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Post by oznerol on Jun 4, 2020 4:29:10 GMT -5
Next morning the sun pierced the veil of the threatening clouds, dissipating the fear of heavy rains or even snow that had lingered during the feast: such a weather would heavily disturb the tourney, as horses would not be able to gallop in the mud, least so under the weight of their riders' heavy tournament armor and trappings. The castle soon woke, with scores upon scores of servants setting up everything ready for what was meant as a display of the Valesmen's glory and their prowess in arms. The Lord of the Eyrie, Robin Arryn, and his guardian and lord protector, Petyr Baelish, took a seat in the central spectator box, covered with the heraldic devices of them both: featured prominently a field of falcons and moons, acompanied on both side by a green pasture of singing mockingbirds. Their coat of arms were depicted over the dais: Petyr, as he had the right to, impaled his birds with his wife's arms, a trout and a falcon, while Arryn's, on the place of honor, offered his arms plain, without further ado. Baelish's bastard daughter, Alayne, joined lady Myranda Royce's on the spectator box to the right of the Lord Protector, close to her father. Silken pabillions littered the fields outside the walls of the Gates of the Moon, and a myriad banners fluttered in the clean morning breeze. Stallions were being fed, armors worn and belts, buckles and gaps checked and fastened. The heralds announced the order of the lists, that had been prearranged: the first tilt would be between Ser Humphrey Hardying -a kinsman to Harry the Heir- and Ser Androw Tollett, who looked gallant and handsome atop his horse, with the dark and somber heraldry of his house emblazoned over chest and horse. The Lord Protector leans and whispers something to Arryn, who looks surprisingly cheerful and happy that morning: there was no need to dose him with milk of the poppy, he had eagerly done what instructed. Baelish was wearing a lavish cloth-of-silver doublet, covered with birds and vines, and a heavy cloak pinned in place by a elegant brooch.
Alayne turns to Randa, her stomach full from the ample breakfast, dressed in warm woolen clothes, with a cloak of soft ermine and weaver over her shoulders, clasped with a mockingbird. She was wearing dark green and grey.
"Randa, don't you think Andrew would make a fine husband? Better than Ser Pimples or Ser Loaf!"
She knew her friend was worried about her father marrying her to the first knight that proposed, so Alayne tried to cheer her up.
"You'll see, today you'll end with a handsome knight courting you"
Alayne wore a ring that once had been Lysa's, a gift from her father, who had handed down to her all of lady Arryn's ample wardrobe; however, most of the dresses needed to be tailored down to her much narrower and slender figure. The jewel had a sapphire inlaid on the golden circlet, so she supposed it would sit well with her eyes.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 4, 2020 9:33:05 GMT -5
"And I'll be sitting on the Iron Throne too, no doubt."
Myranda chuckled at her own jape. She wore a tight fitting dress in dark purple, with an ample fur cloak draped about her shoulders. Doubtless the pelt of some poor wolf that her brother had speared on the hunt.
"But yes, Tollett is comely. And a bit more manly than Harry the Heir, if you don't mind me saying so."
Royce grinned wickedly.
"I pray his lance is long enough. For the joust."
She chortled again, then spied Lothor Brune saddling up.
"Look, its the Prune. I wonder if he's plucked up the courage to ask Mya for her favour."
Myranda looked over at Stone and laughed again.
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LD
Veteran 
Posts: 35
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Post by LD on Jun 4, 2020 9:45:54 GMT -5
Mya Stone would eventually arrive coincedentally nearly around the same time near Myranda and Alayne, so far dressed as usual in her usual leather clothes, as she had fed before the mules. Whether the bastard girl had heard Randa's comment or not was hard to tell, as Mya was in general quite nervous since some time. So far she only greeted Myranda and Alayne with a devote "M'lady", before turning her attention towards the upcoming tournament.
To some point she favored both of the present girl's presence, given that she always did her best to serve them, but to some point she feared to see Mychel again, now that things were... different. For the time she would keep herself in the background, but speak up when asked.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 4, 2020 10:36:30 GMT -5
Harrold the Heir was situated where other knights awaited their turn to tilt against their opponents. There were some major names here as Harry glanced around. Lymond and Terrance of House Lynderly, Symond, the Knight of Ninestars, Mychel Redfort, Lyn Corbray and many more. The young Valemen looks down at his armor, patting it slightly to make sure it was intact. Forty-six knights competing for just eight positions... quite the competition. Outside, he heard the crowd's cheers as the first tilts began and the jousting went on. A lot hinged on today... Harrold had a lot to prove. Else he would make himself a fool and make Lady Waynwood a fool too. Plus, his betrothed was watching as well. To occupy his mind, the young Hardyng went about reviewing his technique as instructed by his instructors back at Anya's castle.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 4, 2020 12:38:56 GMT -5
"And I'll be sitting on the Iron Throne too, no doubt."Myranda chuckled at her own jape. She wore a tight fitting dress in dark purple, with an ample fur cloak draped about her shoulders. Doubtless the pelt of some poor wolf that her brother had speared on the hunt. "But yes, Tollett is comely. And a bit more manly than Harry the Heir, if you don't mind me saying so."Royce grinned wickedly. "I pray his lance is long enough. For the joust."She chortled again, then spied Lothor Brune saddling up. "Look, its the Prune. I wonder if he's plucked up the courage to ask Mya for her favour."Myranda looked over at Stone and laughed again.
Said Alayne, chuckling. The stuttering young man could be seen wearing full plate harness in front of his tent, which was next to his nephew's -equally armored-, seemingly both were arguing something. Both looked comely and handsome in their suits of armor. But Waynwood wore a silken scarf -silver and green- on his helmet, tied around it by Alayne's own hands. She remembered vividly how hard the lad had blushed and how he had struggled trying to thank her for it. "Aye, aye, for the joust... Exactly what you wanted, Randa... But, look! Your husband has unhorsed Hardying!"Humphrey laid, battered like a tin can, on the ground, while Tollett galloped handsomely around the field, the crowd cheering him. This reminded her of times past, when her father, her actual father, was alive. The Hand's Tourney... Sandor was a fine jouster, no matter he was large as a true giant; albeit not as big as his monstruous brother. She remembered the blood-stained white cloak; it had remained in her chest, under a pile of summer clothes. After Myranda's remark, she looked at Brune, returning to reality. "I think he's far too shy for that, believes Mya will kick him back to Crackclaw Point if he does, like one of her mules. He's so sweet"
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Post by Pinkerton on Jun 4, 2020 14:39:32 GMT -5
"And I'll be sitting on the Iron Throne too, no doubt."Myranda chuckled at her own jape. She wore a tight fitting dress in dark purple, with an ample fur cloak draped about her shoulders. Doubtless the pelt of some poor wolf that her brother had speared on the hunt. "But yes, Tollett is comely. And a bit more manly than Harry the Heir, if you don't mind me saying so."Royce grinned wickedly. "I pray his lance is long enough. For the joust."She chortled again, then spied Lothor Brune saddling up. "Look, its the Prune. I wonder if he's plucked up the courage to ask Mya for her favour."Myranda looked over at Stone and laughed again. Templeton snuck away from where the knights were preparing themselves for the joust to do something, as it had been previously agreed with Baelish. "Miladies" He said, bowing in the direction of Alayne, Miranda and Mya "Sorry to interrumpt you, but I wished to ask for Lady Royce's favour."
Symond smiled as kindly as he could. Maybe they could have a little fun while at it; who didn't enjoy courtship? Even if it was clearly obvious that it had been carefully and coldly planned.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 4, 2020 19:06:59 GMT -5
Myranda stood and clapped as the gallant Tollett sent the elder Hardyng into the mud. She turned to Mya, behind her.
”Come, Mya, what do you think of our dear Ser Brune? He’s a bit older than Redfort, I’ll grant you. And not as handsome.”
She laughed, realising she was not selling him quite so well. She was a little startled by the appearance of Ser Templeton, discretely rearranging her bodice as he approached. This was her father’s doing, she was sure of it.
”My favour? I suppose you’ll need it, Ser Symond. You’re facing quite the competition out there.”
Randa unpinned a brooch from her dress; a dainty little thing, with the arms of her father emblazoned upon it. She extended it towards him, brushing an errant brown curl from her eyeline in the process.
”It would be my honour for you to have this, Ser. Bash some sense into my brother’s head for me, will you?”
She giggled, rather girlishly.
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LD
Veteran
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Post by LD on Jun 5, 2020 5:47:49 GMT -5
Given that she was directly adressed by Randa, Mya surpressed a sigh when it came to her thoughts regarding Mychel.
"I guess he's doing his job as a knight fine, have no ill word to say about him", she answered with a shrug, "He came with Lord Protector Baelish though, really don't know anything regarding him. Guess Alayne can tell ye more about him than me."
It was an awkward situation, as Mya sorta realized why Myranda was talking about this topic, but for the moment she thought that this was probably the best answer. If she insisted on more she could always tell that she's currently not interested for... private reasons.
Looking across the field, she wasn't really sure if she wanted to specifically look for Mychel. Her mood was already quite low, she neither knew if seeing him another time would do better to her.
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Post by Pinkerton on Jun 5, 2020 9:24:39 GMT -5
She was a little startled by the appearance of Ser Templeton, discretely rearranging her bodice as he approached. This was her father’s doing, she was sure of it. ”My favour? I suppose you’ll need it, Ser Symond. You’re facing quite the competition out there.”Randa unpinned a brooch from her dress; a dainty little thing, with the arms of her father emblazoned upon it. She extended it towards him, brushing an errant brown curl from her eyeline in the process. ”It would be my honour for you to have this, Ser. Bash some sense into my brother’s head for me, will you?” She giggled, rather girlishly. Templeton laughed sincerely. "I doubt it is something easy, milady, else you would've done it already. I'll try my best, though."And with that, he left.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 5, 2020 9:58:03 GMT -5
"Charming"
Said Alayne, amused by Templeton's apparent bluntness.
"Not a man of many words, certainly, but comely enough?"
She asked Randa, arching an eyebrow. If she remembered correctly, Templeton was a distant cousin of hers, how exactly, she didn't remember; it was something related to her great-grandfather Edwyle.
"Maybe Tollett won't be your husband, after all"
Alayne looked back at Mya.
"He's a fine man. Decent fellow through and through. Might not look like much, but he's a good one and, trust me, those are scarce these days"
Lothor had avoided her being abused by the long dead Marillion, so she had nothing bad to say about the man: he had always treated her gently. Probably Mya would be far happier with him that she would ever be with Harry, who she didn't trust much about keeping his sword on the scabbard. The herald announced the next tilt, Harrold Hardying against Albar Royce.
"Here we go, you should tell your brother not to aim to his face"
Lord Arryn can be heard complaining loudly about Hardying's arms.
"He has no right! He's no Arryn! He's just a Hardying! Why he has my falcon? Tell him to change his shield! I command it! He wants me to die!"
Alayne looked at the dais, were Baelish was doing his best to tranquilize the young boy, who could start shaking any minute now.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 5, 2020 11:59:02 GMT -5
Harrold could hear the young Lord complaining loudly. Baelish seemed to be handling things. Honestly, Harry felt bad that Lord Baelish had to handle the temper of the young Lord. Robert just never liked him... Hardyng mostly blamed the poor lad's mother for the poor upbringing and not educating the little Arryn to be more kind and polite. For a moment, his eyes glance at Alayne Stone, before turning his gaze to look for Lady Waynwood. Situated upon his horse, he turns slightly, glancing to his right to see the venue of persons there. All of them notables of the Vale, both noble and knight with their families and retainers. Anya Waynwood was among the crowd, eyeing her ward from afar. His eyes then turned to Albar Royce, the heir of Nestor. Broad shouldered, fierce whiskers, and a massive barrel chest... it was like looking at a younger version of his father. What a fierce opponent.
When the flag was raised, Harry utters a quiet prayer to the Warrior and the Mother. Then, with a swift hand, he pulls down his visor and readies himself for the tilt. His lance was steadied and his visor sent upon Royce. The air was tense around him as Harrold watched and waited for the flag to drop and the horses to charge one another.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 5, 2020 12:12:04 GMT -5
Albar pulled down the visor over his stern face. He wore the favour of one of Belmore's daughters, a small silken token of her esteem. It was a hard won victory at the previous night's feast, and it had delicately been pinned to the surcoat that held the new arms of the junior branch of Royce that would now hold the Gates of the Moon for all time. Opposite him was Harry Hardyng himself, heir to the Vale once the bratty Sweetrobin inevitably drooled himself to death. Royce snorted. He had little time for weaklings. He would shatter the shield of this up-jumped squire and move onto the serious competitors. If all went well, he would win the honour of leading the Valesmen against the barbarian tribes of the Mountains.
They exchanged a few rounds, but in truth, it was a boring joust. Nestor watched as his son and Hardyng's lances hit each other's armour rather than the shield. Then, as he saw it, Hardyng aimed high. Royce stood in outrage as Harry's lance shattered into his son's helmet. There was a sickening thud as Albar hit the ground, a splinter from the lance killing his horse on impact. For a moment, time seem to stand still - Myranda stood in shock, anger and grief taking her stomach in an iron grip.
Then, to the relief of all, the younger Royce rose. Unbuckling his helmet, he threw it to the ground with a roar. Blood was streaming from his ear, and it was hard to tell whether it was from him or his horse. He drew his sword, and cold steel hissed in the air.
"Aim for my head will you, Hardyng? Get off the horse, boy, and fight me like a man!"
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jun 5, 2020 12:24:15 GMT -5
Best to say that Harrold was still relatively green as a sworn sword of the Vale. The melee at Runestone had been earlier that year, so for him to be able to clash lances and still survive. Then, the last bout came and everything didn't go... according to plan. Harry's lance was intended for the shield once more, but instead, it tilted upward and slammed into Royce's head, throwing him clean off of the saddle. It was a bold move and one that certainly could have been fatal! Harry came to the end, looking at Albar who was on the ground. Even Lady Anya stood up in outrage for what had just transpired. What was her ward thinking?!
The young Hardyng watched as Royce got up and bellowed a challenge. There was no hesitation from the proud Harrold who quickly dismounted. His own sword was drawn and the sheath tossed to the side.
I will make you eat those words, Royce!
Harrold yelled at Albar, moving towards the knight. If no one stopped him, the Valemen would be lunge forward and aim to strike first.
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Post by oznerol on Jun 5, 2020 12:34:11 GMT -5
Baelish got on his feet:
"Stop! Now! Both of you! This behavior shall not be tolerated"
The least he needed now was the heir of the Vale being killed in a foolish duel, then his gripe over the land would slip completely if -or when- Robert died, maybe even before that. Bronze Yohn would put the blame on him, he was certain of it.
"No, uncle Petyr, let him kill cousin Harry, please! He wants me dead, he better die first!"
Sweetrobin started pulling Baelish's long embroidered sleeve, and, then, Petyr pushed Arryn down on his throne, hugely annoyed by the kid, who -as expected- proceeded to throw a tantrum of epic proportions, his yelling echoing throught the jousting field. Sansa knew that he could start shaking any moment now, so she hurried to her cousin, getting on her feet and crossing into the main spectator box, on the dais.
"Robin, please, be quiet, stay calm, please"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 5, 2020 12:52:01 GMT -5
As Baelish rose, Albar raised his sword to parry Hardyng's strike. Steel rung out against steel, and Royce broke Hardyng's guard before smashing Harry in the face with his sword pommel. The helmet took some of the force, but the nose was bruised, maybe even broken. Ignoring Littlefinger's pleas, Royce pressed the attack, Hardyng pedalling backwards as Albar swung for his head repeatedly. They traded blows, but Royce had the better of them, and it was now Harry the Heir that was on the ground. Swords were tossed aside, both rolling ignobly in the dirt, Albar pummelling the helmeted head of the Vale's heir in a manner that would surely kill or seriously wound him if someone did not intervene.
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