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Chapter 43: Prelude to the Joust

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Tywin Lannister POV

In my private box, I gazed down at the melee ground, eyes fixed on Galahad, who stood with his swords poised at Ser Arthur Dayne's throat.

The crowd's roar surged, echoing the thrill and admiration shared by all who had watched the fierce, beautiful duel.

Moments before, Galahad and Arthur Dayne in their melee seemed evenly matched. Both had moved with a speed and elegance that bordered on artistry, each strike and block a testament to their skill. 

They fought as if born to wield twin blades, mirroring one another's movements in a rapid, unbroken rhythm that had carried on for well over ten minutes.

When Galahad found himself backed up against the fence, I was almost ready to accept his defeat, sighing as I assumed his youth and inexperience had finally betrayed him. 

But then, with a sudden, shocking move, he delivered a powerful kick to Dayne's chestplate. 

The Sword of the Morning was sent sprawling to the ground, and before I could even process the shift, Galahad's blade hovered over his fallen opponent's throat. 

With that he had bested Ser Arthur Dayne.

After Arthur Dayne's defeat, I thought his elimination was certain. But then the herald's voice rang out, announcing the finalists, revealing that Dayne, too, had made it through by some twist of fate.

I allowed myself a rare smile. Not only had Galahad demonstrated the strength of the Westerlands, but my own blood, Gerion and Tygett, had joined him among the finalists. 

With three representing House Lannister and standing among the final seven, our family would soon be spoken of across the realm as the house of the most skilled knights.

My wife, son, and daughter joined the crowd in applause, their faces bright with joy. My son's eyes sparkled with excitement, and my daughter clapped eagerly, sharing in the thrill of the melee's outcome. 

I joined them, letting my own hands add to the thunderous approval that swept through the crowd.

Beside me, Joanna leaned in, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked at me with love and admiration. 

"You made the right decision, my love," she said. Weeks ago, she had been doubtful when I'd spoken of knighting Galahad, questioning his worthiness and skill. 

Now, with his victory over the Sword of the Morning so fresh, she could see the wisdom in my choice.

"I have an eye for talent," I replied, a hint of pride coloring my words. Joanna chuckled softly, her hand resting lightly on mine in the warmth of our shared triumph.

But as I turned, I noticed Prince Rhaegar sitting nearby, his expression frozen, caught in a moment of shock. Joanna let go of my hand, giving me a subtle nod to speak with him.

"So, how did you like this round of the melee?" I asked him sincerely, measuring his reaction.

For a moment, the Prince seemed lost, his gaze distant. Then, as though waking from a trance, he shook himself. "It was beautiful," he murmured. "The most intense melee duel I've ever seen." There was a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes—admiration, perhaps.

"I presume you enjoyed it, then?" I asked, a small smirk on my lips.

"Yes," he nodded, his gaze returning to the field. After a brief silence, he glanced back at me, a question hanging in his eyes. "Lord Tywin, may I tell you something?"

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Of course."

He hesitated only a moment before speaking. "You may have noticed… the other lords have been trying to recruit Galahad."

His words struck me cold. I hadn't been aware of this. Too focused on the melee itself, I'd neglected to keep tabs on Galahad's movements beyond the field. 

"Who has approached him, and what have they offered?" I asked, keeping my voice steady but sharp.

Prince Rhaegar smirked, clearly relishing the revelation. "Mace Tyrell, Hoster Tully, and Steffon Baratheon, to name a few."

I clenched my hands. Mace, Hoster, and Steffon—the very same lords I had spoken with last afternoon, all smiles and casual pleasantries. Little had I suspected that, even as they sat at my table, they were eyeing Galahad for themselves.

"Thank you for telling me, Prince Rhaegar," I replied, my tone genuine.

"It's my pleasure," he said, smiling.

As the conversation ended, a single, undeniable thought filled my mind—I could not afford to let Galahad slip away. 

His potential was clear, but now, after his victory over Arthur Dayne, it was beyond question. He was already guaranteed to become a legend for this feat, and if he won the final melee, his fame would be unparalleled.

Losing him to another house would be more than an embarrassment; it would be a failure of my foresight, a failure of my house's legacy. 

I would not be the lord who let the greatest knight of his time be claimed by another.

I looked down to the field, my gaze fixed on Galahad. An offer would have to be made, something substantial and binding, a promise of loyalty secured by oath and ink.

…

Cersei Lannister POV

After the melee, I sat in a tent, stitching carefully on the handkerchief in my lap. The tent was the same dull place I once despised two days ago, but now I had learned to tolerate it. 

Across from me sat Catelyn Tully, humming quietly as she worked, her red hair falling over her shoulder. It surprised me how quickly things had changed between us. 

Only two days ago, I'd considered her my enemy. I had hated her for the smallest things—the way she spoke, how she looked at me, how she dared to judge and correct me. 

But then I remembered Galahad's words. He'd told me she wasn't my enemy, that I ought to be kind to her, to befriend her. 

He'd said it with a soft smile, one that made it feel more like a choice than an order, and even gave me a cake as a reward.

And because of that, it had been quite easy befriending Catelyn.

"Septa, I've finished my handkerchief," I said, lifting it for her to see. "May I go see my uncles?"

The handkerchief bore the image of Lancelot, Galahad's dark stallion, stitched with as much care as I could muster.

The Septa took it, her face showing a hint of surprise as she examined the detail. "Good, good. Well done, Lady Cersei. Yes, you may go."

A smile crept onto my face as I stood, pleased with my own progress. 

"I'm finished too!" Catelyn said cheerfully, holding up a delicate headpiece she'd been working on since the start of the tourney. 

It was impressive, far more intricate than my hankerchief, it was what I'd expected from her. She looked from the Septa to me, her expression open and hopeful. "May I go with Cersei?"

She smiled at me, sincere and unguarded, and I found myself smiling back.

After leaving the sewing class, Catelyn and I wove through the lively tourney grounds, our two Lannister and two Tully guards trailing behind. 

I was eager to see Galahad, though I'd told the septa I was looking for my uncles—a claim that seemed to sway her, perhaps because she seemed to be wary of them.

When we arrived at the stables, there was Galahad, standing with Lancelot, his dark, proud stallion. 

Once, he'd belonged to my Uncle Tygett, but Galahad had won him in a bet. I'd ridden with Galahad on Lancelot's back a few times, and I felt a familiar excitement seeing the horse's powerful frame again.

"Hello, Lady Cersei, Lady Catelyn," Galahad greeted us, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "What brings you two here?"

"We finished our sewing and were wondering if we could ride Lancelot," I replied, letting a mischievous note slip into my voice.

I walked over to Lancelot, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He neighed softly, leaning his head down to me, his dark mane falling over my hand as I scratched between his ears.

But Galahad sighed. "I'm sorry to say, but I can't have Lancelot exhausted before the joust."

My face fell, disappointment settling over me as I dropped my hand. Noticing my reaction, Galahad placed a comforting hand on my head, his eyes warm with understanding.

"But another horse will suffice, right?" he said with a smile. He let out a sharp whistle, and moments later, the sound of hooves approached. A magnificent white mare appeared, her coat like snow, her steps graceful as she neared us.

"This is Guinevere," Galahad introduced her. "She was a gift from Mace Tyrell."

He pressed his forehead gently against Guinevere's, whispering something to her in a soft tone, as though she could truly understand.

"Wow! She's beautiful—can I touch her?" Catelyn asked, her usual shyness disappearing as she reached out toward the mare.

"Of course," Galahad replied, guiding her hand to Guinevere's muzzle.

I crossed my arms with a little "hmph." Catelyn adored pretty things, while I preferred something with more spirit and strength. 

I turned back to Lancelot, running my fingers through his mane again.

"You're better than Guinevere—you're much stronger and faster," I whispered with a chuckle. Lancelot seemed to agree, letting out a pleased snort.

In the end, Galahad helped us mount Guinevere, and we rode around the grounds together. 

…

Note: Hope y'all like the plot development. Next chapter will be pure jousting.