I don't give a shit about tourneys. That's what he said, what he always had said. What interest does he have in watching brutality without a purpose? Half of the satisfaction of beating an opponent into the dirt is the sense of righteousness, no? Of proving a point?

Nevermind that, because now Aemond was being ordered to perform in the tourney for his younger brother's name day, to showcase the strength and skill of Viserys' line. Daeron had flown in from Oldtown at the king's request - six-and-ten was a very special marker, after all. And, of course, you and your sister Helaena were expected to attend as well, despite your equal distaste for such things. You held the same sentiments as your brother, that tourneys were merely faux knights playing at war, wanting to bask in praise and adoration without actually accomplishing anything worthwhile. And Helaena - dear, sweet, sensitive Helaena - she held your hand tightly the entire carriage ride to the tourney, already anxiously anticipating the blood and shouts.

You found yourself seated privately with your family, overlooking the grounds as Aemond's horse strutted in, a horse equally as handsome and poised. The crowd screamed and cheered, he did not look anymore amused for it. The scowl melts off his face, though, when he approaches you leaning over the balcony.

"You'll be watching?" he almost grins up at you, his horse whinnying.

"Regrettably," you retort with a smirk as he holds out his lance for you.

"A favour, then, from my dear sister. For my health and fortune in the joust."