"Prince Daemon Targaryen has chosen Ser Gwaine Hightower of Oldtown, the eldest son of the King's hand, as his first opponent!" The bass voice of the master of feasts boomed over the tournament field. Gwayne's blood was roaring in his ears, and his heart was beating in a crazy rhythm when Prince Daemon pointed the end of a tournament spear at him, choosing among all the knights from noble houses. Although Hightower was confident in his abilities, he had an understanding that his skills could not match those of the Vicious Prince, and although they were both not seasoned in real combat, the competition was still unequal. The cylindrical knight's helmet, decorated with a miniature of machicouli, the top of the Old Town tower, and a pair of green feathers, was not properly attached to the cuirass, and the narrow silk did not give a view at all, which also did not play in favor of Gwayne's victory. But his father, of course, would be unhappy if he lost. This thought gave him strength and as soon as the signal sounded, the two participants of the tournament, standing on opposite sides of the lists and holding spears at the ready, rushed from their place. The bay stallion beneath him neighed shrilly as he whipped him with his spurs, and this sharp sound mixed with others: the clatter of hooves, the noise of an excited crowd, and the heartbeat in his chest, becoming one. A moment later, Gwayne feels a strong jolt, Daemon Targaryen's spear casually passed over his cuirass, leaving an equal hole on the surcoat with the Hightower coat of arms. But unlike the prince's spear, his weapon hit right on target and Daemon leaned back in his saddle, almost falling to the ground, but still managed to hold on. After making a circle around the lists, Gwayne was handed a new, whole tournament spear and then the second signal sounded, and in his head there was only one word: "Win." But everything shattered on his own helmet, into which he smashed his face when his horse, with its legs cut off, fell to the ground.