|Kingsgrove Wedding Joust|
|Summary:||The newlymade Groves, Lady Aeliana, has named two champions to defend her title of Queen of Love and Beauty: Her husband, Young Lord Stafford Groves and Ser Erik Jast. Challenges are issued and the jousts commence.|
|Related Logs:||Other logs of events happening around the wedding of Aeliana and Stafford|
|Tournament Field, Kingsgrove|
|The soft green has been trimmed back, where the jousting event is to be held; the whole east side is set with benches, hanging before them the banners of the various houses that rode to represent. On the other side a small natural bump provides the cheering mass of gathered peasentry (the whole of Kingsgrove and surrounding lands seem to have emptied out for the occasion) with views. Tents and pavilions are set off to the side, along with the Maesters tent, on hand despite the jovial nature of the event incase of emergencies. At the center, the seats are both covered and elevated slightly higher than the rest, where the newly weds reside along with their chosen company, servants near at hand moving through the crowd, (of nobles at least) in the livered colors of House Groves, ready to offer refreshments.|
|March 9th, 290|
The crowd was loud and boisterous, the whole of Kingsgrove it seemed having come out to spectate the day's entertainments. A riot of peasentry all dressed in their best, with peddlers moving through them, hawking drinks or sweets for those with the coin to pay. Mostly the townfolk rather than the grubby farmers of the outlying hamlets who mostly dealt in trade. There were entertainers, too, singers and musicians and storytellers - most of which were severely hung over from the feast at the Braeburn House the day before - doing their best to rile the crowd up further.
On the noble side things were more reserved, of course. Of knights there were a few, mostly locals but a few more further traveled to participate in the joust.
Having parted with Stafford near the tents, Aeliana, discarded of the colors of mourning and dressed in quiet homage to her new house, made her way up to the stands, weaving her way towards the middle where places were held for she and Stafford and those, on invitation to join them. She'd invited Nedra and Lord Ozric, though the latter, for all she knew at current, could be riding in the lists, instead.
To ride the lists, someone has to be wealthy enough to be able to part with money if one loses. Specially if they lose their horse and armor. As of the current, the One Eye'd young Lord, who is dressed in spartan and lordly attire-does not have the money in which to spare over a new mount or even helping get back his own courser. No, the Lord Terrick is here accompanying his fianc, and as a sign of support for the newly married couple does have a dash of green. Should any riders be representing House Groves-it is likely that Ozric will clap for them.
One of the few nobles invited to the middle of the stands is Lady Lyanna Frey, watching the pre-tourney activities in the lists, although a likewise amount of her attention goes to the nobles attending the tourney like her, as many a glance is cast over the stands, perhaps in search for the newlywed pair in whose honour the tourney is being held. Her dark brown hair twirled into the form of a snail at the back of her head, held in place with pins of silver, the Ambassador to Highfield has chosen a dress slightly less festive than the one she wore on the day before. It has the Frey blue and grey and is of a plain elegance, the pricey fabrics it is made of easily catching the attention of a trained eye.
Rising from the bench to greet the arriving bride, Lyanna lowers herself into a light curtsey with a little wink in Aeliana's direction. "Young Lady Groves. You look splendid today."
Clad in a gown that blends complimentary shades of green with a cream colored blouse, Nedra is moving through the crowd toward the seats that were set aside for those who have been invited to share the shade and the upcoming entertainment with the newlyweds, their hosts. Nedra keeps pace with her fiancee, though that's as much a result of knowing how to keep pace with someone taller, the thick of the crowd and the fact that he doesn't cut through the crowd at a pace designed to make her jog along at his side. Ribbons that boast her household colors are entwined in her hair, weaving in and out of the braid that is draped over her left shoulder, the Mallister(s) are here, certainly she's not the only one in attendance.
"Lady Lyanna," Ae replied, offering courtsey in turn, "You look lovely and may I say again, how touched his lordship and I were over your gifts. They were remarkable. You've an eye for blending details and I could see your touch throughout their design," it came with a smile, too. A warmth that touched her eyes. She looked happy today, in truth. But the dark truth of that was that it was over the promise of spilled blood, rather than martial bliss. Sadistic bitch. "Ah, and here comes Lady Nedra!"
"Seems like a wonderful day for something like this," Robben remarks to Aemy as he walks with her to the stands now. Looking around for a few moments, his gaze stops on quite a few people in turn now, before it goes back to Aemy.
"I am pleased to hear that, Lady Aeliana. A wedding gift is a thing that should reflect some consideration of the giver. It is a subtle way to wish both bride and bridegroom joy in their marriage." Lyanna replies, returning the smile with equal warmth. "Lady Nedra." she greets the Mallister lady - the smile on her face remaining friendly enough. "A pleasure to see you, at such a festive occasion as this." As her gaze wanders over the stands the Frey lady spots Robben and Aemy, offering them a smile and a nod if they should happen to catch sight of her.
DRUMS ROLLED. TRUMPETS BLARED. Banners were waved about. An elderly man with a voice like thunder waddled forward and lifted up his hands for attention.
"MY LORDS and Ladies, Sers! Good people of Kingsgrove!" bellowed the Master of the Games. "House Groves bids you all welcome to the Kingsgrove Joust. We are here to celebrate Young Lord Ser Stafford Groves and his beloved and beautiful wife, the Young Lady Aeliana Groves!" He turned towards Aeliana and offered her a deep and respectful bow. "THE QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY!" And the smallfolk cheered, whether because they found her beautiful and lovable, or because there'd been left overs from the feast at Braeburn distributed earlier, and a tankard of ale for every man. What did it matter, when they made a wall of noise!?
The Master let the noise continue for a while, judging his audience, then finally lifted his hands up in a request for silence.
"Two great and honorable knights havebeen chosen as Champions of her honor. Ser Stafford Groves and Ser Erik Jast!" More drumroll and trumpeteering, a summons for the two knigths in question to show themselves finally.
Somewhere in the stands, sitting where she can see the tournament in all its glory is Bella Fenster. Definitely not one of those invited to sit near the Lady of Honor, she does keep her eye on the field and when the names are announced she applauds loudly, the look on her face cheerful.
Aemy remains at the side of her betrothed, Robben Ashwood, and as the trumpets sound and the drums roll, her hand tightens on the arm of her betrothed and she looks with delight out towards the pending tournament. "Have you a favorite, my lord?"
Evayne Potter stands amidst the throng of peasants on that natural bump to the west, wearing her best again today: a green skirt and a tight bodice of brown colour of likewise modest fabric below which an off-white shirt covers some of her womanly curves. Her hair of light brown colour with a touch of red is secured in a braid falling down her back. Her face with cheeks rosy from all the excitement and grey eyes sparkling turns here and there. The young woman known as a kitchen maid at Braeburn House - to some even as assistant to the cook - today is just Evayne, one of many cheering commoners watching the spectacle of the tournament. One moment ago she has rolled her eyes at one of the singers that had just entertained the peasant crowd with an especially bawdy song. But when the trumpets sound and the herald arrives, her hand rises to cover her mouth. Oh dear, it is really about to start! The first joust she has ever had the chance to watch with her own humble eyes!
Despite the greetings to his betrothed, Ser Ozric keeps his single gaze over towards the lists and the announced riders of the wedding joust. There's a brief pause before he is shifting in his stance his head tilted as both Groves and Jast are mentioned. Licking his teeth the Young Lord turns and glances briefly at lady Aeliana and offers a bow of his head. "My Lady, a steady congratulations. And I do hope your Lord rides well today." And there greetings done he turns back to the jousting at hand, before he reaches up to scratch at his beard. "Jast.." as he turns the name over. "A westerland knight, isn't he?" this more or less aside to someone who would know more than he does.
With the announcements made and his named called, the Jast Knight steps forward from where he was resting, where he had his eyes closed in focus on the jousting that is to come. Now he looks on to the cheering crowd and his helmless face sports a rather arrogant smirk, a hand raising as if to acknowledge those who are watching. He is kitted in his personal armor, the breastplate inlaid with the Jast coat of arms, three lion heads. The young knight does then turn his attention to the other champion who is to help him defend the honor of today's Queen of Love and Beauty.
Nedra hurries through the crowd the last few feet to arrive at Aeliana's side, giving half of the newly wedded pair a quick hug, "You look radiant," she says with a smile to Ae before sharing the same smile toward Lyanna. "a pleasure to see you as well, lady Lyanna, it is such a lovely day for this occasion, is it not?" and while she sounds downright vapid at the moment it's only out of pleasure at this occasion and the company kept. Only a few seats away she finds Lady Aemy alongside her betrothed, Lord Robben, both earning another smile and a called greeting. As she turns back she offers a much shortened greeting, "Lady Lyanna, may I introduce you to Lord Ozric Terrick?" she offers, waiting for the exchange of words before she'll take her seat alongside Aeliana to watch the match.
When she was named, Aeliana rose up to her feet, offering a deep curtsy to all those present, a broad smile on her face, while a hand lifted to wave. As she settled once more, her head dipped in Lord Ozric's direction, "As do I, My Lord, as do I. And Jast with him." It was easy, with greetings out of the way to return to pleasantry. "True enough and more, Lady Lyanna. Still, the thoughtfulness of it touched me." And then she raised her hand for wine, those dark eyes sweeping across the field towards her betrothed.
Staying near his sister is Alric, although he is mostly keeping silent for the time being as he just looks out over the area. Keeping his attention mostly on the jousting that is about to start. Most likely with his silent wife next to him. Keeping a pleasant smile on his face.
Ser Stafford Groves was dressed in his tourney armor, the breastplate elbaorately wrought with the imprint of his House shield, while his polished steel helmet bore a plum of green feathers. The vizer was open to reveal his bearded features, set in an expression of lordly regality. He moved into view while radiating calm confidence, a single gauntleted hand lifting up to acknowledge the sounds of the peasentry cheering on the heir to Kingsgrove.
Up infront of the central stand, where he dipped his head in homage to the Queen of Love and beauty. "My Lady, might I beg for your favors?" He asked her loudly enough for the sound of his rich and velvety voice to carry far.
The Jast's eyes watch as the Heir to Kingsgrove asks for the favor of his Lady, a grin replacing the smirk as it was expected, a good display being made by his fellow champion. With the request asked, Erik's own gaze moves through the crowd, looking for someone in particular. When his eyes settle on the Fensters, his focus is more on the younger, inclining his head in her direction as he is already wearing Lady Arabella's favor, a blue ribbon tied to the opposite arm where the black is secured.
At the announcement of the herald, Lyanna can't help but look surprised for a moment. "Ser… Erik Jast? How did that come about?" she inquires curiously in Aeliana's direction, before Nedra's greeting and introduction of the Terrick require her full attention. "Lord Ozric, I am delighted to make your acquaintance." she says, inclining her head politely, before she resumes her seat. Aeliana's remark however makes the Frey lady shoot her a a glance accompanied by a warm smile. A considerate choice of a wedding gift might be one thing, being acknowledged for having made one is even more gratifying.
So romantic.. Bella watches the Young Lord ask a favor of his new wife and she cannot help but to gently nudge her brother, "There you see? Is that not the sweetest gesture?" Beaming with delight, she watches the exchange though very briefly before her gaze moves to the other knights awaiting their turn on the field. Behind her, Serah, her handmaid does mostly the same. Noticing Nedra down towards the middle with her betrothed along with several other familiar faces. When she looks back out at the field her gaze meets the grey eyes of the Jast and her lips curve up in a warm smile, a return nod given.
Ozric turns his head as he is introduced, and there a bow given over to the Lady Lyanna, though it's curt and cut off-but still delivers. "A pleasure as well, Lady Frey." despite the gruffness of the voice, the Young Lord is not at all unkind. And there he turns his gaze briefly to watch as Stafford rides up and asks for his lady wife's token. There a fine grin given and a nod of approval before he is turning back towards Lyanna Frey. "Tell me Lady, what favor is that westerknight wearing?" Apparently having good sight in one eye doesn't mean he can make out all the intricacies of the day.
Aemy sits beside Robben, watching the exchanges between the others. When Nedra looks over, she gives her friend a quick flash of a smile, returning the called greeting to the Mallister. Turning back to watch the happenings as the introductions are made, she clasps her hands together gently on her lap and deigns to focus on the tournament now instead of the spectators.
"As my Lord pleases," Ae's smile was mischevious, and with hair full of ribbons, her hand smoothed down her skirt, plucking and straightening near the curve of her hip and then, smoothing downward. The woman did not stand to offer her favor, instead she crouched and as her hand swept by the hem of her skirt, it came away with a ribbon. One that'd not been plucked from her hair, for all that it had been more than discrete; still warm, from its nearness to her skin.
"Ride well," she bid, favor offered. Meeting his eyes there beneath the curve of his helm. And as Lady Lyanna had been engaged with Ozric in conversation, the answer was kept to herself.
Alric smiles as he looks over as well. Nodding a bit about the gesture. "It is quite sweet indeed." He offers with a smile towards them and a bow of his head before looking towards Nedra and Ozric as well. Offering them both a nod as well. Glancing between the jousting Jast and his sister finally. Although he seem quite comfortable only whispering in quiet tones with his wife for now.
A touch of amused smile warms Nedra's gaze as she observes the exchange of tokens, a sidelong look of amusement shared with Aeliana before she nods at Lord Stafford as well, Ae's champion. As she has not yet actually taken her seat is is easier for her to spot Lady Arabella alongside her brother, Lord Alric along with Lady Ilaria, all of whom she waves a greeting too. Now she takes her seat, brushing her skirt with both hands as she does so and turns slightly to speak a quiet remark to Aeliana that is followed by a quick grin.
Offering a smile and a nod to a few of the people in the stands, Robben looks around again for a few moments. Glancing around for a few moments. "It'll be interesting to see how many people that participates in this," he offers, before he adds, "Hopefully, well see some good stuff happening."
Stafford's eyes sparkled as Aeliana offered him her warm favors, drawing the ribbon against his face once, nostrils flaring, before he attached it to his shoulder pauldron, so it would flare in the wind as he rode. "Thank you," he said, offering her yet another respectful bow, before he turned back and away from the central stand. His eyes flew towards the challengers thoughtfully.
"So who do you think will get the first one?" He asked sidewys in Erik's direction.
At Ozric's question, Lyanna's deep blue eyes return to the Jast knight, studying him from afar for a moment. "He's wearing the black ribbon in honour of… the late Lord of Highfield. And on the other arm… I can't say. It's blue?" Raising her brow as she notices the exchange of glances between Erik and the lady beside Young Lord Alric Fenster, not his wife, but the other one. Ah yes. The sister.
"Let the first challenger step forward, and choose a Champion to break lances agaisnt!" Bellowed the Master of the Games.
The Jast's eyes finally sweep over the gathered challengers before hearing Stafford's words, the smirk reappearing, "I would not be surprised if I was the one to be challenged, Ser. Especially if all the challengers are from the Riverlands, they may see my presence here as an offense. One I will gladly clarify for them." As the call for a challenger to step forward goes out, Erik turns and motions to his squire to bring forth his own gauntlets, helm, and shield, preparing.
At his side, Aemy leans in and speaks quietly to him. "Who would you have your bets on?" Not knowing any of them so well, she looks between them all. Probably of all the participants she knew Ser Martyn the best. "I wish them all equal luck, I suppose."
With a cloak over his armor, the hood of it partially up over his head, Martyn is standing near his horse where the challengers are at the moment. He has the rest of his equipment near him, but there's no squire by his side. As the call for the challengers is given, he looks to the others present for a few moments, offering them the honor of being the first one to face the champions.
Her hands are clasped before her as Evayne watches the two champions, resplendent in their armour, from afar. At the call of the Master of the Games, the kitchen maid draws a deep breath, her gaze wandering over the crowd of gathered knights standing at the ready - searching for one knight in particular, but in vain.
Robben shrugs a little as he hears Aemy's question. "My bets, my lady? One of them would be Ser Erik, of course. I know of his skills with weapons, after all." Offered a bit lightly. "Aside from him, I don't really know."
A little cocky, but drinking the night before will do that to a man. Drinking, women, confidence. With his gear all ready and his horse suited up as well, Ser Random saunters out and tosses a gauntlet at the feet of the Groves. "You, Ser. I challenge you." All in good fun right? His armor shows no particular house representation, nor does it match. Haphazardly put together, he reeks of commoner.
Ser Stafford looked down his nose at the commoner who had the gall to be the -first- to Challenge, when that should have been reserved someone of proper breeding. But the rules were the rules, and since the Master of the Game had screen all entrants to ensure they -were- knights, there was nothing he could do beyond give a cordinal nod in acceptance. Abeit one that bled aristocratic superiority.
"Seems it was me," he told Erik, then turned away to stride with a purpose towards his squire and horse.
"Ser Randy challenges Ser Stafford of House Groves!" Called the Master of the Games. "For the right to Champion the Queen of Love and Beauty! To your places, Ser, and may the Warrior grace the better knight!"
When the knight who's appearance screams commoner approaches, the Jast has a brief look of disgust that the one who has the honor of being the first challenger would be so low born. In a way, he is glad that he did not have to waste energy and time on such a commoner, as beating the man would gain nothing. Erik does incline his head towards Stafford though, "It seems you would be right, Ser. Warrior be with you."
Martyn looks rather carefully as the commoner knight challenges Stafford. Paying close attention to the happenings now, the hooded and cloaked Mallister seems to be in business mode, watching the two competitors for weaknesses at the moment.
Ser Random returns to his horse, after gathering his gauntlet first, he'd be needing that. Mounting his horse, he has a permanent smirk etched on his face just before his helm is lowered on his head. The armor is checked once more. At last, his lance is in hand and he approaches his end of the field, his eyes narrowed as he peers out of the helm towards his opponent, waiting for the call. He intends on making a good showing.
When Bella notices Stafford being the first one called out, she looks at the Jast and offers a bright smile whether he is looking towards her or not. "This one is almost too easy," she whispers to her brother. "A sure win for the Young Lord." Her confidence in the two champions.
"Sers, are you ready?!" Called The Master of the Games as he lifted up both his hands. Upon given the affirmative nod from either side of the long tourney field, he dropped his hands and shouted: "RIDE!"
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs NPC Ser Randy=2+5
< Staford: Success NPC Ser Randy: Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — NPC Ser Randy=2+5 Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< NPC Ser Randy: Good Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
"Oh dear, a common knight…" Lyanna mutters, shaking her head. "Well, I'm sure your husband will show him that noble birth and upbringing does matter, Aeliana dear." She offers the wife of the Groves heir an encouraging smile. And exhales as she watches the tilt commence.
Ae had inched up to the absolute very edge of her perfectly padded cushion and stared, with the sort of awestruck bafflement. "He'd better," the nee Groves murmured to Lyanna, "But even if he should fall, I will love him all the same."
Stafford's RADIATED pure frustration as his spear bounced off Ser Randy's shield and failed to break upon it, even if his opponent also failed to break his. With a grow he rode back to the initial starting point, only to fail twice more to properly crush his commoner opponent. His horse was stamping its hoofs, capturing its rider's turn from calm superiority to pure aggressive desire to win.
Needing no further encouragement, Ser Randy kicks his horse into high gear, lance tucked under his arm, head slightly forward, determination in the set of his common shoulders, his common posture. "Hyah!" Spurring his horse on. When they meet in the middle, he almost falls off, overcompensating when his spear doesn't make contact. He's been so sure. Twice more this happens and when he gets to the starting point he turns, preparing for the next.
Aeliana spends 1 luck points on On Stafford in the joust..
<FS3> Opposed Roll — NPC Ser Randy=2+5 Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< NPC Ser Randy: Great Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: NPC Ser Randy wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears+50 Vs NPC Ser Randy=2+5
< Staford: Amazing Success NPC Ser Randy: Success
< Net Result: Staford wins - Crushing Victory
Martyn raises an eyebrow as he sees how things are going now, still studying the combatants rather carefully. A glance over towards the other Champion for a few moments now, then back to the ongoing joust.
The bastard commoner was far better than Stafford had ever expected, which increased his level of frustrations to epic levels. A look flew towards Lady Aeliana as he prepared to ride once more against the other knight, and in that moment it seemed a flow of luck and favor transcended time and space, and put power unmatched into his arm. For when his lance struck Ser Randy, it blew the poor man straight off his horse.
"VICTORY to Ser Stafford by unhorsing!" Shouted the Master of the Games!
So much for trying to win on confidence alone. As Ser Randy ducks his head and aims his spear, he nudges his horse forward only to be met with the resistance of the Young Lord's relentless spear, unseating him and he falls in a heap on the ground, denting his precious armor!
Erik's eyes had narrowed slightly when the first couple of passes turned out to be a draw, having expected Stafford to unhorse his opponent from the start but the common knight was made of sterner stuff it seems. When the most recent exchange occurs though, the Jast nods his head slightly bfeore bringing his gauntleted hands up, applauding for the victor.
"Interesting," Robben remarks as he watches the passes, smiling a little to himself for now. "This is why it's so hard to bet on such an event," he offers to Aemy, before he adds, "But it's quite fun, though."
"May the next Challenger step forth!" called the Master of the Games. "And choose which Champion to break lances against!"
A particularly young fellow in a remarkably plain plate armour has watched the tilts with attentive green eyes. Seeing the first pairing's outcome, he shakes his head with an amused chuckle and dons his plain helmet devoid of any ornaments. Stepping forth, he casts his gauntlet before the feet of the Jast. "Ser Erik. A Lannister spawn, if I'm not mistaken? And in need of learning a bit of humility? And who would better qualify for such a task than one such as I? Ser Fordric Giantslayer they call me, for reasons I'll leave to you to figure out, Ser. And I challenge you! Decline, and we'll know about the Lannister's bravery, eh?"
A harsh hack of a cleared throat round about the left ear of Lady Lyanna Frey announces a new contender to this, thus far, somewhat provincial field. This arrival may be far more familiar to the Frey envoy than to anybody else, for he had eschewed the wdding feast which this emprise of arms has notionally marked. Yet in the run up to the tourney itself, an additional pavilion has joined the throng, a tent fresh but plain, its charged towers argent on an azure field - the whole o'ertopped with the bend gules sinister…More used to marring festivity than making them, the bastard of the Crossing, Ser Maldred Rivers, has nonetheless come to disport himself and dispoil others on this happy occasion.
Maldred's mail looks better maintained, more recently polished, than in many a moon's turn, and behind him his pale destrier Graymalkin is led by a new toy for this dubious knight - a squire out of the Twins, who by his runtily rodentine look is, unsurprisingly, some kind of relative. These are troubling times for the Freys' sway, and it's perhaps no mystery why they are ensuring their knights go properly attended.
Though his ultimate intent could scarce be more obvious, however, Rivers is in no hurry about it. "Dear coz…", and craning beyond her towards the bride, "and my Young Lady of Groves. It has been long enough since we met under other auspices. I hope your feast was well seasoned, with more of spice than septcraft…"
"Ser Fordric Giantslayer challenges Ser Erik Jast! To your places, Sers, and may the best knight prove victorious!" Called the Master of the Games.
Now the Jast waits for the next challenger and it appears that he would not be disappointed as one does step forward to choose him. Grey eyes lock onto the young knight, perhaps as young as the Westerlander he is challenging. A smirk appears as the Giantslayer is studied for a moment before words are spoken, "Decline? You would not be so lucky, Ser Fordric. I accept." With that, Erik moves towards his Destrier, motioning for his squire to follow and assist.
Bella watches and holds her hand on her brothers arm for much of the first three passes, only on the next round does she find herself able to release it again, that was intense! Never had she witnessed a jousting match before and it was incredible! "Alric, did you see?" Nudging him again, keeping his attention for the moment. When the next knight challenges Erik, she holds her breath but for only a moment before a pride and confidence enters her own demeanor. Erik would win.
Lyanna looks startled at first as she hears the clearing of a throat in such close a proximity, but turning into its direction she smiles with relief as she recognizes her bastard relative. "Oh, it's you, cousin Maldred. You have come to participate? How marvellous. Ser Erik jast has just been challenged…"
Ser Stafford lifted up his vizer as he took his place beneath the central stands. "Best of luck, Ser Erik," he told the Jast knight. For the time being they were, after all, a team. The pair chosen by the Queen of Love and Beauty to defend her honor against all these lesser challengers. It would be quite a state of affairs if they both ended up still with their titles in place, come the end of the tournament.
His hand stretched out towards his squire, accepting a goblet of watered down wine. Today was not a day in which to indulge too deeply. Not when last occasion of mixing drunkardness and danger had left him with his whole side ripped apart by a boar's vicious tusks.
Aeliana remained standing, having cheered along with the rest for Ser Stafford's victory and blew a kiss in the knight's direction before it was the sound and presence of Ser Maldred that drew her attention. She is within the stands, esconed on either side (Sparing Stafford's seat that waited, of course) by the Lady's Nedra and Lyanna. "Well meet, Ser. And thank you, for your well wishes. It's been sometime, but you wear it most affably.
Martyn's eyes narrow a bit carefully as he watches now, as he watches the exchange between Ser Fordric and Ser Erik. Not managing to hold back a chuckle as he hears the words now. "I'm starting to like this Giantslayer, you know," he offers to one of the persons nearby, a bit lightly.
"Are you ready, Sers?" Bellowed the Master of the GAmes, and then shouted: "THEN RIDE FOR GLORY!"
The Giantslayer answers Erik's acceptance with a broad grin. "Lucky? Nah, I'm here to teach you some lesson, Ser." And with that said he mounts his own horse, a brown courser, and rides to his end of the list, turns and charges with a loud roar of determination!
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Erik=Spears Vs NPC Ser Giantslayer=2+5
< Erik: Good Success NPC Ser Giantslayer: Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — NPC Ser Giantslayer=2+5 Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< NPC Ser Giantslayer: Success Erik: Great Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Solid Victory
"Unexpectedly exciting," Nedra remarks now that the initial match is over. "It still looks incredibly and rather abruptly.. painful."
Mounting his steed, Erik slips on his full helm before reaching down for his shield from his squire. Looking across the tilts, he sees hsi opponent preparing as well. Reaching up, he closes the visor to his helm and then reaches for the spear. First, he angles his steed towards the central stands, saluting the Lady Aeliana, then a brief glance is given towards where the Fensters reside. With that finished, the Jast Knight nudges his Destrier into motion and soon is in full gallop, lance kept high. Then at the last moment when the two lancers close, Erik lowers his, striking a blow without issue but not enough to send the Giantslayer crashing to the ground.
With a gracious bow of her head, Aeliana returns the Jast knight's salute, her cheers for him just as loud as the rest and following his gaze, the woman's lips purse for a moment; her expression one of thoughtful consideration, before at length she bids a servant close and with a few quiet words, sends the livered man on his way.
Up in the stands, a few moments later, the same servant pauses near the Lady Arabella's side and dips, down to offer a few quite words.
After three rounds, Ser Erik would prove victorious. He might not have downed his opponent, but lances had been broken and points gained. "The Victor, SER ERIK JAST! Still Champion!"
Self confidence and boasting can be tempting sometimes - tempting to reverse the intended lesson. And so the boisterous young commoner knight with the colourful name Ser Fordric Giantslayer finds himself finally on the loser side - not forced from the saddle, but due to Erik's victory by points in the three passes they have ridden against each other. He takes of his helmet to offer a nod to the victor, albeit nothing more, before he rides off to the side of the field.
"As affable as my lady is candid," Maldred replies to his hostess with a clank of a shrug. "What can o'erstrip a Charlton wedding as a honeypot of ransoms? Not that the Twins require silver, but I fancy acquiring myself a more…courtly…cuirass. Yon western lummox's attire might do, for example, though the Smith himself might be hard put to alter his measurements to mine…"
It is with the skill of his handling of the lance and horse that gives the Jast his victory, not as satisfying as sending an opponent to the ground but he has defending the Lady's honor in this exchange. Raising his visor after the exchanges are completed, Erik looks towards the common knight but doesn't offer much of a nod, knowing he will see the man later who would be ransoming for his steed and armor. He does turn to the central stands, bowing his head to the Lady Aeliana as her honor has been defended. Then, the horse is nudged and he returns to the champions position.
Ser Stafford politely applauded when Erik finished off his opponent by points, inclining his head in congratulations and respect. "You shut that braggart's mouth quite surely, Ser," he said in dry amusement. "Well done. Some wine? Watered or true?" His own hand still cradeled the golden goblet that the Freys had offered in wedding present the day before, occasionally making a sip. Now and again he also sent a glance up at the stands behind him, noting the presence of a certain bastard frey close to his betrothed, though it was the lady he paid homage to with his attentions.
The Master of the Games had shared after each bout, a small word with one of the Groves household knight who was in charge of security for the event. Ensuring that no knight would be allowed to simply pack up their things and ride off into the sunset without paying their ransoms.
"Twice the Champions have defended the honor of the Queen of Love and Beauty! Who next sees to unseat their claim of supremacy, and earn that right for themselves?! STEP FORTH YOU BRAVES!" He'd the bellowing voice of a true rabble rouser!
The arrogant smirk returns to the Jast as he inclines his head to Stafford, "Though I had hoped to plant that baseborn on the back of his ass, Ser. But your Lady's honor has been successfully defended, so I have no complaints." When offered refreshment though, Erik shakes his head as he slips off his full helm, "Thank you, but no. My squire has my skin of water, perhaps after when we celebrate our victories."
When Erik successfully wins the round, Bella cannot contain herself any longer and rises in her seat, applauding as loud as her hands can clap. She makes no loud calls or whistles, but she does cheer him on. Only when she finishes clapping does she notice the servant and she tilts her head to the side to make out what is said. "Offering the servant a gracious smile, the Fenster nods once, "Yes, thank you. I will." Her eyes look back to the field briefly before she lifts the hem of her dress and makes her way down to where the other ladies are sitting, offering a deep curtsy to the Young Lady, "I am honored by your invitation, my lady, and I thank you, truly." With a warm smile, she straightens from her curtsy and greets the others beside her, "Lady Nedra, Lady Frey." Before she unobtrusively takes a seat to the side nearby the others.
Nedra smiles again at Bella upon her arrival, "It's most wonderful to see you here this fine day, Lady Bella. Are you enjoying the contest?" she wonders of Bella in a quieter voice, turning slightly so that she may speak to the young Fenster noblewoman without needing to shout across the stands like some sort of ill mannered cattle barker.
"Too true," Ae agreed of Maldred, neither slighted by the Charlton comparison and in fact, reaching up to touch on her hair. Charlton mistletoes still worn, to the day. "And may the tilts be kind when you ride, the ransom all that you seek. Though…to think that you would ride against my Champions," a sigh, though playful and across the distance Aeliana met her husband's gaze and offered a smile of pride across the distance.
Her attention slid beyond him, when Lady Arabella joined them and the woman's head dipped in low greeting. "It's a pleasure that you could join us. And I do hope Ser Jast conveyed my words. Old Houses, old memories. But you will not always be as you are, will you?" Because one day Bella would marry and change houses. "So I would have us friends instead, if you but will it." While a wave of her hand brought someone to offer the Fenster a drink.
Rivers twitches his pale head like a hare with its ears pricked at the big Westerman's satisfied remark…then motions his new-minted squire to bring up the grey destrier. He mounts with some elegance, though it is hardly replicated when he takes tourney lance in hand with a competent but uninspired, rather too taut grasp. Neither the tallest nor the most polished of jousters, Maldred nevertheless makes up for it a little with the chill in his expression, as he taps the shield of…who else but…the beleaguered Westerman, lance upon device, in ritual challenge. "If you thought he was baseborn, Ser Erik, then let me teach you more of bastardy."
Seemingly quite relieved with the Jast knight's victory - a commoner needs by all means to be reminded of his station if he has indeed forgotten about it - Lyanna applauds. "Well ridden, Ser Erik!" Leaning slightly forward, she then catches a glimpse of the goblet in Stafford's hands, and the smile on her face deepens as she recognizes it. "Who will be challenged next, I wonder. Lord Stafford again?" she mutters in Aeliana's direction, until her gaze comes to rest on Maldred, as she overhears his challenge to the Jast. "Oh be careful, Ser bastard cousin. He is quite capable… Beware and… surprise him?" The plea is uttered with all warmth imaginable, despite the reference to Maldred's lack of proper birth.
"Ser Maldred Rivers of the Twins, challenge the champion Ser Erik Jast! To each your sides, good Sers, and may the best knight prove victorious!" Shouted the Master of the Games.
Watching a bit carefully as Erik's riding against one man, Robben lets out a bit of a breath as he sees the Jast succeed. As he sees the next man going out there, his eyes narrow a bit, one fist clenching tightly togeter for a few moments now, expression a bit neutral. "Crush him, Ser Erik," he mutters under his breath.
Martyn remains where he is, watching the happenings for now, expression a bit thoughtful as he watches the men preparing themselves.
It appears that the Jast would not get that much of a break as when he reaches for his skin of water that is offered by his squire, Joseph, the Rivers bastard approaches. With a couple of quick gulps, Erik focuses his eyes on the other knight, the smirk remaining, "Don't hurt yourself in the process, Rivers." With that, the waterskin is tossed back to his squire and the young noble knight lifts his helm, donning it once more. Memory of the exchange at Broadmoor certainly not forgotten and a signal to Joseph is made for his tourney lance. With that, the Jast returns to his side of the tilts, once more bowing his head respectfully to Lady Aeliana at the central stands, catching sight of the Fenster there as well.
The Frey by-blow's lance is accoutred with a lady's favour of blue and grey…but not that of the Twins - the colours are in the wrong proportion. It looks rather as if his shaft's been decorated with his own, reversed colours - though a few heraldic sages might instead bethink themselves of a certain Stormlands House, and a particular (absent) widow. Whoever this lance serves, however, its wielder dips it with proper respect to his cousin - for all her casual slight! - to the bride, and, once, oddly, over to the Fenster stand, just as Ser Erik did - perchance that last is a jest. Then spurs sink into flanks and the bastard and Greymalkin are off…
With reassurance, Bella speaks quietly to the Young Lady, "He did, my lady, and I understand the circumstances, I assure there is no offense taken." As she mentions her not always being as she is, in such a similar wording to what she had said herself not long ago, it brings a delighted smile to her face. "Oh, not at all my lady, I assure you. Fenster was just a starting off point. I will not linger there any longer than necessary." There is a self depreciating jest in her words, though they carry the grains of truth and conviction. "I would be honored to be considered among your friends, my lady." When the drink arrives, she accepts it with a smile, then greets Lady Nedra from a much closer distance now. "Oh I am, my lady, I think it is incredibly exciting." When Ser Erik's name is announced again, her gaze is riveted out there once more and she silently cheers him on, willing him to win.
Evayne had been among those cheering the Giantslayer on during his tilt against Ser Erik Jast - which where indeed many in the throng of commoners. Ser Fordric's defeat was indeed met with shouts of disappointment, some minds of the spectators already clouded by consumption of ale and wine. The kitchen maid prefers a less noisy way of showing her sentiments. She sighs. Around her many start to call as they notice the new challenge of the Westerlander. And soon Evayne joins them, cheering the Frey bastard knight on.
Aemy hears Robben and gives him a sidelong glance, his dislike of one of the participants apparent. She gently squeezes his arm and offers a warm smile. "I am sure he will win."
Lyanna spends 1 luck points on Maldred shall win!.
Arabella spends 1 luck points on Luck for Erik, as if he needs it!.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Erik=Spears+50 Vs Maldred=Animal Handling
< Erik: Great Success Maldred: Good Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Maldred=spears+50 Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Maldred: Great Success Erik: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Marginal Victory
The Jast may be rather arrogant and prideful, but he is also well trained. Very well trained. It shows as when the Jast and the Frey Bastard clashes, the more skilled lancer and rider is revealed. The noble knight lands solid hits on the three passes while his riding was… magnficient, as if the Destrier was an extention of the knight. After the third pass, Erik rides to the end of the tilt and then throws his broken tourney spear off to the side after landing another solid blow. He then reaches up and rises his visor, looking back to the central stands and offers a bow once more to the Ladies present there, holding it a bit longer than necessary. Finally, grey eyes looks to his opponent who he has just defeated, the arrogant smirk appearing once more, "I shall see you after the tourney, Rivers."
"Victory to SER ERIK JAST! STILL CHAMPION!" Roared the Master of the Games. And of course the peasentry cheered him on, too, because who liked bastards?
"Oh my goodness that was close. He does indeed ride well, your cousin," Aeliana spoke of Maldred, watching him with appreciation before she smiled, "But not, I think, better than my Champion." And then her voice was pitched to carry, "Gentlemen! Well done!" Before she fell quiet and into conversation once more; an ear towards the Fenster who'd a particular phasing that struck a resounding cord. When Aeliana smiled at Bella then, it was genuine. "Shall I tell you, I said the /very/ same thing of Ashwood? That it was a pause, for a purpose? I think, Lady Arabella, I think that we could be very good friends indeed."
Ser Stafford watched Ser Erik secure yet another victory by points, and once more offered polite applause at the younger knight's display. It was becoming rather obvious that the Jast had an edge when it came to the lance, even if Stafford had secured the single knock down so far. He scratched at his cheek, thoughtfully. "Another victory. Congratulations, Ser," he murmured while he waited for the next challenger to step up.
Hardly a breath seemed to have escaped Lyanna's lips while she watched the three passes of the tilt between her bastard cousin and the Jast knight. Looking very alarmed as she saw a well placed lance of the Jast hit home and cheering as she saw Maldred equally dealing his opponent a blow that would surely have lifted the Jast out of the saddle, had he not been able to keep his seat. Some strange jest of the Seven, 'twould seem. So… the Frey lady's silent prayers have gone unheard. Maldred leaves the field in defeat, and she lowers her gaze to her hands, whose tight grasp is about to release, nodding to Aeliana's comment. "He's… surely not the typical tourney knight, I trust he's much more skilled with his sword." Lyanna replies to her, the tone of her voice showing slight disappointment.
"I will ride!" Came a voice from the tents, the knight without mark upon his armor, though the state of it marked him noble, as did the fine nature of his horse. But no banner. None at all. "To the Young Lord," the prancing corser came closer, black as knight, as the the sheild that he wore and the vizor was down, eskewing sight from view. "I issue challenge!" Cool confidence, a hint of arrogance beneath his mein. A mystery knight.
Ser Maldred is known a little for fighting - when it's a matter of skulking about in marshes with a bow or besting sell-swords or reavers with a trick-slash to the groin - and hardly at all for tourneys, unlike the (in)famous western champion, shaping up, it'd seem, to be the next Strongboar. To those, like Ladies Lyanna and Aeliana, who have seen him joust before, the wonder will be that he kept his seat at all. Shaking fairly disgracefully in the saddle-crup by the third atteint, he still maintains a predictable, sour composure. "Now you've really soiled your lance, ser outlander. What'll they send you to conquer next? Lady Rowennna Nayland…?" The female 'knight' in question was in fact a renowned jouster, but her sex of course made reference to her enough of an insult. With that, Maldred canters off with an ill-tempered aside to his exhausted looking squire, "We'll need all the ransom silver. My maile's poxy enough stuff; but though Ser Erik can't want it unduly, I am fond of it. It fits my figure. And he's not having Greymalkin, either!"
"Ser Winterbright, a Mystery Knight, challenges the champion Ser Stafford Groves!" Called out the Master of the Games. "To each your sides, Sers, and may you do the Warrior proud!"
The commoners' area is now quite crowded and noisy. Peasants jostle each other. Some are placing bets on the contestants. Enterprising hawkers are selling foods and beverages. In some cases, someone spills food or a beverage, and fights erupt. In other cases, a strange hand touches someone where it should not, either by accident or purpose, and fights erupt. Nathaniel has arrived late to the area, and he joins the crowd. Whenever he finds an opportunity, he takes a couple of steps, edging gradually toward the front for a good view, craning his neck or leaning his head to one side in hopes of seeing some of the action.
Stafford squinted at the mystery knight, noting both the quality of the armor and the quality of the horse. A smile upon his lips for the fact that finally he was to match himself up against a proper noble knight, rather than the commoners who had stood up so far. Even if it meant he risked a greater challenge. "Do you know him?" The question posed Jast at his side, out of curiosity more than any sort of concern. Like most arrogant knights, Ser Stafford went forth with absolute confidence. He'd wait long enough to hear a response, then hand back his goblet to his squire. It was time to take positions again, and a new lance brought out to replace the splintered one he'd used before. Up on his great mount, vizer clamping shut. Showing nothing but a tiny slit about the eyes. It limited his field of vision, and trapped him in damp and sweaty confines. But he was used to it. Relished in it, even. A smile appeared behind his iron mask, lance at the ready as he waited for the Master of the Games' go.
The victory appears to help the Jast armor himself from the words of the bastard, the smug looking grin remaining as he returns to the Champions spot, nodding his head to Stafford, "Thank you, Ser. Though that was was more skilled than the first, it looks like the day may not be so easy after all." However, Erik appears to be pleased, apparnetly enjoying the challenge. His attention then turns to the voice that comes from the tents, wondering if another is coming to test his mettle but when the mystery knight goes to the Groves Knight, words of encouragement are offered to Stafford, "I do not, when they hide their sigils, perhaps fearing to be recognized after defeat. At least that Rivers bastard was bold enough. Warrior be with you, Ser."
"Are you ready, good Sers?! THEN RIDE!" Shouted the Master of the Games! And with their heir at risk once more, the smallfolk responded with cheers and shouts, while the musicians pounded out a great big BOM BOM BOM drumroll. ((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Hi8IWqic0U ))
As the tournament continues, Nedra is unusually quiet as she sits between Lady Aeliana and Lord Ozric, alternately cheering when the contest moves her or wincing as the knights come together with a clash.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — MysteryKnight=5+2 Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< MysteryKnight: Good Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: Staford wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs NPC Ser Myster Knight=2+5
< Staford: Great Success NPC Ser Myster Knight: Failure
< Net Result: Staford wins - Crushing Victory
<FS3> Maldred rolls Heraldry: Failure.
Some yards off now and newly dismounted, the defeated Rivers lowers his coif and scans ahead with hand cupped over brow at the new challenger's strange appearance. His frown only deepens as he quite draws a blank on the device - which is soon splattered in the dust and mud anyway. "More like Ser Summerdull," he mutters gloomily, if quite loudly, to the Frey boy at his side.
As much as her attention is caught by the spectacle evolving on the tourney field, some individual pushing past her for a better view catches her gaze for a short moment. Evayne clears her throat, some disappointment at the arrogant Jast knight's victory casting its shadows over her usually friendly bearing. "You there! I hope you aren't thinking of blocking my view, lad! I was here first, see?" And lending her words a bit more emphasis she stamps her right foot onto the ground.
The clash was a fearsome thing, bone jarring, for all that Ser Winterbright had ridden forward in dark determination. Lance at the ready, if high and aimed, most dangerously, for the head. It was that aiming, that threw it, glancing off an upraised sheild in the last moment, that saw Ser Winterbright taking the blow instead. To the head, no less. It snapped back beneath the force, his body following, while blood sprayed in a wild arch as the mystery knight hit the field, the sound of armor rattling lost amongst the drone from the crowd; his lance unbroken at his side, as the Maester rushed out towards the field, joined by a pair of pages, to help draw the body clear.
Her attention going from the tournament to the Ladies around her, Bella watches as Erik wins against the Rivers and she cheers from her vantage point. As Aeliana addresses her again, the Fenster smiles warmly in return. "I would like that very much indeed, my lady." She does not draw the attention of the newly wed Groves Young Lady long, for the name of her husband is called by the master of games and she would likely be a distraction. Instead, she turns her gaze to the participants once more and when Stafford manages to unseat yet another knight, though the spray of blood brings a small sound of distress and her gaze flies to where the two champions are.
Watching as the pair thunder towards each other with waterskin in hand again, the Jast sees that the mystery knight's aim is either drunkenly off or something was afoot. But when the tables are turned, Erik manages a laugh, "Well done, Ser Stafford." The words are spoken but most certainly not carrying far enough for Stafford to hear through the din of cheers and applause. The noble knight does motion to one of the attendants, summoning the youth to pass the word that he would like to know the identity of the mystery knight after he is unmasked. It could have just been an ill-luck and badly ridden attempt but it could also be something darker from another House.
"The late Ser Summerdull, coz," the Frey squire quips backs impertently, receiving a clout about the ears for his insolence and an amused grin for his wit, respectively, from his kinsman and master.
In the stands, Aeliana was once more on her feet, with all decorum scattered as she stood up to cheer right along with the rest, and while nobles might generally be more obviously sedate than the commoners, the lady whistled, quite loudly, between her teeth. "Bravo!" Though her gaze bounced from the blood on the field and the downed knight, immediently towards Ser Stafford, her smile all too pleased.
A vicious grin of elation filled Stafford's handsome features as he roughly lifted the vizer from his great helmet, and turned back to look at the devestation he had brought upon his challenger. His great destrier pranced proudly beneath him while he turned around, splintered lance lifted high up to answer the sound of the peasentry cheers. "See that he gets the best attentions, Maester," he commanded as his opponent was seen to.
Then, without further concern, he rode back to his place among the Champions, offering Erik a grin - knowing that if anyone could understand what he felt right now, it had to be the jast knight, right? - before turning to the Queen of Love and Beauty. His head dipped low, before he blew her a bold kiss and a wink.
"The VICTOR! SER STAFFORD GROVES! Hurrah!" Always eager for bloodshed, weren't they, the smallfolk? To see proud knights downed and bloodied and humiliated, especially when it wasn't -their- knights. So if they'd cheered before, they were a deafening roar now as the joust had truly gotten on with someone -hurt- rather than merely bruised.
Nathaniel has been as considerate as possible to his fellow commoners while moving slowly toward the front. When he hears Evayne's call, he is only a few feet from her. He turns to look toward her. "First rarely matters here. If you want a good view, you need to be strong enough to push forward," he advises. His tone is confident but not harsh. "Or you can come along with someone who will take you to the front." Then he nods. "Come with me," he invites. "Take my arm if you need. We'll go together."
When the Groves Knight returns to the champions circle, Erik nods his head with an impressed grin to the other knight, "Well ridden, Ser, very well ridden. Your victories today have been much more rewarding than mine thus far." He does then lean in to whisper quieter words to Stafford, eyes watching as the Maester and pages moves the body away to be treated.
Martyn frowns a bit as he watches the man going down, and the blood flowing, his own expression a bit distant for a few moments. Lowering the hood of his cloak, before he starts removing it, revealing the armor beneath. Yes, it would seem that the man some have called the Rock of Seagard, although it's been said that he hates that byname, has decided to take part now. Riding forward to look between the two champions for a few moments, his gaze studies Stafford for a few moments now. "While I'm sure your brother can tell you how it would feel to be unhorsed by me, and it would be tempted to do that against another member of House Groves, I would not want to do anything to ruin what should be a happy occasion for you." Lowering his voice a bit, as he offers a bit of an empty grin to the man. "Congratulations." Turning to face Erik now, he shrugs. "That would leave you, Ser Jast. Good luck." And with that, he puts on his helmet, blue eyes peering out of the small rectangular openings for them, to study the man for a few moments, bringing his lance to the man's shield in the gesture of challenge.
Evayne's brows furrow slightly at first as she hears Nathaniel's reply. But when she hears his offer of bringing her to the front she shrugs and smiles pleasantly, as if she had never addressed him in that irritated manner from before. "Sure." she says taking his arm. "I'm Evayne. Kitchen maid at Braeburn House. And who are you?" Grey eyes study him curiously while her free hand runs down over her skirt, smoothening it a bit.
The Jast was exchanging some quiet words with his fellow Champion, Ser Stafford, when another challenger rides up. Straightening his posture, Erik looks over the Mallister who has finally revealed himself, not having seen the man earlier in the crowd or in the stands. The words that Martyn speaks causes the Jast to smirk, especially when the Mallister directs the challenge at him. "I accept, Ser Mallister. I hope that the name you are known by is only a name, as it is would be hard to unhorse the Rock of Seagard." The title said more in arrogance than in honor, Erik having heard what actually happened on the Iron Isles during the Ironborn War. With that, he motions for his squire again, in preparation for the next tilt.
Ser Stafford shared a few words with Erik, his features turning from aristocratic and nonchalant satisfaction, to more thoughful consideration, occasioanlly bobbing his head in acknowledgement of whatever it was that Erik said. His eyes flew back to the downed opponent as he was cleared off the field along with his horse and unbroken lance. Then Martyn stepped forth, and he answered the Mallister's empty grin with a warm one of his own, friendly and companionably. "I would have considered it an honor to trade lances with you, SEr, but it seems Eriks hall have the pleasure. Good luck to you both." The only time he'd said that, so far. Dipping his head and leaving them to their business.
"Ser Martyn Lancelyn Mallister, the Rock of Seagard, the Hero himself!" Shouted the Master of the Games, and the smallfolk responded with loud cheeres for the knight of the Groves' lieges. "Challenges the champion Ser Erik Jast! May the Warrior look kindly upon you, Sers, and to the best knight the victory! Attend your places!"
By now the musicians had gotten into it. So the drums went: BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM BOOM BOOM!
A bit of a nod is offered to both Erik and Stafford as he turns to bring Miramis out to ready himself, Martyn turns his helmeted head to search thrhoguh where the nobility is seated now, for a few moments, before he looks around for a few moments, getting both horse, shield and lance ready for this clash.
Martyn spends 1 luck points on On my jousting skills(I might need it).
Arabella spends 1 luck points on Win Erik!.
"A Mallister." Lyanna sighs under her breath, as she beholds the new challenger. Regretting her words almost at once, she casts Nedra a furtive look to see if she has been overheard. Old habits… After all the Mallisters and Freys are not on the best of terms. Her deep blue eyes stay on Martyn for a moment, before they wander over to the Sheriff of Highfield. "Now, Seven, I have a prayer for you. Answer it adequately this time, I beg you. Warrior,…" And her eyes closing for a few moments for a silent prayer, Lyanna's hands join once more in a tight grasp.
"Are you ready, Sers?!" Asked the Master of the Games.. "THEN RIDE!"
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Erik=Spears Vs Martyn=Animal Handling
< Erik: Great Success Martyn: Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martyn=Spears Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Martyn: Success Erik: Good Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Solid Victory
"A surprisingly gentlemanly rider, our western wolf's head," sneers the very embittered Frey bastard from the sidelines. "Mere quivering of saddle-straps with no unhorsing would scarcely serve him well in true battle. Who'd've thought it - Tywin Lannister's lacqueys lack the killer instinct!"
Once more the Jast is prepared for the tilt, a respectful bow delivered to the central stands and then he lowers his visor. Then with tourney lance in hand with a firm grip, Erik nudges his Destrier forward into a gallop, the hooves thundering down the tilt. His lance is once more held up until the two knights close and then he drops the point of the jousting spear, brininging the blunted tip on target. Shattered tourney lances are replaced as Erik rides solidly once more with his aim true on each pass.
"Do you speak of wolves, Ser Maldred," Aeliana pitched her voice to carry, "I remind you to remember that you are among them. The Champion you beriddle is mine, so named. And clever is he, not to unseat the member of my liege House. There is honor in it."
"Now you put that complexion upon it, my lady," Rivers concedes, his straw head dipping low and insincere, "I recall that Ser Erik was ever the very perfect image of a courtier."
It would seem to be quite a bit of fury in Martyn's entire being as he thunders forward atop Miramis, lance aiming in an attempt to hit Erik where it hurts. But it would seem that fortune does not favor him today, and while he's still in his saddle by the end of the three passes, he hasn't succeeded quite as well as he hoped against the Jast knight now. Making his way off the field, defeated.
"Victory to Ser Erik Jast by points, still champion!" Applause given, though a bit less than it had been when Erik defeated Maldred.
One particularly jovial, rumbling laugh seems at first to come from the commons…but the echo is delusive, for this is a new challenger; a deep bellied, brawny armed knight on a stallion scarce his match, his device showing a tangle of ivy across a bloody field. Most remarkable about this new…aspirant to the champion's purse is his helm, a plain but wide-spanning affair, adorned with horns longer than those of any ox. "I am the Knight of Cuckolds," the stranger booms, "and I would welcome your heir to our gallant brotherhood on this, his wedding day! Come kiss my lance, Young Lord…"
"And you Ser," Aeliana replies, for who said women needed lances to do battle? "I find you the very image of noble birthing." As sweetly and serenly given as if offering pleasantries to a child. Ah but then, Aeliana's gaze lifted to the field and the next challenger and there was a cruel twist to her smile.
"He's defeated him hasn't he?" Lyanna offers in reply to Maldred's remark. "And what is wrong with chivalry, I wonder?" Her tone perhaps a little sharper than she probably had intended. Turning to Aeliana, she adds with a wink: "Pray do not be wroth at my cousin, Young Lady Groves. He was bested by one of your champions, and a knight's vanity sometimes even surpasses that of us noble ladies…"
Nathaniel glances back to Evalyne when she tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. "I'm Nathaniel, a courier," he answers her. "I'm honored to meet you, Mistress Evalyne," he adds. He starts to move slowly but steadily, glancing often at Evalyne over his shoulder, until they finally reach the roped-off front of the viewing area. Although there is more dust here from the horses, the air is relatively fresher, and he fills his lungs with it. "Have you been to aother jousts like this?" he asks.
The Master of the Games went bright crimson when the next challenger announced himself. "I BEG YOU TO REMEMBER YOUR PLACE SER!" HE shouted with flustered indignity. "Ser Ivan Ivenby, challenges the champion Ser Stafford Groves. I think we all know who the better knight this time." Primly announced! "To your places, Sers!"
"Oh Lady Lyanna, I bid him no ill will. Your cousin and I have many a match of sparring had. In fact, I've the cornet he gave me yet, when crowning me queen in my youth. Who knew how true his words would be." For was she not, to the very hour, Queen of Love and Beauty? But then, when the latest knight threatened boldly and before all to tarnish her honor? Aeliana, said very quietly to Nedra, "Stafford will kill him for that."
When the next knight announces himself and challenges Stafford, Erik can't help but shake his head at the proclamation, part of him wants to laugh in amusement, the other part wishes to draw his blade and removes the man's tongue from mouth. When Stafford begins to ride off to his side of the tilt, the Jast calls out, "Place your spear where Ivenby deserves it, Ser."
Ser Ivar is the pettiest of landed knights not far from Saltpans, taken to the tourney circuit - and the bottle - ever since his fair wife fled over the Narrow Sea to sell herself to Lyseni merchants. His atteint is more remarkable for enthusiasm than grace. His lance shudders in his hulking hands. And his horse looks like it's had enough already. But nonetheless, he's coming on with all the boldness the Arbor can bestow…
Ser Stafford's face turned blank as the next challenger announced himself, a pale expressionless mask that ran stark counter to the black fury that raged in his eyes. "You -dare-, Ser?" He asked in a voice that was cold and quiet and menacing. "Do not think that this joust will be the end of it. I shall meet you tomorrow at dawn, regardless of outcome, and there I shall have proper satisfaction as honor demands." Which meant just one thing; a duel to the death. With that answer delivered, he turned his mount around and rode towards his side of the tourney field, drawing his vizer down with a loud CLANK of steel.
The kitchen maid smiles at the courier's introduction. "The honour is mine, Master Nathaniel." she replies, lowering her gaze for a moment. "But. It's Evayne, not Evalyne." Keeping up with Nathaniel as he continues onwards she seems very impressed as they arrive that close to the action. "I've had no idea, we were allowed this far to the front. I… am grateful you have brought me here. And no, this is the first tourney I have ever attended. Quite… overwhelming." she replies to his question, before her attention wanders over to the next tilt that is about to begin.
Rivers has fallen quiet, and, it seems, is newly fixated on this latest jape of a joust; it's rather in his styl of humour. The bride's recollection does stir him to insist absently, "That was Lady Trant's crown, my Young Lady. No work of mine…"
Martyn has gotten to a place where he can watch the happenings now. Removing the helmet, he looks to the stands again, as if searching for someone in particular. After a while looking back to the happenings, as he puts on that cloak over his armor again now.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Cuckold=2+3 Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< Ser Cuckold: Good Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=spears Vs Ser Cuckold=2+3
< Staford: Good Success Ser Cuckold: Failure
< Net Result: Staford wins - Solid Victory
"Ser Stafford Groves, victor and champion still!" Announced the Master of the GAmes to the loud cheer of the Kingsgrove smallfolk. "Ser Ivar Ivenby, merely a Cuckold still."
"'Tis but a festive game of custom, my lord," Ser Ivar wheezes after conceding the course (despite a surprisingly formidable early showing…). "If you challenge me on so flimsy and feeble grounds, you have more wit in your hand than your head, and, well, I am entitled to refuse you." And he turns his horse and retreats, to the baying contempt of nine tenths of the assemblage.
Nathaniel blushes profusely and bows his head when Evayne corrects him. "I'm sorry, Evayne," he answers. "Please do not take my mistake as offense." Then he looks down the field in time to see the next clash of the titans. "It is overwhelming, especially there, where the knights are. At Seaguard, Ser Justin Terrick asked me to hold his lance and helmet when his own squire fell ill."
Ser Stafford threw his broken lance off to the side after he had finished the last pass against the drunken commoner, irritability and disgust evident in every crisp and violent motion. A rough motion brought summons of the Household Knight in charge of the security ofr the event. "Make sure he does not leave until full ransom is paid for his horse and arms." After a moment of thought, he added in a quietly vicious snarl: "And don't be shy about beating them out of him, either. If he was worthy of being treated like a knight and a gentleman, he'd act like one."
Then he liftd his head up, graciously waved to the cheering crowd - none of whom could've heard his earlier words - before dipping his head to the Lady Aeliana in thanks for her favors and luck! To the departing Ser Ivar, he replied not at all. As if some petty landed knight would tell -him- when it was his right to have satisfaction.
Martyn still glances to the stands for a few moments, before he retreats a bit further away from the field, shaking his head a little bit to himself. "Was fun, even though it went the way it did…" he says, to whoever it was that he passes by at the moment, getting at least out of sight for the spectators.
"Oh, did he really?" Evie inquires, looking at the courier with a new glint of admiration. "You mean… you were there on the tourney field? Assisting… a knight. A noble knight?" His blunder with her name is almost forgotten at once. Noticing the discord between the victor and the defeated knight on the tourney field, she shakes her head. "How odd. What was that about, I wonder?"
Aeliana dipped low in response to Stafford's ride, a hand rising up to touch against the pendant there about her neck as she offered him a smile. Appreciation there on her face, despite the outward flash of rage she could read so easily and even at a distance.
Smiling a little to some of the people nearby, Robben offers a bit of a grin to Aemy now. "Looks like Ser Erik will stay a champion, and that I will earn a little coin for his accomplishments after all, been a good day," he offers.
"Enough," Maldred Rivers groans, to no one in particular. "I don't have that pavilion loaned from my brother Ser Walder much longer - I fancy I shall catch some slumber in it. Western bruises are all the more livid for being scarlet and bilious. Enjoy your marriage to your equable lord, m'lady," he murmurs in Lady Aeliana's direction in passing, his very accent deteriorating in his weariness, before he and his squire take themselves of at last.
"Enjoy your rest, Ser Maldred," Aeliana murmurs in return, "May the sweetest of maidens grace your dreams. Thank you, truly, for your appearance with us." And the Rivers knight was given a wave for his departure, a small halfsmile gracing her lips.
Aemy smiles back at Robben, though there is still concern for Ser Martyn when he searches the crowd for.. well she has her guesses. "I am certain he will, it appears as if you have placed your bets wisely, my lord. Tomorrow is to be another entertaining day and I look forward to the competition. Do Ser Groves and Ser Jast have to compete now?"
Eyes are focused on the knight who had lost, though when Stafford returns, the Jast gives the other knight a nod. It will be interesting to see where this little incident will lead to, if it will indeed lead to a duel or not. For now though, Erik waits to see if there are any other knights that will be approaching for a challenge.
Nathaniel nods. "I was there, and he certainly was a lord. I was honored to serve but I am no squire, surely," he answers. He, too, peers down the field. "I'm not sure if they have some quarrel," he confesses. "The loser will pay ransom to the winner, certainly, or the winner will keep the man's mount and arms. That is one of the risks - a wager, if you will, between the jousters."
Lyanna has watched the tilt between the Groves heir and Ser Ivar with a slightly absent mind. As Maldred seems to be about to leave she rises to bid him goodbye. "Cousin, as much as I would have wanted you to win, the Seven seemed to have other plans. But I am sure this outcome is more pleasing to the newly wed pair, whose union this tourney celebrates. Go and rest. And mayhaps we can talk on the morrow…" Then she eases herself back into her seat, after offering a smile in Aeliana's direction for her kind words to Lyanna's bastard relative.
"It seems there are no more challengers today. Ser Stafford Groves! Ser Erik Jast! True knights who have vanquished all who have come against them today! Proof if there ever was needed one, that the Queen of Love and Beauty is not only dazzling but wise as well! A cheer! A HURRAH!" And the peasentry hurrahed in return!
"I don't think so, but it would be one interesting tilt to watch," Robben replies after a few brief moments of pause, nodding a little now. "We could always hope, of course."
Evayne's eyes widen a touch at this revelation. "I… wasn't aware of that. This means, a knight who's willing to take part in a joust, risks his property, his horse and armour and all? His existence? Who has made up these strange rules, I wonder?" The kitchen maid turns her gaze towards Nathaniel once more. "I mean… Where would a knight go, what options does he have after… losing at a tourney?" She shakes her head again at what is in her eyes pure folly. "I'm glad we have much more sensible rules in the kitchens. How odd."
When the crowd because to cheer for the champions, Erik can't help but grin rather broadly as a hand is raised in the air to acknowledge the cheers that are being directed to him and the other Champion, Stafford. Moving closer to the Groves Knight, the Jast inclines his head to the other man, "Looks like those with better skill in horse and lance held out this day, Ser. I assume there will be no contest on who we are crowning as the Queen of Love and Beauty today. Though…" There is a look of interest in the Jast Knight's eyes, as if the competitive and prideful side of him wishes to ride against the other Champion.
Stafford shook his head, "no, I expect there will not. But I think we're of mind on another topic as well.
""Wait." Stafford's voice cut through the cheering, as he lifted up his hand to demand attention from the crowd and his peers and guests from the riverlands. He squeezed his knees in against his large horse's flanks and drove towards the center of the tourney grounds, while he turned to address the noble crowd. The peasentry would have to make due with hsi back, and his words getting somewhat lost in the shift of direction.
With amusement in his eyes and a good natured tone to his voice, he said: "I think it would be shame if we bereaved these lords and ladies, and ourselves, from a chance to see just whom the Warrior favors today. We are both Champions, and shall stand so regardless, but I would like to find out what my lance might do against you, Ser. If you accept?"
Up in the stands, Bella is still watching the tournament, cheering on the champions. When they are no further challengers, she looks between the two champions a moment though her gaze rests on that of Erik. It had been a good day, she was sure both men had much to be proud of. As she finishes the wine, she offers the goblet to her handmaid who ensures it is returned to a servant. Leaning forward to the Lady Aeliana, she says a few quiet words. "I could think of no one more befitting the title Queen of Love and Beauty, my lady, you were indeed a lovely bride with a forgiving heart."
With a murmur of words to Ozric, the one eyed knight having also been silent throughout the tournament, Nedra straightens somewhat and casts a glance at Aeliana and then Arabella before out onto the field again. "Intriguing turn of events."
When the crowd quiets to hear what Stafford has to say, Erik listens on though he is now grinning in anticipation, as if having a good feeling on what the other knight is going to ask. When the challenge is offered, the Jast nudges his own horse forward, bowing his head to the Groves Knight. "I, too, would like to find out who the Warrior favors today. Let us make a good showing for the Queen of Love and Beauty, and for the people of Kingsgrove, Ser." The challenge is taken, Erik immediately motioning to his squire to prepare for one more contest. Time to see who is the one who will remain undefeated today.
Stafford turned to look at Aeliana, a gleam of dark passion in his eye as he dipped his head in another cordinal show of chivalric etiquette. Then he threw his head back, kicked the flanks of his horse, and trotted towards his side of the tourney field, his back straight and his bearing impeccably regal. Though he'd taken a couple of dents to his shield, the Groves knight was still unhorsed and still felt fresh and vigorated. The mmoments of brutal violence inbetween lazy watching, having wet his appetite rather than wearied him down.
Nathaniel strains to listen, but finally shakes his head. They are simply too far to hear the words clearly. So he turns his attention to Evayne. "The rules come from long ago," he answers. "The lord sheriff wasn't completely lost. His house ransomed his horse and provided him with more armor, although not as good as what he had, from what I understand," he explains. "But I agree. You and I have no such worries. In some things, I think that we have a small advantage." He looks again toward the stands were there is some commotion, but still he cannot discern what Lord Stafford is saying. So he asks, "How do you serve in the kitchen? Are you the chef?"
With his squire meeting him on his end of the tilt with a fresh tourney spear, having gone through quite a few today, the Jast takes it in hand and turns his steed about so he is facing Lord Stafford from his side of the tourney ground. A salute is first offered to the central stand to the nobles in audience, then a salute is also offered to the other Champion who is now his opponent. With the courtesies out of the way, Erik reaches up and closes his visor, full armored once more with lance and shield in hand. Now all is left is to await the herald's announcement to commence.
On the common side of things, a minx came through, with sharp elbows and a tankard full of ale, clamboring until she'd settled herself up high, high on the edge of the fence that kept the common folk at bay, putting herself on a level with the Master of the Games and while the Lord made polite there with the nobles…
"MY LORDS AND LADIES!" The girl's voice boomed, and incase once didn't cut through politely, the blond got louder and yelled again, "I SAID SHUT UP!" There. That…ought to do it. At which point the blond tipped up the tankard and took a sip to ease her throat. "And that includes you!" A pointed look shot in the Master of the Games direction, "If it pleases…" In softer tones. It was the commoners who would hear her more easily and to them, that her voice when it rose was pitched. And then, that the good for nothing Catryn Taken, began to sing.
"My Lords and Ladies of the Joust,
I pray forgive for I am soused!
But in this most auspicious hour,
The vanquished threats our hosts devour.
The ride to see who is the best,
Who's lance will pass this lordly test!
Ser Erik's lance did take a beating,
Repeatedly shattered, but never fleeting.
Ser Ivar rode, in deep cups froth,
His Cuckold cuts, our lord made wroth!
And as Ser Winterbright fell to the Young Lord's Spear,
More challenges were soon made here!
Ser Rivers rode, to Lannister's wishes,
But fell too short, kept best to washing dishes.
The Rock of Seagard proved his mettle,
But lost to Jast, the dispute found settle.
Giantsbane as well, rode forth on steed,
But failed to match our champion's speed.
So down it came to only two,
A ride to see who's aim was true;
The Great Ser Jast, or Stafford Groves
An answer only the Warrior knows!
But we will see, before our eyes,
Just where the great God's prowess lies.
To know for ourselves, who is the best."
And there, she paused, turning to face the commoners a hand sliding down to grab, rather crudely between her thighs, "May the most hung, win the test!"
Evayne nods and smiles at Nathaniel's reply. "Strange as it is," she says, her gaze wnadering off for a bit into the distance. His question has her return to the here and now however. "Oh no, I'm not the cook, but… her assistant. It has happened before, on a number of occasions - hard days with busy nights, that she has taken a nap. And left me in charge of things. It's true, sometimes I'm not of the same oppinion as she is… But all in all I think she values my abilities…" There is a proud look to her at that remark of hers towards the end.
But… then there's the distraction. The commoner girl presenting a song about what has happened thus far during the tourney. Evayne stands there, stunned for a moment, until she joins into the Commoner's wild cheer of approval and praise. Not for the lords. But for Catryn's bravery. To present her skills under the nose of nobility for the common people's entertainment!
The Master of the Games grew bright red as some little common bitch (not that he wasn't a commoner too, mind) stole his attention! It was made all the worse for the fact that the whole peasentry side of the tourney field errupted into loud and riotous laughter following the end of the song. With the bolder ones shouting up as if a refrain: "MAY THE MOST HUNG WIN THE TEST, MAY THE MOST HUNG WIN THE TEST!" Even when some of the Groves' men at arms tried to strongarm a bit of silence, they failed, and when their fleeing looks of support from their quiet Lord earned nothing but.. a shake of his head, they withdrew. Which of course only encouraged people to take up Catryn's song!
"Are you ready sers?! ARE YOU READY?" The last shout to overshadow the singing peasents. "THEN RIDE!"
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Erik=Spears Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< Erik: Good Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Staford: Success Erik: Failure
< Net Result: Staford wins - Marginal Victory
Erik spends 1 luck points on Reroll that Epic Fail of an Animal Handling!.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Staford: Good Success Erik: Good Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Marginal Victory
After three clashes, neither knight had managed to score a single point. Stafford's earlier show of gracful respect was withering beneath the lack of success, until he was reduced to tense focus instead. A destilled need to win, sharp as a razor.
The moment of truth and Bella was on the edge of her seat watching the two champions have a go at each other. As the rounds go on, she finds herself standing. Though she does not verbally cheer until the first three clashes are over then she watches Erik and calls out his name, cheering him on.
The joust is momentarily delayed by the slip of a common girl and the helmet of the Jast's turns to watch on. The song was rather entertaining and one of the champions is apparently enjoying it as when Catryn finishes, Erik clashes lance against shield to show his approval. The crowd's chanting also brings a muffled laugh from the helmed knight before he refocuses. When the barely audible call for the jousters to ride is called, the Knight of the Three Lions presses his steed into motion, the hoofs thundering down the tilts once more.
This time, his opponent is definitely more skilled because on the third pass, the Jast was /almost/ unseated. In fact, after being struck on his shield, he was falling backwards and by the purest of luck, a blind grab of the reins kept the knight ahorsed. Settling himself back into the saddle, Erik wheels his steed around, having gotten a measure of his opponent. This was going to be a tough exchange and the Jast knows it. Once both knights are ready again, Erik surges forth and charges once more.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Staford: Success Erik: Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Erik=Spears Vs Staford=Animal Handling
< Erik: Great Success Staford: Good Success
< Net Result: Erik wins - Marginal Victory
Staford spends 1 luck points on Rerolling.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Staford=Spears Vs Erik=Animal Handling
< Staford: Great Success Erik: Failure
< Net Result: Staford wins - Crushing Victory
On the edge of her seat, Aeliana was perched and as he rode against Erik, like much of the crowd, she'd taken to her feet, hands on the railing while she watched the pair make one pass or another.
On the far side of the field, Catryn had taken her praise, pranced the length of the fence, thumbed her nose at the Master of Games and politely, before someone could decide to pelt her with fruit or put her in stocks, taken her leave.
Sweat soaked his arming coat beneath his armor, itching and stinging where flesh had been rubbed raw by the friction. The armor's polished beauty had faded as the day went on, coated with a layer of durst lifted up from the crash of enormous steel clad hoofs, but the golden engrave still managed to catch the light of the evening sun and glint as he readied himself for yet another round. If his lance arm was weary, he showed it not. If his vision was blurry from heat and exertion of a day's worth of jousting, he showed it not.
In a moment of showmanship, his destrier rose to his hind legs, then upon impact of the ground.. charge forward. Momentum building, building, while his eyes narrowed. If he'd been a man of prayer, he might have offered one to the Gods. Instead he simply smiled, all tooth and little humanity, just desire to win. The world sharpened into a single pinprick in time and space; that point where his lance was meant to strike.
After all his earlier failings; including that close call when Erik had nearly slipped, it was almost a shock when his lance struck true. For a moment he'd thought he'd missed.. but instead.. instead it hammered hard. The impact rolling up through his finngers, his wrist, his arm and his shoulders, twisting his body around while wood splintered.
He hadn't realized he'd thrown Erik off until he looked over his shoulder.
Rising to her feet with Aeliana does, Nedra holds her breath until the moment of truth, watching the contest with as much eager anticipation as anyone else in the stands.
"VICTOR! SER STAFFORD GROVES!" Shouted the Master of the Games, losing himself in the elation of seeing his own side winning! Those Kingsgrove watchers who had grown increasingly nervous for their lords's chance of success.. exploded in cheering!
< FS3> Erik rolls Body: Success.
Tonight, the Warrior stands for the Groves as during the last pass of the first three was a whisper and the last pass of the second three was a loud proclamation. The Jast's aim was true but Stafford's was truer, hitting the absolute sweet spot when it comes to tourney jousting. Punching into the armor, the Groves's spear shatters but not after delivering the heavy blow, a clean one that threw Erik out of his saddle and he lands with a crunch on the ground. For a moment, the young knight lays on his back stunned, then there is movement. A hand reaches up to raise the visor and then he slowly rolls to his side so he can climb onto his feet, slowly. He is still stunned but there is apparently no wounds from the blow, just bruises to come. Looking for his opponent, he sees Stafford at the end and raises a hand to salute the knight's victory.
Robben watches a bit lazily now, pausing a bit as Erik goes out of the saddle. There's a bit of a smile as he watches for now, shaking his head a little. "I guess that was expected on a day like this."
"My Champion!" And just like that, Aeliana swept down beneath the bar on the stands in a rustle of black and purple, hands fisted in her skirts as she ran across the field amongst the sea of cheering that rained down from either side, not simply for Stafford, though he won, but for the Jast knight as well, for putting on such a good show. It was rare entertainment, these days in the Riverlands and had given people stories to carry for nights to come. Of course, the woman was mindful not to end up beneath the trample of excited horses, but then, she'd been hard pressed to contain her excitement.
The Young Lord Groves threw his green plumed helmet off, his hair a slick and sweaty, leaking like spilled black ink down across his scalp and forhead, curling around his ears. What remained of his lance was dismissivly thrown aside as he wore a look of passioned enthusiasm, teeth showing and eyes shining bright. Self control was briefly thrown aside as he came off his horse with a warrior's natural grace, landing easily despite his armor.
"Well jousted, Ser Erik!" He called to his downed opponent, walking towards the man with the offer of his arm for comradly grip in a show of graceful victory. His other arm.. open, an invitation for his Lady to sweep in against it if she pleased. It was not often that Ser Stafford allowed himself a break from his mask of lordly restraint, but now seemed the moment.
No words are given in answer to Stafford's as the Jast is still catching his breath from having the wind knocked out of him. There is a little bit of pain but the greater pain is to his pride, he hates losing, but today's festivities, it was appropriate and almost acceptable. When the Groves Knight approaches, Erik extends his own arm, clasping the others and shaking firmly, as if to show that he is still healthy and hale, "Well ridden, Ser Stafford. Congratulations on your union and on the victory." He then steps back so that he isn't in the way of the newly wedded couple, bowing to Aeliana before stepping away to tend to his own armor and horse.
Intently watching, Bella sees it happening even as it does as if in slow motion. Her hand lifts to her throat and she forgets to breathe as the Jast tumbles off the horse, assisted by the Young Lord. Before he can lift the visor, she has already begun descending the stands but only a few steps before she sees movement from him. He is fine. When she would have continued on, she sees the Young Lady going and remains where she is, standing as a spectator, a smile playing on her lips. That he was unharmed was enough for her. "Well fought, Ser Erik," she whispers softly, to no one in particular. Amid the cheers for the champion, her gaze moves briefly to him and she does applaud him too with a warm smile. It had been a good match.
Without care for the dirt that was sure to come, Aeliana slipped in beneath the curve of Staffords arm, her face bright with admiration and pleasure for his success. So much, that for a moment the notably frigid woman thawed just enough to lean up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his cheek. "Well ridden, my Lord." The murmur was soft, before she turned to Ser Jast as well and as he clasped hands with Stafford, offered a deep curtsy. "And you. For you have surely gained much honor this day, much as you have offered honor to me. Thank you, Ser Jast."
"The Queen of Love and Beauty remains my Lady Aeliana!" Announced Stafford loudly as he pushed his liips and scruffy beard against his wife's cheek in a rare public show of affection. When his wife directed her attentions back to Ser Erik, he nodded with enthusiasm. "A cheer for Ser Erik, Champion!" And the crowd responded, or rather, continud their already loud celebration of their Young Lord's victory. It was easy to be generous in victory, after all, and like he had told Erik earlier, it was defeat he had trouble coming to terms with.
"A feast then, in Braeburn Hall!"