Page: 333 Moar Jousting at Seagard
Moar Jousting at Seagard
Summary: Kinda self-explanatory, isn't it?
Date: 18 June 2012
Related Logs: Jousting at Seagard
Patrek Martyn Jarod Justin Inigo Kittridge Rafferdy Harlyn Rosanna Katrin Senna Riordan Hardwicke Kell Hugh Nathaniel Nedra Dania Lark Belle Rowenna Kamron Muirenn Tiaryn Roslyn Saethwyr Anais Saffron Mystery 
Seagard - The Lists
It is a place for jousting and watching jousting.
18 June 289

Another day, another event in the long, joyous tourney at Seagard. The atmosphere is electric, nobles and commoners alike abuzz at the prospect of the champion-style jousting today. Word has spread that the defenders of Lady Syrah as Queen of Love and Beauty are starting to ready themselves near the lists, whilst squires flit about other knights from near and far, and many a pair of eyes gathers to gawk.

Sweeping into the tournament grounds, Muirenn is as of always accompanied of late by two guards in addition to her Septa and handmaiden. Chatting with her maid, she flutters her fan to a pair of older women in the stands. Brightening she moves in that direction, seating herself behind them. A low curtsy and an affectionate kiss on the cheek for her mother and most recent of her Uncle's wives is given before the auburn haired maid settles in behind their row. Idly waving her fan to stir the air, she looks around for the various cousins of her acquaintance.

Having missed the first day of jousting, Kell made sure he wasn't going to miss the second and is prepared. His mighty steed, Havok, has been seen to and is in good shape as is his own gear. The only thing left is waiting quietly and in one hand, the Terrick Knight is holding some ribbons, colors slightly faded, recognizable as Banefort colors.

Roslyn takes her place in the stands quietly, sitting near no one in particular as she smooths particularly bright satin skirts. In an orange so vivid as to be called gold, she does not, as usual, blend into the crowd of ladies as the embellished gown does much in its fit to draw attention to her figure. Rich curls fall free, unpinned so as to make her appear younger with only a handful of pearls accentuating them. Her eyes are all for the knights, however, as she murmurs to Senna, marking one or two in particular.

Walking with her maid is Katrin Haigh. She speaks in a low voice to her maid, a considering frown on her lips. She begins to ascend to the stands, looking about for someone to sit with. Hmm… And there's Lady Muirenn. The young woman changes her direction and approaches, offering a bow. "Lady Muirenn," she greets warmly. "I hope that you settled into Stonebridge comfortably. It is so good to see you again."

Dania has found her way back to the Lists to watch the next Joust and most likely knock a few heads together later after the joust. She is quiet for the moment. A wide brim straw hat covers her head. Her hair is primly bound up and she dressed appropriately. On her hip rests a rather heavy and large wicker basket. She moves through the crowds to find a place to stand and perhaps sit. But most likely stand. She gets as near to the lists as she can.

Justin has arrived riding his pale grey gelding he has ransomed back, wearing his same old battered chainmaile of no impressive quality that wouldn't take much of a shine if the Gods themselves breathed on it probably. His chest and ribs are snugly bound beneath his gameson, his surcoat washed and mended. Lady Roslyn's yellow hair ribbon is tied neatly to his upper left shield arm. The shield is looking more than a little dented but somebody hammered it out as best they may and touched up the deep purple and gold paint. Justin sits his horse slightly more stiffly than he might but otherwise seems to be in good humor, pale eyes bright at some news that was brought to him.

Kittridge Groves is here again, having apparently successfully ransomed his gear from last time, not that that sets him apart from any of the other knights present today (with the exception of Jarod, of course, who owed no one anything). He talks with his squire beside a dark horse, checking lances for crackes or splinters, and making sure his armor is fastened correctly. Also drinking. Just a little. While Brynner greases the hinge on a gauntlet, Kit turns to eye the stands and the crowd of nobles finding their seats in them. After a moment he finds who he's looking for and gives a discreet little wave.

Ser Jarod the Half-Eagle is just finishing readying himself. Riding into the lists on big, red-brown warhorse it's widely known was loaned to him by his occasionally scandalous Nayland bride, he stands rather taller in the saddle than he did the day of the first joust. Big grin on his face, hand raised and waving to the stands to show off his own favor. Winning will give a man some confidence. He takes his place as one of the champions for this challenge, letting out four ear-piercing whistles to the crowd once he's got himself settled. Indulging in some showmanship, perhaps.

Ser Gareth Tyrell is also here, mounted on his massive chestnut stallion in his gleaming armor of golden gilt and green. The big bluff bearded knight seems in cheery spirits, waiting with affable patience for his Nayland squire to return from a probably-lance-related errand and drumming large fingertips lightly against the glossy chestnut side of the horse.

Present on the field, Martyn's in his armor and ready for today's events. Standing next to his horse, Miramis, he seems to be going through some kind of routine of preparation, or something like that. And being concentrated on that at the moment, since not even those Jarodwhistles makes him look away for the moment. His squire must have learned not to interfere with that preparation, since he's holding back a bit for the moment.

Nathaniel arrived early to find a spot as near as a commoner can come to the cleared field. In addition to the messenger's bag that seems to be his constant companion in public, he is carrying a large crescent-shaped leather skin and a smaller parchment sack. He watches the knights riding onto the field, and waves a greeting to Ser Justin. He also watches that knight closely and frowns, perhaps remembering the injuries that the Ser suffered in the last bouts.

Amongst those preparing for the joust today is one of the Reach's knights - Ser Hoxley Redwyne, despite his disappointing performance in the first day of jousting has returned for another. Clad in the azure and burgundy of his house, his black destrier caparaisoned the same, he takes his place beside Ser Gareth Tyrell, giving him a nod. "Better luck today, Hammer," he offers companionably to his fellow visitor from the jousting circuits of The Reach.

Glancing up as she is greeted, Muirenn gives a faint smile "Indeed, the suite of rooms at the Inn is acceptable and will do nicely until I am off to visit other friends." The Mallister girl considers Katrin assessingly. Finally, she gestures to a seat and says "Please, sit and make yourself comfortable." A small gesture and her handmaiden moves off knowingly to fetch a tray of wine.

Like wildfire and stoked embers, Saffron Banefort sweeps into the lists with her new maidservant striding step for step with the young noblewoman. A spectrum of green silk whispers about her as she moves through the crowds for her own seat close to the Mallisters. Her hair is mostly loose, brushed out to grace about her spine like red fleece. She is chatting good-naturedly with the Roost woman. A cord of tiny wildflowers has been braided and tied about her wrist, and the small leather satchel worn across her body and weighed at her hip contains larger blooms collected over the day.

Tia has been quite, though around the tourney for the past couple days. while not seen, she was able to watch Pariston's archery feats, and perhaps even the first jousting matches. Today, however, she has made her way to the stands, maid and guard in tow. Today, in fact, her guard is Jacob, with no sign of old scowly face. She spies Muirenn and Saffron, and heads generally over in their direction, meandering through the crowd.

At least one of the Mystery Knights from the other day is here as well. A crown of thorns is worn around his helmeted head, a pale green surcoat worn over his armor, cloth that is a match for that which covers and hides his horse from scrutiny. His shield is white, painted with a knot of thorns, and upon his breast, over his heart, is pinned a single red rose, complete with thorns.

Anais is a little late arriving to the stands for the joust, though she seems in good enough spirits as she makes the climb. "Saffron!" she calls after the flag of red hair moving through the stands ahead of her, smile flashing as she raises a hand.

Where today's contestants are starting to gather, Ser Inigo Vance stands beside his courser, giving the stallion's neck a gentle pat as he goes about checking all the tack to be sure it's secured properly and everything. His armor looks a little worse for the wear, particularly his scratched-up shield bearing the family crest of quartered dragons and towers. But everything has been repaired as best as can be on short notice and his armor is once again polished to a gleaming shine despite some new wear on it.

Kamron is in his mourning best, which means he's probably baking in the summer sun, and he definitely stands out along with the other Mallisters amidst the riot of colors from the Reach and the Riverlands. Quite distinctly, he is not wearing armor and is not mingling with the competitors. Instead, he walks amongst Ladies and Lords for all his 'ser,' smiling and bowing as appropriate as he sees old friends and meets new ones. Finding his way to the stands, he looks out over the lists, giving his own ear-splitting if relatively tuneless whistle in return to Jarod's own. He then adds in, "Mallister! Redwyne! Terrick" cheering the houses of the hour and the others among the champions (or at least close enough) that he knows, he then turns about, looking up into the stands for someone. Between the blaze of cinnamon-fire hair, and Anais' own shout, he finds the Banefort and the nee Banefort easily enough, climbing up in their direction.

The Hammer of Highgarden chuckles, and tilts his head in inclination to Ser Hoxley. "And to you, Hawk," he says. He holds out his hand for the lance as the young squire takes his sweet time but eventually turns up to display the implement; he inspects it with a flicker of his eyes. "Splinter," he points out, and sends him back for one more last minute swap. He glances curiously over a couple of the other contenders from the previous joust.

Seeing Jarod move out onto the lists to take up position as champion for this day's jousting, Justin moves his horse to ride in with his half brother. He stops the grey beside Jarod's larger war horse in position as a champion for today's event himself. Justin smiles at his half brother, "I probably should have been drinking before I came but … I only just got word I was expected. Your head aching?"

Set apart from other ladies allows Roslyn some freedom of her movements and gestures, even if she has dressed eye-catchingly. A small, subtle smile plays at the corners of her lips for a moment, her fingers lifting in a subtle, discreet wave of her own in turn. She murmurs more to Senna, listening to the maid in turn with a quiet laugh for whatever the maid may say.

Katrin smiles brightly as she takes a seat next to Muirenn. "Have you come to cheer for Ser Martyn today?" she asks curiously. "I was saddened when he lost the last time. But I am certain that today he will make an excellent showing." She settles into the seat, her own maid backing off to sit behind her in silence. Her eyes wander down to the field, indeed looking for a certain Mallister knight. And when they come upon him, an even brighter smile lights up her face.

The sound of her name called over the din draws her head around, and the bright-eyed Saffron turns to face her cousin with a joyful noise. Whatever ill fell upon her mood days before the departure for Seagard has been lifted and lightened by the sheer energy of a tournament. She steps back against the stream to gather up her cousin's arm in her own, tugging her along with a girlish laugh. "I'm to sit with Ser Kamron," she announces to her cousin.

Dmitry swings up into the stands with a vibrant energy to his enthusiasm, once more a knight without a lance for this joust. He claims a seat in amongst the other nobles and leans on his elbows against his knees as he turns bright eyes toward the preparations down in the lists.

Jarod whistles a merry, warbling 'reply' of sorts of Kamron, still grinning as he sits in the saddle and waits for the competition to begin. To Justin he chuckles, shaking his head. "Nah, didn't linger too long last night over ale," he replies lower to his half-brother, though how he did spend the evening he doesn't describe. "Plenty of time for wine and song once the lances are done breaking. Curious if these Reach men can hold their wine as well as their horses." That's said a little louder, and toward the Hammer. Was that a challenge?

"Think Freddy will show up again?" Hoxley Redqyne wonders aside to Gareth Tyrell, "I saw him in his cups last night, still drinking off his loss. I bet you ten silver he shows up and makes a fool of himself again, like at Brightwater that time, remember that?" He chuckles to himself, not altogether kindly, and then stretches a bit, rolling shoulders with a clinking of armor.

Hugh returns from fetching a couple of lances for his adopted Knight. That would be Ser Jarod. He looks around and grins, now feeling much more of an old hand at this, though perhaps not deservedly. In any event there is a cocky bit of self confidence in his stride as he returns.

It does seem that Pariston is along with Tia as well though, keeping close and smiling. Not saying much, just wanting to enjoy the jousting and all of that. For now keeping an eye on Tia and the rest of their company. Eyes moving around a bit at all times. The second guard she has with her so he has his sword and leather armor on. Not wanting to be slow in this crowd, if something was to happen.

"That sounds /terrible/," Anais grins at Saffron's announcement, following behind her cousin until the pair reaches Muirenn and Katrin. "I mean, why would you want to sit next to someone like that?" There's a swift smile for the other ladies as she arrives. "Muirenn, you're looking positively lovely today. And Lady Katrin. Who carries your favor today?" she asks teasingly. She can do that. She doesn't give out favors anymore.

Justin catches Nathaniel's wave and lifts his right arm to hold it up briefly in acknowlegement of the Terrick Courier, then gestures for that man to come to speak with himself. He glances aside to Jarod, then allows his gaze to slip over the others, "I suppose we'll be finding out how well they hold their drink." His horse quiet, Justin then looks to the stands to see if he can pick out a certain woman up there where the nobility takes seats. Lady Roslyn's gown he remembers from an evening not too long ago. The Terrick lord smiles faintly.

Finishing with his pre-joust routines, Martyn glances over first at Jarod, then at Kamron at the whistling, before his gaze moves to the stands again. Looking around before he sees his sister, and Katrin, and offers a nod and a half-wave in their direction. Then back to watching the others on the field, while muttering a few words to his squire.

Freddy has shown up, tyvm! His bumbling squire stumbles after his horse as Frederyck Tarly joins those at the lists, looking slightly unsteady. Under his helm, his cheeks and nose are flushed pink, and he snaps angrily for his lance to be fetched. His poor, roly-poly squire scurries to complete his bidding.

Kamron raises his right hand in greeting as he approaches Saffron and Anais, apparently catching Saffron's words over the chatter and buzz of the crowd. Someone looking closely might notice a braid of ribbons wrapped twice around his right wrist, flashing grey, orange and purple before he lowers his arm once more. "Indeed. I promised, and I do try to keep my promises." Bowing his head then, he greets them, "Lady Saffron, Lady Anais. I would be honored by both of your company, unless Jacsen," he speaks the name of the Young Lord Terrick with an easy familiarity that wasn't there back at the Roost, "is going to claim your attention, Lady Anais." As the small group also reaches the area where Katrin and the Mallisters are seated, he bows his head, "Lady Larissa, Lady Aduialana, Lady Muirenn, Lady Katrin. Good day to you all."

Ser Gareth chuckles again, settling his not inconsiderable weight in the saddle as his horse stamps idly at the ground, bored and probably disappointed that there isn't a lot of easy grazing around while it waits. "Hopefully if he does show up it will be sober enough to hold his lance," he says. "But I'll take that bet. He can't possibly be that ridiculous twice." He turns his look toward the Half-Eagle, and lifts a single hand. "There's a challenge I could get behind, Ser Bird," he says, grin winking bright in his big brown beard. He says with a friendly, familiar air of challenge from a man long familiar with contests of all kinds: "Match me for cup for cup, do you think? A small wager on that?"

Laughing, Muirenn gives a shake of her lovely head "What sort of sister would I be if I did not give my support to my brother?" As Miniella returns with a tray of wine-filled goblets, the maid circulates among Muirenn's friends offering wine to everyone.

A hand is lifted and Muiri waves to Tiaryn, inviting the Flint lady over. "I quite like the look of the Mystry Knight though….so very dashing. I honestly would perhaps behave quite common if I was closer and offer him my favor were we seated closer." Accepting her own glass, she glances to Anais and smiles, "Thank you dearest, you look beautiful as always."

Dania finds a spot in near the lists. She sets her heavy basket down at her feet and those blue eyes of her narrow as the come to rest on Justin she shakes her head and frowns. Then she sighs as she shifts her weight to get more comfortable so she can watch the Joust. Her eyes also go to Ser Martyn and she offers a muttered prayer before her attention is drawn to the other knights.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be horrible. The man is so dull," Saffron says in a good-humored smirk. She is hardly a step behind her cousin as they near the two ladies, though she does offer Anais a small scoff. "Just because you are wed and weathered doesn't mean you should pick on those of us still wishing and wanting." She gives her cousin a playful swat across her shoulder. Oh, look. Its Kamron. She turns to him with a gentle and yet impressingly accurate pirouette to face the mourning-garbbed man. "Ser Kamron," she greets warmly.

As the knights find their places and the champions ready themselves, Lord Patrek Mallister and Lady Syrah Redwyne arrive, he assisting her up the steps of the dais and to her chair. He looks about at those assembled and smiles, and then steps forward and lifts his hands for silence. "Lords and ladies," he says when he has it, "Sers, Masters, and Mistresses. Thank you all for joining us once again at this competition in honor of my betrothal to the lovely," he looks at her, and perhaps, those nearest might note, they both blush, "The lovely Lady Syrah Redwyne. Heralds! Please announce today's champions, and let us begin!" He smiles and waves again, and then retakes his seat.

Lark and her cousin, Alona, have taken up a place at the rail good and early, today, both common girls watching the competitors assemble with bright interest. They giggle and gossip and munch cookies — this time, they have a whole basket, in case of celebratory mishaps. Lark gasps and point across the field, grabbing Alona's sleeve. "Lonnie, look! It's that big billy with the sweet, round squire. Let's give him the evil eye." Hex, hex!

"Only half a bird, my lord. The other half of me's all ale keg, for how well I hold my liquor!" Jarod brags brightly. It's all bravado, which plainly even he doesn't take seriously, but he's plainly enjoying the banter. "Later for that. We'll just have to see." The comment seems meant for Justin and Hugh both, and he actually quiets down when Patrek begins speaking. Putting on some semblance of respectability.

Nathaniel nods to someone else in the common area, and then trots across the field to where Justin awaits. When he reaches the spot, he bows to the noble knight and reports, "Ser? You summoned?"

"Lady Anais, Lady Saffron," Katrin beams up at them. "I do hope you plan to watch the joust with us." She grins and then gives Anais a speculative look. Her gaze slants aside to Muirenn and the family members in front of them before she clears her throat. "Ser Martyn still honors me by carrying my favor," she says in a little voice. "He seemed quite determined to do better this time." She tips her head to other Mallister - she's surrounded! - and smiles. "Ser Kamron, always a pleasure."

Ser Hoxley snorts at Ser Gareth, and says, "I bet he's just sober enough to hold it up and ride, and not much better," he says, "It's a bet, then." He reaches a hand over to shake while eyeing the stands, spotting a fellow ginger and giving her a grin and a wink (that's you, Saffron). Then he turns back to lift a brow at Jarod's challenge. "I'll put five on the Hammer on that," he says, "Not many men can match him cup for cup, Ser."

"I'm not /picking/, I'm envious," Anais laughs to Saffron's chiding with a flash of an apologetic smile for Katrin. "I'm with Muirenn, I think. If it wouldn't scandalize the whole of the Riverlands, I'd give a favor to a mystery knight. Because it's /fun/." She shakes her head to Kamron as she takes a seat, though she doesn't seem too put out. "I'm afraid Jacsen was going to take a chance to meet with some of his old friends from when he lived here during the joust. All of the cultured men who are too intelligent for such things as jousts," she winks.

A flourish of trumpets signals the the beginning of the event, and the herald steps out to address the growing crowd. "The Lady Syrah Redwyne, acclaimed by these her champions as Queen of Love and Beauty, shall be defended by her cousin, the Ser Hoxley Redwyne, Hawk of the Arbor!" There is a pause for cheering, and to allow the first named champion a wave to the crowd. "Ser Gareth Tyrell, the Hammer of Highgarden! Ser Martyn Mallister, of Seagard! Ser Justin Terrick, of Terrick's Roost!" The herald pauses dramatically. "And Ser Jarod the Half-Eagle, winner of the elimination joust!" His arms windmill merrily to encourage the roar of the crowd.

Justin listens to Lord Patrek while Nathaneil comes out into the lists. When his liege lord has finished speaking, the Terrick tips his head over to speak, keeping his baritone quite low with some request.

Lady Larissa and Lady Aduialana look up as they are greeted by Kamron. Laughing, Muirenn and Martyn's mother inclines her head, "And a good day to you Ser Kamron. While it is a loss to the spectators to not get to see your prowess at the joust, your good company is our gain." As her nephew begins to speak, she turns her attention and both of the Aunts beam quite pleased upon the young betrothed couple. Then Kamron is more or less dismissed as are the younger as pair of aunts begin to murmer and chat lightly with others of their generation

Looking towards the lists, she murmers to Katrin softly "It is always good when they excel Lady Katrin, but if they do not…we comfort them and boost their egos in other ways." Bared shoulders lift in a shrug and she waves her fan, adding as an aside "Black is such a *hot* color to wear out of doors." Lifting the cold wine, she takes a sip.

Saffron sweeps into a seat beside her cousin, allowing Kamron to sit on her opposite side. Hara is more than happy to sit on the next row with the rest of the maids and chaperones, but she is gawking openingly at the sheer beauty of the Reach knights present. There is a little smile on her face as she smooths out her skirts, and the sun causes them to shimmer with a neat iridescent sheen.

Tia moves over towards Muirenn and the others, a smile on her face. She curtseys politely as she arrives. "Ladies," she greets with a brief nod and smile. "I apologize for being a bit late. Have I missed much?" she asks, a brow raising briefly. She settles into a seat, letting the guards and maid figure their own seats out. She glances out to see what is going on, as she catches up things.

Rowenna Nayland, in brilliant blood-orange silk — a bit darker than Nayland orange, really, but how's a lady to wear that shade and not look like a Stranger's Day pumpkin? — climbs the stairs into the stands and looks around the crowd. Before she can choose a place to sit, however, things are getting underway and Jarod is being announced among the champions. She cups her ha"nds around her mouth and lets out a loud WHOOP, applauding lustily. "Wooo!"

Nathaniel cocks his head and looks at Justin with some surprise when the knight leans forward on his horse and speaks privately to the courier. However, the young man's answer is quick and sure. "I would be honored, Ser!" he agrees.

Kamron shakes his head lightly at Saffron's greeting, opening his mouth to respond before the Lord Mallister and his Lady-to-be make their entrance. Turning instead to watch them take their place and hear his liege lord's words. The Mallister knight applauds the words and those of the herald, cheering each champion in turn. He nods to Katrin, "Ser Martyn is a very determined man, Lady Katrin. However his tilts end, he will acquit himself well." And then he's looking back to Anais and Saffron, scoffing softly, "I'm not jousting today, and no one has ever accused me of being intelligent, Lady Anais." He seats himself alongside Saffron, nodding to Muirenn, "Tomorrow, we might see what we can do about a sun shade?"

Lennard Hightower - the White Calf, as they call him - rides out on the heels of the tipsy Tarly knight, cutting an imposing figure on his large horse as he joins the ranks of the challengers.

Oh no, Justin's not /leaning/ over in the saddle, he's keeping his back straight. His ribs are bound snugly. Nathaniel's reply makes him smile, "Thank you. My lances are over there, in the barrel marked with my house colors. Retainer Winesong's aching feet will also thank you." And there's the introduction of the champions!

Katrin chuckles merrily, "Whether he is the first to fall or the champion of the entire tourney, I will be just as pleased, Lady Muirenn," she says. "But it is far more fun to be able to cheer for the winner, instead of comforting one after he has lost." She shakes her head, and then smiles to Kamron. "Yes, I have noticed this about Ser Martyn in my short experience of him. It is one of his most admirable traits." She's eying the ladies in front of her, but then returns to the others with a cheerful smile.

Ser Gareth lifts his lance with a wide spread of his arm for the crowd when his name is called, his big glossy chestnut stamping and ducking his head with a raring kind of readiness until the bluff knight eases him still with a firm hand on the reins.

Mounting and getting the last of his preparations done now, Martyn offers a brief wave to the crowd as his name is called, and looks between the other champions now. "Looks like a fine day for this, doesn't it+?" he offers, giving them a bit of a grin very momentarily. Making sure to keep his own horse safely away from Justin's, though.

Amongst the challengers is a man in steel plate and mail tinted to a dark, smoky gray. He wears a black cape over the armor, trailing down over his horse's withers, and a hood for the cape hangs down between his shoulders. His squire holds his helm, leaving his blonde and bluff features bare to the crowd. As the worse-for-the-drink Frederyck Tarly joins the group of the challengers, he laughs aloud, a boisterous laugh well suited to his large frame. "A bit too much wine last night, Ser? A good thing this isn't a real war, or you might be in trouble." Laughter fills the words, turning them into something amused rather than scornful.

Inigo climbs up into his saddle with a little less grace than usual, and then leans back, resting as best one can armored and mounted as he is. He turns his attention to Lord Patrek Mallister and Lady Syrah Redwyne as they arrive and then to the heralds as they announce the champions, his brows lifting a little as they do so. He glances around at the various knights, picking out who that leaves.

"I think you have dispensation to be up here for the same reason as Lord Dmitry, Ser Kamron," Anais chuckles to the Mallister knight. "More interested in the flowers in the stands today than the ones on the field. And they are bright, aren't they?" she observes with some amusement as she looks over the Reach knights. "Look, there's Quentyn," she grins, pointing out the dark spot on the field and just barely catching herself from waving to try to catch her big brother's attention.

Jarod strains his eyes to spot Rowenna in the crowd, tipping his lance in her direction. It's not quite a salute, but it's close, and he's not a man given to subtle gestures. He pairs it with a bright wink, just to be less subtle.

Saffron jabs Anais suddenly as she spies Quentyn down in the lists. She is almost immediately on her feet then, cupping her hands around her mouth to cheer his name loudly. If Anais isn't going to try get Quentyn's attention, Saffron regresses just enough to woot for it! Hopefully all those mudpies have been forgiven by now…

Tarly snorts at the Banefort, tugging on the reins of his mount as is dances anxiously beneath him. Hopefully he won't fall off! "Good thing it isn't," he agrees, cutting into his own sentence to yell at his page, "SAM!" As for Quentyn: "Seeing how you men of the Cape fared in the last war." His barb is somewhat less sharp than it could be, given the bout of saddle-wobble in the middle.

Hugh pauses and takes a long look at the crowd. A few more than were before are known to him, but not many. He peers over at the roundish squire and then speaks to Jarod quietly again.

Kamron glances about the women surrounding him at Anais' words, and if his eyes linger on Saffron a little longer than the others, well, she's one of the few who aren't married, related to him, or have someone related to him interested in them. "Indeed, the flowers are quite lovely up here. But really, I'm saving myself for the melee. Your Lady Cousin has graced me with her favor, and I would be loathe to enter another melee already injured." Saffron's shouts for her cousin draw a laugh from the Mallister, and he shakes his head in amusement. Katrin's commentary on his cousin draws a nod of agreement and a crooked grin, "They don't call him the Rock of Seagard for nothing, Lady Katrin."

It seems that Pariston will not speak too much for now, just standing around with Tiaryn, listening as she speak with the ladies. A bow offered to all of them. Though he will keep silent, doing his job. Sort of. His eyes going down to the competition grounds.

The crowd sufficiently wound up, the herald holds his palms parallel to the stands as he announces: "The first challenge goes to Ser Quentyn Banefort, of the Banefort!"

Dania stands there and watches. The basket at her feet. She leans back on her heels and is now playing the wiating game. More silent prayers are muttered.

Rowenna catches Jarod's unsubtle salute, grinning foolishly back at him. She blows him a kiss and presses her hand to her heart.

Quentyn Banefort looks up as his name drifts through the cheers, peering out into the sea of faces. The waving Saffron draws his attention and he offers a wave in return. Looking back to Tarly, he laughs at the barbed words, "I'm not a man of the Cape, Ser. I'm a Westerman." And as his name is called, he reaches down to take his helm from his squire, pulling it on, securing it, and then pulling up his hook to give him the look of the man on his sigil. Taking up a lance, he spurs his horse forward toward the champions, touching its point to the shield of the Redwyne.

Ah, and there's Ser Kamron over there in the stands with the ladies. Justin espies him and after handing his helm to Nathaniel to hold for him until he needs it, or a lance, he lifts a hand to gesture a greeting to the man who granted him his shiny new spurs. Justin has of course polished the silver to gleam. Then he's looking to the first knight named who gets to start off with the first challenge.

Saffron drops back into her seat with a wide grin on her lips. It is almost as if she is recharged by her cousin being here — the Young Lord of the Banefort himself. She whispers something to Kamron before her gaze moves back over to Anais. "I shouted for the pair of us," she points out idly with a dimpled smile.

Paying close attention as the man in black makes his selection, the herald bellows, "SER QUENTYN BANEFORT CHALLENGES SER HOXLEY REDWYNE, HAWK OF THE ARBOR!" Time for the crowd to roar once more.

There is a piercing whistle from the direction of Anais Terrick. Surely it came from her shouting cousin, Saffron, right? Either way, the Terrick lady is grinning as Quentyn rides forward and makes his challenge. "He's so terrible at this," she admits to the ladies around her with a fond smile. "But at least he enjoys himself."

Ser Hoxley gestures across the lists at the wobbling Tarly, and arches one reddish brow at Ser Gareth. "Told you, Hammer," he says, "No way he's sober enough by his turn to not look the fool. At least it's Riverlanders and not Northerners," he adds after a moment, "Or Dornish." He pulls a face, then scratches at his bearded chin and waits to see who Quentyn Banefort picks. Ah, him. "Well, here we go again," he says, catching the helmet his squire tosses up without even turning to see it coming, donning the hawk-winged helm and taking up a lance, urging his big horse out of the champions' area and towards his end of the lists.

Rowenna hurries to sit as first match begins, smoothing her dress beneath her as she does. Seven, it's almost ladylike. Don't worry. She'll blow it soon.

Watching carefully as the Banefort makes his challenge, Martyn offers a bit of a grin in Ser Hoxley's direction, "Good luck," he offers, before he leans back a little bit in his saddle to watch the start of the action.

Regarding the field of knights, Muirenn just grins and her fan flutters effortlessly in her graceful fan. "Tis quite exciting." She gives a happy sigh and adds, "I have always thought it quite unfair that I was unable to cheer quite as loudly as the smallfolk when I have an even greater stake in the combatants than they do." Her hands clap quite loudly for her friends' brother and cousin, giving a cheeky grin to her Septa and Mother as both turn around to give her an 'eye'. "Has anyone heard anything about the mystery knight with the thorns? Or is he truly a mystery?"

Ser Gareth waves a hand in acknowledgment of Ser Hoxley's sally, a hint of the distinctly wry in his expression. "We'll see if I owe you that silver," he calls after him rather than more traditional sportsman's benedictions.

Ser Hoxley's mount stamps and snorts, ready to go, as they await the heralds' signal. He goes through the same little routine as the first time, checking each gauntley twice, twirling his lance, and then snapping down his visor and urging his horse forward with a shout, charging the second the signal is given.

Nathaniel takes the helm and cradles it in his arms while he watches the champions and challengers assembling on the field. They are clearly larger to him here than they were from from the distance of the commoners' area. He studies each rider's armor and heraldry closely, and watches the anxious fidgeting of some of the mounts. He remains close to where Ser Justin, and looks toward the knight whenever he or his grey gelding makes the slightest noise. Clearly, the young courier is ready to respond at a moment's call.

Tia flashes a grin at the chatter, listening for a bit. "It is fun to watch, even if I've no family competing today." But there is family of her friends, and that's close enough. Tia will happily cheer Ser Banefort on, without a worry. She glances over at Pariston briefly, seeing if he's going to cheer too, and then chuckles at Muirenn. "That you should try somewhere with less family."

"He's not terrible," Saffron says with a small scoff. "Lord Bernard at least taught him how to hold his lance straight." She pulls her satchel of flowers around, digging through the blooms for a bright wild buttercup.

Kamron leans his head in to hear Saffron's whisper, and then lets his head roll back with a laugh, despite the light pinking at his cheeks, "You wrong me, Lady Saffron," he teases back, "I'm not just here to flirt with all of the ladies while the men are on the field." He pauses, "Although it is quite enjoyable, and much safer this way." Oh yes, he's still teasing. Justin's wave catches his attention, and the Mallister raises his right arm to wave in return, once more baring that half-hidden favor of grey, orange, and purple. Anais' whistle causes him to poke at his ear with one pinky, fake-grimacing at her, "I'm going to need my hearing for the melee, Lady Anais."

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Hoxley=spears Vs Kamron=animal Handling
< Ser_Hoxley: Good Success Kamron: Good Success
< Net Result: Kamron wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Hoxley=animal Handling Vs Kamron=spears
< Ser_Hoxley: Good Success Kamron: Success
< Net Result: Ser_Hoxley wins - Marginal Victory

The first pass, both men break lances on the others' shields, solid hits, but not enough to knock either off his horse. Ser Hoxley wheels around and heads back to his end, his squire ready and waiting to toss him another lance so that they can clash again.

"Oh, please," Anais chuckles to Kamron. "You can't hear anything through your helm in a melee. You might as well be deaf to begin with. At least that's what Quentyn says. He's more of a melee fight-" She pauses, brows rising with a swift grin when her brother doesn't end up sitting in the sand. "Hey! Look at that."

Pariston does cheer as well, but is keeping a bit quieter than the others perhaps. He is smiling when Tiaryn looks over though. But he hasn't been listening to the ladies so much. Not wanting to intrude and instead studying around them as well as looking to the jousting.

Quentyn Banefort rides from his challenge to his place at one end of the lists, raising up his orange-striped lance of black. When the signal is given, he puts heels to his horse's flank, and charges forth, the black cape rippling in the wind of his passage. There is a splinter of lances, he reels, but holds his seat. As the two competitors cross paths to get back to their ends, he calls out, "You're as eager as a hunting hawk, that's for sure, Ser," raising up his right hand in acknowledgement of the hit. Taking up another lance from his squire, he settles his horse, lance raised once more, ready for another pass.

"you are of course right, Ser Kamron," Katrin says with a nod. "I look forward to the melee competition," she admits. "I found it more fun to watch, in truth. The jousts can sometimes go on for so long without one side taking a hit."

Having chosen not to sit for the entire event, Jocelyn has been wandering the grounds and peeking in to watch the tourny. Tiring of that activity and accompanied by her Ladies maid, she walks near the stands, turning her head in that direction of try and find an open seat. Though the sound of hooves on dirt distract her enough that her head to turn back towards the field and witness the Match.

"Where do you think the name came from?" Ser Hoxley jokes since, you know, it probably came from his name. When he and Quentyn are both re-armed and ready, he charges again.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Hoxley=spears Vs Quentyn=animal Handling
< Ser_hoxley: Good Success Quentyn: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_hoxley wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Hoxley=animal Handling Vs Quentyn=spears
< Ser_hoxley: Amazing Success Quentyn: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_hoxley wins - Crushing Victory

Hugh is glued to the joust and he jumps as the lances hit and splinter, a grin on his face. In between the passes, he notes the courier he met yesterday, and gives the young man a nod if he looks in his direction.

Justin shifts in his saddle after handing his helm over to Nathaniel. He smiles faintly at the other man, so proud to come and aid his lord when Justin has no squire of his own. The Terrick glances towards the stands at that piercing whistle but his eyes quickely enough go to watching the first, and then the second passes of the first pair of knights.

The second pass proves far more decisive than the first. Both men score solid hits, but Ser Hoxley, through a highly impressive feat of horsemanship manages to stick directly in his saddle, absorbing Quentyn's blow without ever budging an inch. He rides on through and back around, politely checking to see that his fallen opponent is unhurt, and then saluting him, the crowd, Lady Syrah, and returning to his place among the other Champions.

Quentyn puts heels to horse once more, and once more his cape billows behind him. His lance slides off the agile Hawk's shield, breaking but failing to come apart in that exciting burst of splinters, and he receives a stiff strike in return. For a long moment, it looks like the Banefort might retain his seat, but as his horse reaches the end of the list, it becomes quite clear that he's already overbalanced, slipping farther and farther to his right. And then he's gone, tumbling into the turf. So slow is his fall, however, that he's able to get back to his feet relatively quickly, waving a hand to show that he's alright — as if his laughter hadn't already proven it. He offers a bare-handed salute to the Redwyne, then another to the dais, and moves to clear the field.

It's probably ill-advised, but Frederyck's rotund little page provides his knight with a flask whilst they watch the first two go at it. Fred looks rather pleased (and wobbles a little more) as Ser Hox unhorses the Banefort.

The herald waits for Ser Hoxley to rejoin the champions, before stepping toward Ser Inigo Vance, signalling him to make the next challenge.

Jarod cheers for Ser Quentyn, though it's the Redwyne he watches with more interest. "The Hawk's one of the more renowed jousters in the Reach. Watch him close, if you want to try your hand at a lance one day," Jarod mutters low to Hugh. He scans the field of challengers as the Banefort goes down, adjusting himself in the saddle as if double-checking his straps.

Kamron joins his cheers to those of the rest of crowd, cheering both sides equally for all that he's half-surrounded by Baneforts. As they cries die down, he nods to Anais, "Between the clatter of metal, the thickness of your helmet, and the shouts of the crowd, there's not much to hear. Then again, if I admitted as much, I wouldn't be able to tease you about it, now would I?" Katrin's words draw a laugh from him, "Oh, I assure you, Lady Katrin, even when neither side falls, both jousters still feel the hits quite readily."

Taking a deep breath as his name is called, Inigo dons his helm and takes up lance and shield before riding towards the champions. With less men to challenge this day, it doesn't take him long to choose. He rides his mount up to Ser Jarod and points at the Half-Eagle champion from the previous joust.

As the knights ride to their respective places to begin their joust, the herald bellows: "SER INIGO VANCE CHALLENGES SER JAROD THE HALF-EAGLE!"

Nathaniel winces when the first pass ends with pieces of shattered lances flying through the air, and both knights gallop back to the ends of the field to await their new lances. He takes the opportunity to glance to the commoners' area, where he sees two now very familiar faces. He grins and waves to the cousins with his free hand while he continues to hold Ser Justin's helm protectively.

"Not terrible," Anais chuckles as Quentyn takes to the ground, raising a hand when he waves to the stands. "Papa would say that's the cost of doing business." And then she's sitting a little straighter, peering down to the lists to see the next challenge.

"Well ridden," Ser Gareth acknowledges of Ser Hoxley as he returns to the line, with a slight inclination of his head. He watches the Banefort leave the field, and then glances thoughtfully over the challengers. He smiles a little. "Ride on, Ser Half a Bird!" he encourages Jarod with easy cheer.

Martyn grimaces momentary as he sees Quentyn go down, after all, he knows how that feels quite well. "Nicely done, Ser," he offers in Hoxley's direction, before he sees Inigo's challenge now, offering Jarod a bit of a smile and a nod. "Good luck," he offers.

"Well, a better start than last time at least, Hammer," Ser Hoxley remarks as he guides his black stallion (but not THE black stallion, don't get too excited) back up next to Ser Gareth's chestnut. "Maybe this trip won't be a total loss." He pauses and then adds, "Though the local girls aren't half-bad either, I suppose." He shrugs, and glances around before turning to chuckle at the Hammer's encouragement to Jarod. "Half a bird, huh? The other one looks like a bit of a bird himself, but he had damned good luck last time."

Hugh nods to Jarod seeming to absorb all advice unquestioned. He steps aside as Jarod is called. "Good luck, Ser. Ride well!"

Applauding, Muirenn flashes a smile to Anais and Saffron "He did not go out immediately and he made quite a good showing." Sitting forward on her seat, she ponders which to cheer for in this bout. "Oh this should be an interesting pairing"

"Oo — there! Right there!" Lark squeaks, grabbing Alona's arm again. "Did you see? The bad man wobbled. I almost evil-eyed him off his horse!"

Alona eyes Ser Frederick skeptically. "I think he's just drunk."

When Ser Inigo is announced, both girls gasp and squeal in unison. "SER INIGO!" Lark and Alona swoon.

"Yes, I have heard about it, Ser Kamron," Katrin says with a nod. "It must be quite painful to be jabbed at with a large stick while riding at a full gallop. Even with armor on." She shakes her head. "It does make me wonder why men enjoy doing it so much."

"Half an eagle, Ser! Still figuring out what the other half is!" Jarod rejoins cheerily to Hoxley. "I'm sure a few folks've got some suggestions." A nod to Hugh, and up he rides, for the challenge. For all his waving and whistling, the salute he gives Inigo as he prepares to ride is formal and respectful.

"He did," Ser Gareth agrees, after the soft puff of a good-humored snort for Jarod's rejoinder. He turns thoughtful eyes on Ser Inigo as he again rubs his free hand along his bearded jaw. "War of the birds. It should be an interesting run."

Trying his best not to draw the attention of his fellow Reach knight, Ser Lennard Hightower waits patiently amongst the challengers. Next to Ser Kittridge Groves, the White Calf chortles enviously at Ser Hoxley's skill. "Don't think I'd've been able to stay ahorse like that," he asides, shaking his head.

Inigo briefly waves at the crowd while he rides to the starting point as the herald announces the challenge, his stallion prancing a bit before they come to a halt. Reining his horse in to a stop, he does last-second checks of his equipment and rolls his shoulders as he settles in. Raising his lance, he salutes Jarod politely in return.

Justin's pale grey eyes narrow at Ser Hoxlye but he quips back in good humor enough, "This bird is an eagle who's eager to sink my talons again, Ser." And if his luck holds, Justin's backside won't hit dirt too quickly. He fingers the yellow ribbon tied to his left arm, perhaps hoping for a bit of that luck again today.

Kamron nods at Anais and Muirenn, "Quite a respectable showing indeed. I certainly could have done no better. The Hawk is a formidable opponent, despite his showing yesterday." Katrin's words draw a helpless shrug, "I enjoy it for the rush of excitement, personally. And testing myself against other skilled men. Sort of like cliff-diving, but with the challenge of competition."

Before the next match can be set to go, Jocelyn weaves through the stands in the attempt to find a seat open for herself and her maid. "He seems to be putting on quite the show…" Jocelyn remarks, glancing towards the field.

Rowenna leans forward where she sits, fingers laced together in her lap. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathes, then opens them again and focuses intently on the field.

Kittridge looks aside at the big knight next to him, and chuckles with him, admitting, "I'm not sure many men alive could stay ahorse like that, truth be told."

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Inigo=spears Vs Jarod=animal Handling
< Inigo: Good Success Jarod: Failure
< Net Result: Inigo wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Inigo=animal Handling Vs Jarod=spears
< Inigo: Great Success Jarod: Success
< Net Result: Inigo wins - Solid Victory

Tia might well be the only Flint in attendance at this tourney, given Corrie's condition. However, even if she does have a nice big pavillion to herself, with her retainers, she's not boasting about it. She is however watching the match as Jarod gets called up, as one of the champions from the previous day's matches. "This should be interesting," she murmurs, sidetracked by the events at the lists.

Harlyn is crowding in late, all sorts of papery paraphrenalia stuck in his arms, keeping his narrow shoulders all the narrower as he makes his way through. "Well, well!" he calls expansively as he crowds, "How /are/ things going? How's old Hardwicke? Bets! Managing bets!" All at once, here!

Inigo and Tornado leap forward with the signal to joust, the stallion's hooves thundering solidly against the ground as he charges forward. Lance lowered, the Vance knight sits up and leans forward in his saddle, favoring power and control with his lance over the getting as much hold on mount as saddle as possible. It pays off when he strikes a solid blow against the Half-Eagle and manages to dodge the other knight's spear in the process.

For all his whistling and showboating for the crowd before the actual tilt, not to mention his standing as the previous joust's champion, Ser Jarod's run is decidedly anti-climatic. He powers his horse forward aggressively to meet Inigo's lance, aiming it at an angle that's meant to unbalance the knight in his seat rather than just hit his shield. Pity it doesn't work. He turns in a notch too far, is in a poor position to ward off the other man's lance, and down he goes. In a heavy, loud metal fall that shakes up a good deal of dirt. It takes him a second to pull himself up and he winces as he does it. But he does manages to straighten up in a way that doesn't look too damaged. "Perhaps an aurochs is the other half of me, Ser Hammer!" he calls, with wry merriment to the Tyrell. "Well struck, Ser Inigo. I hope your favor shall still be to the lovely Redwyne lady." And with that, he exits the field. Motioning for Hugh to take his horse, who looks in a fouler mood than his rider at being defeated.

Down at the head of the commoner (and then mystery) area of the lists, Hardwicke looks perhaps a touch too satisfied when Jarod falls. HAH HAH YOU DESERVED IT. You know. For daring to beat him the other day.

Hugh winces as Jarod goes down and he scrambles to help him with the horse.

Once the field is clear again, the herald steps toward the tipsy Tarly knight, indicating Ser Frederyck as the next challenger.

The grey is behaving himself, standing mostly quietly, chewing his bit and interested in the other horses. Justin sits quietly in the saddle, watching. If he has a preference between his half brother and his cousin as to who he wants to prevail, he says naught. The sound blow against Jarod makes Justin let go his breath he had lightly held, "Ah, that's too bad for Ser Jarod but most excellant for my cousin." After a pause, Justin adds, "Not a horse Jarod's used to, either." It's good to see Jarod spring back up in good spirits. His own comments might be to Nathaniel, or to one of the remaining other champions.

Hugh busies himself squiring and such the rest of the event.

Ser Hoxley applauds politely for the bout, chuckling, "Aurochs sounds about right. Welcome, Ser Inigo," he greets the newest champion, "I hope you don't have your heart set on any other lady than my cousin for our Queen today, Ser, we're rather determined to defend her."

Martyn nods a little bit as he sees Jarod go down, a momentary grimace for the man, before he looks over as Frederyck is the next one to challenge. Looking over at Inigo as he joins them. "Good work," he offers to the man.

Harlyn juggles his paper goods enough to make a mark somewhere. Tallying one for the winner and none for the loser.

Ser Gareth laughs, a big booming sound not entirely unlike the rest of him, and thumps his lance against the ground in salute — either of Inigo's efforts, Jarod's sportsmanship, or both.

Watching the two men go at each other, Muirenn's eyes widen and she just gives a wince as Jarod goes down at Inigo's drive with the lance. A hand moves to her ribs and she just sighs, "That must hurt horribly." Sipping her wine, the young woman's attention drifts towards the mysterious decorated all in thorns and the solitary rose. Giggling she comments, "I love mysteries. Some of the best and most interesting things have thorns you must get by. I like the symbology."

Lark yelps at the clash, clutching and being clutched by her cousin, both girls wide-eyed and breathless. And then — the dance of elation! Which basically consists of whooping and flailing in circles. "HUZZAH! HUZZAH! Ser Inigo!"

In the stands, Rowenna cries out in dismay — though her momentary fright dissolves into a rueful, sympathetic groan when it appears Jarod's both unhurt and rather merry in defeat. She applauds the match, but picks her way down from the stands to go check on him.

Ser Tarly tosses his flask back at his page and snatches his lance, his horse kicking up a spray of dust in the young boy's eyes as he spurs it toward the champions. He is not stupid enough to pick Hoxley Redwyne; he indicates Ser Justin Terrick, flashing his lance at the knight then turning his horse to take up his place.


"Oh my," Katrin muses as Jarod takes the hit. "It must be difficult to go down so early after being the champion before," she laments. But she smiles and waits patiently, her fingers twisting together in her skirts.

Ser Tarly's page reaches up to catch the flask, bobbles it, tries to recover, bobbles it again, and somehow manages to flip it away from him into the dirt where a horse steps on it. Oops.

Totally before the next joust happens, Inigo wheels his mount around after the joust to see if the other man has fallen and if he is alright, walking the horse forward a little in the time is takes Jarod to rise. He nods as the Half-Eagle stands once again and salutes him. "Thank you. Perhaps I was inspired by your own performance before," he returns, both cheerful and a little cheeky, if polite in acknowledging the other man's achievement. "Of course," he answers, turning to bow deeply at Lady Redwyne and Lord Patrek where they sit before he moves to join the other champions, thrusting his fist into the air and waving at the crowd as he goes. "Thank you, thank you. You can rest assured, I do not. No need to defend her from me, Ser Hoxley."

"Terricks and Tarlys," Harlyn says to himself as his stylus runs down the list.

Jarod is walking like he'll be bruised on the morrow, certainly. He edges to the side of the field so Hugh can assist him in removing his armor. It doesn't take long, partial maile that it is. At least he's geared cheap. "Well, least I can pay my own ransom," he says ruefully to Rowenna as she approaches him. He winks. "I was wearing your favor, so you know it's entirely your fault, aye?"

Now it is time to hold her breath. Dania waits and mutters somthing under her breath. she goes from leaning on her heels to moving to the balls of her feet.

Turning her head to the side, not wanting to see the full impact of the blow to Jarod, but her curiosity take the better of her and Jocelyn winces slightly. Settled into her seat she turns to her maid, "I do hate that part. It looks like it hurts so."

"Good luck," Martyn offers in Justin's direction as the man is challenged, offering him a bit of a grin, before looking back to the others at the moment. A quick look up to certain people in the stands as well, then back to the action.

Kamron whoofs softly at the blow, shaking his head ruefully. He nods to Muirenn, "I think I'm rather glad I'm not down there today. I've had enough bruised ribs to last me a while." Looking around the cluster of ladies he's sitting in the midst of, the Mallister knight adds, "But I can assure you that the smiles and concern of lovely ladies such as yourselves are the best salve for hurts such as that." There's a pause, and then he admits with a crooked grin, "Alright, the second-best. Lady Muirenn has this fabulous ointment that just makes bruises seem to fade away."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Ser Hoxley replies to Inigo, that appropriately hawk-like gaze relaxing some once the Vance has agreed not to try to shake things up. "Ah, the whole-eagle," he says as Justin is challenged, "And we'll see just how drunk Freddy is," he grins at the Hammer, looking at him and then back to his other fellow champions, "What do you wager on this one, lads?"

As he was before, Justin is garbed in black for mourning with hints of indigo-purple and gold embroidary around the edges of his surcoat, his shield blazened boldy in purple and gold. Purple and gold cloth adorn his white-grey horse. He watches Ser Frederyck closely, perhaps expecting to be challenged after yesterday's riding… and he isn't dissapointed! Justin grins, then reaches over, "My helm, and a lance, please." To Nathaniel. Once he has the helm settled but left open, he takes up the lance to move his horse out. First to bow his head low with respect to his leige lord Patrek and his lady betrothed, then to ride and take up his position in the lists to joust. His ribs may be bound but he's eager to try his, or rather Lady Roslyn's luck again today. Justin briefly looks for her in the stands before he closes his helm and dips his lance as sign of readiness.

With a nod, Muirenn's attention is drug from her contemplation of the mysterious thorny knight and her face lights up, a smile of sunshine brightness making her nose crinkle in its enthusiasm. "Thank you cousin." she says sincerely, "Do you still have enough of the ointment? If not I can send another pot to your chambers. The Maester and I made a fresh batch in anticipation of the jousting taking place today."

Rowenna smirks as Jarod, pushing her fingers back through his hair and tenderly kissing his cheek. "We'll soak in a long, hot bath tonight," she murmurs — good for bruised bodies and bruised egos. She wraps an arm around his waist and leans her head on his shoulder, turning her attention to the field.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_frederyck wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Failure
< Net Result: Justin wins - Solid Victory

Nathaniel is watching intently, but the slight jingle from the gray gelding brings his attention back to Justin. He hands up the helm, and nods. "By your leave, Ser," he answers, and then runs to the barrel with the Terrick coat of arms painted on it. He hefts a lance from it and returns, holding the lance steady until Ser Justin receives it and tucks it into place. He looks up at the knight, and encourages, "May the Warrior be with you, Ser!"

As Martyn looks up to the stands, Katrin is so bold as to offer a wave down to the Knight but she then turns her attention back to the group and listens politely.

"I don't think I'd wager more than that ten silver," Ser Gareth says, watching the match with a kind of pinched-brow worry for the money he suspects the Tarly is about to lose him. "—Tell me he isn't downing the flask between bouts."

A bit late, for whatever reason might have kept him, Saethwyr enters the grounds and makes his way to the stands. Though his dark gaze pauses to sweep across the nobles already present, a thoughtful expression on his features. He spies Lady Tiaryn, alone as she is, and he starts to make his way towards her pavilion. A glance is given to the field, but then his attention comes back to Tiaryn as he approaches her.

Inigo shakes his head in denial again, sitting back in the saddle. Nope, not here to shake things up. He looks out at the field and then answers, "I think I am honor-bound to side with the, ah, whole-eagle, as you put it."

Jarod turns his head when Rowenna kisses him, so he can catch her proper on the lips. If she thinks a kiss on the cheek is going to suffice, she is so very mistaken. "I'll take you up on the bath," he says with a grin. Relieved of his armor, and done with the public displays of affection, he scans the stands. "Might as well go join the crowds. I'm glad I just took a guard's kit from Lord Riordan now. Shouldn't be that much to get back, at least."

Ah, may the Warrior be with him indeed. Justin sets his horse to gallop down the lists and he lowers his lance, attention focused wholly on Ser Frederyck. They each strike nice, solid blows against the other. Justin is rocked hard in his saddle but keeps his seat, his shield arm jerked hard away from his body briefly. His grimace of pain can't be seen but he pulls himself upright and wheels his horse around to line up for another pass. He gestures for Nathaniel to bring him a fresh lance, his last damaged.

There's a smile on Martyn's face as he watches the action rather carefully for the moment, although he catches the wave from Katrin, smile widening a little bit. He keeps silent when it comes to the suggestions on who that would win this time.

Tiaryn isn't fully alone though as Pariston is keeping a guard over her and watching the joust. He does look to Saethwyr and raises a brow. "My Lord." He offers and might look imposing with his height, though his expression seems soft. "Lady Tiaryn." He offers to her, to inform of the Charlton that comes close to them.

Harlyn makes his mark on his sheet. "Aren't we fighting well tonight," he sottos.

Ser Tarly has a little trouble at his end of the lists, reining his horse too far around, then having to straighten up. He dips his lance a little too far, mutters a curse, then straightens it. He is ready, honest. Wobble. He charges forward, accepting a blow from Ser Justin's lance that by some miracle doesn't yet unhorse him, his own lance striking nowhere near where he aims it - a glancing blow. Oops. He rounds his horse for another pass.

Tia's seat is not that far from the gaggle of ladies, as she considers them her friends. Within conversational range, at the least. And of course, she has a maid, and not one but two guards with her, given the fact that her male relatives do not appear to be in attendance. She's lost in watching the jousting, wincing as Jarod loses and then watching carefully as it's Justin and Inigo, both men she knows. Pariston's voice has her look his way, and she smiles as she spies Ser Saethwyr. "M'lord Saethwyr," she greets softly, shifting slightly as she looks to see if there are any free seats nearby.

There is more muttering from Dania from where she is standing and watching near the lists in the common area. Her eyes are glued to what is happening.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_frederyck wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Justin wins - Marginal Victory

Kamron shakes his head at Muirenn, "I don't need any yet, cousin." He glances quickly over to Saffron sitting beside him, laughing softly, "My Lady Saffron's elbows are not that sharp." The Banefort scoffs at him a little, even as Kamron turns his eyes down to watch the man he knighted jousting. He cheers as Justin remains ahorse, then laughs a little, pointing out to the ladies watching around him, "I do think that Ser Tarly might be a little the worse for wear. Did you see how his lance dipped on the first pass?"

Applauding for Justin's retaining his seat, Muirenn beams "What a good ride! Really Lord Justin is doing quite well." She flutters and eases forward on her seat, leaning to watch intently.

As the second pass between Justin and Frederyck ends in another draw, Kell shouts out words of encouragement to the Terrick Knight, "Well ridden, Lord Justin, one more and he'll tip over!" Is the call, though it may be drowned out with the other cheers and applauses from the crowd.

Ser Hoxley chuckles, "Probably wise, Hammer, probably wise. "I'll settle for that ten. Look at the wobbling," he laughs even harder at the first pass, "He's like a nervous squire."

"Especially considering how new he is to his spurs," Katrin points to Muirenn brightly. "Ser Justin has been quire impressive so far this tourney. He must be doing House Terrick proud."

Nathaniel runs back to the barrel to fetch a third lance for Ser Justin, and stands ready with it.

At the end of the currently match, Jocelyn draws her eyes away from the field to survey those around her. First noting Tia, lifting a hand to wave and offering a friendly smile to her. Then the other ladis take her notice and she does the same to them.

"Boooo! BOOOOO!" Lark hisses and shakes her fist at the Tarly knight. "Knock his teeth into his liver, Ser Justin! You can do it! DO IT FOR LOVE!"

Ser Gareth sighs. "It's almost sad, really. Just not proper show," he says with an almost wistful air as he watches the Tarly and the Terrick rounding for a third pass. "Ah, well…"

"Not a proper show, maybe," Ser Hoxley snickers back at the Tyrell, "But always an entertaining one, our Freddy. One way or another."

Roslyn is still here. Really, she's been here the whole time, for all that she has been only speaking with her lady's maid. As the bout between Justin and Ser Tarly draws on, however, she has ceased speaking only to watch, intently, the man who carries her favor. (At least publically.)

Another pass, this one a little better from the Tarly knight: Ser Frederyck aims his lance true, the weapon splintering as it strikes Ser Justin's armor. He accepts the Terrick knight's blow in exchange, and though his balance wavers, he is not unhorsed. Especially pleased once he regains his composure, he tosses his broken lance aside and calls for another, his round little page scurrying and almost tripping over his own feet as he delivers it.

Owe, he's aching a bit from a second harder blow but Justin does keep to his saddle. Super glue! He's doing pretty well for how banged up he got on the previous day without a proper breastplate. Maybe he's had a few nips of a strong drink himself though he's not swaying. He thundered down soundly enough and once he can turn his horse, slows the grey to look back. He says something but it's muffled by his helm, possibly an explanative. Justin readjusts his grip on his lance and when ready, lifts and dips it once more to acknowldge that he's ready for a third pass against the Reach knight. If anything, he's ready to end this and take the other man out of his saddle, if he can.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Justin=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Justin: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_frederyck wins - Marginal Victory

A fact which Saethwyr notices with Pariston stepping out to greet him. Once he's nearer, he stops and offers a bow. "Good day, Master Pariston, Lady Tiaryn," he offers, a smile coming to his features. A glance is given to the guards and the maid, but his attention comes back to Tiaryn. "I trust you've been enjoying the joust?" he asks thoughtfully, a smile coming to his features. He moves so as to not be in the way of their viewing, being considerate that way.

Frederyck Tarly growls at his page, displeased with the poor lad. Finally, he snatches his lance up, and directing his drunken anger toward Justin, digs his spurs into his horse. It is a close thing, their exchange, but the man in Tarly colors delivers a blow to the Terrick knight's middle, and reels in saddle as he accepts much the same. Wobble, wobble… Ser Frederyck regains his balance once more, and turns to survey his opponent as he reaches the end of the lists.

"Freddy!" Ser Hoxley cheers, laughing in surprise, "Damn it, that's ten to you, Hammer," he says, "I didn't think he'd hold on. I guess he's got to be awfully used to wobbling around in his saddle by now, even more than the rest of us. OVER HERE, FREDDY!" he calls through cupped hands, motioning the Tarly towards the champions' circle.

Pariston offers a glance to Saethwyr while moving out of the man's way to let him speak with Tia. He won't pay much attention to the man for now. The joustin being interesting, so his eyes stay there. Although he has an ear open to listen to the conversation between Tiaryn and Saethwyr.

His shield has taken the brunt of the hits, his chest something of the last. Justin's horse looks eager to go, kept in check until he's ready. Damn, he's having trouble breathing again, lifting a hand briefly to his chest where the lance struck him before he can take up a new lance from Nathaniel. It takes a bit longer for the Terrick knight to get himself ready this time, and then he nods and the signal is given. The grey rushes off when spurred, galloping boldly against Ser Frederyck's larger stallion. The gelding has his ears pinned back, not as intimidated as he was by Jarod's barrowed, snapping stallion.

Both men take hits that rock them hard in the saddles again! The grey blowing harder now, Justin wavers in the saddle and drops his lance, trying to stay a seat. He can't keep his shield arm up but he manages to just about right himself and turn his horse. When the grey stops, Justin … lists to the side and then falls to the ground. He's finished, today.

Ser Gareth blinks in some surprise. "Ah," as Tarly successfully unhorses Justin. "Well, I suppose that's ten silver I haven't lost," he says philosophically. He grins jovially enough as they watch. "Well, you know, and the Terrick's still a bit green. Hard to compensate for a lance that— hey, there you are, Freddy!" He waves.

"Hmn." Harlyn makes some rapid scratchy corrections on his page.

Jarod doesn't whistle at Justin - wouldn't want to distract his mount - but he does cheer and holler loudly as his half-brother steps up against the Tarly. Even more enthusiastic cheering for the second pass. And a wince when he goes down.

"He earned…Oh cousin! That is wonderful!" Muirenn seems quite delighted at the news, "Ser Justin! I imagine Uncle Jerold is quite proud." She lifts her wine and lightly taps her cousin's knee, "Cousin, find out who the Mystery Knight is for me? See whose favor he carries?" Vaguely she waves her fan, "You are able to go down there and talk with all those other men about…manly things" There is a pause as she sees Justin downed by the inebriated Tarly. "I hope he is uninjured"

Dismayed gasp in unison, and a tragic wail of "Noooooooooo!" comes from Lark and Alona, the girls looking near tears to see the Champion of Love is unseated by the Vile Abuser of Sweet Little Pages. "How awful!" cries Lark, mournfully. And seeks cookies for comfort.

Martyn pauses for a few moments as he watches Justin go down, frowning a little bit. There's a bit of a grin there rather soon, as he looks over at Ser Gareth and Ser Hoxley. "Looks like you lot from the south are having the good day today," he remarks a bit lightly.

"Well," is all Inigo says for a moment as Justin falls from the saddle, plainly surprised. "Maybe all that drunken wobbling gives Ser Frederyck some extra momentum," the theorizes. "I suppose Ser Justin cannot fault his horse for this one…" He trails off, peering at the fallen man with some amount of concern.

Tia watches the jousting, wincing at Justin's loss. Oh dear, that must be painful. She glances back over to Saethwyr. "No jousting for you, Ser?" she asks softly, distracted from the conversation of the ladies and Ser Kamron by the arrival of the Charlton knight. Pariston's discrete looking the other way is noted, as Tia holds a hand out to Saethwyr. Jacob and Bethy are quite clearly amused, but they too give the illusion of privacy for a short moment.

Even the woman whose favor this Champion of Love carries does not react so tragically, though Roslyn is also not a commoner to do so. A flicker of a smile might catch at her lips as she catches that wail, glancing over to the girls, but she simply claps politely as is called for.

Justin's horse is not at fault! He's been so good today.

Ser Freddy trots his mount back toward Ser Justin, waving merrily at Hoxley and the Hammer. "I certainly didn't mean to kill you, Ser?" He quips down at the Terrick knight, wobbling some more in his saddle. "Have you a squire to see you from the field?"

Kamron cheers again at the third collision of Reacher and Terrick, starting to crow, "We might have another Nayland and Drakmoor epic — " and then Justin starts to heel over to one side, and Kamron's on his feet, "Hells… come on, Justin. Bring that shield up…" The Terrick probably can't hear him over the shouting, and it doesn't help anyhow, as the new-made knight falls to the dirt, and he shakes his head, laughing softly as he settles back into his seat, "Almost had him. He still showed quite well." Muirenn's words draw a frown and a chuckle, "I don't think they would take too well with me distracting them from the tilts, Cousin. I'll ask around after the joust is done."

Shaking her head Dania heads out into the list to help Justin up and to make certain he can breathe. She moves to pull his visor up and she is muttering. With her she brings that damn basket of hers. She is sturdy lass and she has no issues helping.

Meanwhile, the herald steps to Ser Kittridge, the Groves knight the next in the line of challengers.

"Oh my," Rosanna says, leaning forward in the stands and looking ever-so-sympathetic as Justin falls from his horse. "I wonder if Ser Tarly's inebriation is contagious."

Nathaniel watches from the sidelines with fists clenched, reflecting his own awareness of Ser Justin's precarious situation. When the two knights finally clash with a loud crunch, and Justin falls from his horse, the courier turned temporary squire rushes onto the field, heading for the fallen knight. He first reaches for the helm. "Lie still, Ser!" he advises. "I'll remove your helmet first so that you can breath."

Saethwyr tilts his head slightly to one side, and then he softly shakes his head. "Alas, nay, my Lady," he says softly, a smile coming to his features. "At least, not this time. Perhaps next time," he adds, a thoughtful note in his voice. He steps forward, reaching out a hand to gently accept the one she offers, lifting it to bow over it and place a kiss upon the back of it.

Kittridge seems not sure precisely what is happening on the lists, frowning at Justin's very slow tumble to the ground and even slower recovery. He dons his helm and takes up a lance anyway, riding out around the perimeter towards the champions to challenge Ser Martyn, and then take his place at the end of the lists.


There's no getting up too fast. Justin lays there, breath knocked wholly out of him. But he's alive and manages to drag his helm off, "No squire." But he can get enough air to speak briefly. His face tight, he rolls over onto his side in preparation to rise, "I will live, Ser," breath, "to owe you ransom, this time." Justin manages a wry smile, not yet up. His horse is off somewhere, happy to be cropping grass.

Two other pairs of hands have suddenly appeared to help him with his helm. Justin looks to Dania and nods to something she whispered to him. He's hurt and definately no melee for him, later. With their assistance they get him clear of the lists for the next riders.

Are Rosanna and Roslyn sitting together? Why would they not, as they have at every event before in both the Frey tourney and this. Roslyn catches her words, a small, neutral smile at her lips immediately. "I would not be surprised if Ser Justin decided to partake himself. After all, it is his first tourney and he had much to celebrate last night," she replies politely. She might find some amusement in Rosanna's pondering, though, but she is distracted again by the knight riding up to the lists next.

Okay. Nodding in the direction of Ser Kittridge, Martyn gets his helm from his squire, and looks to the stands for a few moments, to offer a quiet smile and a nod in that direction. Putting on the helm, he uses his left fist to punch at each of his shoulders, before taking his shield and lance, and moving over to get ready for this. Taking a few deep breaths as he awaits the signal to start being given.

Katrin flutters a little as Martyn's name is called and she rises up a little so she can get a better view of the action down on the Lists. Her fingers twist together tightly in a manner that would look a bit painful.

Nedra is making her way toward the stands, just one more figure moving through the crowd, waving her way around the groups sitting together and moving ever closer to where she's spotted several cousins along with her brother in the stands. The words from the Herald draw her attention, of course, but she only hastens her steps so that she can reach the stands before it starts.

Kamron's chuckling stops when he sees that Justin hasn't risen yet, and he shifts in his seat as if he were going to stance once more. Once it can be seen that the Terrick is moving about, and that he's ably assisted, Kamron shakes his head ruefully, "I certainly know how that feels." Looking to Katrin, he moderates his tone, offering a smile meant to be reassuring, "Martyn will be just fine, Lady Katrin. Ser Kittridge is a skilled jouster, but if The Harlaw couldn't finish Martyn, a Groves certainly won't."

Kittridge salutes Ser Martyn politely, salutes the stands, and then gives the signal that he, too, is ready to proceed.

Ser Freddy laughs heartily, in better spirits thanks to his win. He rides over to join the champions, his horse likely kicking up dust at Justin. Sorry, bro.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martyn=spears Vs Kittridge=animal Handling
< Martyn: Good Success Kittridge: Great Success
< Net Result: Kittridge wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martyn=animal Handling Vs Kittridge=spears
< Martyn: Good Success Kittridge: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

"Perhaps he'll learn to be a bit more moderate next time," Rosanna comments gaily back to Roslyn. "Until he is more aware of his limitations."

Hardwicke also stops chattering to lean forward and watch her brother with rapt interested support, clapping proudly for him as he prepares to tilt.

Kittridge charges Ser Martyn when the flag is dropped, scoring a solid hit, but failing to drive the Mallister from his saddle. He keeps his own seat as well without too much difficulty, and wheels around to collect a new lance and begin again.

Rosanna also stops chattering to lean forward and watch her brother with rapt interested support, clapping proudly for him as he prepares to tilt.

Nathaniel looks up to Dania. "Tell me what to do, and I'll be here to help you with him, mistress," he says to Dania. "If I'm not needed now, I'll see to his horse."

"Well, I suppose I shall have to just root for my other cousin as champion now," Dmitry remarks philosophically.

Tia smiles brightly at Saeth's gallant gesture, though she does take her hand back properly, so that the gesture remains unremarkable. "Do sit and join us, Ser," she says with a nod of her head. "I would be pleased to have your company." She does glance over at the Mallisters and company, keeping a vague idea of the conversation over there where Kamron is holding court, more or less.

"He is young," Roslyn murmurs, trying not to seem distracted for all that it will matter. She claps at the first pass, before she fiddles with a pearl caught in the dark, loose hair left unpinned.

"Oh! Excellent!" Muirenn waves a hand towards her brother, applauding vigorously. Thrilled, she reaches down and clutches her mother's hand as they watch Martyn. The younger cheering more loudly than the older woman, though both seem just as nervous and excited.

Bringing Miramis forward rather quickly, Martyn doesn't quite handle the lance as well as his opponent, but even though he looks close enough to fall out of the saddle, he manages to regain his balance at the moment. A few deep breaths as he hurries to get himself a new lance and be ready for the next pass.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martyn=spears Vs Kittridge=animal Handling
< Martyn: Good Success Kittridge: Success
< Net Result: Martyn wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martyn=animal Handling Vs Kittridge=spears
< Martyn: Success Kittridge: Success
< Net Result: DRAW

Kamron gives a wave as he spots Nedra while the horses are being properly lined up, but then he's watching the two jousters clash as lances splinter and both riders stay their saddle. And then the Mallister cheers his cousin, "Martyn! The Rock!" While the two retreat to their corners, he beckons Nedra to join the group where he is sitting with Katrin, Anais, Saffron, Muirenn, and other Mallister women. He rises slightly as she approaches, bowing his head, but then turns his attention back to the lists as the horses thunder forward once more.

Justin can hardly keep his feet but he is determined, a firm grip on Nathaniel whom he leans against. "My horse … goes to Ser Fredricke." Son of a bitch, he grimaces, "Pavilion," There's no staying to watch the rest, he's got to lay flat. Breathes too shallow. Nobody's likely to see him out and about for the next few days.

Katrin flashes an appreciative smile up at Kamron, but it does not stop the tense look. She leans forward to keep her eyes focused entirely on the Mallister knight, fingers squeezing together even tighter.

The second pass, Ser Martyn's hit is better placed, and Ser Kittridge doesn't keep his balance so well as he did the first time, knocked into the dirt. He doesn't look thrilled to be there, as he gets up and doffs his helmet, but he salutes Ser Martyn and gives him a friendly wave before leading his horse off the lists.

Jarod watches Justin head off to the pavilion with a wince. He half moves to get up and follow his half-brother. But, even out of the running as he is, it's still a good show. So he lingers to watch, cheering on Ser Martyn.

"Well struck, Ser Martyn!" Kell shouts out as the conclusion of the second pass concludes with the Mallister prevailing.

Attention caught on Kittridge, Roslyn winces where he is knocked from his horse, only a brief thing before it is smoothed away to be replaced by clapping. She does not watch him walk from the lists, nor does she watch Justin. Instead, she looks to Katrin with a smile. Gj, your knight won.

Nedra shakes her head at Kamron, laughing, as she gains the last few steps. She waves to all of the rest of the women that make up the group and sliding into the first empty seat available without stepping on any toes. Her focus too is all on the field, cheering for Martyn.

Rosanna looks just as dramatically disappointed at her brother's loss as she did the first day of jousting this tourney. She glares at Martyn fiercely and barely even claps. One clap. Jerk.

Martyn lets out a deep breath as he manages to unhorse his opponent, turning a bit to offer a bit of a salute back to Kittridge. He then offers a bit of a salute in the direction of the Lord of Seagard as well, before making his way back to where he's supposed to be now. With a salute and a half-wave up to certain people in the stands as well now.

Anais had been distracted by a visit from an old friend from the Banefort, but as the girl departs, Anais turns back to the tournament and those she's sitting with. "Very nice," she says, offering a smile to Katrin. "Good for you."

Probably not the least bit ladylike, but Katrin jumps to her feet to cheer for Martyn as Kittridge is knocked to the ground. She is clapping loudly and certainly beaming with delight. And she has to look over at Rosanna with a certain smug look masked behind a wave in greeting.

And Saethwyr allows her to take back her hand, in order to keep the gesture proper. "Thank you, my Lady. It pleases me to be able to keep you company," he says, inclining his head to her. With the free seats at the pavillion, he claims one that's next to her, settling his hands in his lap. His dark gaze turns towards the field to watch the lists.

The next challenge goes to Ser Lennard Hightower, who rides forth to select his champion of choice. "SER LENNARD HIGHTOWER CHALLENGES SER INIGO VANCE, THE KNIGHT OF ROMANCE!" It seems the heralds are making up their own knightly names now.

Ser Hoxley Redwyne, busy conferring with Ser Frederyck and a couple of pages about the possibility of acquiring some liquor up in here, finally turns his attention back to the joust just in time to burst out laughing. "Knight of Romance? Hammer, I think you have a rival for best nickname, my friend."

There is a certain tightness to Roslyn's lips at Katrin's display, a curve of her brow upwards that still manages something of friendly humor. "My lady, you may want to sit before you hurt yourself," she calls over, lightly.

Waving a hand, Muirenn cheers for her brother. Delightedly, she bends to give her mother a hug. Were she able she would be jumping up and down excitedly.

The win by the other Mallister sends Kamron to his feet — probably with a good deal of the home crowd, cheering, whistling, and clapping. Once the hubbub has died down, he grins over to Katrin, "There you go… your favor must have helped him a great deal, Lady Katrin. He fared no better than I did at the Twins." Nedra's arrival is finally greeted with a grin, "Neddie, you arrived just in time." Inigo's new byname is met with laughter from the Mallister.

Rosanna wiggles her fingers back at Katrin with a sharp, bitchy smile. "I'm so glad you found one with sleeves," she calls over.

Ser Gareth barks a laugh of his own, bearded chin lifting in surprise along with his eyebrows as he follows Ser Inigo with his glance. "Indeed!" he booms. "Though I'm not sure romance makes one hit all that hard," he defends the utility of being the Hammer.

Ah, the avalanche comes to call again. Inigo nods his head and then turns suddenly in surprise at the herald. Someone thinks they are a poet. He waves, then turning to the other champions, he remarks, "If I do not return, it has been nice to be in your company, sers. Hopefully I will still be in one piece, either way." The last is added as he eyes the frankly giant Ser Hightower and then rides over to the starting point. He does his usual gear-check before start and salutes the other knight.

Harlyn loooooks over at Katrin and idly sidles over to his cousin. "Exciting jousts, are they not? All sorts of surprises."

The big White Calf wheels his horse around to his starting position, straightens his helmet, and accepts a lance. Most amiably, Ser Lennard salutes his opponent with a nod before they're signalled to ride forth.

"No, I suppose not," Ser Hoxley agrees with Ser Gareth, stroking his beard briefly, "The Knight of Romance would have to be all about finesse. A smooth approach, well-targeted force, a quick entry and then a long finish…" he breaks off and laughs, "Gods, where is that wine? Good hunting, Ser Inigo! Knees, Ser Lennard!" he shouts, as if this is a reminder the young giant of a knight will recognize.

"Impeccable, as always," Nedra suggests with a quick grin at Kamron before she turns to Muirenn. "Your brother did wonderful!" she declares. Now that she's seated she has a clear view of the field and settles in to see the next bout.

"Get the horse, Nathaniel and meet us back a the pavillion." Dania says to him as she help the knight off the field. "I will need a few things." She lugs her basket with her.

Katrin beams in Rosanna's direction. "And yet he would still look lovely even without them!" she calls merrily in return. Roslyn is given a genuinely bright smile before she literally jumps as Harlyn suddenly appears beside her. "Cousin Harlyn! I have not seen you in ages. I almost did not recognize you, it has been so long." She beams. "Did you see Ser Martyn defeat Ser Kittridge in the joust?" she asks excitedly.

Rosanna shoots Katrin a disgusted look as soon as the Haigh lady isn't looking. W/eeeeeeeee Katrin. W/e. She looks to Roslyn for validation. W/E, RIGHT???

Turning slightly in her seat, Muirenn regards Rosanna cooly. There is a faint narrowing of the eyes, but then she turns her back on the Groves girl and says nothing, instead giving a wave she beckons her maid over to refill her goblet. As Harlyn approaches, she lifts a brow, "Good day ser?" Her face grows radiant as she turns to give her cousin Nedra a swift hug. "Indeed"

"Lady Rosanna," Roslyn says with a quiet chide to her words, perhaps in defense of her brother or simply for that smile. There might even be a hint of apology in her look towards Katrin, the smile returned as truly. She does not validate, but she certainly does not seem about to celebrate or think of Martyn as lovely.

"I did, I did," Harlyn says, showing Katrin his marked up sheet. "It /has/ been some time, hasn't it? Why, your friend just called me 'ser' like I were an unwanted stranger," he appends with a flash of a bright smile toward Muirenn. And back to Katrin. "Is Martyn of special interest, cousin? Do catch me up."

Grin lingering as Hoxley carries on the joke, Ser Gareth says, "Ah, well, and this romantic young weed will need his finesse about him to bear up under the Calf." He shifts his weight in the saddle, settling himself to await a challenger.

Saffron brightens at the sight of Lady Nedra, though she is by no means getting up to leave Kamron's side. Nope, she's staying right here, thank you! She glances over toward Katrin though, giving her a gentle grin and a knowing nudge. Though, what's this she sees: Rosanna with sourface? Oh wait, that's what she normally looks like. Zing. Saffron does smile toward Roslyn from her spot, her elbows gently resting on her wildfire green silk skirts.

Removing his helm again as he's back in place, Martyn watches the happenings once more. Smiling a bit more than he did before, though. Watching the next bout rather carefully now.

Tia glances over at Rosanna at her comment, though she has to smile as Katrin seems able to handle things on her own. For her part, she simply watches quietly, her mourning colours close enough to Flint Grey to allow her to be the representative, with her good cousins perhaps not present. "They do seem to be having fun, though I am certain that must hurt. You need not joust on my account, if you would rather not," she adds, after a moment.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Lennard=spears Vs Inigo=animal Handling
< Ser_lennard: Great Success Inigo: Great Success
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ser Lennard=animal Handling Vs Inigo=spears
< Ser_lennard: Success Inigo: Good Success
< Net Result: Inigo wins - Solid Victory

The war of bolt glares and poisoned words between the ladies draws Kamron's attention for a moment, and he shakes his head ruefully, wisely remaining silent. He finally takes his seat again, calming down to watch the next match. The man coming to speak to Katrin draws his gaze, the knight studying the other man a long moment before he nods his head in greeting — and then promptly looks back as the tilters charge toward one another once more.

Katrin seems quite pleased with herself as she gives Roslyn and Rosanna an innocent look before flashing a grin up at Saffron. Harlyn then receives her attention. "No, no, cousin, please do join us," she encourages. The questioning of Martyn makes her cheeks burn. "Ser Martyn carries my favor in the joust today," she says brightly. Yep, she's going to be gloating about this for a while.

Nedra beams a quick smile at Lady Saffron as well in return, quite happy to see everyone together. She watches the field with bright interest but can't help glancing around to see who is seated where. She spots Lady Tiaryn in the crowd and waves a cheerful greeting toward Tia before settling back in her seat.

Nathaniel inclines his head to Dania, and assures her, "I'll be there with all speed, mistress." While she leads Jsutin back to the pavilion, Nathaniel scans the area quickly to locate that distinctive gray gelding who is now quite happily stuffing himself with sweet green grass. The courier takes the reigns. He takes a moment to look toward the commoners' area. He waves again to Lark and her cousin. He leads the horse in that direction, and when he is close enough, bows to Lark. "Thank you again, mistress, for the cookies!" he says with a bow. "If you are here later when I am free, I would be honored to see you again. But now, I have errands." He gestures to indicate the gelding, and then leads the horse away.

Harlyn nods back to Kamron, idly, then takes a seat next to Katrin. "Wonderful! A good knight and a tall one. It's always nice when they're tall, isn't it." He curls his fingers under his jaw. "And didn't your favor apparently do him some good? Even better."

Eliminated from the competition once again, Ser Kittridge has changed out of his armor, and returns now, just as Ser Inigo v Ser Lennard is completed, climbing up into the stands to take a seat beside his sister. "What did I miss?" he asks.

Tilting her head slightly, Muirenn smiles faintly "No, please do join us. I merely said Ser in lieu of your actual name." Her grey eyes twinkle in amusement. Rising she murmers to Nedra, "I will return shortly." Her mother and Aunt are given a respectful curtsy and she submits to a hug and a dozen murmered suggestions of an assorted nature from her mother.

Saffron leans to Katrin and whispers something in her ear before offering the Haigh girl a nudge and a grin. Then she glances over toward Kamron. "I'm guessing you aren't well-armored for hanging out in the stands, are you, Ser Kamron? Battles here are fought quite… fascinatingly." She offers a small wink before she glances back toward the lists with a hopeful tilt of her chin.

Unlike jousting against Jarod, this time Inigo sits low in his saddle as his mount charges forward, trying to get as much purchase on the steed as possible. He knows exactly how hard Ser Lennard hits, after all. And hit he does. Both men have good aim with their lances, striking each other with a loud bang of wood and steel as lances break against one another. The Vance knight rocks back far in his saddle, but it isn't enough to unhorse him. The knight of Romance knows how to finish. He wheels around to check on the Hightower knight.

Lennard Hightower lands his blow in textbook fashion upon Ser Inigo, but the newly proclaimed Knight of Romance is good with his lance, too. (See what I did there?) Not as competent in the saddle as the Vance lord, Ser Lennard is knocked from his horse in just the one pass.

As the White Calf clears the field, the herald indicates for Ser Hardwicke to pick his opponent.

"Knees, Lennard!" Ser Hoxley grumbles, a futile exhortation. He sighs, "Poor lug is just not built for balance," he says, applauding along for the tilt, and welcoming Inigo back to the champions' circle again with a, "Very romantic, Ser!"

Her lips tugging into a smile as Kittridge claims a seat near, Roslyn answers politely, "Ser Inigo Vance won his bout." Look, she's so helpful. Her fingers twine together, folding into the bright skirts of her gold gown. She adds for herself and Rosanna, "We were disappointed in Ser Martyn's luck that last pass." She watches the lists politely as she says it.

Even though Pariston have seemed to have been lost, he totally wasn't. Just keeping an eye on the jousting as well as smiling to those that are greeting and waving to Tiaryn. Still keeping an ear open for Saethwyr, having to keep a look out on that guy after all. Just to be on the safe side. Seeing Nedra though does make him offer a smile and a small bow to her, if she can see it at all. Appreciating her gesture the day before.

Dmitry whistles and claps for Inigo from his perch amongst the spectators, living vicariously through another man's spear work.

"Are you familiar with Ser Martyn, cousin?" Katrin asks of Harlyn. She then seems to remember her manners. "Have you been introduced to everyone? Ser Kamron, Lady Muirenn, Lady Saffron, Lady Anais…?" Did she miss anyone? She tilts her head to listen as Saffron whispers in her ear and Katrin bursts into a delighted laughter, glancing across to Rosanna with a wicked grin appearing. "How true, Lady Saffron," she says.

With Ser Lennard unhorsed but alright, Inigo makes his bows to the Lord Mallister and Lady Redwyne, blows a kiss to the crowd, and rejoins the champions. "Ha. Thank you, ser," he replies to Ser Hoxley.

Hardwicke finally bestirs himself once his turn in the lists comes. His gaze slides down the five champions before finally landing upon the drunken Tarly. He spurs his mare forward to indicate Frederyck before settling at one end of the lists, lance in hand.


Kamron claps enthusiastically as Inigo sends the White Calf to the ground, calling out, "Romance!" and then falling into laughter himself. Controlling his mirth, he looks over to Saffron, "Growing up with my dear sister," he glances past the Banefort to that worthy, grins, and then looks back, "Has given me quite the thick skin, I assure you, Lady Saffron. It may not be lacquered steel, but it suits well enough." Muirenn's departure draws a wave, and then he looks back to Harlyn, nodding a greeting again, "And your name is, Lord?" Might as well give him the honor of the title, since he's making nice.

"Oh? I need not?" Saethwyr asks, his dark gaze turning to Tiaryn to watch her for a lingering moment. "But, what if I wished to joust? It is something I considered doing in the last tourney as well. There are pains to it, just as there are to the melee or other events. But, bruises are a part of competing, a calculated risk that one takes to bring enjoyment to those who watch," he comments, quirking a smile. He keeps his hands resting lightly in his lap, fingers of one hand folded to those of the other.

"Broadly," Harlyn says with his flashed smile. "I don't joust myself, but I've watched my share. His shield, I know." He inclines his head in turn to all the ladies and knight, with a "My pleasure. I am Lord Harlyn Haigh, and I—" His attention swings over to the jousting grounds. "Ah, Ser Hardwicke is up! Do you recall I squired to him, cousin? This should be fun."

"Good luck and ride well, Ser Blayne." Kell calls out to the other Terrick Knight, who has chosen the Tarley to joust against. Hopefully Hardwicke can reclaim the champion spot for the Terricks.

"Ah, that one," Ser Gareth says knowledgeably as the Tarly is challenged. "Watch yourself, Freddy," he warns. "Not so green, that one." Obviously, since Hardwicke knocked the Hammer down the other day.

"Not so green, and only sworn to a bird," Ser Hoxley agrees, before saying aside to Hammer, "Wager on this one, then?"

Martyn offers a bit of a nod to the Tarly as the man is challenged, before he offers a grin in Inigo's direction. "Good work there, Ser of the interesting nickname," he remarks, with a grin.

Grown complacent as a few challenges go by without need for him, Ser Tarly frowns. "Bugger it," he mutters in reply to Ser Gareth. "Sam! Lance, lad, what in the seven hells are you doing?" He snatches his weapon up and rides to his end of the lists.

Kittridge smiles at Roslyn as well as he takes his seat beside Rosanna, saying, "As was I, obviously. It's a shame I haven't got a favor bringing me good luck like he does, or Lord Justin did the other day. Though his seems to have run out."

Nedra laughs, casting a look at Kamron and Saffron, "Someone had to keep him on his toes," Nedra suggests before turning back to the field once again. She glances toward Lady Katrin and the midddling lean man with a hooked nose, tipping her head in a quick nod before back to the field. Her gaze sweeps over the field and the crowd again and this time she spots Master Vis and responds to his vow with a glimpse of a smile and a tilt of her head in a nod in return.

"You want your ten silver back, do you?" The Hammer grins at the Hawk and rubs at his beard. "You know, none of these knights have wanted to risk a hammer blow yet. I might as well bet."

Yes, Katrin did miss a personor two. Tia and Saeth. Ahem! They are sitting right there by the group, honest. Tia was even conversing earlier with Muirenn. She glances to the Mallister lady who departs, giving a nod in passing, and then smiles at Katrin, as she appears to be doing some introductions. Saethwyr does catch her attention, and she glances back his way. "Should you wish, then by all means. And I shall cheer you on with all proper respect," she adds. "Just as we do the rest of the combatants." With a sidelong teasing glance Saeth's way.

"I do want my ten silver back," Ser Hoxley nods, "Or I want to give you another ten so I can safely make you buy rounds for the rest of the tourney without having to listen to any whinging about it. I'll put my ten on Freddy to pull it out this time," he says, "The bout, I mean. I'd set different odds on him actually pulling it out right here on the lists, but I'd probably lay a silver on it, never know with him, after all. Shame no one's given you a go yet, I thought this fellow might since he took you last time."

"Thank you," Inigo replies to Martyn cheerfully and blows out a heavy breath. "Yes, I am not quite sure where that came from," he laughs and then looks to the field. "Ah, Ser Hardwicke. No, haha, he's not green at all. He was a champion at the Twins."

"A fine knight like yourself without a favor, my lord? I would think that any number of ladies here are favoring you in their thoughts and only wishing you had asked for theirs," Roslyn replies lightly, tipping a look over to Kittridge before returning her attention to the lists as the Terrick man and the drunken one get ready for their pass. "Are you doing at least better with your bets this tourney, Ser Kittridge?"

Katrin flashes a smile to everyone, "My cousin, Ser Harlyn Haigh," she says brightly. She beams at Harlyn and nods. "I remember it very very vaguely now that you mention it," she admits. "It has been quite some time." Oops, she rectifies her mistake and introduces everyone else. "Lady Tiaryn, I almost didn't see you there," she says sheepishly. "Ser Saethwyr. Lady Nedra," she finishes with the introductions. Now she must have gotten everyone. Hopefully.

Harlyn flashes his smile at the rest. "Wonderful. All these names for my collection."

"Probably just doesn't want to give me a shot at revenge," Ser Gareth chuckles. He glanes sidelong at Inigo, nods, and then tips his free hand back toward Hoxley. "I'll take that bet. Ten silver says Ser Blayne there gives wobbly Freddy a fall."

Anais is easily distracted this evening, it seems, turning back to another round of introductions only to catch the tail of them. "A pleasure, Lord Harlyn," she offers with a polite smile.

Kamron nods to Harlyn's introduction and Katrin's words, "Ser Harlyn. A pleasure, I'm sure." Katrin's expansion of the greeting draws a laugh, "You'd best stop there, Lady Katrin, or you'll have to introduce the whole of the stands." Gesturing out to the lists, he adds, "I wouldn't want to face Ser Hardwicke with a lance. The man may not hit as hard as the White Calf or the Hammer, but he places his point just where he wants it."

"Freys joust?" Ser Hoxley replies to Inigo, brows lifted in puzzlement at the idea. He nods to Ser Gareth, "Done," and then asks the others, "Any other takers? Ten silver says our dear drunken Ser Freddy gives Ser Hardwicke—" he pauses and looks to Ser Gareth, "Hardwicke? Really? I hadn't actually said it aloud til just now. That's absurd. Anyway," he turns back to Inigo and Martyn, "10 silver says Freddy gives Hardwicke a fall. Takers?"

Saethwyr chuckles softly, and then he gives a small nod, his dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Of course, my Lady," he says softly, a smile coming to his features. "Ah, I likely won't compete in the joust for this tourney, though. But the melee does seem likely," he muses with a wink to Tiaryn, lifting one of his shoulders in a faint shrug to enforce his indecision on the matter. The benefit of being undecided is that he doesn't have to say for sure. Yet.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Hardwicke: Great Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Hardwicke wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Hardwicke: Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_frederyck wins - Solid Victory

Pariston smiles at Nedra for a moment as he sees her response and then he looks to Tia and Saethwyr again. Smiling brightly at seeing what seems like a happy Tia. Though he is still a bit wary about Saethwyr, can't be too careful after all.

Harlyn gives Anais and then his cousin polite smiles in turn, but it's distracted. Arglebargle hardwicke.

And as Hardwicke rides, a messenger in Terrick colors approaches the Lady Anais. She bends her head to hear the words, then starts to rise. "I hope you'll all excuse me," she says with a small smile. "But it seems I'm needed elsewhere. You'll have to let me know how it ends later!" And with smiles and polite passes and all the things one has to do to escape, she slips away from the crowd.

"A pleasure, Lord Harlyn," Tia says, acknowledging the introduction. Pariston's movement gets her attention briefly as she makes sure that everything is okay. And then to Katrin, Tia offers a smile. "Thank you, Lady Katrin. I have been remarkably quiet admittedly. It might be easy to miss one or two people in this crowd, especially with the excitement of the joust." She then glances back at Saethwyr, inclining her head politely. "I am sure that you will compete with chivalry and strength, in whichever events you partake," she says softly.

Hardwicke's lance is well-placed in its hit, but it shatters and fails to remove the big lump from his saddle. Expression remaining habitually dour, he reaches for the fresh lance his squire presents him and wheels around for another pass.

Drunken Freddy lays a surprisingly solid blow on Hardwicke, but takes better one from the Terrick-sworn knight. Both their lances crack, and although he wibble-wobbles, Ser Frederyck stays ahorse. He wheels around to yank another lance from his pudgy page, and go again.

The bright-eyed Banefort has not removed that gaze from the lists now as another Terrick takes to the fields. She keeps one ear tilted however in the conversation that buzzes and burbles around her. Her gaze shifts over to Kamron briefly and she offers him an even brief smile before she is back to watching the strike between Hardwicke and the Tarly knight.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Hardwicke: Failure Ser_frederyck: Great Success
< Net Result: Ser_frederyck wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Hardwicke: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

Harlyn finds a thumbnail to gnaw on, his distraction growing intense.

Martyn remains silent at the mention of betting, just watching the happenings rather carefully for the moment.

Senna has been attending Roslyn the whole time, a helpful shadow in Nayland colors behind the lady's shoulder.

Kamron chuckles softly, "Well, he might be able to place his point better if the target weren't weaving and wobbling about atop his horse. I never thought that a man could turn being drunk ahorse into a benefit in a tilt." He nods to Anais as she rises, and then turns back to the lists, ready to watch the third pass.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=spears Vs Ser Frederyck=animal Handling
< Hardwicke: Great Success Ser_frederyck: Success
< Net Result: Hardwicke wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Hardwicke=animal Handling Vs Ser Frederyck=spears
< Hardwicke: Good Success Ser_frederyck: Good Success
< Net Result: Hardwicke wins - Marginal Victory

Ser Frederyck's blow does land solidly enough that Hardwicke wavers in his saddle for a moment, but he stays ahorse, and his lance hits home against the Tarly knight in a solid blow.

Harlyn exhales in all evident relief, and makes a mark on his page. "Good! He had me worried for a moment." He pries himself out of his chair. "Lords, ladies, wonderful to make your acquaintance, and wonderful to see you again, cousin. I am going to see if I cannot get a better vantage elsewhere." He bows and moves to go.

"A pleasure, Ser Haigh," Nedra offers from where she's seated before waving to Lady Anais as she takes her leave from the stands. The contest on the field draws her attention again and she winces at the sound of impact as the two contestants meet, eyeing the horses with marked sympathy as well. "on the bright side, if he's unhorsed he may not even notice when he hits the ground?" suggests with a glance toward Kamron and a glimpse of impish humor in her eyes.

"We must catch up sometime soon, Harlyn," Katrin says brightly to her cousin as she dips her head. "I will come visit you sometime soon at your paviliaon," she promises but turns her attention back to the joust.

Well, this is embarrassing. An alarmingly lucky piece of horsemanship sees the Tarly knight surviving a second pass against Ser Hardwicke! It is the third pass that sees the Tarly knight unhorsed in a spectacular display. He wobbles backward, dropping his lance with a thud and windmilling his arm… and shortly follows his weapon to the ground, cursing loudly.

The Hammer nods in satisfaction. "I guess that's me buying the drinks, Hawk," he says, apparently pleased (or possibly relieved) that the man who bested him last has not been defeated by drunk Freddy.

Kittridge shrugs at Roslyn, shaking his head, "You know, you would think so," he says, but favoring me in their thoughts just doesn't seem to be cutting it, pleasant as that is. I'm going to end up superstitious about them or something, now. I suppose next time I'll just have to try a lot harder to make sure that I get one. As for my bets…" he rakes a hand through his hair and turns to look about the stands, spotting Harlyn not far away. "Ser Harlyn!" he calls, "How am I doing?"

Saethwyr turns his gaze to Katrin, and a smile comes to his features as he inclines his head to her, then gives a nod of greeting to Ser Harlyn. It's a bit belated, but better late than never, after all. But then his attention turns back to Tiaryn, listening as she speaks, and a smile returns to his features. "I will do my best to do so, my Lady," he says softly, his hands remaining in his lap. A glance is given to Pariston, merely at the other's wariness, but his attention comes back to Tiaryn rather easily.

"So it is," says Ser Hoxley, "Damn. Oh well. I can't really complain when Freddy gets beat. Gives me hope for the fairness of the sport, and such."

Harlyn looks down at his sheet as he passes, then makes a see-sawish motion with his hand. "Hope for better luck with the rest of the jousts. As is, you'll come out about even, Ser."

Kamron claps along with the rest of the crowd as Hardwicke prevails, leaning over to Nedra under the noise, "I think you might be right. I bet those… intemperate words were just his complaints of vertigo." Shifting his eyes short of his sister to the Banefort beside him, he adds, "With so much going on up here, and so many bright smiles, I might just give up the idea of participating in tourneys going forward, Lady Saffron. It's so much more pleasant up here than downt here." He's definitely teasing there, given his inability to resist a good melee, even when he's got a dislocated shoulder.

The heralds indicate that Ser Kell is to challenge next.

"You may yet have reason, then," Roslyn agrees as she overhears Harlyn's reply, tracing a look from the Haigh back to Kittridge as she considers the man. "I have to admit, these last few tourneys have made me consider the possibility that knowing one rides for a lady's favor does lend a stronger arm to the man riding. Knowing a lady is praying that he, and only he, will win." She glances to Senna briefly, then towards Rosanna to include, "Don't you think, my lady? You must, given Lord Rutger's performance at the Twins."

With Ser Blayne victorious against the Tarly Knight, Kell knows that his turn to joust is up so he brings the ribbons in his hand to his lips for a moment before wrapping it around his right wrist. Slipping on his gauntlet, he stirs his steed into motion and like at the Frey Tourney, the Terrick Knight doesn't seem to be shy on challenging a skilled opponent, the one they call the Hammer. "Ser, I would be honored to be your opponent." Kell says to Ser Tyrell with a respectful nod before maneuvering his horse towards where Lord Patrek and Lady Syrah are seated, bowing to both and then heading to his side where his lance is waiting for him.


Look, see? Saeth is behaving quite gentlemanly, isn't he? Tia's family shouldn't be worried at all, he's not like a fox in a henhouse, nope. However, no doubt Einar is somewhere around, Tia's good brother keeping watch on her, or at least nominally so. Tia claps at the right times, attention still split between the jousting and her companions in the stands. She gives Saeth one of those goofy bright smiles, and then goes quiet again, to watch the rest of the jousting.

Senna's lips quirk to Roslyn's question, and she dips her chin in silent agreement with the lady. She glances to Rosanna for the other woman's answer, though she does so from beneath her lashes. No need to be BOLD around LADIES.

"Ah!" Ser Gareth straightens a little in his saddle with the bright curve of a smile lighting his eyes. "Excellent. Finally, one of these fellows is willing to risk the Hammer's blow. Ser Drakmoor!" He pounds the butt of his lance against the ground and then surges forth on his very large chestnut stallion, riding briskly toward his position as he draws the visor of his helm into place.

"You are a terrible liar," Saffron says to Kamron with at tilt of her chin. "Not even if I promised you a kiss would you miss a melee." Not that she would promise him a kiss. Not at all. "Besides, I bested the Lady Ghost for a favor this tournament… you wouldn't let my ribbons go to waste, would you?" Her teasing is gentle, marked with dimples and a glint in her gaze. She turns her gaze back out toward the lists as Kell claims his challenge, and she claps heartily for the Terrick sworn.

Katrin watches the interaction between Kamron and Saffron through slightly suspicious eyes but she just grins. They're more interesting than the joust for the moment.

"There we go, Hammer," says Ser Hoxley, pleased to see him challenged, "Good luck!"

After a surprising amount of of tilts (maybe Ser Frederyck gets drunk because he actually jousts better sometimes?), Inigo smiles as Hardwicke wins. "Good show," he says to the Captain of the Guard who now joins the champions, and then turns to watch the other Terrick man compete.

"Well, Lord Rutger certainly couldn't have embarrassed my favor by losing," Rosanna says in an airy voice. She glances down the stands at Katrin and her cousin and her lack of introduction, but doesn't deign to draw attention to the snub. "You really ought to have won, Kittridge," she tells her brother. "You are a far better jouster than Ser Martyn."

Martyn is unable to hold back a bit of a grin as he hears Kell's word to Gareth. "Good luck, both of you," he offers to the two men, before he shifts slightly in his saddle to watch now. Since it's Hammertime and all that. "So, Ser," he offers in Ser Hoxley's direction. "Do you think your friend the Hammer is rusty today, or will he take this one?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure I agree," says Kittridge, tilting his head to one side and then back, "I don't think just the knownig and praying is what does the trick, it's the public display of it. Otherwise we wouldn't need actual ribbons or handkerchiefs, would we? It's showing people that you ride for a lady and usually which lady that's the important part, I think." He glances aside to his sister.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=spears Vs Ser Gareth=animal Handling
< Kell: Good Success Ser_gareth: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=animal Handling Vs Ser Gareth=spears
< Kell: Good Success Ser_gareth: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

Oh, Rosanna is /talking/ again. Katrin's gaze goes back toward the Groves girl and her eyes narrow faintly. She passes a bright smile on to Kittridge. "A wonderful ride, Ser Kittridge," she says cheerfully. "It is such a shame that you were /bested/ by Ser Martyn. There is always next time."

"Or, it is all merely luck," Roslyn answers, timed perfectly to Katrin's words even if she is ostensibly responding to the conversation on favors.

Senna is quietly working on stitching the hem of a handkerchief in knot work of Nayland green and orange, keeping an eye on Roslyn should the lady have a need. And both ears on the conversation.

Kamron nods his head in agreement with Saffron's first accusation, "Terrible. Absolutely terrible." His grin might slip just a hint at her challenge, a mischievous glimmer touching his eyes, but then the grin is back full-force, "Not even for kisses from all the lovely ladies about me." Then again, his aversion to gaining the attention of noble ladies is well-spread, even if it seems to be weakening of late. He bows his head then, admitting, "But you're absolutely right. I wouldn't dare to let the favor I asked of you," is he teasing Saffron? Definitely, "go to waste by not participating in some challenge here." To say nothing of the embarrassment of a Mallister knight not participating in anything at a Mallister tourney.

Alright, that about does it. Saffron inhales deeply through her nose, lifting her shoulders a bit in a manner that perhaps she learned from her mother. "Lady Rosanna, Lady Katrin… let it rest. Ser Martyn bested Ser Kittridge, whether in luck or skill matters naught. I'm certain that if Ser Kittridge feels that he was bested unfairly, he will take it up with Ser Martyn. For now, can we all agree that both rode well and honorably and that we still hold them both with adoration and affection?" Unfortunately, Kamron's flirts have taken to the sidelines for now.

Ser Kittridge rolls his eyes, and turns to smile and say simply, "Thank you, Lady Katrin! Ser Martyn rode well," before turning back to tell his sister in a grumble, "If you put me in the middle of one your stupid little smiling cat fights again, Rosie, I will get you sent home before the melee. Just watch me. I warned you last time."

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=spears Vs Ser Gareth=animal Handling
< Kell: Great Success Ser_gareth: Success
< Net Result: Kell wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=animal Handling Vs Ser Gareth=spears
< Kell: Success Ser_gareth: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_gareth wins - Solid Victory

"Oh, hello, Lady Katrin," Rosanna calls cheerily over to the Haigh, as if she completely forgot she was there. "Who is your friend? I fear you were so caught up in admiring your favor on Ser Martyn that you forgot to introduce me." She smiles sweetly and pretends not to hear Kittridge and Saffron. WHAT SHE IS TOTALLY BEING NICE.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=spears Vs Ser Gareth=animal Handling
< Kell: Great Success Ser_gareth: Good Success
< Net Result: Kell wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=animal Handling Vs Ser Gareth=spears
< Kell: Success Ser_gareth: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Ser_gareth wins - Crushing Victory

The Hammer of Highgarden charges down the lists and whams Ser Kell but good with a solid strike of the lance, taking a good hit in a shatter of wood and splinters to his own chest. He keeps his seat with a solid kind of steadiness and half-puff, half-shout, "Hah," as he wheels the horse round to collect a second lance for another pass. Then something that looks a lot like this happens a couple more times!!

Kittridge leans around the ladies to call back to Harlyn, "Thank you, ser! I suppose breaking even is about as well as I can hope to do lately. Still better than my jousting!"

With lance in hand, Kell closes the visor on his steel helm with the other to ensure he doesn't lose an eye, or worse. Once that is done, the Terrick Knight salutes his opponent from his end and then awaits the signal. Once given, he spurs Havok forward and the steed thunders down the grounds, sending knight and lance charging forward. Lance couched against his body and lowered, aimed across the barrier, Kell manages a solid strike against his opponent while receiving the same blow in return. He manages to hold onto his saddle rather well despite the impact and returns for a second lance. Once given, Kell is ready for more passes, this seems familiar.

Smoothing her skirts with a smile, Roslyn's gaze catches on Senna's with a hint of a wry smile and a subtle communication through her look with the lady. She leans towards her maid to murmur lowly, "Is my hair still in place? Are you enjoying the jousts, yourself?"

At all the words flying around up in the stands, it's probably a good thing that Martyn is safely down on the field where he can't hear what's being said now. He's watching the happenings out by the lists rather carefully for the moment, nodding a little bit at how Kell keeps on working there. See, Ladies? Can't hear you!

"My deepest apologies, Lady Rosanna!" Katrin replies in turn, her smile bright and innocent. "I must have completely forgotten about you in the excitement of the moment. I will be /certain/ to introduce you the next time an opportunity presents itself." To Kittridge, she is a bit more genuine and friendly. "You did quite well, Ser Kittridge. If you had not been riding against Ser Martyn, I surely would have cheered for you. The unfortunate luck of the draw." See, she's made nice with the Groves. But to Saffron, she grumbles in her most adult whine. "She /started/ it."

The fact that his teasing and flirting has gone ignored draws a helpless shrug from Kamron, but nothing more. As Kell and his opponent go round and round again, Kamron begins to laugh, and a buzz starts to build in those parts of the crowd who were at The Twins as well. The Mallister looks over to Nedra, "Ser Kell went seven passes with Ser Riordan at The Twins. I wonder if he and the Hammer will manage that here as well." Yes, ignore the burgeoning catfight. Please, gods, don't let it spill over to him.

"The ones in the lists, or the ones in the stands, my lady?" Senna murmurs to Roslyn with a small, secret smile, leaning forward to adjust the pins holding a lock of Roslyn's hair in a deft motion. "The camps are abuzz about Ser Kell there, though. He's expected to perform well. A few wondering what the Terricks offered him to stay."

The third pass down the lists, Ser Gareth shows that he means business. Centered squarely on Ser Kell, he charges down the lane with a squarely centered impact with a kind of ridiculous amount of power and force behind it — the kind that gave him his name. Bits of shattered lance fly in all directions with the resounding noise of the shattering impact. IT IS HAMMER TIME. WAPOW. He shakes his head a little as he rounds back to discover that this ridiculous WHAM! was not enough to unseat the younger knight.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=spears Vs Ser Gareth=animal Handling
< Kell: Good Success Ser_Gareth: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_Gareth wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kell=animal Handling Vs Ser Gareth=spears
< Kell: Good Success Ser_Gareth: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Ser_Gareth wins - Crushing Victory

And now, Saffron lets out a breath sullied with a small gripe that is completely said in the undertone. "… pain… lots of pain…" Is all that manages to slip past. She finally glances toward Ser Kamron and she offers him a blossomed smile. "I'm sorry, Ser Kamron. You were saying something about kissing all the ladies present, were you not?" She isn't going to let him off that easy, it would seem.

Harlyn gives Kittridge a belated smile and heads on to vantage some more.

"Tell me, I shall do it," Roslyn replies quietly, apologetic as Senna needs adjust her hair in public with a quick glance about at the people seated near. "He has been quite exciting, in both jousts I have seen him in. I would put my bet on Groves over Haigh, however." She flashes a quick smile to her maid, amusement playing at her expression as she straightens away from her to smile towards—Katrin, too. Who knows why, because she can.

While the second pass, Kell struck accurately and hard, his opponent is like a rock, staying mounted. Howver, on the third pass, it is the Terrick Knight that receives a punishing blow that rocks him in his saddle. It is a wonder that the common knight remains on his horse but it seems like the hit has stunned the knight. Trying to shake it off, Kell motions for yet another lance but the Hammer is true to his name as on this fourth and final pass, another amazingly hard hit slams into the Terrick Knight which sends him flying from his seat, crashing to the ground. "Ouch." Is what is muffled through the closed visor.

"Seven passes?" Nedra asks of her brother, turning toward Kamron with a look of surprise before looking toward the field again. She, too, seems to be in the 'avoid the catfight' category and since she doesn't really have any insight into it.. "How did the contest turn out then?" she wonders, leaning slightly to the side so that she can ask this question of Kamron without having to shout. At Lady Katrin's remark she has to fight back a laugh, casting a look at Kamron that conveys a good bit of humor, as she's quite certain that the argument of 'She started it!' was used (to no avail) on their parents in their youth. She murmurs something toward Kamron and grins.

It seems that the Hammer of Highgarden has gotten his dander up. He snorts a little like the fiery chestnut he rides, bears down, and charges without any breath spared for silly roaring. He bears down on Ser Kell a little like an oncoming train and smashes another lance into him with another pounding blow. (Wapow. Kablooie?!) A little breathless as he draws up afterwards, Gareth Tyrell snaps up his visor and squints a little as he peers toward his totally hammered competitor, making sure that, er, he is still breathing. "All well, there, Ser?"

Pariston is quite caught up in the jousting, smiling wide as he looks with interest to what is going on down in the competition. He does glance around the entire place as well, looking around in the crowd. Though it seems he is content to stay where he is. Lady Tiaryn being cared of by her handmaid and the other guard, Jacob, for now.

"A fair bet," Senna smiles swiftly to Roslyn. "Although were Ser Aron here, we'd have quite a show in the lists. And likely in the taverns after. He's quite the performer, but rarely takes the time to smooth out whatever fights might come from his performance. And you're lovely, my lady," she adds in a lower tone, reassuring.

"HAMMERED!" whoops Ser Hoxley, "Well and truly hammered." He applauds enthusiastically.

There is only one challenger left in the line, so it is probably unsurprising that the herald indicates the Knight of Frogs - er, Thorns - challenge next.

It seems like Kell is made of sterner stuff as at worse he may sport a couple of nasty bruises where he took the two punishing lance hits but no ribs are broken. Slowly, he sits up and raises his visor before nodding to Ser Tyrell, "I am well, Ser, well struck, on both of those hits. I can see why they call you the Hammer. Once recovered, I shall seek you out to speak about the ransom." And slowly once more, Kell gets to his feet before waving to the spectators, more to show that he is all right before he begins to move off the field.

"This isn't quite enough of a show for you, Miss?" Kittridge asks Senna, brows rising in surprise, "Those hits Ser Gareth just struck on Ser Kell are two of the biggest I've ever seen by any knight. And for Ser Kell to nearly take them both…" he whistles low and shakes his head, impressed.

The last of the challengers, at the call of his name, rides forward, in green cloth and thorns. The Knight of Thorns rides in front of the champions now gathered, up and down the line once, and then rides back, and lightly taps his lance on the shield of the Hawk, Ser Hoxley Redwyne. He silently inclines his helmeted head to the other knight, offers a salute to Lord Patrek and his betrothed, and then rides to take his place at the lists.


Roslyn nods in agreement to Kittridge at the question, but she is distracted quickly as that mystery knight rides forward and her attention switches back to actually watch this joust as she did not with Kell's. Sorry.

"Well sat, Ser," Ser Gareth says with the barest hint of a chuckle in his breath, and then rides back to join the line just in time to see Ser Hoxley challenged by the mystery knight. "Ah! Another flight of the Hawk!"

Inigo whistles in appreciation at the last couple of tilts between Ser Kell and Ser Gareth. That is what you except from a knight of the Reach, isn't it? "Looks like that sort of getting hammered also leaves you lying on the ground with a headache wondering what happened," he comments with a laugh.

"It depends on what you like to see in a tournament, my lord," Senna replies to Kittridge, tucking her needle into the center of the handkerchief. No sense sewing without looking. "There's certainly nothing wrong with the last match. It's a powerful match, and impressive in the tension it builds. Both knights take strong hits, both knights keep pushing. It's a good deal more like a real fight. But the other side of a tournament is showmanship. There's doing it well, and then there's doing it prettily. And it's the pretty that makes the crowd scream as much as going seven passes."

Still busy cheering for the Hammer, Ser Hoxley has only a moment to applaud Ser Gareth's return to the champions' area before he is himself challenged by the last knight of the day. "Aha! So it is, Ser Gareth. Hopefully the Seven have a bit of luck left for this knight of the Reach." He grins, and pulls on that winged helm once more, urging his horse out into the lists, gaze keen and focused by the time he reaches his end, all joviality and joking dispensed with. He prepares, gauntlet gauntlet twirl visor, and then goes.

Kamron shakes his head as the Terrick-sworn is overthrown on the fourth pass, clapping as he looks over to Nedra, "Seven there, four here. A solid jouster, even if he lost both tilts." The whisper from his sister causes him to laugh again — only to have the sound be cut off by Saffron's words. He looks about for some support, eventually coming up with, "I believe I was saying that I wouldn't miss the melee even for kisses from all the lovely ladies about here." As the last challenger comes up, he shakes his head, "Ahh, the mysterious Knight of Thorns. By my count, the Lady Syrah Redwyne should reign as Queen of Love and Beauty."

"Girls," is all Ser Kittridge has to say in reply to Senna.

Once the flags are lowered, the Knight of Thorns leans into position, digs in his heels, and urges his horse forward in a blur of green cloth. The hammering of his steed's hooves are loud as his lance aims, straight and true, for the Hawk of the Arbor.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Knightofthorns=spears Vs Ser Hoxley=animal Handling
< Knightofthorns: Good Success Ser_Hoxley: Good Success
< Net Result: Ser_Hoxley wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Knightofthorns=animal Handling Vs Ser Hoxley=spears
< Knightofthorns: Good Success Ser_Hoxley: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Ser_Hoxley wins - Solid Victory

Senna laughs to Kittridge's response. "And weren't you just saying, my lord, how you joust for said girls?" she asks in return.

Speaking of winning prettily, there is the next tilt. Ser Hoxley absorbs the blow dealt by the Knight of Thorns, sliding it off his shield with a textbook manuever, keeping his seat. His own strike is not only powerful, but perfectly placed, somehow managing to slip deftly into precisely the right spot to send the green-clad mystery knight off his horse. The Hawk of the Arbor rides through, and wheels around to nod. Yep, that's where he meant to put it. He salutes his opponent, and returns to the other champions, so that they may prepare to crown their queen.

"Is that what you said?" Saffron asks with a freigned innocence in her voice. "I was certain you said you would kiss every lady here to fight in the melee…" There is a mischeveious little brightness in her pale eyes as she holds her focus on the brown-haired Mallister. Her lips remain gently pursed, thoughtful and earnest.

Ser Gareth thumps the butt of his lance against the ground with a loud and boistrous call of, "The Hawk of the Arbor strikes again! What a swoop! Well done!"

In a flutter of green and a flash of metal armor, the Knight of Thorns is thrown from his horse so neatly that his horse actually keeps going for several yards before he apparently notices that his load is suddenly alot lighter. The Mystery Knight, meanwhile, lays where he is for a moment, and though he raises his hand in salute to the Hawk, is rather slow about gaining his feet. As he moves, slowly, to get his horse, it is rather obvious by the stiff way he moves that the fall was rather brutal, even with armor.

There is a sharp wince as the mystery knight loses his pass, a tightness to Roslyn's lips even as her gaze flicks briefly to Senna at the banter. She does not interrupt, her attention instead returning to the Knight of Thorns as she watches to make sure he gains his feet.

Nedra tries, she really does, but Saffron is just so darned GOOD at tripping up Kamron that Nedra just can't help but laugh. That and the priceless expression upon Kamron's face as he tries to neatly step around this particular volley that Saffron set forth and Nedra is reduced to laughing quietly so hard that her eyes water.

"Sure, but they don't understand how it actually works," Kittridge replies to Senna, "Unless you've done it and studied it, you can't appreciate just how impressive a strike like Ser Gareth's was, or just how impossible that hit Ser Hoxley just made was. It just becomes about whose horse is pretty or Ser Aron's hair or something."

Kamron shrugs his shoulders broadly at Saffron's volley, "Well, if that's what it takes… Although it might be a little dangerous. I really don't want Lord Mallister to be overwhelmed by requests for betrothals after I make the rounds." He puckers up his lips, then winks at the Banefort and relaxes them again, "I'm that good." He almost misses the pretty little slip of the Hawk's lance, but when he catches it, he stops, his mouth drawing open, "Holy…" Blinking again, he adds, "That was amazing… tell me someone else actually saw that…"

"That was spectacular," Senna agrees with Kittridge, brows rising as she looks down at the lists. "The image of how it's meant to be done. All the money's in the Reach tournaments, but it's such a risk with the ransoms. And the general level of skill." Her smile slips crooked, a marked contrast to the professional evaluation. "Or it's about the show. Which is as much about build-up and flair as it is about the actual tilt." She pauses then, clearing her throat and settling back a bit. "Forgive me, my lord. My father made a living at this, and I'm afraid it must have rubbed off."

"I have heard rumors of how pretty Ser Aron Haigh's hair is," Roslyn murmurs lightly, her gaze once again sliding between her maid and the knight sitting with them.

"The other day I had been saying the knights from the Reach would be jousting with vengeance after some upsets at the last joust," Inigo comments, obviously impressed by his tone, "But that was beyond my expectations. Some truly spectacular jousting at the end there." He gestures, including both the Hammer and the Hawk in his meaning.

"Mystery knights just aren't exciting unless they dramatically reveal themselves afterwards," Rosanna complains at the Knight of Thorns refuses to oblige her fancy. "I suppose they are not much in the mood for revealing themselves when they lose."

After some consultation - conducted out of earshot because most of it is actually Hammer and Hawk congratulating each other and graciously accepting Inigo's compliment, and then discussing which campsite they should all meet at later to celebrate - Ser Hoxley Redwyne straightens and nudges his horse forward to speak to a herald, who then blows the trumpts and announces, "THE FIVE CHAMPIONS HAVE PROCLAIMED LADY SYRAH REDWYNE AS THE QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY. HUZZAH!"

Oh, Kamron must have said something about kissing all the ladies, but Saffron is certainly locked on the lists as the Hawk so beautifully and viciously unhorse a the mystery man. Her fingers tighten in the green silk of her skirts as if she might be on the edge of standing to get a closer look at the felled knight. She glances toward Rosanna briefly, though she isn't about to admit she might agree with the Groves' Lady. No, can't have that.

"Your father was… a tourney knight?" Kittridge asks Senna, "I suppose you probably do know, then. I still say winning's more important than showmanship, though. All the cheering crowds in the kingdoms won't ransom your gear." He applauds as Lady Syrah's title is maintained.

"Ser Anson Delacourt, my lord," Senna nods to Kittridge. It's a well-known name, or at least it was twenty years ago. It might still be remembered by people with a fondness for the sport. "And that is the very first lesson he taught me." She sets the embroidery in her lap, applauding politely for the expected announcement.

Rosanna claps along with her brother for Lady Syrah's title. "She's pretty enough," she allows of the Redwyne maiden. WHAT A COMPLIMENT.

Nope, apparently this Mystery Knight is a bit too busy losing to unmask himself for Rosanna and Saffron. SO SAD. Instead, he takes his horse's reins, and stiffly and slowly makes his way off the field, back to wherever it is lost Mystery Knights go.

Roslyn marks the Mystery Knight's progress from the field, but she does not excuse herself to see to him. Instead she claps politely as well, agreeing with Rosanna lightly, "She is very pretty. She will be a beautiful bride."

Kamron rises to his feet as the herald makes his pronouncement, turning toward the retained Queen of Love and Beauty and applauding loudly. He even adds a whistle to it all. He definitely spent too much time around Jarod on the Iron Isles. Once the cheering dies down, he looks back to Saffron, "I'm sorry, did the thought of me giving out kisses stop your thoughts, Lady Saffron." He arches his eyebrows at the Banefort, then drops his eyes past her to his sister, "Don't you laugh. Not yet…"

Nedra gives a quick grin but does not laugh, does not - in fact - say anything. Which has to earn her serious points in the ongoing game that's scored between Mallister siblings. She even does her best to give Kamron a wide eyed look of innocence that proclaims 'Who? me? Never!' in bright letters.

Katrin claps with the rest of the crowd at the announcements but she flashes a brief smile to those in her party. "You all must excuse me," she says brightly. "I suppose I should take word back to Ilaria about what happened here." She dips down into a curtsey and then wiggles her way down to escape the stands.

"Ah," Ser Kittridge squints, considering that name for a moment. "It sounds vaguely familiar," he says, admitting, "I haven't really kept up with the tourney news since I was a squire, but he won a couple of big ones in the Crownlands one year, didn't he? Like two or three in a row?"

Saffron joins the applause for the Redwyne girl, smiling brightly toward Lord Patrek and his bride-to-be. On her feet and beside the Mallister knight, she glances toward him at his words. Her fingertips brush aside the bit of fleeced forelock back behind her ear. A conflict of emotion battles it out through the pale panes of her eyes, and she resigns to a blush. "Certainly I could not stop you if you wished to give out kisses, Ser Kamron."

"He had a good run for about ten years," Senna smiles faintly to Kittridge. "But yes, the Crownlands run was a good year for him. I believe that was the year after he met my mother."

Kamron bows his head at the blushing words, "All in good time, Lady Saffron. Just as with everything else I do." One beat, two, as he holds Saffron's blue gaze, and then he looks to Nedra, "Aaand now you can laugh." And the male Mallister laughs as well before looking to Katrin as she departs, nodding his head, "Fare well, Lady Katrin." And then his laughing eyes look back to the Banefort.

Roslyn draws to her feet with a quick smile to Kittridge and Rosanna, though she glances expectantly to Senna even before she says politely, "I am sorry to draw this conversation so abruptly to a close, but it seems the jousts have finished." She adds, warmly, "As always, it was a pleasure. Lady Rosanna, shall we sit together again for the melee?"

"Ah, so it was a lady's favor that spurred him to victory?" Ser Kittridge grins at Senna, and then looks back as Roslyn rises, and says, "I may join you ladies for the melee, unless I am somehow persuaded to enter. But I expect we may all see each other sooner than that, Lady Roslyn. Do have a good evening."

"Of course, Lady Roslyn," Rosanna replies, reaching to clasp the Nayland's hand for a brief squeeze. "I'll look for you in the stands."

It is hard to help it, but Saffron joins in the laughter even as she feels a strange uneasiness in her chest. It perhaps betrays her a bit with the shortness of her laugh. She shakes her head a bit before she smiles to the pair of Mallisters. "I'm sure all the ladies will be waiting with baited breath to receive one of your kisses, Ser Kamron," she says, albeit a touch shyly. "I should perhaps go look in on my cousin, in my father's stead." Ah, she must mean Quentyn. "Do not forget your promise, Ser Kamron," she says to the knight.

Senna is rising to her feet even as Roslyn stirs, tucking the embroidery into a pouch at her waist. "Of course, my lady," she murmurs. "So my father swore," she answers Kittridge with a small smile. "Every knight should carry one, worth all the more from a woman he loves." She dips a curtsey, aimed at Rosanna first, and only then Kittridge. "My lady, my lord," she murmurs appropriately, falling into place at Roslyn's elbow.

After the jousting it seems that Pariston is still around, though he is off on his own to a more secluded part of the area. Though he does let his eyes look around the area, searching for a familiar face that he might go visit. Dressed as a guard still, in leather armor though, and sword hanging from his side. Eyes moving between those still around.

"Well, I shall certainly see your lovely sister at Lady Saffron's tea. We would all be disappointed to not be graced with her presence," Roslyn replies, and genuinely seems to mean her words as she clasps Rosanna's hand. "If I do not see you before, I look forward to your company at the melee, my lord." She curtsies to him as well, a graceful sweep of skirts before she moves to retreat from the stands.

Contenting herself with only a quick grin, Nedra moves her shoulders in a small shrug, glancing toward Lady Saffron and saying, "Well, not all of us," at which point she does laugh, though it's quiet and so thoroughly amused. She rises to her feet as well, "I believe I'll head back to the encampment as well," she decides. "This was great fun, however, though the Archery contest was much swifter, the jousting just looks so blessed painful - to man and horse," she remarks with a small shake of her head.

Pariston looks over to see if Saethwyr is still around. Though if he does not see the man he will be leaving the area for now. Not really anyone around other then a group of ladies. Too many to intrude upon.

With the crowd starting to break up a little, Kamron is able to stand up and step around to kiss his sister on the cheek, "You needn't wait, Neddie." His eyes flicker back to the Banefort, "You may have to wait a bit longer, I'm afraid, My Lady. But yes, I'm still looking forward to showing you about Seagard, Lady Saffron." Shifting his attention back to his sister, he adds, "The horses aren't usually hurt. Not unless someone makes a mistake."

Nedra shakes her head, smiling up at her brother before giving him a light swat on the arm, "Silly," is declared as she smiles at Saffron then glances out at the field once more. "Aye, I know. But it just seems so very dangerous to both horse and rider." She moves her shoulders again in a small shrug before carefully edging her way along the stands then stepping down a row. "I'll see both of you later, I hope. And Lady Saffron, I look forward to the tea that you're hosting," she says with a quick wave and heads through the crowd once more.

Certainly Kamron's flirtation is meant to be taken with a jovial heart, but there is a sudden change within her pale eyes. Her mouth tightens a bit, and she twists her fingers up behind her back, straightening up in her poise. "You shouldn't promise such things, Ser Kamron," she says softly, almost reproachfully. She looks after Nedra with a slight tilt of her chin, and then she takes a tentative step back from the Mallister knight. The young Roost woman who has become Saffron's new maid stands awkwardly from the stands as she sees her lady begin to make a strangely awkward attempt to leave.