บท 56: Chapter 56: Putting on a Show

The morning dawned, bright and sunny. Crowds had already gathered at the Arbor's jousting grounds, eager to watch the spectacle.

At the edge of the arena, Horas Redwyne was speaking to Samwell in a low, insistent tone. "Samwell, my father's arranged for a substitute knight. Why are you so insistent on fighting this yourself?"

Samwell, struggling to put on his armor with the help of a squire, replied, "I'm fighting for Lady Desmera's honor, of course, I must fight personally."

'Nonsense', he thought. The Lannisters had paid five thousand gold dragons; he'd be sure to act his part in this play.

That's called dedication!

Horas' mouth twitched, but he kept trying to reason with him. "Chivalry isn't always called for, Samwell! Daven is one of the best of his generation in the Lannister family. Even I wouldn't dare go up against him! Don't think that just because you've bulked up over the years, you can beat him. You'll lose—and you'll lose badly!"

"Well, we won't know that until I try," Samwell replied with a confident smile.

"You don't care you'll embarrass yourself? Fine, but I don't want the Redwyne family to be disgraced with you," Horas said, looking pointedly at the purple grape sigil emblazoned on Samwell's borrowed armor.

That's right. Samwell's ornate plate armor had been lent to him by House Redwyne. His own chain mail was so shabby that the family couldn't bear the thought of him wearing it to this match—that's far too shameful.

"Don't worry," Samwell replied, slapping his armor with a resounding clang. "I'm going to win this for Lady Desmera's honor. If I can't, I'll be unworthy of her!"

Horas slapped a hand over Samwell's mouth, muttering to himself, You really aren't worthy of marrying my sister. But if Father insists on marrying her off to you, what can I do?

Now regarding himself as Samwell's "brother-in-law," the Arbor's heir wished nothing more than to knock his troublesome would-be brother-in-law unconscious and put the substitute knight into the ring to give Daven Lannister a beating.

But Samwell wouldn't listen, so after he finished gearing up, he marched over to his horse with all the swagger of a man headed to glorious battle.

Sighing, Horas resignedly returned to his place at the edge of the field.

A loud gong echoed across the grounds as both knights rode into the arena, the crowd cheering wildly.

After circling the arena once, they positioned themselves on opposite sides.

The squires ran out, each carrying a lance for their knight. Although made of wood, the jousting lances were still quite heavy and nearly twenty feet long. Keeping one steady on horseback was no easy feat.

Fortunately, Samwell had recently grown much stronger; otherwise, even holding the lance would have been impossible and he would have truly made a fool of himself.

The gong sounded again.

Both knights lowered the visors of their helmets, nudged their horses into motion, and picked up speed.

The thunder of hooves echoed through the crowd as the distance between the knights closed.

The cheering died down; everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the outcome.

Crash!

Wood splintered with a loud crack as the lance tip shattered, sending wood chips flying. Samwell was knocked clean off his horse.

The crowd gasped, but the shocked silence quickly turned into thunderous applause.

Daven raised his visor, waving to the audience, basking in his victory—even though the whole thing had been staged. Samwell's lance hadn't even touched him.

"Samwell! Are you alright?" Desmera ran into the arena, kneeling beside Samwell. Daven's smile faltered at the sight.

Why?

I was the one who won!

Daven's mind screamed in frustration, but he quickly comforted himself with the knowledge that Samwell would be withdrawing from the match.

Desmera was bound to be his, after all.

With that thought, his smug smile returned.

Meanwhile, Samwell felt as though his chest was on fire, and his backside had practically split from the fall.

But considering that the fall had just earned him five thousand gold dragons, the pain was a little easier to ignore.

In fact, he thought he could take two or three more of these hits—if someone were willing to pay.

"I'm alright, Lady Desmera." Samwell struggled to his feet. "Apologies for disappointing you."

"It's nothing. Martial skill isn't the only measure of a knight's worth," Desmera said with a sweet smile, trying to comfort him.

Horas stalked over, glowering. "I told you to let the substitute knight fight!"

Samwell straightened, suddenly taking on a righteous tone. "I can accept defeat, but not cowardice!"

Horas was momentarily at a loss for words, while Desmera gazed at Samwell with stars in her eyes.

Samwell couldn't help but think that Lady Desmera was quite the actress. To an outsider, it would have seemed like they were two childhood sweethearts.

But he would never forget the contemptuous look she had given him six years ago when his father had brought him here to propose to Lord Paxter.

Could she have really fallen for him after a few years apart?

Not even a third-rate romance novel would go that far.

After returning to the sidelines and removing his armor, a maester from the Arbor checked Samwell over to ensure he hadn't been injured.

Once he was cleared, Samwell went to see Lord Paxter.

"My apologies, my lord, for letting you down."

"It's fine. The young must taste defeat to understand their limits," Lord Paxter replied coolly. "You may still marry my daughter if you wish."

Samwell put on a downtrodden face, as if he'd lost all hope. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I am no longer worthy of Lady Desmera."

Lord Paxter frowned, but held his temper and said, "The decision of who marries my daughter isn't left to a trivial joust. As for who's 'worthy' of her, that's for me to decide."

But Samwell shook his head. "I made an agreement with Ser Daven before the joust; the loser must withdraw. It may seem foolish to others, but to me, this is an unbreakable oath."

With that, he bowed to Lord Paxter, then turned to leave with a heartbroken expression.

"Stop!" Paxter called after him.

Samwell halted. "My lord?"

Seeing Samwell's downtrodden appearance, Paxter swallowed down his frustration, took a deep breath, and said, "Then sell me your brandy recipe. Name your price."

Samwell slowly shook his head with a resolute smile. "I'm afraid it's not for sale, my lord. But if the Arbor would like to help sell the brandy, I'd be more than willing to supply it at a fair price."

Paxter stared at Samwell for a long moment, before finally giving a defeated nod.

"Very well."

---

At the docks, Samwell and his retinue were preparing to depart.

Naturally, none of House Redwyne came to see them off, and Lady Desmera was nowhere to be found, despite her earlier "devotion." Instead, Steffon Lannister and his son Daven had come to bid him farewell.

"Ser Caesar, rest assured—Lannisters always pay their debts. We wouldn't sully a thousand-year reputation over five thousand gold dragons. I've already sent a raven to Casterly Rock. Soon, a ship laden with gold will set sail from Lannisport bound for your lands."

"I have every confidence in House Lannister's honor," Samwell replied, smiling. "However, I must clarify that our agreement was only that I would withdraw. If, after I step aside, Lord Paxter still refuses to betroth Lady Desmera to Ser Daven, that's hardly my fault."

"Hmph, we don't need you to worry about that!" Daven replied, gritting his teeth. "If I can't win Desmera's hand after all this, I'll swim back to Casterly Rock myself!"

May the gods grant you safe passage…

With a touch of genuine concern, Ser Caesar offered a silent prayer for Daven's journey, then turned and boarded his ship.

(End of Chapter)