Sunspear, 287 AC

The whole city was in ferment, for the news had travelled fast, reaching every corner of Dorne. Trystane Martell, third child of Doran and his wife Mellario, was born safely. Another strong, lively boy to grace the ruling family of Dorne.

The birth was to be celebrated, and for the occasion Doran had announced that Sunspear would host a tourney such as Dorne had not seen in years. Jaime suspected that it had taken a lot of convincing, judging from the amount of time Prince Oberyn had spent with his brother. Many noble and smaller houses from all the corners of Dorne had come to greet the babe, and even lowborns did not want to miss the event. Many had travelled great distances, daring to cross the desert, while others had taken risky voyages by ship to reach Sunspear.

By now Jaime could recognize, if not all, most of the banners he saw in the streets of the city. He had lived in Dorne for years and learnt many things during his stay, the longing for Casterly Rock and Cersei's face only a distant memory after all the time spent apart. It had been so long, yet donning a full plate armour again brought back the memory, making him feel nostalgic.

His squire, Nymor Sand, was a lively lad of three and ten with swift hands and dornish coloring, and by now Jaime was used to him. The bastard son of a dornish knight, he had been his squire for the past years, a person Doran trusted, and more importantly a good squire. He worked in silence to help Jaime wear his armour, and this allowed the knight to let his mind wander.

It had been years since his last tourney, though he had never stopped training while he lived in Dorne, and it would be a lie to say he was not looking forward to prove himself again with a lance in hand. He had talked with Doran about it, asking to be allowed to fight, and knowing that the Prince would have objected at first.

It had taken long days of pressure, yet in the end Doran had agreed to let him take part in the tourney as a mistery knight. Jaime had accepted the deal, and now donned an armour that looked nothing like his golden plates. It was well forged, and strong, but still iron, and there were no golden lions to adorn the metal. Even his shield did not bear a coat of arms, but only plain crimson paint on steel. How ironic, red paint. Dornish sure have a sense of humour. It was one of the many things he had learnt about Dorne during his stay.

Before going out in the field with the other knights, Jaime wore his helmet, making sure that no one would see his face. He could not afford it, not now. Not after all Doran had done for him during that past years, keeping him safe and working in silence to restore the family's position.

During that day many knights jousted, nobles he had never seen before, and he was among them. He was pleased, though not surprised, to see that the lance was still an extension of his arm, as it had been years before. It was as if he was six and ten once more, bearing his sister's favour and fighting for her eyes in front of a cheering crowd.

Almost no opponent was as good as he was with a lance in hand, and he did not expect them to be. Jousts are a game. They do not like games, here in Dorne. From what he had learnt during his stay, Dornish liked to joke about many things, but rarely played when it came to war. For once in his life, Jaime wished he could joust against the White Bull, or Arthur Dayne once more. Dead. They are both dead. Jaime did not allow the thought to linger in his mind for too long.

Before he even knew it, he found himself to be one of the two last contenders. Oberyn Nymeros Martell sat on his black dornish steed at the other side of the field, his armour shining under the dornish sun, but Jaime did not hesitate. At the trumpet that marked the beginning of the last joust, he kicked his heels in his horse's flanks and charged, the lance familiarly heavy at his side.

As they charged towards each other, Jaime realized his opponent was aiming for the saddle to unhorse him with a single blow. A dirty trick. But not one I have not faced before. He raised his own weapon so that it was pointed to Oberyn's visor, forcing the Prince to move away in order not to get the hit on the helmet. That first charge was empty, and the crowd did not seem to approve it.

After that first charge, there were many others. Five lances were shattered against the breastplates, and a couple of times Jaime could not have said how he managed to keep himself steady on the saddle. Every time the fighters charged the crowd fell silent, holding its breath only to cheer when the opponents rode past each other.

At the sixth charge, the blow Jaime managed to deliver to the Prince's breastplate was not stronger than the ones before. Both lances shattered completely, pieces flying in every direction, and he tightened his knees on the saddle to keep himself on the horse.

He saw with the corner of his eye the Prince flung away from his mount, but for a moment he did not understand why. It took him a second glance at his opponent's horse to realize that the stirrup was no longer attached to the saddle, the buckle broken, and realized why the Dornish had fallen. No one in the crowd dared to laugh, and Jaime could swear that they were as surprised as he was to see their Prince unhorsed.

When Oberyn rose from the dust with the help of his squire, it was clear that the older man was angry. Yet, as Jaime looked at the place of honour that Doran occupied, he could have sworn that the eldest Prince had a smile on his features. I will not die poisoned tonight, Jaime thought, out of breath.

"My lord and ladies, it seems we have a winner." Doran rose with some effort from the chair, his wife Mellario helping him discreetly. Even now, at only forty years of age, the gout made it hard for the Prince to move sometimes, but it did not taint the respect his people had for him.

"His face! Show us his face!" Some voices rose in approval from the crowd, and for a moment Jaime felt nervous, but Doran shook his head, denying them the request.

"I fear I can't do that, my friends. If the knight chose to fight in disguise, I can't deny him that wish." Jaime was grateful for Doran's words, and bowed his head to the Prince in silent thanks. The metal of the helmet would have distorted his voice, he pondered, and he did doubt that someone could have recognized it anyway. He would be safe, as long as he kept his helmet.

"With Prince Doran's permission, and Prince Oberyn's too of course" He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd from behind the visor. There was silence, and it felt almost surreal. It ringed in Jaime's ears, but he did not stop. "I have no desire to keep this victory for myself." There was a murmur in the crowd as the people commented on his words, and Jaime waited until it was silent again. Doran nodded slightly, giving him permission to continue talking.

"I gift this victory to Elia, of House Martell. May she be safe, and come back home soon." This time, the murmur was stronger, even if Jaime could not quite grasp the words that were said. He felt nervous, wondering if he had gone too far, but after a moment of silence someone in the crowd began to chant.

"Elia! Elia!" Many voices followed, and Jaime bowed slightly before turning his horse and leaving the field. Apparently, he had managed to make them forget their desire to see his face, he pondered as he reached his tent once more. More importantly, he hoped that what he had done would make Elia happy. She deserves it.

Once he was back in his tent, he took his helmet off, and sighed of relief as his squire began to take the plates off as well. Jaime washed the sweat away from his brow with a damp cloth, and allowed himself a mouthful of sour dornish red from the flask. By now he was used to the taste. The adrenaline would keep him up for some hours more, but he could feel the tiredness seeping through his body.

Beneath her veil, disguised as one of Mellario's ladies in waiting, Elia covered her mouth and giggled.

Author notes:

First thing first - I am awfully sorry for the delay in this chapter. Real life, and sadly inspiration as well, came in the way of writing... hence the wait. I hope you will enjoy this chapter even so, and thank you for your support! Remember you are always encouraged to ask me questions if something is unclear, and I will try to explain myself!
Have a nice reading, and thank you for your patience!