“Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard and Ser Arys Oakheart of Old Oak” the announcer shouted over the din of the audience as the two knights lined up either side of the jousting field.

The jousting portion of the tourney was coming to an end and over the two days of competition, I had become familiar with the competitors. Lord Jason Mallister appeared dressed in his plate armour which was decorated by cuts and scratches from previous tourneys. He wore his characteristic indigo cloak over his back complete with the coat of arms of his house. The silver eagle appearing fierce on his back mirroring the disposition of its lord. Mallister was a renowned tourney knight having found success on multiple previous occasions and was considered one of the favourites for this competition. On the other hand, his challenger Ser Arys Oakheart was a new face on the scene and had suitably impressed King’s Landing with his performances so far. His gleaming plate armour reflecting brightly in the midday sun underneath his golden surcoat. The three oak leaves emblazoned on the front demonstrating the house he belonged to. Ser Oakheart’s flowing brown hair, handsome visage and courteous manners easily won the support of the audience. Their shouts of encouragement ringing around the tourney grounds.

A silence came over the crowd as both knights hefted their equipment. Their lances pointed directly at each other as if to spear through their opposition. The tension felt palpable and was only cut through by the cry of joust from the announcer. Immediately, both horses took off at a blistering pace, the entire force of man and beast balanced on the tip of their lances. As quickly as it started, the reverberations of the collision passed through me as the joust came to an end. Lord Mallister had aimed to strike at his oppositions chest but a well-placed shield had blocked his lunge. Ser Arys on the other hand had connected cleanly with his opponent, ejecting him from his horse. His plate armour dented inwards where the strike had landed, Mallister laid spread eagle on the ground. The announcer took this as his cue and shouted out the victor’s name which generated a roar from the audience. Ser Arys savoured the moment by removing his helmet and thanking the crowd graciously. In a show of chivalry, that went down well with the audience, he proceeded to cross the list and provide aid to his fallen competitor.

“Wonderful isn’t it? The small folk do so truly love an honourable champion.” A sickly-sweet voice sounds from behind me.

“Or the illusion of one, at least.” I say, staring absentmindedly as the next two combatants enter the jousting field.

In the corner of my eye, I witness a plump figure in colourful silks come to a stop next to me, identifying the earlier voice as belonging to Varys. A pensive look emblazoned across his face. The eunuch moves to open his mouth, only to be interrupted by the announcer.

“Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone and Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard” the resulting cry from the crowd almost deafening, still clearly excited from the last bout.

The famed bronze armour of Lord Royce glistens in the sun demonstrating fully the esoteric runes that are all over it. The history of this armour is unclear but rumours from the small folk speak of it being ancient and passed down through House Royce for generations. A bannerman of the Vale and respected tourney knight he stands strongly upon his white horse prepared for battle. The contrast between his bronze armour and the white Kingsguard uniform worn by Ser Jaime is stark and speaks of the differences in their character. A well-built individual with grey hair, beard and bushy eyebrows, Lord Royce presents the image of a stoic elderly aristocrat. Ser Jaime appears every inch a knight from fantasy, complete with long golden locks and verdant green eyes. A handsome visage and piercing smile, I hazard a guess that if judging on first look it would be hard to find someone more suited to the epithet of knight. The irony being that the title he is more commonly referred to as Kingslayer suggests the exact opposite.

“You don’t seem to trust in honour” Varys begins content that the noise has begun to die down with the start of the joust looming.

“It isn’t so much that I disprove of honour, as I disagree with the criteria its judged on,” a knowing smile playing on my lips.

Varys observed my face deeply as if searching for clues.

“Allow me to explain further, take the lion as an example,” indicating with my head towards the golden-haired knight “Despised by the small folk for killing a king who himself they despised, while I don’t ascribe to the notion of two wrongs equalling a right, it does seem slightly unjust.”

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“Aerys was his king and he was sworn to protect him” A dull emotionless voice sounding out from the Eunuch for the first time.

“What of the people Aerys burnt alive, who was sworn to protect them.” I snarl back at him, recognising I’ve allowed myself to get too heated, I rein myself back in and continue “The position of king is a heavy one, burdened with vast responsibilities. Like an infection, an inept king will corrode the body, till nothing is left. Better to remove an arm than to be left with a corpse.”

As if in agreement, a powerful cheer rises up from the audience, drawing my vision back to the joust. Jaime appeared regal upon his horse, looking down at the unseated bronze lord. Unlike our previous champion, the lion makes no move to aid his fallen competitor, simply staring down at him impassively. Drinking in the audience’s adulation, the golden knight returns to his starting corner prepared for the final.

“Chaos would reign if oaths and kings could be so easily discarded,” the same vacant stare looking back at me.

“Lord Varys, do you know what the biggest threat we face is on the isles?” Knowing full well the general lack of information on my people.

“My little birds cannot fly that far but history would suggest slavers,” the flattering voice having returned in full.

“Slavers, pirates and other miscreants bought in by the waves like refuse. In time gone by, we were helpless to stop them, and my people suffered for it. It took a princess who had undergone hardship herself to end our years of shame. A promise was made in that era to never slacken, and to this day that oath is held across our society. I’ve seen the iron throne and I agree; a king should never sit comfortably. Security breeds weakness and a time will come when that weakness will be exploited.” I declare, staring intently into his eyes in an attempt to transmit my sincerity.

“Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard and Ser Arys Oakheart of Old Oak.” The announcers voice pierces through the solemn atmosphere followed by the roar of the crowd.

The two combatants’ eye each other menacingly as the tension ramps up. Each acutely aware that the person in front of them is the last obstacle on their journey. The fighters begin making minor adjustments to their stance in an attempt to triumph over their opposition, the battle having already begun in their heads. The start signal sends both combatants flying forward as the crowd eagerly anticipates the collision. The crowd would be disappointed though, as the fighters were able to block the others attack and continue along the joust field. Reforming their position on either side of the field, they both turn around to face each other once again. The expression on the face of either fighter betraying that Ser Arys came off worse and was lucky to have survived the previous joust. As soon as both knights were ready the call for joust sounds again and I notice a grim determination on the face off the beaten knight. This time the impact is far greater than the previous one with Arys having put everything behind his lunge and even risked taking a serious hit from his opponent. A narrow dodge allowed him to escape the opposing weapon and drive his lance powerfully into the midriff of Jaime. Jaime appeared more surprised to find himself on the floor than hurt and took a moment to regain his bearings. In line with his character, Arys alighted from his horse to aid his fallen competition, only for Jaime to get up singlehandedly without recognising his efforts.

The next few moments took the entire crowd and me by surprise as King Robert who had been enjoying the tourney spectacularly called the young knight up to his podium. After greetings were shared, in commemoration of the birth of his daughter the King offered Ser Arys a position in his Kingsguard. Generating a collective sound of awe across the audience and informing me of how important the opportunity was. Ser Arys accepted immediately and repeated his oaths after Ser Barristan Selmy, hence being sworn in as a member of the Kingsguard. The oaths were extensive and binding, and I couldn’t help but think about how they would never be considered an honour in the isles. Especially the caveat of maintaining chastity and never fathering any children. The blind loyalty demanded by the King would also have raised alarm. The most similar organisation on the isles would be the sea guard but they defend the town as opposed to serving House Osei. An important distinction as they would refuse any order to attack another town or village and also wouldn’t be expected to go against their own morals. The crowd sang his praises as the white cloak was draped over his shoulder and I could tell the knight was almost overcome with emotion.

“Do you ever get used to it?” I inquire, indicating towards the ceremony.

“If you would take some advice from this humble servant. There is nothing to get used to. Beneath the tunics, silks and plate armour; men hide the same secrets and are plagued by the same desires.” a profound look crossing his face and giving me the first indication of the depths that hide behind the harmless exterior.

“You paint an optimistic picture” a mirthful smile playing upon my lips.

“When you serve the realm, there is no room for optimism” The Eunuch says, as he turns around and disappears into the crowd.

The jousts finally over I pay my respects to the King and am reminded about the feast occurring later tonight. After giving my assurances that I would be attending, I set off on the road back to our inn. A familiar figure taking his position at my back, hesitation present in his movements.

“That man is dangerous,” Jahi whispers, after taking a moment.

“Yes, he is” I reply

“You shouldn’t trust him”

“I don’t trust anyone”