Broken Lances and Wizard's Lore
Twenty-Eighth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Pennants flew and horses neighed, armor clinked and lances struck, and all the crowd roared its approval as two bone-shattering blows connected. Ser Benjicot Brown fell more heavily than 'the knight of the grey tower' as Ser Karyl Grafton had chosen to style himself. The hedge knight couldn't get to his feet but he was still moving, and in enough pain to curse.
"Fuck, I think his back's broken," Andar Royce muttered under his breath, before throwing a somewhat guilty look at his little sister. Mystery knight or no, disguised by Waymar's magic ribbon and all, he still could not shake the feeling that his mother was going to show up and chastise him somehow.
Ysilla just smiled reassuringly. "He'll get healed up in a moment. Magic doesn't really care if you have a cut finger or a shattered spine, as long as you use enough of it. There's the Princess," she added as a flash of tiny silver wings passed between the royal box and the wounded knight. "She probably just wants to make sure the official healers don't run out of spells fixing that."
Indeed the knight rose and dusted himself off, managing a credible bow before the transformed Princess before getting back on his horse. The second tilt was only a bit less spectacular than the first, though Brown, perhaps still rattled, slid from his seat while his opponent barely clung on.
Andar momentarily struggled against a flash of envy. He had not even managed to make it into the first thirty-two knights, and while he had done better in the melee he had not quite been good enough to earn himself a Valyrian Steel dagger before the Red Viper bested him. The thought of those daggers brought up a question he had been meaning to ask, if not precisely looking forward to the answer.
"Waymar," he cleared his throat. "Did you find all that Valyrian Steel somewhere, or is it true King Viserys discovered some way to make it again?"
His little brother looked back at him seriously, obviously hearing the implications of the question. "Yes, he can make it, and it's not something I can explain because while it is safe and right the way he does it, allowing the knowledge out there will open the door on a lot of people who will have neither the skill nor the
morals to do it properly."
"He's right," Ysilla piped up. "Sacrificial magic can be very powerful even in the most inexpert of hands, but it is perilous not just directly but by the sort of behaviors it could lead to. That's why it's restricted by law to people who know what they are about." She sounded like she was quoting from something she had learned or studied.
"How did you know it's..." Waymar stopped himself, looking a touch sheepish.
Ysilla rolled her eyes as only younger siblings presented with the obliviousness of older ones can. "It's the
Valyrians. They probably couldn't get out of bed in the morning without burning the heart of a sparrow or something."
At that Waymar snorted in amusement, leaving Andar to shake his head in bafflement at how they could jest about it.
Thankfully the next tilt was beginning drawing his attention away from such disquieting thoughts. The Dothraki woman in the dark armor of King Viserys' Legion faced off against a knight Waymar had revealed to be Ser Erren Florent. Twice lances broke as they struck, twice both fell in the dust, until on the third pas the Dothraki kept her seat whole Ser Erren tumbled a third time.
Maybe she'll be the one to win, wouldn't that be an odd song for the bards back home to sing, Andar thought, amused. He realized with a start that seeing a woman with a lance did not particularly bother him anymore. After all he had witnessed in Sorcerer's Deep that seemed barely worth noting.
The last crossing of the lances before the noonday break was 'the knight of the Dead Trouts', a Frey, facing off against Ser Jon Redfort. Jon spared House Tully from an even greater embarrassment than they would already face by unhorsing the Frey, though not without trouble. He just barely clung to the saddle and his ribs would likely need looking at. Whatever they may say about the Lord of the Crossing, his brood could fight, and they likely
would fight for the Dragon when the time came. House Tully would have much more than awkward tales and sly songs to deal with by the time the dust cleared.
All things told Andar was content at where he and his House stood, and if that took his sister being more comfortable about the idea of blood magic than he was entirely comfortable with... well, he supposed he would get used to that, too.
OOC: A bit of a short interlude. I really should have put these results in the Bonifer interlude, but they broke up the flow of the story. As mentioned above this was initially supposed to be from Waymar's PoV, but Andar worked better.