A Field Where Kingsguards will be tested

"Who are you," Brandon snapped upon the man's arrival. He was early, and that in and of itself was a good sign, but everything else left something to be desired.

A number of Knights are present, bearing various devices on their shields, but the most notable of them is Ser Steffon Florent, the eldest brother of the young Lord of Brightwater Keep, his shield bearing twin foxes, though no flowers. There are a number of hedge knights present as well, a few Westerners and Stormlanders, though notably almost from the Vale. The most well-known knight on the field is a man called Ser Bruce of Waynwood, who is said to have single-handedly killed three dozen Warrior's Sons at the battle of Oldtown, and who was well known among the army for chillingly cunning intelligence, and his freakish ability to scare the piss out of hardened soldiers with only a few quiet words. The device on his shield is a massive bat, black on yellow.

"I am," he replied to Ryos. I'm sorry good ser, but We are not accepting any but those who are subjects of His Grace at this time."

He turned to the giant mute. "Can you read lips?" He asked.

The man nods his head eagerly and over abundantly, he also points to the wooden placard around his neck with his name.

Ser Trajan Waters arrives at the field, having "recommended" his charge "decide" to watch the knights compete.

"Was this the best the realm had to offer, uncle?" he asked, tsking. "Perhaps the draw to your proud ranks is not as strong as it once was."

The man clearly had no idea what Brandon was talking about as he continued to shake his head up and down smiling, even going so far as to try and go in to hug him.

Brandon pushed the big ogre backwards, and stepped away, sighing inwardly.

"Is that way you are?" Brandon replied with a slight scowl, "I had been misinformed. I understood you to be his grace's inquisitor, upholding his law, seperating the guilty from the innocent. But your view makes so much more sense."

He didn't wait for a reply, "You lot," he said, pointing to have the group, "You're group A. Pick up a blunted blade, and stand over there." He gestured, "The rest of you are group B. Take one blunted blade for the group, and then stand over there. I will cross the field with Group A as my protectors. Group B will secret the blade amongst one of their number, and attempt to find a way confuse and distract Group A in order for one of their number to land the blow against me. If Group B manages to land a blow, They get a point. if I cross the field unmolested, Group A gets the point. We'll switch after awhile."

Ser Anders Mallister, called Ser Anders the Eagle, arrives with his squire. The nephew of the current Lord Mallister, Ser Anders is a tall and classically handsome young man with an eagle's wing nailed to either side of his greathelm. Ser Anders fought in the Riverlands as a squire, but his fame came from Prince Aegon's campaign in the Westerlands, where he slew Ser Lucas Sarsfield and half a dozen other noteworthy names at the Battle of Dawn Hill and was the first man over the walls of Lannisport. He was a known friend of the Crown Prince, having served in his honor guard during that campaign.

"I didn't invite you here to bandy words about," Brandon replied, "I did not invite you at all. So if you are not here to join the Kingsguard, kindly keep quiet, and leave us to our work. If you want to stay and impart your wisdom of stealth and murder, then kindly wait until you're asked."

Ser Bruce of Waynwood ended up in group B, the assassin's group, along with Ser Steffon Florent and a number of others. He took the lead easily, gathering the men into a tight circle, and he held a blunted steel dagger in his fist; the rest were unarmed. "We need to make a distraction so the man with the knife can get in a blow. I'm decent with a small blade, but one of you lot might be better," he said, waiting expectantly for one of them to speak up.

(How do we know which group were in?)

A young lad with sandy hair and freckles who could not have been more than fifteen ran up, clutching a helmet and out of breath. "Am I too late? I ran all the way from the armory..." He had the burning tree of Marbrand on his arming coat over his mail. The sigil and his youth named him Ser Aymery Marbrand, the youngest son of Lord Marbrand and part of the retinue of Lord Reyne.

He was pointed in the direction of the B group, and ran to join them, listening as the situation was explained. He glanced man to man and at last piped up, "I could try, Ser. I'm quick, if I say so myself," he said with his boyish eagerness. His voice cracked and he went red.