Page 099: Tournament at the Roost
Tournament at the Roost
Summary: The post-wedding tournament begins at the Roost, with a joust done Challenge of Champions-style. Upsets and unexpected entries occur.
Date: 22/10/2011
Related Logs: Terrick-Banefort Wedding
Anais Bruce Gedeon Jacsen Jarod Jerold Lord-Jason Lucienne Revyn Rowan Rygar 
The Green — Terrick's Roost
The Green is a large field of deep green grass, nearly flat, that runs along the base of the towers. The road into town runs along the far edge, hemming it in neatly to a confined area where beyond a line of trees serves as a subtle windbreak. This area is most often used for drilling or practice for the guards but also serves as home for festivals, tournements, and another other gathering that might require the space for a large number of the local residents. A well-trodden path winds around the side of the wall and moves towards the coastline.
Sat Oct 22, 288

With the Challenge of Champions due to begin within hours, the tilting lanes have become the hub of the Cape of Eagles. Squires help their knights into armor, prepare horses, and run a myriad of minor chores in advance of the day's festivity. The smallfolk have turned out in mass, some traveling from as far as Stonebridge on foot to watch the noble pageantry. Already, speculation runs rampant as to who the champions of the day shall be.

Jarod is putting off getting into full armor - hot and heavy as that is to wander about in - though he is off to the side giving a few last-minute instructions to his squire. They seem to involve a great deal of polishing and strap-checking. Once he's set the boy to work, the knight wanders away to leave him to it, green eyes roaming the crowd. There's an energetic bounce in his step and his eyes are bright with anticipation.

There look to be two reasons that the lady Lucienne and her mother, the lady Evangeline, have vacated their very prestigious seats upon the viewing platform. Currently the elder of the two women is hovering around her husband and his attendants, but it's toward Jarod that the younger makes her way, dodging through the milling crowd to appear practically out of nowhere in front of her half-brother, bright with a worried smile. "Buttons!"

Gedeon is in a leather jerkin and a maile shirt, but he, too, seems disinclined to put on the cap, gloves or leggings that go with it, just yet. He's a bit less urgent on the polishing, though straps and buckles certainly get a careful inspection, as does the sword he intends to use, checking it again for balance before sliding it back into its scabbard and moving through the milling crowd.

"Luci!" Jarod calls back to his sister, grinning at Lucienne as she appears. His expression is bereft of any trace of worry. He's not in full armor yet - heavy as that is to wander about in with a few hours still before the competition - and has left his squire to make whatever last-minute preparations are necessary for his gear. "You spoken to our lord father this morning?" He chuckles. "I should go wish him luck, before we've all got to be knocking heads.

Rowan, scrubbed and neat and decked out in Oldstones blazon, falls into step beside his knight. "Some lady sent a gift of wine for you, Ser," he says, offering over a bulging skin. After a beat, he adds, "Just water, actually. I jest." He casts a disapproving glance at Gedeon's gear. "You're supposed to let me do that for you, you know."

"I heard, of course," says Lucienne, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Between the two of you, I'll have an old woman's worry lines before I reach twenty. Nevermind. Shall we go find him? I think he was over this way." She turns in a direction somewhat confidently, pausing for Jarod to accompany her.

The blond knight of Oldstones peers over at his squire, lips twisting upwards in a wry smile. "You drank it too, you know. That makes us both idiots." He holds a hand out for the skin through he pauses in drinking to ask, "You actually fetched this yourself, didn't you?" For the maile he wears, Gedeon huffs a faint laugh. "Sorry. First tourney with a squire. You can do the rest."

"Oh, don't fret, Luci. Father's a knight sworn, just like the rest of us." If Jarod doubts his rather senior father's competence in the lists, he doesn't show it. If anything, he sounds all of pride and excitement. "Aye. We've some time yet. Let's." He turns on his heel to wander in the general direction of Lord Terrick, which will take them by where Gedeon and Rowan are preparing, as it happens.

"I wouldn't let you drink anything I hadn't fetched myself, drunk of myself a good hour before, or seen the seal broken on," Rowan replies. "Also part of my job." He smirks faintly, lifting a shoulder. "S'alright. I know you're used to doing for yourself." As the Terrick pair come by, he flourishes a Ser Jarod-style bow. "Ser Jarod, Lady Lucienne. You look absolutely radiant today, milady."

Lucienne latches onto Jarod's arm, so it's from there that she beams a smile at the sight of the squire's extravagant gesture. "Rowan! I'm glad you think so, thankyou. I'm sure it's no surprise that my head was a little sore earlier," she admits with a smirkish twist. "Gedeon, too. Are you wearing a favour today, good Ser?"

Gedeon nods, satisfied, and has a long swallow of the water before offering the skin back to Rowan. "I like your job," he muses as they come upon the Terrick and a half. Smiling faintly as Rowan offers his flourishing bow, Gedeon adds, "You're looking well yourself, Jarod, though of course, you can't hold a candle to the Lady." He blinks slowly for Lucienne's question, though he shakes his head. "I wear no favor as of yet, my lady."

"Rowan. Ser Gedeon." Jarod flourishes a shorter, but still stylized half-bow to the pair of them. "Bracing yourself for the lists, my friend?" That's to Gedeon, paired with a cheeky grin. "If we end up against each other, I promise not to break anything too vital of yours."

Rowan chuckles at Luci's smirk. "Indeed, milady. Last night was abundantly festive." He looks, for a moment, as startled as Gedeon at Lucienne's question. And perhaps guilty. He glances at Gedeon, then away, banishing whatever pang he's suffering by engaging Jarod in banter. "Break him all you want — just mind the gear, will you? Go gentle on the gear." Ser Gedeon's body is the healers' business — the equipment is the squire's.

No one can really expect the new bride and groom to appear too early in the morning, tournament or not, but it would hardly be appropriate for them to /miss/ the tournament, either. And so, Anais makes her way to the Green, finally free of her retinue of Banefort guards. That duty has been passed to some unwitting Terrick guards, now. Which may explain why they lag behind a bit as the lady weaves her way through the crowd, smile bright.

"You aim to champion the lady Anais, then?" Lucienne wonders innocently, her brows raising. She doesn't much engage in the talk of breaking and vitals, shifting slightly uncomfortably at Jarod's side and ducking a look to the ground. Damn tourneys and their violence.

Bruce has been hanging out for most of the day, and yesterday, not under the banner of Hag's Mire, but rather with the folks he grew up and served in the Rebellion with; good strong Blackwood folk, soldiers from Lord Tytos's Black Raven infantry, as well as the troops from Lord Hoster Tully's own retainers. He looks like he's been having a wonderful time, though the jovial knight is usually found smiling anyways.

"Oh," Gedeon flashes Jarod a brief and blazing grin, "I know you won't, Ser. But if you find you need a healer at the end of it, I'll find someone to escort you." He looks over at Lucienne, lips threatening to lift into another small smile at her 'curious innocence'. "It does seem that way, my lady. In absence of any other favors, a knight will fight for the Queen of Love and Beauty." Rowan, he does not look towards at all.

"Which means I get to give favors to everyone who doesn't have one, don't I?" Anais announces cheerfully as she approaches the group, a fistful of ribbons clutched in her hand. They're woven cleverly, with the Banefort colors at one end weaving into the Terrick colors at the other, meeting in the center with intricate knotwork. "I came prepared, too," she add, lifting said fist with a bright smile. "You also have full permission to hide them if it looks as though some other, available lady might be interested in giving you one. So who needs one?" she beams, looking among the knights and winking to Lucienne.

Jarod winks at Rowan. "I'll take special care not to dent his armor in ways you can't repair, my good squire Nayland." If he notices any guilt from anyone in terms of Gedeon's lack of favors, he doesn't show it. Probably. He does pick that moment to idly scratch at the back of his neck with his right wrist, on which he's sporting a favor of his own. He and his lady sister, Lucienne, are presently milling about the crowd of gathering knights. They're headed in the general direction of Lord Jerold Terrick's little preparation area, though they've stopped to chat with Gedeon and Rowan.

Bruce breaks off from his previous engagement with the Blackwood and Tully troops to trek on over towards the crowd of knights. He's armoured, but certainly not for a joust. Spotting Jarod, the Stonebridge Captain of Guard trots on towards him, grinning ear to ear.

There is something more awkward than an aversion to violence going on in this little group, but Lucienne can't quite put her finger on it. She spares Rowan another look, and Jarod for his neck-scratching, but Anais' cheerful interjection staves off any comment or question. "Haven't you," come prepared, she observes with quiet amusement, her smile tugging at the corners.

Rowan makes another elaborate bow to Anais as she joins them, smiling. "Lady Anais," he greets her. "Congratulations once again. I hope your husband will also be joining us?" He smirks at Jarod's assurances. "Thanks for that." He blinks, however, when he spots the favor around the Terrick bastard's wrist — and smiles, hastily biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn't grin like an idiot and looking away. "Very pretty, milady," he approves of Anais' favors, to distract himself, it seems. "Made by your own lovely hand?"

"If by 'special care' you mean you'll miss," Gedeon teases Jarod, smirking a little, though the cheeriness fades just a touch at that flash of a favor. But he quickly nods and chuckles. "That's well done, then," he allows before turning to offer Anais a bow. "Beautigul lady, good afternoon. I would be honored if you would permit me to carry one of your favors."

"Some of them," Anais answers Rowan, flipping through the handful. "This pattern's a little more knotwork than weaving or embroidery, so I'm not half bad at it. Still. The lumpier ones are mine, and Eleanor and Shayla did the nicer ones. This one…" She pulls out of the middlingly lumpy ones out of her fist, then presents it to Lucienne, "Is for you. My champion of joining me for conversation during the joust. Ah, excellent," she declares when Gedeon consents to bear a favor, turning to hold a fist out to him. "I'll let you pick one. Jarod, how do you have that thing tied on?" She leans over a bit, trying to get a glimpse.

"M'Lady Terrick." Jarod turns on his heel to offer Anais a flourishy bow. "We were just on our way to offer words of luck to my lord father. He'll be trying his hand in the lists today. For the joust, at least." Gedeon just earns a snort. "You'll wish I missed after I knock you on your arse." The pre-game banter is more-or-less jolly rather than actually threatening. He's all pumped up. He catches Rowan's smile briefly, and it makes his grin widen to somewhat idiotic levels. "It's…uh…just kind of tied," he says, holding out his wrist to Anais for inspection. It was clearly done himself, or by some woman with big fingers with a love for equally big, lumpy knots. Fortunately, he has Bruce to distract him before he can say anything more concerning favors. "Ser Longbough!" Catching sight of the Stonebridge man, he holds up a hand to offer the man a wave. "I was hoping I'd see you on the field. Naylands have to field some proper men, after all. Unfair otherwise."

Though he was going for Jarod, Ser Bruce Longbough has spent enough time at the large court of Riverrun to know his courtesies. He offers a bow to Anais, greeting her with, "M'lady, congratulations from the Naylands of Stonebridge. With regrets, as Lord Ryker wasn't able to make it in." He doesn't elaborate why. "M'lords, m'ladies, sers." He greets the others, with a nod to each. Then he slugs Jarod on the tricep. "Looking like you're gonna fall into a big pile of mud and muck up all that there pretty armour, ya know. And I don't be doing the jousts, Ser Jarod. I wasn't raised to fight ahorse, alas." He winks at the Roost's Captain of the Guard.

"You dream your dreams, Ser Rivers," the other Ser Rivers counters, "even the impossible ones." Bruce's arrival gets a nod. "Ser Longbough, welcome." Gedeon studies the fistful of favors Anais offers before selecting and gently tugging loose one of the lumpier ones. With a warm smile to the newest Lady Terrick, it's tucked, for now, in the pouch at his belt.

Rowan frowns faintly at the mention of his elder brother — conspicuous by his absence. "Yes, well, the old man doesn't like Ryker to joust — not until he's made himself a half-dozen heirs or so. Still…" He tilts his head and consider Bruce. "Strange that neither my brother nor his wife could at least attend the festivities. I rarely hear anything from my family, Ser Longbough. Are they well?"

Anais beams at Gedeon's choice, sweeping a curtsey to the knight. "May the lists favor you, Ser Gedeon," she says with as much sobriety as she can muster. "And thank you, Ser Bruce. Though I'm sorry Lord Ryker couldn't make it, I'm glad to see Stonebridge so well-represented. That should give Lord Jerold an excellent bit of competition," she grins, then looks to her handful of ribbons. "Do you suppose I should offer him a favor as well?"

"Oh," says Lucienne, quite surprised to receive a lumpy ribbon from Anais. She takes the thing, twirling it in her hand and bestowing an affectionate sort of smile upon the giver. "Thankyou, Annie, it's very pretty." Ser Bruce is offered a curtsy from the dark-haired Terrick, and a smile more polite at his greeting. "Ser."

"I was hoping I'd see Lord Ser Ryker in the lists. I'll admit," Jarod says to Bruce. "Wouldn't have minded taking a tilt at him, I'll confess. Though in general I'm not much for the joust myself." He admits it ruefully, and there is some sign of nervousness underlying his jolly manner about it. "I was hoping I could enter into the jousting in a more low-key sort of way but…well, my lord father needed another Terrick body for the champion's roster." And Jaremy, who much of this was probably planned around, is long gone. But he sure as hell doesn't put it like that. As for Anais' offer of a favor to Lord Jerold, he nods enthusiastically. "My father'd like that, I think, m'Lady. If Lady Terrick hasn't given him one for herself."

"I'll admit, it's been several weeks since I've spoken to anyone other than Ser Rygar, m'lord." Bruce offers to Rowan, his lips briefly echoing the tug of a frown before returning to a smile. "But I'm only a common born knight, the intricacies of the better estate's dealings escape a simple mind." He taps his noggin a couple times for effect. Generally looking pleased, he chuckles. "Oh, M'lady Terrick, I'm not to fight in the jousts. I practiced at jousting a few times, once. I nearly split my head open when I got knocked off. Me, personally, I fight on foot, m'lady." He claps Jarod on the back of his arm again. "Well, I wish ya good luck then. Joust is a lovely sport to watch. From the stands." He winks.

Gedeon opts to keep his own thoughts on Stonebridge and those who rule it to himself for the moment. He keeps, in fact, all of his thoughts to himself, opting to simply listen to the conversation as his gaze shifts from speaker to speaker.

No sooner does Ser Bruce speak his name, than a glance might be caught of Rygar Nayland, tall, lean and severe in brigadine. The knight's squire approaches with the charger saddled and tacked, at about the same time that heralds sounding trumpets begin to summon the attention of all those assembled toward the viewing stands.

Lucienne does much the same as Gedeon, shifting her attention around as he conversation flows, but staying quiet herself. Occasionally she gives Anais' favour another twirl, looking down at the little weave of ribbons contemplatively.

"Ah, well, the best of luck in the melee, then, Ser Bruce," Anais nods politely to the man, as the Terrick guards finally catch up to her. Exasperated as they may be, she simply beams at them over her shoulder. "Ah, there you are. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost." And so the hazing of the new guards begins. "I'll have to try to catch Ser Jerold before the joust."

At the sound of the trumpets, Rowan turns quickly to do a last-minute inspection of Gedeon's armor and gear. He's quick and thorough as any experienced squire might be, tugging straps and potential fault-points in the maile coat, insuring the integrity of his Ser's outfit from helmet to spurs. "I know you've gone over it already," he mutters, lest the knight protest. "But hold still."

Jarod gives Bruce a rough shoulder-clap in returning, grinning. "I'll wish you good luck when it comes to the melee as well. Just…less good luck than myself. Goes for you as well, Ser Gedeon. Now, if you'll pardon me, I'd best get myself ready. Don't want my armor slipping off when I'm getting hit with lances or what-have-you." And with that, Jarod offers another quick, flourishy bow to all assembled and dashes off to be dressed in a large metal suit by his squire.

"Right," Gedeon murmurs, holding obligingly still for his industrious squire. "I assume you saw to the horse and got him tacked? Because, I didn't do that bit."

Bruce beams at Anais's well wishes. "Why thank you, m'lady. Hope the events aren't too bloody. Or are, if you like that kinda thing." Ever the rascal, Bruce calls after Jarod for one parting shot. "Don't break your leg in the joust, I'm gonna beat ya into the ground later!" Chuckling, the Stonebridge Captain shakes his head and moves towards the viewing stands.

As Jarod dashes off to be dressed, several of the other champions are beginning to assemble along one side of the field: Jason Mallister resplendent in silver armor and rich purple cloak, Quentyn Banefort guides his destrier into line with the Seagrad Lord, his horse caparisoned in ominous greys and blacks to match his own armor. The elder brothers Terrick, Revyn and Jerold, guide their horses side-by-side to join them, while a shield brightly painted with their arms are hanging from a rail facing the challengers.

As Anais begins hazing her guards a page runs up to politely beg, "Milady, your presence is humbly requested at the stands, to address your champions and challengers?"

Rowan snorts faintly at his knight's question. "Of course I have. He's just over there, tethered with the others." Satisfied with his inspection, he claps Gedeon on the shoulder. "Go kick some ass, Ser."

"Oh! Right. Stands. Good luck everyone!" Anais waves to the group of knights and squires, then turns to hurry after the page toward the stands. And now her poor, new guards get to try to chase after her again.

Lucienne blinks out of her reverie, following over to the stands to sit with her mother. And avert her eyes for most of the tourney, delicate little flower that she is.

Gedeon smirks and nods to his squire before making his way to said tacked and ready horse to collect his reins and lead him over to where the combatants of the joust have begun to take their places.

Jarod is outfitted in short order with the rest of his armor and mounts up on his own steed, a brown courser with a white patch under one eye. It's a smaller horse than the great destriers taking the field, though he looks to be a sturdy animal nonetheless. Jarod rides over to take his place behind with lord father and uncle, his own shield bearing his black and golden-wing bastard heraldry rather than Terrick colors.

Two Terricks, a Banefort, a Mallister, and a Rivers are finally assembled facing the noble stands awaiting the commencement, as Anais joins her new husband. Waiting beyond them, arranged in order of precedence are the challengers. Those who attended the Stonebridge tourney will no doubt recognize several familiar faces and more familiar armors at the head of that waiting line.

Anais almost runs up the steps to the dais, her fistful of favors still clutched in one hand. For all she's newly married now, she seems almost more girlish than ever, cheeks flushed as she joins Jacsen. "Oh my," she laughs, looking out over the faces. "Look at everyone."

Bruce has produced a waterskin from his belt, and takes a few draws from it as he watches the openings of the tourney.

On such an occasion, it is good to be the groom and heir, as Jacsen is afforded a comfortable seat and an always full cup of wine, though the latter he has only slightly indulged upon just yet. He welcomes his returning wife with a warm smile, patting her seat beside him with an easy welcome. "You do seem to have quite the set of champions arrayed in your honor, I think they shall do very well," he determines, almost grinning as he looks down at his kin, Rivers, Terricks, Mallister, and even Banefort now included in that sense.

Rowan, looking a bit more pensive than usual, takes his place outside but near the lists, with the other squires. Each is ready to leap to the aid of his knight, if needs be, and each wears his knight's crest and colors, young men standing in proud echo of their mentors.

Quentyn Banefort is no slouch. He has all of his father's height, but even more width across the shoulders, and all of it is well-muscled. He's a solid sort, old enough to be experienced, and young enough to still have strength and endurance. Yet he is a solid sort, rather than flashy, and if he's to win out today, it's likely to be due more to luck than anything else. Given the faint smile he wears as he tips a lance toward his newlywed sister, he knows it, too.

Jarod gets a rather pensive look on his own face as his eyes dart between his father, his uncle, Lord Mallister and Quentyn Banefort. But, if he's anything less than confident in being part of that particular company, he manages not to show it. Much. He summons a bright grin to his face, raising his lance to tip toward Lord Jacsen and Lady Anais in the stands.

"I'm sure they will," Anais smiles swiftly to Jacsen, taking a brief moment to smooth a hand through her hair and over her dress before settling into the seat beside him. She takes his hand before she speaks, fingers twining with his, and it's soon clear that she's inherited something else from her father - a voice that could be heard miles away at sea. "My lords and knights, thank you all for coming to our tournament," she calls out to the field, smile warm and back straight. "You do us honor with your attendance, and I've no doubt there will be more honor on the field today. May the Warrior favor your blades, your lances, and your arms, and may you find your own queens of love and beauty for inspiration!"

Gedeon us perhaps the shortest and perhaps the leanest of the men lining up and preparing for the joust. His own shield sports the colors and blazon of House Valentin, and as he glances around at his more nobler (and larger) opponents, a corner of his mouth lifts wryly. Jarod, for his own slightly wary look, gets a companionable smirk.

Jason Mallister raises his own lance- ornamented with a long, winding purple ribbon down its haft, in salute to the lady of the day as Anais takes to the platform and addresses them. the visor of his winged helmet is raised as the knight's solemn regard is upon the bride at her words.

Others are more vocal: the smallfolk cheer, and at least one tremendous voice (likely Strongboar) can be heard to bellow "Huzzah!" The next voice of note is that of Jerold's herald, who motions for a flourish of trumpets, and them calls, "The Lady Anais Terrick, acclaimed by these her champions as Queen of Love and Beauty, shall be defended by her goodfather, Ser Jerold Terrick, Lord of Terrick's Roost and Defender of the Cape of Eagles!" A cheer at the first name from his subject smallfolk. "Ser Revyn Terrick, Master at Arms of four Eagles Tower! Ser Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard, Defender of the Western Shores, and First Guardian of the Riverlands!" The herald draws a deep breath after completing Lord Jason's litany of honors. "Ser Quentyn Banefort, heir to the Banefort! And Ser Jarod Rivers, Captain of the Guard of Four Eagles Tower!"

"The first to challenge is Ser Ryman Frey, of the Twins!"

At the tail end of his wife's call to the men about to face down one another, Jacsen raises his cup in a toast to them. It's a silent thing, with no need to repeat the words Anais has already spoken, and so he imbibes a sip and looks to the woman beside him. First their joined hands, and then her face. "Well said, Anais," he enthuses, gently, before looking back out over the field. "I suspect we shall be gifted with quite the show."

A few playful 'boos' greet Ryman Frey as the grandson (and heir) of the 'Late Lord Walder' rides forward without speech of his own, to promptly knock his lance against the silver and purple emblem of Mallister, nodding once sharply to Lord Jason before purring his own steed to the far end of the field, without ado. Brusque in his manner today is Ser Ryman. The other four champions must wait their turn, as Lord Jason is the first to ride out in defense of Lady Anais' honor.

Bruce decides to make his way down into the wings, where the challengers are waiting. Firstly, though, he's got to navigate through the throngs of excited smallfolks, grinning like an idiot.

Anais can't help the grin that crinkles the corners of her eyes as the herald reads off the list of champions, though she tries to hide it behind a kiss to Jacsen's hand. "Forgive me," she laughs softly, looking up to catch his eye with a warm gaze of her own. "I don't believe I've ever been in this sort of situation, and I'm reasonably certain that I won't be the Queen of Love and Beauty ever again. How foolish could a knight be, after all, to risk your wrath?"

Rygar waits fourth in the line of challengers as Anais' speech gives way to the herald's litany, visor raised so as to better view the passes of those before him with a cold, keen eye. He does not immediately take note of Ser Bruce as the Stonebridge Captain of the Guard picks his way through the crowds, though he is within earshot.

"Ser Rygar!" Bruce calls, finally approaching the Nayland knight. He takes a sip of water from the skin.

The Frey and the Mallister selected as the first combatants, Gedeon stays with his horse who shifts his weight a little. In eager anticipation of competing, one might hope, rather than because of nerves.

Ryman Frey is a stocky, fleshy man beneath his stout armor whose ruddy nose is obscured as the Frey lowers his visor, and couches his lance, awaiting the signal to begin the tilt, in his effort at revenge upon the Mallister. All eyes turn once again to the Lady of the day, awaiting Anais' signal for the joust to begin.

Rygar's head turns away from the Frey/Mallister staredown ahead of him as his name is called. A short nod of acknowledgement to the knight afoot. "Ser Bruce," the Nayland answers in return. "The day finds you well, I trust." Phrased as a question, but spoken without any uncertain cadence.

"How foolish indeed," Jacsen remarks with a mild humor, his lips twisting into an ironic sort of smile. "Though I think as few would argue if I declared you as such, the business of tournaments aside." He glances down at the field and clears his throat, adding, "I believe they wait on you, Anais." To say that he is eager to watch his once and long ago former knight take the field is something of an understatement.

As the knights are arrayed, Anais sits up straighter again, picking out one of the ribbons that have been abandoned to her lap. "May the best man win," she calls, holding the ribbon out in front of herself and over the edge, before opening her fingers to release it to the wind.

"It usually does. Got a few things on my mind, Ser Rygar, but that can wait for another time. Do need to talk to you, when you've got that. Time, that is." Bruce comes to a stop near Rygar. "But wanted to wish my best of luck on you for this. Not a jouster myself, but it's nice to see a familiar face out here." As Anais begins to tourney, the short Captain of the Guard glances over to watch.

Jarod sits up a notch straighter in his saddle, with as much anticipation as the rest of the crowd, as Mallister takes the field for the first tilt against the Frey. He manages not to indulge in any cheering or hollering for the Lord of Seagard, in front of an audience as he is, but he does offer Lord Jason a little doff of his lance to make it clear who he's hoping comes out best in this contest.

"I consider the joust little more than empty spectacle, Ser," Rygar returns stiffly. "Yet, it is expected that the Naylands be represented and thus, here I sit." He gives a second crisp nod in what might be intended as thanks for the well wishes, before his own eye is also drawn back to the tilters as the joust begins.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mallister=10 Vs Frey=8
< Mallister: Good Success Frey: Good Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mallister=10
< Frey: Good Success Mallister: Good Success
< Net Result: Mallister wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mallister=10 Vs Frey=8
< Mallister: Good Success Frey: Success
< Net Result: Mallister wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mallister=10
< Frey: Great Success Mallister: Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mallister=10 Vs Frey=8
< Mallister: Great Success Frey: Good Success
< Net Result: Mallister wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mallister=10
< Frey: Great Success Mallister: Good Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Marginal Victory

Ser Ryman had faced Lord Jason in the jousts at Stonebridge months before, and had been overthrown in the very first pass. The sting of that defeat certainly seems to have strengthened the Frey knight's hand against the Lord of Seagard this time, as the pair break three lances apiece on each other in a trio of bruising exchanges. In the second pass, it nearly looks as though Lord Jason might be overthrown, so stout is Ser Ryman's hit, but the silver armored knight keeps his saddle in a masterful feat of horsemanship. Each receive a fresh lance, Lord Jason salutes, Ser Ryman does not, and the pair dash together, once again…

Bruce chuckles at Rygar's comment on the joust. "I'm not surprised that it's a favourite of women. They often like to watch spectacles with lots of flash and little substance. But, Gods know for how long it's been a tradition, so here we stand. I'm going to be jumping into the melee, I suspect. Anyways, I'll let you prepare yourself. Gods be for the Naylands, eh?" He winks at Rygar and pads off back towards the stands.

"The Gods will watch, Ser," Rygar returns to Bruce's last words. "But it must be the Naylands who are for the Naylands." A short sniff in answer to Bruce's merry wink, and the stern knight ahorse nods a third and final time in parting, as he watches the unexpectedly competitive contest between Frey and Mallister.

"Sweet, sodding Seven," Rowan profanes in admiration, wincing as the pair break their lances a third time. "That Frey's a tough bugger. Unbelievable!" He sticks his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, adding a shrill whistle of appreciation to the crowd's general din.

Jarod had apparently been expecting the Lord of Seagard to floor the Frey in short order, as he looks as much confused as surprised when the contest goes beyond the first tilt. He half leans over like he's going to make some smart remark to Quentyn Banefort. But, perhaps again realizing he's sitting front of a lot of people, he keeps his mouth shut and just watches the men on the field try and dislodge each other with long wooden sticks.

Jacsen's cup of wine is forgotten as he watches the first pass, though his wife is not so fortunate, and his hand does tighten about hers noticeably when, in the second pass, the Lord of Seaguard almost loses his seat. "Seven!" he exclaims, leaning forward, shaking his head as a third pass fails to settle the matter between Ser Jason and Ser Ryman. "The Frey acquits himself well today…"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mallister=10 Vs Frey=8
< Mallister: Good Success Frey: Good Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mallister=10
< Frey: Great Success Mallister: Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Crushing Victory

Gedeon's brows lift a little and then a little more as one, two, three lances apiece are destroyed. He whistles under his breath as the pair of knights ready themselves to go yet again.

"Oh, he's good," Anais breathes when Jason Mallister regains his seat, her own grip on Jacsen's hand tightening. She glances over at that, smile flickering across her features, before the field draws her attention again. "Is it truly like that, in war?" she asks, eyes on the jousting. "I've seen men come together on foot, but a cavalry charge isn't really reasonable at the Banefort."

If surprise is the measure of success, then the wedding tournament of Jacsen and Anais is off to a rousing start. In the fourth pass of lances, Ser Ryman's aim and force are again tremendous, and- whether for the pounding he had taken in three prior passes, or simply for a tilt strong enough to impress Crakehall- in the fourth pass Jason Mallister's shield slams into his chest, and not even his excellent horsemanship can save the silver amrored Lord of Seagard from a fall.

Jason Mallister hits the ground and rolls as a knight ought to minimize his injury, but he remains stiff in rising. Bruised, certainly, but not broken. Ser Jason offers a small bow to the dais, with the words to the Lady of the day, "I have ridden as well on your behald as I was able, Lady. My apologies." For his part, Ser Ryman is crass enough to give a shout of celebration as his foe falls, bringing his steed into line with the four other champions, face flushed and shoulders huffing with the extertion of four passes.

"No!" Jacsen calls out when he watches the lance slam into Jason Mallister's shield with enough force to send the silvered knight sailing from his seat. He mutters a curse beneath his breath at the crass outburst of Ser Ryman, shaking his head. "No, it is not quite like this, in war," he answers, though his tone is somewhat colored by his disappointment at the first round's outcome. "War is far less… polite than all this, my lady."

Jarod can't suppress a blink of surprise, and wince, as Lord Jason Mallister hits the ground. And a frown at the Frey's celebration of his falling. He squares his shoulders from where he sits in the saddle, eyeing the line of challengers to see who'll be up next.

"Unexpected, but well-earned," Gedeon murmurs, though he winces a little for the rudeness of the Frey's joyful shout. He gives the side of his horse an idle pat as he waits for the next challenger's name to be called.

Rowan's jaw hangs slack enough that he might catch some flies. "Holy shit," is what he finally manages.

"You've ridden bravely, Lord Mallister," Anais smiles to the lordly knight as he approaches the dais, only glancing briefly toward Ser Ryman's shout. "And my honor is more unassailable than the twins." There's a brief wink, hard to see from any distance, as she leans down to pluck a golden yellow rose from a basket at her side to offer to Jason Mallister. "Thank you, my lord. I could ask for no more of a champion."

Lord Jason reaches up to accept the rose from anais' hand, with a word of thanks for her courtesy. As he withdraws, the herald steps up once again. "Next to challenge is the Ser Andrey Charlton!"

Ser Andrey rides forward, straight backed and well composed in the saddle, as if posing for a statue as he guides his well mannered steed forward. The three sprigs of mistletoe on his shield mirror the greens and golds of his surcoat as the knight voices aloud, "With due respects to the Lady's assembled champions, I wish to challenge a peer rather than a better. Ser Jarod?" his lance is reached to touch Jarod's golden wing emblem. "I look forward to seeing the steel of Lord Terrick's Captain."

Bruce has grabbed a seat near the front row of the stands, as befits his knight-ly rank. He grabs the water from his belt and continues to hydrate, smirking slightly at Ser Andrey.

Jarod's grin crooks at that, and he offers Ser Andrey a salute with his lance. All of knightly respect. "I look forward to seeing what you're made of as well," he says, clicking his tongue as he urges his courser to take his place on one side of the field. He tips his lance toward the Terrick seats as he passes them. And glances toward the Oldstones contingent area, for some reason. Then it's black and gold-winged shield up, and he's ready for business.

While the others begin to take their places, somewhere amongst the small folk sorts comes a shouted comment of, "Look at the proud Frey! Whoops louder for himself than Lord Mallister did after cutting down Rhaegar Targaryen's center for Good King Robert, he does!" Laughter erupts out of the peasant folk assembled to watch, and perhaps more subtly from a few of their betters.

Jacsen cannot help but smile, just a fraction, at the jape thrown at Ser Ryman's victory, but he doesn't make too much a show of it; the man won and won well in his joust. "Your ride honors us, my lord," he tells Jason Mallister with every bit of sincerity in his voice, and the respect there in his eyes has not at all clouded despite the man's fall from the saddle. He looks then to his wife, to watch her reaction to the next set of jousters.

There is, from the Oldstones contingent, a fleeting look of disappointment as Ser Jarod is the next champion chosen to defend the honor of the Queen of Love and Beauty. Still, for the glance that flicks his way, Gedeon offers a faint shrug and a wry expression that seems to ask 'what can you do'?

Outside the lists, Rowan elbows and shoves a couple of his boisterous fellow squires, apparently more intent on bragging about their knights than watching this particular bout. "Shut up, you lot! Pay attention!" There's a bit of grumbling and counter-shoving, but at least a fight doesn't break out, and the Nayland boy gets his way for the nonce.

Anais's brows rise at the challenge to Jarod, and she leans back over to Jacsen to keep her voice low. "Did he really just imply that he and Jarod were the bottom of the barrel, so they might as well joust each other to make room?" she asks, a faint smile touching one corner of her lips. "Jarod's likely to take his head off."

Knights of eagle wing and mistletoe square up at opposite sides of the lanes, Ser Andrey offering a raise of his lance in salute to his opponent, before the word is given, and the steeds dash toward one another.

Somewhere in the stands, presumably near to the newlyweds and still sitting next to her mother (whose hand she occasionally reaches for as the knights charge), Lucienne frowns. She offers the Lord Jason a sympathetic tilt of her head and a hand pressed to her heart.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Jarod=body+spears Vs Charlton=9
< Jarod: Good Success Charlton: Great Success
< Net Result: Charlton wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Charlton=9 Vs Jarod=body+animal Handling
< Charlton: Good Success Jarod: Success
< Net Result: Charlton wins - Solid Victory

Sers Jarod and Andrey charge each other, the Charlton slowly guiding his horse up to full gallop, as he gradually lowers his lance onto target to minimize the jostling. Jarod's lance strikes solidly on the three sprig target of Charlton, cracking in half for its force, but in a purely masterful stroke of his own lance, Ser Andry manages to strike from such an angle that Jarod is unhorsed, and his own lance is unbroken.

Jarod rides forward hard and fast at the Charlton, throwing the full brunt of his lance against his opponent. While his aim is square enough, the shaft breaks. And Charlton's…does not, knocking him quite cleanly out of the saddle. Jarod hits the earth with a fairly solid thump. He gets back on his feet without any trouble, however. He doesn't seem to have been hurt much by all that. Except perhaps with a bruised ego. "Less agile steel than I'd hoped today, looks like I'm made of," he says ruefully to the other knight, summoning up a laugh. "Well done, Ser." And with a half-apologetic inclination of his head up toward Anais, he'll take his leave of the field.

It's a day for wincing, and Gedeon has another one as Jarod is unseated and another 'champion' falls. He waits util Jarod gets to his feet before offering the fallen Rivers a nod and a small salute.

"Fuck!" Rowan cries out, wincing hard as Jarod hits the ground. He bites his bottom lip, looking pale and drawn, releasing his breath only when Jarod stands and appears unharmed. "Fuck," he reiterates softly, this in a tone of gratitude and utter relief, making the expletive sound like a prayer.

Lucienne clasps her mother's hand unbearably tight as Jarod rides, no doubt awkward for the lady Evangeline - who, unlike her daughter, has no trouble watching. Luci's lips press thin as her jaw tightens, and her eyes squeeze shut, to open only after that splintering crack the breaking lance causes. Her hopes are dashed as she sees her half-brother unhorsed rather than the Ser Charlton, and her shoulders fall. Some small mercy is that he's up easily enough, and the slight little lady leans forward to look down the row for Anais' reaction.

Ser Andrey reins in his destrier at the end of the lane and turns to see how Jarod rises. He offers the fallen Rivers a salute with his intact lance, voicing, "A strong pass never the less, Ser. Had you another inch of reach on me, the result easily could have been reversed," Andrey notes, a smile audible in his voice, although visor obscures the sight.

The significance might be lost on many of the smallfolk, but as Andrey Charlton takes Jarod's place in the line of champions, two Frey bannermen now sit in place of two Mallister bannermen.

"Next to challenge is Ser Lyle Crakehall of Crakehall!"

There is a moment, between Jarod coming out of the saddle and Jarod rising to his feet that Jacsen scarce moves. He takes and releases a deep breath of relief when his brother seems to come out of things alright. While Anais' prediction seems to fall short, Jacsen takes it in much better humor than his once mentor's fall from the saddle. "Next wedding!" he calls at Jarod, with a warm grin, now that concern for his brother is passed.

"Oh, Jarod," Anais groans through a sympathetic laugh as her good-brother is unhorsed, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. She lets out a relieved breath when he rises so quickly, shaking her head slightly. "I'm starting to wonder if maybe a dance would have been better than a tournament," she smiles ruefully to Jacsen, leaning down for another rose. "Jarod!" she calls, waving it toward him.

Bruce is definitely a bit dissapointed as his buddy Ser Jarod is unhorsed. He had been cheering for the bastard knight quite vocally, along with most of the folk around him, and cursed with his hopes dashed. His attention is then focused on the new challenger, the aformentioned Ser Lyle Crakehall, Strongboar. "Ah, this one's quite the jouster, they say."

Jarod winces more at the new line-up of champions than his own defeat, offering his father another of those rather apologetic looks. He doesn't bother to take his armor off yet. The breastplate isn't such a bother he can't sit in it awhile. He offers his horse an affectionate pat on the nose before handing him off to his squire, and then heads off to the stands to join the Terricks. "Next wedding, aye," is the first thing he says with a rueful chuckle to Jacsen. "I'll be a proper champion for you by that time, Luci." Another slight wince as he sits. He may've bruised himself getting knocked, quite literally, on his arse.

A booming laugh sounds from behind the steel boar-snout which serves as Lyle Crakehall's visor. With his brown shield, and house words of 'None So Fierce' emblazoned below the heraldic swine, the Strongboar guides his massive horse forward, and calls- easily audible to the entire field- "Banefort! There's no Riverman can match the steel of the West. Let's show these boys how it's done, aye?"

"Crakehall, you ass," Quentyn calls back to the Strongboar, even as he starts to guide his horse out of the line-up. "If you rob this sister of another champion, you'll have to marry another of them." See? The Baneforts know how to deliver a proper threat. Like his father, though, Quentyn delivers his with a grin and a friendly salute of his lance before trotting down to the end of the list. He salutes his sister in passing, then tips his visor down and turns to face his opponent.

Little Luci winces on Jarod's behalf as he comes to sit with them, rising onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek first and returning to her seat as he does. "I was thinking I might skip a tourney at my wedding," she says, half-serious. "You don't think the Lord Valentin would mind, do you?" Her expression tightens again as Crakehall chooses Quentyn, and Lucienne drops her eyes once more to her lap.

Jacsen reaches for his cup of wine and takes a deep sip as the next round's competitors array themselves, and shout back and forth. "Well, let's hope your brother has better fortune today than mine, Anais," he murmurs to his bride, eyes attentive on the field.

"A Banefort girl? None so fair!" Ser Lyle paraphrases back at Quentyn with a laugh of appreciation at Ser Quentyn's retort. A closed fist is raised in salute to the son of Banefort, as the Strongboar rides to one end of the field, receiving a lance from his squire as he does so.

Ser Revyn might be overheard to mention aside to his brother that, "Manners are certainly more colorful in the Westerlands." Lord Jerold offers no answer as the Banefort and Crakehall knights line up and prepare to charge.

"The Strongboar won the joust at Stonebridge," is Jarod's comment to Anais as the next two competitors get up to joust. His tone is pre-sympathetic. He offers a cheer for Quentyn anyhow, putting his fingertips between his lips and whistling. He may not be confident in his new half-goodbrother, but he's loud, which from afar can double for confidence.

"I heard," Anais nods to Jarod, her grip tightening slightly on Jacsen's hand. "But Quent's the only knight out there who can match him for size. And he's- Well. Well not all of my champions can lose!" she declares indignantly.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Crakehall=10 Vs Banefort=9
< Crakehall: Great Success Banefort: Good Success
< Net Result: Crakehall wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Banefort=9 Vs Crakehall=10
< Banefort: Good Success Crakehall: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW

The two largest men on the field, upon the two largest horses dash at each other. the impact of their charges is enough to stagger both horses and break both lances. Both of the brawny knights look a bit unsteady in the saddle in the moment of impact, but the Strongboar is able to recover, keeping his saddle. Quentyn Banefort, after a valiant instant's effort to recapture his balance, is borne down with a clatter.

Lyle Crakehall hops off his horse at the end of the lane, with another booming laugh, to offer Quentyn Banefort a hand in rising. "Maid's teats, man! If I'd hit a wall that hard it'd fall over quicker!"

It's seven hells of a hit, and horsemanship is not Quentyn Banefort's strong suit. Taking a fall, on the other hand, is something he does relatively well, and he's up to one knee before the Strongboar is over to offer a hand. "Aye, well," he laughs, taking the hand and faking a jibe into the other man's gut with a light clamor of armor. "I'll make you pay for it."

Because in the hand that clasped Crakehall's is one of Anais' lumpy favors, and the Banefort winks a twinkling eye before raising those joined hands to the crowd. "My sister's newest champion!" he declares.

Jacsen shakes his head as yet another is cast down from amongst his wife's champions. "Perhaps jousting is not our sport, Anais," he asides to her with a good humor, adding, "Your brother held up against that far better than most, I reckon, for what it's worth."

Anais yelps as her brother takes that hit, half-rising in her seat until she sees the way he falls. She knows her brother well enough to know from that that he isn't too bad off, and lets out a relieved breath before sinking back toward the chair. "Cayt will win jousts, once he's trained," she says with certainty, only to break into a laugh at her brother's attempt at turning the tables.

Despite his earlier jest at the expense of Rivermen, many of those present here won money betting on the Strongboar at Stonebridge, and many more did so again, today. This- combined with Quentyn's good grace- grants the big man a healthy dose of popularity, and the crowd cheers the two raised gauntlets.

Once the cheers subside, the herald calls, "Next to challenge is Ser Rygar Nayland!" The cheers do not resume.

Rowan, watching this bout with narrowed eyes and intent concentration, sucks in a breath through his teeth as the Banefort knight falls. He smiles faintly and nods his approval at the continued camraderie, however. "Well done."

Bruce whoops and cheers as Crakehall keeps his seat, though it may not exactly be the most fashionable thing to do. He looks well pleased.

"Not mine, for certain," Jarod can't help but concur with Jacsen wryly, as to their prowess in the joust. "I'll acquit myself better in the melee, I figure. But at least you've the Strongboar for you now, m'Lady, and I think he'll do you good honors. As well as our lord father and lord uncle."

Rygar guides his brown courser forward, sitting tall and straight backed in the saddle. He brings his horse to a halt, and stands briefly in the stirrups to offer a short, stiff bow to the assembled nobility. Visor up to leave his face clearly seen, the Nayland knight voices, "It is only fit for the foremost Nayland to face the foremost Terrick." His eye is fixed upon the Lord of the Roost. "Lord Ser Jerold. Let us begin."

Jerold Terrick's face is grim and grave at the oration, unsmiling, although he does the challenge the courtesy of a short dip of his head, before lowering his own visor, and saluting both his son and gooddaughter en route to the end of the lists.

Well, maybe nobody but Ser Bruce Longbough cheer for Rygar, but that doesn't seem to dissuade the Stonebridge Captain from being loud and somewhat obnoxious. This garners him some looks from those around him, though if he's aware of their disdain for his newfound cause he doesn't show it.

Lucienne grabs for her mother's hand again, as Jerold lowers his visor. They can be tense together, this time.

Gedeon leans back a little as Rygar Nayland rides forward and challenges the Lord of the Roost. He glances around quickly to take in all the eager faces before watching the pair of men as they take their places.

"Quent at least knows how to turn a loss," Anais smiles ruefully to Jarod, shaking her head with fond amusement. The smile fades a bit as Rygar taps Jerold's shield, and her hand tightens on Jacsen's. Whatever else she has to say, she says in a low tone, too quiet to be heard by others.

Rowan laces his fingers together and presses his knuckles to his lips, tense as any of the Terricks at the match in the offing. His eyes narrow and his shoulders tense, anticipating the blow. He holds his breath.

Harpy and Eagle face each other down the lists. Ser Rygar raises his lance in salute, and after a moment, Jerold chooses to return the gesture. And then they charge.

"I'll work on that, m'Lady," Jarod snorts in response to Anais. Though he doesn't get into anymore verbal back-and-forth with the Terrick-nee-Banefort. The next match between his father and Ser Rygar quickly commands all his attention. He cheers as loudly as he can for the Lord of the Roost. And Jarod Rivers can be very loud when he puts his mind to it.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Rygar=body+spears Vs Jerold=8
< Rygar: Great Success Jerold: Good Success
< Net Result: Rygar wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Jerold=8 Vs Rygar=body+animal Handling
< Jerold: Good Success Rygar: Failure
< Net Result: Jerold wins - Solid Victory

Jacsen surely hears his wife, and her quiet words, but there is little he pays attention to save the Nayland and the Terrick upon the field, as their horses draw inexorably towards one another. He doesn't quite cheer, not yet at least, and barely seems to breathe.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Rygar=body+spears Vs Jerold=8
< Rygar: Good Success Jerold: Success
< Net Result: Rygar wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Jerold=8 Vs Rygar=body+animal Handling
< Jerold: Success Rygar: Good Success
< Net Result: Rygar wins - Marginal Victory

In the first charge together, the cheers of the crowd- noble and common alike- draw to the greatest pitch yet, of the day. Yet of the knights themselves, both are unflinching upon the task. The lance-work of both kngihts is superb in the first pass, although Lord Jerold lands the better blow, Rygar saved from the ground only by his own blow staggering the Terrick's steed. Both men recieve new lances, and dash once more upon each other. This time, the younger knight scores the stronger pass and Lord Jerold is knocked cleanly from his saddle. The chorus of cheers turn quickly to groans, and several curses. The struggle of highborn becomes the rivalry of the low, once again.

Gedeon holds his breath for the first clashing pass, and for the second, and Lord Jerold's unseating, there is yet another wince and a soft breath out as his shoulders lower in retrained disappointment. He picks up the reins more properly and settles his shield and lance. The last of the challengers waiting for his name to be called.

If Bruce's cheering was audible before, it's downright ear splitting now. He's making a bit of a scene when his de facto boss smacks the Lord of Terrick's Roost off of his horse. Is it really just water in that skin?

The herald seems a bit taken aback when the Lord of the Roost is unseated, and perhaps that explains his momentary hesitation before calling, "The final challenger! Ser Gedeon Rivers!"

This is one clash that Lucienne keeps her eyes open for, clinging to lady Evangeline's hand desperately tight. There's a collective gasp from the two Terrick women as Lord Jerold is unhorsed on the second pass, both leaning forward in their seats to watch worriedly for him to get back up. They share a relieved glance, and settle back in to watch the final challenger.

Gedeon guides his horse forwards, over to offer a tap to Ser Revyn's emblem. He's smiling a little as he does so, what with Jerold's brother being the only champion left. Quite literally, at this point. "Ser," he says with a courteous nod, "Shall we?"

Anais actually rises from her chair when Lord Jerold is unhorsed, though she keeps Jacsen's hand tight in hers. For a moment, she's white as a sheet, though once the Terrick lord is rising, she drops heavily back into her seat with a rush of breath.

Jarod grimaces as his father is unhorsed, by a Nayland no less. He looks more downcast about that then he did when he himself got tossed from the saddle not long ago. He's less boisterous about the final challenge, settling back to watch it with a pensive sort of look.

Jacsen winces, visibly, when Lord Jerold is thrown from his saddle by Ser Rygar Nayland of all people, hiding his frown by turning it towards his wife. "Ah, of all the matches, I looked least forward to seeing that one end poorly…" He sends a glance towards his sister and mother, sympathetic. "He rode well…"

Revyn too is less than keen on watching his brother so unsaddled, frowning in that way the male Terricks seem to collectively know. He's relieved when Lord Jerold is back on his feet, not so concerned for the man being brittle as others might. Still, he watches, and Gedeon is paid a distracted look. "Hmm? Aye, Ser," he affirms, once he realizes he is being called to the joust. "Let's have us a look," he decides, his eyes lingering a moment too long on the Nayland and Bruce to be a coincidence, "At what the son of Geoffrey Tordane can do."

"He did," agrees Lucienne, able to say so since she actually watched. She doesn't allow her gaze to stray from the field too long toward Jacsen, though, being that Uncle Rev is up next.

"Damn it," Rowan mutters. "It would come to this." The ex-Terrick ward clearly has no stomach for rooting against Ser Revyn, despite his allegiance and loyalty to his new knight and house. Nevertheless, the slender lad bellows, "OLDSTONES! SER GEDEON!" with great gusto and sincerity.

Gedeon offers Ser Revyn a slightly deeper nod for his words as well as a bit of a warmer smile. "Ser," he replies, "an honor, whoever finds themselves the victor." Then he guides his horse towards his end of the field, glancing over towards the squires as his bellows out a cheer. Lance readied, shield in place, he waits for the signal.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Gedeon=spears+body Vs Revyn=7
< Gedeon: Failure Revyn: Good Success
< Net Result: Revyn wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Gedeon=animal Handling+body Vs Revyn=7
< Gedeon: Success Revyn: Good Success
< Net Result: Revyn wins - Solid Victory

What Geoffrey Tordane's son is made of is good sportsmanship, if not the greatest of jousting abilities. His lance misses the mark, but Ser Revyn's does not, connecting with the slighter knight and sending him off his horse and onto the well-trod ground. Gedeon pushes to his feet after a moment, giving his head a quick shake. He lifts his lance in a salute to the victor and remaining Terrick champion before gathering his horse's reins and walking, just a little gingerly, off the field.

Rowan winces for his knight's fall… but once it's apparent he's well enough to walk, he steps back — and, after hesitating a moment, hurries off. In the opposite direction of Ser Gedeon's egress.

Jarod applauds as the match ends, as much for Gedeon's sportsmanship as Revyn's victory. He's certainly not overly celebratory about his friend's defeat.

It's not a pairing that Jacsen can find much enthusiasm for one side over the other, though one supposes he might come down on the side of kin, and his wife's champions. As Ser Revyn unseats Gedeon, Jacsen gives out a cheer, along with doubtless others in the crowd. He watches the Oldstones knight, though, until he's made it back up to his feet. "Well, at least my lord uncle managed to save something of the day," he shares with his wife, giving her a smile. "So it's not all bad."

For the first time this day, the champion who rode out to represent Anais is the champion who returns to the rail. Once the Bastard of Stonebridge has ridden, the remaining pair of challengers are of lower station; common-born free lances, and hedge knights for the most part, who ride bravely, but without enough art to unseat any of the standing champions.

"Bad?" Anais arches a brow at Jacsen, lips quirking. "Nonsense. Quentyn went and made the Strongboar my champion, didn't you see?" There's a rose for Revyn as well, though, and a warm smile, before she settles comfortably back at Jacsen's side. "Besides," she murmurs to her new husband, "I'm reasonably certain that I've still come out a winner in this arrangement."

"My approach was too high when I was coming at the Charlton knight, I figure," Jarod says, going into a self-recriminatory analysis of his performance now. "Should've focused more on keeping my seat. I'll look better for us in the melee." He says it rather fiercely, like he's making a promise to himself.

As the last of the declared challengers- one Ser Bannon Rivers, a free lance who made a bold but spectacularly unsuccessful run at Strongboar- has completed his pass, the final five champions stand as Ryman Frey, Andrey Charlton, Revyn Terrick, Lyle Crakehall, and Rygar Nayland. The herald steps toward that mounted quintet, seeking discreet words, before an announcement.

Lucienne watches on as Gedeon rides and… comes off second best against her lord Uncle. She twirls the little ribbon given to her earlier by Anais, looking down at it a moment before offering it out to Jarod. "I think I might go see if I can't catch up with some of the Seagard girls," she announces. "If you'll excuse me?"

If the Bastard of Stonbridge was expecting his squire to… be a squire, there is only a small shake of his head as Rowan darts off in the opposite direction of where his knight's headed. So, he leads the horse to a tough to drink before setting aside lance and shield and working himself out of helmet and gloves without any assistance.

And then there's the last of the last, a mystery knight, it seems. Clad in a cobbled together mis-match of armor, he rides in with visor down, flying no colors. Other than that the figure is on the shorter side, there's nothing to mark him — though anyone who knows the Terrick's stables exceedingly well might recognize the horse he rides as… borrowed. Most unorthodox, indeed. The armored figure rides up alongside the herald. "May there be one last challenge?"

Jarod notes the non-service on the field between Rowan and Gedeon, and it earns a puzzled look. He frowns, settling back in his seat. Though he has little time to think on that. "Huh…" he mutters as the mysterious final knight takes the field. It's a suspicious and very pensive sort of 'Huh.'

"… what's this, now?" Jacsen asks no one in particular, frowning in thought as a mystery knight takes to the field. A glance is spared his brother, and his wife as well, as if to ascertain if there is anyone whom has any idea whom this might be. Of course, that thought does cross his mind. How could it not?

<FS3> Herald rolls Heraldry: Failure.

Six pairs of eyes turn up from their conference as the herald and five champions turn to the final entrant of the field. A few brows rise, a couple eyes widen, and one pair narrows upon the non descript entrant. The smallfolk, who had been about to wander off to their drinks and celebration, have their attention rivetted once again. The herald recovers himself quickly, and answers, "Ahem- yes, Ser. Which of these champions shall the-" his eyes flick to the blank shield, "Knight of the winged leopard challenge?"

<FS3> Jacsen rolls Heraldry: Success.

<FS3> Jarod rolls Heraldry: Success.

<FS3> Lucienne rolls Heraldry: Success.

Anais tenses slightly at the appearance of the mystery knight. It's easy to imagine that /that/ thought has crossed her mind as well, though she doesn't voice it. Instead, she reaches over to take a new grip of Jacsen's hand, slowly - pointedly - leaning back into one corner of her seat.

"The Frey began the day," says the unknown, guiding his horse to the heraldry of the towers. "Let's see if he ends it, as well."

The look Jarod returns to Jacsen is not quite blank, though it's too openly confused to suggest he has any real idea what is going on. "Huh. Well. This should be…huh." He squints at the mystery knights choice of sigils, lips crooking in a smirk that's somewhat fond. When the mystery knight challenges the Frey, though, he has to offer up a loud cheer in whoever-it-is's favor.

<FS3> Gedeon rolls Heraldry: Good Success.

Ser Ryman's face flushes at the unexpected challenger, looking left and right, muttering under his breath, before nodding once. "Very well!" the thick knight gruffs in response, before clapping his visor down and motioning for his squire to bring another lance. "The knight of the Winged Leopard has challenged Ser Ryman Frey!" the herald announces, leading rampant speculation to pass like wildfire through the crowd. Everything from 'The Young Lord Patrek Mallister, avenging his father' (patently ridiculous, given that the young lord is not yet even ten) to the exiled Ser Jaremy in disguise. Anticipation is high.

Lucienne spares a glance for the mystery knight, and then continues on her way to catch up with those Seagard girls with a bit of a frown.

The most of his armor removed, Gedeon glances over at the field, looks away and then glances back again. He squints, just slightly and exhales. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters under his breath, though quietly enough that perhaps the only one to hear him will be the horse.

The Winged Leopard inclines his head to his opponent, hefting his lance. "Warrior be with you." He turns, then, to salute the newly minted Lady Terrick, and goes to take his place at the opposite end of the lists.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mystery=8
< Frey: Failure Mystery: Success
< Net Result: Mystery wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mystery=6 Vs Frey=8
< Mystery: Failure Frey: Good Success
< Net Result: Frey wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Frey=8 Vs Mystery=8
< Frey: Failure Mystery: Great Success
< Net Result: Mystery wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Mystery=6 Vs Frey=8
< Mystery: Good Success Frey: Good Success
< Net Result: Mystery wins - Marginal Victory

Both knights ride hard at each other- if lacking slightly in polish, both charge with vim. The first pass strikes both lances against shields, but leave both hafts intact, neither knight scoring a point. Each still armed with their first lance (Lord Jason Mallister has sent his squire to supply the mystery knight with a spare, should he have need of it, only adding to the speculation), they couch and charge again. In a feat of nimble horsemanship, the Knight of the Winged Leopard evades Ryman's lance entirely, scoring a blow that puts the fleshy Frey so off balance that moments later he tumbles into the dirt.

Anais gasps as the leopard knight dodges Frey's lance, a delighted smile flashing across her features. "Did you /see/ that?" she grins to Jacsen, giving his arm a little shake. As though he might have missed it.

The Winged Leopard brings his mount 'round, all ready for another pass — when it appears that he registers his opponent in the dirt. Those nearest can hear the unknown laugh within his helm, and subsequently exclaim, "Holy fuck!" He dismounts and strides to give the Frey a hand to his feet.

He most certainly did not miss it, though he can't quite decide if he is pleased or not that the smug Frey is dismounted so. But with that exclamation, Jacsen can be heard to exhale. "Well, at least it's not…" He does not finish that sentence, drowning it in a mouthful of wine. "You should see if the mystery knight will reveal himself, Anais?"

Gedeon watches the competition from where he stands, slowly removing the protective gear from his horse. A corner of his mouth lifts as it's the Frey that falls, but he lets the crowd do the cheering. He returns his attentions to the task at hand.

"Ha!" Jarod's barked laugh is surprised when the mystery knight unhorses the Frey, but it's pleasantly so. He cheers, very loudly. And, as demonstrated, Jarod Rivers can be very loud when he puts his mind to it. He even puts two fingers between his lips and elicits and ear-piercing whistle for the victory.

Ryman Frey earned no goodwill from the crows with his crass conduct after the Mallister bout, and his fall at the hands of the unknown (I told you, it's Young Lord Patrek!) is met by loud and raucous cheering. Ryman does not manage the good grace of those defeated previously, storming off the field and refusing the mystery kngiht's hand in rising. The Knight of the winged Leopard is left to retake his horse and join the other four champions, all of whom regard the unknown with keen attention.

And the mystery knight does so, shrugging slightly (very slightly, given the armor) and turning to join the champions, ahorse.

Anais grins at Jacsen, leaning over to brush a kiss to his cheek before standing, her hands on the rail. "Ser Knight," she calls across the field with a bright smile. "That was well-fought and well-ridden indeed. Will you show us your face, that you might be lauded this evening by the young ladies you've so impressed?"

Andrey Charlton leans toward Ser Rygar to speak a quiet word, to which the Nayland offers only a short nod, as the four prior champions regard the mystery knight receiving the gratitude of the Queen of Love and Beauty. Strongboar is merrily recounting the time his squire (nicknamed 'Bacon') tried the same thing against Tygett Lannister, and how poorly it had turned out for him. Revyn still looks to be in a black mood for whatever discussion had been underway prior to the Frey's unhorsing.

The Winged Leopard bows his head in assent to the lady's request, and removes his helm, shaking his dark curls free. "I am no Ser, Lady Anais, forgive me," says Rowan Nayland, his voice pitched clear and carrying. "But you are so clearly the rightful Queen of Love and Beauty, I could not sit by and let such an unbalanced panel stand. I am certain the Warrior gave me victory today because He is a little in love with you, Himself. As all men should be." He gives the newest Terrick a winning smile.

The revelation (although most of the smallfolk don't recognize Rowan on sight, allowing the rumor of Patrek Mallister's prowess to survive a bit longer) does have the immediate effect of the herald raising his voice to declare, "Then the champions have spoken: Lady Anais Terrick remains the Queen of Love and Beauty by their consent!" That manages to brighten Revyn's mood, as well as earning a rousing cheer from the partisan Terrick crowd.

Anais laughs delightedly once more when the mystery knight turns out to be Rowan Nayland, smile broad across her features. "You may not yet be a knight in name, but you are truly a knight at heart," she assures, placing a hand over her own. She looks over to Gedeon then, arching a brow with a mummer's gift for expression. "Though perhaps your knight may reconsider after that performance." Nimble fingers twist the stem of one of those golden roses with one of the /less/ lump ribbons, and she holds it out. "Thank you," she says, more for Rowan's ears than the crowd's.

"I taught him everything he knows, you know," Jarod informs those seating near him, as to Rowan. He looks quite proud, and continues to clap enthusiastically along with the cheering crowd.

Rowan stands in the stirrups to accept the favor, smiling warmly at Anais. "I am ever at your service, my lady." And he glances over at Gedeon, grimacing a little, nodding. "I am so very in the dog house."

For that look from Anais, Gedeon passes the horse off to some unsuspecting squire who's caught staring rather than working. He strides out to the field to offer a deep bow and look up at Anais. "My lady," he begins, voice raised so it can be heard easily, "as young Rowan Nayland has offered such a fine showing today and boldly protected your rightful title as Queen of Love and Beauty, I ask that he be permitted to join the melee and finish proving the strength of his skills in honorable combat."

Ser Revyn is first among the champions to offer congratulation to Rowan, as the young rider turns away from Anais, a hand offered to clasp, with a word of congratulation. Strongboar is next, giving Rowan's slight shoulders a bruising thump of approval. Andrey Charlton has courteous words, commending Rowan's horsemanship, leaving only Rygar who has yet to greet the younger Nayland.

The revelation makes Jacsen's lips curl, equal parts pleased and amused, and there is a certain palpable relief that his bride is left with her title intact. "It seems you taught him well, brother!" he calls over at Jarod's boasting, though he might be found to frown at Gedeon's request when it is put to Anais.

Young Rowan Nayland barks a laugh and slaps his thigh, looking mightily pleased. Under his breath, however, he mutters to Gedeon, "You mean to beat the shit out of me, don't you?" But then there's congratulations to be accepted, and honestly, one cannot say the lad doesn't take them beaming. He's gracious and humble, offering praise to his fellow champions in turn, his mood ebullient. Yes, certainly he's in for it later. For now — it's a good day.

"If Rowan desires to prove his mettle in the melee as well, then I would not dare stop him," Anais answers Gedeon's request with a wry smile, leaving it open. "I'm not sure anyone could, actually," she adds with a wink before she moves back toward her seat, grinning at Jarod as well. "Quite well done, Jarod. Quite."

Gedeon offers another bow for Anais's reply and, at least for the moment, no reply to Rowan's murmured query. He leaves the field to the victors, and heads back to his horse to get it stabled or at least handed off to a stablehand who can do the job for him.

Rygar at last takes his turn to face young Rowan, once the Queen of Love and Beauty and the squire's knight have had their words. "Rowan," the stern Nayland greets evenly. "Your lance work is rather rough, you will need to improve it greatly." A drawn breath and short nod to the younger Nayland. "Today is one, cousin."

"Better than I taught myself, at least so far as today goes," Jarod replies wryly to Jacsen. "I think I'll go offer my congratulations proper. And get my squire to help me out of this armor. This breastplate's getting rather heavy." With that he stands, heading down from the seats and back to the field, where he'll sort of get in line to offer congrats to the squire.

Rowan bows his head to Rygar, seeming as pleased by the other Nayland's critique as he has been by any praise. "Cousin, I thank you for the instruction." He nods, taking a deep breath and smiling. "Today is one," he agrees. "But I am a squire yet, and I fear I must leave you all," he announces. "There is my knight's horse yet to attend, kind as he's been to allow my neglect thus far." He sees Jarod in the queue, winks at his former Ser, but nonetheless hurries now to return to his duty.

"Nicely done, lad!" Jarod hollers after his ex-squire. He seems to have more to say, but that'll have to wait. He does linger on the field to try and settle matters with Ser Andrey Charlton. A joust loser traditionally has to pay the cost to 'ransom' his armor back from the man who beats him, after all. Fortunately, Ser Jarod Rivers does not gear himself in particularly expensive arms. And he offers to pay some of it in drinks and other entertainment at the Rockcliff for Ser Charlton.