The tourney at Ashford was your first since becoming a Knight. Entering the lists had seemed a good idea at the time but now you were sat on your horse staring at your opponent you realised how out of your depth you were.

The smallfolk loved a Mystery Knight, a face they had never seen to knock the High Lords and arrogant Knights down into the dirt, as they cheered for you, you just hoped to give them a good show.

Reins in hand you looked up the dais, at the Lords and Ladies staring back at you with both contempt and intrigue. As you scanned their faces you recognised the woman sat beside Manfred Dondarrion, you had seen her strolling through the camps at night flirting with Knights and Lords alike, she had mocked you for being coy.

Yet now her gaze was friendly and encouraging and the subtle nod of her head told you that she was willing you to win.

The horn sounded. A lance was pressed into your hand. Your visor was pulled down and you rode ahead.