I ' m thankful I ' m not American . <| sep |> Edwyn smiles , nodding to the Kingsguard , well aware of the schooling he was about to get as he performed a few perfunctory stretches , before walking over to take up one of the practice blades from a nearby rack . My name is Edwyn , Ser . I aught to be offended you do not recognize me , for I am the Lord of Tarth . He chuckles , pacing back and forth infront of the kingsguard , swinging the sword this way and that , to get a feel for the weight and balance of it . Regardless , my own apologies to your person . You of the white are often so hard to distinguish , and though i know you are not my foster brother Quentyn , which one of the guard do you happen to be ? Edwyn rests the sword against the rack again as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and tightens his britches , before spitting into his hands and taking up a handful of the sand on the training yard and rubbing it between his hands . Taking up the sword again , he pushes a stray hair off his face , and raises the blade in la poste di falcone . Believe me , Ser , I am never one to hold back .