OLD RP - The Crownlands

[SIZE=12pt]Tourney Grounds, King’s Landing[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]As the light pitter-patter of rain bounced harmlessly off of the roof of the Royal Box, Aenar Velaryon let out a brief sigh. Lord of Tides, Master of Driftmark and Hand of the King, it seemed that the only things that persisted in their ability to evade his control was the gods themselves: so naturally they did so. Every detail of this tourney had been planned to a t, from the seating arrangement to the very location in which the stands occupied and as such it pained Aenar slightly to see something so far out of his administrative capabilities cause so much hassle. Not that precautions hadn’t been taken of course. Even now he could see dozens of builders and craftsmen clambering to shield the bleachers and their occupants with brightly coloured sheets and cloths that would hopefully serve to keep some of the more hydrophobic nobles within their seats. However he had little doubt that the now dampened ground may prove tricky for the riders who intended to participate in the melee, especially when it was so well trodden. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]In spite of this, today the rain was not the only thing vying for the hand’s attention. The royal box gave an unobstructed view of everything below it, including the gates that opened into the tourney grounds themselves and as such Aenar was steadfast in his gaze, his eyes following every new entrant to the field with the same gravity as one would view an aggressor or  enemy combatant, evaluating everyone in attendance. Were this any other day Aenar perhaps would have allowed himself to use the this time to rest, or mentally prepare himself for the introduction that he would have to give at the beginning of the tourney however with the entire royal family in attendance he could not rest his trust upon gold cloaks who had likely never seen combat within their entire lives.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]It was due to this surveillance that Aenar was not surprised when people began filing their way into the royal box: first up would be his own page Danos Seaworth who would set out pitchers and goblets from which the nobles could drink. After, came Ser Clifford Butterwell, one of the King’s favourites who’d been serving in Braavos for the better part of two years representing the King’s interests with the royal bank. Then would come the slough of knights and gentlemen who had come early to request favours from the King’s daughters in the melee ahead. To these men Aenar offered a choice, either leave of their own accord or have the kingsguard remove them: not one man chose the latter option. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Perhaps the most notable attendant, at least in Aenar’s eyes was his own wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, an austere women at the best of times, though it seemed that their distance had done little to improve her temperament. She sat in a seat that would later be bordering that of her brother’s Prince Daeron, and offered her husband naught in the way of greeting but a stern look and what appeared to be a forced smile. Luckily for Aenar his children would not be here to see this as he had earlier seen Laena and her brothers seat themselves in the lower stands with the other houses of the Crownlands, mayhaps to avoid the same awkward encounter that Aenar so dreaded.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Turning his gaze away from his wife for a moment Aenar’s eyes met those of a much younger women, and from the looks of her much a much less concerned about the views of others. “Lady Caron.” Aenar greeted, his face almost expressionless. “Is your cousin to compete in the melee.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]The High Septon[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Tourney Grounds, King’s Landing[/SIZE]



[SIZE=12pt]“The Mother gives the gift of life,[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]and watches over every wife.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Her gentle smile ends all strife,[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]And she loves her little children.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]King’s Landing was the epitome of everything that was wrong with the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros: dirty, corrupt, sinful and most importantly filled with an assortment of some of the poorest people in the realm, people who could not even draw a second thought from the Lords and Knights who had sworn to protect them. These were the people who made up the backbone of the realm, they farmed, crafted, forged and generally built everything that could be seem by the mortal eye yet in their entire lifetime they would not see the wealth displayed upon the dinner table of one lord. Gluttony: a grave sin. Greed: a grave sin. Pride: a grave sin.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Many is Westeros would not care for the so called ‘smallfolk’, many would look the other way as women sold their bodies to make ends meet and men gambled and drank their sorrows away. The High Septon was not one of those many.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Despite an invitation to make an appearance within the Royal Box of the King himself, his holiness found himself not within the lavish confines of comfort, nor the moderate serenity of the breechers. No. Today the High Septon found himself amongst the commonfolk. He would offer food to the hungry, clothes to the cold, and prayers for the sinful.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=12pt]Rain could not stop piety.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]@Akio[/SIZE]

Albert was in the middle of preparing for the melee. He was in the middle of putting on his armor. It wasn't white, like that of the Kingsguard, nor was it the Lannister red and gold. It was black with accents of red. The sigil on the breastplate was of a red three-headed dragon. It was none other than that of House Targaryen. Somewhere, in the back of Albert's mind, he believed that if he wore his Kingsguard armor, it would intimidate the other participants. He disliked the very thought of it. He joined this melee not for glory and honor, but for entertainment. He was merely using the prize of glory and gold as a pretense. He had no use for such things when he knows nothing he could spend the gold on, nor does he need more glory considering his current reputation. Sitting at the top has become quite bore some, especially during these times of peace. His armor back in his days at home were still where he left them, gathering dust in the confines of his old room. It was only proper that he wore the Targaryen colors, seeing that he was representing them now, on this occasion. While his mind wandered, Albert seemed to be in waiting. Waiting for someone.


"Ah, apologies for being late, Albert." said a pleasant-sounding voice. Albert's attention was immediately directed to the entrance of his tent. It was Lady Miranda, not the Mistress of Whispers, but the wife of his elder brother Wilhelm.


Albert responded with a nod,and gestured with his hand that it was alright. His eyes shifted from the beautiful blond woman to the young brown-haired lad who was with her. "So, is he the one?" He asked.


"Yes. This is my nephew." As the words exited her mouth, Albert took a good look at the boy, seeing if he was capable enough or at least won't become a nuisance for him. The lad was mild-mannered, from the way he stood. Firm, but mild-mannered. This boy looked well-disciplined.


Lady Miranda nudged the young boy to talk. "My name is Jonos... Jonos Payne, my lord." he said quickly. His nervousness could be heard from the slight shaking in his voice. It was evident and understandable.


Memories of last night's occassion quickly resurfaced for Albert. His father had made a request, although when it came to his father, it was more like a command. The years haven't mellowed down his authoritative nature. Perhaps it was expected of him to keep this up, as Lord of Lannisport. Indeed, being a lord might be too taxing. It was these kinds of thoughts that would make him rejoice that he wasn't the first-born. It also made him pity his brother Wilhelm.


"So I'm to take in a boy as my squire?" asked Albert in his mild surprise.


"Not just some boy, son." his father suggested. The serious expression on Albert's father hardly changed, if it ever did at all in recent memory. "Lord Orwell isn't in the best of health these years. As such, his son and heir Quentyn has been taking care of administrative duties at Payne Hall."


Albert was still confounded as to where this conversation was going to lead to him taking in a squire.


"Quentyn is looking to the future. The boy you'll be taking as your squire is his son. What better way to make him a better man than to be under the tutelage of one of the greatest warriors in Westeros." Lord Edwyn explained.


Albert's thoughts returned to the present. It seemed, he had no say in this matter. It felt more like he sent this boy as his squire to watch him instead. Albert was a great student, but he wasn't a teacher yet. He just hoped that the boy had the same senses as he did.


"Well then, I have to go. I've been absent from your brother's side for too long now, Albert." Miranda said cheerfully. "I leave you two at it, and I bid you good luck for the melee." she added as she gracefully exited the tent.


"Help me with my armor, Jonos." said Albert. It seemed he was stuck with this one.

Dalton looked down at his helmet that was forged with the shape of a kraken, the sigil of his house and what made the pride swell from withing Daltons heart.  He sat in a chair, with his legs resting upon his bed.  He had just finished putting on his armour and so was taking a quick break to finish an apple before finishing it off, if he could he would have wished a flagon of ale into his room but there was nothing but fancy wines and stuff that Dalton simply did not have the taste for.  He grimaced as he recalled himself spitting the mouthful of wine out over the bed the night before, it tasted more like piss.  As Dalton stood his cloak of black and gold wrapped around his shoulders and naturally fell down his back, the right shoulder was pinned with a red kraken.  His armour was not the simplistic kind you would think when you visualised the iron born, it was a shade as black as night with a golden kraken engraved on the chest plate, waves of gold and silver flowed down the armour like the waves of the ocean making it rather fashionable.  For that reason Dalton was not pleased with it, as a gift from his father he took it without complaint, but he never thought he would be told to wear it in front of all the nobility of Westeros.  He clenched his fists just thinking about it, already pissed off he stormed towards the door of his chambers with his helmet firmly placed under his left arm.  Dalton walked towards the tourney-fields with vigour flourishing in his eyes, his heart began to race as he visualised taking down knights one by one with a variety of methods, he even let a wolfish grin creep across his windswept face.  Normally Dalton would have refused to compete, he did not dislike sparring but he felt that it took away the fun of the real thing ever so slightly, not to mention the knights.


Speaking of knights, if Dalton wasn't scolded by his father so often he would have bellowed out a curse that was sure to grab the attention of those on the field practising, as soon as he spotted horses he could smell something was wrong.  His eyes that were once full of vigour were now ones of fury.  As he was about to walk onto the field he was called by a familiar voice "Over here boy!"  Vickon shouted as if he knew what Dalton had in mind, as he turned his head he saw his father along with his elder brother Victarion and Betha, Victarions wife.  They all looked to be dressed particularly well, which didn't look that strange on Victarion and Betha but it certainty made a difference on Vickon, but not too much where it was comical.  It was more like he was making an effort, which astonished Dalton almost as much as what Victarion was holding. Reigns. Dalton slipped on his helmet so no one could see his uncharacteristic blush of the cheeks, there was no way Dalton could be described as the bashful type but this was probably going to be the most embarrassing thing he had ever done, a large black warhorse fully equipped with tourney gear and the Greyjoy banners was standing beside them.  Dalton stormed over towards his family as if he was going to murder them "YOU HAD NEVER MENTIONED--" Dalton was stopped by the sudden glare the three of them gave him, it was not one of anger but more, calm down now we understand.  "Unfortunately this is also part of the melee, tough luck little brother." Victarion spoke with sincerity, and that managed to sooth Daltons temper further, he trusted his brother with his life and so did not take his words lightly.


"Go ahead and give us a preview eh Dalton?" Betha jested at him, she looked just like a greenlander with her flowing black and green dress and charming features, but she still acted like an iron born.  Dalton simply gritted his teeth and took the reigns from his brother, "Dalton...  Do not embarrass us out there, just stay on your horse as long as possible." Victarion said with hopeful words, Dalton simply nodded before he turned.  "You do not have to win, simply but on a show, let the noble lords of Westeros know what a warrior you are...  We will be watching from the royal box." His father said before parting, from the corner of his eyes he saw them move towards the royal box chatting with each other, still Victarion and Betha looked more than natural but Vickon looked like he was trying his hardest not to be... well... Iron Born.


As Dalton climbed up on his horse he felt like he had just fell from Pyke, his head began to spin and as the horse moved forward he felt as if he was going to topple over.  It was a miracle that he managed to balance himself out and allow the horse to trot onto the tourney field.


@Hypnos (And anyone in the Royal Box
@Akio  (And anyone on the tourney field)

Cayden had been one of the first to enter the kings box, today he forged his usual black guard in return for being able to guest in the kings box. He was surprised when he was offered a place there along with the Greyjoys for him and his family. Naturally he accepted however, this was a good chance to see the man who ruled the seven kingdoms in Maegors absence. The hand of the king Aenar Velaryon, as well as the rest of the royal family who would be the spark the conflict to come. Already one had come to court him, he doubted he was the only brother scheming for the throne either, he had many brothers after all. Before long the door opened again and his granddaughter entered the room with a skip in her step, in a cheerful sort of mood and not long Prince Daeron arrived, seemingly going out of his way to ignore him and Nymeria which caused some confusion which caused his eyes to follow him for a moment before refocusing back on his granddaughter.


When she entered the room other then a happy little nod at her grand father she had gone to the front of the box to lean against the balcony, unintentionally showing off some of her tantalizing figure as the curve of her back made her many... assets pop out more to the eye underneath her somewhat thin dress, looking out onto the field to see if she could see Lewyn out on the field and it didn't take long for her to spot him, his horse resting near one of the side of the arena fairly close to the Baratheon box, a massive steed dark as midnight, improper for the sands of Dorne but worked fairly fine for the flat melee field, though what little she knew of battle realized that the rain would not make things easier either for him or the knights on the field. As she watched she saw what looked to be a drunk knight in midnight black armor ride out to the field, seeming to keep a precarious balance on his house as it all but stumbled onto the battle field distracting her gaze for a moment, as she saw her brother turn his horse and trot over to the man to help him steady himself. Nymeria smiled and shook her head thinking, "Lewyn, Lewyn, Lewyn, you realize he'll be your enemy in a moment and you still go to help him. One would think you'd be a little more prudent." She thought as she watched him for a moment before a voice caught her attention. 


Glancing back she realized it was none other then Aenar, the elder hand of the king who refereed to her as Lady Caron. Nymeria inwardly winced, it had been some time since anyone has designed to call her that name, about a year ago at the Lannister ball was the last time. In Dorne she had long since adopted the Martells and had proven herself to be one of them and Dorne adopted her back, to most in Dorne she was no one but lady Martell, he past forgotten or spoken in whisper by those who despised her for different reasons. Rarely was her birth name used so openly in public and hearing it was odd to say the least. "My Lord Hand." She said smiling widely as she buried her unease at the name and lightly curtsied, her dress lightly, her attitude not overbearing but not overly serventile. She was the heir to house Martell and naturally wouldn't act as meek as a normal member of house Caron or even the lord of the house might, the heir to one of the Seven kingdoms, especially Dorne, could not act so meek to anyone.


"Indeed he is my lord." She said, straightening as she continued to smile at the elderly man as she spoke cheerfully and respectfully, her expressive face full of life playing contrast to the almost expressionless look of the Hand as she turns back to the field and points towards Lewyn who was still talking to the black knight not to far away. Lewyn unlike many great lords was not wearing ornamented armor, but normal steel that he carried into battle and trained with, the only thing that seemed to set him apart was his shield, an almost bashe color like the sands of his country, the symbol of the Dornish Sun and Spear proudly resting on it. "That's him over there, by the ornamented knight who looks like hes about to fall of his horse near the Baratheon box. My.... cousin." She said hesitating on the word a bit as if used to saying something else but her voice still fond as she recovered from her pause, "Seems to be trying to help that man control his horse, though I can't say I know who the man is. Do you know my lord?" She asked, the distance making her unaware that this was the man who had bumped into her earlier and caused her no small trouble.


______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Lewyn had to admit, while it wasn't his first time fighting in the rain he never did like the feeling of rain dripping in between his armor. It was a welcome way to cool off in the usual hot sun but at the same time it would rust his armor if given to much time and the feeling of water dripping between the joints of his armor made him feel like he simply had an itch he couldn't scratch which got vaguely more irritating as he continued to wait for the melee to be called underway. Rarely was he impatient but what exactly were they waiting for? The longer they waited the worse the field would get in the rain which would increase the likehood of his horse flailing in the mud and increasing the fact that half these lords who hadn't fought in the rain before might have their horses flail into him. Most people wouldn't stay mounted for very long. He hadn't fought a mounted melee before but it couldn't have been too different from mounted battles could it? The mechanics of combat would be the same at least, except everyone around him would be his enemy. Somewhere in this mess Redwyn and Marcus planned to compete as well but they had already decided even if they met they would no throw the game, and fight each other earnestly, after all for this fight even the twins wouldn't fight together as they were common to do on the field and whether he would see them at all was a matter of debate given the amount of fighters on the field.


He was still wishing the fight would just start when another fighter sauntered onto the field. And by sauntered he met almost fall off his horse, which he seemed to be ontop of by sheer force of will. The horse was a fine steed, a massive beast and the man on top of it was big enough that he likely out muscled almost everyone on the field. Yet he was balanced on his horse so precariously it was almost comical to watch with every lurch he seemed to be about to fall and almost without thinking Lewyn was trotting towards him if only to make sure he was alright and not gonna fall off. As he rode over he saw from his armor the ordainment Kraken and the fancy armor he was a Greyjoy, though which one was not something he would hazard a guess on, it was more Nymerias alley to identify different nobles for him. Never the less he still went to help him and drew up next to him. While he rode over he noticed back in the royal box behind the Greyjoy what seemed to be Nymeria glancing out on the field, possibly watching him which caused him to look around as he rode over to the Lannister box to see if the one he wanted to see, Celena, would be watching already as well. After a cursory glance he found it was truly to hard to tell from this far as he was closer to the kings box while the Lannister box was across the field and he shook himself and focused on the person in front of him. "Having trouble with your horse?" He called out, his hand coming out to steady the horse just in case if his voice was enough to tip the delicate balance and send him tipping off his horse. 


@Lancelot


@WanderingJester (mentioned)


@Hypnos


@TheTraveller (For the handmaidens)


@TheFordee14 (Diddo, and you can still post what you like for the walk over to the box if you dont want to intervene or come into the current conversation)

Vaella Targaryen





Rain had never been Vaella's most favourite type of weather. She favoured the sun most of all, there was a certain pleasure in how content one could feel when they stretched out lavishly in the warm glow, how at peace. Perhaps the rain would be more enjoyable if it was accompanied by something exciting like rumbling thunder and streaks of lightning across the sky, but so far no such luck. Despite not being particularly fond of the rain, the young woman had still taken a detour on her way to the Royal Box and for that reason arrived with a few stray raindrops still clinging to her slender, bare arms. Vaella had certainly not dressed according to the weather, for her frame was clad in one of the usual dresses she wore, the sort that was made of thin fabric that appeared sheer in some lighting, pretty but far from practical. She couldn't remember the last time that she had worn a dress with sleeves that reached all the way to her wrists, or if she had ever even owned one at all.


The woman's head was clouded with questions and curiosities which were all inspired by the new faces she was seeing. Weddings, especially one that was so important and involved a member of the royal family, attracted people from all over the land and Vaella was yet to meet them all-- the thought of doing so was very exciting. Perhaps she was a woman fully grown in appearance, but she still held much of the curiosity and general enthusiasm that she had had when she was merely a little girl playing with wooden swords and getting underfoot.


Brushing the last raindrop from her forearm with a stroke of her fingers, Vaella approached a man and a woman. One was Aenar Velaryon, her father's hand, and the woman was Nymeria Martell-- although she had seen Nymeria since her arrival and exchanged a brief word or two she didn't think they had been properly introduced, and it seemed like the prime time to greet the dark haired woman. Nymeria was very pretty, she noted as she neared the pair, and her hair was as dark as Vaella's was fair.


"Greetings my lord, my lady. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything of great importance," She said politely as she came to a halt beside them, smiling her pleasant smile with her hands clasped in front of herself. "How are you today? I had hoped for warmer weather but I suppose things such as that are just out of our control."


@Hypnos@Akio


 

Martyn Lannister


Tourney Field, King's Landing, The Crownlands.


Ser Martyn Lannister walked through the rain, seemingly taking little notice of it or the harried attendants trying to get him to wait for the rest of his family.


The Mountain Lion of House Lannister, followed quickly by Ser Tidus and those intending to join him in the melee, strode towards the pit.  Each men led their own armored horses, and nobles, servants and peasants alike leapt out of the way of this entourage.  Like the rest Martyn had one hand on his armored horse, the other carried his helmet.  "You sure these will be enough?" Tidus asked, giving a glance at the ten Lionguards with their horses.


"Five more than I wanted," Martyn replied, as some mother quickly snatched her child away from their path.  "However, Lord Tiber's orders.  He wanted to have enough on the field to make a proper Western Shield Wall."


"Our Lord in the stands yet?"


"Have you seen Leanne today?"


"No, why?"


"There's your answer."


Clad in his custom armor, the Mountain Lion walked into the dry area directly under his family's stand.  The knights competing did not need to take the grounds until immediately before the ceremony for the melee began, and, as he looked out to the various individuals in the rain, he did not see the point of standing there as his body gets soaked and weighted down even more before the fighting began.  He could just faintly make out someone that looked like he had a squid on his head, and the Lannister merely shrugged and scanned his eyes over the others.  The area under the Lions' stand looked like a quality but hurriedly set up armory, with various high standard weapons and armors on racks, as well as tables with tools and food and drink on them, along with chairs scattered here and there.  Behind him, the other Lionguards began each of their own personal preparations, as some of them had not even had their full plates on yet.  Those competing had been given the previous night and the morning off of their duties, and thus decided to, in true knight's fashion, let their squires carry their equipment for as long as possible before putting the burden upon themselves.  As for Martyn, he had been awake since the sun broke through the horizon, checking his armor and weapon.  His various trainers, not to mention Uncle Roland, had drilled into him the importance of concentration and preparation.


Even so, were it not for the decoration of his armor, Martyn's armor might have been thought a lower quality than the Lionguards around him.  Various nicks and dents cover it in different places, not enough to deform the various House Lannister motives on the metal nor the two roaring lion heads that covered his pauldron, but enough to show clearly.  The two lion heads completed a full plate armor of red and gold, though only the thinnest layer of actual gold was present on the armor to preserve the look without adding extra weight.  Four chains connected the pauldrons to the chestpiece, which featured a rather large, custom cut diamond over the center, which seemed to glow white on its own, while the helmet seemed rather of a simple T visor design.  In the end though, Martyn treasured the dents and scraps as most prized quality of his suit, second only in its durability and protection.  Each scratch hard earned, each dent well received and replied.  The fact that Martyn stood today with no worse a body than when he had started fighting was proof enough that those were badges of honor, rather than indicators of his weaknesses in combat.  Tidus walked up next to him, and together, the two friend stared out into the melee ground.  The Lionguard commander spoke up first, "the ground might be soft with all the rain."


"Oh, it will be, with all that weight pounding on the field.  I've no doubt the middle will turn into a sludge of mud, horses and men before long."


"So what's your plan?"


"Don't go into the middle."


"That's not a plan, that's a goal!" Tidus scoffed, before grimacing.  "I should be out there with you lot, just like in the Stepstones."


Martyn smirked.  "Join the tilt if you want glory or honor or whatever else they offer.  I can't imagine you be wanting for gold, given your salary."


"Fuck the glory.  You bastards just want to keep all the fun to yourselves," Tidus turned to him, scowling.


Martyn placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.  "Tidus, you know that you'll be out there along with the rest of us if three quarters of my family isn't in this cutthroat city.  Don't you worry about me, I'm a big boy."


"Yeah well, try not to shit yourself out there when you realize I ain't at your back, big boy."


Tidus punched him on the shoulder, and the two chuckled before Martyn looked over his shoulder and shouted an order.  "Boy!  My weapon!"  It took no less than two of the scrawny squires to carry the poleaxe to him.  The blade was blunted for the purposes of the melee, but the hammer on the other side looked just as deadly as one found on the battlefield.  With one arm, Martyn lifted the weapon and gave it a swing.  Not quite as heavy as Robert Baratheon's legendary warhammer, lighter by quite a bit if the stories were true in fact, but it had more reach and versatility.  Tidus looked at his friend, unimpressed.


"Poleaxe?  On a horse?"


Martyn shrugged.  "Can't swing a lance, not for enough power to unhorse someone anyways, and I wanna outreach a sword or a mace.  Besides, you really think we'll be mounted the whole time?"


"Where would you hold your shield?  On your arse?"


"Close, but a bit higher.  It'll be covering my back, since you'll be here making sure someone doesn't try to kill my family while I'm out there."


Tidus shook his head in disbelief.  "Any other man Lannister, and I'll say-"


"Good thing I'm the Mountain Lion then, and not other men," Martyn gave another smirk before turning to see the Lionguards joining him on the field.  There would be ten in all, each holding a tower shield and a spear, along with their personal choice of a long sword, or something else allowed.  Most had finished arming themselves at this point, and proceeded to engage in various personal pre-battle rituals, from praying to wiping down of weapons and brushing of horses.  A thought occurred to the Mountain Lion, "say, is my cousin not in this little scrape with us?"  Tidus thought for a moment, before nodding as another squire came up with Martyn's shield.


"I believe I heard him say something about joining last night.  Why?"


"Well, I think it'll be only right to invite him with us, being family and all," Martyn said as he grabbed the shield and placed it on his back.  Turning to the squire, he said, "you!  Find Albert Lannister and invite him here.  Tell him family should begin a fight together, even if his loyalty might be somewhere else due to his duties."  The boy bowed before running out of the area and back into the rain, the Mountain Lion lifted the polearm and carried it on his shoulder before turning to his horse and climbing on, getting the feel of the weapon in his hands once he was on his mount.  "Not bad, not bad at all."  He turned to Tidus, before saying, "you better head up.  Most of the others should've arrived by now."  Tidus walked forward and the two grasped each other's arm.


"Warrior keep you Martyn."

"I rather it be friends with the Stranger, that way he'll take me last."


@Red


@Akio (I guess if you want to ride over there and interact or something)


@Lancelot (Same)


______________________________________________________________________


Celena Lannister


Lannister Stands, King's Landing, The Crownlands.


Lady Celena Lannister stood slightly behind her nephews, keeping an eye on them while conversing with the various people present.


The Lannister stand hosted various families from the Westerlands, as well as the Lord Paramount's family himself, yet the Lion of Lannister have yet to appear.  With large, cushioned benches lined up, with the lowest ones closest to the front, the stand likely stood as one of, if not the, most comfortable ones wrapped around the grounds below.  Drapes had been set up around the openings to block the glaring sun, though they were obviously useless in the current weather conditions.  Food and drink had been placed on various tables around, and a number of servants either wandered around with plates of food or drink, or they stood near invisible to the background, ready to fetch anything that might fancy those inside.  They contrast with the glaring presence of the various Lionsguard and other Lannister soldiers present, standing statue-like but near impossible to miss by anyone inside.  Celena plucked a piece of pear from the nearest plate before taking a bite out of it, when Gerald suddenly turned around and looked at his aunt.


"Auntie Celena, where's mom and dad?  They're going to miss it!" the young boy whined, while darting his head quickly back and forth between his aunt and the grounds below, as though at any time the men below would start attacking one another.


Celena thought about where her older brother and his wife was likely doing, and shook her head slightly.  Every man has his weakness, her brother was no different.  Many thought that House Lannister's greatest weakness was its vanity.  They might be correct even on the whole, but they would be wrong about the Lord.  Tiber only has one, and that was Leanne.  "I'm sure they're very busy right now, but they'll be here before you know it."  Loreon stood next to his brother as Gerald spun back to face the the melee field.  Celena looked at her older nephew with a frown.  He had been unusually quiet; does he know what his parents were doing?  The heir to the Rock was getting to that age when he would understand about things that went on beyond his view, and Loreon was bright like his father...


Suddenly Celena felt a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped and squeaked before spinning around to see her grinning cousins.  "Daydreaming about a certain knight already?" Carysee teased, while Caylee giggled.


"You're telling us that he didn't have the nerve to sneak over to your room last night Celly?"  The two girls erupted in giggles as Celena rolled her eyes hard enough she thought they might pop out of their socket.


"Very funny you two.  To be honest I don't even know if Laenor will take the field today, just that he's not joining the tilts.  So, you would be the only one here who has a stake in the melee."  Caylee gasped.


"You mean Martyn hasn't asked for your favor Celly?  Surely I imagine out of anyone, you would-"


Celena rolled her eyes again.  "Of course I would wish my best to my brother, and would gladly give me my favor had he asked.  That's the problem isn't it?  He has to ask."  Caylee now have her hand over her mouth.  "In fact, no one's asked me for a favor for anything this tourney," Celena said with an accentuated amount of satisfaction, crossing her arms and smiling to the side, "no one worthwhile at least."  The Lion Maid gestured over to one of the entrances to the stand, where a knight who had been staring at her hurried away after catching a glimpse of the Lionguards there.  Just then, a passing Dyanne raised her eyebrows.


"A melee where Celena Lannister hasn't been asked her favor?  Has the wall fallen in the North?  I'm sure we would've felt it."  Celena slapped her cousin's arm, just as Caylee looked at her sister.


"Well well well, Celly with no champion of her own, and here you are with not one, but two Carysee.  Aren't you snatching up boys left and right?"  As one, all of the girls' heads snapped to Carysee, who reddened rapidly.


"Is-is that even allowed?" Celena simmered out just as a group appeared in the stands.  Most wore the grey or white, all had the Hightower emblem attached to their clothing in some way.  As the older man in the front came over, Celena and the other ladies fixed themselves and curtsied.


"Lord Hightower, we're happy to have you join us today."  The old Hightower, exhibiting the mannerism of a jolly father, quickly kissed the hands of all around him.  He wore some of the finest and cleanest clothes Celena had ever saw, with the silver, white and grey blending together in perfect harmony.


"Not as happy as this old man to be around this much beauty.  I swear to the Seven, if the Stranger need to take me right now, I would fight him until the Long Night comes."  Just then, a dignified lady appeared next to him and cleared her throat.  Instantly, Lord Hightower quickly turned to his wife.  "But no one can compare to your light my love.  Even in the midst of this beautiful blossoms..."  Celena looked upon Lady Loria Hightower as Lord Hightower babbled his way out of the hole he dug.  The Lady of Hightower wore a simple dark dress, with the silver tower embroidered upon its side.  It was a modest fashion, appropriate for a woman her age.  Yet what seemed most impressive was not the woman's age, but the way she held herself.  Ever faculty of her being radiated dignity, authority, and Celena even mused, majesty.  She imagined Queen Daenerys Targaryen standing in similar fashion during her reign over the Westeros, and this woman does it without three massive dragons at her beck and call.  Just then, Mileena voice snapped her out of her thoughts as Celena's other strawberry blonde cousin joined them as well.


"We're grateful to have you and the rest of your family joining us today Lady Hightower.  I don't believe we've met in person.  I'm Milenna Lannister, this is Lady Celena, Lady Carysee, Lady Caylee, all my cousins, and my sister, Lady Dyanne."  All the girls curtsied again as their names were spoken, and Lady Loria gave them each a slight nod, as a Queen might to her ladies in waiting.


"Charmed.  As my babbling and slightly drooling husband here said, we're happy to be here.  Now, where is our dear Lord Tiber?  Does he feel ill?"  She looked around, not spotting Tiber anywhere.


Celena, feeling it her obligation to speak for her brother, said, "no my lady.  I don't believe he's unwell, just... busy."  Lady Loria raised an eyebrow.


"Busy making another heir with his lady wife perhaps?"  Celena felt her eyes widen along with Mileena's while Caylee gasped.  Carysee giggled while Dyanne held a knowing smile on her face.  If Lady Loria was fazed by any of this, she did not show it.  "Ah pish posh.  I am old and not unknowledgeable to the service we wives do for our husbands, as you can see yourselves."  She waved over to three of her sons behind her.  As she did that, Celena couldn't help but notice the slight disappointment in Carysee's face.  "well come then husband, the young people should be left to mingle amongst themselves.  We should grab good seats before they're all taken, and I think I spot some of those crabs you love so much."  With that, she more or less dragged Lord Hightower away, without ever laying a hand on him.  Just then, Anthor Hightower materialized in their place, with his wife in one arm and alcohol in the other.  Celena wondered which was less surprising.


"Ah, shame Tiber's not here.  Need a drinking buddy.  Lady Celena, do you know if he might be able to make it today?" Anthor said as Celena finished her curtsy.  "Oh and have you met my wife?  This is Laurel.  Laurel, Celena Lannister, Tiber's little sister."  Celena kept the smile on her face at the curt introduction, before leaning forward to kiss both cheeks of Laurel.


"A pleasure my lady, have you been enjoying King's Landing so far?"  Celena's eyes flickered to check on her nephews, who both seemed to be occupied with the increasing amount of knights gathering below.  At the same time, Dyanne seemed caught up in conversation with another man from House Hightower, likely Alix.  From their body language, they were exchanging flirts, but Celena, who've known Dyanne for a while, could see something flickering in her eyes.  It could be the impressive feat that Alix's eyes never left Dyanne's the entire time they talked, unlike other men's, which her ample chest would draw.  Further down the stands beyond them, another, more well built Hightower with a blonde lady in his arms that wore similar colors as him.  Must be the Hightower Sword.  Any blond at a Lannister function that wasn't a lion was something to note, but what made Celena truly curious was the presence of a second lady next to her, and her clothing's lack of Hightower motive or colors.


@Red (The Lannisters of Lannisports are there, just not focused on by Celena)


@TheFordee14


@TheTraveller (I assume Cassandra and Roland would be there too)


@Leusis ^


_________________________________________________________________________


Bennar Hightower


Melee Grounds, King's Landing, The Crownlands.


Ser Bennar Hightower rode into melee grounds, doing his best to ignore the rain coming down.


The young man rode with five other knights, all dressed in grey with the Hightower crest painted on their armor and shield.  While his eldest brother had tailored the armor to his exact specifications, Bennar looked pretty much like the run of the mill hedge knight.  Perhaps one with more success than others, who can afford new armor and a fresh horse, but a hedge knight nonetheless.  Still, the Young Tower had to give it to his brother, even in his perpetual state of questionable sobriety, the armor fit him better than most of his court clothes.  Mayhaps he was just a military man like Humfrey.  Bennar looked over to the side, where several squires jogged along the trotting horses with fresh melee lances, looking out of breath but determined to keep up.  Bennar hid a smile.  It wasn't too long ago he was the one chasing after mounted knights with their weapons.


As the others made their final preparation, Bennar looked around the competition.  He immediately spotted someone with what looked like a squid on his head.  Shaking his head to make sure that he wasn't in a fevered dream, Bennar squinted his eyes, and finally realized that it was a kraken helm of sorts on the man's head.  Evidently it wasn't doing the man or his vision any favors, as he looked about to fall off his horse.  As the Young Tower was about to look away, he spotted Lewyn Martell next to the squid man, and found himself staring at the Dornishman for a bit, before staring down at the ribbon tied to his right wrist.  Carysee's words rung in his ears from last night.


"If you wish my favor, you'll have to win it off the man I had given it to first.  Take this ribbon, and whoever comes back to me with both ribbons would be my champion."


Bennar clutched his fist closed. Turning to the others, he ordered as he grabbed his lance.  "Cover me, but don't interfere with my fight with that man," he gestured at the Martell.  "Make sure we're not interrupted."  The knights saluted, before Bennar raised his lance into the air.  "We light the way!"


"We light the way!"


He would take that ribbon from that Martell, if it was the last thing he did.


@Akio


@Lancelot


(And whoever else is on the field/watching it)

[SIZE=12pt]Robert Wildes[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Tourney Grounds, King’s Landing[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Leg, cane, pain. Leg, cane, pain. Leg, cane, pain. Hobbling along to the rhythmic tip, tapping of wood against hard stone, Robert Wilds stopped to catch his breath, only vaguely aware of the several dozen eyes focused in his general direction, glaring at him with a mixture of scorn and pity. As a former knight, from a family whose claim to fame was through martial prowess and wartime valour, Robert wasn’t sure what pained him more about his injury: the cold looks of smug sympathy, or the fact that he was too weak to do anything about them. Even after a year had passed since his destiny had been sealed by that fateful encounter, Robert still heard whispers, people discussing the tragic irony that the son of one of the greatest warriors in the realm was barely capable of riding a horse, a piece of humour that was unfortunately lost upon the man whose lack of a future others so willingly japed about. Were he a lesser man such snide insults might have broken him beyond repair, but he was raised by [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]R-Dogg[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] Roland Wilds, and had learned from a young age that there was nothing to be gained from by sitting back and licking your wounds.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Leaning heavily upon the shoulder of his dear wife as he tried to adjust himself so as to alleviate some of the pain of movement, the Wilds’ took a second to contemplate which of the circumstances he found himself in made him more pathetic: the fact that he’d been collected from his quarters like a petulant child by his mother’s men, or that he was forced to rely upon the strength of a pregnant woman to keep himself upright. Deciding upon the former, Robert gave his makeshift crutch a quick peck on the cheek before they continued their journey to tourney grounds, determined to arrive early enough that their arrival would not cause a scene (which would be hard, since Robert’s only walking pace was equivalent to another man’s cautious trudge.)[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]Though progress towards their destination was relatively slow, and was halted on several occasions due to Robert’s inability to maintain a posture that did not leave him in a constant state of pain, eventually the pair was able to limp their way into the tourney stands that had been constructed a few minutes away from the city, taking their time in maneuvering up the narrow stairs that led to the Lannister box in order to prevent slipping. In all honesty Robert perhaps would have preferred a bit more seclusion in his tourney viewing, whilst he found a moderate amount of comfort in the company of his mother’s family, watching a tournament such as this was bound to bring back some bad memories that he’d rather not share. He’d almost forsaken the tourney entirely, in favour of remaining within King’s Landing to look around the city whilst all the common rabble were preoccupied, however his wife was determined that he should make an appearance with his family and since he would be going nowhere without the use of his legs he was forced to oblige.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=12pt]“Mother, father, good morning.” Robert winced as he lowered himself into a seat beside his family, his wife occupying the chair to his left with a grace that made his own stumble comparable to that of a large bull. “And cousin.” He gave a brief nod to Lady Celena Lannister, who he supposed, with the absence of Lord Tiber or Ser Martyn was the highest ranking Lannister in attendance. “Pleasant to see you again.”[/SIZE]


@TheTraveller @Leusis @WanderingJester

Aelyx Targaryen-Kings Landing, Kings Box


Aelyx leaned against the wall of the box, his black shirt and pants standing out against its surface. His eyes traveled over the crowds gathered below to watch the coming tournament. The countless voices melded together into a single, loud sound that was constant. Even in the box, Aelyx had to drown out the voices sometimes so he could focus on what was being said. It had been years since Aelyx had seen so many people gathered in one location. Summerhall was still rebuilding and expanding in most areas, and barely had a population at all compared to Kings Landing. Seeing the teeming masses gathered in one place brought back numerous memories from his childhood, including a dull pain along his scar. His right hand drifted up on its own, briefly running along the damaged skin, before he turned his attention back to the others seated in the box.


Walking across the length, he weaved through the few nobles here and there, before coming to a stop behind Cayden. "A pleasant day, don't you agree my lord?" @Akio


---


Tom Brax-Kings Landing, Tourney Ground


Tom sat on one of the numerous boxes located in the tourney grounds, his gloved hand held up before his face. He slowly flexed it a few times, listening to the creaking sound coming from it. A voice pulled him out of his thoughts though. "Your armor is ready, ser." Turning his head, Tom looked across the small area he had taken for himself, a small tent dominating most of it. Just inside the tent, a servant was stepping away from his new armor, commissioned by the prince weeks in advance. Rising from the box, he walked into the tent, standing before the armor. Turning his head to look at the servants, he briefly nodded at them, and they rushed forward, beginning to strap the armor into place.

"If a bit of mud hampers their ability to fight that much then the men who knighted them would have been better off being an Ironborn's saltwife."  Roland spoke to his beloved wife as he calmly walked towards the stands where they would meet with the Lannisters and hopefully their son Robert. Grumbling softly as the aches in his joints only seemed to increase from the rain and humidity, Roland would reach out with his left hand, palm facing upwards to try and get a better judgement of how much rain was actually falling. "If this keeps up there will be a quagmire in the center in short order once these knights as they call themselves begin prancing their ponies around the field, poking at each other with their play swords." Roland spoke, scoffing to himself before giving a quizzical gaze to Cassandra at her statement of gamble. "Martyn huh? The boy has talent and a body from the Age of Heroes, but I hear that salty dornish cu~nt has quite a bit of skill, not to mention the mountain with the squid on his head. But I believe you're right my love, if he can stay on his feet with the dornishman and out of reach from the sea bear, I think he'll have no problem lasting long enough for Albert to send him to the Maester." Roland spoke, chuckling to himself at the thought of the cousins fighting it out as the final combatants.


Before entering the Lannister Box, Roland would bend down next to the field where the melee was to take place, taking mud in one hand before cupping them together. Pressing his nose between he inhaled deeply as if smelling a fine wine before he took a sip and rubbed them together, coating his hands in a thin veil of muck, just as he always would at the cusp of every melee, every joust, every blood soaked battle. Grunting as he strained to bring himself back to his feet as quickly as possible he followed after his wife, giving a nod and as pleasant of a smile as he could rouse from himself to Celena. Hearing what his wife had to say as he passed by to take his seat he gave a resounding laugh as he took his seat, focusing intently on the field to try and spot Martyn.


Only moments later did Robert arrive with his wife at his side, Roland calmly patting the seat next to him to assure his son would be at his side, both of them warriors at heart forced to watch others fight in their place. Roland of course sympathized with his son more than most, though he could not fully grasp the disappointment of his abilities in battle slipping from his grasp at such a young age and so quickly. However, he had the heart of a father, always prepared to help his son find some new passion to take hold of his life, as it was quite clear to Roland that Robert's wife was not it. She was a nice woman, but dull and far less fair than someone he would have preferred for his son, though the match was necessary to assure House Wilds place as a power in the Westerlands. "Hey boy" Roland spoke, placing his hand on his sons shoulder as he pointed with his free hand at a rather large knight struggling to stay balanced on his horse "Ten dragons somebody puts a lance between his eyes before he can get her to a gallop."


@TheTraveller @Hypnos @WanderingJester

Aenar Velaryon

Glancing quickly at Nymeria as she made her reply, Aenar gave a brief nod, his violet eyes quick to follow her finger onto the field. Lewyn Martell was not his favourite nephew, nor a member of the family that he found himself particularly well acquainted with, but the blood of the dragons still ran through the boy's veins, and he had a certain honour about him that seemed out of place within the sands of Dorne. It had not been his preference to marry the Princess Rhaenyra off to one of spawn of Cayden Martell, nor in truth would it have been something he considered within the realm of possibility, however Cayden’s son had shared little of his father’s crass nature and despite his faults he had been a comforting presence within the court. In fact, until recent years he had thought positively of the entire Martell family, including the almost ancient Prince Cayden, who despite being five years his senior seemed to show fewer signs of age (most likely due tothe fact he’d never worked a hard day in his life) however after the hassle that was the shifting of Dornish succession he found he could tolerate the man, and by extension the rest of his family, much less than he used to. Despite his reservations however, he would not take out his stress upon the man’s granddaughter, she was barely a woman, and though he had heard some rather incriminating rumours he would prefer to judge her character in person rather than listen to the words of fools and mummers.


“I believe…” Aenar replied, squinting down at the field to get a better view of the black knight in question, “that would be Dalton Greyjoy, one of Vickon’s boys.” Aenar knew every member of the great houses, as was his duty as Lord-Hand, however the Greyjoys held a special place in his heart, whilst they had a history of remain uncivilised raiders, great steps had been taken since the reign of the usurper, and now the Ironborn were far more willing to integrate with the rest of Westeros. Vickon Greyjoy was a close friend, and his Aenar regarded each of his children in a positive light. He had oft said that if he were not too old to sire another son he would have liked to send a boy to Pyke to learn their naval secrets, and only partially in jest. “In a field battle I would warn your cousin to be wary of him, but I’m afraid on horseback he is like a fish out of water, I would not…”


His words were cut short by the newest arrival to the Royal Box. Princess Vaella was a peaceful girl and the oldest of Maegor’s daughters, she held a unique position within the court and years of over protectiveness on the part of her father meant that she remained unwed despite her age. “No, nothing of importance. Myself and Lady Caron were just discussing your cousin Lewyn and his chances within the melee.”

Akio ailurophile

Dalton heard the Dornishman call over to him, half listening to the stranger as he helped Dlaton steady the damned beast from underneath him. He looked down to see the man who had aided him, he did not know his face but he could guess what House that the man was from due to the orange sun and spear which was on his armour, he recognised it from a picture in a book that he had read before coming to Kings Landing, perhaps that was why his father had requested him to read it, it was a lot of stress over something trivial really but at least it had some use to him no matter how minuscule that use turned out to be. "th-Thanks." Dalton mumbled as he hesitated, unsure what to say to the man he nodded before slowly and carefully dismounting his horse, not letting his hand go of the reigns in fear that it would kick up a fuss and abandon him, but it seemed to have calmed down now that he wasn't wobbling around on top of it. "Who the fuck made the melee a horse race eh?" Dalton asked the stranger with a half smile, clearly annoyed but also trying to make light of the situation. Dalton then patted the Martell on the shoulder playfully although with some unintentional force behind it "The name is Dalton." He said to the martell as he scanned the field, he noticed quite a few parties readying themselves first including some Reachmen who had an eye on the Martell man, Which one of these greenland bastards am I smashing first? He thought to himself.

Akio

Wilhelm was seated at the Lannister box, as he waited for his wife to return. She insisted on personally escorting Jonos to his brother’s tent. It was no secret that he was an impatient man. He tapped his fingertips on his knees as he waited, growing more and more restless as time passed by. Surely there was nothing to worry about as a member of the Lion’s Guard was with her, but he couldn’t just help it. He looked to the empty seat to his left, before looking to his right where his children were seated. His son Patrik was busy looking at the field, trying to carve the image of all the different knights in his memory, occasionally naming the ones he recognized.

“Look father, that’s Ser Lewyn Martell! They say he’s the best swordsman to ever come from Dorne!” he said with glee and excitement. “And there’s Ser Martyn, the Mountain Lion!” pointing to where his group was located on the field. Patrik’s eyes scanned the field, looking for someone. “Where’s Uncle Albert? He told me last night that he was going to be joining.” He said as he continued to look.

“He’s still probably preparing.” Wilhelm replied dismissively before looking to his daughter who was seated between him and Patrik.

She looked troubled and worried, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Wilhelm was pretty much thinking the same thing.

Wilhelm looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, mother will be here shortly. We just need to wait.” He told her softly as he gently patted her head.

It was until only a few moments that Miranda arrived. She quickly paced herself towards her seat. She immediately held Wilhelm’s hand before apologizing. “I’m sorry, my love. It was hard took me longer than I thought because of all the people.” She explained. "Did I miss anything?"

Wilhelm’s weariness and anxiousness slowly dissipated. Their daughter quickly moved to sit beside her mother, immediately leaning on to her. Miranda responded by putting her arm around her. “It’s alright, my dear. Nothing of note.” Wilhelm responded to his wife.

"Thank goodness." she said as she began stroking her daughter's head.

Wilhelm eyes looked around the Lannister box to see who else was there. Lord Roland Wilds was already there, along with his family. Celena was also there, together with their other female cousins, looking at the field. His father was seated nearby presumably close to where Tiber was going to sit. But where was his Lord Cousin? He was notably absent, and he was not the sort to be late.




Albert had just finished his preparations when a grizzled knight entered his tent.

"Ser Albert, it's almost time." said the older knight. His black hair was already graying in some parts. Wrinkles have already apparent on his face. This man had already seen a lot, but his continued service implied that he was still strong enough. Ser Theodore had been in the service of House Targaryen for years. Even back when Ser Dwayne Prester was still newly Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He had also been there with Albert in the Stepstones when Ser Prester was cut down. He was around forty years old now, and still the stubborn old man serves fiercely and loyally.


Ser Albert's participation was nothing more than a showing for everyone who was in attendance. It was a reminder of House Targaryen’s strength. With so many questions and rumors surrounding the Royal family and the King’s condition, it was paramount to have a little display of prestige and power. Part of the wedding’s purpose was as such.


As much as he would’ve preferred not to participate, this occasion saw the participation of quite a number of warriors of legendary renown. His cousin the Mountain Lion, Dorne’s Ser Lewyn Martell, as well as the man they called the Red Krakken; all of them were going to participate in this melee. Were there to be a discussion of who was the best warrior in all of Westeros, all four of them would be mentioned. Maybe today was the day that question was to be answered. A rare occasion indeed.


Ser Albert exited his tent to see the men who were going to go with him. None of them were his brothers from the White Order. Ser Walder was far too advanced in age to be participating in events such as melees and jousts. It was better for him to reserve his strength for when the fighting was really needed. Ser Alliser would’ve made the perfect companion, but alas, he wasn’t interested in glory or prestige. He was content looking after his charge. Ser Manfred was away guarding the King. Having him join was out of the question. Ser Addison and Ser Kermit were eager to join him but Prince Aelyx and Prince Jaeherys weren’t as lenient with their protection as their elder brother Prince Aegor. Prince Aegor is a capable fighter, given his experience in the Stepstones, and considering that he has been asking Albert to train him during his free time. It was part of the reason he was allowed to join. And then there was Ser Garth. He wasn’t keen on joining because he was well, Ser Garth. Part of his reason was that he disliked getting dirty if he could avoid it. The other part is that he’d prefer if people he could be fighting didn’t know what he was capable of. Still, those that were going to fight with him were competent enough. He’s had the pleasure of fighting alongside some of them from before. He can trusted their skills.

The youngest of his knight companions approached him along with a boy.

“Ser Albert, message from Ser Martyn, the Mountain Lion.” Said Ser Josmyn. He gently nudged the boy forward, who was petrified with awe. Sure, he was squiring for the Ser Martyn Lannister himself, but it wasn’t every day that you get to see the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard from this close.


The boy soon snapped out of his admiration, quickly delivering the message he was tasked to. “Ser Martyn would like to invite you ride alongside him during the melee, my lord. He said that family should start the fight alongside each other.” He said courteously.


Ser Albert paused for a moment before letting out a chuckle. It was an entertaining proposition, one that he was now seriously considering..

Cayden at first would almost seemed to be dozing, his eyes closed as he sat back in his chair, his entire body still except for the wind which slightly flapped the edges of his robes. While he preferred the warm sun of Dorne against his skin, the breeze coming from Blackwater Bay reminded him of long journeys and the far away places he had seen in his youth, and his own long adventures on the sea... Voyages which had become more and more rare of an occasion due to his advanced age and responsibilities. Never the less he kept one ear open to his daughters conversation, listening to the hand and his daughter exchange words before he heard someone approach him and he cracked open one eye to Aelyx next to him, causing him to open his eyes and stand after a moment, bowing slightly to the prince. "Indeed prince Aelyx, while some bemuse the rain, like some of the fighters on the field, I personally enjoy the wind from the bay, its cool and still stings slightly of salt." He said and with that comment turns to the arena for the melee, his gaze focused momentarily on the field where he quickly identified his grandson talking with another knight with what he though was Kraken armor which would identify him as a Greyjoy. An interesting coincidence but he left that be for now.

"What do you think of the melee my lord, who do you might take the crown?" He questioned, looking out until the field, looking to fill the conversation. "The field is quite full today, with many well known fighters participating, it will be quite hard to predict the days victor." He said, his voice inquisitive as he looked down on the field. While he knew his Grandson would seek the honor of winning the melee he would settle on having him uninjured. In a melee this big accidents were bound to occur, especially when adding flailing hooves and stamping feat of the horses. Never the less he would not stop him from participating if he wanted to, he understood that urge for testing his skill and the rush of the battlefield. He was too old and his body to weathered to feel it truly anymore, where the urges of his ailing body stopped her from participating the way he felt it before but he still remembered how it felt. And naturally he couldn't help but feel proud of his son, and what hes managed to accomplish. He was better fighter then he ever had been, and without the rough edges he had back then with a quiet nature. He couldn't help but hope as well that his son would take the mantle, while he won at the Lannister event if he won at an event this large it would bring honor to the house and the attention he knew his on might dislike but he couldn't help but think he deserved.
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Nymerias face twitched at the mention of Dalton obviously showing some of familiarity and perhaps not all of it good. "Dalton Greyjoy?" She said, sitting against the edge of the box and lookout out, squinting at the man as he dismounted slowly as if trying to get a read on him. "I must say I don't really know the man though I've had an encounter with him that went less then well." She said, her features restoring themselves into a smile before his words were suddenly interrupted by as he noticed someone else approaching and caused her to turned his to Vaella, causing her smile to widen to become a more genuine one, as her eyes showed recognition as she slid off the edge and took a step towards her. "Princess Vaella." She said seeming delighted as she strode over and actually hugged the girl, wrapping her arms around her in a close hug if only for a moment before she stepped back and bowed politely. "Sorry for the impolitenesses my lady." She said, smiling wildly before turning back to Aenar as he spoke.

"Indeed we were, I must admit I'm not fully aware of the great fighters of Westeros other then the ones my cousin tends to mention, how strong is he? He's pretty big but being too big would just slow him down wouldn't it? Perhaps someone as experienced as yourself could brief me and Vaella on the state of the field? Us gentle ladies are not as experienced in battle as yourself and I would be interested in your opinion on who might take the field." She said, making a small effort to flatter the hand but at the same time she knew the words were far from pure flattery, there were few others who would be able to read the field like the Lord hand, of course one sat behind them in her own grandfather but better to curry favor with the hand while she had a chance, she did not know how he reacted to her displacing his own nephew but they would have to work together when she inherited Dorne depending on how long he held the position. It would not due for their to be excess hatred between them and she wanted to gage and improve the hands feelings as much as possible.

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Lewyn smiled at the man but he didn't seem mocking but rather just seemed pleasantly amused at his words, Lewyn was far more steady on his horse, sitting with a relaxed ease that was only born from fighting on horseback. Not even the wet ground caused him the slightest bit of unsteadiness, at least for now... When the battlefield became a confusing mess of hooves and mud perhaps it would become much harder for him to keep his seat, after all he was more used to combat on the ground then on horseback. "Usually its only reserved for battle this large. The melee is much as a show for the nobles as it is a test for us and the idea of mount knights looks a bit more noble and limits the number of participates to those who own a horse to prevent the field from being too flooded with challengers from hedge knights. Though it will likely become a melee soon enough, faster in this rain." He said, glancing at the sky and while it was only a slight drizzle at this point the damage had been done to the field and a moist wind from the bay still drifted in, he would have to work hard to make sure his armor didn't rust after this.

Despite being mounted Dalton was still easily able to reach him to pat on his shoulder, shaking his stance for a moment due to his strength and it actually caused his eyes to widen for a moment, this man was massive but just how strong was he? After steadying himself and realizing he might need to prepare himself around this man for accidental hits. "My name is Lewyn." He said after a moment, taking a moment to really observe the man. Now that he wasn't falling off his horse he could see that under the fancy armor laid someone who was formidable. His stance was certain even on muddy ground in full armor though he could really expect no less from a Greyjoy who could preform an entire melee on a ship, likely in the middle of a storm. But he also observed the surrounding combatants in a self assured way that seem to leave little doubt he knew what he was doing and Lewyn was growing to realize he may have placed himself next a deadly creature who could turn against him the moment the melee bell gonged. He would need to conserve his strength as long as possible if he wanted to last in the melee and he would need to either work an alliance which he rather not do or give himself some distance unless he wanted to clash against this formidable fighter from the start. So focused was his attention he didn't even notice Bennars razor focus on him for the moment. "You might not want to lose your horse right away though, if someone charges you full lance even a skillful knight might have trouble meeting it, less the horse run you over. If you land till the ground is messed up enough that the horses will lose traction you'll do fine." He said, managing to hide his unease, and while he did give honest advice he also hoped it would act as a fail safe. After all if the Greyjoy was to busy fighting with his horse perhaps he wouldn't have enough time to fight him if he kept his distance, at least as first.

Listening as the slight pitter-patter of rain was drowned out by the incessant and excited roaring of the crowds, Laenor Velaryon couldn’t help but muster a grin, echoing the cheerful demeanor of the countless lords, knights, and smallfolk who had gathered to view the largest test of martial skill since Maegor had first begun his reign. After months of fighting in the Stepstones it was easy for Laenor to forget that he had won his spurs as a tourney knight in this very city, and watching all of the warriors gather within the melee pit below was enough to bring back a slew of childhood memories. Perhaps under differing circumstances he would have joined them, fighting not for his life like in the Stepstones but rather for enjoyment and the entertainment of the masses, however he knew that wistful thinking would bring him nothing but resentment. The past was the past.


“So brother, who do you favour for victory? If you are not going to compete you should at least tell me where to put my money.” Laena Velaryon was no more a stranger to the tourney grounds than her brother and whilst as a women she could never actively compete within the events, she always revelled at the opportunity to gamble a bit of gold.


Laenor chuckled at her words, turning his gaze to the combatants upon the field. “My pride tells me it will be one of the boys from the Stepstones, but the pragmatist in me would beg to differ.” Laenor raised a singular gloved hand, pointing out some of the notables upon the field. “The usual characters are likely to take a victory, though you won't get very good odds: Lannister, Martell, I’ve heard tell that the Greyjoys are a force to be reckoned with, but that could just be the exaggeration of a drunken Essosi sailor, trying to save face after his ship has been raided.” He grimaced, he was aware that his father had a long history with the Lord-Reaper of Pyke that he knew very little about, but he had a hard time understanding why that justified their piracy upon the shores of Essos. “Were I you, I’d put a little money on some of the less renowned warriors and knights and leave it at that. I’ve got a few friends down in the pit that have some experience from the Stepstones so I wouldn’t rule them out: Walt Butterwell, Ben Massey, Harry Waynwood, they can earn you a few dragons if you put ‘em in the top five.” Laenor was only vaguely aware of his sister’s mocking grin. He had spent a large portion of his life fighting and he liked to think he knew at least a little about it, though it was obvious from his sister’s face that he might be coming across as a bit of an ass.


“Alright then, since you know the field so well, how about mystery knights, are they worth a few coppers?”


Laenor’s brow furrowed. “Depends on how much of a risk you’re willing to take I suppose: some of these mystery knights are just hedge knights and vagabonds using closed helms to masquerade as someone more competent. I’m sure some are perfectly fine warriors. You see the man with the morning star? With the seven pointed star upon his shield.” He pointed. “He has a good set of armour and a strong horse, which suggests previous success, and the man the big man next to him certainly looks like he knows how to use that hammer.”


“Well I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. Save my seat while I find a bookmaker.”


Laenor at alone for a moment, his gaze shifting away from the pit and instead onto those watching it. He knew his father and mother would be in the royal box, socialising with his cousins and ensuring that everything was running smoothly, he still hadn’t spoken to the Lord Hand since his return from the Stepstones and he wondered whether he could make the whole trip without exchanging words with the man. His sighed turning his mind to brighter prospects, the wedding would be on soon and it would be a time to drink and make merry, there was no use focusing on the negatives.




Nymeria’s sudden twitch at the mention of Dalton Greyjoy and his appearance upon the field was not lost upon the Lord Hand, though he chose to ignore it. Gone were the days where he would concern himself with every matter that plagued every notable knight and courtier within the realm, and Aenar found that as he grew older he began to grow less tolerable of the petty squabbles and arguments between the lords of the realm and their various children. He had more important things to concern his time with and he would not inquire further into Nymeria’s previous interaction with the Greyjoys.”Dalton Greyjoy is a good lad, if a bit lacking of his father’s guile. I would not speak ill of him, nor any of his kin, the Ironborn have been a great boon to his grace over the years and have remained stalwart in their loyalty, regardless of personal issues.” His words were not intended as an insult, nor would they likely be perceived as anything more than praise for an old war friend, but Aenar’s mind was cast back to the last stand of King Rhaegar, where it had been the Greyjoys alone who had answered the King’s call to arms when the loyalties of all the other lords faltered. Lords including Prince Cayden Martell.


Remaining politely silent as Nymeria exchanged greetings with the Princess, Aenar wondered when it was that the two became so close. Were Prince Lewyn still the heir to Dorne, a union between Princess Vaella and House Martell may have been a mutually beneficial arrangement, though Aenar supposed that was just another inconvenience caused by the sudden shift in succession.


“I fear I have been absent from the tourney grounds for too long to consider myself an expert upon these things.” Aenar let out a brief chuckle, asking an admiral to asses a warrior’s prowess was like asking a general to survey the shoe’s of a horse, whilst it was true Aenar had military experience from his past, the realm had been at peace for far too long for him to consider himself ‘experienced in battle’ at least not as much as he used to be. “Speed is not much of an issue in a horseback melee, and his size will only help to add to his reach, were he a bit more experienced in equestrian I would make a case for his victory, but as it stands I can only expect a solid performance rather than an outstanding one.” Aenar wondered for a moment why it was Dalton would be fighting alone, his brothers were not inexperienced in combat and they would certainly not embarrass themselves within the pit. Absences still upon his mind, Aenar’s thoughts shifted to his own son, normally the boy would revel at the opportunity to fight within a tourney such as this yet he was noticeably missing from the field.


“I’m sure your cousin has told you all about the greatest knights of the realm, Martyn and Albert Lannister are sure to do exceptionally in these events and either of them could take home the winnings, not that they would event notice them atop the mountains of gold at Casterly Rock. Personally I’d hope that victory would come from within the ranks mine own men in the royal navy, though I am not prideful enough to advise you to put money on it. Hotspur Waynwood’s blade always strikes true, and Ser Clifford’s son is very skilled.” He gestured to the elderly Butterwell who stood beside them in the box, making polite conversation to Lady Shiera Manning, one of the wards of Aenar’s wife. “But II must be boring you with this talk, I am sure you are much more interested in heroes and valiant knights than soldiers and sailors.” Aenar let out a sigh, it was almost time for the melee to begin, he would wait just a few more moments for Nymeria to make her reply and then it would be time
Akio ailurophile

Akio said:

Cayden at first would almost seemed to be dozing, his eyes closed as he sat back in his chair, his entire body still except for the wind which slightly flapped the edges of his robes. While he preferred the warm sun of Dorne against his skin, the breeze coming from Blackwater Bay reminded him of long journeys and the far away places he had seen in his youth, and his own long adventures on the sea... Voyages which had become more and more rare of an occasion due to his advanced age and responsibilities. Never the less he kept one ear open to his daughters conversation, listening to the hand and his daughter exchange words before he heard someone approach him and he cracked open one eye to Aelyx next to him, causing him to open his eyes and stand after a moment, bowing slightly to the prince. "Indeed prince Aelyx, while some bemuse the rain, like some of the fighters on the field, I personally enjoy the wind from the bay, its cool and still stings slightly of salt." He said and with that comment turns to the arena for the melee, his gaze focused momentarily on the field where he quickly identified his grandson talking with another knight with what he though was Kraken armor which would identify him as a Greyjoy. An interesting coincidence but he left that be for now.

"What do you think of the melee my lord, who do you might take the crown?" He questioned, looking out until the field, looking to fill the conversation. "The field is quite full today, with many well known fighters participating, it will be quite hard to predict the days victor." He said, his voice inquisitive as he looked down on the field. While he knew his Grandson would seek the honor of winning the melee he would settle on having him uninjured. In a melee this big accidents were bound to occur, especially when adding flailing hooves and stamping feat of the horses. Never the less he would not stop him from participating if he wanted to, he understood that urge for testing his skill and the rush of the battlefield. He was too old and his body to weathered to feel it truly anymore, where the urges of his ailing body stopped her from participating the way he felt it before but he still remembered how it felt. And naturally he couldn't help but feel proud of his son, and what hes managed to accomplish. He was better fighter then he ever had been, and without the rough edges he had back then with a quiet nature. He couldn't help but hope as well that his son would take the mantle, while he won at the Lannister event if he won at an event this large it would bring honor to the house and the attention he knew his on might dislike but he couldn't help but think he deserved.
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Nymerias face twitched at the mention of Dalton obviously showing some of familiarity and perhaps not all of it good. "Dalton Greyjoy?" She said, sitting against the edge of the box and lookout out, squinting at the man as he dismounted slowly as if trying to get a read on him. "I must say I don't really know the man though I've had an encounter with him that went less then well." She said, her features restoring themselves into a smile before his words were suddenly interrupted by as he noticed someone else approaching and caused her to turned his to Vaella, causing her smile to widen to become a more genuine one, as her eyes showed recognition as she slid off the edge and took a step towards her. "Princess Vaella." She said seeming delighted as she strode over and actually hugged the girl, wrapping her arms around her in a close hug if only for a moment before she stepped back and bowed politely. "Sorry for the impolitenesses my lady." She said, smiling wildly before turning back to Aenar as he spoke.

"Indeed we were, I must admit I'm not fully aware of the great fighters of Westeros other then the ones my cousin tends to mention, how strong is he? He's pretty big but being too big would just slow him down wouldn't it? Perhaps someone as experienced as yourself could brief me and Vaella on the state of the field? Us gentle ladies are not as experienced in battle as yourself and I would be interested in your opinion on who might take the field." She said, making a small effort to flatter the hand but at the same time she knew the words were far from pure flattery, there were few others who would be able to read the field like the Lord hand, of course one sat behind them in her own grandfather but better to curry favor with the hand while she had a chance, she did not know how he reacted to her displacing his own nephew but they would have to work together when she inherited Dorne depending on how long he held the position. It would not due for their to be excess hatred between them and she wanted to gage and improve the hands feelings as much as possible.

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Lewyn smiled at the man but he didn't seem mocking but rather just seemed pleasantly amused at his words, Lewyn was far more steady on his horse, sitting with a relaxed ease that was only born from fighting on horseback. Not even the wet ground caused him the slightest bit of unsteadiness, at least for now... When the battlefield became a confusing mess of hooves and mud perhaps it would become much harder for him to keep his seat, after all he was more used to combat on the ground then on horseback. "Usually its only reserved for battle this large. The melee is much as a show for the nobles as it is a test for us and the idea of mount knights looks a bit more noble and limits the number of participates to those who own a horse to prevent the field from being too flooded with challengers from hedge knights. Though it will likely become a melee soon enough, faster in this rain." He said, glancing at the sky and while it was only a slight drizzle at this point the damage had been done to the field and a moist wind from the bay still drifted in, he would have to work hard to make sure his armor didn't rust after this.

Despite being mounted Dalton was still easily able to reach him to pat on his shoulder, shaking his stance for a moment due to his strength and it actually caused his eyes to widen for a moment, this man was massive but just how strong was he? After steadying himself and realizing he might need to prepare himself around this man for accidental hits. "My name is Lewyn." He said after a moment, taking a moment to really observe the man. Now that he wasn't falling off his horse he could see that under the fancy armor laid someone who was formidable. His stance was certain even on muddy ground in full armor though he could really expect no less from a Greyjoy who could preform an entire melee on a ship, likely in the middle of a storm. But he also observed the surrounding combatants in a self assured way that seem to leave little doubt he knew what he was doing and Lewyn was growing to realize he may have placed himself next a deadly creature who could turn against him the moment the melee bell gonged. He would need to conserve his strength as long as possible if he wanted to last in the melee and he would need to either work an alliance which he rather not do or give himself some distance unless he wanted to clash against this formidable fighter from the start. So focused was his attention he didn't even notice Bennars razor focus on him for the moment. "You might not want to lose your horse right away though, if someone charges you full lance even a skillful knight might have trouble meeting it, less the horse run you over. If you land till the ground is messed up enough that the horses will lose traction you'll do fine." He said, managing to hide his unease, and while he did give honest advice he also hoped it would act as a fail safe. After all if the Greyjoy was to busy fighting with his horse perhaps he wouldn't have enough time to fight him if he kept his distance, at least as first.

Click to expand...

Aelyx smiled briefly, before bringing the drink in his hand up to his face. After a few moments, he lowered the cup, early empty now. "Today? Who knows. There are many well known and excellent fighters entered. Kingsguard, tournament veterans, young nobles sons. 'He tipped his cup towards Cayden as he spoke that part.' "However, there are plenty of wild cards in this tournament. I would not be entirely surprised to see a outside victor on this day. Stranger things have happened." He finished speaking for a moment, emptying the last of his cups contents into his mouth.

He turned and signaled for a waiting servant to refill his cup, before turning to look out across the field himself. "I must say though, I enjoy this weather much more than the normal heat of the capital. Though, I imagine it is not what you would prefer, hm?" He extended his empty hand out from under the Royal Box's tarp, letting the rain get his hand wet. He brought his hand back in, clenching it. He let his eyes drift briefly across the field, the crowd, the city.

He let a frown come across his face. "I would have preferred though to not hold the event in this weather, though. At least not outside. Many people will be getting sick from this." He leaned forward against the rail as he spoke, finally resting his leg that had begun to act up again. He slowly rubbed the scar, while he took another long draft from his ale.

Akio

Aegon didn't know how he expected to feel on the eve of his wedding. Pleased, for even if there were others he rather have at his side marrying Isla represented the sealing of the alliance he would need in the coming days. Angry, for being forced into this in order to carry out his plan. Or perhaps he though he would just enjoy the revelry of the event, using this as his last time to ignore the circumstances and enjoy the attention of his family, unaware what was coming for them... Instead what he felt was apprehension. At first it annoyed him, and despite attempts to quash down this feeling he could feel it slowly growing in his gut, twisting his gut into knots as he was helped to dress in what was admittedly an over elaborate outfit, one he hadn't had a chance to pick. In truth he seemed to have very little decision making power as far of his own wedding that stewed his stomach almost more then the apprehension but yet there it remained.

"What am I worried about." He thought to himself, angered by his own cowardice. "No one has managed to catch on to my actions, the majority of the troops are in place, everything is ready... What do I have to be worried about." He thought to himself, unfortunately his mind quickly provided answers. While everything was in place it would at least be a few days till the plan was inacted. While he had ordered his troops to hide as much as possible, often in plain sight with the crowds that would have become almost unbearably crowded due to the wedding and hid much of the plans from them. But it was impossible to hide everything from them and while nobles rarely ever frequented the taverns outside the city, the mistress of whispers had spies everywhere. If she heard something then perhaps an investigation would be launched. While he covered his tracks well and he didn't think it would take only three day to cover the webs he had wrought about in his attempts to hide his actions but he could not be sure.

He thought about the possibilities as he finished dressing with the help of a single servant to straighten the elaborate outfit. It was a long, flowing robe made of a rich, black material with a inline of silk. However the outside of the robe was made out of a stiffer material, carved with dozens of images of dragons twisting around the fabric, roaring and even twining into each other as if fighting each other in the fabric of his robes. On his belt sat the symbol of his house and once he was fully dressed he dismissed the servant and went to go check his assemble in the one mirror in his room, leaning against the counter and trying to control his emotions. "He couldn't allow himself to lose his cool like this. In a few days his plans would come into fruition and everything would fall into place. There was no room for hesitation, he would act and there was nothing that could be done but to wait for the perfect time. He was far beyond the point of return. Composing his features he left his room, making the way to the chamber of his wife to be, for naturally they would show together, arm in arm, they were getting married, it was expected of them after all. He made it to her room, which had been close to his in short order, knocking on the door softly. "Isla, my love, we need to go. They will be expecting us." He said, calling her through the door softly and when she would eventually come to meet him he would walk with her towards the arena where he knew the warriors of Westeros would fight in his name and that of house Targaryen. On his way there he ran into a surprise party of guests, none other the lords of the Iron Fleet, the Greyjoys. "My lords." He said with some surprise, inclining his head to them after a moment in respect as he got over his surprise. "Making your way to the arena?" He questioned, momentarily pausing with Isla as he gave them a moment to respond.

Mion
ailurophile

The world was an odd place. Whatever Gods governed it seemed to have an immense joy in seeing mortals struggle. Viserys thought such things as he moved through the streets of King's Landing, the thirty four year old Volanti Noble having arrived just hours before. Who would have ever thought that one with his name would be returning to Westeros - the capital of all places? Preposterous, surely the Blackfyre's were whipped thoroughly three generations ago when the Golden Company finally was destroyed. 'And yet here I am. Triarch of Volantis, a city struggling to not sink into the grave the Mother of Dragons dug us so long ago.' Invited by the Prince, no less. . Aegon, one of the younger sons of Maegor. Or so Viserys believed. He admittedly wasn't the best with the Targaryen family - he had no reason to. Westeros, as mighty as it was, was a fair distance from Volantis and offered little in the ways of direct trade. The notorious "Bull Elephant" of Volantis assumed he'd cross a Targaryen some day, perhaps when he was an old man and wished to see the Iron Throne once in his life. . But not while he was young, fit and ready for the world still. The platinum blond haired politician was unsure of accepting Prince Aegon's offer at first, the Targaryen only mentioned of speaking to Viserys' personally. . It could easily be a trap, the Targaryen Dynasty hoping to smother Blackfyre and his dragon Tolos before they could rival the Western Dragons. 'But would they dishonor themselves by killing a noble of a foreign land after I've taken their bread and salt?' Viserys doubted as much. Dragon or not, the Targaryen's ruled through good favor. As all long lasting kings and lords did.


A sneer cut across his face as the Triarch passed a row of stalls - his guards, the Tiger Cloaks, cleared away the common rabble. Ugly, pox marked faces with shit stained hands and sweat stains on poorly made cloth. No doubt they wore clothing that was older than Tolos, being too poor to readily but replacements. 'They exaggerated the smell.' He thought, off offhandedly as the nectar of the city wafted up his nostrils. 'It smells like a city. No worse than Volantis, Lys. . Even some of the Eastern cities.' There were only two large metropolitan areas that the Black Dragon ever visited and thought stood out from other cities. 'Braavos, a city of cannals with the thick stench of blood and the sea,' A city he loathed. The Banks. The swordsmen. Especially the Faceless Men. It was the chief rival of Volantis and proved to out produce their southern sister at every turn. 'And Qarth. The perfumed city of eunuchs and prostitutes.' King's Landing was an acceptable city, apart from that. . . It held a familiar sensation for the Dragon Lord, perhaps his two century old blood telling him this was where Viserys belonged? 'The curse of all Blackfyre's. To want this godforsaken land.' The Triarch was forced to tug the reigns on his horse, a particularly large stall blocking them. "Move it." He chirped from his heightened position without a second thought, "Break a wheel, if the owner does not return and apologize before we're gone." Viserys watched as four of the Tiger Cloaks lurched forward, doing as commanded. . . Truly, what a rude gesture, especially to a Triarch no less. Viserys held his banners high, the tapestry of a black dragon on a sea of fire waving behind him - courtesy of a young man not yet trained with sword or spear. Another, equally young and undistinguished chap was holding an Elephant of gold on a soot backdrop. It was clear that he was a Lord of high standing to the uneducated, to those with even a slight grasp of the world outside Westeros, he was a name to recognize! The blond's mind began to wander once more as his Tiger Cloaks did his bidding. . 'If it is a trap, I'll come out the victor.' Tolos was not to be found on him. His dragon was in a special chamber on the ship, kept with servants who he recognized. 'He won't cause as much of a ruckus with them. It is better than leaving him in Volantis.'


He had too many enemies who would risk their lives to deprive Blackfyre of ultimate victory. Viserys considered bringing along his family blade as well, but that would make the Targaryen's green with envy. It would be no good. The man decided to accept traveling with no weapons on person and in silk garments. The Bull Elephant wore a fine tunic, an embroidered black dragon with a red outline and several red stripes at the side lining it. Dark pants with similar red streaks and a hint of gold ran down to his leather boots - made of wyvern scale. A long, red silk cape touched the edge of his heel when he stood up. The Triarch had bought it some months ago, when he was running for reelection in Volantis and needed something to stand apart from the competition. 'I look acceptable.' Viserys hoped, 'I'd be eyed at by any number of women in Volantis. But this is Westeros. . The land of fur and savagery. There is almost no telling what they will find appealing.' He had a long list of people he wanted to talk to and Viserys understood all too well that if a man approached him dressed as a merchant or anyone of middling importance, he'd ignore them. 'Lannisters. Tyrells. Baratheon's. . Targaryen's, the Hand of the King and the Kingsguard.' He mentally recited his list. He'd scratch half of them off and leave in a few days time, but he suspected any discussion with members of those circles would yield results. 'Financial or otherwise.'


“All clear,” One of the Tiger Cloaks hailed up to him in High Valyrian. Viserys nodded, spurring his horse forward. The cart was missing two wheels and a man dressed in shabby brown clothing was unconscious by it.


They were moving again, heading out of one of those major gates. . ‘I don’t know this city well.’ The Black Dragon had known Volantis well enough to navigate it with his eyes closed. It was a nostalgic feeling to be in an elaborate city and not know where everything was. Soon, the sea of cobblestone and mud bricks was replaced with hills and forests. The distinction between King’s Landing and the surrounding Crownlands considerable. Small puddles of rain collected in the road, reaching Visery’s boots whenever his steed desired to step in them, which was unfortunately often. ‘Rotten thing,’ He’d much rather of ridden atop the elephant he brought for Aegon Targaryen - one of several gifts. Elephants were smart animals, fast beasts that didn’t insist in testing the depth of every puddle that they came across. But the docks weren’t suited for unloading something so vast. Viserys would later have it unpacked up river and let Aegon worry about getting his new pet into a menagerie.


Finding the tourney grounds was hardly a challenge - even hours before the official date, they were bustling with activity. Viserys found himself sporting a warm smile, the rain dripping on his head making no difference in his mood. He and his twelve Tiger Cloaks slowly crossed the grounds, looking for someone - anyone to converse with. He spied the King’s Pavilion, standing high and center most, with the respected guests that Maegor Targaryen adored, shying away from the light pitter patter of moisture. *”Raise the standards higher,”* Viserys snapped to the two banner-boys. The Golden Elephant of Volantis and the Black Dragon were twelve feet into the air, higher than any man around. *”I don’t doubt they’ll have a spot for us there,” Viserys muttered to those around him, “But we shall wait for the King and his Hand to properly treat with the Triarch of Volantis.” Viserys wasn’t perturbed that they avoided him when he docked. It was early in the morning and this was a rather busy day. But when time marched forward and not so much as a letter or knight approached the Volanti? Viserys found his arctic temper thaw slightly. Was he being purposefully ignored or did they forget about his invitation? ‘I’m not sure which is worse, truthfully.’ His piercing purple eyes gazed upwards, looking from one old man to the next, trying to match faces to descriptions he heard. ‘That must be the hand.’ He surmised and straightened his back, not breaking his gaze.

It took a while, but Ser Martyn's squire returned to where his master was. Finally, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard has arrived to the melee pit with his entourage in tow. All of them wore the same Targaryen black and red, each with their own horses and weapon of choice, follow closely by their squires. Ser Albert tugged on the rein of his horse, pulling it as he walked towards Ser Martyn.

"Ah, cousin!" He called out. "There you are, punctual as usual." Ser Albert commented

He looked back at his companions and they were making their final preparations, climbing onto their steeds as their squires gave them their weapons and shields.

Albert's attention shifted back to his cousin the Mountain Lion. By now, he has probably caught the attention of Martyn's companions as well.

"About your offer," Albert started. "Sure, let's do it. Since you're feeling nostalgic." He said jokingly as his usual smirk appeared on his face.

Ser Albert took a moment to think about when the first time he heard the proposition. It was an easy choice if he was to be honest with himself. Fighting alongside his cousin would greatly increase their chances. Though that would take out the fun in things, it greatly ensures the likelihood that Albert and Martyn would be the last men standing. Hailing from the same region of Westeros, no two great warriors of the higher echelon were closely compared to each other in terms of prestige and renown as them. Their many contests from times before in the Westerlands were also something to behold. These many encounters were also the reason that they hold much respect for each other's abilities.

"Surely, you haven't gotten rusty after the Stepstone eh, cousin?" He asked as he reached out to shake hands. "I assume competion had become stale back at the Westerlands ever since I left for the Order."

WanderingJester

Vickon glanced at the young prince, he looked young, naive, and had an aura of spoiled brat around him. But even so he was a prince of the iron throne, and son of King Maegor, a man that Vickon respected very much, and so it was not a stretch to transfer at least some of that respect to his offspring for at least a short while, enough for him to be pleasant. "Aye Prince Aegon, so we were, it seems much of the crowd has already arrive. Would you and Lady Isla care to join us to the royal box?" Vickon bowed slightly addressing Lady Isla, he didn't have much knowledge of the stags as of late but he had heard they were falling on hard times with the line of succession.

Akio TheFordee20