Choices you made last chapter:
[X] Decline to participate in Terrence's scheme. (If you win a bout against a "proper" opponent, so be it, but you'll do it with honor and only if the opportunity presents itself. Your team should try to work together to win the melee itself for the glory, honor, and larger coin purse, although the amount has not been announced yet.)
[X] Six Times to Sea: Being an Account of the Great Voyages of Alyn "Oakenfist" Velaryon by Maester Bendamure. (You don't know much about House Velaryon. Perhaps you should spend some time learning about one of its favored sons.)
[X] The Princess and the Queen, or, the Blacks and the Greens – Being a History of the Causes, Origins, Battles, and Betrayals of that Most Tragic Bloodletting Known as the Dance of the Dragons by Archmaester Glydayn. (Dragons and dragon riders fighting in the skies, over both sea and land, is a phenomenon not like to be seen again and you want to learn more about the great war known as the Dance of the Dragons.)
[X] Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons by Maester Thomax. (You think you know enough about King Robert and his brothers thanks to your father's tutelage but beyond the most famous Targaryen kings and their dragons, you don't know as much as you would like to. How did the dragons die out anyway?)
[X] Ser Donnal. (You'd wear plate on a ship if combat was sure. The extra protection would be sure to come in handy during any boarding action and even if you weren't wearing plate, falling in the water wearing leathers did not guarantee your safety.)
Attributes Increased: Agility, Charisma, Intelligence, Strength
A few days before the tourney, Ser Donnal presents you and Willem with new heater shields from the armorer painted with his sigil, a white heart, stabbed diagonally through by a black dagger on a red field filled with white drops, surrounded by a wavy border of white. Willem's smile was as large as you've ever seen it and you couldn't deny that you were pleased as well. It makes for a fine sight coupled with your black gambeson. The shield is now hooked to your saddle on your left and sways to the canter of your pony as you leave castle Driftmark and ride through the port town of Hull. You ride abreast beside Donovan and Willem with Wyl, Donnis, and Harwin behind you as you follow Ser Donnal in a procession that stretches for miles. Donovan carries Ser Donnal's banner that the knight had specially made for the tourney. It's one of at least a hundred that flap in the wind all along the narrow road to High Tide, where the squires bearing those banners and the lords, knights, and free-riders they represent will all compete in the shadow of that seaside fortress. Smallfolk line the road, bearing mostly small banners of sea-green but some wave banners of black and yellow for Ser Rolland Storm who is directly ahead of your party in the procession and banners of pale green for Ser Aemon Estermont, who rides only behind Lord Monford and his wife Argella far beyond your field of vision. You only know his position in the procession because Ser Donnal told you it was so. Those two knights, you think, must be the favorites going into the tourney and given their support among the smallfolk, their prowess must be widely known. Examining Ser Rolland Storm ahead of you, you can only see the back of him but he cuts an impressive figure nonetheless, sitting astride his large destrier as if he was born to it. His squire, Symeon "Sevenstars" Sunglass is of a size with him, bearing the reversed Caron colors of a black banner with a sea of yellow songbirds. The bastards are all grouped together, with the white banner of Aurane Waters in the lead, behind the nobles and before the hedge knights and free riders, leaving your party somewhere in the middle of the procession with neither the beginning nor the end in sight. You can't quite contain your awe and you smile at being a part of something so grand. The tourney was set to last for four days of events and feasting with nearly all of the lords of the Narrow Sea, Crownlands, and Stormlands in attendance. The bards had already started composing the opening verses of the songs to commemorate the grand occasion. You could hardly stop yourself from fidgeting in your saddle from the sheer force of anticipation.
Donovan seems to notice your excitement. "I've never seen anything like it," he says. "These next few days will be ones to remember."
You smile. "Aye, that they will."
Donovan only nods in response and you descend back into silence. The journey to the other side of the island takes all day as you ride through the farmlands and small hamlets of Driftmark. The lands seem to be fertile and populous and the smallfolk are happy to witness the spectacle as you notice several peasant families with carts and on foot move to follow alongside the miles-long procession. Your party entertains themselves on the long ride by singing and telling stories. You're able to tell some tales about the Dance and speaking of Alyn Velaryon and his many voyages fills you with hope for the mariner knight you wish to be someday. You admire the legitimized bastard but don't dare hope for a similar fate. You feel as if you'll always be a Snow. As for the singing, your rendition of The Bear and the Maiden Fair is heard up and down the bastards' portion of the procession and soon many beyond your party are singing along. You find that Big Symeon's singing voice is especially pleasing to the ear and he starts up his own song after you're finished. Ser Donnal and Ser Rolland take up the tune immediately although you don't follow, not knowing the song. Ser Donnal later tells you that the song's name is Iron Lances and it's practically tradition to sing it before a tourney. When you finally reach the tourney grounds, you find that many of the noble's tents have already been set up. You see a crossed silver mace and sword on a diagonal field of white and green, the crossed black hammers of House Rykker, the turtle of House Estermont, and many more. Too many to name or even fathom. You recognize many houses of the Stormlands: Buckler, Errol, Cafferen, Morrigen, Wylde, Selmy, and Swann. The Swann pavilion is impressive, with at least three tents in the black and white of their house visible from a distance. You're less familiar with the sigils of the Crownlanders, but you reckon that they're well represented along with the Narrow Sea houses, spotting the triple spiral of House Massey and the Swordfish of Bar Emmon.
In the light of the late afternoon, the seaside redoubt of High Tide looms tall. It's made of a pale stone that gleams white in the sun and its tall towers are crested with domes of sparkling silver. It is indeed high tide as you approach and you can see that only a narrow causeway connects the fortress to the mainland. The nobles' tents are all grouped near the outskirts of a tiny and mostly abandoned town which Ser Donnal names as Spicetown. You recognize the name from your readings on the Dance and you know that the town was burnt to cinders by the Greens. You can see clearly now that it never fully recovered with the ruins of old stone buildings clearly visible from a distance. You all pitch in as dusk falls to raise a large red and white tent for your party's use. Ser Donnal puts a grey bolt of cloth just below his own banner outside the tent to symbolize the presence of Winterfell guardsmen and a bastard of House Stark, a gesture that you and your men appreciate. The cookfires burn long and bright throughout the night and you and the other squires spend the early evening hours running around the sprawling camp, joining in on some of the squires' games of dice and trading some of your small bricks of quality cheese from Pentos that Ser Donnal bought to commemorate the occasion for healthy slabs of venison and lamb. You meet squires of all stripes and mostly mingle with the free riders in black and grey but you also meet a few little lordlings that aren't quite as stuck up as Ryam Rykker about mixing with lowborns and bastards. You and your fellows share a bit of meat and ale with Lord Casper Wylde as he tells you of his aspiration to win the squire's joust. He's a muscular youth of five and ten with the beginnings of black stubble and deep blue eyes. He proudly wears a surcoat bearing his sigil of a blue-green maelstrom spiral on a field of gold. You find him to be a bit pompous but well-meaning.
After laughing at one of Donovan's stories about Ser Donnal, Lord Casper takes another pull from his horn before explaining his predicament. "Unlike you lot, I can't very well go around following a knight from one tourney to another. I have lands to rule. I can only hope that someone of stature will see fit to knight me for my efforts in this tourney because it may be one of my last in the field of squires."
You're a bit puzzled. He was already a Lord and he could likely be knighted whenever he wanted. Many would knight him just to curry favor. You suppose that he would like to earn it by his own merits, however. "You're a Lord," you say. "You could have a knighthood whenever it suits you but you want to earn it, don't you?"
Lord Casper gives you a brilliant smile. "I want it to mean something, Snow. I want to be knighted for my deeds and since I wouldn't wish for war to befall the realm, this might be one of my only chances."
You, Donovan, and Willem all tell him your aspirations for knighthood and Lord Casper listens patiently to each one of you, asking clarifying questions and giving encouragement. When you tell of him of your dream to become a mariner knight like the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, or your very own "master" for the tourney, Ser Donnal, he laughs but doesn't ridicule you. He only asks that you call upon him at his seat at the Rain House once you've made some of your voyages and tell him of your adventures.
He smiles easily, the night fire reflecting in his eyes. "Mayhaps, you'll make Rain House a port of call someday. I have high hopes for the village beneath my castle. It's grown in size every year since I was a boy."
You thank him for his consideration and promise to pay him a visit should you have any voyages of note someday. As you say your farewells and leave his company, you decide that you quite like Lord Casper. He reminds you of Robb, as do many things these days. You wonder how he fares these days with only Theon and Sansa for true companionship although you'd wager that Arya follows him around like a little limpet as well. You miss your brother dearly but are glad to have found friends like Donovan and Willem. You can only hope that you find similar companions at Grandview. As you return to your tent and settle in for the night, you find yourself restless and unable to sleep in your furs next to Wyl. Thoughts of the melee on the morrow and of your future as a squire and then hopefully a knight echo through your head, leaving you unable to sleep. Rising, you exit the tent into the damp sea air to look up at the stars. It doesn't take much effort to find the constellation of the Ice Dragon and you follow its blue gaze north, wondering what words of encouragement Robb would have to say to you at this moment. You also imagine your father patting you on the shoulder and urging you to be safe and smart in the melee, to choose your opponents wisely. Behind you, you hear the flap of the tent moving and turn to see Willem exiting the warmth of the tent.
"Can't sleep?" you ask.
Willem shakes his head. "I'm too nervous. Arwald never earned enough coin to equip me like Ser Donnal. I never got the chance to compete in any jousts, especially not against lords like Casper. I don't stand a chance."
Recalling that you were less than kind earlier, you try to encourage him as best you can. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You were one of the best I've seen astride a horse. No matter the outcome, you'll represent Ser Donnal well."
Willem smiles. "That's all I wish for." His smile turns into a frown. "I'm also sorry. I discouraged you from the melee because I was afraid you'd get hurt but you're good with a sword, Jon. One of the best I seen. You'll do fine, I reckon."
You wish you could agree with him. Your stomach churns with discomfort at the thought of the squire's melee on the morrow. You put on a brave face, however, for Willem's sake if anything. You give a forced smile. "Thanks, Willem. I'll do my best. That's all I can do."
Willem smirks "Just so," he says in a pale imitation of a Braavosi accent. It makes you laugh as you both walk back into the tent, arms around each other's shoulders, whispering about who you think would win the joust in the coming days. You both hoped that Ser Donnal would win, of course, but you recognized that it was unlikely given the stiff competition. You didn't have enough knowledge of the field to say for certain but you hoped that a bastard would win the day if only to make Ryam Rykker's face turn red. Willem felt much the same but he said he saw Ser Aemon Estermont practicing and he had much to say of his skill. You eventually fall asleep, the sound of clanging steel in your ears as the knights of your dreams face off in duel after duel.
The next morning dawns bright and early. Brushing the remnants of sleep out of your eyes, you rise to meet the day. First up on the docket of the tourney events was the squire's archery competition. Both Willem and Donovan would be competing. It's rainy and cold when you exit the tent, which speaks ill of the sate of the melee field by this afternoon. Other squires that you mingle with over the morning cookfires are circulating the rumor that the prize for the squire's archery contest is one hundred gold dragons but you and your friends think that ridiculous. That was the grand prize of the tourney at Coldwater, for it to be offered for the squire's archery contest would be farcical. Regardless, you and the others find your way through the sea of tents and march yourselves over to the tourney grounds as the sun crests through the grey clouds over your right shoulder to the East, making the falling rain sparkle in its light. The grounds are massive with separate areas set aside for the joust, melee, and archery competitions. The stands for the joust stretch up and down both sides of the lists, leaving little room for the smallfolk to view the event. The melee ring is styled as a sort of arena from the fabled lands to the East, with tall stands surrounding the ring in a specially constructed circle with small wooden gates for openings. There is, however, sizable plots of grass in between the stands and the pen, leaving some room for the commoners to watch the grand clashes, although you imagine the battle for such spaces will be fierce, with only the most determined being able to watch. The archery field is more open with only one row of stands positioned at the most advantageous point. There is still plenty of room for the smallfolk to get in a good look. It's still raining in a steady mist as you watch the archery field amidst the crowd of smallfolk along with Ser Donnal, Donnis, Wyl, and Harwin. The contest starts out at a meager ten paces. Few of the competitors seem to have any trouble. However, you notice that a fat little boy in Bar Emmon colors has trouble even nocking his arrow, wildly missing the target. Some of the smallfolk competitors entering on a whim seem to have trouble as well. Donovan and Willem have no such issues and solidly hit the target with little effort, advancing to the next round. At five and twenty paces Donovan hits the dead center of the target, winning applause from both your party and the audience. Even from this distance, you can see a blush form on his cheeks from the attention. Willem performs less spectacularly, only hitting one of the middle rings, but nonetheless advances. You can make out the small form of Wallace Massey hit his target as well and you clap for him, earning you questioning looks from your men. At fifty paces you can see Donovan swiftly and confidently pull back on his bowstring, releasing smoothly. Despite his confidence, he misses the target completely, his shot veering off to the right. He marches over to you and the others, dejected. You clap him on the shoulder in sympathy, knowing that you probably could do little better. Your acquaintance, Wallace, also misses at fifty paces and sulks as his older brother continues in the competition. Both you and Donovan brighten a bit when Willem hits one of the middle rings once again and advances to five and seventy paces.
There's only about five and ten competitors left and most of them are from noble houses. The tall boy from House Swann is among the best, hitting almost dead center on all the targets so far. Willem hits the target at five and seventy paces with little fanfare and as the target moves back to a hundred paces, the crowd grows silent with anticipation, knowing that the next few shots will decide the winner. The Swann squire hits one of the middle rings, along with a free-rider squire in grey and Willem. They're the only ones who even hit the target, making this a pretty poor showing for the archery contest, you think. When the time comes for the second shot at a hundred paces, Willem hits the target dead center, a feat that neither of the other two can match. The herald announces Willem as the winner, handing him the purse of one hundred gold dragons. Your friend looks dumbstruck at his own luck and walks over to your group with a beaming smile amid scattered applause. Ser Donnal pulls him in for a hug, ruffling his hair and laughing. "Excellent, Willem! You're free to spend your winnings how you wish, of course, but if you want, we can find a way to send some money back to your family back in the Vale."
Willem is still smiling widely. "It's just my Pa that's left but I'd like that."
Ser Donnal ruffles his hair once more. "Then we'll see it done."
Next up is the adult's archery contest and men of all stripes were competing for a prize that was likely far larger than the one for the squires' archery contest. Donnis takes the field with a confident smirk and a mocking bow to you and Harwin as the head guardsman huffs in consternation. You smile at Donnis' antics and internally wish him the best of luck. He bears a pewter direwolf clasp fastening his white cloak with grey trim over his leathers so all may know him for a Stark man. At the ten pace mark, he sends off his arrow with a flourish. Donnis' shot only just hits the outer ring of the target, prompting laughter and jeers from both the audience and a smattering of the competitors. It's Harwin's laugh, however, that rings loudest in your ears.
"Serves him right, the shit," the senior guardsman grumbles.
Despite Donnis' poor shot, he still advances to five and twenty paces where he hits the target solidly as Harwin huffs behind you and Wyl cheers. You're not quite sure why Harwin is rooting against Donnis but you'd bet it has something to do with the horse dung that found its way into the folds of Harwin's furs last night. At fifty paces, Donnis hits the target right in the middle of the bullseye, outperforming all of his fellows and making the crowd murmur in awe. You, for your part, are not surprised and cheer heartily along with Wyl, Donovan, and Willem. You've seen Donnis hit rabbits in the neck from that distance. Donnis gives the folk gathered to watch a jaunty wave as he takes his place once more at the back of the line. The field has been thinned down to about five and twenty as the target is pulled back across the grassy field by tourney servants dressed in sea-green. With the mark now at five and seventy paces, the crowd begins to hush in anticipation as the nobles lean slightly forward in the stands. One after another, the archers take their shots. A few arrows hit the bullseye, with one of the archers wearing a black cloak with green tree designs and a silver crescent moon clasp holding it on his shoulders. You mark him for either a Fell of Felwood or one of their better-dressed retainers. Either way, he is a Stormlander, one of the few left on the field, and Ser Donnal claps loudly after his shot. Donnis' arrow lands on one of the middle rings and he, along with roughly ten others, advances to the final round of a hundred paces. All of the competitors left bear the colors of noble houses, being members of the families or their retainers. Five miss the target completely and are eliminated. Four more only hit the middle rings. Next, the herald announces Lord Harwood Fell as last in the line before Donnis. He hits the edge of the bullseye with practiced ease and hands off his bow to a servant, confident in his victory. Last to go, the Herald announces your man as "Donnis of Winterfell". Donnis gives an unseen glare to Lord Harwood as he pulls his string back, determination in his eyes. The arrow flies swiftly in a smooth arc through the air, hitting the central-most point of the bullseye with a resounding thunk. The smallfolk burst forth in cheers, showing their support for the lowborn son of the North, a sparse few waving grey banners likely made to represent any free-rider that strikes the crowd's fancy. There's a great deal of muttering as it's up in the air if there will be another round at one hundred paces. Eventually, Lord Monford rises from his seat in the high box in the stands, raising his hand for silence. You can't hear what he says from this distance but the smallfolk huddled in the shadow of the stands break out into cheers once more at his words. Donnis lifts his bow up into the air in triumph and you can only take that to mean that he was announced as the winner. Your party, Harwin included, cheers for the Winterfell guardsman when he takes a pouch of coin the size of his head from the herald and holds it close to his chest as he bows in thanks to Lord Monford.
As he walks over to the rest of you, positively preening at the adulation of the crowd, Ser Donnal is the first to greet him with a half hug, patting him on the back with considerable force. "Well done, Donnis! You represent the North well this day."
Donnis only smiles. You can tell that he's still a bit rooted in disbelief despite his usual arrogant demeanor. You bound over to him in excitement with Wyl following not far behind. You waste no time in congratulating him."That was great! Your last shot was extraordinary!"
Donnis smiles down at you. "Glad you noticed, young Snow."
Wyl takes a long look at Donnis' new, fat coin purse that's full to bursting with gold. "How many coins are in there?" he asks with wonder.
Donnis pulls away the coin purse with a laugh. "One thousand gold dragons and you'll not be seeing a copper, you blighter."
You think that's unlikely. Donnis was not near as stingy as his comrades and even Wyl would spend his coin on food and ale for his friends, newfound or not, when he was in his cups. You reckon that Donnis and Wyl would be stumbling around from campfire to campfire tonight, celebrating the archer's victory with all the meat and mead that coin could buy. It could buy quite a bit too. You don't recall ever seeing so much wealth in one place before. The coin at Winterfell was kept in big wooden coffers deep inside the bowels of the inner keep and you had never had cause to seek out such a place. You're broken out of your musings by Harwin's approach. He's wearing a rare smile as he pats Donnis on the shoulder. "Lord Stark would be proud, Donnis. He don't care overmuch for Southron tourneys but he'd be pleased of your victory all the same."
Donnis tilts his head and smirks. "Aye. Wait 'til he hears that one of his lowly guardsmen pulled in enough gold to keep Winterfell running for a decade."
You think it passing queer that Donnis would know those kinds of figures. "How do you know how much it takes to run Winterfell?"
"My uncle used to be an assistant to old Vayon Poole and the last steward before him. He learned his letters and numbers and often complained to my mum about what this and that cost. He was quite adamant that the yearly budget should be a hundred gold dragons and no more but he was a miserly old grifter who hoarded his coin when times for his family were lean." Donnis spits on the muddy ground. "Others take him."
The rest of you look at each other, uncomfortable with the cursing of the dead, but Donnis' black mood soon passes and he chats with Wyl about all the wine and women he'll be feasting on in equal measure when you all returned to the port town of Hull in the shadow of Driftmark castle. Ser Donnal pulls you and Donovan away from the rest as you both had to prepare for the squire's melee. Willem follows not far behind to help in your preparations. By the time you return to your tent on the edges of camp, your leathers are thoroughly soaked and you crave the warmth of a well-tended fire. Sadly, you didn't have enough time for such things. You change swiftly into your black gambeson, making sure all the straps were tightened before you start fastening your greaves. Willem helps you don the plate armor that you'd be sharing for the tournament. The cuirass is a bit big on you but the extra padding from the gambeson helps fill it out.
As you finish putting it on, Willem looks you over with a small smile. "It suits you."
You stand up and look down at the armor. It's well-burnished and you can nearly see your reflection in the steel of the gorget. The Staedmon heart and dagger were cast in steel and now stand riveted to the front of the cuirass. It's a full suit of plates and you've never worn such before but you're surprised by how little the plates on your arms and legs restrict your movement. You even have full range of motion in your fingers, with the lobstered steel molding itself to follow your every movement. Your helm is a small bascinet with a simple visor that covers your full face, leaving only a small slit for you to see through. You set the helm aside before moving around some more. As you walk around the tent, you can't keep the smile off your face. The armor is not nearly as cumbersome as you had thought and although you don't try it, you feel like you could jump in it. You start pacing around the tent, your mind turning to the odds of your success in the tourney. The armor would give you a decent advantage against the mail and padding of the free-rider squires but it would be a guarantee that noble sons and squires would be wearing plate as well, especially if they were nearly fully grown. You were small, albeit slightly taller than your age would suggest, and you would have to rely on your allies to help defend you against the squires who were nearly men. After Ser Donnal gets done helping Donovan with his armor and giving him words of encouragement, he halts your pacing in the tent with a raised hand, beckoning you over to sit next to Donovan on his cot.
Ser Donnal looks you both in the eye in turn and with some degree of intensity. "No matter what, stick together. Try to stay close to the Celtigar boy but if he goes off seeking glory, don't follow him. Do you both understand?"
"Aye," you say as Donovan nods his assent.
He pats you both on your steel pauldrons, causing the whole of your armor to shift. "Good lads."
With that, your party heads over to the makeshift arena amidst a flood of people all trying to get into the wooden structure. As you push your way to one of the gates, a Velaryon guardsman stops you from going any further but he quickly looks over the armored forms of you and Donovan and recognizes Ser Donnal as likely being your master. "We're near all fulled up. Only competitors, lords, and knights are allowed in."
Ser Donnal pats both you and Donovan on your pauldrons before gesturing to Willem with a motion of his head. "I am Ser Donnal Storm and these are all my squires. We'll be entering now."
He looks you all over once more, noticing Willem trying to look inconspicuous in between you and Ser Donnal. The guardsman gives a barely perceptible wink at Willem before standing aside. "As you say."
You and the others enter to find the stands completely filled with lords and knights, their banners drooping in the rain next to them or draped in front of them on the rails, while the ground floor is filled with free riders, hedge knights, a smattering of lower nobility, merchants, and scattered smallfolk. There's barely room to breathe as you make your way to the staging area beside the great, muddy pen. Your initial thoughts about the competitors' armor prove to be correct and a great deal of the nobility is wearing plate while the free rider and hedge knight squires wear various forms of padding and mail with half-helms. Amidst the flurry of colors, you spot the red and white of House Celtigar and make your way over to the squire with a sea of crabs on his shield.
"Terrence!," Donovan yells.
Celtigar turns to face you both with a smile. He wears milky-white plate for his cuirass, greaves and vambraces but the rest of his armor is made of a fine steel scale over another layer of mail. He cuts a fine figure with his white cloak with red trim pinned to his shoulders by a silver crab. The helm at his side is a polished barbute with a plume of white and red. Donovan by comparison, looks a bit less resplendent with his dark steel cuirass, pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves over his red gambeson and leg padding. His helmet is an altered half-helm with a large nasal plate and aventail. You help attach the aventail to his armor as Terrence and Donovan do most of the talking about their strategy for the melee.
"We'll have to protect Jon, of course," Donovan says.
Terrence nods in response. "True enough but he can provide a distraction for us at times."
You don't really appreciate being thought of as a burden but being a mere distraction is little better in your mind. "We fight together and let things go as they will, I say."
They both look at you and Terrence shrugs. "I suppose that's all we can do, Snow. It's too late to ponder about it now. Do you think you're up to winning the bet for me?"
You grin, taken by a confidence that a small part of yourself knows is imprudent. "No doubt I'll put many a foe in the dirt."
Terrence laughs. "In the mud, more like."
He's right about that, you think. The melee pen has been drenched by the rain and you can imagine that most of your fellow squires will have a tough go of it in keeping their footing. Interrupting your thoughts, a herald in a sea-green doublet with white piping climbs up to a raised platform facing the high pavilion in the stands as the three of you stand ready to enter the melee pen. Thanks to the arena's small size, the voice of the herald travels well.
"Lords and Ladies, Sers, Goodmen, and Goodwives… It is time for squires to show their mettle in honorable combat on these very grounds…" He waxes poetic about the virtues of the young competitors and how their performances will reflect on their masters. As you enter the pen, you notice the size of the other squires. Most of them are far bigger than you, not that you already didn't know that but now that fact is staring you in the face, you can only hope that your armor and shield holds up under their strikes, especially those of Symeon Sevenstars. He's a veritable beast in his black steel armor, three times your size. You can't imagine anyone beating him in a one-on-one fight. You spot the Estermont brothers in their scale armor holing themselves up in a corner of the pen, looking ready to ride out the storm of the initial clash. Thoughts of how you might survive are racing through your mind as you and your fellows end up smack dab in the middle of the pen when Lord Monford rises from his seat in the stands, Seahorse banner draped over the railing in front of him.
The Lord of the Tides raises his hand for silence before addressing the crowd. "Let the melee begin!"
You instantly turn and look to your companions for guidance. They take up defensive stances on either side of you and you try to emulate their position, holding your shield up high and keeping your head on a swivel for potential threats. You watch several clashes occur as the squires turn against each other and the din of steel upon steel rings in your ears. The weather turns for the worst as the rains start to drive into the dirt, making puddles as it creates a pinging noise off the plate armor of the participants. Before long, opponents start to approach your party. A boy about Donovan's size with a gold wheat stalk on his shield heads for Terrence while while a boy you mark as a free-rider in grey with a crossed axe and sword on his shield comes straight for you. Donovan looks torn on who to assist but when Terrence smoothly dispatches the Selmy squire in a few swift strikes, your lowborn friend turns to face the free-rider along with you. It's a good thing too, because the free rider is skilled, getting past your guard and moving in for a swift strike to the neck. Donovan stands between you and blocks the blow with his shield, pushing the boy back. Together, you batter the free-rider into the dirt with Donovan landing the crucial blow that knocks him over. With the lowborn squire's sword at his neck, the grey-clad fighter yields and your party regroups towards one of the fences of the pen. The initial clash is still in full swing as chaos reigns on the field. Squires all around are being double-teamed and falling swiftly while alliances form. A small squire with a bursting pea pod on his shield who was miraculously untouched by the frantic scramble finds himself squarely in the path of Terrence, who easily puts him into the dirt with an impressive disarming and shove. This, however, pulls attention to your group and the nightmare himself, Symeon Sunglass bears down on Donovan, stalking towards him with a purpose, his greatsword lifted over his shoulder ready to strike.
"Seven Hells," you hear Donovan say next to you as he notices his predicament. Terrence stands ready to assist, however.
This isn't the only threat facing your group, as through your slim visor you see a tall Swann start to approach your position, his dull morning star swinging in the air above his closed helm. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Donovan block the brunt of Symeon's attack and, with Terrence's help, push the giant back.
"Stonehelm!" The Swann's yell brings your attention back to what's in front of you.
As he approaches, you give a war cry of your own. "Winterfell!"
You nearly curse yourself after because a squire of Ser Donnal should have yelled out 'Broad Arch' and your voice was too high pitched for your liking. Someday you hope it is a commanding boom. You're quickly broken out of your thoughts by the long chain and ball of a morning star coming straight for your face. However, he slips in the mud as he swings and you brutally take advantage. Swiftly ducking under the blow and advancing within his guard, you land a riposte straight to his chest that you think would have sent a boy of your size to his knees. As it was, you dent his cuirass at the stomach with your thrust and he backs off and tilts his head in consideration. You smirk to yourself under your helmet, confident that he underestimated you because of your small size.
As you and the Swann squire assess each other, looking for an opening, Symeon and your teammates exchange blow after blow, hammering against each other, neither side gaining much purchase. Before long another squire joins in the fight to take down big Symeon and you'd reckon that the large squire's time on the field may be short despite his size. Donovan likely feels the same because he switches tack and takes a sloppy swing at your opponent. The squire in black and white easily bats Donovan's strike away with his shield and swings down with his morning star towards your burnished steel helmet. Swiftly dodging to the left, you land a strike at his unprotected left side as Donovan advances. The Swann boy evidently decides that facing off against the two of you is more trouble than it's worth because he backs off and looks for more vulnerable opponents. As Donovan moves to assist Terrence once more with Symeon Sevenstars, a squire in green with two prancing lambs on his shield comes towards you, bearing his sword high above his head. You meet him, dancing around the puddles of muck and mud, and trip him up with your swift moves. Before the lamb squire can blink, you have your sword at his throat.
After accepting his yield, you witness big Symeon swat away a small free-rider like an aurochs would a fly, knocking him out cold with a single blow of his shield, while Donovan and Terrence continue to advance. Symeon's show of strength, however, scares off a lot of the other squires who were stalking him from behind. Before you can move to assist your allies, you're beset from the right side and barely raise your sword in time to block the blow. You turn to find a squire bearing the sigil of House Errol, a golden haystack on an orange field, on his shield. He's not that much bigger than you. You're put on the back foot, however, as the Errol squire lands another strong strike, grazing your gorget with the tip of his blunted blade as you catch the brunt of the blow with your shield. With his next attack, he starts to get sloppy, confident in his victory, while you perform a deft parry with your sword and counter. He defends well enough though, mirroring your strike and pushing you back once more. You can feel your muscles strain as you struggle to keep upright in the slick mud. The orange-clad squire makes another move to strike at you but badly telegraphs and nearly slips in the mud himself. Knowing you'll need to end the bout quickly if you hope to save your energy for the rest of the melee, you brace yourself, making a safe block with your shield as you ready yourself to make a daring move. You feint to the left, drawing over his shield to defend while you turn the path of your sword up and then down with a strength that you didn't know you had left in you, denting his shining steel gorget and sending him down to one knee. Without even thinking about it, you rain down your sword once more, landing a strike on the crown of his helm. The strike hits with a resounding clang that's heard over the din of the melee as your opponent lands on his side, motionless. The sound of your heavy breaths echo within your helmet. With the narrow vision provided to you by your visor, you see armor-clad boys falling to the ground at the tips of their opponents' swords, the free riders falling in greater numbers. The Estermont brothers are nowhere in sight. Wait, there, clear on the other side of the pen, you spot the elder brother, Alyn, fighting over his younger brother's fallen form as a large Bar Emmon squire presses the attack.
Through the throng of competitors, you see your allies taking down Symeon Sevenstars at the edge of the pen, with Donovan showing his prowess most effectively. Only now do you realize that you're too far away from them and that there are too many boys to get through in between you and them. Someone will no doubt attack you on the way and now that the initial rush was over, the squires left were near all a head taller than you at the least. All too close, you hear a voice yell, "Donnor!"
You turn to see a squire a head and a half taller than you, bedecked in green steel plate and scale with a black bird in flight on his shield. You mark him for a Morrigen and he's striding towards you with purpose. You barely get your shield up in time when he lashes out at you, striking you with such force that you're almost immediately knocked to the ground. You keep your feet, however, and block his next blow, turning it to the side as you retaliate, swinging your blunted sword at his unprotected right. You land a glancing blow on his lower cuirass, causing him to step back slightly as he seems to reassess. He doesn't take long to press the attack once more, however, making a clear attempt to bowl you over with a shove of his shield. You try to dodge but slip in the mud, landing face-first in a shallow puddle. Water fills your helm, covering your mouth and nose as you try to pry yourself out of the mud and regain your feet. Before you can though, you feel a boot press down on your back, pushing you further into the muck as an additional point of cold steel comes to rest on the back of your neck. You hear a muffled voice call for your yield above you but you can't breathe let alone talk so you release the grip on your sword and push it away with your hand, hoping he'll get the message. Thankfully, he does and you feel the boot on your back disappear as you're able to pry yourself off the ground. You turn to face the other squire, still on your knees, as you lift your mud-clogged visor and say the necessary, "I yield."
The other squire makes no move to raise his own visor but he nods and helps you to your feet, unconcerned that the competition may take advantage of his lowered sword. You thank him and pick up your discarded weapon, carrying it in your left hand, behind your shield, and with your right hand raised, to let others know that you were out of the competition. As you make your way outside of the pen, you consider what you've just accomplished. You bested two noble squires on your own and that was more than enough to win Terrence's bet with Ryam Rykker. Maybe Terrence would give you some of the winnings since you did all the work. Although you don't really care about the coin, you just hoped you could be there to see the arse have to eat his words. Resting on the railing you watch new opponents come to face Donovan and Terrence, a target on their backs after their victory over the tourney favorite, Symeon Sevenstars. You see free riders and nobles alike fall under their blades as they make it to the final ten on the field before eventually falling to the sword of the big Bar Emmon squire and the morning star of the Swann boy you and Donovan fought off earlier. They soon walk over to you in the holding area, helping each other over the mud-laden ground. You're proud of how far they got and the final fights are already being decided in the background when you spot Ser Donnal, with Willem in tow, and Ser Andros coming over to greet you all.
As he takes in your muddy forms, Ser Donnal has a huge smile on his face and he looks as proud as you've ever seen him. "Well fought, all of you!"
Willem runs straight up to you and Donovan. "I watched the whole thing! You both were amazing!"
Ser Andros takes off Terrence's helm and looks him in the eye as he claps him on his muddy, scale-clad shoulder. "You fought like your father today," he says before pulling him aside through the crowd of watchers.
Ser Donnal watches them leave for a brief moment before turning his attention back to you and Donovan. "Pay no mind to him, he's likely going straight to Lord Monford to show off his nephew." He punches you both on your chestplates lightly while wearing a broad grin. "Bringing down Symeon Sunglass, Donovan? Fine work, that."
Donovan smiles but ducks his head slightly. "Terrence helped."
Ser Donnal tilts his head. "Sure, but it was you who landed the decisive blow that brought that beast of a boy to his knees. I'll be telling that to Ser Rolland all night, I wager."
He now turns his attention to you, laughing and lifting you up in a great bear hug, getting mud all over his red arming doublet. As you struggle to breathe, he speaks into your ear. "I knew you could do it, Jon. You were the equal of most on the field this day."
As he sets you down, you accept his congratulations with what grace you can before your group huddles near the fence to watch the final bouts of the melee. As the number of competitors dwindles down to five all you can think about is your effort in the melee. Most of it is a blur but you clearly remember striking down at the Errol squire when he was forced down to one knee. You know you should have asked for his yield but something in you knew he wouldn't accept and you ended the bout with a blow to the helmet that knocked the boy out cold. Just now, the orange-clad squire was being dragged across the muddy field to the Maester's tent. You hope he's fine. By the time you come back to yourself enough to actually pay attention to the melee, the field has thinned down to three. The Morrigen squire all in green dispatches the Bar Emmon boy easily before turning to face the Swann with the morning star. Their battle lasts minute after rousing minute and it seems as if the entirety of the arena is poised with anticipation. Soon enough, however, Swann overextends with his morning star, and the squire who beat you into the mud takes advantage in a brutal fashion, getting close in and bashing the other boy's helm with the hilt of his sword. The squire in his black and white coat of plates falls to the ground like a sack of onions and the Morrigen squire stands victorious as the crowd roars in approval. The Herald announces the winner as Guyard Morrigen and presents him with a sack of coin about half the size of Donnis' prize. Despite all the adulation and coin, Guyard doesn't appear to be very pleased when he's led off to the stands by a young man bearing the same house colors.
Ser Donnal's next words allay your confusion. "Ser Richard likely doesn't think his brother ready for knighthood, however much young Guyard may think himself worthy of the honor."
You wonder how often squires are knighted at these events. "Do you think someone will be knighted during the tourney?"
Ser Donnal nods. "Oh, for a certainty. If not the winner of the joust, then it will be someone who shows great valor." He smiles. "Someone will be knighted this tourney, Jon, and you'll be there to see it." He grabs you by the arm and shakes you lightly. "How do you feel, lad?"
Thinking on it you reply…
[ ] "I feel great, Ser." (You feel invigorated after your bouts in the melee, no matter that you're muddy and a bit on the sore side. You'd do it all over again with a smile.)
[ ] "I'm fine, Ser." (The melee was… tiring, to say the least. You don't regret participating but you can't say you have much enthusiasm for the next one, whenever that might occur.)
[ ] "I've been better." (You feel like you've been battered and stomped on, which you have. Although you had your moments of glory, it wasn't an enjoyable experience. Perhaps, in the future, you may pursue events with a bit more elegance like archery or the joust, although you may very well be expected to compete in the melee again for your new master, Ser Narbert.)
After the melee, people started flooding out of the arena in droves and it was time for the festivities to begin in earnest. As you follow the mass stream of people, you try your best to stick with your party although you're being pushed apart by people looking to shove through the crowd. As you exit the arena, you notice that the rain has stopped but the sky is growing darker. You see performers with flaming batons begin their dances that will no doubt continue through the night. You just hope that, regardless of the wet weather, they stay well away from the tents. You all head back to your tent at the edge of the nobles' camp and you're looking forward to changing out of your armor and into something more comfortable. You've been in the armor for hours by now and you've got to piss something awful. As you reach the tent, you can hear that Harwin and Donnis are in the middle of an argument.
You hear Donnis' voice most clearly at first. "Come now, Harwin, it's Arbor Gold. Have a taste. It'll make you feel better."
You see Harwin snatch a wineskin from the archer's hand as you enter the tent. "I don't care if it's milk from Queen Cersei's tit, I'll not have you drink a drop more of it until the feast is well underway. You'll be given a place of honor to represent House Stark and I refuse to let you piss it all away."
Wyl is watching his two fellow guardsmen with amusement as he rises to greet your party, getting the attention of the other two. Harwin is the first to address you. "Ser Donnal, Jon, I see you're back. They'd have likely let Donnis here in if he cared to try but the rest of us didn't have the pull. How did they do, Ser?"
Ser Donnal gives a broad smile as he claps both you and Donovan on your pauldrons. "Superbly. They acquitted themselves well and although they didn't come away with the prize, I couldn't be more proud." The bastard knight goes on to brag about how Donovan took down Symeon Sevenstars and he describes your bouts with the Cafferen and Errol boys in detail, taking great relish in recounting your coup de grace against the Errol. For a brief moment, you can only imagine what sort of song would be sung of this day if only you had won the tourney. You quickly turn the thought out of your head but you know that there will be a great many bards at the opening feast tonight. As you change into a black doublet, you consider whether to bring your lute along or not. After a great deal of back and forth in your mind, you decide to…
[ ] Take it with you. (You probably can't compete with the bards for coin but you might be able to entertain your fellows with the songs you've learned.)
[ ] Leave it in the tent. (There will be more noise than sense at the feast tonight and no one needs your playing to add to the din. You also don't want to be made fun of for being anything less than manly.)
With that, the seven of you ride your mounts and make your way up to the castle of High Tide in the dusk light, the clouds having parted to reveal the sunset on the ocean's horizon. Along the narrow causeway, merchants man their hastily constructed stalls, hoping to hawk their wares to those rich enough to afford them. Groups of bards linger outside the portcullis, competing to be chosen to play for the high lords in their castle, and hedge knights and free-riders hope to be considered important enough to be allowed to feast in the hall.
As you enter under the raised steel gate, you along with hundreds of others stable and hitch your horses in the vast courtyard set aside for this purpose. As you enter the castle proper, you look around in awe at its construction, marveling at the white stone that is even more beautiful than the limestone of New Castle. Silver adorns practically everything, even gilding the stone blocks at your feet on the edges of the masterfully carved tiles. The halls are broad and wide, not dark and confining like the ones at Castle Driftmark and you can see why this castle was built to replace it. If it wasn't so far from the major port of Hull, you think that the Velaryons would hold court here in perpetuity. As you and your party are led to the great hall, your jaw nearly drops to the floor. It's the most magnificent thing you've ever seen. Twenty hearths of white marble line the walls on each side of the hall, their raging fires illuminating the driftwood trestle tables filled with eager revelers in their wake. There are great pillars of marble as well, extending from the white stone and silver gilded floors to the white stone ceiling, and fastened by bands of silver at the bottom and top of the structures. They separate the tables on either side from the large open area in the center of the hall. You have no doubt that the dancing later in the evening will take place here. At the head of the hall is the dais where a throne made of that same driftwood sits behind a long table made of a rich black wood that, thanks to Maester Luwin's lessons, you would mark as being from the Summer Isles. Lord Monford sits upon that throne, Lady Argella with the baby Laena in her arms at his left and Ser Aemon Estermont to his right.
The Lords, ladies, and noble knights are all dispersed throughout the high table and the benches close to it. The lesser landed and household knights and knights of bastard birth are directed to sit at the next closest trestle tables. You don't spot any free riders and the rest of the tables are taken up by squires, retainers, and the ladies of lesser nobles and knights and such, each group mostly keeping to their own. You notice that Guyard Morrigen is already seated in a place of honor at the high table. He looks dreadfully bored, you think, as he sits next to a few eligible maidens and he looks longingly towards the tables filled with knights and squires.
As you walk further down the hall, servants approach to take Donnis to a place at the high table. Your party is a bit shocked but Donnis only straightens up with pride and follows the usher up to the dais, taking a seat at one of the far ends next to what looks to be a daughter of some favored steward or servant. She's quite a beauty with the typical Valyrian looks of silver-blonde hair, though you can't see her eyes from this distance. As the next usher seats your other guardsmen with the Velaryon retainers and Ser Donnal with the bastard knights, you, Donovan, and Willem follow another one to your places among the noble squires, although Donovan and Willem are placed at the periphery.
The hall is alive with the sound of music and enthusiastic revelry, especially among the squire's tables where boys brag of their deeds in the melee. Although the adults are mingling at a more sedate pace at the higher tables, the squires seem to sit where they please and change seats whenever it suits them. As the first course of seaweed, cream, and spinach soup is served, you decide to join the company of…
[ ] Donovan and Willem (They're both talking about their prospects for the squire's joust starting on the morrow. You wish to congratulate Donovan on his performance in the melee and provide encouragement for them both.)
[ ] Lord Casper Wylde and his growing entourage (There looks to be a bit of a drinking competition in the works as Lord Casper and the Swann boy exchange jibes and taunts. Many squires, mostly Stormlanders, have gathered to watch the two go at it. Some of the adults look on with disfavor as the lower tables are already beginning to descend into drunken revelry.)
[ ] Aron and Alyn Estermont (The two look to be nursing their wounds from the melee and keep to themselves. Aron looks in need of cheering up and you have yet to meet his brother Alyn.)
[ ] Ryam Rykker, Terrence Celtigar, and the Masseys (The lord Ryam is loudly bragging about how he will sweep the field in the squires' joust. You wish you could shut him up but you weren't competing in the joust. Perhaps some others were just as annoyed as you. Besides, now is a good time to see if Terrence has collected on his bet.)
[ ] Aurane Waters and Symeon Sunglass (An odd pairing to be sure but the two seem content in each others' company, with big Symeon giving a booming laugh at a jest of Aurane's. You think the two of them seem like decent sorts and you wouldn't mind sharing their company.)
Combat skill experience gained!
Sword and Shield Lvl 6 (473/3000XP) –> Lvl 6 (1578/3000XP)
Trait gained!
[Honorable I] – You dislike trickery and dishonest dealings and prefer to deal with your problems and opponents directly and with honor. *+3 Charisma -1 Cunning
Knowledge gained!
[Dragonlore I] - You've learned about the famous dragons, their deeds, and their riders. You've read about the size of them, the heat of their flames, and of the strength of their wings and jaws. *Unknown effect
[History of Westeros I] - You've learned of the Dance of Dragons, who sided with whom, and other stories about the history of the realm and the reigns of the Targaryen Kings and Queens. *+1 Wisdom
[History of House Velaryon] - You've learned about the voyages of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, and Alyn "Oakenfist" Velaryon. To be a mariner knight you realize that you must be well-acquainted with the house that was the best at your chosen profession. *+10% relation gains with House Velaryon.
