Prince Rhaegar's Wedding Tourney – 279 AC

Jaime I

He would enter the melee, and he would win. He may be just a squire, but he was a Lannister squire. That meant he was a step above all other squires and probably most of the knighted competitors… at least that was the philosophy of his father, the Great Lion: Tywin Lannister.

Himself, Jaime didn't put too much emphasis on his name. He took pride in it, just like any other highborn, but he doubted his Lannister blood predestined him for greatness. If that were so, people like his Uncle Stafford Lannister would not be such a useless buffoon with no martial talent.

Jaime smirked as he fondly recalled his Uncle's attempt to show him how to handle a sword. His uncle had visited Crakehall and had found Jaime practicing in the yard with Lord Sumner. His uncle, possessed by a need for self-importance offered to give a few tutorials. The display was nothing more than pathetic, uncoordinated and clumsy.

At the conclusion he looked proudly at Jaime, "That's how you swing a sword boy!"

What a fool.

Afterwards, Lord Sumner turned to him, "That, is how you should Never swing a sword."

Jaime sniggered, "Fear not, even I as a novice could see that was so."

Lannister pride. The legacy of his blood. He had heard his father's sermons on the Lannister legacy. "We are not like other houses… we must be greater; it is expected of us. It is expected of you." His father would wax on about legacy like the High Septon would wax about the piety of offertory.

And yet Jaime refused such doctrines. He was a Lannister, Gold Hair green eyes and all, but his skill and accomplishments; those were his own. He was a prodigious swordsman, and that, was all due to him and him alone. His father could swing a sword in his day, but that was it. His uncles had no bards singing tails of the feats on the battlefield. Jaime, however, would be known as the best in Westeros. This tourney would be the start of his many victories. He would win, and get the respect he deserved as a man, not as a Lannister.

Jaime sat in his tent as he struggled to place his armor on. The disadvantages of being a squire: no one to squire for you. That meant putting on one's armor, unaided. A cumbersome task but doable. He eventually managed to slip into it, with great difficulty. He grasped his tourney sword and tied it to his belt. He picked his shield up and made his way to the waiting area for competitors.

As soon as he arrived he knew he had done what he was prone to do: act on impulse without care for consequences. The waiting area was filled with Knights from all over the realm… intimidating Knights. From short men to giants… all were represented. All were older than him. How long could a boy of ten and three namedays last in the ensuing scramble… he would be eliminated as soon as the horn was blown.

He scanned the area intensely, looking for recognizable faces. Perhaps, if he found some knights in service to his father, he could forge alliances. This would prevent him from being the first to fall out of the tournament. But that is dishonorable a voice in his head whispered. When has honor ever won anyone anything? he shot back.

As he continued to scan the area his gaze caught a gathering of 3 knights. In white cloaks. The kingsguard. Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan & Ser Oswell. He panicked. This was no longer about preventing early elimination. With these 3 knights present, now it was about surviving the whole ordeal. I must stay far away from an of them.

Unfortunately, his staring had been noticed by Ser Arthur and he addressed to him.

"Oy, Boy!" The Sword of the Morning called "Come over here."

Obediently Jaime walked over to the Kingsguard, he felt his knees grow weaker with every step. 'You are a Lion! You should not fear sheep!' He could hear his father shout. That was a sentiment that was easier to believe when the said 'sheep' were not known as the best killers in the whole of Westeros… I knew I could never win this…

"Boy, which knight are you squiring for?" Ser Arthur Asked

"I squire for Lord Crakehall, Ser." Jaime hoped his voice did not betray the utter fear in his heart. Ser Arthur was legendary, The sword of the Morning, The wielder of Dawn. The soon to be slayer of Jaime Lannister.

He was the knight that all young boys looked up to, and Jaime was no exception. He had hoped to meet him from a position of strength, but now the man probably thought of him as a pompous fool to join the lists, or squire who got lost. So a either fool, or a directionally challenged child. Both options did not do him justice.

"Lord Crakehall is not participating in the melee, to the best of my knowledge." Ser Barristan said thoughtfully, he observed Jaime and raised his brows, "Why are you here?"

"I am in the lists, Ser." Jaime spluttered out.

I am an idiot! I should have said I was lost and skulked into the crowd.

Ser Oswell laughed uncontrollably. "Boy! You just weaned yourself off your mothers Teats yesterday! Now you think you can compete with seasoned Knights! FOOL!"

Ser Oswell continued to laugh, and his volume increased. Soon people began to notice. Lovely, an audience to witness my shame. We Lannister must do all things to the fullest. Embarrassment no exception.

"That is enough of that, Ser Oswell." Ser Arthur chided, "But in all honesty boy, this melee will be dangerous, I admire your bravery, but contrary to what the bards sing of, there is a thick and well defined line separating bravery from foolery."

Jaime grit his teeth, "I am a Lannister! Lions do not fear!" I wonder why I keep talking, obviously I wish to expedite my inevitable death. The fact that he used his name to draw courage to answer was a laughing matter. He did not claim warrior prestige from his blood, but he would do so in front of kingsguard.

"Lannister? hmm," Ser Barristan said "You must be Jaime Lannister. Ah, yes I remember your father wanted you to squire for the Prince. Though it didn't work out."

"Quite the loss," Jaime started, "For the prince."

The three kingsguard all glared at him; doubtlessly shocked at his insolence. Ser Barristan frowned, Ser Arthur kept his face impassive. Ser Oswell however, broke out into laughter again.

"Hah! You got balls, Lannister. I'll give you that." Ser Oswell said "It will be all the more fun when I crush them! I will have you roaring… in pain!"

"You would wish to crush the appendage that yourself do not have." Truthfully I am suicidal now, goading a kingsguard?!

Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur sniggered at Ser Oswell expense. Ser Oswell however, had a dark cloud cover his face, as if he was plotting how he could kill the heir to the Westerlands… and get away with it.

"I shall see you on the field. Boy, and I will hurt you." Ser Oswell said as he turned to walk away, "I will hurt you, exponentially."

With that, the knight sauntered off to converse with more amicable company.

"Not quite the smartest strategy for you. Starting a feud with a kingsguard on the eve of a melee where both of you are competitors." Ser Arthur remarked

"Ser Oswell holds a grudge, he will look for you on the field." Ser Barristan said warningly.

"And I shall look for him." Jaime said resolutely. I have already ensured my death, at least I should die with pride "Good day Sers."

With that Jaime walked away from the knights as he looked for a place to hide, where he could hyperventilate in peace. As he walked away he caught the voices of the two knights.

"That boy is a proud lion."

"He will soon be a dead proud lion."

"Pity, I actually almost like him."

They spoke true, he would be a dead lion soon enough. Mayhap Ser Oswell would be honorable enough to send his pelt back to Casterly Rock. It would make a nice adornment in the main hall.