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Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Training Camp
...
Third POV

10 days before the tourney

The training ground bustled with activity as knights and squires jogged around the yard. Leading the group was Tygett Lannister, his stern gaze ensuring no one slacked off. But while most were catching their breath after the long run,

Galahad—Richard—was still at it, sprinting past them again and again.

He had been running even before them, though no one could say exactly how long he had started before the others.

His stamina seemed boundless, far beyond anything expected of a boy his age. Sweat slicked his golden hair and dripped from his brow, yet his pace never faltered.

When Tygett finally called for a break, the squires collapsed onto the ground, clutching their knees and gasping for breath. The knights stood tall as they breathed heavily.

"Rest for five minutes," Tygett commanded.

"Then we start sparring. After that, jousting practice will start." He added.

Meanwhile, the knights and squires rested and exchanged jokes with each other, their spirits lifted by the brief reprieve.

Laughter echoed across the training ground as they teased one another about their performances during the run and their upcoming spars.

Tygett joined Gerion and Oberyn Martell on the sidelines. "How long do you think he's been running?" Oberyn asked, nodding toward Richard, who was still circling the yard at a brisk pace. "He's got the stamina of a Dothraki stallion."

Gerion squinted, then chuckled. "Two hours, maybe more. Look at him—drenched like he's been in a storm."

Tygett leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. "And he hasn't even been Kevan's squire for a year. How does he do it?"

Their eyes followed Galahad as he finally slowed to a stop, pulling off his soaked tunic. His body was lean and muscular, far more developed than one would expect for his age, with not a scar in sight.

He twisted the tunic, and sweat poured from it in streams, pooling on the ground.

Oberyn let out a low whistle. "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

Gerion grinned. "With a body like that, he'd drive the women in the brothel wild. Shame he never joins us."

"Probably for the best," Oberyn quipped. "He'd steal all the whores."

Gerion began laughing at the joke.

Tygett rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. "Enough of that. Time for sparring." He signaled to the men to gather their weapons and armor, the training about to begin in earnest.

The sun hung high in the sky as Tygett, Gerion, Oberyn, and the many knights and squires donned their armor and grabbed their weapons of choice.

Excitement filled the air as they emerged from the barracks, energized and eager for the sparring sessions ahead.

Meanwhile, Galahad stood apart from the crowd, stripped down to his breeches. His tunic, now rolled up and handed to a servant to dry, left his lean, muscular form exposed to the afternoon sun.

He was already deep in his own training, focusing on his footwork as he shadow-fought against an invisible foe.

His movements were sharp and precise, unorthodox compared to the traditional training methods of the other knights.

But no one dared to question his methods—after all, the fifteen-nameday lad had bested all the best seasoned fighters here.

The clang of blunted metal weapons filled the training yard as knights paired up to duel.