JON II

It was a hot day at Casterly Rock. The sun shone mercilessly in the skies above, and Jon readied his lance, sweating underneath his tunic and armour.

After having weeded out the weaker contestants of the squire's jousting tournament, it was expected to conclude by the end of the day. A boringly short joust between Mychel Redfort and some nameless hedge knight's squire from the Reach had occurred before his own, and now, Jon was to joust against the winner.

Drawing against him was bad luck. Although Jon knew he couldn't win, he was determined to try his best.

Gripping the wooden lance beneath his arm, he heard the trumpet signify the beginning of a new match. He charged, and Mychel's lance struck true on his breastplate. His own lance shattered against his opponent's shield, lessening the impact on his armour, but it still took most of his willpower to stay on his horse.

He leaned forward on his horse, hastily adjusting his position again and sitting up straight. He knew he was going to be unhorsed, but if he leaned too far forward when he was eventually thrown, he did not want his face to land face first into his own horse's back hooves.

Another trumpet noise sounded for the second tilt. He spurred on his horse.

Again, his opponent's lance struck true, his horse faster than his own. Jon's heart almost leaped out of his chest; he could not hear anything but the roar of blood rushing through his ears and the crowd cheering as he was unhorsed.

Painfully, he got up into a sitting position, and was relieved to find his horse on the other end, patiently waiting with watchful eyes. Mychel Redfort offered him a hand up, and he gladly accepted. The crowd cheered once more, and he retreated into a tent to get his bruises checked by a maester.

After some smelly balms and salves, he insisted that he was fine to go watch the rest of the matches; he did not want to miss any with his brother in them. Although he was dismayed to find that he had already missed Artos' victorious joust against Patrek Vance, he was still able to watch the next few matches.

Domeric had won against Lord Jon Arryn's squire, a plain looking fellow called Hugh of the Vale; nobody was sure which house he'd come from, and Jon suspected his squiring might have just been a favour of some kind. Nevertheless, Domeric never failed to impress and defeated the squire in just one tilt.

Artos won two more matches before losing his fourth match of the day; Mychel Redfort won three more, and Domeric also won three more. In the finals, the young Redfort and the Bolton heir faced off against each other on opposite ends of the tiltyard.

Both were tense as they appraised each other's strengths and weaknesses. A loud trumpet bellowed, and their lightning fast horses charged. They clashed.

The crowd cheered, both their lances shattering upon impact. It was a spectacular sight, and Jon couldn't help but feel excited for the outcome of the match. It was said that Lord Tywin Lannister himself would knight the winner of the squire's tourney as a reward.

Tilt after tilt, the two squires fought like battle-hardened knights. On the fifth tilt, Mychel's lance smashed into Domeric's shield, slightly denting the flayed man on it. Domeric wobbled, but stayed on his horse.

The next tilt saw Domeric charge at full speed ahead, his lance piercing Mychel's breastplate before his lance could be aimed properly. Mychel was unhorsed quickly, and the crowd cheered once more for a good show.

The twins clapped politely, and finally, Tywin Lannister stood up from his seat on the podium and began to speak. Cheers and claps died down as the audience quietened.

"And so, the squire's tourney of Lannisport comes to an end. Congratulations to Lord Domeric of the House Bolton, the winner of the tourney. He shall be knighted by myself after the feast tonight. House Lannister also extends an invite to Lord Domeric to sit his vigil beneath the Godswood of Casterly Rock."

Domeric took off his helmet. "I happily accept, Lord Lannister. I thank you for your generous offer."

Lord Tywin nodded, satisfied, before exiting from the high podium, no doubt returning to prepare festivities.

After a Reach-styled feast with dishes of roasted meats decorated with the colours of summer, everyone watched as Lord Tywin knighted Domeric. There were some protests from the chief Septon of Casterly Rock, as Domeric followed the Old Gods, but Lord Tywin was no zealot and promptly ignored the man. It brought some satisfaction to the northern lords.

Jon looked closely, dreaming of a day when he would take Domeric's place, kneeling under some great knight who would knight him proudly with a big warm smile on his face; however, his daydreaming was interrupted when Lord Tywin began to speak.

"Today, we are here to witness the knighting of Lord Domeric of the House Bolton." Lord Tywin unsheathes his sword, a newly-forged ceremonial sword with not a stain of blood on it. It was a blade forged from a new discovery, a steel that rusted less readily than most steels; Jon looked at it in envy, wishing that he too, would have a sword like that.

Lord Tywin dipped the flat of the sword and placed it on Domeric's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." He switched to the left shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women… Rise, Ser Domeric of the House Bolton. Let all know your honour, and your chivalry."

The crowd roared. Lord Tywin sheathed his sword, and Domeric rose a Ser of the Dreadfort.

Jon clapped, and his brother did too, but he shared a quick look with Artos; while this was all but the end of the squire's tourney, Jon felt as if this was only the beginning.

Yes, yes, I know stainless steel wasn't invented in our world until like the 1900s. I needed a device to flaunt the Lannister's superior wealth and what kind of superior technology that wealth brought (except valyrian steel), so I figured an early precursor prototype of true stainless steel would fit.

I mean, in China, they found a sword coated with Chromium and the blade didn't really rust, and that was from a few thousand years ago, so I wouldn't discount this as impossible that Westerosi scientists found a way to manufacture something similar but less effective than stainless steel.

I also apologise for the very, very late update. It's not that I had writer's block (God forbid) but it was simply because I've been a mess for the past two weeks.

Thank you for reading, and if you can spare some time, a review would be most welcome.

-Aleucard