Blood of Dragons

The stands are crowded, the humid air is full of anticipation, and the cloudy sky has done nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of spectators and potential participants alike. Cutting through the din of the crowd is the sound of trumpets, formally announcing the opening of the tourney. In their wake, there is enough silence for the herald to step forward and make his announcement. “For the Joust for Love, in honour of the marriage between Prince Baelor and Princess Daena, those bold and gallant knights who wish to take part should ride out to parade in front of the crowd and make their intentions known!”, he calls out, his words followed by loud cheering from the crowd.

As the ladies of the court watch, the knights and their attendants begin to fall into place to make the circuit. First of all, by sheer dint of the number of swaggering attendants he has, is the Sealord of Braavos. His armor is borrowed, as is his horse and all its accoutrements, yet they come from House Targaryen and are of the finest. And about his helm—the bore holes about the skull showing where a crest might once have been affixed—is a long length of silk, black on red. Behind, other knights follow, from Prince Aemon the Dragonknight with Princess Daena’s favor on his arm to Ser Tancred Baratheon, the heir to Storm’s End, and on to the Dornishmen Kay Yronwood and Ser Aidan, the Knight of the Twilight.

A cry rises from the lords, ladies, and smallfolk in the stands who favor the golden rose of Highgarden. From the conclave of Reachlord tents emerge two trumpeters bearing the rose on their breasts, and hanging from their golden instruments are green banners. They blow a hearty fanfare of their own, heralding the thud of hooves!

A tall, slender knight replete in ivy-etched plate rides forth, trailed by seven squires in green livery. This knight’s accoutrements are as rich as his armor and his great chestnut courser; green gilded silk bearing the Tyrell rose, and from the crown of his mantled greathelm, seven green plumes trail in his wake. From the knight’s shoulders trails a cloak broidered with flowers; likenesses of the morning-glory, the laurel, the primrose, the magnolia. Bound around his sword-arm is a lady’s favour; a long scarf of black satin emblazoned with golden honeybees of Honeyholt.

It is Ser Ardon Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden’s popular younger brother! He canters into place behind the Sealord, the Dragonknight, and their entourage, and gallantly salutes the crowd’s acclaim.

Ser Ethos Mertyns is riding out on a freshly brushed grey charger, the white mane and tail both washed clean and braided, with white feathers tucked in among the woven hair. The knight himself is wearing a grey tabard with the white owl of his house upon it over his polished armor that has a dull sheen to it. He has a darker grey cloak with white trim that drapes down behind him over the saddle. Visibly wound about his upper arm is a blue silk favor with a golden sunburst embroidered into it.

He has only one page to attend him, with little fanfare upon arrival, but only one is needed to issue the knight’s intentions. As soon as there’s a lull in the crowd, the brash teen loudly proclaims after a deep bow, “Ser Ethos Mertyns of Mistwood bade his lady choose the manner in which he should best earn her favor and admiration. The beautiful Lady Orene Lefford desired that he share all that he learns of his opponents with her to grow in wisdom in the joust, and that he challenge those knights that he knows he cannot defeat.”

The page pauses, glancing back at Ethos once, then continues, “For his first challenge, he calls out Ser Sarmion Baratheon, the Stormbreaker.”

A giant black knight upon a giant black destrier, its trappings gilt and a black stag prancing at it’s shoulders and haunches, he is heralded by minstrels resplendent in pale green playing the melody to a sad Marcher’s lovesong. His great helm is bedecked with massive, wide and golden antlers, such as have been spoken of to have belonged to beasts of legend.

Behind him rides a maiden on a gray mare, her face veiled in grey and a crown of red flame upon her brows. She holds a length of grey silk trimmed with orange and gold thread in her hands as she follows the Stormbreaker.

The minstrels lead them to the Baratheon tents and there proclaim, “Sarmion, son of Andrys, Lord Baratheon, Royal Warden of the Kingswood, will not take up the favor of the Lady Lyrissa, daughter of Lord Lorent, Lord Hightower, until he breaks one lance against a trueborn knight of Westeros! Ere then, the shall the colors of his wife, Demerei, daughter of the Lord Morrigen, murdered by Dornish Hands!” Being said, the Stormbreaker’s squire rides to the side of the massive black destrier and attaches a pale green mantel between the massive golden antlers of his knight’s helm.

Among the ladies in the stands there is a particular sense of excitement. Those with knights carrying their favours are watching closely to see what feats of skill and chivalry he will declare himself for, and a fair few of them are surrounded by less fortunate ladies relegated to the role of supporting cast for the day. Of course, not everyone cares greatly whether they have a favour carried by a knight or not; many simply enjoy the fine spectacle.

The Mertyns page looks over towards where the Stormbreaker resides, “Will you accept the challenge of Ser Ethos? He will not retire from the field until he has either run out undefeatable knights to challenge, or has learned as much wisdom as he can in a single joust.”

The helm is bowed - becoming an extravagent gesture with the golden antlers and the flowing green mantel hanging between them. The black knight accepts an unadorned lance from his squire.

Majestically, the Stormbreaker rides to the end of the lists, the massive destrier he rides raising its hooves jauntily to his commands.

With almost contemptuous skill, he wheels the beast to face where Ethos is awaited.

Ethos collects up a lance as well, and behind his visor no one can see whether the young knight is confident or saying his last prayers to the Seven. He trots his horse up to the line and when Sarmion is ready, kicks the animal into a charge, couching the lance.

Ethos strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Sarmion’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ethos just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Throwing down the ruined end of his lance, the massive black knight returns to the Baratheon tents. There, the minstrels play a sad, slow Marcher air upon their pipes.

The Stormbreaker dismounts, kneeling before the veiled woman in grey. She rises from her seat, carefully detaching the pale green mantel between the golden antlers. Folding it carefully, with the slow motions of ritual, she hands it to the squire next to her. Then, drawing from her sleeve the same grey and orange favor that she bore into the lists, she binds it about the crown of the black knights helm.

Rising to his full height, the Stormbreaker bows. Removing his shield, a gold field with the black Baratheon stag prancing upon it, he awaits the next challenge.

The din rises, crests, and then takes on a note of surprise and curiosity that grows apace. For the knight to ride out after the first tilt is one encased in grey armour from closed helm to boots with not a device to be seen. His harness is devoid of embellishments but plainly of the finest quality, his mount a spirited, deep-chested one of pale white, tossing its mane and whickering. And around the mysterious knight’s arm is tied a fluttering streamer of cloth of a gold so bright it dazzles in the sunshine.

To his left and right are a pair of matched lads, alike as peas in a pod. One of them steps forward and declares bravely, “My lord vows to ride against the five finest champions on the field until they are unhorsed. Or he is.”

A bold claim to be sure. And that is all. There is no declaration of whose favour the grey knight bears. But he bows his helmed head to the royal stand where sit Princess Daena and her highborn companions.

Riding back, he stops before Ser Ardon. Nothing is said but the challenge is unmistakeable. Then he rides on to the lists and the other squire brings forward his lance, handing it up.

Ethos rocks in the saddle under the hammering blow of the Stormbreaker, but manages to keep his seat with some heavy effort. He brushes away the wooden shards of the shattered lance as he brings his horse about, clearing out of the field. He watches as Sarmion goes to collect his favor, giving Baratheon a salute for the victory, then sends the page off to announce his next challenge. Ethos, meanwhile, seeks out Orene in the crowd so that he can share whatever nugget of wisdom he might have gained from the joust.

The sticky wind stirs the lofty plumage atop Ardon Tyrell’s helm; the knight sits still and quiet, his face hidden behind the steel visor and his dazzling green accoutrements stirring in the breeze. His chestnut stamps impatiently as the Grey Knight makes his silent challenge.

Ardon makes a sign to his attendants, and a herald of Highgarden strides forth. “Ser Ardon Tyrell, for love of his lady wife, the Lady Nemony, has vowed to break seven lances or to unhorse seven knights, whichever comes first!” The herald steps aside, the squires give him a lance, and Ardon trots his steed toward the ready position.

Princess Daena, garbed in a black gown adorned with tiny ruby chips like droplets of blood, is a radiant presence in the royal stands. She’s cheering for the jousters, acknowledging greetings given to her with bright smiles, and carrying on an animated discussion with the ladies who have been honoured with a seat at her side. Her husband and brother, however, is nothing like her, watching in solemn silence.

The grey knight waits, still as stone, until Ser Ardon faces him across the lists, although his mount is not so patient, tossing its mane again. Then, he sets his shield, as plain as the rest of his accoutrements, and lowers his lance. And the charge begins.

Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ardon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Grey_Knight is pushed from the saddle by its opponent’s lance.

Emerging from the spume of broken lance bits, the green-and-gold blur that is Ser Ardon turns his thundering chestnut to survey the result. He casually tosses aside the broken stump of his lance, inclining his head graciously to his overthrown opponent. When he lifts an armored hand to acknowledge those supporters who cheer him, the black and gold scarf of his lady unfurls in the wind.

Applause follow that display of jousting, and the ladies in the stands trade remarks; one enterprising young lady even marks details down on a wax tablet. The mystery knight encourages whispers and speculation, on the other hand. “That brat, Paege, I’ll wager,” some lord remarks, frowning at the armored knight.

“No, I can tell how he sits his horse,” his companion remarks, “its not Paege. Wouldn’t put it past Gueren Waters, though…”

Yet the joust runs swiftly, and the Tyrell knight rides brilliantly against the mystery man. There are applause, and a few mutters as people wonder at who it might be.

And then the Sealord of Braavos, with all the pagentary he can muster, comes forth. A herald—one borrowed from the king, no doubt—announces, “And here is that great lord, Ferro Antaryon, the Sealord of Braavos, a lion among men! No admiral greater, no captain bolder, he rides in this joust for love of Princess Rhaena, who has gifted him her favor!” That ... was unexpected. All eyes turn to the young princess, a maiden shy and beautiful, and now blushing furiously with all the attention. Her sisterDaena leans over and makes some remark, laughter on her lips.

And then the herald continues, “For love of the dear princess, the Sealord wishes to joust a course against seven anointed knights! Though he is new to the art and the skill, he lacks no courage, and will show it here in the lists!” And then the Sealord’s destrier is led by his attendants to examine the competitors. In the end, it’s a Dornish knight whose shield he strikes first: Kay Yronwood.

Yronwood’s squire announces simply, “Ser Kay accepts the Sealord’s challenge. For love of his lady, he hopes to break two lances in the course of the day!” It’s a modest goal, yet the modesty and simplicity of it all wins some approval among the ladies. The Dornishmen takes up a lance and places himself at one end of the lists against the Sealord.

Where the hostages sit, the most vivid presence is perhaps the Lady Tanyth, who is holding court much in the same manner as Princess Daena, save for the fact that most of those seated near to her are men rather than women. Among them is her twin, Ser Tamlyn, who is lazily toying with a goblet of wine as he eyes the ongoing joust. “No, no, I am not lazy, sister dear,” he protests to some comment of Tanyth’s. “But I could not ride without a favour, could I? Madyn would not give me his, said he’d much rather knock me out of the saddle instead.” There’s laughter from the Dornish at that, and more so when he adds, “And I am not one to ride with my sister’s favour either. Where it not already given elsewhere, that is.”

The Sealord seems easy enough on his horse, not so easy with the weight of armor and the lance and the shield all together. Yet he makes a brave showing, the black and red panache of long feathers swaying from his helm, his black armor elegant and yet dangerous. A pause, as he gets the destrier under control, and then he’s off. The two lances rush nearer and nearer…

Ferro makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Kay lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ferro is knocked from horseback, armor rattling as he falls.

Among the Tyrell, as always when she does not attend her lady, Reyna Saltcliffe sits. There is a smile on her face, but something lacking as well, a sense that the smile is pasted on, that her animation is forced. She applauds lazily when needs must, and is clad all in black and silver of lightest silk against the day’s heat.

Some way away, where the Dornish sit, Valeria comes reluctantly forward to watch Kay’s run. Her face lights in a smile when she spies him, however, and her black-and-yellow favor on his arm. She is downright overjoyed to see him triumph.

A swift result, yet the applause for the Sealord as he gamely gets up again with only some assistance are loud and plentiful. He raises a hand, and helps to take hold of his destrier’s reins before the field is cleared for the next jousters.

Taking up a fresh lance for a fresh challenger, Ardon taps his heels into the flanks of his charger, riding toward the cavalcade of potential foes. He pauses, reining up before a Northern knight, Ser Raynard Locke. The Tyrell knight dips his lance in challenge, then canters off to make ready for a run.

Standing in the shade of the Baratheon pavillion, the Stormbreaker stands in his black armor before his shield.

Raynard rode in on his horse in his armor. His face is covered by his helm’s visor, which bears only two slots from which he can see. His segmented breastplate bore the crossed keys of his house, and he sat easy in the saddle. His plate spaulders also bore the marking of his house. Tied to his arm just below the spaulder was a piece of red sandsilk.

Beside him walked one of the house servants, wearing a gray jerkin with the crossed keys embroidered on it. The jerkin seemed a little large on him, and probably belonged to the knight he represented.

As they walked out onto the field the servant seemed nervous as he spoke on behalf Raynard. “I present Ser Raynard Locke, Son of Gilbert. He bears the favor of Lady Valeria Blackmont. It is his intent to unhorse Ser Dagur Saltcliffe. If Ser Dagur is is too craven to face him, or otherwise detained, it his intent to unhorse seven trueborn knights of Dorne and Westeros. One for each of the Seven.”

Having thought about the challenge from Ser Ardon, the northern knight looks down at the servant and nods his head. “Ser Ardon, Ser Raynard accepts your challenge, and will tilt until either you or he is unhorsed.”

Ethos finishes his brief conversation with Orene off at the stands, then waves his page to continue on. The teen wearing the colors of the Stormlands house approaches the Knight of Twilight. “Ser Aidan Dayne, my knight challenges you to a tilt.” He declares to the Dornishman while Mertyns fetches a fresh lance to prepare.

Clapping spurs to flanks, Ardon lowers his lance and gallops toward Raynard, the golden rose on his green shield bright even in the subdued light of a cloudy day. The crowd cheers the onslaught!

The Servant clears out as Raynard recieves a lance, and lowers it in salute to Ardon. Leveling it he charges Ardon, the lance steady to the moment of impact.

Ardon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.

The Knight of the Twilight has waited patiently for his chance. Or, perhaps, distractedly would be more like it. He has spent more time fiddling with girths and buckles and fittings than watching the other competitors, and when the challenge is issued, he’s ill-prepared. He mounts hurriedly and takes up lance and shield. His squire, Danyll Toland, announces, “Ser Aidan accepts, Ser Ethos! He rides for love of the lady, his cousin Tanyth of House Toland, and hopes to break seven lances before the day is done!”

With that, Aidan rides to the head of the lists, and awaits Ethos to be ready. A dip of the lance . . . and then he’s off, charging at the knight.

A draw! The crowd cheers its approval as the Tyrell and the Locke break lances to impasse. For his part, Ardon’s body language conveys his pleasure; two lances now broken, and that much closer to fulfilling his vows for the lady whose favor he bears!

The knight of Highgarden barely pauses in his course, swinging the big chestnut around and taking up another lance. He waits until his foe is ready, then once more spurs into a charge…

The northern knight’s laguhter echoes in his helm as he casts his broken lance aside for a new one, and goes for another charge.

Ardon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Raynard’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ardon struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

Entering the stands alone, and somewhat tardy, is Soranna Hawick. She pauses a moment to watch the field, the childish enthusiasm clear on her face. She wears a green dress of light silk with her hair curled more fancifully than usual for the occassion, held up away from her neck and face. She spies her friend, Reyna Saltcliffe, and waits to catch her eye, hoping for an invitation to sit with her.

While Valeria is no fan of the Tyrell knight, she positively turns her back on Raynard after eyeing the scrap of torn red sandsilk he wears. She returns to her seat to await another of Kay’s runs.

Reyna cheers with the rest for Ardon’s victory, waving a streamer of black and silver among all the green and gold. Still, it is listless, and when she spies Soranna, she waves to the girl listlessly before one of her other companions draws her back down to sit. They speak quietly together for a moment, and the lady lays a hand on her rounded belly, shaking her head and smiling.

Ethos grins behind his visor when the Dornish knight accepts, and rides to meet Aidan’s charge, his lance held level as his horse races him to the target.

Raynard dismounts to help ser Ardon up from the ground. “Well done ser.” THere is good humor in his voice as he speaks. “Better luck with the next tilt.”

“I have no idea what you have done to deserve this, sister,” Tamlyn declares as their cousin, Ser Aidan, announces his intentions and reveals whose favour he is carrying in this joust. Then he, along with his sister and the rest of the Dornish contingent, cheers for the Knight of the Twilight as he rides out to face Ser Ethos.

Though a third lance is broken, Ardon’s fortunes turn and he goes down. Tossing aside his weapon and rising, he first checks on his horse, then remounts and salutes Raynard before trotting toward the green Tyrell tents.

Ethos lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Aidan’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ethos is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

Belatedly arriving at the joust, Doryssa steps into the Tourney field and slowly makes her way towards some of her relatives sitting at the stands. As Doryssa passes a few people she gives them all a polite smile, then finally reaching her goal she carefully lifts herself onto the stands, to sit with her relatives.

Now turning her gaze to the field Doryssa silently watches with keen interests, however she does pass a smile in the direction of Reyna, hoping the other woman seen her.

After having imbibed a cold drink while in the saddle, Ardon takes up a lance again; his fourth of this day in as many courses. The Tyrell urges his horse from the shade of his tent, slowly picking his way along the line of pavilions until he pauses; looming there before him is the giant in black armor, Sarmion Stormbreaker. The two men are a contrast in style and appearance, with Ardon seeming slender as a willow-wand before the Baratheon’s bulk. Nevertheless, it is with almost off-handed panache that Ardon bows his head, lowers his lance, and strikes the stag shield of Sarmion in challenge!

Having made the match, Ardon laughs, turns his horse and canters over to make ready for a charge.

Making her way between the cheering crowds, Soranna comes to sit near her Tyrell friend, pausing to catch the results of both tilts. “I’m glad to see your brother unharmed,” she says as she greets her friend. “This should prove to be a most enjoyable day!” The excitement in her voice could not be more pronounced, though it is true that her favor won’t be flying this tourney.

Despite the slowness and the distraction, the knight for Starfall rides with typical brilliance, lance shivering asunder and opponent falling to the earth in a clatter of armor. There’s gasps, and muted polite applause at best . . . and even a few hisses and cat-calls, despite the Knight of the Twilight having been here for two years; he is still a hostage, and there are those who will not forget it. As he rides back up the lists, he lifts his visor to Ethos. “A gallant challenge, ser. My best wishes to your success,” he calls down… and then he looks to the stands, towards where Tanyth sits, and others as well.

Seeming none the worse for his fall, the grey knight watches the tilting from atop his destrier. Lances shatter, splinters explode, horses thunder past. When there is a lull, he rides forth again. If he feels the weight of all the curious gazes on him, he gives no sign of it. Wagers are tossed back and forth, both in jest and in earnest, on which champion he will challenge next. And whether he will prevail this time or fall again.

It is settled swiftly enough, for he stops before the famed Jousting Lord, Whalon Rosby, as known for his exploits in the lists as he is for his merry-making.

The silent challenge issued, he rides back to take a fresh lance and await the older man before beginning the charge.

The Mertyns knight lance strikes against Aidan’s shield, but the Knight of Twilight is responsible for the second lance to splinter upon the white owl painted on Ethos’s shield. The force of the impact is enough to succeed where his first pass against Sarmion did not, and Ethos topples to the dirt. It’s only a moment before the man pushes himself up and is giving the Dornish knight a grudging nod of respect.

Then Ethos sends the page to collect his horse while again he goes to confer with the Lefford woman in the stands.

Despite the slowness and the distraction, the knight for Starfall rides with typical brilliance, lance shivering asunder and opponent falling to the earth in a clatter of armor. There’s gasps, and muted polite applause at best . . . and even a few hisses and cat-calls, despite the Knight of the Twilight having been here for two years; he is still a hostage, and there are those who will not forget it. As he rides back up the lists, he lifts his visor to Ethos. “A gallant challenge, ser. My best wishes to your success,” he calls down… and then he looks to the stands, towards where Tanyth sits, and others as well.

Looking up as the challenge is made, the Stormbreaker nods. Again the golden antlers dip. He lowers to take up the shield with the Baratheon stag prancing on its field of gold upon it.

Climbing into the saddle of the great black beast, the black knight bows to his minstrels. A page steps forward announcing, “My lord, Ser Sarmion, the Royal Warden of the Kingswood, shall accept the challenge of all comers in defense of the name of his lady, Lyrissa, daughter of Lorent, Lord Hightower!”

Taking up a black lance, he canters his black beast to the end of the lists to face Ser Ardon!

Resplendent in green, gold and steel, Ser Ardon dresses the rose-shield before the Baratheon; he spurs his horse forward, lowers his lance, and in a burst of speed charges!

In the stands, Tanyth raises a hand to Aidan as he successfully completes his first joust of the day. The Black Tempest, vibrant in Toland green and gold, bestows a brilliant smile upon her cousin, then leans over to say something to her brother, trying to make herself heard over the noise of the crowd.

The black beast churns the earth beneath its hooves, the soil sprays out behind its flanks as the golden barding flares in the violence its passage. The Marcher minstrels turn their songs into a reel as the Stormbreaker lowers his lance to bear against the Tyrell knight.

Ardon strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Sarmion’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ardon is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

“Good. Another mystery knight!” Lord Whalon remarks, mounted on his horse. To one of the attendants he says, “Mark this one! This’ll be a good one to add to the song cycle, with all the rest.” It seems the man’s his court bard, and he’s being employed to record Lord Whalon’s exploits in song… That fits the mad Jousting Lord, certainly. With shield and lance to hand, he rides to the head of the lists as the singer declaims, “Lord Whalon accepts the challenge, and for love of his lady wife he means to ride fourteen courses before the day is done!” A brief dip of the lance follows, and then Lord Whalon spurs his steed forward, barreling towards the grey knight.

Though the passage is rough, Ser Ardon manages to weather the Stormbreaker. A cracked lance is not a broken one, and thus the Tyrell does not scruple to show pleasure; the vow was seven -broken- lances. To that end, he tosses aside the useless weapon and takes up a fresh one, turning his horse and urging it forward for another charge against the vaunted Ser Sarmion.

The black lance shatters against the rose badge upon Ardon’s shield. The Stormbreaker rides through the cloud of his own splinters. Throwing down the shattered end of his lance at the end of the lists, the black Baratheon knight takes up another lance and wheels his mount to face his challenger.

The grey favor of the Lady Lyrissa stands beneath the great golden antlers of his black helm.

As the Tyrell charges, the Baratheon sets his spurs to the flanks of his black destrier. Again the earth is raked by the violence of its churning hooves.

Sarmion’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ardon strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Ardon is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

Seated with her bastard uncle, a small but still noteable distance away from where her step-sister Sylvina can be found at the centre of a small gathering of young ladies, Aisling Ryswell watches with interest. In the past few jousts, her favour has been carried by Ser Aidan, yet this is plainly not so today as he carries his cousin’s favour. Still, it was perhaps more curious that he should have carried in the first place than that he does not carry it now, and the lady’s standing at court is far from such that either circumstance draws much notice.

The willow bows before the mountain, and the gallant Tyrell knight goes down. He rises to one knee, shaking off the cobwebs for a moment, before standing and acknowledging both crowd and foeman. Remounting, he turns his horse toward the Highgarden pavilions to await any additional challenges.

Reyna Saltcliffe rises and falls with the Tyrell around her, cheering and sucking in her breath in equal measure when Ardon goes down. Before she sits back down, she spares a moment to look around for Soranna, then lets herself be settled once more.

Whalon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Grey_Knight just barely manages to keep itself in the saddle after its opponent’s blow knocks it askew.

Very quiet, Ser Janden has been thus far, but after watching the first few rounds go forward, he rises from his pavillion and sends his page out into the field. The boy crosses to where Tancred Baratheon stands and issues the simple challenge - “Ser Janden Melcolm challenges you to a tilt, ser.”

At the end of the lists, the black armored Stormbreaker turns his black destrier, the gold barding flaring as it wheels. He holds up the broken end of his lance in salut to the fallen Tyrell knight then throws it at the feet of the warhorse.

Walking towards the Baratheon tents, Sarmion dismounts, handing over the reins to a groom. The green-clad minstrels return to their mournful Marcher airs upon their pipes.

Soranna finally reaches her Tyrell friend after a precarious journey through the cheering crowds. She greets her warmly and turns to watch the tourney as excitedly as any little girl. It seems she has decided to throw her support behind Ser Ardon without a knight of her own to carry her favor.

In all the finery that is befitting the heir to the great seat of Storm’s End, Ser Tancred’s attendants prepare him for the challenge once it is given. “Ser Tancred, son of Lord Corwen of House Baratheon, heir to Storm’s End, accepts your challenge! He bears no favor this day, but he rides for love of Lady Jyana of House Arryn, the jewel of the Eyrie and the Vale. May his courage inspire in her like admiration!” And with that, Tancred leads his fine destrier to the end of the lists, and dips his lance. Then he charges.

Whalon’s lance shatters, and his shout of glee can be heard, and it’s echoed by that of the commons who love the mad Jousting Lord. He rounds the lists, lifting a hand in passing to the Grey Knight with a kind of jaunty arrogance, and is then readied with a fresh lance. Once the mystery knight is prepared, he charges forth again.

The Tyrell jouster will get little respite, it seems, because not long after Ardon rides against Sarmion, the Mertyns page is issuing a challenge on behalf of Ser Ethos. The Mistwood knight is back astride his horse and preparing at the end of the lists, watching to see if Ardon will accept.

Shards of wood clatter against the mysterious knight’s helm as he rides through a storm of splinters. For a moment, it seems that he must fall for the Jousting Lord’s blow was an excellent one. But then, in a display of tenacity and skill that brings a murmur from the crowd, he somehow manages to control his charger while dragging himself upright.

There is a brief pause while his squire brings him a fresh lance. Settling his shield securely, the grey knight watches his opponent, unblinking behind the eye-slits. And then, he takes the lance the lad offers, couches it and charges again!

Whalon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight manages only the poorest of blows, lance skittering ineffectually off the corner of a shield.
Grey_Knight just barely manages to keep itself in the saddle after its opponent’s blow knocks it askew.

His features hidden behind the visor, Ardon eyes the owl-knight and motions for another lance to be handed up. He pats his horse’s neck affectionately, then turns its head and canters toward the lists; the black and gold Beesbury scarf is sharp contrast to the green and silver of his gear. He salutes Ethos, then the crowd, and lowers his lance; horse and rider burst forth and charge…

Another shattered lance, and two courses of fourteen completed, leave Whalon a happy man. Despite his age, he rides as if born to the saddle, and neatly trots his destrier back to the head of the lists to take up another lance. He can be heard shouting through his greathelm, “Did you see? Two lances broken in fine style, straight away!” And then he’s ready to charge a third time.

Ethos moves up to the line when Ardon accepts, saluting in return to the Tyrell knight. Then he rides forth to meet Ardon, grim determination. Perhaps he’s hoping not to lose every pass, despite somewhat doomed the nature of the task Orene gave him in this joust.

Ardon strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Ethos’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ardon is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

Janden smiles to no on in particular as his challenge is accept and sets his helm securely on his head and makes toward the lists. “Ser Janden bears the favour of Elyana Mertyns, and will tilt against five knights this day for her eyes.” The page announces Janden’s intentions as the knight prepares for his first charge of the day.

It is a poor blow the grey knight strikes. Once again, the struggle to keep himself in the saddle, but he succeeds. If he is angry with himself, he does not show it, merely tossing the unbroken lance aside and waiting for another. Couching it, he charges for the third time.

Fortune’s winds seem to have turned on Ardon Tyrell; his last few courses have been uncharacteristically shaky. Perhaps the gallant young knight is hurt? If so he does not show it, though he does list in the saddle after Ethos’ excellent blow. The quest for the seven broken lances continues, and the Tyrell takes up another. He turns the horse, lowers the weapon, and charges yet again…

Whalon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on its steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of its lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight just barely manages to keep itself in the saddle after its opponent’s blow knocks it askew.

Tancred lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Janden strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Ethos might have moved on after the first pass, but Ardon appears to be seeking a second pass and Ethos isn’t one to turn down a challenge. He collects an unbroken lance and rides up to meet the Tyrell a second time.

Ardon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ardon just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Janden slides into form as he makes his first charge towards Tancred, the lance striking a good blow and his shield taking a better one from the other knight. Janden holds firm to his mount after a moment of wavering, riding to the other end of the lists and turning in preperation for the second pass.

Another shattered lance, but this time the Grey Knight gives as good as he gets, and old Lord Whalon reels somewhat. He laughs it off, though, again saluting the knight as he passes. It’s a fine time for the old lord, a bit of glory and .... well, fun. With a fresh lance to hand, he spurs his horse forward again.

A fourth lance is destroyed for the love of his lady wife, and Ser Ardon is more than halfway to fulfilling his vow; it is a close thing, however, and the fatigue of so many courses in such succession are showing. The Tyrell throws away the broken lance, businesslike now, and grabs another green-striped stick of potential kindling. He takes position, charts his course for Ethos’ overthrow, and spurs onward…

A broken lance is a fine thing, and Ser Tancred seems to be riding as boldly as his uncle the Stormbreaker. Throwing the useless weapon aside as he rides back up the lists, he takes up a fresh one painted in swirls of black and gold. When the knight from the Vale is prepared, he makes a new charge.

Tancred delivers a mediocre blow of the lance, failing to find any purchase with which to unseat his opponent.
Janden manages only the poorest of blows, lance skittering ineffectually off the corner of a shield.
Janden is shaken in the saddle by the lance he’s received against him, but recovers well.

The wagering in the crowd is growing apace as the grey knight keeps his seat and lances are shattered. And this time, he returns the Jousting Lord’s salute as he rides back, a wry gesture somehow even though the greathelm reveals nothing of his face. Then, his squire brings yet another lance and it is time for the charge.

Ethos is riding well, and after his second lance breaks to pieces against the Tyrell shield the knight takes a moment to tighten a strap on his shield. A third lance is taken up a moment later, and Mertyns charges at Ardon for the next pass.

Ardon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ethos lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

Janden charges again, bringing his lance down to meet Tancred’s shield - but judges poorly, his weapon glancing without much effect off the other knight’s shield - leaving him unbalanced enough that the weak blow from the other knight sends Janden to wavering again. But - he keeps his seat and heads to the end of the lists for another run.

That, on the other hand, was a poor showing from the heir to Storm’s End, not at all worthy of his famed uncle. There are polite applause, and a few shouts from well-wishers, but they seem less enthusiastic than they were but moments before. Ser Tancred readies himself, adjusting the heavy oak shield on his arm, and then charges for the third and final course of his challenge.

“One hundred stags on the Heir of Storm’s End!”

The bellowing announcement follows Tancred’s latest triumph.

Tancred strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden is shaken in the saddle by the lance he’s received against him, but recovers well.

Whalon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on its steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of its lance as it shatters.
Whalon is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

Five lances smashed now; the gods of chivalry must delight in such carnage! Ser Ardon stands in his stirrups, his green-gilt plumes streaming behind him, the flowered cloak of magnolias and morning-glories floating in his wake; the knight salutes Ethos and the crowd. He lifts his visor for a moment for a breath of cool air, then raises the hem of his lady’s favor to kiss the black and gold silk… once more he returns to his tent to sit ahorse, awaiting another challenger.

Janden is holding his seat, but the Melcolm knight is getting the worst end of each charge - but, it only takes one good charge to win. After taking the latest blow to his shield, he turns his horse around again once more - leaning a little lower in the saddle as he prepares for another charge at Tancred.

This time, only one knight survives the shattering lances. Shaking his head as if to clear it, the grey knight rides through to a roar of approval from the crowd at the brave showing by both men.

And then, the mysterious knight stops, turns his charger and rides back!

Dismounting before his fallen foe, he helps the Jousting Lord up himself before the attendants can reach them. There is a brief exchange, lost in the crowd’s clamour, but his laughter, echoing within his helm, can be clearly heard. Then, he bows his head to Whalon Rosby, mounts, and rides on.

The servant serving as Ser Raynard’s page approached Ser Aidan. His hands twitched nervously as he bowed before the Dornish knight. “Ser, my liege would like to challenge you to a tilt.”

As Lord Whalon falls to a roar from the crowd as the Grey Knight rallies, Ser Tancred completes his third course with mixed results. It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s solid. He seems to consider then, to end his enterprise on the third course… but when he sees the bold Ser Janden ready for another tilt, he takes up a fresh lance and charges forth!

Ethos was doing well, and then Ardon gets a strong, solid blow in the third pass and Ethos scrambles to keep his balance, but ultimately falls to the dirt. He manages to keep a hand on the reins, and slows the horse before it can wander off.

As he climbs to his feet again, Mertyns gives Ardon a nod of respect, then goes off to pay his respects to Orene and decide on his next challenge. He’s moving a bit slower now as he begins to tire.

Tancred’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Janden lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Janden just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Rosby’s helped up by his attendants, but doesn’t seem too much the worse for wear but for a small limp. He takes off his great helm, its crest much damaged in his fall, and grouses, “Bloody things always ruined! Perhaps I’ll try the feathers again, like that jackanape the Sealord.” But he lifts his hand in salute to the Grey Knight as the man passes, and then he’s recounting the fine jousting and wondering who’ll challenge him next ... or who he’ll challenge.

“Ser Aidan would be honored,” his squire announces, and with that the famed Knight of the Twilight prepares to joust a second time. The green-and-gold of Tanyth Toland’s veil is about his helm, streaming behind as he moves forward. When Ser Raynard is ready, he dips his lance low, and then sets his horse forward at a quick pace. As he draws nearer and nearer, his lance lowers, and in the last moment he adjusts his seat and aim ever so slightly.

Another roar from the crowd, as Ser Tancred manages to capture the fine form of his very first tilt of the day. More kindling for the fires of the poorer kingslanders, thanks to that, and for a few moments the lists are busied over by attendants who collect dangerous shards and pat down clods of dirt. And then the heir to Storm’s End is ready once more, and he charges!

Raynard rides out to meet the Dornish knight. Settling himself in his horse, he extends his hand to take a lance. Once recived, he salutes his opponent and begins the charge.

Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Aidan’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Janden is giving a fine lesson in balance - the massive blow from Tancred sends Janden nearly off the side of his mount, but he is able to somehow find a a hold and pulls himself back into the seat. Spinning around once more he grins beneath his helm and charges!

Tancred strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

Ethos takes some time to catch his breath, getting a drink of water and taking respite. Eventually, though, he’s back on his horse and sending his page out to seek out this mysterious grey knight that’s doing so very well. It seems a good challenge for the Mertyns to take on, for one that is jousting for the sake of learning from opponents he considers his better.

Raynard fights to stay in the saddle, but he’s smiling under his helm. Discarding his broken lance, he reaches for a second and prepares to go for a second bout.

A fifth pass to no result! And here the knights ride true, their lances well-aimed. Though they do not break, Ser Tancred at least drops his to the ground as he rounds the end of the list and races back up it to get a fresh lance. Now he puts spurs to his destrier and bears down on his opponent, leaning in the saddle to best take the thudding impact.

Janden strikes a better blow this time, but still not cracking his lance - perhaps they are running into hard times in Old Anchor and Janden is looking to use a single lance for the entire day? With the weapon still in hand, he turns his horse and charges once more.

Tancred makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.

That’s more like it, and the crowd applauds, and a few wagers follow on Sarmion’s shouted bet. The two knights ready themselves, and press their steads forth for a seventh pass no less. Will such a holy number portend a result?

The two solid thuds sound in chorus, but Janden takes the blow steadily with his shield, watching as the other knight does the same. One more time! Charge.

Tancred strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

Ser Aidan takes up a new lance, hefting it his hand a moment. He looks again to the stands, to where the court are seated, but his eyes are hidden behind the triple-bellows visor with its narrow eye slits. And then he’s recalled to the joust by his squire’s exhortation, and he plunges forward at the northern knight.

Raynard delivers a mediocre blow of the lance, failing to find any purchase with which to unseat his opponent.
Aidan’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Raynard is ripped from the saddle by a mighty blow and falls to the earth with a bone-shaking rattle.

No sooner has the grey knight ridden away from his joust with Whalon Rosby than the Mertyns knight’s page approaches him. He looks over the boy’s head and across the lists at Ser Ethos, then inclines his head in acceptance. His shield is already settled and all he must needs do is wait for a fresh lance; when it comes, he awaits his challenger before couching it.

And then, with a thundering of hooves, he charges in a spume of dust.

It will take another run - Janden seems to be sitting easier in his saddle now, well warmed up - and he turns for another charge.

“Three hundred and forty three stags upon the heir of Storm’s End!”

The wager is bellowed from beneath the Stormbreaker’s golden antlered helm.

And now the seventh course is left behind, and the eigth follows. Ser Tancred’s steed, a great hulking destrier, seems to be flagging slightly at such constant charging, but it presses on at its masters command.

Raynard grunts as he sent skidding and skipping along the ground as he is thrown from his horse by the Dornishman. Groaning he rolls onto his side and slowly picks himself up. Once on his feet he salutes his opponent. “Well done Ser.”

Tancred’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Janden strikes a poor blow after the lance dips unsteadily in the final moment before impact.
Janden struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

If things weren’t so busy in the competition, Ethos would have waited to watch the dogged battle between his friend and the heir to Storm’s End. His focus is on this unknown knight, though, and Mertyns collects up a lance to charge out and meet the Grey Knight on the field.

Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Ethos just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

“Well ridden, Ser Raynard! Good luck to you and your enterprise,” Ser Aidan calls down, pausing before the knight and waiting to be sure that he’s able to get up all right. With a last salute, he rides back to his tent, to confer with Ser Kay Yronwood.

The cheering from the hostages is considerable as Ser Aidan manages a rather spectacular unhorsing of Ser Raynard, and the Toland twins are particularly vocal. Of the quarrel that reputedly kept Lady Tanyth from speaking to her cousin for three full months there appears to be nothing lingering, as the lady is certainly most appreciative of her knight’s prowess in the lists.

The grey knight’s squire is waiting with a fresh lance as he rides through. Tossing aside the broken one, he takes it, hefting the wood as if to test its weight. And then, he couches it and rides forth again, the wisp of golden cloth about his arm streaming behind him with the speed of his charge.

A more than solid blow, and Janden makes another fair attempt to keep his saddle - but the fatigue of the consecuative runs has taken its toll and he finally slides off his mount to the ground. He doesn’t land as hard as some, and soon has his feet beneath him again - pulling off his helmet extending it in a salute toward Tancred. “Well ridden, ser! Strong blows nearly all through.” And with that he makes his way off the field - for a moment at least.

Ethos takes a well placed strike from the grey rider, and wheels for a moment before he retains his seat in the saddle. Mertyns inspects the lance that he failed to break, checking to see if it will serve a second run, then brings his steed around. He kicks his horse into a charge, leveling the lance with some weariness apparant in his movements now.

Grey_Knight strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, its lance.
Ethos strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.

“I was prepared for another dozen courses or so against Ser Tancred - so I should be well enough recovered.” Janden dips his head in appreciation of the salute from Ardon, a small smile on his lips - “I accept the challenge of course, Ser.” And so, Janden is soon back on his horse and heading for the lists with Ser Ardon at the other end.

The courteous words exchanged between Ardon and Janden are most likely lost in the noise of the jousting and the crowd. But once that bit of ceremony is done, the Tyrell is all business, and canters his horse over to the ready position. When all is in order, down comes his lance, up comes his shield, and knight and horse are launched forward in a charge, as if from a catapult…

Ardon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

Janden takes another hard blow - just from a different opponent this time - and again manages to keep to his saddle. Anyone paying particular attention might notice Janden shaking his head as he heads to prepare for another pass - the knight himself not quite sure how he hung on that time.

Seven broken lances was the knight of Highgarden’s vow, and six are now kindling bound for Flea Bottom. Still Ardon’s foe remains in the seat, and the vow is not yet complete. He takes another lance when he reaches the end of the list, turns, and when Janden is prepared, gallops on in another assault… the black and gold scarf of the Lady Nemony flutters in his wake.

Another pass, and yet again both knights stay in the saddle. There is no sign of the grey knight’s armoured shoulders slumping for all that he has just ridden a difficult challenge against the Whalon Rosby. Another lance, shield settled, spurs set to his charger and he thunders out again.

Ardon strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ardon is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

Janden strikes squarely and well - finally breaking his lance and sending his opponent wavering. He turns to ready for another pass, trading in his broken wood for a fresh log - he lowers himself in the saddle and charges hard once more.

Cracked is not broken, and Ardon drops the useless weapon once he regains purchase in the saddle. The fulfillment of his promise is so very close now, and he takes a moment as this latest lance is handed up to him. Could this be the one? Only the Seven know. Ardon turns to face Janden’s charge once more, the lance lowering at speed, the rider bracing for impact.

Ardon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Janden strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

Ethos comes around for another go against the Grey Knight, weary, but ready.

Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on its steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of its lance as it shatters.
Ethos’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Both riders weather the powerful blows and remain on horseback.

The grey knight sways in his saddle but straightens swiftly enough, tossing the shattered stump of the lance aside before brushing splinters from his harness. And when he turns to charge again, he first dips his fresh lance in acknowledgement of his challenger’s blow before setting spurs to his destrier.

Can’t hold on forever. Janden delivers a decent blow, but the strike from Ardon is too much to take. The knight is pushed from his mount, landing harder than after his last bout - but he takes it well and soon finds his feet again, eyes scanning the ground and looking at the shattered bits of lance all around him. He looks up to wait for Ardon to return, pulling his helmet off as he does.

The culmination of Ardon’s charge fulfills the vow, and a shout goes up from his supporters and friends. When Janden falls, Ardon is concerned first for the man’s condition; seeing his opponent will live, then, Ardon canters his horse toward the viewing stand and unlaces his helm. Rising once more in the stirrup, he holds the stump of his broken lance aloft.

“I hold my vow to my lady love fulfilled!” Ardon cries, sweat-dampened brow curls clinging to his brow. “Seven broken lances for love of the Lady Nemony!” He turns, tosses the haft to a squire, and heads back toward the Highgarden tents amid cheers.

This time, Mertyns’s lance bursts to pieces as he lines up an accurate and powerful strike against the shield of his opponant. Though, the stranger is no less fortunate and the impact of lance against his own standard sends a dramatic shower of wood splinters into the air in the wake of both riders. Ethos retrieves a new lance and charges the field.

Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Ethos struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

After a few minutes recovering from the last tilt, Raynard tells the servant acting as his page to request a tilit from Ser Janden once a reasonable period has passed.

Janden is grinning widely as he watches Ardon head for the stands - “Every lady has need for seven broken lances, I don’t doubt.” His words are really not to anyone in particular as he heads back towards his pavillion. When Raynard’s page arrives, the challenge is accepted. After taking a few minutes to check his horses condition, Janden replaces his helm and mounts up once more - heading for the lists with Raynard.

Raynard mounts up and rides into the lists taking a lance and salutinghis opponent waiting for the signal to begin his charge.

Drawing rein with practised skill as he thunders past his fallen challenger, the grey knight turns his mount until he can look at him. And he raises his broken lance in acknowledgement before riding on again.

Not for him the end of the lists where his squires await but onward from one tilt to the next. And as the crowd watches and wonders, he rides past one knight, then another, and a third.

And stops before the Knight of the Twilight.

Again, that silent challenge; then he rides back to take a lance and await the famed Dornishman before charging.

Janden strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Raynard’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Janden finds himself forced from the saddle by his opponent’s charge.

Amidst the challenges, Ser Ardon’s success in achieving his aim is hailed with cheers, and there are ladies who are clearly impressed by his gallant showing.

The Sealord, after having managed three more courses in the course of the joust—even managing to break a lance along the way—now comes up to Ser Ardon’s shield, and knocks on it almost politely. His attendant announces his challenge.

Raynard salutes his opponent before throwing his fist to the air at his second victory. HE looks about for a third opponent to unhorse.

Finally, Ethos is outmatched by the grey rider, and his own grey vestments are looking decidedly more brown from all the dirt the knight is getting on them. When the lance strikes him, it’s a well-placed blow and Mertyns tumbles from the saddle to meet the soil once again. He lays for a moment, then slowly sits up. So far the knight has been lucky and not taken any horrible falls. He clears off the field to take a break, deciding to rather extend his conversation with Orene this time so that he can get some rest.

Janden finds himself amongst the dirt once again - and while he delivers a solid blow, Raynard’s lance is stronger still. Perhaps the Melcolm knight tires, but he can’t keep his seat this time. He soon finds his feet though and returns Raynard’s salute - three opponents faced, two to go. But, Janden takes some time to return to his pavillion and find some water and give his horse a moment’s rest.

Freed from his vow, now the joust is sport for Ardon. He wipes his face with a linen cloth, then laughs at the Sealord’s overly-courteous challenge. “Tell the Sealord I a pleased to accept!” The Tyrell knight takes his time donning his helm, seeming to enjoy the theatrical display. When he is finished he remounts his lathered chestnut, takes lance and shield, and rides to the end of the lists to await the charge.

Ser Aidan seemed to have expected the mystery knight to come calling. He studies the silent, grey-armored knight and then nods, accepting the challenge. Moments later, he is at his end of the lists, prepared to charge. The lance painted in stripes of white and lilac is lowered, the pennon of Starfall flapping at its end as he makes his salute, courtesy never fogotten. And then he charges.

Aidan’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Grey_Knight just barely manages to keep itself in the saddle after its opponent’s blow knocks it askew.

Ferro’s as bold as can be, despite his indifferent jousting to date, and the discomfort of the unfamiliar armor. He makes some remark to one of his bravos, the grin on his face somewhat grim, and then dons his helmet anew. Once Ser Ardon is ready, he charges forward, hoping by some grace of the god R’hllor that he might keep his saddle this time.

Ferro makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Ardon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ferro is struck down as if by a hammerblow, tumbling from his saddle to the hard earth below.

Now here is a match to have the wagers flying again. The mysterious knight survives the first pass, if barely, but wastes no time before beginning the second. And he too dips his lance—plain as his accoutrements, unlike his opponent’s—before couching it.

The favour around his lance arm draws the eye all the more for being the only flash of colour about him. Bright as Casterly Rock’s gold, it streams behind him—then seems to shiver at the moment of impact.

As the defeat of the Sealord unfolds, the Knight of the Twilight and the grey-clad mystery knight ride on oblivious, taking up new lances and making another charge at one another. Assured and steady in the saddle, Ser Aidan draws nearer and nearer, his destrier eating the earth with each step. And again, in the last moments, he adjusts his seat and the aim of his lance, sliding it from the center towards its inner edge.

Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Aidan lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.

In the stands, Princess Rhaena claps her hands to her face as the Sealord once again tumbles to the ground. It would appear the princess’s favour has not been quite enough to overcome his lack of experience. Her sister Daena is quick to lean over to her, no doubt to whisper some words of consolation in her ear.

Attendants rush to where the Sealord lies face down in the dirt, yet already Ferro is moving, trying to clamber up. It’s a shaky rise, however, and he needs to be helped and steadied in the end. The helm is lifted from him, and he spits out dirt that managed to be shovelled into his helm as he fell. There’s a conference about him, in the quick bastard Valyrian of Braavos—and then he shakes them off, and lifts his hand to the crowd. The king seems pleased, and raises a hand in salute at the Sealord, and his courtiers cheer him on.

“Mad to keep jousting when he’s dazed,” someone remarks, only to have others give the woman a warning look to keep her peace. Others seem to think it’s a fine example of courage.

The grey knight has quick eyes and quicker hands. For as the Dornishman changes his target, so too he angles the shield ever so slightly, deflecting some of the force of the blow instead of taking it full. And then he is past, discarding his broken lance and taking another one before wheeling and beginning the charge again. But now, he begins to show the first signs of weariness, and his charger even more so than him.

The lance borne by Ardon Tyrell is destroyed, and perhaps the opponent as well. The knight throws the weapon aside, tearing off his plumed helm, and canters toward the fallen Sealord. He slides from the saddle, distressed, and starts to head toward his foe. Ardon’s eyes are wide with anxiety, and he emits a steady stream of colorful curses. His green-bedecked chestnut wanders aimlessly across the field until a Highgarden squire secures it. “By the Seven! Leave the damn horse and fetch a maester!” Ardon growls; it is then that the attendants intervene and help the man from the field.

Ser Aidan and the mystery knight seem well-matched in this course, exchanging solid blow for solid blow, their shields resounding to the pummeling they’re receieving. Aidan leaves a broken lance behind and pauses to take a fresh from his squire. Danyll offers up some advice—who knows what it might be—and then on Aidan charges down the lists again, lance lowering by measure until it’s level with his rushing opponent.
Grey_Knight’s lance is broken into so many splinters as it delivers a tremendous blow to its opponent.
Aidan’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Aidan struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

Returning to his pavilion, Raynard sent his page off to see if Aemon would tilt, as he did so he turned to see what had becom of the Sealord and shook his head solemnly.

Poised to cheer yet again, Tanyth and Tamlyn find themselves cheated out of this opportunity as their cousin falls to the mystery knight. “Oh, bugger!” exclaims Tamlyn, dropping back into his seat. Tanyth follows his example, in a flutter of green and golden silk, shaking her head. “Seems I do not bring quite as much good fortune,” she remarks to her brother, and casts a brief glance off to elsewhere in the stands, as if searching for someone else.

Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, far-famed, takes up the white lance and the white shield at Ser Raynard’s challenge. Already he has defeated three men as easily as if riding at rings. About his helm is the long veil that he bears for his cousin Daena, on behalf of her husband Baelor. He mounts, fabulous in his white scales and white cloak, and prepares. He salutes, and when Ser Raynard is ready, he charges.

Raynard’s page isn’t the only one seeking out Aemon, but it’s all the better if it takes a while for Ethos’s challenge to get in. It gives him more time for respite, though with the way he’s been performing that likely won’t amount to much. He walks over to where Janden resides, “Good show against Tancred!”

Raynard takes his lance and rushes full force at the dragonknight, screaming at the top of lungs.

With the Sealord more-or-less in one piece, Ardon heaves a huge sigh of relief as he remounts and rides from the lists. He can be seen exchanging words with his squire, Darian Cuy, even laughing now and again as he seeks a cool drink and a break in the action.

Ser Aidan’s fall earns a great number of cheers for the mystery knight, and that memorable curse from his cousin. Yet the knight rises from the turf, his robes stained and mussed but otherwise unharmed. He lifts a hand to the mystery knight, and watches him pass thoughtfully. The veil has slipped from his helm, and he does not notice it until Danyll hurriedly picks it up and brings it back to him. The knight looks to the stands, before thanking Danyll and knotting it about his helm once more.

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Both riders weather the powerful blows and remain on horseback.

Princess Daena, of course, cheers vigorously for her cousin as he takes to the lists once again. Her sisters follow suit, if in a more ladylike fashion, and of course the Princess Naerys, the Dragonknight’s sister, takes particular notice as her brother rides again. Like Prince Baelor, however, she prefers a quiet prayer to any shouted encouragements.

First a thundering crash, then a hail of splinters. And from it, the grey knight emerging at a gallop, favour flying bravely; the headlong charge slows to a canter and he rides around in a long, lazy circle to face his fallen opponent, raising a mailed fist in salute.

And there he stays, leaning forward, bracing himself with an arm upon the saddle’s pommel, helm turned towards the joust between the Dragonknight and the northman.

Raynard wheels about for another pass, discarding the shattered lance for a new one. When his opponent is ready he charges again.

Rocked in the saddle by the unexpected fury of the Northman, Prince Aemon very nearly falls from the saddle, but manages to saw at the reins and right himself as the steed—the product of the finest studs and best training—changes its paces to allow such a maneuver. The broken lance is discarded, and he turns to take another long white jousting lance. And then he spurs the steed forward, a swift, sharp charge.

Aemon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Raynard is driven off the saddle by his opponent’s skillful charge.

Raynard finds himself once more on the ground, though not thrown quite so hard as he was by Aidan. Picking himself up he salutes the dragonknight and makes his way back to his pavilion waiting for another challenge.

Ethos watches the show between Raynard and Aemon with high interest, perhaps studying for his own chance, should the famed jouster accept his challenge. When Locke hits the dirt in the second pass, Mertyns gives a good-natured cry of disappointment.

Challenges continue all the while, with the Sealord—despite the sluggishness of a daze still upon him—managing another course and Lord Whalon passing his count of courses with a fine showing against a knight young enough to be a grandson. But its for the Dragonknight that everyone seems to have eyes, as he storms over Locke in high style. And gallant as always, he salutes as he passes by his defeated foe, before awaiting the next challenge.

The northman falls and the mysterious knight remains still; in that grey armour, he seems more a statue carved of rock than flesh and blood, the golden favour upon his arm a touch of whimsy. Then, when sufficient time has passed for the Dragonknight to have rested, he finally stirs, straightening and riding forward.

The crowd’s speculation mounts as he nears, and it is not disappointed—for he stops before Aemon Targaryen’s white shield. Truly, he means to ride against the finest champions on the field.

Then, when the silent challenge has been made, he rides back to take a lance and await his opponent before dipping it in salute and charging.

White against grey should prove to be a fine match, especially given the mysterious knight’s defeat of the Knight of the Twilight only a little before—the man shared the prize with the prince at the king’s grand tourney, after all. Prince Aemon, scarred face grave as he nods his acceptance of the challenge, dons his tall helm with its white dragon crest once he’s in the saddle. Then the shield and the lance are in hand, and he moves to take his place in the lists. When the mystery knight is ready, he charges, long white lance aimed with care.

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on its steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of its lance as it shatters.
Both riders weather the powerful blows and remain on horseback.

The roar at that double-shattering—so similar to that against the northman—is huge, and louder still when both knights stubbornly refuse to fall. Prince Aemon rides past with a glance to his opponent, and perhaps he nods his head. And then it’s a new lance to hand, his battered white shield with a fresh new crack held poised, and he charges once more.

Raynard decided to give his page a rest, and rode over to Ethos Mertyn. Nodding to the Mistwood knighthe banged on his shield and rode to the list and took a lance as he waited for Ethos to join him.

The mysterious knight sways in his saddle but rights himself easily enough; his own lance is no more than a shattered stump in his hand and he tosses it aside as he reaches the end of the lists. His squire waits with a fresh one and a smile of excitement that he cannot contain.

The grey knight says something to him under the crowd’s din before taking the lance and turning. Couching it, he watches the Dragonknight and is perhaps a moment late into the charge. But his charger thunders into a full gallop swiftly and the clash draws nearer.

Ethos’s respite is cut short when Locke challenges him. The knight drags himself up into the saddle and takes up another lance. He trots over to the list, looking down the long line of churned up soil to watch his opponent. He gives Raynard a salute, then couches the lance and charges.

Ethos strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

As always when the Dragonknight rides, the excitement in the stands is palpable, and that well beyond the royal box. Among those watching closely, and cheering loudly as each tilt concludes, is Lady Aisling. At her side, her admiration for Prince Aemon seems shared by her bastard uncle, whose expression may be noted as being less troubled than it was during the last joust they attended together. But then again, what one bastard-born Northman says or does is hardly worthy of much notice.

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight’s lance is broken into so many splinters as it delivers a tremendous blow to its opponent.
Aemon just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Raynard tossing aside the cracked lance takes a new one, and as soone as he sees Ethos is ready, he charges.

Another pair of broken lances, but this time the mystery knight has the better of Aemon. But the Dragonknight keeps his seat by main force, and is swift to take up a new lance. He dips it for a moment, another salute, and then launches his steed forward.

Ethos takes the hit from Raynard and jerks back under the heavy blow, but clings to the saddle with tenacity, righting himself as he slows his horse. He rides back to the end of the list and makes his second run at Locke.

Ethos strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Raynard strikes a poor blow after the lance dips unsteadily in the final moment before impact.
Raynard just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

His shield is scored and battered but the grey knight himself sits straight despite the pounding blows he has taken. And this last one among the hardest of all, but he took it upon his shield just so, surviving it handily enough.

Then, it is a fresh lance, a salute to return the Dragonknight’s and yet another charge.

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon its opponent and breaks near the tip.
Grey_Knight just barely manages to keep itself in the saddle after its opponent’s blow knocks it askew.

Raynard fights to keepin the saddle. Seating himself heavily in his saddle, he comes about for another pass.

This time, it is the grey knight who suffers the worst of it. But inch by clinging inch, he drags himself fully back into the saddle and upright to a roar from the crowd. The blow—or perhaps all the ones before it—have taken their toll, for he takes a moment to flex his arm before settling his shield into place again. And then, lance in hand, he wheels around to dare another charge at the Dragonknight.

Now Prince Aemon strikes the truer, and leaves the mystery knight struggling the saddle. And yet the man is as stubborn as he is, and as skilled by the looks of it. Another lance is taken up, but the jousting is delayed a little as the shards of lances are cleared away by swift attendants. And then, once readied, a fresh charge!

Aemon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on its steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of its lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight finds itself forced from the saddle by its opponent’s charge.

The second pass goes better for Ethos, but Raynard is still on his horse. Ethos trades up the damaged lance for a new one and wheels his steed about. His charger kicks up dirt as it makes it’s third run at Locke.

Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard is ripped from the saddle by a mighty blow and falls to the earth with a bone-shaking rattle.

Raynard lays there breathing heavily for a few moments, before slowly rolling over and bringing himself to his knees. A few more moments and he stood up and saluted his opponent before staggering off to his pavilion a bit dazed.

Maybe it’s his determination to last out to challenge the Aemon, perhaps it’s just a lucky strike, but Ethos drives his lance at Raynard like a hammer to an anvil and the knight from the North is left in the dirt.

Mertyns turns to meet his gaze, returning the salute and watching for a moment before he is sure that Raynard is well. Then the Stormlander returns to his own place on the sidelines.

Gasps and roars follow, as opponents are dashed from horseback, and the Dragonknight and the stormlord carry their contests. And still others make their challenges and ride, and the joust for love seems to have inspired great feats of daring.

A green-clad herald with the golden rose of Highgarden on his breast strides toward the Dragonknight’s place; he issues the challenge on behalf of his lord. “Ser Ardon Tyrell challenges Prince Aemon Targaryen!” announces the man. His master, for his part, sits his horse grinning; Ardon’s plumed greathelm is cradled in the crook of his arm. The young knight dons the helm, takes up a lance and canters toward the lists in a flurry of bright steel and emerald silk.

The Dragonknight accepts this challenge, too, after a sufficient rest. He checks the favor he has from Daena, to make sure it is as it should be, and then readies himself. The long, white lance is held high, and then dips in salute, in the moment before the charge.

As soon as he can see straight, the northern knight rides over and bangs on the Grey Knight’s shield.

Putting spurs to flanks, Ardon returns the Dragonknight’s salute; in a heartbeat, horse and rider are off, green lance lowering in the passage.

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Ardon lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ardon struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

And finally the grey knight falls. It is a matter of degrees, inch by inch like a statue toppling; this time, weary bones and aching muscles do not suffice to drag him upright again. But it is no great fall and he comes to his feet swiftly enough, raising a hand in salute to the victorious Dragonknight before mounting his horse and riding on. Perhaps his challenge is done, for he has faced five knights.

But he had sworn to ride against the five finest in the field. And he seems to judge that he has not done so yet, for he remains mounted. A knight challenges him, and then another; he defeats both swiftly. When at last he has had a chance to regain his breath, he turns to the Baratheon pavilion—but the Stormbreaker is no longer there. On to the Arryn then, and its famed captain of the guard, the man they call Standfast. The challenge is issued, a lance is chosen, spurs are set…

And the charge begins.

Ethos is checking over his horse for any injuries, making sure the animal is fairing well enough to continue to his last personal challenge. He looks over as Ardon meets Aemon and so quickly falls, a grim expression on his face. Quickly, the knight waves his page to go put the challenge forth, climbing back into the saddle to watch and wait from the higher vantage.

Raynard growls under his breath, at being refused his match, and moves over to take on Tancred Baratheon, beating the stormlander’s shield.

Upcliff has had a good day in the lists, winning more than losing, and his strength of arm has sent no less than two men onto litters and into the maesters’ hands. So when the mystery knight makes his challenge, he seems to expect it. He bears the favor that Ser Tancred seems to want, that of his charge the Jewel of the Eyrie. Mounting, he takes up a lance, and after a perfunctionary salute storms towards the other man.

Noel’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Grey_Knight lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Grey_Knight is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

After taking a tumble at the hands of Prince Aemon, Ardon seems visibly weary when he rises. Nevertheless, the bruised and battered Tyrell knight salutes his opponent gallantly and remounts, quitting the field for the moment.

Raynard mounts up and takes his lance, ready to unhorse his opponent, he charges.

And the heir to Storm’s End, still in pursuit of Jyana’s favor, takes up another challenge. He studies the northman and then gives his assent, and then makes ready. And then it’s the charge.

Tancred’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Raynard just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Raynard reseats himself in the saddle, and wheels about. discarding his cracked lance, he is handed another, and he readies for another charge.

Another shattered Baratheon lance, and Ser Tancred’s supporters are well-pleased. Though not so much by Raynard’s failing to fall. Another lance is taken up, and his great destrier barrels down the lists towards the northman…

Tancred makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Tancred just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

The Dragonknight has yet to turn down a challenge, and so it’s no surprise when he graciously accepts that of Ethos Mertyns. He mounts and dons his tall helm, taking up his arms afterwards. And then it’s to the lists, to give his salute, and then to charge.

The Grey Knight’s enterprise is achieved, a feat none can forget, even if the last joust was done in defeat. And still the mystery knight continues to make challenges, it seems, sparking great speculation among the commons. Among a few, a speculation is already forming….

Raynard tosses aside the broken lance, breathing heavily, fatigue from the days events beginning to set in.

Now Locke has the better of him, and it is Tancred’s turn to reel. He loses his lance in the process of staying upright on his horse, and requires a fresh one before he can make a new charge.

Tancred’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Raynard makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Raynard just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Ethos grins when his challenge is accepted by Aemon, though it’s the weary grin of a tired jouster. Still, going against the famed jouster sends some excitement to renew his flagging endurance. He readies his lance after a respectful salute and kicks his steed into motion.

Aemon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ethos lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Ethos finds himself forced from the saddle by his opponent’s charge.

Raynard grunts as he is once again knocked askew. He is forced to drop his lance is his fight to stay on the saddle. Reaching for a new one, he readies for a fourth pass, and when his opponent is ready he charges, yelling the name of his home at the top of his lungs. “OLDCAASTLLLLLE!!!”

Another lance turned into so much kindling, and another roar from the crowd—though that may be for Aemon’s swift dispatch of Ser Ethos. New lances are taken up, and another charge is made, and perhaps the two are closing for an end to this contest with the vigor of their oncoming.

Tancred makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Raynard’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Tancred is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

Raynard slams his visor up to get some fresh air as he waits for the next pass. WHen he ready, he takes a new alnce, and slams the vsor down as he charges.

The contest sways back and forth, to the delight of the crowd! Locke is as bold as can be, and the heir to Storm’s End neither gives nor expects any quarter. He does not hesitate to try and bypass Locke’s shield to strike at his breastplate, a surer way of unhorsing a man. So it’s with this strategy in mind that he makes another charge, though his destrier continues to flag.

Tancred strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Raynard strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.

Ethos breaks his lance, which is a small victory for the Stormland knight, but Aemon’s smashes into him with a ferocity and Mertyns is falling from the saddle before he can sort out how he’s faired. He hits the dirt and slowly shoves himself up, gingerly moving now to be sure that the stunned feeling from the impact isn’t a precurser to more serious injury.

“By the gods, the northman can keep his seat!” some shouts, and then follows that with a wager of a few stags on the man; the wager is quickly taken up. Tancred does not care who is wagering on whom, however, and spurs his steed on with barely a pause once he’s rounded the lists.

Tancred’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Both riders weather the powerful blows and remain on horseback.

And all the while, as people watch this contest, Ser Aidan does something differently: he makes a challenge, instead of patiently awaiting it. Perhaps he feels the sharpness of the defeat at the hands of the mystery knight, or the need to break another lance to complete his goal on behalf of Lady Tanyth. Regardless the reason, his squire goes to the Dragonknight’s tent and expresses his master’s wish to joust. And the Dragonknight accepts.

Tancred’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Raynard just barely manages to keep himself in the saddle after his opponent’s blow knocks him askew.

Tancred makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Raynard makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.

Tancred’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Tancred is struck down as if by a hammerblow, tumbling from his saddle to the hard earth below.

Again, it is no great fall. But this time, the grey knight takes longer to rise, remaining on one knee for a little while while the crowd’s noise surges and ebbs around him. At length, he pushes himself to his feet and mounts the charger one of his squires is patiently holding for him.

And then, he sends the lad to the northman Raynard Locke’s pavilion to await him.

Raynard slings his fists into the air as he moves over to his tent. Hearing the words of the GreyKnights squire he turns his horse, and without resting, heads to challenge the knight, and secure his fourth victory. Tkaing a lance, he salutes his opponent, and awaits his charge.

Ser Tancred does not rise from the earth under his own power, and after attendants check him they wave for a litter to bear him from the field. There are curses as the heir to Storm’s End is defeated, despite his remarkable endurance so readily put on display.

And elsewhere, the Dragonknight and Ser Aidan face one another once more, as they did at the grand tourney. Will this contest be as auspicious as that one?

Aemon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Aidan lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Aidan is roughly jolted in the saddle, struggling for a few moments to keep to his seat.

When he sees his opponent ready, the grey knight takes the lance his squire offers and couches it. He sets spurs to his mount and the charge begins.

Grey_Knight’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Raynard lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Raynard struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

Prince Aemon’s lance knows no fatigue, it seems; though that may be for the swift work he has made of most of his foes. The Dornish knight keeps to his saddle, however, and a second course is called upon once they take up fresh lances.

Raynard picks himself up and salutes his opponent. Smiling he leads his horse from the lists, his right leg limping a bit, all the falls appearing have irritated his wound from the kingswood.

“Hang in there!” Tamlyn encouragingly calls out as Aidan finds himself on the receiving end of a formidable blow from the Dragonknight. “Don’t you disappoint my little sister!” At his side, Tanyth jabs an elbow at him, then takes up the cheer for the next round of jousting.

Aemon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Aidan’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Both riders weather the powerful blows and remain on horseback.

A mighty double-crack as lances snap and shards fly, and still the two knights refuse to fall! But the Knight of the Twilight has managed his enterprise along the way, and now he rides purely for honor.

Aemon’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Aidan lance strikes square upon his opponent and breaks near the tip.
Aidan struggles to keep to the saddle for a few instants, before finally succumbing and sliding to the ground.

Janden stirs from his break at his pavillion and crosses over toward Ethos - not bothering to send his page - he speaks to the knight himself, offering his friend a challenge. “Enough left in the tank for a charge or two at me, Ethos?”

The northman falls to him easily enough and the grey knight discards his shattered lance, riding back. And now, finally, a full nine knights faced, among them the finest the field has to offer, he has a chance to rest.

Dismounting stiffly, he pauses to watch the clash between Dragonknight and Dornishman.

Ethos is conferring with Orene again, sharing everything he’s been learning about the dirt of the field with his lady, as promised. Even after the brief stint against the Dragonknight. When Janden heads over to issue his challenge, Mertyns grins. “Sure! But only if we put a wager on it. Ten stags?”

“Always has to be a wager! Fair enough . . . I can use a few extra stags.” He grins at Ethos and shakes his head. “Get your horse and your stags.” And with that, Janden crosses to his own mount and gets into the saddle, heading to the lists and preparing for the tilt.

Ethos drags himself up to the saddle, obviously exhausted but there’s a grin on his face as he pulls down the visor for this joust against his friend. He couches his lance after a salute to Janden, then sets his horse to charge yet again.

The day ends in defeat for Ser Aidan, yet his fall from the saddle is almost perfunctionary, as if he lost the will to stay in place. Down on one knee, a gauntleted hand digs into the air as he catches his breath. Then he rises, and lifts up the visor. The Dragonknight pauses as he passes, and words are exchanged; they cannot be heard over the cheers. A last salute of respect from the two knights, men known for their chivalry as much as their skill in arms, and then Ser Aidan wends his way back to his tent with slow steps. He pauses at his arming tent, looking again to the lists, and then sets his helm down on the ground before entering to be disarmed by attendants.

Ethos strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Ethos finds himself forced from the saddle by his opponent’s charge.

The rest has done Janden well, the good parts of his previous tilts coming together as his lance crashes into Ethos’ shield and he unhorses his friend. He wheels his steed around to head back to where Ethos is fallen, lifting the remains of his lance to salute the knight. “Ah, Ethos! Good ride. But, I owed you one after you embarrassed me in our last tilt!”

Ethos should have quit. As Janden meets him on the line, the knight has good form, but the blow that Melcolm slams into his shield is far stronger than expected. Ethos makes a sluggish struggle before he falls to the dirt, laying splayed for a moment in complete daze and exhaustion.

Just when it looks like he might be unconscious, the knight pushes himself up, reaching first to brush the dirt from Orene’s blue silk favor that is still secured tightly about his arm. Then, laborously the Stormlander stands and inclines his chin to his friend. “Good run, Janden.. “

Janden turns his horse back to the end of the lists, his page has already moved off to issue the last challenge, delivering it to Whalon Rosby.

Of course, the Jousting Lord has completed his enterprise long ago, but he doesn’t seem keen on stopping jousting; he never is. So he’s ready for the challenge, and if he needs assistance getting in the saddle thanks to the bruises and fatigue, it doesnt’ phase him. He merely laughs, and takes up the gage. The swirling white and red of his lance is dipped in salute, and then he charges with a will.

Whalon strikes a good blow that cracks, but does not break, his lance.
Janden makes a solid impact against his opponent in the joust, though the lance remains unbroken.
Janden just manages to keep to the saddle after weathering a good blow from his opponent.

Janden is back to his old ways, keeping his seat despite the heavy blow. He turns, his lance unbroken, and prepares for another pass.

Ethos moves slowly back to the end of the field. He pulls off his helm and leans against an outer wall of the stands, waving the page on to take his horse to his pavilion while he watches Janden’s next challenge. Mertyns is quite done today.

Though he looks ready to fall over, Ethos cheers when Janden stays his saddle against Whalon.

Rosby takes Ser Janden’s lance solidly, but a tilt of his shield leads the tip to skitter away, and so he has the better of that contest. He chuckles, jesting with his attendants, before putting spurs to his horse again.

Whalon’s steady lance and solid seat on his steed leads to a powerful blow. The list resounds with the crack of his lance as it shatters.
Janden’s lance is broken into so many splinters as he delivers a tremendous blow to his opponent.
Whalon is pushed from the saddle by his opponent’s lance.

Ethos cheers louder still for Melcolm’s victory, looking to search the crowd now to see if Elyana is paying attention at all. After all, Janden is carrying her favor.

Janden might be as surprised as anyone when his lance strikes true and shatters to splinters against Whalon’s shield - pushing th eman back off his steed. He takes the equally brutal blow from Whalon on his own shield and manages to keep his seat - looking over his shoulder as his horse rides on - he can’t help a small celebration, lifting the remains of his lance in the air as he turns his horse around. Janden crosses back to where the man is fallen, waiting until the man recovers to offer a salute.

“Och! That’ll be a great bloody bruise,” Lord Rosby groans, as his attendants help to right him. A gauntled hand goes to his back, and he winces in pain. When Janden comes around, he manages a salute, and even a grin. “Well ridden, lad. Gods know, the gods send fools like us luck on occasion.” And then he hobbles away, with a last wave to the commons, where he’s cheered as he departs.

Janden has met his goal, and ended with fine fashion, and so doing so he rides from the field, heading back to his own pavillion, his helm tucked under one arm and an easy smile on his lips.

The challenges seem to have run their course, with some knights having achieved their enterprises, and others not. There’s acclaim, and the beginnings of deliberation ... except for when Princess Daena, speaking to Daeron, then has the herald announce, “Grey knight! The princess says that, out of all courtesy, you must now unmask to show your true face. If you do not, you would shame your lady, whomever she might be.”

Ethos throws a cheerful grin to Janden as Melcolm passes, but the Mistwood knight slowly makes his way to his own pavilion. He drops down into a chair, watching with interest to see who the Grey Knight might be as he tugs off his gloves.

And where none of his opponents have given the grey knight pause, that announcement does. Mounted, armoured and looking as if he was but a breath away from discreetly riding away, he stops and turns the charger in a half-circle with his knees to face the royal stand across the lists. There is a moment’s pause as if he deliberates—and then he spurs forward, drawing rein before Daena.

“I might have denied even your command, princess,” he speaks for the first time, voice echoing and hollow within his helm as he bows his head. “But I have no wish to shame my lady. Very well.”

Tugging off his gauntlets, he hands them down to the squire who has run across the stand beside him. And then, he fumbles with the helm, finally lifting it off.

And the Iron Serpent’s hard-featured face, eyes weary and hair damp with sweat is revealed.

Whomever she might be. There are a great number of ladies who clearly hope she is one of them; everyone rises and surges to the rails to see the face. But there are also any number of women who have no knight riding, or who know their own knight to be otherwise engaged. Reyna Saltcliffe sits with a pair of Tyrell-clad matrons, and does not see the unmasking—

—until she finds herself lifted by the elbows by a sweaty pair of kinsmen and taken to the rail, where the first true smile of the day lights her face.

For some, this unmasking leaves their suspicions confirmed. Others still are quite surprised, and there are gasps and mutters and cheers at that. And with that last mystery done away with, the ladies can begin to confer to cast their votes for the champion who carried the day.

Ethos lifts his brows when it is the Iron Serpent so revealed. “Huh..” Is all that the knight says, though only his page hears it. There’s some respect on Mertyns face for Ser Dagur, but weariness is a greater factor for him now.

After the long, exciting day, the ladies left to make the decision on who the Champion is to be are hard-pressed. After a considerable delay, it’s decided that there will be a formal announcement on the morrow so that the women have ample time to make a proper choice.