"There are no men like me. There's only me."
— Jaime Lannister
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[ Ethan of Dunstonbury ]
Having finished unpacking our things, I turned toward the door just as my stomach growled with sharp hunger. I gripped the handle and let out a low groan.
Stepping into the corridor, I made my way toward the main hall in search of my Ser. Perhaps he had already ordered supper. Hopefully something warm. Anything would be better than that rancid salted beef he insists on carrying. Tough as bark and tasting worse than a stable floor.
I have never understood how he enjoys it. Then again, I have never fully understood Ser Alekyne.
He is harder to read than a Maester's book on poisonous plants. Had it not been for the drawings, I would have been completely lost.
As I descended the wooden steps, I scanned the room until I found him seated in the far right corner. Two plates rested before him. Steam rose from deep bowls, and at the sight of it my mouth nearly betrayed me.
I pressed my hands together briefly. Please let it be beef stew. Gods, I love a good beef stew.
I crossed the room and took the seat opposite him. "Sooo, did you find out any information?"
Without waiting, I grabbed the wooden spoon and scooped up a generous piece of beef, blowing on it once before taking a bite.
The taste was rich and tender. I wasted no time going back for more. "This is brilliant, you know?"
Ser Alekyne let out a quiet laugh. "I know. That is why I ordered it." He took a spoonful himself and gave a small nod. "It is their most popular dish."
"But yes, I did learn something." He paused, watching me with a faint smile. "Something you will be particularly pleased abo..."
"A tourney?" I burst out.
He nodded, though not before tapping the top of my head with his spoon. "What did I say about cutting people off mid-sentence?"
I winced and rubbed my head. "Sorry. I was just excited, that is all."
"I understand that excitement can make you eager," he said calmly, scooping another piece from his bowl before looking back at me. "But you must remember your manners. A man without manners is no different from a beast."
I nodded and returned to my stew. "Where did they say the tourney would be held?"
He studied me for a brief moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Ashford Meadows. Two moons from now." He raised two fingers to make the point clear. "That gives us more than enough time to prepare."
My excitement flared again. "That is great. Then we should start preparing now."
"Steady yourself, boy," he replied evenly. "We have time."
I took a slow breath and nodded. "Right. We have time." I met his gaze. "How will we prepare?"
He raised a finger. "First, we practice lance swapping. That skill must become second nature." A second finger followed. "Second, you will continue maintaining my armour, shield, and sword."
He lowered his hand. "And lastly, do not be an idiot." He gave my head a light pat. "If I am unhorsed, you move quickly. Get me aid."
I nodded with a small grin. "That should not be too hard."
"Good. We will rest first." A faint smile touched his lips. "Tomorrow we begin. We train for a moon, or until your legs fail and your shoulders refuse to lift."
I swallowed and gave a slow nod before returning to my meal. It did not take long to finish. I lifted the bowl and drank the last of the broth without shame.
"I will head up and get an early night."
He gave a brief nod as I stood and made for the stairs. Tomorrow would be long.
I walked the corridor, stepped into our room, and looked at the bed waiting for me. I dropped onto it, exhaustion settling in as my eyes slowly closed and darkness took me.
Hopefully, I dream of something good tonight.
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Staring at Ser Alekyne before me, his body raised high atop his destrier, my hands gripped tight around his black and white lance. I brought it to him, and he took it with firm hands.
He urged the horse forward, charging toward the golden dragon across from him, the size of a full-grown stallion. Its teeth flashed as it roared, yet my Ser showed no fear.
The black and white feathers upon his helm shifted into red and black, like the colours of House Targaryen. The eagle perched upon his shoulder twisted and lengthened into a dragon. I shook my head at the sight.
It was impossible for my Ser to be part dragon. He was of a House, even if unlanded. So what did this dream mean?
I frowned, searching for reason, yet none came. The thought would not leave as his lance lowered and burst into flame, striking true into the golden dragon.
The dragon roared in fury and swept its claws at him, yet Ser Alekyne rolled his shoulder to the left and avoided the strike with ease, as if he had known it was coming.
He circled back toward me. "Seems this dragon is not a particularly strong whelp." I could hear the smile in his voice. "None of the strength of the Hammer. Only the hair."
The word hammer carried contempt, though I did not question it. This was not the true Alekyne—only a dream.
I swallowed and handed him the next lance. He gripped it firmly and kicked his horse forward, charging the dragon once more.
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Stirring awake to the warmth brushing across my face, I opened my eyes and shifted in the bed. I looked over to see my Ser fastening himself into his plate, rolling his shoulders and arms to test the fit.
"Finally awake?" he asked as he secured his pauldrons. "You were tossing about like a hooked fish."
He glanced at me. "Do you want to speak on it?"
I pushed myself upright and sat on the edge of the mattress. I gave a small nod. "I had a dream. It was about a tourney. I do not know which one. Perhaps one yet to come."
He listened without comment, hands still moving as he worked the straps.
"I was carrying your lance, black and white, handing it to you." I hesitated, fingers curling into the bedding. It had grown strange after that. "You charged at a golden dragon. It was not large, but it was fierce."
He raised a brow. "A dragon?" A quiet chuckle followed. "Those beasts have been dead for decades. At most, there may be an egg rotting somewhere, and even that is doubtful."
He adjusted his gauntlet and flexed his hand. "I think I would remember if I had to face some great scaled terror."
I nodded. He was right. Dragons were relics, things of song and old stories. That was what unsettled me.
"What was truly odd," I went on, "was that your feathers changed."
That caught his attention. "Changed? In what way?"
I pointed toward his helm resting on the table. "They turned red and black. Like the colours of House Targaryen."
He frowned slightly but let me continue.
"And the eagle on your shoulder became a dragon."
He snorted. "A dragon on my shoulder? Why would I bear the sigil of House Targaryen? I have no claim to such nonsense."
I agreed. My Ser had no ties to the dragons. He was unlanded, sworn to nothing beyond his oaths and his steel.
Yet my dreams had a habit of clinging to truth.
They never made sense at first. Only later, when events unfolded, would I remember them and feel that quiet chill of recognition. When I first told him of this, he had not laughed. Instead, he made me recount every dream I could recall. He kept a small journal for them, tucked among his belongings.
He claimed it was only caution. A knight should take advantage where he could.
Still, as I watched him fasten the last strap of his armour, I could not shake the image of red and black feathers catching fire in the sun. I focused on the helm again, but nothing changed. Black and white, as it always was.
Climbing out of bed, I began to stretch, using the movements Ser Alekyne had drilled into me to ease the stiffness from my limbs. My body loosened, but my thoughts remained elsewhere as I watched him begin to write a letter.
"Who is that to, Ser?" I asked.
He looked up briefly. "No one of great importance. Mayhaps you will learn of them in the future." He returned to his writing. "But now is not the time."
I gave a short huff and thought no more of it. Instead, I gathered what I would need for the day: my dagger and an apple from my pack. A green one. Sour, but my favourite.
My Ser gave a small chuckle as he finished the letter. "Let us hope they are well," he murmured, likely thinking I would not hear.
"Right then. You ready?" He turned to me as he folded the paper.
My eyes flicked to the top of the sheet as he did so. I caught a single word before it disappeared. Rivers. A bastard name. Why would my Ser be writing to a bastard?
I shook my head. "Yes. I am ready."
He nodded and strapped his warhammer to his waist. His shield remained behind as we left the room and headed out into the street, stopping only to pay the barkeep an extra silver to keep our room another night.
As we walked through the town, smallfolk turned to stare. Their eyes lingered on the two of us, though more often on my Ser in his gleaming armour. Even among other knights, he stood apart.
His armour was something else entirely.
One day, I thought, mayhaps I will wear something like that.
Turning down a narrower street, we reached the stables. My Ser spoke with the stable boy while I fetched our horses, leaving the pack horse behind. We would not be going far.
I led the horses out into the street, helped my Ser mount, then climbed onto my own. After thanking the boy, we rode toward the town gate.
The cobbled streets gave way quickly. My attention stayed on my Ser as he rode, his grip firm around a lance he had taken shortly after leaving the stables. It looked heavy in his hands.
I tightened my own grip on the reins. This was becoming real. I would finally see a tourney not from the stands, but from the field, as a squire.
The thought filled me with joy, though I knew it would be tempered by his training. I drew in a breath and urged my horse forward until I rode beside him instead of behind.
Once beyond the town, the open fields of the Reach stretched out before us. The air felt cleaner, the space easier to breathe in than the crowded streets behind. To set up a proper field, we needed a long, clear stretch with something solid in the centre for him to strike.
It did not take long to find a suitable spot. I dismounted, took my shield from where it was strapped to my horse, and gave the animal a gentle pat on the neck before resting the shield against the wooden stump.
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And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen, this chapter has come to a close.
In my personal opinion, this is quite literally one of my worst chapters I've ever written in my life. I have no idea why I feel that way, mayhaps I am feeling a bit cynical or something else entirely.
But I've just found this chapter to be lacking in some odd way; perhaps I'll figure it out one day and come back to rewrite this chapter to try and somewhat improve what I believe it could be missing. I apologise for the late release, but this had me truly stumped.
If you have any ideas, please let me know, and I'll work on it.
As such have a good rest of your day/night.
Tac Out :)