(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Sansa III

The dirt rose up behind the charging horses, like smoke, as the old white knight and young black knight rode to engage one another. She had nearly been unable to watch as both lances struck each other, shattering their tips into splinters. Both knights rode past each other, as the broken fragments of their lances harmlessly bounced off their armors, and ecranches. When they reached the opposite ends of the tilt, Sansa saw them lift their visors, revealing a pair of dumbfounded looks underneath. The knights looked at each other, and smiled, bowing their heads slightly. The crowd fell silent, and she heard the sharp intake of breath, before the people in stands began cheering, herself included. She turned towards the Lady Azula, who held a soft clap, and a straight face. The King was all smiles, while the Queen maintained her stoic regal demeanor. Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard whispered something into the King's ear, who waved him off, before departing from the stands. 'Likely to prepare for the next bout?' she thought. As Ser Steffon lingered at his end of the tilt, Ser Theon rushed up and brought the young knight a replacement for his destroyed weapon. The heir to the Iron Islands had a head of cropped black hair and wore rough black gloves, heavy black leather boots, loose black pants fastened by a black leather belt, and a dark gray undershirt covered by a black and gold vest. The only hint of his Greyjoy heritage was the small golden Kraken pinned to his right breast. While the young knights engaged in a brief conversation amongst themselves, Sansa saw her little brother, Bran, run out towards the center of the tilt to retrieve the larger remains of Ser Steffon's shattered lance.

"Gods! Now that is jousting! Have another go!" Bellowed the King, as he clapped loudly, over the roar of the crowd. Her father remained silent, smiling as he looked towards an excited Bran, who was dutifully recovering the lance debris. A guarded expression overcame him as he shifted his gaze towards the King's nephew, who spoke with Ser Theon. In this brief intermission, Sansa glanced to where Lord Lannister's Tyrell ward, Ser Loras 'the Blood Rose,' stood, and caught sight of Ser Jaime approaching him. The imposing, yet handsome, Tyrell knight had his arms crossed and seemed to be casting a baleful sneer towards Ser Steffon. As Ser Jaime approached, the Tyrell ward turned back to face him, with dead eyes and a slight bow. Ser Jaime muttered something, as Sansa saw his lips moving before he led Ser Loras out of sight. 'The Blood Rose' cast one last look towards Ser Steffon, before disappearing behind the stands with Ser Jaime and his Lannister guard. Sansa had not known how Ser Loras had earned his moniker, only that it involved Ser Gregor, who knighted him, and some brigands in the Westerlands. After Ser Jaime and Ser Loras secreted themselves away, she saw her little brother finish gathering the large wooden fragments, and rush back towards Sers Steffon and Theon. The young knights and squire exchanged a few words before Ser Theon and Bran retreated back to their area near the stands. Ser Steffon lowered his visor and maneuvered his mount into position, with Ser Barristan following suit on his end of the tilt. A trumpet sounded, causing the horses to charge, while King Robert bellowed, "About bloody time! Unhorse him, nephew!"

The world fell away, and all she could hear was the thundering of hooves beating against the ground. She saw the knights growing closer, and the crowd seemed to grow silent. Her father held his chin in contemplation as he observed the lances of the rival knights connect with each other's shields, over the tilt, in a momentous crash. Both knights remained on their mounts, shaken but not defeated, as they rode past each other towards opposite ends. Once again, Sansa saw her little brother race towards the site of the clash, busily removing the remains of Ser Steffon's shattered lance, assisted by Ser Barristan's own runner. The crowd roared, with the King being loudest of all. Lady Azula gave off a soft clap, her face still stern and serious. The Queen, however, had been glaring at both mother and son, wringing a scented cloth in her clenched hands. Sansa could not understand why the Queen reacted as such, and it confused her. 'She should be happy, her husband's own kin was achieving glory,' she thought. She looked over to where Ser Theon was as he hefted up another lance to replace Ser Steffon's uselessly broken one. Her brother, Bran, having quickly returned to Ser Steffon's side after clearing the debris, took hold of Ser Steffon's broken lance. The young Baratheon knight, visor raised, moved to reach for the spare before Ser Theon grasped his shoulder and lowered him down to whisper something only the three of them, her brother included, could hear. After a few moments, Ser Theon released his grip on the fresh lance, and slapped Ser Steffon on the shoulder, causing the three to laugh heartily. "Come! Let's have another!" thundered the King, "Show him what's what nephew!" Ser Theon and her brother backed away from Ser Steffon, as he shut his visor closed, and readied his mount. Before the horn sounded, she saw Sers Jaime and Loras return back towards the edge of the stands, focusing on the match between Ser Steffon and Ser Barristan. The horn trumpeted, and the horses set off for a third time, carrying the past and future of knightly chivalry, embodied by the young Ser Steffon and the elder Ser Barristan. As they clashed, their lances shattering against their jousting shields, she saw Ser Barristan wobble slightly, causing the crowd to gasp, before he regained his bearings and returned to form. At the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Ser Jaime grinning, and stroking his chin, looking towards Ser Steffon. Ser Loras frowned and pounded a closed fist over the wooden barrier separating the stands and the jousting area.

After the third pass, her little brother once again rushed out towards the center of the tilt yard to recover the splintered remnants of Ser Steffon's lance, aided by Ser Barristan's runner. Ser Barristan sat atop his mount and surrendered his broken weapon to his nearby lance handler. Ser Barristan the Bold spared a moment to rotate his shoulder several times before calling for a fresh lance replacement. Several within the crowd saw this and began to mutter amongst themselves. "He appears to be injured," she whispered to her father.

"That he does. A sprain, perhaps?" her father replied, eyeing the old knight. Ser Barristan held off on the spare lance, as his gaze appeared fixed over to the opposite end of the tilt yard. The gathered spectators began to stir as they saw Ser Steffon trotting down along the tilt without his lance. Sansa and her father both looked to the young knight as he approached the center with Ser Barristan closing in from the opposite side. As the two met in the center, they lifted their visors and seemed to exchange a few words with each other. After a few moments, they shook hands, closed their visors, and returned to their areas on opposite ends of the tilt, where they readied their mounts and lances. At the sound of the horns trumpet, they set forth, gracefully lowering their lances, and preparing to strike.

"You have him, nephew! Knock him on his arse!" the King shouted, as knights drew nearer to each other.

With a loud 'crash' the lances shattered, a body fell, and an air of disappointment settled over the crowd. Ser Steffon's lance had crumpled against Ser Barristan's shield, while Ser Barristan's lance struck true, smashing off center, between Ser Steffon's pauldron and chestplate, near the besagew. The heir of Dragonstone was thrown off his horse, casting up a small plume of dirt, as he crashed onto the ground. While the dust settled, she looked towards the Queen and saw a confused look painted over her face. When Sansa followed the Queen's eyes, she saw the object of her confusion. There, standing tall and proud, was the beaming Lady Azula, clapping her hands feverishly, along with the rest of those in attendance. As Ser Steffon rose, she caught sight of Ser Barristan rounding back towards the fallen knight. A brief pause ensued while Ser Steffon removed his helm, revealing a beautiful dirt covered face glistening with sweat, and beaming a devilishly handsome smile. As the Lord Commander closed around Ser Steffon, atop his horse, he lowered his hand. The heir of Dragonstone took the hand offered and shook it with fervor. "Ser Barristan the Bold!" he announced, exchanging looks with the crowd, his mother in particular, and the knight in question. "You have offered me a great and honorable match. You have my gratitude," the Silver-tongue said, placing his right arm beneath his chest and bowing at the last. The throng of onlookers began increasing in excitement, thundering louder than before, with chants of 'Steffon Silver-tongue,' and 'Barristan the Bold,' hollered in equal measure.

"Ser Steffon Silver-tongue!" the king boomed, silencing the crowd, and drawing the full attention of the two knights, both of whom had bowed in respect before being addressed. She saw his grace observe the crowd, and his nephew, drawing out an uncomfortable silence. After what seemed like an eternity, he roared in laughter and declared, "That was a bloody good match! Could have used a little more jousting instead of chatting before the start of the last pass," he winked to the crowd, who laughed. "Ser Barristan, you have presented yourself well and acted as all knights should. You have defeated my nephew but have shown him courtesy and honor. However, he is young yet, and a Baratheon's fury boils inside him," the king looked towards Ser Steffon, pride sparkling in his eyes. "I am sure he will see you unhorsed at the next tourney." A small part of her had wished Ser Steffon to emerge victorious in this competition, and yet another part of her wished his defeat, if only because she knew her betrothed disliked him. She saw Ser Barristan remove his helm, and hold it off to his side.

"Of that, I have no doubt, your Grace," the old knight smiled, casting a brief look towards Ser Steffon, who held out the reins of his horse towards Ser Barristan.

'The ransom for Ser Steffon's defeat,' she thought.

"Ser Barristan, if you accept my nephew's horse as ransom, then name your price, and I will buy it back," the king commanded.

"No need, your Grace. Knowing your nephew is an honorable knight, is ransom enough," Ser Barristan declared, politely declining the reins Ser Steffon presented.

"Thank you, Ser Barristan," the young knight replied, as he patted the large gray horse's neck "I would have found it somewhat difficult to part with Iroh. He is a stubborn old stallion, and I have no doubt he would have given you some difficulty had you claimed him."

"Then he and I share that in common!" Ser Barristan declared, causing the King, and the crowd, to enter into a fit of laughter. She briefly wondered if her ears had deceived her, as she could have sworn hearing a chuckle escape her father's lips.

"Go on, you two!" the king bellowed, between tears of slowly receding laughter. "Something tells me the rest of these matches will not be exciting as this one was."

The two knights bowed and went back to their tents. Sansa saw Ser Theon and her little brother, waiting eagerly outside the Steffon's jouster tent. As he approached, Ser Theon smacked the younger knight across the shoulder, before placing a friendly arm around Ser Steffon's neck, and gesturing wildly with his free hand, as they walked into the tent. The black haired Baratheon relinquished his helm to Bran, and together, all three disappeared from view. Off to the side, she noticed Sers Loras and Jaime, looking on in curiosity.