Today's tournament is held to honor the birth of the heir to the throne.
What the tournament means to you, however, is a chance to bring glory to your name not by appearing as comely as the gods made you, but, for once, by showing your skills.
As the bastard daughter of a faithless wife you know how fortunate it is that your father, a great lord, decided to treat you like a trueborn child; everyone, from the lowest servant of your household to the princes of the Realm, is overfond of telling you what an honor it is to be raised like his daughter even though you don't have a drop of his blood in you.
Oh, you know all too well what a terrifying honor it is. You will never be able to forget that, with all the reminders you are given; but today you want to prove that you are worthy. And not only worthy of your place in your father's household. Worthy of a place in this court, in this world. A cruel, hypocrite world, which would have you soon relegated to a cold marriage and endless pregnancies unless you show some promise today.
The first time you had begged him for fighting lessons your father had said no.
But you had surprised him with your comeback, "Targaryen princesses can fight on a dragon. I don't have a dragon but I want to be able to fight all the same", so sassy for a girl barely able to talk properly. He had always had a soft spot for you.
So he had hired an instructor, a skilled master who had taught you the art of fighting with cutlass and dagger, bow and blade, falcion and fists. Many nights you had drifted off to sleep to his voice reading from a book of battle strategy. But when he had died your father had refused to hire a new swordmaster for you. "You're almost a woman. Time to leave behind games."
Your father doesn't know that you're going to fight today. You know he's going to be angry... unless you win. But the risk is worth taking.
You want to prove to everyone that you're not just a lucky bastard with a pretty face; you want your future husband, whoever will your father's choice be, to know that you are as proud and strong as a dragon, despite your origin, and that you expect to be treated consequently.
Moreover, the tournament will take place in front of the royal family. With your identity kept secret, if you win one of the princes or princesses might choose to grant you knighthood. And that would allow you to be seen for who you truly are by the woman you admire more than anyone alive: Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was. You have always considered her to be the True Queen, even though the world did not give her the crown she was due.
You have chosen a silver birch tree for a crest today.
Your name has been extracted for the second turn, and you can't wait to start. You can't remove your helm or you'll be recognized, and its weight is making it difficult for you to breath properly.
When finally your time comes however all your prayers are answered: they have paired you with a knight that has been mocking your mysterious, unknown crest the whole morning. And just a few minutes ago you heard him say something nasty about Princess Rhaenys when that idiotic Baratheon had gone and asked for her favor before losing badly.
He badmouthed Rhaenys Targaryen: you don't want him to lose, you want him to be humiliated.
You allow this feeling to pervade your body. You open the black doors of rancor, letting in the desire to take revenge, to hurt. The desire to defend and to shine.
You take up the spear and your legs close around the back of the horse, who reacts to your call like the most faithful of soldiers.
The horse rears up, charges and at the signal darts, low belly, as quick as an arrow shot from a bow. Your run is such a rapid charge that your spear smashes into your opponent's hauberk before you reach the center of the track. A groan of approval and surprise rise among the crowd, as if your charge has stolen breath from the lungs of those who are watching you.
The second run is even faster than the first, and the spear shatters with impressive violence. The third race is the coup de grace. You hit the knight with the ardor of a thunderbolt thrown by a god and your enemy, unsaddled, crashes to the ground.
The crowd cheers for you.
You dismount. You can feel everyone's eyes on you as you walk towards the stables to wait for your next turn and you notice that now every men you cross gives way to you.
You throw a glance at the royal seats and you suddenly meet Princess Rhaenys's gaze: your odd crest seems to have drawn her attention.
You stop at once.
Meeting her eyes is like being hit by a spear; and the most absurd thing is that you immediately desire to be hit again, and again, and again.
When she looks away you ask yourself if it has really happened or if you've just dreamt it. Yes, you admire the woman; but what's that feeling?
Rhaenys' small smile has just crushed your heart.
In a sudden impulse you turn and walk towards the royal box, your horse behind you.
"I would humbly ask for the favor of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen for the next round. You deserve a champion who can honor your name, my lady."
She looks entertained. "You have an original crest, young knight. Is it a family crest from afar?"
"No, my lady. It is my own."
"Most knights would have chosen a fierce beast to instill fear in their enemies' hearts. Is that a birch tree?" she asks.
"Yes, my princess. It is a symbol of new beginning, and it serves as a sign of good luck and protection."
"And it's beautiful" she adds.
She can't see it, but you're smiling under your helmet.
"Indeed, my lady."
"Show us your face and you will have my favor, Knight of the Silver Birch. I am curious to see if your looks match the beauty of your crest."
"I will show my face after winning this tournament for you, princess, and you will be the judge of that. Is it acceptable?"
Her smile grows larger.
"I suspect I will know what your face looks like regardless of whether you win or lose" she answers, her voice dripping irony. Then she throws at you a flower crown and, while you kneel to retrieve it, she says: "Good fortune to you."
You bow and take your leave, her favor held tightly in your hand.
When the time for your final round comes you are surprised to recognize Daemon Targaryen's dragon helm in front of you.
"You caught the attention of the prince, mate" says the knight who's in line for the next turn behind you. "Bad luck."
This is a disaster. The man is a great warrior. And beating him might displease the King.
Then you look at Princess Rhaenys and notice that she's uncharacteristically sitting on the edge of her seat. Is she actually interested in your duel? She gave you her favor. But would she support you against her own blood?
Maybe she would. It is only a tournament, after all. And a winner bearing her favor could be a small political success for her.
Damn it all. You are going to fight to the best of your abilities. This is not the moment to think about what will happen next. It is the moment to focus.
Daemon salutes you and you do the same. "May the best man win" he says as he gallops away.
"Let's hope not" you murmur under your breath. You clench your fingers around your shield.
You know that a decent hit won't be enough. You have to give your all. No mistakes.
When the fight starts you forget about everything. Your opponent may be a dragon, but his beast is not here now. Your blood though is on fire, boiling in your veins. As a woman you do not have much power but this is what now you have - you can beat him, the best warrior of the court.
You hit as viciously as possible. Your spear cracks against Daemon's chest plate. You succeed in the incredible fit of unsaddling him in the first run.
He draws his sword and you dismount to face him fairly, letting go of your broken spear. Your shoulder bangs against his so hard that he staggers back. You attack again and again, knocking him down until he screams "Yield! I yield!".
When it's over you know you must have a bruise on your left cheekbone and on both of your knees, and you can't feel your arms anymore.
But you have won. The crowd applauds, and it is as if you have suddenly woken from a dream. You look up at the royal box. Rhaenys is saluting you with a goblet of something while the rest of the royal family is applauding politely.
You start to tremble all over, the adrenaline draining out of you.
"Well fought" says the King. "Approach."
You force yourself to walk in confident strides towards him and you kneel.
"Rise" he orders, and then: "Remove your helm."
After a moment of hesitation you comply, letting your locks fall on your shoulders.
The crowd gasps; a moment later everyone is talking loudly and shouting something different.
Every member of the royal family is staring at you. Rhaenys seems inordinately pleased.
"You are all your father said, and so much more, my lady" says the King, not the shadow of a smile on his face. "I had no idea you were such an accomplished fighter. It's quite unusual for a woman to be trained in the art of war."
"Thank you, sire. You will find that a woman can do anything a man can do, if she's willing to learn... and if the world allows her. My father was kind enough to go along with my desires on this matter. And now..."
You don't know how to finish your sentence. You are surprised yourself by your boldness and you lower your gaze, at a loss.
"And now you have won against the strongest man of the Realm."
You look up at once, unable to believe that Princess Rhaenys is speaking for you, to you.
"I've seen Daemon bested once or twice, but never quite in that fashion."
"Now, now, cousin. Daemon fought valiantly" the King states.
"That he did, Viserys. But there can only be one champion" replies Rhaenys, and it's the sweeter sentence you have ever heard.
"Do you want to reward your champion yourself, cousin?" asks the King, and you know by doing this he's dismissing your victory as inconsequential, but if Rhaenys says yes you won't care less.
"It will be my pleasure, Viserys."
She walks to the balustrade of the royal box and looks at you. "My brave Silver Birch Huntress, you may ask anything of me you desire. If it is within my power, it is yours."
"My princess, I ask the honor of a place by your side, if you would have me."
You can hear the crowd murmuring. "Bind my wrist with a single strand of your hair and my sword will be yours. I will keep you safe from all harm."
"I have never heard a men ask for such a bold and gallant reward" she says, a smirk playing on her lips. Then her fingers fly to her hair. "Done. Rise, young lady, and join me. I will grant your wishes."
"Your father will not be pleased" she murmurs as soon as you're next to her in the royal box.
"Let me worry about my father, princess."
"As you wish" she replies as she fastens three strands of her hair on your left wrist. "Welcome, then, to my house, my sweet champion."
She holds your hand for a moment and she places a small kiss on your cheek, leaving you speechless. "I swear that I shall ask no service of you that can bring you or your family disonour."
You look into her eyes as you answer: "I will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that, my princess. I am yours."