Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 12: The Hand's Tourney -- The Young Stag vs. The Knight of the Flowers

"Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?" complained Lancel Lannister.

He bolted and scrambled looking from tent to tent, building to building. Daveth was still in full armor and took a moment to get himself ready for the final round against Ser Loras Tyrell, son of Lord Mace Tyrell and heir to Highgarden; he was known for his good looks and reputation for winning many tournament victories, held in high regard as one of the most skilled knights in Westeros. In Daveth's eyes, this makes the Knight of the Flowers a formidable opponent. The joust will either come down to who lands a decisive blow or who can outlast the other.

The Crown Prince was examining the prize to the champion: apparently in addition to 40,000 gold dragons, but the champion would be given a victor's crown made of blue winter roses to bestow upon any woman present and name her the Queen of Love and Beauty. Traditionally the victor often chooses a woman he loves or intends to court, yet it can also be a source of scandal if the victor crowns a woman already bound to another man or if a married man crowns someone other than his wife. I don't remember including that in the list of prizes. He stopped to turn to look at his panicking second cousin, who was still making quite a ruckus. "Cousin Lancel, what are you looking for?" he groaned.

"I have to find the breastplate stretcher for the King. Your father's armor won't fit him!"

"A what?" he asked confused, raising an eyebrow.

"Breastplate stretcher!"

Daveth tried not to grin at what he just heard, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing. "Lancel, there's no such thing as a 'breastplate stretcher.' It doesn't exist."

Lancel stopped in his tracks and stood still. He looked at Daveth, confused before realization finally dawned on him. "Seven hells... Why does he keep doing this to me?"

"Pay him no mind. Father tends to overstep his bounds and be a bit mean to his squires."

"I thought it was the greatest honor when your grandfather, Lord Tywin, named me the King's squire. But this..." he sighed, almost as if in tears. "This is humiliating."

"Try to endure it as long as you can. It won't be long before you yourself receive your knighthood."

"I really hope so, my Prince. What was it like? When you were knighted?"

Daveth reminisced, thinking about the event last year. "It's not as easy as you think, Lancel. Squires are required to undergo years of extensive training to become a full-fledged knight. A bit expensive, perhaps, but the results in the end speak for themselves," he explained. "Others are simply rewarded with it depending on their achievement in service to the Crown."

"Did the King simply grant you one?"

"Mother suggested it. Father seemed inclined, but I chose to work for it like the other squires; took me eight long years of combat training. Once that's done, you are summoned to attend your own knighting ceremony." He spoke in a deep tone, reciting the vows he took last year. "'In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. 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...'" Daveth finished, returning to his normal tone of voice. "These are the vows all knights swear, but it varies immensely depending on the individual; even more so while trying to obey the law and uphold your vows at the same time."

Lancel looked fascinated. "Who did you squire for?"

"Ser Barristan Selmy."

"You mean Barristan the Old?"

"You know how much I hate it when people brazenly call him that; especially in front of me," Daveth furrowed his brow. "Barristan may be an old man, but the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a good man and one of the most formidable knights Westeros has ever seen. A man I was proud to squire for. So, mind your manners next time, cousin."