A Star in Shadow
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
While Darkstar will certainly need the deftest touch of the knights you have seen thus far upon the field, there are others who deserve attention. Reaching out with your mind to wake your slumbering familiar, you bid her to send word to the Inquisition, seeking to learn more of Halys Belmore and Vardis Sunderland in case they're looking for an opportunity to represent their houses as well as this Ser Roger Hill.
Perhaps if the current lord and lady of Castamere cannot be swayed to see sense and forsake the Lannister name, an 'old' one can be instated there...
"He used to have better armor," your mother remarks, stirring you from your thoughts.
"Ser Bonifer?" you prompt, following her gaze.
"Yes, a full suit of plate. That is what he wore to the tourney of Dragonstone in two-hundred-fifty-nine at least. I wonder what happened to it?" She sounds wistful, though you suspect more for whatever memories that tourney evokes than some lost suit of plate. Three years before she married your father, that would probably be enough to be melancholy for all on its own.
"He probably sold it," Ser Richard replies. "A full suit of plate is hard to take care of on a hedge knight's purse without tourney gold flowing in, not to mention hard to put on without a squire which he doesn't have either."
"I'm sure he can make up for the latter lack all on his own, but as to the former, I do not think a gift from liege to sworn knight would not go amiss," you reply, skirting by the fact that you had certainly not been handing hardened steel plate to every knight who swore themselves to you unless they joined the Legion. Reminding your mother of pleasant times is certainly worth the cost.
There is one other hedge knight you can bestow far more than armor upon. Ser Philip Foote had managed to unhorse one of the favorites of the joust while absent of anything that could be realistically be called armor. Sandor called him 'crafty'. You would call him an opportunity waiting to happen. Descending by magic to offer your congratulations publicly, you offer to heal his eye also, an offer he gladly accepts.
The empty socket fills with golden light, the threads of power sing through and around you as by the highest of your powers you will lost flesh to be whole again amid the cheering of the crowd. A tourney, after all, is a chance for knights to show skill and lords to show generosity.
If only Darkstar were so easy to handle.
***
Absent his helm and away from the sight of the crowds is Ser Gerold Dayne, who could even have passed for one of Valyrian heritage even in the streets of Lys or Volantis, not only for his looks but for the pride that sparks in his eyes as though ready to set the world aflame. According to Tyene, her cousin Arianne rather fancies the man, though the appeal is lost on her. To be precise she had said: "Darkstar is the sort of man who would be admiring himself in a mirror over a woman's shoulder while fucking if he could."
While the remark had earned her a disapproving look from your mother, you cannot say it does not get the point across. Calling the man proud and prickly is a bit like calling Dorne warm and dry.
"Well met, Ser," you greet him while stepping into the simple chamber meant for knights to don and set aside their armor before and after the joust. "Given that we have already spoken, if not under the most fortuitous of circumstances, I felt it would be remiss of me not to introduce myself formally, particularly given all that I have heard of your skill." With most you would have added a compliment to his lineage, but given what Oberyn had told you about Dayne's struggle to step out from under the shadow of the Sword of the Morning that would have been a faux pas to mention.
He bows and offers greeting in return, though his next words are far less formal. "My skill," he snorts. "By the Warrior you sound as though you actually mean that. You must truly trust whoever told you that to still believe it after seeing me unhorsed by a one-eyed beggar." From another man that might have sounded self-deprecating. Dayne makes it into a challenge.
"I would be poor king indeed to judge anyone from so little as three tilts in a joust. I myself have never even ridden in one, so by that logic I am the merest squire," you reply, threading the needle between seeming to call him a liar and actually agreeing with his words.
"You should try it," the Dornishman says, his expression relaxing slightly. "Nothing like breaking lances with a few knights to get them to know you and put paid some of the more outlandish rumors about you."
"It is not the knights who have already accepted my invitation that I am most worried of there," you point out. "Such knights have already seen the worth of gaining gold and glory under the Dragon banner."
Hearing the offer in your words, Dayne arches one silver eyebrow. "Do you have something particular in mind?"
What do you reply?
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OOC: Darkstar is prickly enough that I actually had to roll social combat, though granted the rolls were easy for Viserys.