Ambers || Jacaerys Velaryon

6. Miara

The city felt more alive on the day of the squire's tournament. The usually bustling streets had transformed the capital's cobbled pathways into something of a grand feast, one that might rival the banquet the king was set to host later tonight. The aroma of grilled meats filled the air, peppered and salted, the smoke making Miara's stomach rumble. Neighbors also gathered outside to share spirits and laughter, their voices rising in cheerful toasts as the wheelhouses from the castle rolled by, tankards splashing mead on them in a lively display of support.

Miara, riding with Laenor and the princes, smiled as Laenor leaned over to explain, "It's their way of sending well wishes to the princess and the babe, as well as the squires competing today."

It all felt startling, a rare overall unity of the people of King's Landing. Not everyone would witness the jousting within the city arena, as the stands were reserved for nobles. Yet, the smallfolk remained eager, using the tournament as an excuse to gorge and indulge. Some even climbed to the tops of high buildings, limbs flailing over the edges, desperate to catch a glimpse of the upcoming games from afar.

Miara admired the dedication and fought away a pang of envy as she realized they would likely enjoy the day more freely than she would.

As the wheelhouse neared the arena, Miara studied its stone structure that loosely resembled a shelled clam. It had curved stands on either side of a vast dirt mantle where the action would unfold. The architecture of it was a wonder to behold, like most things in the capital, and the extravagance of the day continued directly outside its walls.

The remnants of the smallfolk's simple joy faded, replaced by the glamor of privilege. Canvas tents surrounded the stone stadium, their brightly colored banners flapping in the breeze, each marked with the heraldry of those who had traveled here for the day's events. The flayed man of House Bolton, the triple-colored spiral of House Massey, the white seashells of House Westerling, and many more were represented. However, only those with a squire participating had a shield placed outside their entrance, signaling the challenges to come.

The wheelhouse came to a stop near the entrance to the arena's underbelly. As they all clambered out, Miara instantly began to search for the Cargyll goose with her closer viewpoint, but the sigils blurred together as they walked. She was able to identify most of them now due to her second-hand education from the princes' maesters, but the growing crowd of squires and lords made it difficult to see past.

"Ah, to be a squire again," Laenor sighs dreamily, beaming at the passing young men clad in steel armor. "They're all so shiny and new."

He saunters beside them, chalice swinging lazily in one hand, the effects of three cups of wine evident in his relaxed posture. Dawn had broken only hours ago, but Laenor was eager to celebrate the day honoring his newest child early. Miara obliged, contentedly pouring his favorite bitter Dornish red that was nearly as clear as water every time he asked.

"You were a squire, too, Father?" Luke asks, his curiosity piqued. He walks in pace with Laenor, one hand clutching the bottom of his father's Velaryon-blue tunic, the other gripping a jet dragon sculpture.

Miara felt a surge of pride over that. She had stayed up all night to finish it, as well as something for the twins, even bartering with a maid a room over from hers to spare her some floor polish in exchange for one of her dresses so she could properly varnish her work this time. It led to her having barely an hour of sleep before her duties in the kitchens called to her, but Luke's delight at the toy made it worth it.

She'd carved a full-bodied dragon this time rather than only a head, modeling it after depictions from the library she'd seen of larger dragons like Vhagar and Meraxes, and he was beyond thrilled to have something of his own. Her pride continued to swell as the young prince pretended his ebony creature flew through the air, diving and soaring in his hand.