Page 018: Grand Melee at Stonebridge
Grand Melee at Stonebridge
Summary: Knights clash in the culmination of the week-long tourney.
Date: 30/07/288
Related Logs: None
Anais Anton Edmure Esme Gedeon Igara Isolde Jaremy Jarod Josse Kevan Lucienne Revyn Rowan Rygar Ryker Wayland 
Outskirts of Stonebridge - Stonebridge
The roads are worn and well tended here and the fields on either side are lush and filled with wildflowers. The tournament tent is set up just north of the road and a grand pavilion rests to the central right of it, set with the colors of House Tordane. Knight's tents are being set up everywhere there is room and high ground. They dot the countryside and near the Tordane tent there is a cart of water and food, a small general area for the nobles to greet the hosts and partake in food to ease their journeys.
30 July, 288

The tourney field remains with tilting rails down, and border ropes dripping with tassles and pennants run from post to post, marking off the melee field for the week-long tourney's culmination: the Grand Melee. As various knights prepare for the brutal free-for-all, squires and pages run about fetching last minute items, or otherwise working off the high nerves to which many of the masters are immune.

Seated beneath the shade of the noble platform, Edmure Tully (only slightly worse the wear for his poor showing the day before) sits with the hostesses, watching the preparations excitedly.

Squire Rowan Nayland paces the periphery of the field, near his knight, on hand for any last minute needs or instructions. He frowns, either scowling against the bright sun or… well, who knows. Moody boy. He looks far less composed and easy than the previous eve, when it was his turn to fight.

Ser Kevan hasn't exactly been laying low since the duel with Maron Greyjoy's champion, but he's been rather scarce the past couple of days nonetheless. However, there wasn't any way he was going to miss the grand melee; he stands quietly on the edge of the field, swinging a blunted greatsword experimentally, getting a feel for the weapon. It's not Talon, his own weapon, but it'll do.

Rygar Nayland, unlike his cousin, is the very image of composed calm. The severe kngiht may as well be arming up for a day's practice in the castle yard as he draws on his niello etched gauntlets with a precise and praciced trio of tugs, flexing the fingers in and out of a fist, before drawing on the second.

Unlike many of the other contestants, Revyn isn't preparing, nor is he with his squire. Rather, he enters into the area with a small group of sworn swords and Isolde on his arm. They seem to be conversing quietly and a smile rests upon the lips of the older man. Leading her from along the grounds and towards her seat, he only releases her arm when it's finally reached and then he's taking a step back, offering her a low bow of his head and a warm smile, "Thank you for this honor, my neice. I do hope you enjoy the event that is to come." There's another smile that's offered before he's finally turning away so as to no doubt make his final preperations.

The wooden planking of the noble's section creaks as yet another arrival steps out to watch over the tourney grounds. Ser Jaremy Terrick has arrived with Lady Anais Banefort beside him, chatting quietly as he leads her and her guard towards the collected Terricks and Mallister company. Jaremy is dressed in sharp gray and violets with his peace-tied sword at his hip. "…both my brother Jarod and my uncle, Revyn, will be taking the field today. Jarod's squire should be out there as well, and he took the squire's melee." He stops near a pair of cushioned chairs, letting her choose whichever she likes.

This melee will be, if the septon's words a few days ago were to be believed, Josse's favorite event. That the young man shows up early for once is a step towards proving those words, his gray-robed figure weaving easily through the gathering crowd. Sunlight catches the 7-pointed pendant every so often, spattering subtle rays of the prism's color onto the backs and arms of whoever's standing by him. He pauses to look over the battlefield, eyes focused for a moment on Rowan more than anyone else for whatever reason, and flickers the squire a brief smile before heading onwards.

Jarod likewise, unlike his squire, looks collected enough. Brash grin on his clean-shaven face, doing some last-minute checks and tightening of the armor he wears. "Don't frown so much Rowan. You're depressing me. This'll be grand! Said it before and I'll say it again. Some of the finest swords in the Seven Kingdoms are here, and we've the honor of doing each other injuries. It's a fine day for it, and I am ever a lucky bastard, so I like my chances well enough." He idly fingers the favor on his wrist, scanning the crowd. In search of Terricks to grin and wave at. He finds Jaremy, and hefts his sword at his brother and Anaise Banefort in a jolly salute.

A man stands to the side, idly looking at all the preparations taking place and only turns his head when the voice of a young boy calls for him "Ser, ser! Your sword" The small page is practically dragging the Greatsword over the floor. Wayland Frey shows a faint smile (aren't you glad he is not a Nayland, imagine saying the full name) and takes the offered sword, lifting it to eye level to study it closer "Thank you, Ronnan. Now, go back with the others" The page turns around and runs off and Wayland is left alone once again. He looks rather calm, and offers courtesies to the Knights and Nobles that are closer.

The sworn in their wake, Isolde turns upon the release from Revyn and she sips a curtsey to him, "Thank you, Lord Uncle. May the warrior guide your sword arm for each strike. Be well." She wishes him and rises, smoothing her skirts to turn and climb into the noble seating to take her own. But as she takes note of Edmure Tully seated with her mother and Young Lord Nayland, she dips her head into a deep bow, "My Lord Edmure, it is an honor." She rises slowly with a smile for him before she moves to take her seat. Igara is noted as well, a nod of her head offered to her cousin before she turns back, gazing out over those readying upon the field. Her green eyes stray and all is noted by the Lady of Stonebridge.

Rowan smirks at his knight, giving the armored man's shoulder a shove and re-checking the straps and guards that have already been checked a half-dozen times. "Just don't get your pretty face broken. I'm sure Lady Nameless likes it as it is."

"I'd have offered your brother a favor, but I think Elinor might have killed me for it," Anais laughs to Jaremy, stepping to the further chair and settling in. "That, and he seems to have one already. Are there any limitations on the weapons to be used today?" she asks, tipping her chin up to scan the field.

Edmure Tully rises to his feet with a mild wince as Isolde arrives. "My Lady!" the youth greets cheerfully. "The honor is mine, I'm sure. Have any of you seen a proper melee, before?" he wonders of the nobles at hand.

The nobles have their places, pride of place and neatly arranged for the best view of the tournament, but some space has been set aside for the less nobly born, and it's into those seats that the blonde merchant of middling height makes her way. She brings no company with her, nor any escort of any kind, but Esme seems to require nothing more than the soft word, and the sometimes not so soft shoulder to muscle her way through to a free seat.

Slipping through the crowd, it only takes Revyn a moment to find his squire and to claim the greatsword that the young man holds for him. Hefting the weapon, a critical eye is played over the blade before he's lowering it back down and then shifting the scan the crowd. There's a smile that rests upon his lips and when his eyes play over Rowan and then Jarod, the smile seems to grow that much more. Footsteps then begin to carry him in the direction of knight and squire.

Igara comes along Isolde and her escort, her white shoulder-cape with its stark black points gleaming in the sun with the purity of its color, her face veiled in a sheer scarf of greys and blues hung from her headdress. She comes along to join her gentle cous, stopping by Valda's seat to take her Lady Sister's hands in greeting and courtse chastely to the assembled squires before she moves along to Isolde's chair to greet her. "Dear cous," she smiles, and looks to press her hand hello. When Edmure addresses them, she smiles but keeps her eyes averted.

Josse backs up a few steps to let a squire go racing past him, the poor young man late to attend to his knight. His shoulder bumps part of a rail and he glances up into the noble faces watching the melee from slightly above him. As Isolde is spotted in her seat among her peers, he lifts a hand to her in a most polite motion as a greeting.

Satisfied (enough) with his weapon, Kevan puts it to one side as he pulls on his own gauntlets, muttering something — likely a brief prayer — under his breath as he does so. The fair-haired knight's black armor is punctuated by a bit of color today, in the form of a small posey of white, star-shaped flowers attached to a ribbon tied around his arm; apparently even hedge knights can have admirers, it seems. As he finishes the last of his preparations for the melee, he takes a moment to look around, eyes falling on his competitors in particular.

Rowan gives one of Jarod's straps a final tug, then turns and spies Revyn approaching. The lad's smile is warm, head of dark curls bowing in greeting. "Ser Revyn. Warrior be with you today."

"Oh, there he is. His favor's from an anonymous lady that hasn't shown herself to him, so I'm sure Elinor has noticed it well by now." Jaremy's eyebrows lift, raising an arm in a salute to his brother and his uncle. Looking quite proud of them, he takes his seat beside Anais, settling in comfortably. "I'm not entirely sure, but I expect the Naylands to come bearing bludgeons and a good deal of heavy, large blunted swords to answer them with." He leans towards her slightly, pointing down the field. "This man over there is Ser Kevan Tierney, we spoke of him last night."

Jarod flashes Revyn a quick grin in return when he catches sight of him. "Lord Uncle. I wish you good luck, though I pray for better for myself. This'll be more interesting than the practice yard, I'll reckon." He extends a hand to the master-at-arms to shake. "Either way, Four Eagles should put on a good show, aye?"

Isolde dips her head in gracious thanks to Edmure and then looks out over the field, "My has been some time, but I do believe I saw the last when my father fought." She offers to Edmure and then smiles brilliantly at Igara, touching her arm lightly. Valda is silent for her part, the answer given to the Lord Tully, instead she greets Igara and makes room for her.

As the contenders are considered by the Lady of Stonebridge the gentle wave of Josse is caught and she turns, "Septon.." Whether he can hear her is another thing and she makes a motion of her hand to invite him over to where the nobles sit. It is an invitation to the pious young man.

But her gaze is given to her Lord Uncle, Ser Jerold and Lord Ser Wayland. Her smile grows at the sight. "So many strong combatants on the field..this shall surely be an event.." She say to Edmure she sits beside.

Wayland tilts his head when his 'cousin' (aunt) Igara appears, a smile forms on his lips and he offers a nod as a way of greeting. He would approach to say his greetings to Lady Valda and Lady Isolde as well, but it seems that Edmure Tully is taking all their time. Ah, these noble kids. His attention goes back to the field as he keeps seeing Knight after Knight, all getting here for what promises to be a good day for bruises to be born.

"Then it should be an interesting event." Anais leans half-over Jaremy to point toward a group of three men in black and grey with the Banefort badge on their chests. "Our men are using spears. A spear for one hand, and a large dagger for the other. Distance and close range both. They're very effective against raiders, but I'll be interested to see how they perform against plate."

Jointing the ranks of those preparing for the melee, one more man steps up to the field. He doesn't cut an especially impressive figure, he's neither unspeakably tall nor awe-inspiringly broad. Rather, he's average in height, perhaps a little slim. Gedeon's decked out in black brigadine and silver maile, covering most of him, save his face. It's a sheathed broadsword he wears at his hip, and he pauses to study the thrumming crowd of onlookers as well as the gathering collection of contestants.

The competitors are all veterans of battle, a statement few melees could match. Each arrayed in the full harness of the battlefield, only now does it become fully apparent why the wooden swords and padded armor of the squires melee a day before to have been mere prelude.

Alone among the swordsman in bearing a longer weapon is Ser Rygar, holding upright a six foot 'crow's beak' pole hammer. He does not survey the field of challengers, but instead holds himself bolt upright, stiff neck and stern mein regarding the noble box, and awaiting the address from their hosts.

Young Lord Ryker is sitting with Isolde, watching the men take to the field. He's a little better dressed than he has been the last few days that he has been wandering the tournament grounds, too.

Josse likely cannot hear a damn thing for the crowd, but his eyes are sharp enough to catch Isolde's motioned invitation. His blue eyes flicker to the stand of nobles, a moment of hesitancy to take his dust-spangled robes through all that expensive crowd, but after a moment he moves to do so anyway. Picking his way around the back where he won't be too noted, he ducks under waving arms until he's come up to near Lady Isolde, his hand wrapped around his pendant to keep it from hitting anyone in the back of the head as he moves around. "My Lady. Good to see you again." A polite bow of his head and shoulders to Igara, who's largely unfamiliar to him, and then a deeper one to Ryker. "My Lord."

Drawing closer towards Jarod and Rowan, Revyn dips his head towards the latter, the smile remaining upon his lips, "Many thanks. Congratulations on the win yesterday. You have done quite well." Then, he's looking towards Jarod, offering the same dip of his head before accepting the extended hand for a firm shake, "Two Terricks grace the field this day, nephew, so it will be quite a show. May luck be with you, though perhaps not as strongly as mine." Eyes then shift about, playing over those that are preparing before he's looking back towards Jarod, a faint grin now creasing his lips, "I fear that I may be getting far too old for these events."

Once a scene has been wrestled from the clutching grasp of the common masses, Esme sits, golden head turning this way and that as she looks over the knights, nobly born and common, making their preparations for the event. Unlike many of the crowd, she wears no mark nor carries no mark of allegiance to either House or knight, but seems to take in the sight of the men preparing for battle with equal interest.

"Plate, aye, that should be interesting, though if they're lightly armored they're like to be able to dance around a man in plate. With so many large weapons being swung around they'll have to dodge rather than parry, but if they get in close…" Jaremy tilts his head, laughing softly. His attention is distracted from Anais as a servant arrives, offering them grapes and some of the summerwine from Terrick stock. Jaremy reaches for one goblet, offering it tentatively to Anais. Sneaking a glance to his father and Lord Mallister, unsure as to where their attentions rest. "Were you able to find the Crakehall camp, my Lady?"

Rowan blushes at the praise from the Terrick Master-at-Arms, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you, Ser. Any skill I might display I owe Ser Jarod and yourself; any good fortune, the Gods. I think there was some of both in last night's victory."

Wayland looks over his shoulder again and this time, he turns around, making his way to where Isolde, Valda and Igara are. A soft smile forms on his features and he says "My Ladies…" he turns his head and finds Ryker there, offering another nod to him "My Lord" However, his attention moves back to the three from Stonebridge "It is refreshing to see you here, I trust you will enjoy the tournament's grand finale?"

Igara keeps her eyes downcast, and finallydips as in a deep courtsey, but which serves her to settle her down on the little stoop by her cousin's seat, spotting the Frey colors on Wayland and quickly piecing together his identity, offering him a timid and girlish smile before she finally turns her eyes up to Josse. His sanctity is evidently enough for her to lay eyes upon him with wholesomeness of spirit, and she does so with a smile, whispering, "Septon," in a reverent greeting.

"Good Septon, be welcome. Do sit with us." Isolde says to him gently, bidding Josse to remain. But with the approah of Wayland, her idling gaze is draw away from the two leaning together further over. She tries to shake the heaviness that sets over her before she looks to the good knight, once her father's squire. "Ser Wayland" She dips her head and then looks to Edmure, "I am enjoying it already. I wish you well this day…know that I will be praying for you. Ser Wayland, I am sure you know our Lord Hoster Tully's son, Young Lord Edmure." She motions to the younger noble at her side but from the corner of her eye she takes a faint gaze up towards the Terrick seats.

Kevan's eyes linger a moment on Edmure Tully; the blond knight had squired for a man who'd served Edmure's father Hoster, and Kevan himself had fought under the Tully banner at the Trident. The family resemblance between father and son is plain. He'll sketch a salute with his blade to Edmure, if the young man happens to look in his direction. Then he goes back to his silent watch, the hum of the crowd filling his ears as he waits for the event to begin.

Edmure Tully ahems at Isolde's answer, "Ah.. yes," he mutters, awkwardly at the subject, before clearing his throat and deciding that now is the time to address the crowd. "Good people!" the boy calls, not quite loud enough to piece the clamor of the field, but enough that gradually enough smallfolk realize he is talking that their eyes turn toward the young man. "We gather here to witness great feats of arms! With thanks to our gracious hosts-" a motion to Isolde, nearby. "-Let the contest begin, Sers!"

"I did, yes." Anais settles back into her seat, though her eyes are on the field and the men there, rather than Jaremy. "It was a pleasant visit, though there was a good deal of activity in preparation for today's event. Still, Bruce knew a few of the knights in the camp from when he travelled with my father, so it was nice for them to be able to see each other." As the beginning is called, she sits up a little straighter, craning her neck to see. "Do you think anyone will form a unit to break through the beginning?"

"My Lady is very gracious." Josse settles carefully into a seat, one that looks like everyone else has chosen not to use. His eyes flicker past his own shoulder, subtly, catching sight of what Isolde is looking at, and then just as quickly look away — picture noted. His attention comes back to Igara and her smile and he returns it, an easy and warm expression. "Lady…Igara, no?" He's heard of her, if not seen her before. Tully's exclamation promptly distracts him, attention flicked towards the field. Jarod, mostly.

"Rowan won himself a fine sword, at least. That'll make it simpler for you when it comes time for your knighthood, lad. You've already some gear you can use toward it." The words from Jarod's uncle make his grin widen, warmed. Perhaps more for the 'two Terricks' bit than any piece of good wishes. "You're not old, lord uncle. You're experienced. And you're the only one of us who's fought dragons in his day. That's got to be an advantage." And his grin crooks cheekily. He can't quite /not/ ruin these warm moments, but he means well.

As Edmure rises to announce, she quiets and Isolde takes her gaze back to the field, inclining her head as she is motioned to. The Lady of Stonebridge smiles and then catches sight of what one might call a familiar face and hesitates. Gedeon? Her head tilts and she presses her lips into a thin line but makes no question of it to anyone. Valda on the other hand has long since taken note and is watching the Valentin Knight rather closely. She leans back to speak to her chambermaid who promptly disappears to hedge her way through the crowd.

Anton readies himself with the aid of his squire, a dark-haired young man who finishes his work quickly. The Knight of Oldstones checks it over himself once and then sends the boy off with a nod. His dark armour moves with seamless silence, as much as can be achieved by full plate, anyway. He lifts his greatsword and checks his grip, then moves to stand ready to begin.

Rygar raises his pole hammer in salute at the young Tully's announcement, bringing the weapon around in wide circle that parallels the ground to include the field of foes in his respects, before taking his guard, and choosing his opponent.

"The great leaf is with me" says Wayland to Isolde, nodding politely to her "I do thank you for keeping a spot for me in your prayers" Now, he looks at Edmure Tully and nods to himself. He takes a step back and turns around, moving back into the field, getting ready for the battle to come.

Igara's cheeks pinken with a touch of modesty as she is recognized, but she gives a tender incline of her head by way of a nod, and, "Yes, Septon," she continues meek-voiced and childlike. "Will you, too, offer a prayer for my kinsman, Ser Wayland? See how he goes onto the field," she points him out with her eyes, not embarrassed to look upon him now that he is part of the spectacle.

Allowing the plate to be set down, should they decide to drink while they watch, Jaremy glances in the direction of Lord Edmure Tully. It's there that he spies Isolde looking in his direction, and for the slightest of moments eye contact is made…and disconnected. Jaremy's eyes shoot back to the field. "This event is a bit bittersweet to me, Anais. I'd hoped to be able to compete, so in truth that is exactly what I would have sought to do." He laughs softly, turning in his chair and straightening his back alongside hers to watch. Soon there would be a clash of bodies, and they'd have to spot for vertical and horizontal colors. "I would expect Jarod and Revyn to fight alongside eachother for sure, likely to guard eachothers' backs. Likewise I would expect the Naylands to do the same. Perhaps the Baneforts will alongside the Crakehalls?" He looks to her, eyes leveling onto her interest in the event before he turns back to the field, quietly sipping his mug of wine.

Revyn can't help but give a slight shake of his head and a quick smirk to Jarod at the mention of slaying dragons, but any retort is cut off by Tully's announcement of things to commence. At this, the Terrick Master-at-Arms lets his hands curl around the hilt of his sword, hefting the weapon upwards as he turns to survey the crowd of contestants for the movement. "Let us make our own good fortune, nephew. Pick a target and let us show him what it means to be a Terrick."

Rowan steps back from the field, but not far, near at hand to aid his knight, should need arise. He laces his fingers together and presses them to his mouth, breathing deeply and murmuring what might be a prayer. His eyes are avidly on the combat.

Josse tilts his head slightly at Igara, his slight smile warming a little further. His eyes find Wayland's back, watching a moment or two as he moves off. "I shall of course, my Lady. A choir of prayer today, I'm certain…I hope the Seven find the harmony in it." He chuckles under his breath, his fingers turning the leather band and crystal pendant where it dangles in the middle of his chest. The crystal comes to settle on his fingers and he absently lets his hand and the charm rest against his lips. "They have prepared to live this day…" he murmurs, watching the knights begin to circle.

"Ser Rygar Nayland's giving you the eye, I think, Lord Uncle," Jarod says to Revyn, stepping alongside the elder Terrick for now. "Be a shame not to give him a dance, aye?" Though his face is smirk free as he regard the Nayland knight. And he offers him quite a respectful salute, complete with a short half-bow.

Rygar is among the first from the outset to stride into the center of the field toward an opponent, his wicked polearm raised in a salute to the pair of Terrick knights (or Terrick and Terrick-aligned, at least).

Though her face falls for a second, Isolde keeps her gaze forward on the field. Giving her ear faintly to Josse and Igara. The younger Valentin Knight is forgotten for the moment, her gaze flickering to Ryker as she offers him a kindly smile. The Lady looks to Edmure, "My Lord, you did well yesterday. Quite a spirit you have. I do so hope you have recovered. Do you have need of some wine or water?" Asks the hostess of this days events.

Letting his gaze play over the other knights, it's Jarod's statement that brings Revyn's attention to bare upon Rygar, his lips curving up into a grin that is plainly offered towards the man. "It would seem that you are right, my nephew. Let us show Ser Rygar what we are made of." His own sword is lifted into a salute towards the other knight before it's lowered back down.

With the noble announcement made, the commoners seem divided between speaking quietly amongst themselves, whether to champion for their chosen knight, as they can, or to pass bets amongst themselves on the outcome, or to openly cheer for those knights who represent their home regions. Even smallfolk have pride of place, oftimes as great or even greater than as that of the nobly born. The people arrayed around Esme seem of the more quiet variety, words makred by good cheered laughter and the sparkle of coin. Not a House, by any means, but many of them seem to have one thing on common. The mark each of them wears in various forms, that show them to be a member of the crafting guild, the majority bearing the mark of the craft hall of Seagard.

<COMBAT> Banefort Man attacks Anton with Spear but Anton DODGES!
<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Kevan with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Left Arm.
<COMBAT> Rygar attacks Revyn with Polearm - Moderate wound to Right Hand (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Rygar with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Gedeon with Greatsword - ARMOR on Right Leg stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Rygar with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Gedeon attacks Kevan with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Banefort Man with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

Anais glances away from the field to quirk a brow at Jaremy. "Why didn't you join the competition?" she asks, though the clash of weapons draws her gaze quickly back to the field. "Our men will hedgehog, if they can," she notes, pointing to where the Banefort men start going back to back.

Wayland looks at Gedeon for a moment and then into the field again as the Knights start to move forward; there is a smile that forms into his lips as he takes the first step and goes straight towards Kevan. While the other man is distracted with Gedeon, he makes his attack with the greatsword, making a direct hit to his Left Arm.

Igara's glance to the field to point out her cousin is locked into place as the knights begin to move upon one another, and she clutches her hands together in that tender-heartedly fretful manner of hers, lips drawn together and eyes wide as the clash commences. A short breath is taken in when Wayland strikes, and she leans slightly toward her Lady cousin, "Whom has our Ser Wayland hit?" she asks.

The grim spear-and-dagger men in the ominous blacks, greys, and flames of the Baneforts makes a dash at Anton, the most heavily armed knight on the field, but landing no blow on the big Valentin, whose agility is undiminished by his harness.

Meanwhile, at th center of the field, Rygar's reach has allowed the Nayland knight to land a first blow on Revyn's gauntlet, before quickly recovering to defend himself against the combined assault of Terrick and Rivers, stealing a swift few steps back to try and keep distance.

Catching Anais' look, Jaremy's mouth opens to reply, but instead it curls into an awkward smile. His gaze slyly tilts back towards the field. "There is a higher chance of injury in the grand melee, my lady, especially with so many bludgeons on the field. After a discussion with my Lord Father and Lord Mother it was decided as I'm firstborn son and unwed with no heir…" He tilts his head, his tone accentuating his words. "…that it best I stick to one event."

Jarod is fighting beside his uncle to start with, as Jaremy predicted. And against a Nayland no less. He launches straight in, though the blow he lands on Rygar's chest does little to jar the man's arm. Shifting his greatsword in his hands, he pivots to change his angle of attack slightly.

Josse's eye twitches at the sound of the armor clashing and weapons all hitting metal at once. He cranes his next, trying to keep an eye on the Terrick handful in particular. The small crystal pendant bobs between his fingers, slowly back and forth, rotating a circle of seven colors of light on his palm. The fidgeting undoubtedly covers more boisterous, boyish sort of energy, but for now it's under wraps.

Edmure relaxes back into his seat with a broad smile at Isolde's compliment. "I was caught rather early, alas. I hadnn't considered it much of a-" his words are cut off as the melee begins, siezing his eye and leaving the words unfinished.

Anton is nimble. Apparently, anyway, as he dodges the spear and dagger attack, skirting it to batter the Banefort's breastplate with his sword. He moves quickly despite the heavy load he wears, shifting to strike at his opponent once against.

Anais's look to Jaremy at his explanation is sympathetic. "That is disappointing," she agrees. "Though the flip side of the argument, that if you were wedded and with an heir, you would apparently be expendable, is also a bit silly," she adds, smile quirking. "Oh, there!" she exclaims suddenly, grin flashing as she points to where the Banefort men are teaming up on Anton. "Oh, he's good."

Temporary allies can be a handy thing, and certainly Gedeon's not complaining about the extra help. He moves back as Kevan swings, and if he's not quick enough to fully avoid the attack, the armor of his right leg serves well enough to fend it off. His own sword swings, next, connecting soundly with Kevan's abdomen before Gedeon darts back out of immediate range.

As Rygar begins his approach, Revyn's hefting his weapon off to the side in preperation of his blow at the Nayland knight and it's then that Rygar's reach allow him to land a blow against his gauntleted hand, causing the swing of his weapon to be thrown off enough that the blade cleaves only air. A scowl now play across the lips of the Master at Arms, though he does offer a quick, "Well done, Ser Rygar." Then, he's beginning steps forward and angling a touch off the side, hoping that he and Jarod can attack for opposite sides of the man.

Well, isn't that nice. As soon as the melee begins, Kevan finds himself sandwiched between a knight in Frey livery and another man in brigandine. Kevan growls, aiming his first attack at the second man; his strike gets through, but it's not a well-aimed swing, and it merely bounces off the other man's armor. He winces, growling again as both his opponent and the Frey get rather luckier in their own attacks.

Attending to the Lord Hoster's son, she is finally free to lean back and speak with Josse and Igara. "I do believe that is the Knight that was the bane of the Ironborn." She pauses, "Ser Tierney if I remember correctly, once sworn to Terrick." She explains further and the then winces as Revyn is hit by Rygar's polearm. "Oh Lord Uncle.." She whispers and presses her hands to her skirts. Wayland though strikes true and she watches with a strict smile. All the while, Valda's little snake is going to inquire as to the name of the younger Valentin Knight.

<COMBAT> Banefort Man attacks Anton with Spear and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Kevan with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Rygar attacks Revyn with Polearm - Critical wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Rygar with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Gedeon with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Rygar with Greatsword - Light wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Gedeon attacks Kevan with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Banefort Man with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Kevan has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Revyn has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Rygar has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Rygar spends a luck point to keep fighting!
<COMBAT> Revyn spends a luck point to keep fighting!

Jarod moves like a mirror with his uncle, circling around to - indeed - see to it that Rygar is pressed from both sides. He aims low, using not the point but trying for a side-blow to the Nayland's midsection. Armor tends to keep one from having the wind knocked out of them so easily, alas. He can range somewhat freely, with Rygar focused on Revyn. Poor Revyn.

Clink! Clang! It's an equal exchange of metal this time, and both Gedeon's armor and Kevan's do their job, despite both knights connecting soundly with the other's chest. But Gedeon, at least, moves back again with only a faint wince for the blocked blow, still steady and on his feet.

Jaremy can't help but laugh at Anais' assesment, eyes slightly rolling in agreement. "Right? At the very least in all situations…" He lowers his voice, less his words be taken as scandal. "…there should always be a fully capable infant of replacing the heir. You're right, it is silly, but if not for that decision we wouldn't have our conversation, either. For that I can relent." He lifts his jaw, tilting in the Banefort's direction, keeping one eye on his family as he watches the Baneforts square off against Oldstones. "Ser Anton, that man is simply deadly. Truth is many were nervous to face him in the jou.." He pauses, turning to the sight of his brothers battling with Rygar. His brows lower with concern.

Rygar is canny enough to see when he is being flanked. And with opponents as dangerous as Revyn and Jarod, the Nayland knight wastes no time in seeking to break out of the pincer, rushing Revyn with a heavy, overhanded blow of the vicious crow's beak polearm, and landing a crushing blow to the Terrick's coat of plates. Yet his aggression is not without a cost, as the lean knight soaks up a pair of blows in the exchange.

As Revyn is struck badly, Isolde stands on instinct to see him take such a blow. Worry knits her brow as she watches from afar, remaining yet amongst the stands but tightening her hold upon the skirts. Her head tilts, inspecting the field to make certain Revyn remains intact. But as her Lord Uncle continues to move despite the hit, the Lady of Stonebridge turns her head to help ease herself back to her chair. She makes a thin line of her lips, frowning some now at the events.

"Ouch." Josse can't help the mutter of sympathy as Rygar tries to skewer Revyn's chest with his polearm. His body tenses slightly, shifting to the edge of the chair — the septon is ready to stand up and move in a hurry if it looks like one of the combatants is really injured.

"My," is Igara's mild reply to the identity of the mystery knight out there, and she stands as her cousin does— clapping her hands in a mild show of approbation— certainly for Wayland's attack on the Champion of Lady Blackmane, not for Rygar's on Revyn's. Certainly. At least, that's where her eyes do stay.

Wayland keeps attacking, there's no denying. Perhaps, now that Kevan adopted a more defense focused stance, his attacks are not as effective. However, he does land a hit on his chest, not as strong as the last one but it's at least, something. Eyes narrowed and greatsword in both hands, moving carefully now, studying what's the situation around him without loosing focus.

"Oh, careful," Anais hisses as the Terrick-River alliance closes on Rygar, blindly reaching to grab the arm of the chair and grabbing Jaremy's arm instead. "To the right!" Well. It can't be said that the Banefort lady isn't enjoying the excitement of the melee, at least.

Kevan isn't so lucky, as the pair of blades opposing him both strike home. He isn't able to keep his balance, falling over with a dull clank of metal as he hits the ground. The fury is plain on his face as he gets back up, tossing his weapons aside. His lips twitch as though he's about to say something, but he remains silent; he'll settle for a baleful glare directed first at Wayland, then at Gedeon, as he makes his way off the field. Once he's on the sidelines, though, he does mutter something that someone who's either close by or reading his lips can probably make out as "Cowards."

There's little denying or concealing the fact that Rygar's blow was a devestating one and even though Revyn manages to land a return blow against the Nayland Knight, it's clear that he's been wounded. With the armor scored by Rygar's attack, Revyn takes a step back, more to grant himself a brief respite of air and a chance in his stance, focusing more on his own defense now, rather then out right trying to batter the other knight into the ground.

Anton slams another blow into the chest of the Banefort knight, though this one finds a stronger patch of armor to soak up some of the blow's strength, not quite managing to hit in the same exact spot twice. Once again the plate-clad knight manages to avoid his foe's attack, and circles round him once more to strike again.

Rowan winces deeply and watches Revyn with visible concern, eyes tracking the Master-at-Arms after he's skewered by Rygar. The lad bites his lip and hooks his hands in his belt, knuckles white.

"F…" Jaremy starts, catching himself as his hand balls into a fist. The plight of the men of Banefort is lost on him as the only thing that's stopped him from standing is the hand of Anais Banefort clenched to his forearm. His eyes widen, leaning closer towards Anais to get a better look, trying to spot his uncle's status. "Damn…I think Ser Rygar's injured him." Jaremy says, fearful for his uncle. "That weapon Rygar uses is armor-breaking." His knuckles turn white as he holds his breath.

<COMBAT> Banefort Man attacks Anton with Spear but Anton DODGES!
<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Gedeon with Greatsword - Light wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Rygar attacks Jarod with Polearm - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Rygar with Greatsword - Light wound to Right Leg (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Rygar with Greatsword but Rygar DODGES!
<COMBAT> Gedeon attacks Wayland with Greatsword - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Banefort Man with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Banefort Man has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Gedeon has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Rygar has been KO'd!

"They don't work very well if they aren't," Anais replies absently to Jaremy's observation, half-rising enough to see the knight. "I don't think it's serious. It's scored, but not broken, though," she adds before settling back down, only then realizing she's vised the young lord to his chair. "Oh. Apologies," she laughs, drawing her hand back with a faint flush.

Rygar wheels about after landing that telling blow on Revyn, to press Jaros as hard as he is able, seeking with sharp, swift movements to win his way out of the armored vice of Terrick and Rivers. The lean Nayland does manage to knock aside Jarod's blade, landing a blow to the younger knight's chest, before Revyn's blow from the back (a perfectly valid and honorable strike) manages to take his leg out, sending the Nayland to one knee. Grounded, between two foes armed with greatswords. "Were this in earnest, I should be dead. I withdraw, sers."

After Kevan is out, Wayland tilts his head to Gedeon and shifts his body stance. It's the closest target after all and apparently, the younger man is thinking the same. He takes a step back to adjust his position and then moves forward, throwing a vicious blow at abdomen level. Wayland hits the mark but the way his sword feels, it seems that he could have done better. Still, he keeps moving to see what happens next.

Josse smiles slightly when Rygar announces his out, at the points of two Terrick blades. The expression's cleanly wiped off his lips in a moment, quiet throat clearing accompanying. He keeps a careful eye on Revyn, watching how the nobleman moves. That hard strike from the polearm did have to hurt.

When Rygar turns to face Jarod, thus keeping the Nayland occupied, Revyn finds the advantage that is needed and when his sword finds the back of Rygar's leg and sends the knight to one knee, there's a slight bow of his head. "You fought .. with honor, Ser .. Rygar." Those words are offered between labored breaths and with a look to Jarod, the Master-at-Arms then gives a nod over in the direction of the knight in full plate, Anton.

Jarod goes in hard at Rygar, though his swing misses its mark, and takes he the blow aimed at him on the chin. Or chest, as the case may be. The armor catches most of it, though it still makes him grunt and wince. If nothing else it provides Revyn time to recover, and an opening. "It's been an honor, ser," Jarod says to Rygar, with another of those little half-bows, though he leaves the actual acceptance of the yielding to Revyn. It was his uncle who got the last blow, after all. His eyes scan the field, and the remaining knights. The look he gives his uncle is one of some concern, though he just nods. "Shall we avenge the honor of Banefort, then? Their fair-haired ladies might appreciate the gesture." A grin, and off to that.

Rowan bounces on the balls of his feet and punches the air a bit as the Terricks take Rygar down — then hastily reins in his celebration, possibly feeling a bit disloyal to his blood.

Revyn at his feet again and now Rygar down cheers the Lady of Stonebridge to no end. Isolde beams and she sighs in relief, gazing to the two Knights of Terrick with a nod of her head. She turns to speak lightly with Josse and Igara. "It would seem the Knight of Oldstones may yet win this. He is a rather ferocious contender, wouldn't you say?" And as if on cue, Revyn moves to engage said Knight and her green eyes drag back forward. Attending to a reserved affection, she smiles to Edmure Tully, "Well goes the fight, I would say. They are all quite spirited."

"Do you see, gentle cous? Our Ser Weyland has two to him, and has not been slowed by any blow," Igara is well-pleased by Frey's showing in the contest, though as she turns to survey her constant companion, she spots the blow to Rygar's leg from behind and her cheeriness fades for an instant. But she brightens again to see the man off of the field with a smile of her approval and a warm bit of applause.

So, what do you do after you take a knight out, together. Why, and naturally, you fight one another, next! As Kevan leaves the field, Gedeon turns to Wayland, a faint smile on his lips for the situation they find themselves in. He tips his head and lifts his sword in a courteous 'nod'. And then he swings. It's an admirable blow, too, but Wayland's armor is better than Gedeon's might and there's only the sound of metal deflecting metal. Wayland has better luck, his sword connecting with more than just maile. Gedeon trips backwards under the force of the blow, and it's a badly placed step. He goes down, his ankle twisting oddly, and when he pushes to his feet again, there's a wince for the way muscles pull. "Yield," he calls, one hand going to the shallow cut across his stomach. "I yield. Well fought." With another nod to Wayland, he turns to walk (limp, slightly) off the field.

"So he is, my Lady," Josse answers Isolde without taking his eyes from the field. His hand lifts, a slight grin quirking the right side of his mouth as the fight continues. "But let's see if any force can withstand the tidal wave coming there."

"No, no it's quite alright…" Jaremy replies, still leaned up to see Ser Rygar withdraw from the melee. A broad grin lands on his face, framing the darkened cheeks, slightly blushed from Anais' contact with him. "Oh Seven he yielded. Revyn's not out of it yet! Good, good.." He sits back down, taking another sip of his wine, finding himself largely relieved. "…and how are your men doing, Anais?" He turns his head to see them all leaving the field, having been routed by Ser Anton. He blinks. "That man and his entire house are a mystery to me. Seven, now my house is moving to face him."

The man from Banefort is forced to yield after he takes yet another blow, this more glancing than the last but enough to force battered ribs into submission. Anton turns then to find the Terrick contingent aiming his way, and he moves instinctively for the weaker of the two, which at the moment is the injured-looking Revyn.

Edmure Tully gives an excited groan at the violence of the blows being rained down on the field below. "I think the Phoenix knight will take this exchange," he opines aside to Isolde, pointing at Anton. "He has the finest armor, by far. There is no match for good armor," the heir to Riverrrun states with a knowing nod.

"Long finished," Anais answers Jaremy ruefully. "They chose their opponent poorly." Her eyes flicker across the field, gauging distances and flows of men with a sharp gaze. "Someone in lighter armor would have been less of a challenge."

A nod is given to her Lady Cousin in regards to Wayland, watching the Knight that was once her father's squire makes Isolde smile. But as Edmure speaks, she is to lean back towards him and away from Josse and Igara. Her head tilts and regards the armor. "He does have fair armor, my Lord. But he has good instincts as well. I think perhaps, that is what guides him. A talented Knight in any case, but we shall see if he can down his opponents as he has the Baneforts." Her smile is light and pleasant.

<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Jarod with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Right Hand (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Anton with Greatsword - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - ARMOR on Neck stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword - ARMOR on Right Hand stops the attack!

"And yet the armor does seem to help," Igara appends to her cousin's words in wondering tone. When Wayland lands another blow, she does not, for one reason or another, begin to clap again, but only pushes up onto the balls of her feet, clutching her hands over her heart, breath seized from her chest as she waits to see what will happen next.

"Aye, a bold move but I have faith in them. They may be able to do it, but my uncle is injured as well…" Jaremy leans back in his seat, finding it easier to watch as the field has cleared considerably. His arm rests lightly against Anais' on their respective armrests, allowing it to be, yet saying nothing about it. "At the very least, Ser Anton doesn't appear too winded, but I've practiced two-to-one against my uncle and brother in the yard…" He whistles quietly. "…even if Anton wins, he'll be worse for wear."

Josse glances over at Igara, watching her for a moment with a slight smile behind her back. Wayland gets an appraising look across the field next, then his attention flickers back to the trio swinging at each other. "A Terrick Tangle." He snickers quietly, rolling the crystal pendant against his palms.

"If he doesn't go straight for your uncle's breastplate," Anais points out to Jaremy, tipping her chin in that direction. "He just bashed in Hank's, and it didn't start out dented. Your brother will have to keep his attention." She flicks a glance back toward the lord, smile quirking. "Fancy a wager?"

With his attention focused on Anton, Wayland has a clear shot at Jarod, which the Terrick bastard only takes real note of as he absorbs the hit. "Give me some room, you bloody Frey, I've work to be about!" he calls, trying to circle free of Wayland so he can continue to aid Revyn with the press of Anton. Still, he has to defend against attacks from the other side now, which makes his sword strokes far less aggressive.

Anton slips the blows dealt him by Revyn and Jarod, twisting so that each falls on heavy plate and slides back off without doing damage. His own strike suffers for the defensive efforts, glancing off Revyn's gauntlet harmlessly. Undaunted by the dual attack or by Jarod's charge, he continues to press the elder Terrick, taking aim at him once again.

Full Plate is a wonderful thing, unless you're the one who is facing it, then it's simply the bane of your existance. And it shows on Revyn's face as his blade simply glances off the plate that protects Anton's abdomen. Thankfully, his luck holds and the opposing knight's weapon merely glances off the gauntlet of his right hand, causing him to take a step back. Jarod's plight doesn't go unnoticed and it has the Terrick Master-at-Arms moving, his attention shifting from Anton to the Frey now.

Now, it seems to Wayland that, someone wants to bring Anton down, bad. And he was left alone, poor him! Well, he should balance thing out. He shifts and turns towards Jarod, swinging a violent blow that lands on Jarod's hand. "That seems to be the case, Ser Knight…but what am I to do when I've been left so alone?" There is a faint smile and he continues.

Jaremy's eyes tilt to the corner of their sockets, ears burning as he senses Anais' eyes on him. Slowly, he turns, narrowing his eyes just as they did to each other the day before. A challenge. Before he even replies, the growing smirk at the corner of his mouth gives way to his acceptance. "Let's." He nods his head in the direction of the field. "If Terrick defeats Valentin your entourage delays for an extra day to visit Terrick's Roost before returning to Banefort?"

<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Jarod with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Wayland with Greatsword but Wayland DODGES!
<COMBAT> Jarod subdues Anton!
<COMBAT> Anton passes.

<COMBAT> Jarod has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Jarod spends a luck point to keep fighting!

Leaving Jarod to tangle with Anton for the momene, the elder Terrick sets his sights on dealing with the knight that comes at his nephew from the side. His sword is brought to bare, even as Wayland strikes at Jarod, Revyn is returning the blow. Unfortunately, it would seem, his movements are slow now, for his blade hits only nothing but air, causing the knight to take the slightest of stumbled steps forward so as not to be thrown off balance.

"And if Valentin wins the melee, then…" Anais loses track of her train of thought for a moment, gripping the chair as more blows fall. "I will think of something," she concludes, catching her lower lip between her teeth in excitement. "Promise," she laughs, a grin flashing across her features.

Wayland keeps working after Jarod but now, it seems that the elder Terrick wants to join in. Wacthing two different angles cna be interesting indeed, and dangerous. Lucky for him, Jarod is not after him. Wayland attacks again but has to dodge to the side, which makes his attack even less effective. On the good side, he doesn't get hit. Now, his attention changes to Revyn since Jarod seems to be busy with Anton.

"And what if Frey wins?" asks one of the other Banefort women from nearby Jaremy and Anais, "The Frey's in there too, remember. Fighting awfully well," she adds, watching Wayland, "Especially for a Frey."

The smallfolk are not so reserved in their emotions as the nobles arrayed across from and aorund them. And with few exceptions, they've all taken to cheering, booing and generally having the full run of their emotions as the knights play out their competition on the field. Money is being tossed, though that is seemingly only amongst the more well established of the small folk. for the rest they pass chips, which have no more value than items for barter. But still, they seem in high spirits, the more well established seeming quite smug, in the continued success of the area's smallest landed Knight.

Jarod takes a glancing blow on the chest from Wayland, but it's still the Oldstones knight he launches himself toward. Literally. His sword is doing very little to chink the knight's solid armor, so he juts his sword hard to try and get Anton on the ground. Though he is propelled there himself, while he's at it, as that hit from the Frey knight musses with his footwork. And he quite literally *falls* on the Knight of Oldstones. Well, it gets the job done. Though he groans as he does it. Might've broken a rib, there.

<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Revyn with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Right Hand (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Wayland with Greatsword - NEAR MISS!
<COMBAT> Jarod continues to subdue Anton.
<COMBAT> Anton attempts to escape from Jarod but fails!

The four Knights left cause the Lady to gain further interest. Three of which she was hoping to wed. Isolde grip sher chair and sits forward to watch as Anton is kept from striking. Wayland is a testament to her father's skill and she swells with pride. Clapping for him, she looks to Josse and Igara. "I am hoping Wayland wins, as much as I wish the best for the Terrick Sers, it would do my father honor" She intones, clasping her hands together at last in patient wonder. She seizes a breath as Wayland lands his blow on Revyn. It does not fall her Uncle but she beams a bit, prideful to say the least. She touches a wooden block on her wrist and she then flits her gaze to the men entangled on the ground. "I did think they were to exchange blows, not hold each other…"

The four Knights left cause the Lady to gain further interest. Three of which she was hoping to win. Isolde grip sher chair and sits forward to watch as Anton is kept from striking. Wayland is a testament to her father's skill and she swells with pride. Clapping for him, she looks to Josse and Igara. "I am hoping Wayland wins, as much as I wish the best for the Terrick Sers, it would do my father honor" She intones, clasping her hands together at last in patient wonder. She seizes a breath as Wayland lands his blow on Revyn. It does not fall her Uncle but she beams a bit, prideful to say the least. She touches a wooden block on her wrist and she then flits her gaze to the men entangled on the ground. "I did think they were to exchange blows, not hold each other…"

Rowan grimaces, winces, and makes a short, pitched sound of distress as Jarod topples onto the Knight of Oldstones. He's biting his knuckles to keep his composure, though it's obvious that all his prayers are with the Terrick knights.

Jaremy watches Anais, head tilting to offer her both a look of complete scrutiny, frowning as the melee seems to turn into an all-out brawl. Bodies are falling all around, but the fight is not over. "I…very well. The bet is taken." He leans back, lifting his head to Anais' sister, suddenly hoping that he doesn't regret this. "I'm sure my brothers can dispence of the Frey. If they Frey wins, what do you propose? I've doomed your sisters to a visit should Terrick win, so it seems only fair."

Josse rolls his eyes watching Jarod, a good-natured smirk on his face as he watches his good friend's thudding atop Anton. "Leave it to Ser Jarod to come to a tournament and invent a whole new sport," he chuckles.

Igara lowers herself down onto the full of her feet again, giving a prudent nod of approbation for Ser Wayland as he ceases to assault Ser Jarod from behind (as, cough, Ser Revyn had done to take out Ser Rygar) but instead faces an opponent facing him.

Gedeon's made a retreat to the sidelines to settling a hand under his maile as he waits for the shallow cut across his belly to calm itself and stop bleeding. He lingers and watches, though, his attention flicking from his lord's performance to that of the Terricks to that of Wayland Frey who continues to hold his own. As Jarod literally -falls- on Anton, Gedeon huffs a soft laugh. "Now there's a new maneuver," he murmurs.

Things are beginning to wear on Revyn and it's clearly showing in his attacks. Twice now his blade has hit nothing but air as his movements are slowed by what ever injury he's taken beneath that armor. Wayland's weapon connects with right hand, a third time such a blow has come down on that particular area and there's a muffled curse that escapes his lips as he firms his grip upon his sword, preparing himself for another attack on the Frey knight.

"A dance," Anais laughs at that concerned look from Jaremy. "If I win, then you must dance with me. Gracious, you'd think I was a siren luring you to rocky shores," she chides, though she's half-rising as Jarod flings himself at Anton. "Take him out!" she exclaims, and there's no telling to whom, before she suddenly claps both hands over her mouth, sitting quickly back in her chair. Nobody heard or saw that. She was a perfect lady. Even though laughter dances in her eyes over her hands.

While Wayland connects the blow and manages to go unharmed when that dangerous blow to his head misses, he can't help but to feel amazed by the endurance of Revyn. Still, things are not done yet and he sees that Revyn is getting ready. Wayland shifts his stance a little bit, preparing to attack one more time at the Terrick master-at-arms.

<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Revyn with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Wayland with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Jarod continues to subdue Anton.
<COMBAT> Anton escapes from Jarod.
<COMBAT> Elf has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

Anton struggles with Jarod, agile enough on his feet but at a slight disadvantage on the ground beneath the maile-clad knight. He does manage to free himself, though, throwing Jarod off and scrambling rapidly to his feet, sword in hand, grip shifting to raise it once again and aim a blow at the knight-turned-wrestler.
<COMBAT> Anton will attack Jarod this turn.

Fate has turned for the moment, it would seem, for Revyn finally strikes a blow against his opponents chest, just as Wayland's own weapon comes to glance off his armor, barely missing the already damaged section by a mere inch. The closeness of such a thing has the elder Terrick offering a grunt, but he doesn't back away from the Frey Knight. Instead, he pushes inward once more, trying to eliminate the younger Knight before he finds himself forced to yield.

Jarod tries to keep Anton pinned once he's got him on the ground. It's - to say the least - not the most dignified approach one could take, but it keeps the Oldstones knight from his sword for awhile. "Do you yield, Ser?" he asks Anton with a rather pained cheeky grin. While they're down there he might as well. Not that he really expects it. Anton is fresh, and Jarod is looking decidedly pained from that fall-plus-Frey-hit he took. And then Anton is up. "Guess not, then!" And he spins up for actual swordplay again.

"Ah! He is struck!" the little slip of a Frey calls out, of the knight wielding her family colors. The cry is mild but carries a note deeply emotive of fear for his safety, although any observer might note that this is the first time she's cried out so this match. The field half cleared and the man's taken his first blow. Not a bad state.
<COMBAT> Jarod will attack Anton this turn.

Rowan presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, then rakes his fingers back through his hair. "Seven sod me," he profanes. "I'm going to have an attack." Apparently, the suspense is too much for the lad. Still, he watches on, teeth on edge.

One-on-one in two spots on the field. Josse sits up slightly now that Anton's back on his feet and facing Jarod squarely, his elbows resting down on his gray-robed knees. "Come on," he mutters, barely aware that he's doing it. "Come on." Not a prayer by any means, that's just him talking.

That blow does hit his chest and sends him staggering backwards. Wayland winces a little a that but he is not done yet, the man takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes, getting ready to attack one more time. He hears Jarod asking Anton if he shields but he makes no attempt to look at them. Stepping forward again, he moves to attack.

"Done." Jaremy replies to Anais. As she calls out to the field, no doubt drawing attention from all over, the young knight leans back in his chair, hand over his eyes as he starts to laugh. He tries to compose himself, but instead he makes a mock look of anger towards the field, wishing that he could call out to his brother as Anton frees himself from his grip. "Oh hells…" Jaremy murmurs. "Get that arm up, get that arm up, Jarod." It's Frey and Valentin against his allied brothers…and they're losing, but they're not out quite yet.

<COMBAT> Wayland has changed stance to Defensive.
<COMBAT> Wayland attacks Revyn with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Wayland with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Jarod with Greatsword but Jarod DODGES!

<COMBAT> Wayland has been KO'd!

Anais aims an elbow at Jaremy's arm, struggling against laughter herself. "Stop it," she whispers over at him. "I can't stop when /you're/ laughing." In a bid to disguise further excitement, she shifts to search for a glass of wine, though the sound of blows draws her eye again. "If they're kept apart it's going to be /close/," she breathes, looking between the pairs. "And the Frey is fresher," she adds, shooting a swift smile at her sister.

Her bid of prayers does nothing for Wayland and Isolde smiles despite it. Her hands fall to her lap and she watches him fall. Her head tilts and she looks to Igara, "It seems he has fallen, but he did fight very well." Now the Terricks turn their attention to Anton and her brows furrow. But the yell from Anais draws the Lady's head up towards the Terrick stands and her faint smile flees again. She is quick to turn to the fore once more and straighten in her chair. Her gaze takes in Jarod and Revyn and it is then she claps and offers a cheer of her own as the melee is winding down.

And there goes Wayland again, launching a blow directed to Revyn's chest. He hits, but not hard enough and it seems that the Master-at-Arms so an open spot through his chest because he gets hit as well. Now, a second blow to the chest, both hard ones…that sends Wayland staggering backwards again. The man coughs abruptly and calls out "I yield" The words taste bitter in his mouth. He nods to the other Knight "You fought Bravely, Ser Revyn" a polite salute and a last look to the others before he moves his hand to his chest, winces and turns to leave.

Anton is backing up away from Jarod's blow, his father having apparently taught him well. The Terrick's sword slides off his armor, though the Valentin still has quite a task ahead of him if he wishes to be hero of the day. His stike finds air, and he turns to stab at Revyn once again as the apparently-indestrucible elder knight makes a run at him, in what seems to be becoming a Terrick Family Signature Manuever.

Jarod is little help to Revyn at the moment, breathing hard and with a decided grimace on his face as he trades strokes with Anton. His do little to penetrate the wall the other knight is armored in, but Jarod is rather nimble still himself, and manages to skirt Anton's attack with a swift pivot. "Have to be faster than that, Oldstones," he says, coming about for another pass at the man.

As Wayland's blade strikes true, Revyn can feel the impact of the attack and it's a jarring sensation that runs through his body. Yet, he can't yield. Not yet. His own weapon is swung towards his younger opponent and when it strikes true, causing the man to stagger back and announce his yielding, Revyn offers a slight bow of his head. "With honor, Ser Knight." His own weapon is lifted in a salute and then he's turning to square off against Anton, the final appointment that remains between the Terrick Master at Arms and Captain of the Guard.

<COMBAT> Revyn tries to subdue Anton but fails.
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword but Revyn DODGES!

The numbers decrease again, and Gedeon watches with some quiet pleasure to see that Anton remains among the ones still fighting. Wayland gets a nod as he retreats, and when he's close enough to hear, the Valentin knight offers, simply, "Well fought."

"Ah—" softer, now, Igara watches her family champion fall back and yield, sore disappointed, indeed, but she does applaud for him as he makes his way off of the field. For her own part, she begins to feel the warmth and the excitement a mite keenly, and seems to falter in the firstings of a swoon before she composes herself to sit back down beneath the canopy and recover.

"And…the Frey has decidedly just become un-fresher." Jaremy replies out of the side of his mouth, quietly, masked by the rim of the goblet he drinks from. His eyebrows lift in the direction of the melee as he swallows, tightening his hand into a fist once again as it all comes down to the Terricks and Anton. Two more damaged and winded men against one.

Anton backs the hell out of there, avoiding Revyn's tackle, though he can't manage to land a blow, swordarm tangled up at such close range. Her cannot avoid Jarod's strike, grunting as it lands, though in the clank of armor and crash of weapons, it might not quiet be audible. Certainly he does not behave as if he has been injured seriously, striking out at Revyn once more, seemingly determined to try to make an end of the more battered Terrick before taking on the fresher. That's the plan, anyway.

It's an .. interesting sight to say the least, for as Revyn sets his sights on Anton, he simply begins to -barrel- towards the man, as much as one can wearing armor and trying to stagger run. It's probably for that very fact that he's not able to subdue the younger and more heavily protected knight, but being in such closer quarters affords him the grace of being able to dodge the attack that is focused on him. Rather then try to once more subdue the Valentin knight, Reyvn's sword is hefted up so that he can lash out, hoping that between Jarod and he, the other will fall.

Jarod manages to actually land something resembling a telling hit on Anton's chest as he works the pointy end, though it still does little but chink the knight's armor. At least he has more room to work with Revyn harassing Anton, and he presses the attack once more rather than concentrating on parrying.

Rowan puts his hands over his face and peeks between his fingers. Very manly.

<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Anton with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword but Revyn DODGES!

"Oh, well done!" Anais exclaims as Jarod pivots past Anton's blow. Her sister, her bet no longer valid, flounces back in her seat a bit. Pouting. "You forget how fast it can be," she murmurs to Jaremy, though she doesn't look away from the field.

KICK HIS ASS, JAROD! This is what Josse would have been more inclined to shout in the days before these muffling gray robes, but he manages to keep it stifled. Barely. His fingers drum his knees, his back tense as he stays close to the front of the seat.

Wayland looks at Gedeon and offers a polite salute "You as well, Ser" He takes another deep breath and winces a little "That's going to leave a bruise" However, he can't help but to chuckle at that as he turns around and stands next to Gedeon.

"It's the marks that make us stronger, mmm?" Gedeon asks as Wayland settles beside him, "Or, at the least, more interesting." Attention back on the field he adds, still smiling a little, "You've grown, since I saw you last."

Anton absorbs the blows dealt by the Terricks and stands his ground, making ready to face them again. "Yield to your nephew, Ser Revyn," he calls through his helm, "Give him a chance to win or lose this on his own merits; you've had your days of glory already and made your point on this one as well."

As the Terricks pick at the Valentin, Isolde's dedication to the fight grows anew and thoughts drift lazily behind her will to see one of them win. "Strike true!" Finally comes the Lady's cry, breaking her subdued silence. She sits further forward at the edge of her seat. She grips her hands tightly together and narrows her gaze. Her hands claps together tightly and she speaks to Edmure softly, "My Lord, this has been quite the fight…unexpected turn arounds.." Mostly for her Lord Uncle. Her gaze flits down to Wayland who speaks with the younger Valentin Knight. Curious.

Revyn is once more able to avoid the blow that Anton would set upon him, while striking true with his own and as he moves back a couple of steps, his lips curve into the faintest of smirks as a chuckle begins to sound. "I may be wounded and the oldest here, M'Lord, but I shan't yield until my strength truly begins to falter. Perhaps it is you, who should yield. There would be no shame in such a thing." There is a flit of his eyes to Jarod and a simple nod of his head.

"All it takes is one well-placed shot in the right location to take a man down." Jaremy replies, this time to both Anais and her sister, being a good host for the Baneforts that have taken their place near the Mallisters and Terricks they visit. As Josse yells out in favor of Jarod, he turns his head and waves to the Septon, laughing as even those who commune with the Seven have been woo'd by the violent competition. "Though, as I see it, this is not yet down. Ser Anton is fierce." He leans to her side, sharing their conversation. "You see, Jarod is trying to tie Anton up, to force him to open his guard."

Wayland nods to Gedeon's words "That's so." He still looks at the happenings out there in the main field and adds "I did, but not as much as you…I remember you were quite smaller. Now, your arm has a good reach, that's one of your strengths" he nods again and shows a faint smile "Tournaments will always be there, and we learn in each one."

<COMBAT> Revyn tries to subdue Anton but fails.
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword - Light wound to Left Hand (Reduced by Armor).

"Not ready to yield quite yet, for my part, m'Lords," Jarod can't resist putting it, done between gritted teeth and panted as it is. And with that he just keeps at it, pressing at Anton vigorously. His latest blow strikes air, however, as Anton maneuvers to deal with limping-but-not-out Revyn. Still, onward and sword-ward with the fight he goes.

Josse turns bright red as he realizes that sentiment earlier might nto have been quite so trapped in his head as he thought. He glances at Jaremy, giving the Young Lord a highly embarassed grin, and then scratches both hands through his hair before settling them on his knees again. Nothing to see here.

Anton can be heard to chuckle faintly, replying to Jarod, "I did not ask you to, Ser Rivers. Come," he suggests, his tone incongruously jovial, as he dodges blows, like a man goading a friend at a bar to attempt some foolish feat, not one narrowly avoiding blades, "I know he is your kinsman, but wouldn't you rather we had a chance to see this out alone? Help me show him the wisdom of yielding and we can have ourselves a real test."

"Whoever wins, it will have been well-fought," Anais nods to Jaremy. "They'll need to finish him fast, though. Your uncle is faltering," she notes, though there's a teasing touch to the words, smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "And your brother looks like he might pass out any moment."

"I'm still smaller," Gedeon points out ruefully, "though thankfully bigger than I used to be. Tournaments will always be there, and may we both always be there to learn from them," he agrees with an easy laugh. "Perhaps even win one, some day. At least Lord Valentin's making a fine showing, though I can't say that's any sort of surprise."

Luck is fleeting and it shows as Revyn tries to once more subdue Anton, rather then attack and the man, and for his efforts he manages to find the other's blade striking true against his left hand. At the baiting of Jarod to switch targets, there's a simple shake of his head and another low chuckle, "No matter who wins this day, it has been well fought." Indeed, the older Terrick is faltering in his movements, but he doesn't seem ready to give up, even if it means he just cleaves air until Anton puts him down.

<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Anton with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

Rowan gasps out, "He's like a sodding wall of stone!" as Revyn Terrick yet remains on his feet. "Gods be good!" He casts a worried look back at Josse, then immediately turns back to watch the combat.

"Don't remind me, I'm seeing that all the way from here as well." Jaremy muses, shaking his head from side to side. "Again, this is hard to watch because I can't help but feel as if being in this melee it would have been pure Terrick domination, but alas…I'm not entirely expendable yet." He chuckles, calling back her original joke.

Jarod flits a look of concern to Revyn, which turns into a bemused half-chuckle, as Revyn and Anton trade blows. "Made of iron, you are, m'lord uncle. Hope it's in the blood." He is happy to be left well enough alone to flank Anton from the opposite side, and he does manage to land another neat hit, but in the face of the solid wall the Oldstones knight is encased in, it remains slight.

Those small folk whose allegiances gave already left the field of battle seem not to have diminished their calls in volume of emotion, having divided themselves between the two remaining Houses, caught up in the excitement of the match, cheering for Terrick or Valentin in seemingly equal measure. For her part, the guildwoman's own leanings seem plain, her voice raised slightly to carry across the din of the people arrayed around her, words offered to an older man of dark hair seated beside her, "I must admit, of the two Houses remaining, I have to favour the Valentin knight. This is a battle for the final prize. It seems less than honourable for two to set themselves against the destruction of one, putting more importance on familial allegiance than actual prowess. If one or the other of the Terrick's win now, the fight will seem won more by machination than by skill."

Although the younger knight is striking true against Revyn, it seems the blows are almost glancing in nature, for they don't seem to cause all that much damage to the armor, shy of jarring bones and wounds beneath. This has to come to an end and fast, for he knows that he simply can't keep up this pace and will be forced to yield, lest he simply pass out from the strain. So, his blade is lowered down and it looks like he's once more going to try and bring Anton to the ground.

Denied the duel he'd prefer, Anton seems to perhaps decide to just create it himself, anyway. He turns his attention to Jarod despite Revyn's continuing presence, attacking the younger knight instead, though he keeps his guard close, posture slightly more defensive than it was a moment ago.

<COMBAT> Revyn subdues Anton!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword but Anton DODGES!
<COMBAT> Anton passes.

"Well, and you might have sustained an injury which would leave you incapable of dancing, and that would simply be tragic," Anais informs Jaremy, glancing over her shoulder for just a moment to turn a swift grin on him. "What about other events, though? Will there be an archery competition maybe?"

Restored from her recent bout of swooning, Igara emerges into the light once more to stand with her cousin and look out over the field. "How fare they?" she looks for an update as well as to clasp her cousin's hand with sisterly affection.

"Don't see being on the smaller side as a negative thing." says Wayland, looking at Gedeon for a moment "Harder to hit and it allows for more agile movements" he nods to his own words and then adds "Yes, one day, remember that and make it happen" He looks at Lord Valentin and presses his lips together, nodding "He seems to be a formidable opponent, hopefully we'll meet at some other tournament"

Turning to Igara as she speak, Isolde smiles faintly, "The Knight of Oldstones is a tough opponent, I fear that he may hold out and win over their stamina. He is truly tested.." She leans in towards her cousin, wrapping her fingers about the smaller hands. "I do worry though, at this length…that someone might truly get hurt. Rash moves are made in desperation and exhaustion." Intones the Lady of Stonebridge.

Jarod ups his guard as Anton turns on him, but only just. The Oldstones knight is a few inches larger with a longer reach and there's only so much dodging and blocking work one can do, so he tries to keep up the attack and perhaps put an end to things. Though he has little to worry about, so far as blows from Anton for a bit, as Revyn manages to press Anton back. "Thanks for that," he says quickly to his uncle.

"Mmm," Gedeon agrees, his attention slipping from the conversation for a moment as he watch what's happening on the field. "He is a formidable opponent," the blond ser says after a moment, "and I expect we will."

Anton finds himself on the ground once more, the heavier of the two Terricks bearing him into the dirt. He does his best to right the situation and regain his feet once more, and in the meantime, at least tries to use Revyn as a shield, making it as difficult as possible for Jarod to chance a blow.

"Tragic indeed." Jaremy grins, reaching to the tray before them to pry a grape from the vine, popping it into his mouth. He brushes his fingers over his goatee as he chews, swallowing the small grape easily, allowing a rather boyish smirk to rest at the side of his face that faces her. "Though, if you recall, that dance will be delayed by Banefort travel to Terrick's Roost." He dares to badger her over the bet. "I….am not sure if the tournament of archers has taken place yet. I spent the better part of two days with my father and Lord Mallister, skipping a few events, though if rumor has it there might be another joust, which I would be a part in. There's more room for wagers yet, My Lady."

The third time's a charm in this case, for Revyn is finally able to subdue the younger knight, though that could be because he turned his attention to Jarod, leaving the elder Terrick to press his attack. Hearing Jarod's words and trying to keep Anton on the ground, there's a quick, "Thank me later. Just press your attack, Nephew!"

<COMBAT> Revyn continues to subdue Anton.
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attempts to escape from Revyn but fails!

"So certain of your relatives," Anais laughs to Jaremy, though her hand tightens on the arm of the chair once more, a finger brushing his in the process as Anton goes down. "We've fine archers at Banefort. And with such travel, it would be a pity to depart with no prizes to our names. Unchivalrous, but true to battle," she observes as the Terricks gang up on Anton.

Igara lets Isolde have her hands, and she leans in to rest her head briefly against Isolde's shoulder in a girlish hug. "I have seen the knights on this field behave with nothing but the best of discretion in leaving the field before their wounds have the best of them, nor pressing too hard upon an opponent. It is a harsh sport, but I believe in these good Sers to act wisely."

<COMBAT> Revyn continues to subdue Anton.
<COMBAT> Jarod passes.
<COMBAT> Anton escapes from Revyn.

The elder Terrick doesn't seem overly inclined to let Anton go free and while he manages to keep him down long enough for Jarod to strike one blow, he's unable to keep the younger man pinned to the ground long enough for his nephew to free the visor from their opponent. Forced off, he's clamoring to his feet as his weapon is reclaimed and then he sets himself to square off with Anton once more, regardless of who the younger knight decides to challenge.

Jarod does not bludgeon Anton while he's stymied by Revyn. Hardly sporting, that. He does attempt to lift the visor of the Oldstones knight, a prelude to pushing for a yield. But that, it seems, shall not come, as Anton manages to find his feet again. He scrambles back a bit as the field yet again readjusts itself, to square up for more proper fencing.

Anton doesn't seem overly inclined to remain long enough on his back for his opponents to force him to yield, either, avoiding Jarod's grab and regaining his footing once more. Black armor lightened by the dirt clinging to the back, he raises his sword once more, aiming this time for Revyn once again.

"So certain I am…" Jaremy leans slightly forward in his chair, fingers clamped around the ends. There's a slight shade added to his cheeks as her finger brushes his, though he carries it well without a look of surprise to be mentioned. Instead he doesn't move his hand, eyes locked to the fight. "True to war, but you're right. With three left this should, rightly, end in a one-on-one. Ser Anton is making a good show. He's got a great deal of heart, as do mine, though I could not have lasted as long as Anton has." He steals a quick glance to her, daring to miss a moment. "After this, let's leave quickly and head to the boards to see what's left for your men."

<COMBAT> Revyn attacks Anton with Greatsword but Anton DODGES!
<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword but Anton DODGES!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Revyn with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).

It would seem that Revyn is done for, for the swing he takes at Anton is slow and easily dodgeable and there's no way that the elder Terrick can even try to defend against the blow that connects with his abdomen, sending him stumbling to the side and falling to his knee's. Where it not for the sword and bringing the point to dig into the ground, he might have wound up face firt upon the dirt. As he begins to push himself up to one knee, he dips his head in Anton's direction as he offers a strained, "Well fought .. I yield."

"Should they best Ser Anton, I suspect the final fight will be short," Anais muses to Jaremy, leaning toward him without looking away from the fight. "Your brother and uncle are already exhausted, see?" Without looking away from the fight to judge distance, she nearly bumps heads with the young lord, startling back a touch when she realizes how close she's gotten. "Ah, and we are left with two," she murmurs as Revyn yields. "Well fought, Ser!" she calls to the field.

"Ser Jerod and Ser Anton," Gedeon murmurs, apparently well-pleased by this turn of events. "Jarod's grown as well, and made himself into quite the… inventive fighter."

"I certainly hope you are right, cous.." Isolde intones, her gaze transfixed on the three. The Oldstones Knight putting on a good display for his part. But then Revyn yeilds and Igara is proven in her words. "Well done Lord Uncle!" Cries the Lady of Stonebridge, a smile warming her lips as she stays yet with Igara. "Oh I do pray that Ser Jarod can down the Oldstones Knight." She confides to her cousin.

Anton wastes no time once he is back on his feet, moving rapidly enough to slip past both Terrick swords and rattle Revyn's brigadine coat with his own. Sword raised, he prepares for another blow, then lowers it as the man yields. "Well fought, Ser Revyn," he says, head jerking in a polite nod before he turns back to immediately engage Jarod once again, sweeping a blow at the younger knight.

Jarod offers a nod to Revyn, getting out of the way while the pair of them settle things. A quick salute is offered to Anton. And off they go again. "It's been an honor, Ser," he says simply. Beaming now, despite still looking like breathing is a painful exercise.

<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Jarod with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).

"Do you?" Igara asks, voice light and tentative despite the ease which has taken her shouldes as Revyn withdraws. She watches the two remaining fighters, and lowers her voice, "Then… I join my prayers with yours," she finally assents, but winces back toward Isolde's shoulder, huddling there as the armor rings loud over the field.

Anton tips his head to Jarod's salute, though with his attack already in motion, he does not take the time for words, pressing his attack, dealing the Terrick bastard a heavy blow across the abdomen, though he takes one himself in the process.

Impulsively, as Revyn quits the field, Rowan leaps up onto a post and turns to bellow at the stands, "Ser Revyn Terrick, the Stone Wall of the Roost! Huzzah!" He throws his arms up to lead the crowd in cheering. "Huzzah!"

A nod is offered to those in the crowd and Revyn then pulls himself to his feet, angling off the 'field' and over in the direction of his squire, no doubt to gather assistance in shedding the now heavily damaged armor that covers his upper body. The call that Rowan shouts out, though, is not lost to Revyn, for his head turns in that direction, a smile playing across his lips before he continues onward.

"Oh damned, Jarod's got a chance to win this thing for all. Good show, Uncle, good show." Jaremy says aloud, nodding his head in agreement with Anais' call to the field. Relieved that his uncle has yielded and hasn't been hurt too badly by Rygar's vicious attack, his breathing tightens a bit, knowing well that his brother is entering this final fight winded. Now it's down to the final two, and they are already punishing each other. "Oh blast, Rowan you're a great thing." Jaremy laughs, waving a fist towards the young squire. "ROOST!"

Jarod lets out a pained groan at the blow, though he at least gives as good as he gets, striking at the Lord of Oldstones in kind. And in midsection. He's not going full-force at the other knight anymore, but as long as the fight's gone on he likely can't. Still, he keeps fighting. Focusing more on strong shots with the pointy end than on defense. If he's going to come out of this, it won't be by dodging.

The yielding of the Terrick Master-at-Arms is met with great cheer from the crowd, bolstered by the calls from the young squire. Not for his 'defeat', but it seems, for the man's perseverance for so long in the battle. Underdogs, for the victory! Many of the smallfolk rise to send their applause at the back of the ender of the Terrick knight as he moves off of the field of battle. Cries of 'Well fought, Ser!' and 'The glory of House Terrick.' will follow in his wake. Esme, not so boisterous as the rest, still nods, her voice lower now, not because the crowd has quieted, but because she now has to lean closer to her companion of the moment to be heard, "Now we see the true contest of skill."

"And now it comes down to will, so much as anything else," Anais murmurs to Jaremy, shifting to the edge of her seat to get as good a look as she can.

<COMBAT> Jarod attacks Anton with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Anton attacks Jarod with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Jarod has been KO'd!

Ser Jarod falls and his squire leaps to the ground, Rowan's grip on the post he just occupied keeping him from running onto the field. The lad swallows visibly, complexion sheet white, expression tense with dread as he waits to see how bad the damage is.

Igara's attention is drawn away from the field, peeping over her cousin's shoulder at the squire crowing on the post over yonder, closing her eyes tight at the next clatter of weapon on armor, and it's only a moment later she squints an eye open to see who hit who.

Jarod takes yet another blow to the middle. His ribs are going to hate him in the morning. Though likely not as much as they hate him right now. His own swing goes wide and he doubles over, using his sword to catch himself so he doesn't go entirely sprawling on the field. Grimacing, he looks up at Anton. "I yield, ser," he says, between pained pants.

Anton sidesteps as Jarod swings, misdirecting the younger man's aim and sending his own blade clattering against armor. He readies it to swing again, but holds as Jarod hunches inwards, and then lowers his blade entirely as Jarod yields. "Well fought, Ser Rivers," he says, planting the point of his sword in the dirt and reaching down to offer a gauntleted hand.

Once it is to two, a few blows are exchanged and Isolde holds her breath. The Lady keeps herself steady and when Jarod falls there is a faint sound of remorse. "He lost.." She mourns the fact and frowns some. Looking to her smaller cousin, she gives her hand a gentle squeeze. The yield is needed, both opponents most likely worn. Drawing Igara with her, she moves to the fore to get a better look and wait to receive the winner. She hesitates and then releases her cousin in order to clap. "It was well fought." She remakes.

"Hurrah!" Edmure cheers from the noble platform, rising to his feet and applauding as the fight comes to a sudden conclusion, after such a back and forth build-up. Those sitting closest to him might have noticed that the Young Lord Tully had been starting to look ever so slightly bored as the contest had turned to wrestling and the finer points of blade control, until that last blow seals the match and his clear blue eyes are back on the field, clapping loudly. "Well fought! Well fought, indeed!"

As Anton gets the final hit on Jarod, Jaremy's breath catches rather quietly, though noticeable enough for Anais to hear. He leans against the arm of his chair close to her, neck muscles straining as he lifts to catch sight of his fallen brother. On his knee with his sword keeping him up is far better than bleeding out into the grass, which brings Jaremy some relief. "Well fought!" He calls out, putting his hands together to applaud the contestants, though he can't hide the very natural look of disappointment on his face, the grand melee was quite the show. "Well fought all!" He continues to clap.

The other Valentin knight watches the final exchange of blows, and there is a small, satisfied nod of the final outcome. Still, Gedeon has no trouble lifting his own voice as the crowds begin to cheer for the bravery and skill of both the melee's final opponants.

When Jaremy catches his breath, Anais shifts her hand to his wrist, clasping it in silent offer of reassurance. Thankfully, one that is unneeded, whereupon she quietly removes her hand to her own chair once more. "Bravely done!" she calls to the field, applauding. "Oh, where did I put- Gwyneth, did you bring the flowers?" she asks, turning toward her sister.

Igara follows on with Isolde, "Ah— yes, it was," she encourages with a timid whisper on their way fore to greet the victor, settling her eyes in their genially downcast fashion, smiling demurely at her cousin's side.

"Hard fought, Ser Valentin. I've heard you learned sword-work from the Braavosi. I see it's a myth you fight with needles, though I'd not bet against you being able to walk on water." Jarod accepts the hand up. He probably couldn't manage it strictly under his own power.

"Well fought, well and deservedly won." Esme nods, as she sees the outcome of the combat and lifts her hands to join in the applause as much for Ser Jarod as the valiant combatant as Ser Anton as the victor. And with the battle ended and only the gifts to be offered to follow, the crowd and the blonde woman within it grows quieter, at least until, for her part, Esme finds the opportunity to depart the grounds.

Rowan comes jogging out, hesitating just shy of the two knights. "Well fought, Sers," he intones gravely. Then, to Jarod, "Will you require help from the field, Ser?"

There is a show of movement from the side of the stands and slowly a roan colored destrier stallion, seeming of dornish and andalus mix,is brought forth, led by a retainer of the House Tordane. Isolde looks to it and turns, grasping up a few roses from the gardens and steps forward. A soft smile on her lips as she watches the combatants take their time in gathering themselves. The horse is brought closer to the stands and held at ready. "That is well.." She says to the retainer. The stallion hooves the ground, throwing its head with a whicker.

Anton helps pull Jarod to his feet, though he turns the motion into a more subtle sort of aid, clapping the younger knight on the back as if the gesture was more purely friendly than necessary. "They do fight with needles," he replies, "But I look stupid with a rapier. Like a giant with a toothpick. Some of the technique translates, though." He steps back to remove his helm, shaking his head and running a hand through dark hair matted with sweat, before turning to look at Rowan. "Ah," he says, as if in recognition and rememberance, "You two are a formidable pair. I don't believe I've injured him that gravely," he says, glancing aside at Jarod.

Gwyneth? Jaremy has almost forgotten. While applauding next to Anais Banefort, seated near the Terricks and Mallisters, he turns at his hip to scan over his shoulder, trying to find Anais' younger sister. He leans back, gazing down the row, biting the side of his lip as he can't seem to spot her. "I don't know, maybe on your side?" He replies to Anais, sitting straight once more. For the moment, he seems to be ignoring the gift offered to Ser Anton, instead watching Rowan tend to his brother. "I wouldn't expect them to be dancing this evening, Anais. Elinor will be crushed."

Edmure is still applauding, even as his eye goes from the day's champion to the day's prize. "Magnificent beast," he compliments Isolde, before wondering, "Do you wish to address the victor, lady?"

Wayland looks at the fight with great interest, definitely intrigued to see how things evolve. When all things are said and done, he nods in acceptance "Well fought, really well fought" He hands his sword to his page and ruffles his hair with one hand "See that you work as hard, you'll be a good Knight some day Ronnan" Now, when Isolde's horse appears, he looks at the animal for a moment, later looking at Isolde to see if she has anything to say.

Rowan coughs lightly into his fist and remains stubbornly in place despite Ser Anton's assurances, like a loyal — but no especially bright — hound that will need to be shooed.

Isolde turns to look upon the Young Lord Tully and smiles, "Only at your leave my Lord…I would not wish to take such a thing from you. I have addressed many a fine victor this tourney." She dips her head to him in deference. Her head lifts and green eyes spy Wayland glancing upon her. She offers him a knowing wink and dips her head as she holds the roses in her hand. "If My Lord wish, he may summon the victor and I shall reward the spoils."

Apparently Gwyneth fled when the Frey knight was knocked out of the melee, but had the decency to leave a basket of flowers behind. "Ah, there they are," Anais smiles swiftly, grabbing a handful to launch them out to the field. Knights deserve flowers when they win. "And though your brother may not be dancing tonight, my lord, I think you owe me one now," she grins broadly, passing one of the flowers to Jaremy as well.

"By all means," Edmure answers Isolde, exhuberantly, ceasing his applause to let his tingling hands rest on the banner bedecked railing at the front of the noble viewing platform.

Igara lingers faintly behind when Isolde approaches the tall stallion, dwarfed by the huge thing and somewhat intimidated, drifting about to her cousin's other side, a shadow shifting with the sun.

"He took the worst from Ser Rygar Nayland, m'lord, but he kept on with it anyhow," Jarod says to Anton. "Worry not. My lord uncle is made of very stern stuff, as he's made clear for his own part." He Oldstones knight receives a thankful at his attempt at subtly with his propping. The look Rowan receives is a bit more pointed. "I can manage, Rowan. Lord of Old Stones. The field belongs to you." And with that, he sheaths his sword and makes his way off it. Slowly. But Seven help him he manages to do it under his own power.

Slow by slow, Ser Jarod's squire trails him off the field, in keeping with the hound motif. Just in case. "Enjoy yourself?" he murmurs to the knight, when the field is quit at last.

"I meant you and your squire, Ser Rivers, though Ser Terrick certainly did acquit himself well," Anton replies. As Jarod makes to depart, he nods again, giving the other knight a moment or two head-start before he makes his way off the field, slow enough to give Isolde and Edmure a chance to figure out who is calling him over and actually do it before he arrives.

Taking the flower between two fingers, Jaremy smiles quietly and turns it over in his hands. The petals of the small, fragile thing have even managed small bits of purple in them. Thoughtful, his head nods softly, spinning the flower by it's stem and gazing over it to Anais. "That I do. I'll look forward to the feast this evening then." The side of his mouth tugs, forming a quaint smile. "What colors will you be wearing this evening, I shall dress to match." He asks, sparing a quick glance to the field to spot the horse being offered as prize by Lady Isolde herself, and then to his own brother, making a mental note to speak with him soon.

Tilting her head back, Isolde looks to Igara. "From afar the Oldstone night has a pleasant face, I wonder what it look like closer." She muses with a faint smile. "Dare not to look away this time, dear cous. Come.." She gives her a gentle tug to bring the shadow to light, gently so. The destrier whinnies and tosses it's head again, eyes rolling as it shows it's teeth. Still high of spirit is the stallion. As Edmure remains still, Isolde gives him a wilely look and then steps forward. "Ser Anton Valentin of Oldstones. You have been tested in battle and found superior to your competitors. Those of the Nobles bid you forward to recieve your prize."

Wayland offers a soft smile and a nod to Isolde after she offers that knowing wink. The man approaches just a little bit and stops, looking out into the field once again. His brigadine showing some damage on chest level, thanks to the blows provided my Ser Terrick. He stands straight, guarding, waiting. He might not have won today, but he still has his duty.

Ryker hasn't moved much from his chair, watching the contestants battle it out while sipping a glass of wine. Its finally handed off to a servant and the man seems to straighten more in the chair as Isolde delivers the congratulations.

Jarod doesn't answer Rowan verbally, but he cracks a big, boyish grin at his squire. Yeah. He had his fun. Though his smile lessens a bit as he watches Anton receive his prize from Isolde. It's the lady his eyes are on, not the horse. He finds a seat on the sidelines where he was preparing before to collapse, wincing. "I think I cracked a rib. Or two. See if Josse's about, Rowan, I'll need to have these wrapped. And wine. I will require wine."

Igara lowers her voice for Isolde's benefit, "What mind you, whether he be fair or no?" she speaks her piece, the voice of Isolde's bridal virtue, though in a friendly fashion, then blushing to have done so, looking aside and then laughing lightly when she's bidden to look up, giving a glance or two toward Anton's approach, but seeming unable to quite stick with it without dying of embarrassment. But still she smiles. What an exciting tourney.

Lucienne is predictably seated next to her mother again, her light brown eyes shifting between her brothers; one making his way off the field, one making his way… onto a dance card. She takes extra note of Anais, attempting to commit the face to memory when her mother leans in to murmur something. She shifts her attention again to the field, and to the victor. Mother recieves a light nod.

Rowan follows Jarod's gaze… whereupon the squire's smile, small and wry, dies entirely. At least it's a quick death. Poor smile probably didn't feel a thing. "Of course, Ser," the boy says softly, bowing his head. "Right away." He runs off, off to his assigned tasks with more haste than is strictly necessary.

Anton strides the last few paces forwards, to stand before Isolde and her companions. His sword is sheathed, his helm held against his side, tucked beneath one arm. "Lady Isolde," he greets her, head bowed in polite acknowledgement, "Lord Edmure. Ladies," he includes Igara and whoever else might be near enough to merit greeting. "I thank you for the opportunity," he says, "To compete against such a worthy field."

"Congratulations, Ser Phoenix," Edmure calls to the Valentin knight. "A fine display against a field of most accomplished knights. You well deserve the prize her Ladyship of Stonebridge brings forth-" A drawn breath, voice raised, as cheers start up before he was finished, "And- And! You have have won another distinction as well today, Ser: you are the champion of the field, on the day when the Lady Isolde Tordane is betrothed to the Young Lord Ryker Nayland, may the Seven bless their union!" The young man's good cheer seems utterly oblivious to any possible damper his words might cast.

"I…hadn't thought," Anais admits with a laugh, tilting her head to one side and looking upward as she runs through the mental catalogue of which dresses are in her trunks. "Ah. Silver," she answers after a moment, then nods once, as though confirming it to herself. "Which is thankfully /very/ easy to match. I once told a young man I'd be wearing blue, he /assured/ me he'd dress to match, then showed up in blinding orange. He really did believe it matched."

Isolde in turn dips a bow to him and extends the roses. "Well fought, good Ser. The destrier is a gift from Stonebridge for your great showing to do. May the stallion suit you well." She dips her head again and as Edmure bursts forward, she tilts her head and then colors rather abruptly. She freezes and holds her place with hands clasped before her. Her eyes flicker not towards any of the Terricks but fall instead to find Wayland guarding her person. She manages a faint smile and lifts her head as she says gently, "My Lord Edmure, you are too kind."

Damper? When the announcement seems imminent, Igara lifts her eyes and clasps her hands together in excitement, utterly forgetting herself in a flutter of applause in the aftermath of the announcement, turning back to her cousin to take of her hands in a joyous clasp.

Jarod does not notice the death of Rowan's smile. His attention is fixed very much elsewhere. His expression is impassive enough (albeit pained, it's kind of half-fixed in a semi-grimace), but the wedding announcement is met with zero applause.

Ryker rises with the announcement and nods his head to Edmure. He moves down the few steps to stand beside Isolde, slipping his arm around her waist. He's all smiles, whispering something quietly to the woman in his arm.

Wayland is indeed, guarding Lady Tordane as she delivers the prize to the Knight of Oldstones. When the announcement is made, he tilts his head a little to his right as if wanting to look over his shoulder. However, instead of doing that, he finds Isolde's gaze; he looks straight into her eyes as he has done many times since the girl was born and like her, he shows a very faint smile. The man blinks and tilts his head down just a little bit in salute, looking ahead once again, back to his Duty.

"Excuse me, pardon me — " Anneke of Oldstones sighs as she alternately picks and shoves her way through the crowd. "Coming though, here!" She comes near Ser Anton's side, raising her eyebrows at the prize he's presented. "Oh, lovely. We'll need a stall prepared, more straw, more feed, and another stable boy — the one we have's rubbish, I've been meaning to mention that." She looks like she's doing some quick, mental accounting. At length, she tips her head to the side. "Pretty beast, though."

"…very easy to match. I'll be wearing Terrick pur—" Jaremy starts, words cut off as he listens to Lord Edmure Tully announce the wedding between Isolde Tordane and Ryker Nayland, the back of his neck burning as it considers the knowing eyes from the nobles that are staring in the Terrick and Mallister directions. A sworn bannerhouse has just changed the power balance in the region. Jaremy's eyes turn from Anais' to down the bench where his Father, Mother, and Lucienne stand closer to Lord Mallister. Their eyes are like ice, as are Jaremy's. Blinking, he looks back to Anais, eyebrows lifting as he lets out a stress-relieving sigh. "Terrick purple with a light brown." He continues, the muscles in his neck tensing slightly. "Would your sisters as well be seating near Lord Mallister?"

Lucienne quite freezes as the announcement is made, her eyes blinking open wide as a first reaction. She shoots a sidelong glance to her mother and schools her expression back to thev icier side of neutral, hands clasped primly at her front for those watching.

Gedeon was making his way down from the field to change, bathe, lick his modest wounds. But, the young ser keeps one ear open as his Lord receives his deserved prize, and at the announcement of Lady Isolde's betrothal, he glances, briefly towards the Tully and then his gaze seeks out Isolde, only for an instant, before looking towards Jaremy and then Jarod. With a small frown creasing his features, he makes his departure more quickly, head down.

Anton accepts the offerings, removing one armored glove to take the roses in hand and then nodding, "Thank you, Young Lord Edmure, Lady Isolde. And my congratulations on your betrothal, of course." He smiles, and then steps back. He turns as Anneke bustles over, and flicks his wrist dismissively at her concerns, replying in an undertone, "There is plenty of time for that later. Excuse me." He steps away from his castellan, toward the stands, where, careful of his armor and sword, he steps towards where the Terrick ladies sit. The small bouquet of roses he was given is offered in turn to Lucienne, the knight bowing politely over them, "For you, my lady."

Anais extends one hand to press two fingers to Jaremy's, holding his gaze even as the announcement is made. "Purple with light brown," she echoes, smile faint. "Excellent. I think Shayla, at least, would appreciate seats near the Mallisters she says with some amusement. And it might be healthier for Elinor. Were I your brother's admirer, I should think I would be visiting him this evening. Gwyneth can sit as far as is possible from where we do," she adds with another wry smile, making light of the competition between sisters.

Likewise, Isolde can feel eyes and it is all she can do to keep that wan smile on her lips. Igara, cheerful as she is offered a gentle squeeze of her hands. But it is Ryker's arm about her waist that has her shifting. She swallows and forces herself to lift her head, gazing out over those that had heard or are glancing their way. She straightens and leans her ear to the Young Lord at her side. Very faintly she turns and finds familiar eyes upon her. Gedeon. The Lady reacts and her smile fades but for other reasons. Antons congratulations are given a nod to but she does not let her gaze drift from the younger Knight of House Valentin.

Igara lets go of her cousin's hands, giving the bride over to her bridegroom, keeping her eyes on the pair as she backs a step or so away from them, admiring the sight of them together.

Jarod's grin does return as Anton present the flowers to Lucienne. The choice has him clapping. And it at least gets him away from staring at Isolde and Ryker. With all this, any glances his way from Gedeon are missed.

Anneke's dark eyebrows rise to confer with her hairline as the Knight of Oldstones — apparently — goes courting. She watches the exchange, light green eyes narrowing to canny slits. "Interesting," she murmurs. She snaps out of her little moment, sweeping a curtsy to Isolde and her betrothed. "Felicitations on the day, Lady Isolde."

Jaremy, despite the hackles rising at the back of his neck and damned near every Terrick and Mallister in the area, seems grateful that Anais has provided him with a welcome distraction from the politically scathing moment. He turns at his hip, leaning one elbow on the arm of his chair and sends a veiled look of gratitude to her. "I will inform my lord and father to adjust the arrangements. He dares to smile softly. "I will make sure Gwyneth is away so that you and I could speak more. I do look forward to this evening…though the rest of my afternoon will steal me away." His eyes flit to his father, his way of telling her that without a doubt, the houses will be meeting.

It is Anneke that draws Isolde from her thoughts as she addresses them. The Lady of Stonebridge summons a smile to return to her lips and she dips her head to the Castellon. "Many thanks…Castellon. Tell me..who is the young Knight in the care of House Valentin?" Her query lifts her eyes where Gedeon had departed before returning to Anneke, thankful for some distraction at the very least.

"Oh!" Lucienne's expression doesn't stay neutral for long. Surprise dawns over her features, bringing quickly with it a smile that's echoed to a lesser extent by her mother. With a blush rising in her cheeks, she leans forward to accept the bouquet with a murmured, "Thankyou, brave Ser." This sure beats sitting around looking bitter about recent announcements. She should probably send another look around the gathered, but her eyes remain pointedly fixed.

"Of course," Anais nods, looking in the direction of those icy eyes, then back to Jaremy with some sympathy. "Hopefully you'll not find yourself in a melee of a different sort," she adds in a lower tone, smile quirking as she leans over slightly to watch the gift of flowers. "Is that your lady sister?" she asks, smile broadening. Two fingers still rest on his hand, the touch ostensibly forgotten. "It would seem she's won a tilt of her own today as well."

The Knight of Oldstones inclines his head in another degree, though not so far that his faint smile cannot be seen, or that the waning light does not catch in deep-blue eyes. "Thank you, Lady Lucienne," he replies, though for precisely what he does not say. "Perhaps I shall see you at the banquet this evening?"

"That one?" Anneke smiles, casting a look after Gedeon's egress. "Is Ser Gedeon Rivers. He's been with Ser Anton since he returned from Braavos to take his the late Ser Cyric's place at Oldstones." She untangles one of her ribbons from her sleeve, adding, "He's a bit of a rascal, but loyal as anyone could hope for."

The confirmation for Isolde has her slowly nodding. Prospects open up that distract her further and she hesitates before she continues to speak with Anneke. "I do not suppose it would be possible to talk to him? I do not know how long your Lord plans to stay, but it has been some years since I have heard the name Gedeon Rivers." Green eyes gaze back up at Ryker and his questioning gaze.

A good castellan has, among many other talents, sharp eyes and ears. With half her attention still on Ser Anton and Lucienne, she replies smoothly, "It appears we'll be staying at least until tomorrow. And present at the banquet. I'm certain Ser Gedeon would be honored to have an audience with you, Lady."

"In truth I doubt that we would, we've seen this coming for weeks." Jaremy replies to Anais, placing his hand over hers. It's a soft touch that disappears nearly the moment it is given, doing his best to not cause too much scandal. He offers her an apologetic smile, still trying to fight off the worst of the awkwardness. He sets his goblet down, sparing a quick glance back to Isolde and Ryker before offering his hand to Anais. "Yes, that is both my sister and Ser Anton, please allow me to introduce you? She's an excellent conversationalist and would keep your entertainment while I meet with my Lord Father."

Without so much as a glance towards her mother, Lucienne offers a series of small nods to Ser Anton. Her smile is fixed in place, a shade more enthusiastic than is normally seen of her.

Wayland poses his gaze on Anneke as she talks to Isolde. He looks at her for a moment before tilting his head to look at Isolde as she asks to speak with Gedeon. That boy is in a lot of trouble it seems. The man shifts his stance a little bit and takes a few moments to look around, see the crowd and the interactions that are taking place. There are things to be noted, things to remember and Wayland will do that.

"Castellon, do let him know I wish to speak to him and if he will seek me out this evening. I would be grateful." Isolde says softly, keeping her voice for those nearest her. "I would enjoy to see him." With that, she gives Anneke a warm smile and straightens once more to stand next to Ryker. She speaks softly with him and then regards Igara. "Shall we meet you back at the Hall?" She asks of her cousin, meaning that she will be accompanying Ryker for the remainder of the day.

"As my good Ser Anton seems to have no need of me," Anneke of Oldstones says in a faint, droll tone, sweeping into another low curtsy, "I go to do the Lady's bidding. By your gracious leave." She bows her head and turns, ribbons fluttering, to go find the younger knight.

"That sounds lovely, my lord," Anais nods to Jaremy, moving to rise. One of the Banefort men rises with her, though he lingers at a respectful distance, not intruding.

Anton returns Lucienne's smile, and nods in return. "Good," he replies, "Then I will look forward to it. Until then, Lady Lucienne." He bows gracefully and moves away once again, nodding politely to Jaremy and Anais as he passes them.