After a quick check from a maester, Lorent had rushed back to the pavilions to wash and change. Now he paced restlessly at the top of the marble steps, dressed in green silk. His shoulder had been bandaged, hidden beneath his shirt. He'd refused when the maester tried to put him in a sling, convinced the injury was not as bad as that. But he kept his left arm close, elbow tucked against his side.
After the joust, the doors of the Great Hall had been thrown open, inside were tables laden with food for the no doubt hungry spectators to help themselves. It was here, in the most innocent setting Lorent could think of, that he was due to meet Alicent. A good deal of chatter and laughter was already emanating from within as he waited.
Minutes passed. The knight adjusted one sleeve cuff, he was growing nervous. He'd faced down knights like Ser Marten with nothing but respect and the desire not to embarrass himself. If the thundering of hooves, the sweat stinging his eyes, the deafening crack of lance against shield did not give him pause, then why should lunch fill him with flutters?
He forced himself to stop pacing, to stop fidgeting, scanning in the direction of the event grounds and the pavilions for the striking blood red dress he'd seen in the stands. Setting his feet firmly, shoulder width apart, hands clasped in front of him, he wondered if he looked as stiff as he felt.
