Once Gavin understood the full picture, he stepped forward without hesitation.
“My lord, I can fight in the team melee as well.
I’m confident in my skills.
Let me enter and win for you.
It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me over the years.” Emond’s face stayed tight with worry.
He shook his head at once.
“No, Gavin.
The melee’s too dangerous.
I won’t let you risk it.” Master Ryan added his voice, firm but kind.
“I know how good you are, lad, but you’re still young.
You don’t have real experience in that kind of fight.
Men die or get maimed every year.
I already hired three Essosi gladiators for the team event.
They should be enough.” Gavin bowed deeply to both men, voice steady and serious.
“My lord, I have complete faith in my ability.
I’m asking you to let me test myself against those three.
If I beat them, give me your permission to fight in the melee.” Emond’s brow furrowed deep.
“This isn’t a game, Gavin.” Ryan tried again.
“Gladiators aren’t ordinary soldiers.
They live for this kind of fighting.” Gavin met Emond’s eyes and smiled, calm and sure.
“Please, my lord.
Just let me prove it.” Emond let out a long, reluctant sigh.
“Fine.
Ryan, go fetch those three.” The gladiators arrived quickly.
Two were massive, thick-muscled brutes built like iron towers, arms corded with power that looked strong enough to snap steel.
Their faces were hard, eyes cold and fearless.
The third was leaner, quicker on his feet, muscles long and smooth like a hunting cat’s, his gaze sharp and watchful.
While Ryan explained the situation, the biggest of the three let out a short, contemptuous laugh.
“All this fuss for a boy?
You’re the one paying, so it’s your call.” He glanced at his companions.
“What do you say?
Feel like knocking around a kid for a bit?” Before the others could answer, Gavin spoke up, voice easy and confident.
“I suggest all three of you come at me together.
One at a time, you won’t last two moves.” The big gladiator’s face twisted into an ugly grin.
“Confident little shit, aren’t you?” Gavin just smiled.
“Best if you all attack at once.” The words hit like a slap.
The three gladiators stiffened, anger flashing across their faces.
No one had ever dismissed them so casually.
The agile one moved first.
He drew his curved blade in a blur and lunged.
Gavin slipped aside with effortless grace, the strike whistling past.
The man spun and slashed again.
Gavin pivoted, his own sword flicking out in a precise, almost lazy motion that sent the curved blade spinning across the dirt.
The second brute charged in with a heavy axe, the weapon screaming through the air.
Gavin leapt back, then darted forward the instant the axe missed.
His sword thrust out like lightning.
The gladiator barely got his axe up in time; the impact jarred his arms so hard he nearly dropped the weapon.
The third fighter joined with a long spear, stabbing hard and fast.
Gavin danced around the point, then slipped behind the man and planted a solid boot in his ass.
The spearman stumbled forward, cursing.
Gavin saw his opening.
His blade flashed in a series of clean, beautiful arcs.
Steel sang.
All three gladiators hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, weapons scattered around them.
Gavin sheathed his sword and stood there calm and untouched, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than light practice.
The soldiers watching erupted in cheers and shouts of approval.
Many of them knew Gavin from Three Towers.
They’d never seen him fight like this.
Ryan stared, then gave a short, rueful laugh.
“You were holding back on me all those years, weren’t you?” Emond looked stunned for a moment, then something sharper crossed his face.
“Gavin… how’s your jousting?” Gavin bowed again.
“My lance work is decent, my lord, though not quite at the level of my sword.
Were you thinking of entering me in the joust as well?” He hesitated.
“I thought only knights and noble sons could compete.” Emond barked a laugh and clapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Details.
Normally yes, but if you’re representing a noble house, the rules bend.
You’ll be fine.” Gavin’s eyes lit up like someone had thrown open a chest of gold.
Five thousand dragons.
The prize he’d been eyeing for months.
And the chance to earn his knighthood in the process.
His voice came out a little rough with excitement.
“My lord, please—let me enter the joust too.” Emond laughed again, loud and warm, and agreed without another word.
Then he raised his voice so the whole camp could hear.
“Someone go spread the word.
We’re holding a feast here tonight to celebrate my nephew Gavin’s return from the Citadel.” A ripple of surprise ran through the watching men.
It was the first time Emond had ever publicly claimed Gavin as family in front of everyone.
Inside the big pavilion the feast was already underway.
Emond kept one arm slung proudly around Gavin’s shoulders, grinning as he introduced him to the nobles who’d come to drink and talk.
The mood was easy, the wine flowing.
A guard at the entrance called out, “Lord Willas Tyrell of House Tyrell!” Willas rolled in on a wheeled chair, pushed by attendants.
Even seated he carried himself with quiet dignity, a gentle smile on his face as he nodded to the gathered men.
Emond stood at once, pulling Gavin up with him, arm still around the boy’s shoulders.
“Come on.
I want you to meet my good friend—the future Lord of Highgarden.
Willas Tyrell, heir to Mace and the whole Reach.” Willas’s eyes were warm despite the chair.
Emond crossed the space and embraced him like a brother, the joy of old friends clear on both their faces.
Then Emond turned, guiding Gavin forward with obvious pride.
“Willas, this is Gavin.
My nephew.”