Of Honor's Worth
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
"Are you
sure you are going to be alright competing tonight, Ser?" Daenerys asked the Florent knight as he started to make his way out of the chamber and ultimately back to the jousting field.
"Yes, I am entirely recovered, Your Highness, and most grateful for your aid of course," he replied, lied rather. His eyes were still red from weeping. No one could be fine after discovering some of their closest kin were consorting with Hell, not unless they had a heart of flint, which Ser Erren certainly did not. One look at him embracing his son to make sure he was alright was enough to prove that, but gods knew he couldn't show it. Dany felt like spitting fire over the notion that men couldn't have emotions in public. It was one thing to keep your head in a fight, and quite another to feel like you had to pretend to be alright poking people off their horses when your whole world had tumbled around you.
"Alright, take care," she sighed, watching the knight put on his helmet and take up his grapevine painted shield. She was tempted to hand out a favor, but she had already given one to Ser Gerold.
Truth be told she was angry about a lot more than Ser Erren having to play along for 'honor's sake,' she was angry at what Lya and Aradia had found, at what Alekyne Florent had confessed about trying to do, and at whom he had been conspiring with.
Lord Florent had been the one to make the pact with the local fey after receiving word from Highgarden, and he had done it to his own benefit and that of his House. No one had tried to stop him, it was just the way things were... so when he and his heir had both come forth with another bargain for the local fey, one that bound together local lord, devil, and fey prince, no one had been there to object, no one to speak for the smallfolk. What cared the fey for the souls of mortals if their price was paid? Sometimes they would even rescue one of Alekyne's quarries and offer them the choice to serve them for a time rather than be returned to the mortal world. What were those poor folk to do but accept?
If it had not been for Lya that would have been the fate of one of Alekyne's current victims, but the short sharp skirmish that followed his unceremonious capture had put paid to any notion that it would be business as usual. Aradia had shot the mounts right from under their riders and Lya's magic had bound even the prince of the court,
Crimson Lotus.
At least those poor people would be able to return to their families, their memories of faerie muddled but their minds sound, by the auspices of a mysterious benefactor robed in white. Some would imagine her fey, others sent by the Seven, no matter that Lya had truthfully said she was naught but a passing mage.
If nothing else Crimson Lotus deserved to die before the tree for his callousness.
So it was not precisely in the most cheerful of moods that Daenerys Targaryen ascended the steps to the royal box and took her seat beside her brother's still empty place. As much to distract herself as anything she asked Sandor: "Wish you were down there?"
"No," he grunted, then realizing she was still listening he continued reluctantly, "Never met a warhorse that wasn't a right bastard. I'll take Stranger over them any day, and I'd trust my own two feet more in a fight."
As Ser Bonifer Hasty and Ser Criston Storm met clashing again and again to the shouts and applause of the crowd Sandor looked more and more vindicated, though as far as Dany could see the trouble was not so much the trustworthiness of horses as the extraordinary skill of both knights.
Three times Ser Criston struck, the third time breaking his lance off Ser Bonifer's plate, but still the elder knight stayed doggedly in the saddle and on the third pass landing a blow of his own. The new lance does not seem to bring Ser Criston luck, for on the fourth pass he hit the shield and a perfect strike from Ser Bonifer unhorsed him.
Next up was Ser Benjicot Brown who had far less trouble with his own opponent, the Lyseni rider dropping his shield at a bad moment and being turned almost entirely around on his horse before he tumbled onto the ground.
Surprisingly the next match up between Black Walder Frey and Horas Redwyne began with another double unhorsing, with the Frey knight falling particularly badly and twisting his ankle in the stirrup in the process. Thankfully healers were present here as in all the other events of the tourney for all they had less work here than say in the melee. Back on his feet, the Riverlander knight showed his experience by unhorsing his foe a second time, this time weathering a solid hit in return.
This is starting to become a pattern with him, Dany thought, some of her good cheer returning.
Vardis Sunderland met Ser Jon Redfort in the next tilt with one hitting the shield and the other barely managing a glancing hit that the crowd was thoroughly unimpressed with. The second blow from Ser Redfort was hardly any better, but enough to send Vardis sliding off his horse.
When Ser Erren Florent met Ser Philip Foote next Dany found herself at the edge of her seat. The poor man deserved a win, even if it was just a game, even if it couldn't fix anything. Somehow he managed it, a solid blow to the center of the breastplate while weathering a hit to the shoulder in return. Perhaps he was imagining his cousin in the place of the Westerlander knight, for Ser Erren looked quite remorseful at the strength of the blow, helping his vanquished opponent back on his feet.
"That is what knighthood is supposed to be about," she said absently, not even realizing she was speaking aloud.
"What, figuring out who can hit hardest?" the Hound snorted.
"No, helping your opponent up. He was actually worried he'd hit too hard that time. I have a good eye for that," Dany replied.
"You're the witch," he shrugged.
"It's probably in your best interest to figure out what various kinds of mages are called and what they can do," the young princess sighed.
To her surprise her new-made sworn shield actually nodded. "Something to that."
The next fight caught both their eyes, though it was not the most spectacular. The Dothraki rider in Legion armor somehow had her lance slip out of her hand on the first pass to the displeasure of the crowd, though luckily for her Ser Raynald Mooton only managed to strike her shield, and on the second tilt she manages to cast him down, though the blow was barely more than glancing. The Dothraki rider seemed more furious about how she had won than Ser Raynald was at losing. Dany even learned a few new curse words.
Ser Harmen Flower flew from his saddle from a nearly perfect blow of Ser Karl Terrick, though his return strike almost made Ser Terrick slide off in turn, the Riverlander seeming to hang on by sheer dogged determination.
Ser Gerold was the last onto the field against Ser Karyl Grafton. The first tilt saw both of them fall, though Gerold definitely took the harder tumble.
Come on, you can do it... Dany had never realized how important a scrap of cloth could seem in the heat of the moment before. The second tilt rattled the Valeman who only manages to strike the general's shield... but as the third tilt closed Dany could see Gerold's shield was out of alignment, and in that split second when Gerold slipped backwards out of his saddle she was tempted to twist the hand of fate as she had done time and again in battle, to give him that one instant to right himself. She did not. Gerold himself would not wish that sort of aid, and winning with it would have been unworthy.
OOC: Edits done.
