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Fantasy Game of Thrones: House Harper a tale of fate (IC)

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Keggee311

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The spiral that had attached itself to the Harper's started with the war of The Nine Penny King's. A young Gerald III had taken his father's place to war. His father's infirm nature had led the young man to power early in life. Taking up their ancestral blade 'Siren' he rode to war.

While the young Gerald III distinguished himself as a capable commander on the field something tragic had happened. During the last of the battles on the Stepstones Gerald met a mercenary in combat that had unfathomable strength. Gerald was on the defensive for once. Blow after massive blow the Valayrian sword cracked and broke not once but twice. Leaving the priceless blade in three pieces.

Eventually, Gerald outmanoeuvred his opponent. Gutting the Volantine with what was left of his sword in the man's back. Breaking the sword of his lineage soured his mindset. Adding salt to the wound was finding out his father had passed while fighting in the south. It was almost as if the sword and the man had been tethered together in some way.

The Harper's had eventually declared for Robert in his Rebellion. Seeing the sheer number of lords and troops that had committed to the usurper. It was better to be on the winning side, after all, that and their overlord had called for their banner and their men. Harp's men as they were called had been stirred and rose for battle with a little over two thousand men in all.

Participating in the battle of Stony Sept/Battle of the Bells had depleted the numbers of Gerald III's men. Regrouping at what later become known as Ruby Ford. Gerald III had within the next three days been ordered to hold the ford against royal forces. While he had done so, the late lord fell in the battle along with almost all of his men save for a sparse hundred. The late lord's sons had been among those lucky few to survive the slaughter. Severely undermanned, the Harpers limped home, licking their wounds as a new lord settled into his new position.

King Robert later called their stand a heroic sacrifice. A fancy word for the house nearly being obliterated. For their pain and suffering, House Harper was given additional lands to lessen the blow they had received.

Again the Harper's will be called upon for war. Will they answer the call, sit idly by or betray the liege? Can they stand to be bled again for petty nonsense?
 
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Jenye's most prominent guest had come in the form of Lord Mallister and his entourage. He came just the day before. Letting the aging lord eat and drink his fill, perhaps a bit more than she should have let him. Waking from her feather bed she had sole ownership of while her husband had been away. Gods she loved having the entire bed to herself. Her luscious form stretched, taking up the whole bed that was laced in blue and yellow.

It wasn't long after that long stretch that her ladies came filing in to help her dress and prepare herself for the duties that required her attention. Agitated by the intrusion but it had been necessary, too much work needed to be done. Wasting no time Jeyne rose and let the ladies work their magic. She often wondered how she would survive without them.

Suddenly though as the flurry of dresses swarmed around her, a single hard knock sounded. "Come in." She sounded loud enough for who was at the door. She knew who it was though and had no problems with the good maester seeing her getting changed.

"Seems Lord Mallister and entourage have drunk most of our Dornish Red reserves my lady." Maester Wallace sounded as he walked slowly into her chambers. His footsteps had been heavy but docile.

"I feared as much. Restock after the good lord has left." Her plump pink lips curved into a slight smile as the last of her fishtail braid had been tied.

"Also this has come in." Wallace extended his hand towards Jenye, letting her take it when she had finished dressing. The message came in the morning's twilight hours.

Pulling the drawstring on her dress tight before giving herself one final inspection in the mirror. Her assets while they sagged with age we're brought back to life as the drawstring tightened. "Continue on." She motioned towards the women that had dressed her. Jeyne delicately took the scroll from the maester's large hands as she exited her chambers with maester following closely.

"Let us eat first, then we will talk business after." Jeyne broke the sealed as the pair walked towards the great hall. Wallace parted ways with her to reconvene at a later time.

She would refrain from reading it until she had sat down. The business of marriage was more cutthroat than most people realized. Finding a good woman for Arren that would produce healthy children certainly proved to be a difficult task.

Luckily no one was up yet, well none of the guests. Servants carried about their duties as she took her rightful seat. A light airy wine made within their own lands with fresh baked white bread still steaming and a freshly caught trout with the skin brown from the oven had been served to her.

Skimming through the contents of the scroll as her food cooled. Thank the seven, her firstborn son would soon have a good wife but now she needed to find another match for her second-born son. Exhaling a sigh of relief as one mountainous burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Sipping once from her goblet, letting the light fruity flavor of the time attack her tongue. Just then as she drank she felt his presence. Maynard, like his brother, had the same aura about them, at least in her opinion. Nodding towards the man and his wife as guests started moving into the great hall.

"Maynard, Fianna I hope you slept well. Hopefully Lord Mallister didn't keep you up too long last night." Nibbling at the bread, letting the pair get comfortable before she tells them about Arren's upcoming marriage. She had remained quiet about the subject of her son's future marriage. Revealing that a match would be made soon but never who it might be.

"It seems that good news has found its way into our home. Lord Crakehall has consented his daughter to marry Arren." Addressing Maynard and his wife with the news. Sipping on her wine, washing away the dryness in her mouth from the bread she had nibbled on just prior to her speaking. Hopefully, the news of his nephew getting married would at least bring a smile to Maynard's face.

"Now the daunting task of finding a second lady for Rylen." Her comment wasn't loud but everyone had been sitting towards the kitchen which was next to the lord's seat, so everyone knew that a second bride was needed.

Bone2pick Bone2pick
 
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Lord Harper was attending the Tourney of the Hand with his two sons whilst his brother and wife remained at Harper's Gate to attend the affairs of their House. He was a good horseman and a capable Jouster, though he was by no means the best. His two sons were full-fledged knights by now and they too were capable combatants. Henry was there to make a good showing at the tourney and to practice politics. The orders he gave to his sons were simple and easy to follow "Don't make trouble and don't shame your father at the lists"

He had faith that his sons would not need further instructions than these and was confident that they would make him proud. Henry was in quite a good mood, his wife had said that she was in the final stages of finding a good match for their oldest son and a tournament always had such a jolly atmosphere. The Harper's were invited to join in the feasting by several friends of Henry and he gladly accepted. "We are most grateful for the invitation, it has been a journey of some length, and it would be good to break bread with old friends. By the way, these are my two sons Arren and Rylen, Arren is the Eldest although they are twins. Come now, we have time yet before the games begin."

They left the servants to finish setting up tents and take care of the last bits of unpacking. Henry was glad for the company and hoped that his two sons would be able to ingratiate themselves with the other young knights and squires. He made sure to take note of his eldest in particular, Arren was set to become the Lord of Harper's Gate and was already a fine man who would become a fine Lord when Henry was no longer able to rule. All he wanted to do now was ensure his legacy was prepared in every way he could prepare him. As for Rylen, he was certainly an upstanding nobleman and was quite popular, but he was too gentle in the eyes of Lord Harper, he didn't have the firm hand needed to run a hold.

"Quite the competition, it appears that nearly every House, from the Wall to Dorne has come to pay their respects to the King and his new Hand. Here's a toast to King Robert and his new Hand Eddard Stark." He raised his drink in the air to boisterous agreement from the others at the table before taking a long sip of wine. He flicked his eyes to the two on either side of him, making sure that his children were pacing themselves and not getting too drunk for a good performance at tomorrows Joust.
 
"Of course not, Father." Arren replied to Lord Harper's chastisement, though to consider that either Arren or Rylen would cause any sort of embarrassment was almost laughable, not when they had Jayne for a mother, "We will not let you down."

Ever since word reached him about this Tourney, Arren had been excited to participate, and not just to demonstrate his prowess with the lance and sword and bow. No, he was just as excited to be here, among so many of the nobility hailing from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms, having the chance to form connections with many other houses that could last a lifetime. And one day, when Arren's own children are grown and ready for marriage, the connections he makes today could make all the difference when finding good husbands and wives for his sons and daughters, and that prospect alone was worth the long journey to get here. Though the prospect of winning the tourney is probably unrealistic, Arren does intend to try, and hopefully impress the watching nobility with his skills after many years of training and practice.

Arren attends the feast with his father and brother, sitting as his father's right hand as any heir should, sipping wine and breaking bread and engaging in polite conversations with the other heirs to other houses, whose father's watched them with the same hawk eye as Lord Harper did to Arren. Such was the way of these gatherings, and Arren did not give his father any excuses for later reprimand. When his father gave a toast to the King and the Hand, he would declare, "To the King and his new Hand," along with all the others present, taking a good sip of the wine before setting it down promptly. Arren was not about to allow his performance at the Tourney be hampered by drinking too much.
 
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Rylen Harper

It seemed everyone but Rylen was excited for this feast. His mother to find a suitable wife for him, his father to see old friends, and his brother to form connections. Rylen was there for one simple fact: he had to come. He was obligated to attend, and he had no choice in the matter. He hated tourneys. And it wasn't from a lack of skill. He was actually a decent jouster, though he wasn't as good as Arren. That being said, he was shaping up to be one of the finest archers in the Seven Kingdoms, and he was actually somewhat excited for the archery competition, if only for the sport of it. He didn't care if he won or lost, just as long as he enjoyed himself.

The man nodded at his father's command, saying, "I understand, Father. Not to worry." It's not like Rylen drank much to begin with, or that he had to confidence to actually make a scene. He wasn't actually sure what to do, since he hadn't been to a tourney in quite a while. So, he did what he always did: Rylen followed Arren around. It was a time tested strategy, and it kept the lesser twin from making a fool of himself.

Rylen sat with his brother and father, embarrassingly having to sit at his father's left, as if to show all the Seven Kingdoms what an utter failure he was. He toasted alongside his father, saying, "To the Hand." He barely got the wine down, nearly choking on his bitter it was. Rylen hated wine, but the fact that most of the nobility drank it every day meant that he had to learn how to choke the stuff down. He was glad when he was no longer forced to drink the stuff, placing the cup down as he gave a nervous smile to Arren, not really sure what to do next.​
 
Roderick began his day as usual. A simple meal of bread and water served to fuel the large warrior. He kept his life simple, choosing to stay in a small room off the main barracks. He took his meal in that spartan chamber, not wanting to deal with people first thing in the day. Taking one last bite, the man stirred himself, and set to the business of running the soldiers of the keep. He called them out for inspection, as was his usual custom to start the day. Other than good-natured grumbling, the men were silent. There had been ugly mutters and even open outrage when he had first been appointed, but Roderick had had seven years of command to show his men he was worthy of their respect, though he missed very little.

"Kirrin, make sure you get down to the tanner and get that strap fixed. Last thing you want in a fight is your armor falling off. Elwood, with me. The rest of you, to your posts." Elwood groaned, while the rest of the soldiers saluted and moved out. Ever since Elwood had shown proficiency with the ax, Roderick had taken it upon himself to train him. For Elwood, it meant fresh bruises every day, though he had to admit he had improved in a fairly short period of time. The two men stripped off their armor and undershirts, collecting the practice axes, weapons wrapped in heavy cloth to avoid serious injury. If Roderick noticed the audience forming, he paid it no mind. Since instituting these practice sessions, they had become a treat for many of the ladies (and some of the men) of the household to watch the two athletic men spar. The two men quickly built up a sweat as the sequences became more and more complex between them.

"Good, Elwood. Just be sure not to dip your shoulder overmuch when you strike. Leaves you open to counterattack."
 
Maynard Harper

His wife was upset. Saraid had woke in a fever sweat this morning, so Maynard had sent for Maester Wallace and fetched some fruit for his daughter to nibble on. After inspecting Saraid the maester informed Maynard and Fianna they needn't be concerned; several people throughout the castle had recently come down with fevers, and all of them had swift and easy recoveries. But Fianna, like most mothers, agonized over everything that troubled her children.

Maynard touched the small of her back as they made their way towards the great hall. "She'll break her fever today," he said, "or during the night at the latest. Mark my words."

Fianna nodded and eventually smiled, but her hands were pressed firmly together. When they entered the great hall they greeted lady Jenye who was already sat.

"Maynard, Fianna I hope you slept well," his lord's wife said. "Hopefully Lord Mallister didn't keep you up too long last night."

Maynard helped his wife into her seat before answering. "He did, my lady, but some conversations are worth sacrificing a good night's rest for." He put on a tired smile and sat. Most nights Maynard preferred his own company to anyone else's, but men like lord Jason Mallister — though they were few and far between — were exceptions. Jason was an accomplished knight, as well as the lord of glorious Seagard, and he had famously bested the treacherous ironmen when they dared attack his lands. The two of them had talked long into the night and covered topics such as: the queer passing of lord Jon Arryn, Lord Stark being tapped as the new Hand of the King, the Hand's tournament, and finally lord Mallister's own tournament feats and failures. In many ways lord Mallister reminded him of his father. Maynard would be sorry to see him off.

"It seems that good news has found its way into our home. Lord Crakehall has consented his daughter to marry Arren."

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Fianna said. The announcement instantly lifting his wife's spirits.

"Indeed it is," Maynard agreed. "Congratulations, my lady. House Crakehall is a smart match for our family. I've never been to Crakehall Castle, but it's said to be a fine keep."

Fianna, now beaming, turned to him. "I'd very much like to see it, and soon we'll have good reason to visit . . . But first we have a wedding to plan for."

Maynard nodded. He was about to speak when he overheard lady Jenye mention her other son under her breath. "Yes, one step at a time," he remarked to both women.
 
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Rylen Harper
The next morning...

Rylen sighed as he got the last piece of his plate armor on, already starting to sweat from how hot this thing was. There was a reason he preferred archery over jousting. Archery didn't require him to wear several dozen pounds of metal and get knocked off his damned horse...at the very least, maybe his father would see him as less of a disappointment if he did decent. Neither of the twins really had any chance of winning here. Some of the best jousters in the Seven Kingdoms were participating, but they each had a chance of getting somewhat far in the competitions. The thought of actually surpassing Arren, of proving himself in the eyes of his father was...pleasant to Rylen. It almost distracted him from the bloody strap he couldn't reach. It was on his shoulder, and on his back, no less. With all this armor on, it was damn near impossible to reach at this point. For most men of nobility, he'd have a squire, but unfortunately...Rylen lacked one, once again showing just how much of a disappointment he was.

"Ummm...Pidgeon? Could you help me with something?" he asked in a somewhat sheepish voice. Rylen had known the Feeny's for quite a while, seeing as who their father was. Recently, he'd made an...agreement with Pidgeon. She'd help with small things. Mainly just getting him for arrows and tightening the straps of his armor he couldn't reach. In exchange, he'd teach her swordplay. In secret, of course. His father would throw a fit if he found out his son was teaching a peasant girl how to use a sword. The scandal would rock the entire House, destroy their illustrious reputation. So on the surface, she was just his assistant, nothing more. He'd always wondered if Pidgeon could be a knight. Sure, it was...improper for a lowborn to be one, much less a woman, but there had been stranger things in Westeros...regardless, he believed a joust was about to begin, and he didn't want to miss his dear brother prove himself.
Terrier B Terrier B
Obsidian Obsidian
MrThe MrThe
 
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Pigeon had just finished securing his Greaves. Not particularly the heaviest piece of armour, but always the fiddliest, the intricate laces forever demanded concentration. Mind you, far better managed with two pairs of hands instead of one. Oh, that reminds her. Not wanting to forget, she pottered off to collect Rylens Joust. Such a silly looking thing, she couldn't help but wonder if they ever actually got used in real combat. UGH. Unlikely when it's THIS heavy. Good grief. Heavier still in all this heat.

The girl set it down with a huff, wiping the sweat off her brow with one hand as she removed the protective leather case with the other. Her Jerkin felt heavy and stuffy in this weather. Truth be told she didn't really pack much appropriate attire for this sort of heat. But then again, she'd never dreamed in all her life a place could ever possibly be this warm, let alone has she ever thought she'd one day be able to visit such a place.​
"Pigeon?"

Duty calls. She looked up, a pleasant smile gracing her features, "Hmm?" Ah. The straps. She couldn't help but smile a little to herself as she made her way over. He looked just a little bit silly reaching like that. With effortless ease, Pigeon began to secure and strap the young Harper fully into his makeshift metallic prison. She was quiet as she got on with her work, for the most part, she hummed a little here and there but that was about it. Looking up however, she noted Rylens countenance. There was a soft but persistent furrow in his brow, a gentle frown plastered across his face.​
She spoke with an acutely casual tone, nothing but genuine friendliness coming across in her manner, "I think you'll do quite well today M'lord. All things considered." She pulled the last strap to with a firm tug and tied it into a neat little knot. Reaching for his equipment, she continued, "I've seen a few of the other Noble Sons as I've been busying about the place you see, and trust me, there'r far more here wimpish than you."
... Wait, that didn't come out right. She frowned and gave her head a small quick shake, before smiling again in what she hoped was an ultimately reassuring manner. "I'd say, just try and do the best for yourself M'lord. Go and get a result that you can take pride in. Well, you and your gawky little Aid here. Be rather nice if I could go about and say, 'I'm the person who fastened that breastplate don't you know!'... Plus, I've got a good few bob bet on you..."
 
"The wedding is to be held after the Hand's tournament." Jenye wanted to expedite the marriage as soon as possible. Anything could happen and she didn't want anyone to get cold feet. The women of her son's betrothed family carried good childbearing qualities was the main reasoning for the match. There was also the fact she wanted to hear the sounds of little feet around her home once again.

Picking at the trout in front of her as Jenye thought about her own wedding. There had been no feast, no grand occasion of joy, nothing. Just a hastened ceremony to make her father rest a little easier with King Aerys madness growing more alarming by the day. Her son's wedding was going to be one of joy, by the seven it was going to be a joyous occasion.

"Fianna I'm gonna need all the help I can get." Smiling towards Maynard's wife, knowing that her child was ill and helping her plan Arren's wedding was one way to bring a smile back to the woman's face. It would take a great weight off her shoulders and give Jenye some breathing room.

Pushing away the rest of her food with her stomach feeling a bit queazy. Her discomfort was obvious despite the fact she tried to hide it. Dismissing the feeling, thinking it was her nerves settling down. Taking another sip of wine to wash away the feeling.

Jenye returned her gaze back towards Maynard and Fianna after she felt somewhat better. "Can you organize some of our guards to escort Lord and Lady Crakehall when they enter my husbands domain. Just as a gesture of goodwill." Looking at Maynard as she proposed the question.
Bone2pick Bone2pick
 
With the dawn of the new day, Arren rose early, and, as the aides, Pigeon and Gannet would be expected to be up as well. With the aides help, Arren would prepare himself for the joust, the aides taking each piece of Arren's armor afixing it to his body, Arren occasionally giving instruction when something needed tightening or slackening. It would take about half an hour, but it would soon be done and Arren would stand quite proudly in his shining armor, Arren instructing Gannet to give his armour a second coat of polish the previous night. The armor is nothing terribly special in and of itself, but it is well-made, with the sigil of the Harp emblazed onto the chest and forearms of the armor. Once all pieces of the armour were properly fixed onto Arren, the aides would then lay Arren's tabbard over his armour, making sure to tie it down nice and tight. The tabbard is dyed in the Harper's family blue, with the golden harp sewn onto the check and back in yellow thread. And lastly, Gannet would hand Arren his helmet, but Arren only took it and held onto it for now. With that done, the young lord was finally ready for the joust, and so he stepped out of his tent.

Outside, the jousting field lay ready, Arren's opponent already on his horse, and the insignia on his rival's tabbard was unmistakable. Frey. He was a Frey. And Arren could only smirk. After observing his opponent, Arren would turn to his own beloved warhorse, Blackmare. She was a beautiful horse, as dark as ebony, tall and strong and fast. She was covered in her caparison, dyed with the same family blue with the same golden Harp sawn into it as Arren's tabbard, with Blackmare's custom sabble strapped onto her back. Arren would quickly mount Blackmare, ensuring everything had been tied properly, and then he would look to the stands.

As is custom, Arren rides up to the stands with his opponent coming up from the other side, to bow to all those watching. Some, Arren could hear, snickered at him as he approached. The Harp was something of a point of ridicule for the Harper's, seeing the harp as soft and flowery, unworthy for a true knight's banner, and thus also thinking the knight that holds such a banner would be just as unworthy. But those who underestimated Arren all too often found themselves defeated. As for the audience, the King and his Hand were not here yet, but the Queen, Cersei, was here. Arren could not help but look up at her from behind the safety of his visor, and for an older woman she was still very beautiful. As for the Frey, bold as brass and just as ugly, he would shout up at the stands to Cercei, brandishing his lance to her almost threateningly.

"Your Grace," He called to her, "Might I have the honour of your token for this bout?"

The stands hissed in dismay, seeing some low born mongrel like a Frey dare ask a token from a Queen to brazenly, let alone in such a rude and aggressive fashion. The Queen was not perturbed, however, and merely looked down at him like he was an insect. "Why would I give a token to someone like you, Frey?" Cersei would ask, plainly, and the knight would turn red as some in the stands snickered at him. But Cersei was not done yet. She would not be content with just humiliating this worm, she would ground him under her heel, and she would do so with but a simple gesture.

"You there, Sir Knight." Cersei would call, this time to Arren, and he was most surprised as Cercei rise and began to make her way to him down the steps to the front of the stands, a yellow ribbon in her hands. "Offer me your hand, Sir Knight." She would say, and Arren, of course, obliged her, offering her his right hand.

"Tell me," She says gently, beginning to wrap the ribbon around the wrist of Arren's gauntlet, "What is your name?"

"Arren, Your Grace." He would say, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice, trying to keep himself calm even while his heart hammered and his sweat ran down his face. This is the first time he's been so close to a royal, let alone speak to one. He would compose himself as best he could, before adding, "Arren Harper of Harper's Gate."

"Well, Arren of Harper's Gate,"
She would say, her voice as smooth as silk, finishing up wrapping the ribbon around Arren's wrist and then trying it with a bow, before looking up at Arren through his visor with her full intensity, "Do not disappoint."

"I endeavour not to, Your Grace,"
Arren says, eliciting a slight smirk from Cercei, and then she would turn to move back to her seat. As for the Frey, he was visibly fuming now, turning his horse around before angrily rushing off to his side of the jousting field, and Arren turned Blackmare to move to his side as well. Once Arren was in position, Gannet would be there to offer Arren his lance, the soft lance, but Arren would dismiss it.

"Not that one." Arren said, pointing to another, "The hard lance."

It is often convention to offer your opponent a soft lance first, it is considered polite and it is often used to test your opponent's defense and ability, as well as allowing the joust to go on for longer for the entertainment of the guests. But Arren was facing off against a Frey, and Arren would offer no such courtesy to a Frey. He would fall, hard and fast, in as brutal a fashion as Arren was capable. With his lance, Arren would then wait for the announcer's signal, and once that was given, Arren charged.

Blackmare quickly burst forth into a sprint, as did the Frey, both knights bolting down the field at full speed. The Frey had his lance down already, riding all the way with the lance down, an amateur's and a fool's technique. Arren kept his lance up, up all the way until the right moment, bringing it down hard against the Frey. While Arren could predict the impact of the Frey's lance and shrug it off with ease, the Frey would not have it so easy, getting caught by the hand lance while Arren aimed for the right spot where the lance could not just be shrugged off. As a hard lance, it would not break easy, and without breaking something else would have to give. And so Arren's opponent would be thrown from his horse, plunging face first into the dirt, while Arren was barely scratched. The crowd cheered and clapped, but somewhat forcefully, clearly disappointed by this joust ending so quickly. Young lord Harper would finish his run down the jousting field, before turning Blackmare around to canter back to the stands, stopping in front of the audience to graciously accept the applause and bow.

While the crowd was somewhat disappointed with the performance, Arren could not help but look up at Cercei, and she, by contrast, looked quite pleased. She did nothing and said nothing other than clap, but the look on her face was something similar to what Arren often saw on his mother's face; that stern regal stare hiding a glitter of genuine approval. It seems the hard and fast approach is to the Queen's liking, and so Arren would give a final polite bow to Her Grace before turning away. As Arren turned, the Frey struggled back to his feet, dirt covering his face and some stuck on his teeth.

"This is not over, Harper." The Frey would spit, "I won't forget this, Harper. House Frey will not forget this. We'll meet again, mark my words."

Arren would look down on the Frey, raising the visor of his helmet, smirking down on the Frey with triumphant smugness, before opening his mouth to say, "Until your next humiliating defeat, then."

With that, Arren cantered Blackmare over to his tent on his side of the field, climbing down from Blackmare and handing her off to Gannet before stepping into his tent. Once inside, Arren raised his right hand and looked down at the yellow ribbon, still there and still tied neatly in a bow, and Arren could not help but think of Cercei. Today, he not only defeated a Frey and won his first joust of the Hand's Tourney, but he spoke to the Queen and quite possibly even impressed her. He could not help but grin at the thought. This tourney is turning out better than Arren could have expected.
 
Maynard Harper

"Fianna, I'm gonna need all the help I can get," said Lady Jenye.

"Anything you need, Jeyne," Maynard's wife replied. "I know planning a wedding can be a great deal of work, but believe me when I say I'm grateful that Arren will be married here, at the Gate. With Moreen's wedding last year at the Antlers, I hardly had any involvement; the Buckwells handled everything."

Maynard swallowed a bite of trout and then sipped his wine. "I admit I'm not the best judge of such things," he eventually said, "but I thought the Buckwells put on a befitting ceremony."

"They did, Maynard. I didn't mean to imply they didn't. I just would have liked to have been more involved, that's all." Maynard understood. He didn't share his wife's dismay over how their eldest daughter's wedding had been arranged, but he understood how a mother could be.

Lady Jeyne looked at Maynard. "Can you organize some of our guards to escort Lord and Lady Crakehall when they enter my husbands domain? Just as a gesture of goodwill."

"Of course, my lady. I'll have an honor guard waiting in their best surcoats with our House pennons flying." He took another swig of wine as he contemplated what else to do. "If it's alright with you, Jeyne, after I'm through here I'll ride out and inform those on our lands of Ser Arren's wedding, as well as to expect the Crakehalls? If only Lord Mallister had more time with us, I would invite him to accompany me. I suspect he would enjoy a tour of the countryside of House Harper."
 
Rylen Harper
(Pidgeon's responses courtesy of Terrier B Terrier B

Rylen jerked a bit when Pidgeon pulled on the last strap, his prison finally adjusted properly as he gave a nervous glare at Pidgeon's comment. "Well...I suppose that means this will be quick, either way..." Wimpish...did she really think he was wimpish? Sure, Rylen wasn't exactly a burly man, but he was still very much fit. His training as a knight ensured that. And was he...nervous about how she thought about him? That was...odd. Very odd. He didn't much care for how his own father saw him, except in small cases, but he thought his Pidgeon saw him? Hmm...that was... something. Regardless, it was time to go see his brother perform. Rylen gave Pidgeon a pat on the shoulder, smirking as he said, "Come. Before Arren makes an ass of himself without us. Remind me to give you lessons when we get back to Harper's Gate." A smirk tugged at Pidgeon's lips as she and followed his lead, equipment tucked under her arm and hugged against her side, "Yes M'lord. If there's anything else you can teach me of course..." Rylen gave a nervous chuckle, saying. "Don't worry. You still have a lot to learn. "

Rylen's armor was much like Arren's. They were brother's after all. The only exception is that Rylen's was a bit lighter. He was missing a few plates, mainly on his sides, which was replaced with light chainmail instead. It was a bit less heavy, so it wasn't as good for a joust, but made it much easier to move around in. In the end, comfort came first for Rylen. Plus, he'd never actually fought before, and he had no intentions of ever actually seeing real combat. This was a tourney first and foremost, and real lance charges were never as honorable and organized, something he was sure his father could attest to...


Rylen arrived just in time to see Arren ask for the Queen's favor, the lesser twin shaking his head. Arren always was one to seek prestige. It was just in his nature. It was almost...scary at times. Rylen had known Arren since literally before they were born, and he could see the darkness in his brother. The raw ambition, the desire to take and conquer and crush those that stood against House Harper. The fact he was facing off against a knight from House Frey didn't help. Rylen leaned forward as he watched the two knight's line up, sighing as he saw his brother demand the hard lance. Personally, Rylen preferred to win with points, by breaking his lance enough to win that way, and not knocking his opponent off their horse. It was much safer, and had a higher chance of not killing someone. Somethjng Arren obviously wasn't one to care for, knocking his opponent on his shiny, metal plated ass. Rylen sighed as he shook his head, saying, "Well...I suppose it's my turn then." He gave Pidge a nervous smile, almost blushing a bit. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a pit forming in his stomach, like he was...scared? He guessed he really hadn't done this in a while...regardless, he had no choice but to continue on.


Still facing forwards, she glanced up at the young Lords face once more. He was still uneasy, but what could she do to help? She idly rubbed her thumb against the figure concealed in her pocket. The journey there had been so long, Pigeon had begun work on a particularly detailed little carving. She'd managed to get her hands on some Ironwood, and it was a right tricky bugger to whittle. But she'd chipped away at it, night and day. Perhaps now, she could put it to good use... "M'lord?" She offered up her token to him, "Maybe this, will do the trick?"
The word and name 'Feeny' had something to do with birds as far as she knew. Her Dad had taken it rather literally with both herself and Gannett, but anyway. The token she had been working so hard on, was a small fowl of some kind, seemingly in mid-flight. She handed to the carving to Rylen, "This... is, uh. A Feeny bird! Yes, that's right. They're meant to fly luck, over your, uh, head. Wherever you go." Be it he believed that hodge-podge of a story or not, hopefully he'd still appreciate the sentiment behind the gesture.

Rylen looked a bit puzzled at first, staring at the carving as Pidgeon explained the meaning of the carving. A small smile crept across his face, the young Harper gladly taking the figurine as he said, "Oh...thank you, Pidgeon. I... appreciate it." His voice was quite genuine, if a bit bashful. It was a damn fine carving, he had to say. Must have taken days, even weeks to make. The fact she was giving it to him said...a lot. He felt honored. He'd been greeted by countless Lord's, allowed to dine in their homes, eat their finest food, the whole nine yards. But he'd never felt...honored. But this small little figurine from a peasant girl spoke more to him than any feast ever could. It was touching. He gave Pidgeon a genuine lat on the shoulder, before going off to get ready.

A while later, and it was almost time for Rylen's joust. He took in a deep breath as he sat atop his horse, his hand clenching the reins tightly. He already knew people were expecting great things after seeing Arren, and he just knew he'd disappoint everyone, in the end. A lump formed in Rylen's throat as he waited, looking down at Pidge as he said in a nervous voice, "Wish me luck, yes?" She beamed at him, giving his leg what she hoped to be a reassuring pat, "You already have it my Lord." Rylen's face went red at the pat on his leg. He cleared his throat nervously, the figurine tucked into a bag in his saddle as he said, "Uh, yes! Of course, of course...well, I suppose it's time, then." With that, he gave a reassuring nod, and began going around for his customary bowing to the royal family, wiping a bit of dirt off of his armor.

With that, Rylen pulled his visor down, already finding it hard to breathe as he rode down the stands. It was in that moment Rylen realized he could have waited to put his visor down until the joust was over...whatever. At least it would take them a bit longer to realize he was the twin of that dashing knight from earlier. Rylen didn't even try to ask for the Queen's favor, simply bowing at the stands as a sign of fealty. Bowing to King Robert, who wasn't even blood there yet, felt...empty. The bow was very much forced and stiff, reflecting Rylen's... opinions on the King. After that, Rylen readied himself, taking his place in the joust as he looked over to Pidge to ask, "The light lance, Pidgeon."

Rylen steeled himself as he waited for the signal. It felt like an eternity, giving him a chance to take in his opponent. He didn't recognize the House or the sigil, so they definitely weren't Riverlander. A good guess would be that they were from the Reach, judging by how immaculate his opponent's armor was. Shit...that most likely meant this knight knee what he was doing in a joust. By all accounts, this knight was a better jouster than Rylen. The young Harper's mind was racing, coming up with whatever plan he could muster. The first pass was customary, almost always done with light lances, so someone didn't get knocked off their horse in a matter of seconds. But after that, it all depended on the individual knight. Some were like Rylen, preferring to win via points, others preferred dismounting their opponent. That meant the only chance Rylen had was guessing what this knight was going to do next.

The trumpet broke the eerie silence, and filled it with the sound of hooves breaking up the dirt. Rylen focused intensely on his adversary, slowly bringing his lance down so that the tip was pointing right at his target the moment the two would meet. It felt like an eternity, the two knight's staring one another down as a loud crack echoed through the arena. Rylen rode on passed, and so did his opponent. They both broke their lances on each other's shields. Looking back, Rylen could see his opponent's Lance had splintered in several pieces, while his own simply broke off at the tip. That meant this bastard was probably just itching to knock Rylen off his horse. Good. Judging by how he strutted around, this bugger was quite full of himself. Probably thought some nobody from a lesser known House could never beat him. There would be an opening. He might be off balance, or his aim might be a bit off. Rylen went back to Pidgeon, saying, "Heavy lance." The two knight's lined up again, Rylen looking for absolutely any openings as they waited for the signal, the young Harper leaning forward as he scanned.

When the trumpet blared, Rylen already noticed something. In jousting, it was a very effective strategy to lean forward as you galloped. This was to give you better balance and control, and make it less likely for you to get knocked on your ass. Well, this knight was so confident, he hadn't even bothered to do this. This was exactly what Rylen was looking for. The Harper leaned forward, bracing his left side as much as he could, all the while spurring his horse on. Rylen brought his lance down slowly, aiming right for his opponent's left side, where he'd be less braced. As the two approached, Rylen took in a deep breath, the world going silent as the two knight's met. Rylen immediately felt the wind be knocked from his lungs, the familiar feeling of a lance hitting his stomach shooting through his body. It hurt like hell, that's for sure. Luckily, however, if hit his right side, and Rylen was able to steady himself. His opponent, on the other hand, got hit right on his left side, and after a few seconds of desperately trying to stay on his horse, the poor sod tumbled off into the dirt. The crowd erupted into cheers, Rylen having to take a moment to realize what had happened. A small smile creeped across the young Harper's face, Rylen turning to Pidge as he rode beside her, suddenly noticing there was something...wet on his right side. As the adrenaline wore off, it also...stung. Rylen looked down to his side, only to see a splinter imbedded into his side. The pain shot through him like lightning, Rylen nearly falling off his horse from the intensity. He was just barely able to get off, and nearly collapsed once he did. A few attendants ran over to check on him, Rylen not really saying much as one checked on him, exclaiming, "Seven Hell's!" Rylen had to agree. Having a jagged piece of wood stuck in his side was far from a holy experience. That very same servant pointed to Pidgeon, saying, "You, go get a maester, and bring him to Lord Rylen's tent. If we don't hurry, he may bleed out." Rylen looked confused at that statement, saying in a strained, low voice, "Bleed out? It's not that bad..." The servant's just ignored him, dragging the knight off before he spilled his guts out before all the Seven Kingdoms...

MrThe MrThe
Obsidian Obsidian
Terrier B Terrier B
 
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Henry Harper was in a good mood while observing the Tournament, his Eldest had won the favor of the Queen and at the same time humiliated their eternal rivals, the Freys. It put a smile on his lips to see him do so well, especially as he wasn't the only one to notice that particular bout being congratulated by the other lords in the box saying things like "What a remarkable lad" and "Expertly delivered! A fine knight that one!" He was less excited to see the next bout but was still anticipating the performance of his other son Rylen. He wasn't quite as skilled as his brother but he was still capable and could perform well regardless. The knight that he faced was some landed knight in the Reach, one of the better-off ones by the looks of him. He could pose a challenge but he had Faith in his youngest and watched intently as they both shattered light lances upon the other's shield. Rylen didn't give quite as good as he got the first time around but then again he rarely did, the second lance would be delivered better. The two armored figures sized each other up and as their horses ran quickly to close the distance carefully aimed lances would hit their mark. Lord Harper was rewarded by seeing the Reachman immediately get toppled, shouting out "Well done my son! Well done!" but his joy and pride instantly turned to ash upon seeing his beloved son lean to the side and half dismount half topple from the saddle, a quickly growing pool of blood staining the field red.

Frozen with fear that he would lose him Henry simply stood there, mouth agape, staring at the downed Rylen as the attendants dragged him away. Slowly and mutely Henry got up from the box and made his way over towards the tent where he was being taken. Only when he pushed apart the flaps and saw the horrible state that he was in did Lord Harper allow himself to weep. The Maester was already there and working rapidly to treat the massive wound in his side. Lord Harper prayed as he had never prayed before saying in between sobs "Oh, Gods! Please don't take my son! He is but a youth and has more to do yet! I am an ageing man, I have lived a long enough life, and I would give everything, even my own life, even my lands and titles to save my son. So please, hear your Faithful's Prayer and keep my son alive!" The Maester said nothing, he was too busy and the severe injury of his patient required his full attention. Upon finishing treatment to the best of his abilities he turned towards Henry "My Lord, I've done all I could for the boy at this time. It is a grievous wound, the Lance pierced his side completely and left a large shard within him, this I have removed and I have bound up his wound to the best of my ability. But you should know that it is a wound caused by piercing and it has gone quite deep. He remains extremely vulnerable to infection and fever, you must frequently clean the wound and replace the bandages with clean ones. His armor is over there in the corner."

Lord Harper simply nodded his acknowledgement and then cradled his head in his arms sobbing quietly. Finished with crying he got up and furiously kicked the Armor, angry that this would happen. But something odd happened, instead of hitting something solid when he kicked the chest plate he found something that moved, looking closer he saw that there was only Chainmail covering the sides and that there was a big hole through the right side. Laughing strangely, almost a mix between a chuckle and a sob he whispered "What a fool. You're such a damn fool and look at what you've done. Gods, what a fool you are. You could have been killed, and you could still die soon. If only you weren't such a stubborn old mule, you'd still be ok. But you're too much like your old man and now look at where we are. I won't leave your side until you get better or the Stranger comes for you." And thus, Henry's vigil was begun.

 

  • For his brother's joust, Arren would join the other knights as they watched Ryden's bout, noting the fact that Ryden came straight after Arren. He knew why, of course. The organisers didn't want to have to set up the Harp banners any more than they had to, so Arren's and Ryden's slots would be done side by side. Typical. Ignoring that, Arren looked over to see who Ryden would be facing, recognising the sigil immediately; House Beesbury of Honeyholt, but Arren could not decide whether the knight was Bertram or Hugh Beesbury. He'd get a better idea once the joust starts. And after the first run, Arren decided it must be Hugh Beesbury, the younger brother of the two. Ryden's opponent tried too hard for his first run, and with a soft lance too, where a more seasoned knight would have taken that run with a much more measured tone. Such aggression in the first run showed signs of youth and inexperience, as well as lack of discipline. Arren would watch the next run while quietly confident that Ryden would win, and it was no surprise that Ryden did indeed win in the second run. Being right made Arren smirk stretch just a little further.

    Arren would respectably clap and cheer for his brother's victory, watching Ryden trot over to Pigeon before starting to walk over himself as well to personally congratulate his brother, only to see Ryden tumble off his horse, and then he saw the blood. Arren stopped in his tracks, hardly believing what he was seeing, running the possibilities of what happened in his mind. There's only two ways a lance would penetrate solid steel plate like that. The first was if the steel plate was not there at all, and Arren knew his brother, he knew Ryden was clever and sensible, never so foolish as to ride into a joust without proper protection. It's the first and most important thing any knight learns about jousting. The other possibility is if the opposing knight cheated, using an specially modified lance with a metal spike hidden within, such things used by those so petty and dishonourable as to murder their opponents rather than suffer defeat with dignity. That, for Arren, had to be the answer.

    And the elder brother was soon overcome with bloodthirsty rage.

    Storming across the jousting field toward the Beesbury, while the defeated knight struggled back to his feet, Arren took off his left gauntlet as he approached, and as the Beesbury turned around Arren clouted the knight across his head with it, a resounding metal ping rolling across the field as the Beesbury was knocked back by the sudden strike.

    "You cheating swine!" Arren yelled, loud enough so that all in the stands could hear, "You dare attempt to end my brother's life in such a dishonourable fashion! I demand a trial by combat, for the crime of cheating in the Hand's Tourney and for what may yet be the murder of my own brother, so that I may end your wretched life by my own hand!"

    "I-I didn't cheat!" The Beesbury proclaimed, taking off his helmet and stepping back, showing himself to indeed be Hugh Beesbury, "I swear to the Seven!"

    "You LIE!" Arren roared, immediately drawing his sword in his temper, eliciting a gasp from the crowd as Hugh barely steps back just in time for Arren to miss his first swing of his blade, Hugh able to hear Mirror's Edge sing as it cut the air in front of him. Hugh backed up against the boards in front of the stands before Arren would take another swing to the left, Hugh raising his arm to block the strike with his armor, but Arren quickly redirected the strike, bringing the blade back toward himself before thrusting it forward. It would be near imperceptible, but Arren would see a flash of steel before his sword would be thrown up, forcing him back, before being knocked to the ground. After a moment, Arren would look up to find a member of the King's Guard standing over him, whose blade pointed warningly down at Arren, with Hugh stood against the boards behind the King's Guard. And soon, Gold Cloaks appeared, surrounding both Arren and Hugh.

    "You will be coming with us." The King's Guard standing over Arren said, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument, "You will both answer to the King's Hand for breach of the peace."
 
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It was interesting really, being a Lords Aide was probably one of the best things you could be when it came to jousting tournaments like this. That is, if you really wanted a good seat anyway. Where she stood currently, at the Harpers end of the jousting field, was indeed a rather good vantage point for watching the events of the tourney unfold. Only thing was, Pigeon couldn't really see the fun in jousting herself. It seemed just a tad frivolous to her, I mean, if it's not a form of combat you're ever going to actually use or partake in on an actual batte-field, why bother learning it at all? Sure, it looked very dramatic for events like this, but good grief, was it a lot of faff.​
A loud CLANK of joust hitting armour ricocheted across the field and seemingly rattled through her whole body. Ugh, it was certainly a very loud sport. She pulled down upon her cap a bit, trying to muffle out the loud bangs, jolts and other various clonks that echoed out and through the field. She was glad she'd decided to wear the cap after all, even if it did make her look more boyish than she already was. It wasn't that she wanted to pass as a boy directly mind you, but with the cap on, she just looked a lot more inconspicuous than she would otherwise without it. Gannet accidentally put enough people off as it was by just being himself, she didn't want to embarrass the Harpers, or the Feeny's, by being recognised as a girl.​
The cap did manage to muffle the jolting noises of the joust quite a bit. It felt a lot calmer this way. She idly watched the match before her, not concentrating all to hard on it. Rylen was doing well. Well, well enough anyway. He was on his way back to her now, she handed him the requested lance and off he was once more. Looks like this would be over more quickly than she'd anticipated then. That would be nice, Rylen would appreciate that too. To have it just be done and over with, could focus on far more fun things then. Perhaps she'd manage to tag along with him to watch some Swordplay displays or what have you, if that's what he fancied watching too of course. She'd spotted the sparring ring on the way to the Jousting field. It was placed just behind the Knights tents. She could see it from where she stood now in fact, two younger lords were practising currently. They couldn't be that much younger than herself really, bet she could take the little one on no problem...
Oh, here he comes now, Rylen was on his way back to her already. A quick glance behind him confirmed his victory. There was a smug smile on his face, the triumphant little champion. She allowed him a small smile back, just a small one mind you, can't have him getting too big-headed. She outstretched her arms, ready to receive his lance. She let out a noise not to dissimilar to a scream, when he practically fell into her arms instead. Pigeon audibly shrieked, she took all as much of his weight as she could manage, trying desperately to cushion his fall. But she was a small young lady, and Rylen was a reasonably well built young man. She crumpled to the ground with him, trying her absolute hardest to ease him to the ground gently. Other people quickly rushed the scene, gathering around her and her Lord. They helped her pick him up properly, and to that she was grateful.​
Before she knew it, next she was being ordered, told to fetch a Maester by a man she did not know. But right, yes of course, but where did they even keep the Maester's in this place...​
When the Maester's were attending to him back inside the Harpers tent, her role was swiftly changed to 'makeshift nurse'. For what felt like an eternity (Five minutes at most in reality) she was sent scurrying all over the place, dashing here and there to collect clean rags, get rid of bloody ones, fetch clean water, empty out bloodied pails, etc. She was just on her way back to the tent now, this time carrying a pile of clean tunics and other various garments. But a firm hand upon her shoulder, stopped her dead in her tracks. She turned round, eyes squinting against the harsh noon-day soon as she tried to discern a face she did not recognise. The man spoke with a firm voice, that demanded ones attention completely, "Are you the Harper's Aide girl?", Oh no. This couldn't be good...​
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A horrific metallic ping seemed to resonate across an entire field and echo as clearly in Gannet's ears as loudly as they would if he were stood right next to the offending weapon. He didn't even need to look to assume what was happening really. Gannet knew the Harper twins, probably better than they knew themselves. It was an often useful yet subtle ability the boy had learnt to keep tucked up his sleeve. He made a direct beeline to Arren, not quite completely sure how he was going to defuse the situation that was unfolding before him, but with a strong intention to at least try. Arren's temper was raging like a fire, someone was about to get burned.​
"I didn't cheat!"
The Bee boy was right, he didn't. Gannet knew that deep down, Arren knew that just as well as he did. But his anger was blinding him of any clear thought. He was scared for his brother, just as scared as he himself would be if it was Pigeon in Rylens shoes instead, but that fear was manifesting itself in violence. Arren was reaching for his blade, Gannets eyes widened in alarm, he stepped purposefuly forward, when he spoke, his voice dripped with his usual calm demeanour, and yet it still managed to cut through the otherwise noisy chatter of the onlooking crowds.​
"M'lord, I-"
Arren swung his sword again, Gods, he was going to hit the boy-​
And then the blinding glint of another blade sparked across his vision. Gannet faltered for a moment, shielding his eyes from the flash. The sight that met his gaze upon opening his eyes once more was a relief to see. A member of the Kings-Guard has blocked and countered Arrens intended hit. He saw his Lord toppled over onto the floor for only a moment, before he was swiftly enveloped and hidden from view by a herd of Gold-Cloaks. There was a hustle and bustle, voices speaking in firm tones, using even sterner words, but Gannet could not decipher them over the murmur of the crowd. And before you know it, they were all gone. Arren and Hugh had both been taken away, and Gannet was left stood awkwardly in front of a equally bewildered crowd.​
He lowered his hands slowly, unaware he had even ever raised them, it had all happened so quickly. Briskly, he walked away. At first, he wasn't quite sure where he was going, or what he was going to do exactly. His mind was still buzzing with it all. A part of him couldn't believe a man like Arren, a boy he'd known all his life, could lose himself so absolutely and so quickly to anger. He had stopped for nobody, and Gannet quite honestly believed if it had not been for the Kings-Guard intervening with a show of force, Arren would have killed that boy.

Gods...

Somewhat subconsciously, Gannet found himself heading towards the Hands tent. He had an inkling if there was any figure of authority who was going to resolve this matter,it would be him. Wanting to be discreet above all else, and perhaps just a little bit secretive about the venture too, Gannet made his way around the back of the hands tent. There was still hustle and bustle around there, but he looked far more inconspicuous back there than he did randomly hovering by the entrance up front. He stood in what he hoped was an authoritative 'I-am-definitely-meant-to-be-here' sort of stance, keeping his hands neatly placed behind his back. If anyone were to bother asking him, he could easily say he was a Lords Aide awaiting further instruction, for that wasn't a complete lie, and it was an answer most would accept without further question.

Concentrating, Gannet tried to silence the low murmur of the tourney goings on around him, and honed his hearing to the interior of the tent. It was muffled, and sometimes he missed the odd word here and there. But all in all, he could understand what was being said clearly enough. Most of the proceedings went as he expected them to really. It was all just a giant mess of anger and ego. But a particular sentence, made his blood run cold.

"I assume that your House has pages or servants, Ser Arren? Those that would have helped Ser Rylen into his armour?"

Pigeon.

All Arren had to do, was keep quiet. All he had to do, was keep Pigeons name out of this.​
But of course he didn't.

Gannets clenched his hands together quite tightly as he listened on. A casual glance over his shoulder confirmed Pigeons arrival and entrance to the tent. From the look of her, and listening to the tone of her voice, he could tell she was nervous. Hells, who wouldn't be in a situation like that? But she was tough, probably tougher than him really, he knew she'd handle the situation as best she could.

He was far more frustrated with Arren truth be told. How could he so easily drag his sister into all of this mess. He'd mentioned her name as if she was nothing, with no consideration at all as to what this could possibly do to her safety or reputation should this whole debacle turn foul. Even if somehow there was a fault with Rylen's armour, it would be an accident. Pigeon was no smithy, how was she to know faulty mail from sturdy? Above all else, Gannet knew Pigeon was innocent in all of this.​
Keeping a straight face and indifferent demeanour was growing increasingly difficult for him. But luckily, after her answers, Pigeon was allowed to go. She headed off back towards the Harper's tent, stride a little slower than it's usual chirpy beat. Not long after everyone else soon dispersed from the tent, the matter seemingly resolved for the time being. Gannet remained at his position around the back of the hands tent for a while, once more unaware of what to do with himself exactly. For he didn't really feel like bothering to see if Arren needed any assistance at all. Let him sort himself out for once. Instead, Gannet took a deep breath, straightened out his clothes, and and head off towards the Harper's tent too.​
He'd go stay with Pigeon for a while. That'd be the best thing to do he thought.​
 
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Eventually Henry would be forced to abandon his vigil to deal with his other son. Upon hearing that Arren almost struck down the Beesbury Boy and had to be led away by the Kings men he was shocked at the rashness of his Eldest. Thankfully they were both fine but on his grief for Rylen Henry had not considered that Arren might blame the accident on Hugh Beesbury. Challenging him to a duel would be quite reasonable, but drawing steel on him before one has even finished throwing down the gauntlet was most unbecoming of a Knight, of course he was quite wroth but that is still a serious breach of etiquette. "What shall I do with you my son. You have acted most rashly. We are all aggrieved by your brothers injury, and were the Beesbury Boy to blame you would have been right in your wrathfulness. But even if Hugh WAS to be at fault you could not have stricken him whilst he was unarmed, if it were to be a duel it must have been a DUEL. As punishment, you are forbidden to compete in the Tourney. Go, get changed." Obsidian Obsidian
 
"What? Father, no. You cannot forbid me from the Tourney." Arren exclaimed in shock at this punishment, speaking louder than is sensable when it comes to private conversations, and Hugh was standing mere feet away observing Ryden, and his sorrowful stare would be so masterfully convincing that it would make the Tyrell's look heartless, "I know that I acted rashly, and I am sorry for that, but no real harm has been done and all has been settled now. We cannot just withdraw ourselves from the Tourney, Father. Nobles from every house in the Seven Kingdoms are here, this is an opportunity like no other, and the friendships we could forge here could serve our family for our whole lives. Perhaps even beyond. And if I can win myself a respectable position in the Tourney, yet more will come our way. Look at this."

Arren raises his hand, showing his father the ribbon wrapped around his gauntlet, still wrapped neatly in a bow.

"This is the Queen's tocken, Father." Arren urged, "This alone could do so much for us, and I could never have gotten it if it were not for this Tourney. Please, Father, reconsider."
MrThe MrThe
 

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