Willem Samelson

"What do you plan to do?" Arya asked.

"Well, my squire's squire, I plan to get hit nearly once per match and win," I returned.

I glanced down at Arya as she rode beside me. Her almond eyes stared at me in disbelief. Fair response.

"That's stupid," Arya commented.

I shrugged, "Yes, but necessary."

"It can't possibly be necessary."

I instantly regretted allowing her to become my squire's squire for the day. I had no interest in someone contradicting me every moment of the day.

"With comments like these, you are giving credence to my reasoning for not taking a wife," I pointed out.

"Well, when you die today, then I hope you are happy you have no heir."

Truly regretting this decision. I began the arduous process of ignoring Arya and focusing on my own plans. When I faced someone tied to the Lannisters, I wanted to see if Eddard was right – if there was a metal tip concealed in a lance. The only way I could conceivably do so would be to get hit, preferably in the shoulder or some other non-life threatening location. I trusted my horse to take care of me although I would have felt significantly better with Chimera.

My first draw was some Frey, who wasn't much of a match. My second was not committed to the Lannisters either, nor the third. I quickly saw my plans being dashed; however, there were some ways to keep things interesting.

The Tyrell boy has most women eating from his hand, which felt like a challenge to me. Instantly, I began to consider my options to draw attention to myself. I did not want to pass out roses like this boy, who, despite his words, did not seem genuine in his tone or mannerisms. Not that the women noticed, including a particularly beautiful girl with auburn hair and a bright smile.

"Can you not see through that?" I asked aloud.

"It should not be so difficult." The comment came from behind me.

I glanced behind me to see the Kingslayer. With a raised eyebrow, I agreed, "No, it shouldn't."

"You're the Samelson boy."

Instantly, I picked my shoulders up, my ears prickling, but something in his voice told me he was waiting for that.

"Well, I am a shade younger than you. Hope your back does not hurt too much jumping into the saddle."

The Kingslayer gave a begrudging chuckle, "If we face each other, you shall see how I hold up."

I nodded with a slight smile but said nothing else. Instead, I turned away to find out whom I was to face next.

"I hope my jest did not irritate you too greatly," he said with a sly grin.

"Not at all. Excuse me, I have to go beat one of your cousins."

I let my opponent's lance crush upon the armor covering my shoulder. I had partially blocked it with my shield, so nothing came from it except slight soreness. At the next pass, I unhorsed the boy. My next Lannister opponent again proved me overly suspicious as I found his lance concealed nothing.

When I drew Loras Tyrell in the last tilt of the day, I smiled. He would be my first true challenge. Striding along the rails, I had started to win some favor from the crowd with my overly enthusiastic victory cries and my new commitment to passing in front of them, raising my hand to draw supportive cheers.

This was my test. I took a pass in front of those gathered, catching Sansa's sparkling eyes as I galloped by, eliciting a smile from her. Finally moving into place, I rotated my shoulder, attempting to find the least painful position, and readied my lance. Situating the shield, I waited for the Tyrell boy to get ready and then we were off.

I urged my horse with more speed, hoping he could muster it after a full day, but it did little good as Tyrell and I hit the other's shield. I jolted back, but my horse danced to steady me.

Back at the starting point, Arya looked up at me, "I thought you were good at this. You nearly fell."

"That's it! Tomorrow, you are staying home. You are a terrible squire." Arya looked ready to speak, but I silenced her, "Not another word."

Shutting her and everyone else out, I looked back Tyrell. My shoulder was feeling stiffer from that, and I desperately needed a night's rest before taking another hit. Focus.

I urged my horse forward at his fastest gallop and shifted my shield lower, keeping my eyes steadily on Tyrell. Leaving myself more open was a risk; it would be easier to take a lance to the eye, but I knew this boy would not play a game like that. So, I gambled, and the extra few moments of sight allowed me to land the blow perfectly, knocking Tyrell flat on his ass.

The roar of the crowd greeted my ears. I glanced back to ensure the boy was moving before pulling off my helmet and yelling out in victory. Gods, winning was intoxicating, more so than any drink I'd ever tasted. And more than that, the people, hearing them cheer my name and roar in approval, that was the best, but there was one person not smiling as widely as most.

"I fear I've offended you, my lady," I called over the noise.

Sansa reddened, "Not at all, my lord. You were excellent."

"I see I've beaten your favorite. I hope you will allow me to accompany you to the castle, apologize profusely and I hope, see you smile again."

At this, Sansa's lips began to curl, but she quickly held back her grin. "Yes, you may."

"Have you enjoyed the tournament so far?" I asked as we made our way back to the castle.

"It was fascinating."

I smiled at her. Sansa blushed and turned her head slightly, which only made me smile more. "Interesting choice of words but probably most appropriate."

"My lord?"

"It's a game," I explained, "This is all a game and yet it can also be life or death. A boy died today for sport. We all know that is a possibility when we enter, so it is fascinating."

"You were hit twice. It looked as though you expected it."

I would need to change that, but rather than own to it, I smiled my most charming smile, "You watched me so closely? Do I fascinate you as well?"

I now turned the poor girl into a tomato, red all over in embarrassment, but she was also suppressing a smile.

"I suppose we are even now. You watched me closely enough to know my secrets, and I watched you well enough to know that Loras Tyrell was your choice for champion."

Sansa tried to divert the subject, "What possible reason could you have to allow yourself to be hit?"

"What possible reason could you have for choosing Loras Tyrell over me?"

That got the laughter and smile I had been waiting for.

I shook my head, unable to fight off a matching grin, "Well, perhaps he shall be at supper tonight, and you can share words."

I dismounted and went to help Sansa. She acceded and with her safely standing, I replied, "It has been an honor, my lady. I will be at supper shortly, and I shall find the Tyrell boy for you."

Sansa laughed lightly, her eyes darting from side to side as a thought played out in her mind. When I turned to leave, she added quickly, "Perhaps you could be champion tomorrow in his place..."

"You would not be too displeased?"

Sansa merely shook her head and with that, I took my leave. I wanted to see my horse to the stables and pay one of the boys to take extra care of him. He'd done well today and deserved extra food. I hardly took five steps before Arya appeared like some miniature demon.

"Gods! You move quietly!" I exclaimed.

"Syrio, my—dance instructor—taught me to do so."

"Well, tell him he has succeeded admirably."

"Why did you want to ride all that way with Sansa? She's so boring."

"Because my squire's squire drove me to insanity," I returned. "Come, we're going to the stables."

"Why?"

"Because, Arya, what I understand and most other men fail to understand is that when you fight on horseback, you are a team. You have to treat your partner well, which I do, and this is why I shall win tomorrow."

"Not if you keep getting hit."

I reached instinctively to my shoulder. Waves of pain shot through my body at my touch. With a cough to cover my grimace, I replied, "Even if I get hit."

"Did you see the Hound and his brother? If they hit you, you'll be unhorsed in a second. Maybe even dead."

"Where the hell is my true squire!" I demanded aloud.

"Here, sire, can I take your horse?"

"No, I'll see to that. Can you take the other creature?"

He looked puzzled until I pointed to Arya, adding, "Just away, somewhere."

"What of your armor, milord?"

"I can take care of it."

I trusted my squire with my life, but there were too many spies here and I felt even one more person seeing the state of my shoulder would be too much.

It was a struggle to remove all my armor without help, especially as I lifted it from my chest. Clenching my teeth as tightly as I could, I then pulled off my shirt. I could see the black and blue colors spreading. My shoulder was swollen, stinging at any motion. As much as I wanted to call upon the Maester for salve, it was not worth the remaining competitors knowing I was hurt. I put ice on it, trying to cool the heat.

Part of me wanted to rest and miss supper. It had been a long day in the heat, but that was too unlike me. Gingerly, I put clothes back on and faced myself in the mirror. My brown hair sat messily, but my eyes gave away the most of my exhaustion, brown and dead. I dipped my face in water, trying to wake myself up, and shook my head. I'd need several drinks to dull the pain in my arm, but that waited downstairs. Now, all I could do was smile and pretend to move with ease.

I strode from table to table, eating and drinking with my men and the people I had met. The food kept appearing and the drinks never stopped, which put everyone in a good mood. I acted more intoxicated than I truly was. The atmosphere inspired it, but I had to prepare for tomorrow.

I noticed Sansa standing to leave; Eddard was missing as well. Hardly anyone remained at the high tables, and with so few to speak to, the crowned prince rose and found himself at the table I occupied with some of the other competitors.

"You joust well," he commented to me.

"Thank you. We shall see how well tomorrow."

"I think you will be at a disadvantage against our men."

"What is life without a challenge?" I returned with a wide grin.

Joffrey laughed loudly, "I'm sure the boy killed today would agree with you. That belieft got him crushed."

There was something disturbing in his laughter. There was no irony, no scoff, or rue; it was full and hearty, like the memory truly pleased him.

"The gods rest his soul," I returned, effectively silencing the prince.

He sneered at me as I drained my drink. I looked to all at the table, "Until tomorrow, boys."

With no other words, I turned out of the hall. More courtesy was certainly expected for the prince, but he didn't deserve it from me.