Shireen was waiting for me in the training grounds the next morning. The stable boy held Colliff at attention. My beloved stallion was encased in cheap armor. I ran my hand down his neck and checked the saddle girth.
"No need to do that, sir, I've already checked it," the boy stepped forward.
"No ya haven't," I growled. "Else this wouldn't be lose." I tightened the saddle back and Colliff let out a disgruntled sigh. I patted the boy on the shoulder. "He's a tough one, he'll suck in his belly so it's easier ta throw me off." I still hated the peasant speech, but I had to hold up the ruse.
"Ser Colliff!" Shireen called out. It was still odd being called by my horse's name. "The first trial will be a joust. You must win two out of three rounds. The rules are as follows: you will be on one side of the arena and your opponent on the other. Ride towards each other and aim your lance for his shield, helmet, or chest. If his horse is hit, you are disqualified. If either of you is knocked from your horse, continue the battle on the ground using any weapon you choose. Knights, you may begin the joust!"
I was never trained in jousting. My father discontinued the festivals after the death of my mother, so I never had a need to learn. I kicked Colliff into a gallop and tried awkwardly to aim the heavy lance at the knight to my left. I missed completely, while his lance shattered against my shield, sending fiery pain through my entire shield arm.
Colliff trotted back to the other side of the arena. I braced myself, gritting my teeth at the pain in my arm. I kicked Colliff forward and tried to get better aim. This time my opponent's lance stuck in my helmet, centimeters from my skull.
I fell to the dirt and cast the helmet aside. I tried to clear my head from the jarring it just took, and a squire stepped forward, asking what weapon I would require.
"Sword," I demanded, spitting blood into the sand. The boy placed a medium-sized broadsword in my hand. I felt the weight of it, the comfort of the sword like an extension of my soul. I knew my mother was a warrior, I could feel her blood racing through my veins. I would honor her by winning this duel.
My opponent had also discarded his helmet, revealing short black hair and a set jaw. He circled me, swinging his sword around. I bent down low and swung as he drew near. His sword glanced off mine, barely blocking the blow and he leapt back. I pursued him, driven by the need to honor my mother and hearing the sound of my father's uncle Jaime in my ear. Every lesson he drilled into my head playing over and over.
I fought with a voracity that I had never felt before. My prey's eyes filled with fear. He had fallen beneath me. I lifted my sword to finish the job and -
"ENOUGH!" Yelled Shireen. She flew from her spot overseeing and guards flanked me from all sides. By the time she had made her way onto the arena, there was fire in her eyes. She wrapped an iron fist around my throat.
"No peasant boy fights like that!" She shouted at me. "Who are you? Where did you learn that?"
I began to realize that I had made a serious mistake. It was time to act fast. I began to sob and shake. "They - they killed me mum... I watched em as they dragged her out by her hair and they beat me mum to death right in front of me. I - I've been learnin' to try to avenge her one day."
She released her grip on my neck but the guards still held me. "Who taught you?" She repeated.
I didn't think of that. I had to come up with a name, quickly. "Oberyn Martell," I stuttered.
"Where does a peasant boy meet a Martell?" My story wasn't adding up.
"His caravan passed through our village on the way to King's Landing for the Queen's funeral. They stopped to feed their horses and - and he saw me practicin'. I told him about me mum and he said he'd teach me."
Shireen may not have bought my story, but she bought my fear. "Let the boy go," she ordered. "Take him to a room. We'll talk more later."
