Janden is leaning against one of the walls in the yard, drinking water, and trying to take in the scant shade that it offers from the beating sun. His hair and shirt are sweat covered, and his blade still dangles in his right hand - obviously fresh off some practice work. The yard itself is reasonably quiet, and there is no sign of whoever Janden was sparing with not so long ago.
A hot day, as they tend to be in the midst of the long summer years. Just past the height of the noon sun, the baking turf and stones of the yard are forbidding enough that only a handful of the boldest or most tolerant to heat make use of its facilities to practice at arms or exercise their horses. Guardsmen, in this lazy hour, keep to the shade thrown by the high walls and the great gatehouse guarding the bronze doors into the keep. Servants scurry about their business, and clerks and courtiers, and ... one Dornishmen, marked by the striped robes he wears and he olive hue of his skin. At his hip is a quiver of arrows, and in his hand a Dornish bow, sleek and double-curved. He angles towards the straw targets against the wall where Janden takes his rest.
“Good day to you, ser,” Ser Aidan Dayne says, eyes squinted against the glare of the sun as he approaches. Those eyes, a rich blue deep enough to seem almost violet, take in the sparring blade. “Some would say it’s dangerous, to exercise vigorously at the height of the day.”
“And doubly so for those who choose to spar against me, I’d say. Heat exhaustion and bruises both.” The young man pushes himself slightly away from the wall and sheathes the dull sparring blade. “Good day to you, as well, ser. Let me move aside so you can have at the targets.” And he does - glancing around the mostly empty yard at the same time. “But, yes, I think most others have ducked away from the heat. However, battles fought outside these walls don’t stop because of a warm sun. Best to be prepared.”
“It’s certainly true in Dorne,” the Dornish knight says, nodding his head before adding, “My thanks,” with a gesture to the target with the hand holding the bow. Aidan examines it, trying the string, before his free hand reaches for a purse just behind the quiver of arrows. From it he pulls a ring of dark stone, which he slips over his thumb before selecting out an arrow. “I’ve heard there’ll be a melee for the wedding of the Prince of Dragonstone and Daena. Do you mean to enter it, Ser Janden? Or perhaps the wedding tourney, which the king’s steward has been laboring over? You did well at the king’s tourney, if I may say so. The Iron Serpent has cause to rue your defeating him in the final day.”
“I certainly intend to make an effort. The competition is strong, here - but I do plan to win a tourney one of these attempts.” Janden smiles, watching the Dornish knight carefully as the arrow is selected - “You’ll be entering, no doubt?”
Ser Aidan smiles at the question, glancing at Janden. His silence is answer enough. Fitting nock to string, he lifts the bow and draws it back in a smooth motion, the double-curved arms bending back and uncurling. A pause ... and then he lets loose. The arrow sinks into the target, a figure with garments stuffed with straw and wearing an ancient half-helm on the straw-stuffed sack that serves as its head. It’s a fair shot, near where a man’s heart might be, but then Dayne won the king’s archery tournament…
“Doubtless we’ll see the knights of the Kingsguard as well,” the Knight of the Twilight says. “Perhaps even Prince Aemon. A crowded field to say the least, ser, with so many worthies coming for the wedding.”
Janden offers an appreciative whistle as the arrow strikes home, shaking his head - “Nicely placed. Crowded, yes, and talented. It will be a prestigious event to progress through at all. So much skill in one place - it will be a treat even to spectate. Even the early events are sure to promise some clashes to speak about for years to come. And to declare a clear cut favourite before hand is far from trivial.”
“From your mouth to the Warrior’s ear, ser,” Ser Aidan says, grinning. “Though in the king’s city, it’s always the Dragonknight that’s favored.” So says the man who fought the Dragonknight to a draw during the king’s tourney, not once but twice. He pulls another arrow from the quiver as he goes on to say, “They say your Lord Arryn was a good knight in the lists, but he gave up tourneys as a vanity. I hope you’ve no intentions of following suit, ser.” A soft chuckle, and he draws the arrow back, sighting down its length ... and lets loose. A less-good shot, but then it’s where the target’s belly would be if it had one. He looks at the result critically.
“I have no plan to give up the tourneys as vain, no. I think everyone has an opinion as to how important the tournaments are - and while I do strive for victory and impressive results, I think they are an important avenue to keep ones skills sharpened through times when real battle is at a minimum. I’d drill in any case, but having a goal never hurts with motivation.” The young knight speaks with his eyes forward, watching the second arrow land - perhaps a little low, but an arrow through the stomach is still a deterrent.
Aidan nods agreement, looking over to the knight “I’m with you, Ser Janden. We’ve sworn our vows as knights. Tourneys are just a means to keep us honed, just as we keep our swords honed.” He chooses out a third arrow, but takes his time with it, looking to the target and then back to the bow with a certain of deliberate patience. After a few moments, he remarks, “I’ve heard Ser Harstyn Tully has been recruited by William Waxley to gather together a guard of honor for the prince and princess. Have you been asked to join it, ser? If there’s room still, I’m sure it’d please them to have you. Knights from all corners of the realm are being asked, you see.”
“I havn’t been - and nor had I heard the operation was occuring. Some weeks I find myself busy with my daily routine and forget to look around and see what is happening around me.” Janden reaches up and runs a hand absently through still damp hair - “But, an honor guard, you say? I’d be delighted and honored to be included. However, it might be a touch presumptuous to simply present myself to Ser Harstyn and ask to be included. I’m certain he has a list of names he’s persuing.”
“Mayhaps, ser,” Aidan answers, in a tone that’s dubious. “Though it’s not what I heard. He may have started with a list, but the honor guard is to be large, and there’s a number of knights who’ve turned down the opportunity for one reason or another. A rivalry with one man or the next, or a committment to play some other part in the wedding…” He shrugs then, and draws and then looses the third arrow. That one lands in the crude circle representing one of the target’s eyes. He seems satisfied with that, surveying it critically, hand already dropping to pick out another arrow.
“Remind me, ser, to keep the combat in close range - if I were ever to have to face you.” Janden reaches up to his own eye as the arrow sinks into the dummy - “I’ve already nearly managed to lose an eye.” He gives a quiet chuckle and picks the conversation back up - “I’ll see if I can’t track him down, then, and offer my services. And if not as part of the guard, I’d let it be known that I’m available to assist in any way.”
A laugh, and the Knight of the Twilight says, “I’ll be sure to warn you, ser, if I ever have cause to send an arrow winging your way.” That lingers a little, and then he sobers, looking fully at Janden as he says, “That will never happen, of course, ser. We’re on the same side, now, serving the same king.” What he thinks of it is hard to say, as he looks so serious.
Clearing his throat, he turns back to the target, pulling out the fourth arrow, setting nock to string. “Perhaps I’ll have some luck, if there’s an archery competition. Though Ser Bryon Waynwood—a valeman as well, isn’t he?—nearly had the better of me, so who can say?”
“Of couse, of course, ser. Simply a jest. On the same side, and I’m happy for it.” Janden waves away the comment and raises his eyes to the target again. “Honestly, I should spend more time with a bow. I havn’t reached my peak with a long blade, but I have a lot less room to improve with it than a bow.” He pauses a moment, and adds - “But, it’s a lot more satisfying to refine what I know I’m good at than fumbling through with things I’m not. You though will no doubt be the one to beat in the archery competition. And I’m not certain luck has that much to do with it.”
“A wise knight once told me that we make our own luck, Ser Janden,” Aidan replies, a quick grin on his lips. “I think that’s true enough. Certainly, _trusting_ to luck strikes me as stupid. Better to trust to hard practice and hard-won experience, and let luck see to itself.” He puts that to the test, bending the bow back, sighting ... and letting loose. He was clearly aiming for the other eye, but doesn’t manage—in fact, it clips the side of the sack and sinks into a mound of hay behind. A rueful look, and he says, “Though luck never hurts…”
Janden watches the arrow sail wide with a grin and a quiet laugh - “You were asking for that to happen. As soon as you think about it, everything falls apart. The body knows how to hit that target, and the mind can do an amazing job of distracting the body.” Janden sighs, taking another look around the quiet yard - “Well, ser, I’m glad to have run into you. And will do so again before long, I expect. However, I should perhaps go to the bathhouse and find a change of clothes.”
Lowering his bow-arm, Aidan gives Janden a brief bow. “A pleasure, Ser Janden. Try the yard some morning after the morning services, and you might find me here with a tourney blade, or at the quintain.” He gestures towards the quintain then, before going on in his voice colored with the accents of Dorne. “I’d be glad of the variety, to say the least; the tender attentions of Ser Madyn Santagar or my cousin Tamlyn seem to raise bruises in all the same places. It grows tedious.” A quick flash of a smile, then.
“I’d be more than happy to offer bruises in some new locations to you, Ser Aidan.” The young knight grins - the curve of the smile touching the scar that runs up past his eye - making the grin seem all that much wider. “But, I’ll take you up on that some morning. It’s true that facing the same blades each day, you begin to learn the person. And the skill is really dealing with surprises.” Janden offers a simple bow in return. “Have an excellent evening, Ser.”