Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 39: The Preliminary Joust

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Third POV

The jousting grounds hummed with anticipation as the preliminary rounds began. Noble and smallfolk alike packed the stands, eyes wide with excitement, voices raised in cheers. 

Moments before, they had witnessed Ser Arthur Dayne's triumph over a Lannister knight, and now, two new contenders readied themselves to clash.

The herald stepped forward, his voice carrying over the crowd. 

"From the right, Ser Lyn Corbray of the Vale!" Cheers rose as Ser Lyn, his armor emblazoned with a raven clutching a heart, lifted a hand in acknowledgment. 

His gaze was focused and sharp.

"And from the left, Ser Galahad, representing House Lannister and the West!" Galahad rode in, his white armor and lion-engraved pauldrons shining in the midday sun. 

The crowd's cheers swelled, and cries of "Ser Axehead!" and "Ser Hawkeye!" echoed, celebrating his achievements in both archery and axe throwing.

Galahad guided his horse smoothly toward the stands, his gaze catching on a familiar princess seated with quiet dignity. "Would you grant me your favor, Princess Elia?" he called, his tone warm and playful.

Elia smiled as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the small gesture softening her expression. 

She held out a handkerchief she'd embroidered herself, a lion devouring a sun. "Here, Ser Galahad. I wish you good fortune," she said, letting the cloth fall into his waiting hand.

Galahad took it with a dramatic flair, inhaling its faint scent. The playful gesture sparked a blush on Elia's cheeks and a murmur among the crowd. 

"I'll bring honor to you, Princess," he said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear, before turning his horse back to the field. Elia's gaze lingered on him, her heart beating faster than she'd admit.

Beside her, Princess Nymeria raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, while Elia touched her chest, a warmth growing there—a feeling that had taken root ever since their dance at the feast.

On the field, Galahad secured the handkerchief around his wrist and accepted his lance from the herald. Across from him, Ser Lyn lifted his own lance in silent acknowledgment, his expression fierce.

The trumpet sounded, slicing through the crowd's murmurs, and in an instant, the knights charged. Hooves thundered against the earth as they closed the distance. 

The impact was thunderous—Galahad's lance shattered against Ser Lyn's shield, rocking his opponent back in the saddle. 

During this, Galahad had skillfully maneuvered his horse, just barely dodging Ser Lyn's lance. He was now up three points.

The crowd's applause swept over the field as the knights returned to their positions. Riding back, Galahad stole a quick glance at Elia, showing her the handkerchief with a hint of a smile.

Back at his mark, he steadied himself for the second pass. This time, he didn't evade. Urging his horse forward, he braced as Ser Lyn's lance crashed against his shield. 

Galahad didn't flinch, his body unshaken. In the same heartbeat, his own lance struck, hitting Ser Lyn square in the chest.

Ser Lyn was thrown from his saddle, crashing to the ground as the crowd collectively gasped, then erupted in cheers.

Galahad slowed his horse, his eyes finding Elia as he lifted the handkerchief in quiet acknowledgment. 

The crowd's cheers rang out, echoing through the grounds as Ser Lyn lay stunned, the match decided in Galahad's favor.

With the round finished and cheers still echoing, Galahad guided his stallion to the stands where Princess Elia awaited. 

He tilted his head up, voice steady but warm. "How did I do, Princess Elia?"

Elia leaned over the edge, her gaze soft and approving. "Quite well, Ser Galahad. I'm pleased with your performance."

Then, in a daring move that drew murmurs from the crowd, Galahad raised the visor of his helmet and smoothly rose to stand on the saddle of his horse. 

Balancing atop the powerful black stallion, he was eye-to-eye with her, their faces close enough for him to see the flicker of surprise in her expression.

"Here, Princess Elia, I'd like to return your handkerchief." He held it up with a charming smile, the glint in his eyes both bold and playful.

Elia's brows knit in mild confusion. "But… why?" she asked, worry seeping into her voice. Had she misstepped somehow?

He chuckled softly, the sound easing her concern. "In the next round, I hope you'll grant me the favor once more. Maybe each time, you could add a new detail—a touch of your scent, a mark of your artistry." He winked, his tone light with teasing warmth, extending the handkerchief toward her.

Elia's chuckle joined his, the tension lifting as she took it from him. "Very well, Ser Galahad. I'll make sure it's worthy of you." She said jokingly.

Galahad's smile deepened. "Then I'll see you at my next joust," he said, easing himself back down onto the saddle with graceful ease.

Elia waved her handkerchief in farewell, her eyes following him as he rode away, her thoughts already drifting to what she might add to her favor for his next match.

"What was that?" Elia had barely settled back into her seat when her mother's voice, curious and edged with a hint of amusement, cut through.

Princess Nymeria's gaze was fixed on her daughter, a faint smile at the corners of her lips, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"What was what?" Elia replied, feigning innocence, though her smile toward the handkerchief betrayed her.

"Giving your favor to Galahad and speaking to him like that, as if you were lovers," Nymeria said, her smirk growing. She had never seen her daughter so openly attached.

Her daughter seemed preoccupied lately. Elia had paid little attention to Nymeria's encouragement to get closer to Prince Rhaegar, but now she began to understand why her daughter was not trying her best to woo the prince.

Elia chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, it's nothing like that. We're just friends." She hummed softly, fiddling with the handkerchief.

But Nymeria's keen eyes narrowed as she studied her daughter's face, catching the soft glow there—the telltale sign of feelings Elia herself was likely trying to ignore or dismiss.

Nymeria's gaze lingered on Galahad as he rode off, his figure proud and unmistakably confident.

Though she, too, had been captivated by the young man's charisma and physique, her experience allowed her to rein in such feelings. 

Elia, however, was still young and inexperienced—her heart as open as the Dornish sands. It would not do well for rumors to spread, especially those that might cloud her daughter's reputation. Nymeria sighed, resolving to speak with Elia later.

…

Alicent POV

I stood in the large, sunlit room, my spine straight and hands folded neatly in front of me, striving to maintain the perfect posture.

My chin was lifted just so, my shoulders pulled back, while Lady Ellara Parren—a noblewoman from a fallen house whose elegance still shone despite her lost titles—circled me with a critical eye.

More than a decade ago, her family had fallen into debt, leading to the loss of their lands to another house. Most of her kin had perished, her father and brothers fighting bravely during the Reyne and Tarbeck rebellion.

Though she had lost much, Lady Ellara remained proud, determined to reclaim a sense of dignity. Now, she worked as an etiquette teacher for young ladies.

Recently, she had been hired by my mother to help me learn how to conduct myself like a true lady. 

This was part of Richard's plan for our ascent to nobility. As his future wife, I had to be strong and poised by his side.

"Keep your head high, child," Lady Ellara murmured, her voice soft but firm. "A noblewoman must always present herself with dignity."

It had been over an hour of practicing perfect posture. I had sat with grace, walked with elegance, and learned the proper ways to greet people, all while maintaining this demanding stance.

I swallowed, fighting the urge to shift my weight as my legs began to ache. My muscles strained against the unnatural stillness, but I resisted the temptation to slump.

I could almost hear Richard's encouraging voice in my mind, urging me on. This was for him.

"Do not let your gaze wander, Alicent," Lady Ellara chided, catching the flicker of a smile on my lips. "A noblewoman's eyes are her weapons. They should be steady and cool, like steel. Any hint of emotion can be exploited by others."

I blinked and quickly schooled my expression, allowing my face to become calm, almost detached.

"Your posture speaks before you do," Lady Ellara continued, moving to adjust my chin with a gentle touch.

"Remember that. No matter who stands before you, they must see only what you wish them to see. Even if your heart pounds with fear, grief, or love, you must show them poise. This is the foundation upon which noble houses are built."

"Yes, Lady Ellara," I replied, my voice steady, a quiet dignity woven into my tone.

Lady Ellara's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. "Good. Now, let us see you walk. A lady glides, Alicent, like a shadow moving through silk."

Taking a measured step, I began to move across the floor, each motion precise and controlled. I felt the ache building in my legs, the strain in my back, but I pushed through it.

After a while, Lady Ellara ended the lesson. The class was finally over.

"How did I do?" I asked her, my eyes wide with anxiety.

"Perfect, down to every last movement," she replied, her voice warm and encouraging.

A smile spread across my face, relief washing over me like a gentle tide.

"You said you wanted to learn dancing, right?" Ellara asked, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

"Yes! Two days ago, I danced with Richard, but my movements were awful. I want to learn to dance correctly." I recalled the evening fondly, but I had felt the burden of my inexperience. Richard had guided my movements, leading the rhythm, but I wanted to be better for him.

"Alright, next class will be on dancing," Ellara said, her smile brightening the room.

I couldn't contain my excitement. I jumped up and hugged her tightly. 

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, my heart racing with anticipation. Hopefully, I would learn quickly and be ready to ask Richard for another dance.