The next morning was bright and breezy.
Arbor's tourney grounds were crowded with spectators who had come to watch the excitement.
In the arena, Horas Redwyne, the earl's eldest son, lowered his voice and demanded:
"Samwell, my father has already arranged a proxy knight for you. Why do you insist on competing yourself?"
With the help of a squire, Samwell struggled into his armor as he replied:
"I am fighting for Lady Desmera's honor. Of course I must take the field myself."
Nonsense. They had paid five thousand Gold Dragons, so naturally he had to cooperate and see this performance through.
That was called professionalism!
Horas's mouth twitched as he tried once more to reason with him.
"This isn't the time for knightly spirit! That Daven fellow is one of the most outstanding young men of House Lannister. Even I wouldn't dare face him! Don't think that gaining a little strength these past few years means you can challenge him. You'll lose terribly!"
"How would I know I'll lose without trying?" Samwell looked brimming with confidence.
"It doesn't matter if you embarrass yourself." Horas glared at the purple grape sigil on Samwell's armor. "But I don't want House Redwyne to be humiliated along with you!"
Indeed, the exquisite suit of plate armor Samwell wore had been borrowed from House Redwyne.
He did own a suit of chainmail, but it was far too shabby. House Redwyne would have been too embarrassed to let him wear it on an occasion like this. It would have been utterly humiliating.
"I won't." Samwell slapped his armor hard, making it clang. "Today, I will win this victory for Lady Desmera. Otherwise, I will have no right to marry her!"
Horas hurriedly covered his mouth, roaring inwardly—*You really don't have the right to marry my sister!