitting too long. Or perhaps there was some wiser reason.
"I have no idea," I admitted, then shrugged. "Though I could guess they enjoy being pricked in the arse."
He laughed and leaned forward in his saddle. "Would you like me to teach you the truth?"
I hesitated. What need had I to know such things? I knew the throne had been forged after Aegon's conquest. Everything else had slipped from me.
"I do not see the need, Ser," I said plainly. "I will never sit upon it. Why should I care?"
He straightened, his expression shifting into something stern. The look a father gives when disappointment creeps in, though I knew not why it had come.
"Listen well," he said. "It is better to know than not to know." He raised a finger. "A man who learns when he can will fare better than one who turns away from teaching."
"I understand," I replied quickly, waving a hand. "But that should apply to useful things. Poisons. Swordplay."
He chuckled. "Yet I see no Maesters swinging blades."
That stopped me. It was true. Maesters stood close to lords and kings, yet few had ever held a sword.
"Do you know why they are kept so close?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Because knowledge is its own weapon," he said. "They carry learning gathered over generations. Things that would outpace even me."
I doubted that, though I kept the thought to myself. My Ser knew far more than he ever admitted, and I still did not know where he had learned it all.
"Lords value them because they know a little of everything beneath the sun," he finished. "Ask a Maester a question, and the odds of him knowing the answer are as good as King's Landing smelling of pig shit."
I let out a laugh at his words. "So the odds are rather high, then?"
I had never seen King's Landing for myself, yet I had heard enough tales to imagine it well enough. A city so foul that a man unused to filth would choke on the air alone.
My Ser nodded. "Aye. Better odds than most things."
The moment the words left his mouth, his head snapped toward the treeline. His grip tightened on the reins, his other hand reaching out without hesitation.
It took me a heartbeat to understand. I lifted a lance toward him, and he took it with ease, turning his horse to face the trees.
"Come out," my Ser called, his voice carrying across the field. "Unless you wish to be pierced through!"
No answer came.
I drew my dagger and hefted the spare shield meant to replace the broken one. Seeing me armed, Ser Alekyne lowered his visor and urged his horse forward. I followed close behind, tucking myself as far as I could behind the shield.
My heart began to race, not with excitement, but with dread. Sweat broke across my brow and slipped into my eyes. I wiped it away, keeping my focus on my Ser as he halted in the centre of the field, his gaze sweeping the surroundings.
Nothing escaped his notice.
"Come out," he called again. "My boy and I have no need for bloodshed."
The shrubs along the treeline shifted. We waited.
Time stretched.
At last, a man stepped out from the brush, fully armed. A boy followed him, no more than nine years of age.
A page, I guessed.
I spared the boy only a glance. Brown hair, plain features, nothing remarkable. He was small for his age, perhaps even short. My attention soon returned to the knight beside him.
He was broad of shoulder and solidly built, the kind of strength earned through years of hard ship. His beard was full and well-kept, dark and weathered. His sharp blue eyes studied us closely, as if weighing every possible outcome.
His brown hair sat unkempt around his head, grooming clearly a lesser concern than survival. He wore no ornamentation, no false marks of glory, only the quiet signs of a man long tested.
A blue tunic covered his frame, cinched tight with leather straps. Beneath it, chainmail showed through in places, battered and worn, marked by old blows. A white cloak lay draped over one shoulder.
A sword hung at his hip, angled for a quick draw.
"My name is Ser Allard of Wickenden," the knight said at last. "This is my page, Gyles of Snakewood."
I looked to my Ser and saw a flicker of recognition cross his face.
"A knight of the Vale?" Ser Alekyne asked. "What brings you so far south?"
Allard gave a small chuckle. "The same as most hedge knights. Coin."
He gestured vaguely. "We heard word of a tourney and followed it here."
My Ser nodded at his words. "Then you are on the right path. But tell me, why were you watching us from the bushes?"
Allard chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "I was hoping to gain an advantage."
My Ser frowned at that, confusion clear on his face, and gestured for him to continue.
"Well," Allard went on, "when I saw you practising the joust, I figured you might be bound for the same tourney as I am." He paused briefly. "So I thought it a fine chance to study a possible opponent."
I found myself agreeing with the thought. It was sound enough reasoning. Yet as I looked at my Ser, remembering how he rode and struck, I doubted that watching him from afar would help much when facing him in the lists.
"I see," my Ser said at last. "Then I wish you luck, should we meet."
"And to you as well, Ser," Allard replied with a nod.
With that, he turned and led his page back into the treeline. They vanished as quietly as they had appeared.
My Ser watched them go before turning to me. "That settles it. We will head back for the night."
He gave a small stretch in his saddle. "We will continue tomorrow. Next time, we will hang a ring from a rope and see how I fare at it. "
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And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen, this chapter has come to a close.
I quite enjoyed writing this chapter; it was something different in my opinion and far more enjoyable. I, too, hope that you were able to enjoy the chapter as I did, even if there was no proper action going on and it was a back-and-forth conversation between Alek and Ethan.
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