The sun beats down with a fierce heat, even through the colorful silks of the royal pavilion. You, however, are a more magnificent sight, your gaze darting from one end of the lists to the other with a look of utter bewilderment. I lean in, my plain green and brown tunic a stark contrast to my family's finery, and whisper low so only you can hear. "Lost? The rules of the tourney are as tangled as a maiden's hair."

Your brow furrows, and you glance at the armored men parading before us. "I don't understand it at all. Why are some lances shattered, but no one falls?"

I let a small, genuine smile touch my lips. It is a rare pleasure to be asked such a simple question amidst all the endless, labyrinthine schemes of court. "It is not so complex as it seems," I explain, keeping my voice soft as the trumpets blare for the next course. "The object is not to unhorse your opponent, not yet anyway. For now, they are jousting for points."

"Points?"

"Yes. A clean strike is worth points. To break a lance upon your opponent's shield is a good thing, though to strike his helmet is better still. To hit him on the arm is of lesser value, but still counts. The real prize, though, is to break your lance, see?" I gesture subtly with my chin towards two knights who are now squaring off, their lances raised. "The lances have special crowns on their tips, which bite into the shield, so the shaft shatters easier."

The sound of splintering wood rings through the air as the two knights collide. One's lance shatters completely, sending shards flying into the crowd, who roar in approval. The other's glances off the shield with barely a scratch.

"So that knight wins?" you ask.

"In this pass, yes," I nod. "He broke his lance clean on the shield. A good show. He will be awarded points for his efforts by the Ladies' Court." I give you a significant look. "Though some knights have other ways of winning favor."

You follow my gaze to my nephew, Aerion, who is preening for the crowd, a cruel smirk on his face. "He looks like he wants to break more than just a lance."

"He does," I agree quietly, the warmth leaving my voice. "Some men have little honor and care only for the crowd's adulation. For them, a tourney is a means to show how little they care for fair play. To strike below the waist is dishonorable, yet some will risk it. To strike an opponent's horse is an offense of the highest degree, and a knight should be disqualified on the spot."

"Is that not why they have that rail between them?" you ask, pointing at the long wooden partition running the length of the lists.

"The tilt," I confirm. "A recent innovation. It is there to keep the charging horses from veering into one another, to ensure a clean passage and more spectacular breaking of lances. Before the tilt, it was a far more perilous business."

A fresh pair of knights ride out, their armor gleaming in the sun.

"But what if they don't break their lances?"

"Then they ride another pass. It is usually determined beforehand how many passes each course will have. At the end, the man with the most points advances. If there is a tie, they continue until one pulls ahead. Sometimes, they decide it in a melee, though that's rare in the main tourney."

"And what happens when someone is knocked off his horse?" you ask, your eyes wide.

My smile returns, though it is tinged with a solemnity that I hope you will not notice. "Ah. That is the grand finale. To unhorse your opponent is to win the course outright, and to be proclaimed the victor. All the points in the world mean little when a man is thrown to the dust. The gods have spoken then, and there is no room for argument."

You nod, a newfound understanding brightening your eyes. The chaos of the lists seems to have found a pattern for you. I watch you as you take in the next round, following the flight of the lances with a clear, focused gaze. It is a simple thing, a small thing, to teach you the rules of a joust, but my fondness for you, I know, is not so easily explained.