Mark's POV
The final joust of the tournament was set to begin, and the air buzzed with anticipation. My attention, however, was drawn to the combatants.
Prince Duncan Targaryen cut a striking figure as he rode in on his black destrier. His steel armour gleamed in the sun, polished to a mirror shine. Over it, he wore a black surcoat emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. His horse snorted, pawing at the ground as though eager for the clash. The crowd roared their approval as the prince made his circuit of the lists, his confidence radiating in every gesture.
Opposite him stood his challenger: a young squire in plain plate armour. His surcoat was brown, marked only by a simple emblem of stalks of wheat. He rode a smaller, less impressive horse, and there was no flourish to his demeanour, no grand display to captivate the crowd. Yet his quiet focus spoke volumes, and I couldn't help but admire the bravery of a youth daring to face a Targaryen prince. Barristan Selmy.
I turned his gaze to the stands. The small folks were packed tightly together, on the stands they occupied. There was barely a space in between the seats. Everyone was focused on Prince Duncan and only a few on the young squire. The weather was warmer today than on the previous days but with so many bodies packed together, they didn't seem to mind the cold as much.
On another stand where most of the nobles were seated was a little more comfortably spaced. Their finery adds a kaleidoscope of colours to the scene. On the lower benches sat the minor lords and knights, their faces a mixture of admiration and envy. But it was the main stand that caught my attention.
There, the Royal family watched intently, their expressions ranging from calm intrigue to outright excitement. King Aegon V sat at the centre, his silver hair glinting under his crown. To his left was Queen Betha, her eyes sharp and assessing. Beside them were the Great Houses: Baratheon clad in their storm-black and gold, and the Lannister in their crimson and gold, their pride evident even from this distance.
My attention was drawn to a group of young boys sitting closer to the top just under where the Royal family sat. There he sat quietly while the younger boys were excitedly chatting amongst themselves. At that time our eyes met. 'Tywin Lannister.'
Six moons ago, I would have been so excited to just be here together with Alys. Now I was here by myself. Alys had refused to leave Tywin's manse, refused to leave Mya's side. I honestly felt lost without her with me. For so long it had just been the two of us but on that night, it had all changed.
The night Tywin had saved us, Alys had almost died Maester Brayan said. Her body had been so badly damaged that it was left up to the mercy of the Mother if she would survive and she did. It took me a fourth night before I could… walk properly.
Those bastards. Even now my fists clenched when I thought about Cut and those pieces of shit.
After I had healed, I had been given a job to clean around the manse. Tywin had travelled on a campaign to eliminate some bandits in the Crownlands. Maester Brayan told me that I should focus on healing until Lord Tywin returned and decided what he would do with us.
Alys was bedridden for a moon. I knew she had been plagued by night terrors each night, I heard her screams but Mya had treated her like her own daughter. Later I found out that Mya's daughter had been murdered by some sailors at Casterly Rock. Tywin himself had executed the men just like with us.
This was what made me decide, I owed Tywin a debt. When he returned, I pledged my allegiance to him. It was a time after he called both Alys and me to his solar. Mya accompanied us as even if Alys' body had recovered, she would often become hysterical being alone in the company of men. With me, it wasn't the same but I could sense she no longer had trust in me. That was what finally broke me. But I wasn't allowed to wallow in self-pity for long.
I underwent training each morning, blades, daggers, and swords. Ser Ilyn Payne my teacher. The man was vicious, but one day he said something to me that woke me up.
"If you don't take this training seriously, I might as well gut you right here. The night Tywin found you, you and your sister were as good as dead if we hadn't stepped in. No one said you owed a debt; you did that on your own. So why do you walk around like a sad CUNT who has been sold into slavery."
I had been speechless; how could I tell him? "My…sister, Alys…"
"What? She can't stand to be around you? She got it worse than you. If you had been more of a man, she would have never been hurt."
His words stung. I didn't know how to react. My hand clenched the handle of the training sword, I could feel my ears heat up in the chill air.
"What? Are you angry at what I said? Good. The only way your sister will ever feel safe around you again is if you become a man strong enough to guarantee her safety. Women hate weak cunts like you. Tywin has given you a second chance to change that, now come here and fight me!"
From that day forward I woke up at dawn and trained. Each evening I would go to one of the taverns or inns that Tywin owns and I would perform. Even if I didn't want to, Tywin had reminded me that my dream had been to be a bard who travelled the Seven Kingdoms and he found use in that.
I performed each evening while keeping an ear out for any rumours or gossip. Tywin paid me a small salary each week while I was also allowed to keep whatever coin I got from my performance as well. I was given a room at the Inn and I moved out of the manse. I still visited Alys regularly but each time she seemed to be a little more of her old self.
Mya had begun to treat her like her own daughter and Tywin allowed her to live in the manse. She now helped Mya with the chores and she had even said she was learning to read and write. This was something I would have to begin as well after the tourney, I had been informed by Ser Ilyn some time ago.
As I stood here reflecting, the horn blew, signalling the start.
The two combatants lowered their visors and prepared to charge. Prince Duncan sat tall in his saddle; his lance poised as if it were an extension of his arm. The young squire, in contrast, seemed more rigid, his movements betraying a flicker of nervousness. The destriers were restless, their hooves kicking up dust as the tension mounted.
"Place your wagers!" a voice called from the crowd, but I ignored it, my focus now squarely on the field. Even if I had the coin, it would be a waste. The odds were 5 to 1 in favor of the prince who was almost guaranteed to win.
The marshal raised his flag, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then it dropped.
The first clash was a blur of motion and sound. Both horses thundered forward, the ground shaking beneath them. Prince Duncan's lance struck first, the tip glancing off the squire's shoulder with a loud clang. The squire swayed but held firm, his lance missing the prince entirely.
The crowd erupted in cheers for the prince, their voices rising like a tide. my fingers twitched as I mentally composed a ballad:
The bold young squire held his ground,
But the Prince's strike was fierce and sound.
The competitors returned to their starting positions, their attendants handing them fresh lances. The squire's shoulders rolled as if shaking off the sting of the Prince's blow. I caught a fleeting glimpse of determination beneath his helm. His pale blue eyes had steel in them. He slowly became the embodiment of focus.
---
On the second charge, the squire's resolve was evident. His posture was steadier, his lance aimed true. The horses galloped forward again, their riders hurtling toward each other with deadly precision. This time, it was the squire who struck squarely. His lance slammed into the prince's chest plate with a resounding crack.
Prince Duncan wavered but clung to his saddle, his destrier snorting angrily as the momentum carried both riders past each
other. The crowd gasped, and Mark allowed himself a small grin.
"Looks like the squire got some fight in him," he murmured to no one in particular.
The prince circled back, his posture a touch less confident. A hush fell over the stands as the two combatants prepared for their third and final clash.
---
The third charge was decisive.
The air seemed to be still as the riders took their positions. I leaned forward, my knuckles white against the wooden rail. The crowd's cheers quieted to murmurs; the tension palpable.
The flag dropped.
Both riders spurred their mounts into motion, their lances angled like deadly arrows. The squire's focus was unwavering, his lance aimed at the centre of the Prince's chest. Prince Duncan's lance wavered ever so slightly, a sign that I did not miss.
They met in an explosion of sound and fury. The squire's lance struck true, driving into the Prince's chest plate with such force that Prince Duncan was lifted from his saddle. Time seemed to slow as he tumbled backwards, his body twisting in the air before crashing onto the ground with a metallic thud.
The crowd erupted in chaos. Gasps and screams mingled with cheers and shouts. My eyes darted to the royal stand, where Lady Jenny of Oldstones let out a piercing scream. She vaulted over the edge of the platform and ran toward the prince, her gown trailing behind her. A member of the Kingsguard sprinted after her, his white cloak billowing.
---
On the field, the young squire had already dismounted. He ran to the fallen Prince Duncan and knelt by his side, his gauntleted hands fumbling to remove Duncan's helm. The prince's face was pale, his eyes closed. For a brief, terrifying moment, it seemed as though the Prince had been slain.
"Prince Duncan!" the squire called; his voice sharp with panic.
The Prince's eyes shot open, and he gasped for breath, his chest heaving as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Relief rippled through the crowd like a wave, and even I found himself exhaling the breath I hadn't realized he was holding.
Lady Jenny reached the prince just as he sat up, her hands clutching at his armoured shoulders. "Duncan! Are you hurt?" she cried, her voice trembling.
The Prince blinked, his gaze unfocused but steadying. "I'm fine," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Just… winded."
The Kingsguard arrived moments later, pulling Lady Jenny back to allow space for the prince to recover. Prince Duncan waved them off, his pride bruised but his body intact.
The squire stood awkwardly to the side; his expression unreadable beneath his helm. I noted the tension in the boy's stance, the way he kept his head bowed. A victor, but a hesitant one.
The crowd's mood shifted from shock to elation, and soon the chants began. "Barristan! Barristan!" They clapped and cheered, hailing the squire who had bested a prince.
At first, I cursed in realisation as I looked to where the man who had been calling for people to place their wagers. He had disappeared, no doubt scurrying off when the prince fell. He would have to cover the coin for each of the winners. No doubt he would turn up dead by tomorrow when the winners found him.
I shrugged it off as it wasn't my concern. Not like I had placed any wagers. I smiled I he slung his lute forward and began to strum a jaunty tune, improvising the first lines of the tale I would sing in the tavern as the merriment continued:
Against the dragon's fiery might,
A humble boy took up the fight.
With wheat upon his plain surcoat,
He struck the Prince and won the vote!
The Prince on rising to his feet grabbed the squire's hand and raised it into the air. With a loud cheerful voice Prince Duncan shouted; "BARRISTAN THE BOLD, EVERYONE! As the sun rose higher on the horizon, I continued to play, the story already growing in my mind. The tournament might be over soon, but the legend of the young squire had just begun. 'Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold."
Authors Note- slightly slower chapter, I had introduced Mark and Alys with the best of intentions to include them in later plots but they kind of fell to the wayside. I wrote this chapter to get a different Point of View as well as to let readers know that they were still Around. Also, feel free to check out my other book; The Emperor in the Shadows. And no its not a romance dispite how it starts of.