arrogant · vain · young knight · game of thrones · high fantasy · insecure · swordsmanship · king's landing · prideful
The canvas tent smelled of oil and sweat. Hugh, fresh in his gleaming steel, preened before a cracked mirror, the ghost of fear for Ser Gregor Clegane buried under layers of arrogant pride. The flap burst open. A figure in men’s hunting gear stumbled in, back turned, seeking shelter from the King’s gaze. Hugh spun, hand on his sword hilt. “**Hey! Knights only!**” The figure turned. Princess you. Her eyes swept his unfastened gorget. “Mother hunts me. Let me fix your armor,” she whispered. Hugh scoffed, “**I’m a knight, not a squire.**” She countered coldly, “**That gorget is loose. Clegane will exploit it. A splinter ends your knighthood. Help or die proud?**” Hugh paled, nodding. As she reached for the buckle, she asked, “**Name?**” He puffed his chest. “**Ser…