The Joust IV

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(Firmridge, the Riverlands)

Lorimas felt light, that was the best way to describe it.

Despite the immensity of the armor he wore and its impressive appearance, it weighed as much as the tunics he usually wore.

This presented its own issues, as it had taken weeks for him to get used to such weightless plates, and fighting with it seemed far too odd to be natural. 

Originally he intended to wear his normal armor, but his nephew had stressed the need for more 'magical' protection for the Joust.

This mystery knight fella seemed to be far more trouble than expected.

Feeling his steed stir under him, he watched with anticipation for the signal.

Lining his lance carefully, as they rode down each other, his lance struck true at the checkered knight's chest, though the man did not budge an inch.

Oddly enough, his opponent's lance failed to hit, despite hitting every single one of its opponents previously.

The crowd for their part looked confused at the checkered knight's apparent failure, but cheered on for the King's Uncle, though his lance failed to unseat his foe.

Taking another lance, he lined himself up once more and charged again, yet the same thing occurred, annoying him to no end.

The blasted fool would not budge. Why wasn't his lance hitting, where was all that skill he'd shown before gone?

Lining up for the third time, this time instead of aiming for his shield, Lorimas aimed right at his shoulder, changing things up for this round.

Both men charged at each other with as much ferocity as they could.

Unfortunately, it seemed the knight had the same idea, as his lance hit Lorimas right at the middle of his chest, directly where his heart was.

Lorimas felt, more heard his armor groan at such momentum, the most shocking thing being a barely noticeable black aura coming from his opponent's lance.

It did nothing. His Armor did not break, the lances hit did little but jolt him.

The knight stared at Lorimas in confusion, the Mudd Lord stared right back at the fool, his eyes unamused at what had almost occurred.

Feeling the barely withheld fury from the King's Uncle, the Knight made a hasty retreat back to his position.

The man's posture was now trembling, almost skittish as if he had realised something, it did not help him one bit that he could practically feel the King's gaze squarely on him.

Lance at the ready, they charged each other once more, but this time the horse under the checkered knight stumbled for a lack of better terms.

Lorimas who had done his best to pull back, hit the man directly at where his acromion was located, the joint that attached one's arm to their body.

The proceeding howl from the man as he cried out in shock and pain whilst simultaneously being crushed by the weight of his horse was terrifying to those who had never seen death or battle.

Immediately personnel that were assigned there for such situations rushed to get the man from under the horse. His screams were still loud and reverberating throughout the whole grounds as they did so.

Unnoticed by everyone was the nod sent by the King to his Uncle, who relaxed once his nephew sent his assurances.

Still, Lorimas could not help but feel jarred by the whole situation, for if it was not for his son in all but blood, he would've died today.

Staring at his daughter, the Mudd Lord contemplated his next move.

Whoever this bastard worked for surely had accomplices, he would find them and make them regret their decision to come after him and his kin.

…

There was a hushed silence among the crowds as they watched the fallen knight be removed from the grounds.

His blood still soaking the area he fell in.

It starkly contrasted the joyful atmosphere that had pervaded the Tourney once. Those who had attended Tourney's were well aware of the inherent risks that came with participating and thus were better able to deal with the sudden change.

The younger ones though were shocked and more than a little horrified at what they just saw, their parents or guardians doing their best to calm them down.

Erlend was unamused by the fact that his Tourney had been marred by the stupid knight's presence, he'd have to pay him back for terrifying his children.

Motioning for the heralds, a short break would need to be taken before they can resume again.

People needed to get their shit together it seemed.

"You're already on it, I take it," Erlend said to his trusted shadow.

"Aye, we're screening everyone he's been in contact with," Ellar said gruffly. "What if one of the Great Houses were involved?"

"They'll have their due."

The SG Commander bowed his head to Erlend, before making his way out.

None of those present had even noticed the short conversation, a basic notice-me-not-charm in place. It helped that his lovers was too busy trying to reassure the children to notice.

Few if anyone knew of Ellar's position and it was best kept that way.

Rhaenys and Daenerys seemed to be the least affected, Rhaenys having witnessed the events of the Sacking and Dany, well she had always been odd.

…

Oberyn was not sure how to feel, it had been an hour or so since Lorimas's match and he'd managed to beat Raymond Feld, a slowly but surely rising legend among the warriors of Westeros.

Yet, it felt hollow, the man was more distracted by the botched attempt on old Lorimas's life. They had gone four tilts before the commander was unseated, it didn't feel as much of a victory as he wanted to.

Anyone with any ounce of experience could see it for what it was.

Wisely, they had all kept mum about it to avoid spreading panic. It would do no good if it was revealed that someone had attempted to murder the King's Uncle in an event meant to showcase the prestige of the Royal family.

None of them wanted to antagonise the King in his territory, who knew if they'd ever be able to leave it.

His next opponent was unfortunately not Lorimas, the man had dropped out as a show of respect to his fallen foe.

What a load of bullshit, Oberyn would bet his brother's balls on the fact that Lorimas was more than likely having a 'talk' with the checkered knight.

Looking at the Knight ahead of him Oberyn couldn't be bothered to remember his name, a Stormlander by the looks of it.

Charging down at his opponent, his lance struck true, the man's shield turning into pieces from the impact.

The stormlander was so surprised, that he failed to keep himself in check and found himself falling off his horse.

"Victory to Prince Oberyn." he heard the herald announce as the crowd cheered on.

…

Alerie sat beside her daughter, watching the Dornishman unseat yet another of his opponents.

While she did enjoy Tourney's, it was hard to stomach the victories of the man that was likely behind the raids on the Reach before the King's peace.

Oberyn Martell was a loathed figure within the Reach and for good reason, unfortunately, he and his sister were far too favored by the King for any retaliation to be made.

Not without them losing the King's favor.

"Mother, will the checkered knight be alright?"

"I'm sure he will, your Uncle has recovered after all."

"But he didn't lose an arm though."

"Come on dear, stop thinking of such grim things, did you not have something you wanted to say to me now your brothers aren't here?"

Margaerys perked up at her words, "Princess Rhaenys birthday will be soon, what do you think I should get her."

"Well, you've known her for longer, haven't you? Surely you already know what she liked."

"Well... She likes Edmund"

Alerie gave her daughter a dry look, why the hell was her daughter telling her something everyone already knew?

Looked embarrassed by her mother's look, Margaery moved on to another of the princess's likes "She adores Balerion"

"The Dragon?"

"The cat."

"Then wouldn't her cat like a new playmate"

Margaery looked pleased at that suggestion, kissing her mother on the cheek before rushing to her Aunt. Her assigned Royal Guard hot on her heels.

Why was she rushing to her aunt instead of staying with her mother?

Well, obviously Alerie taught her daughter to use her sister for gold, that should take some of the sting from knowing she getting some and she wasn't.

Who was she kidding, it didn't. She would take all the satisfaction she could get sevens damn it.

…

Gerion could practically feel victory slipping his grasp, his opponent none other than their errant vassal, Sandor Clegane.

The man was relentless, they had already broken three lances off each other and neither had anything to show for it.

His next lance managed to catch the hound, if slightly. The grunt he let out at least showed the man in pain.

With the fifth lance, the two westermen faced each other with determination, as soon as the signal came they charged each other.

The hound had managed to hit him squire in the chest, before the Lannister realised it he found himself unhorsed and attempting to get his bearings straight as his nephew's vassal looked down at him.

To his surprise, the hound gave him a nod of acknowledgment before moving to prepare for the final round.

It seems that the Red Viper would be meeting the hound in the last tilt.

…

"Your Majesty, My Lord's and Ladies, we have finally arrived at the round that will decide the victor of this Joust." the herald declared.

"Representing the West, we have Ser Sandor Clegane, the Hound!" a surprisingly large amount of the crowd cheered for the landed knight, who seemed apathetic to their reactions.

"His opponent, representing Dorne, we have Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper!"

The two men stared at each other, their lances at the ready whilst they awaited the signal.

One looked smug, whilst the other was seemingly uncaring for his opponent.

"May the best man win, Begin." the herald said, as trumpets sounded, signaling the final round.

The charge was swift, both men's lances crashing into each other shields with such momentum that any lesser man would've fallen then and there.

Again and again, they charged at each other, yet neither fell.

Already they were fatigued from their previous bouts, it was remarkable that both men had been able to keep up for so long.

Six tilts had gone by and not a victor was in sight. The Audience watched with baited breaths for a sign of who would win.

The hound found himself struck right at his chest but stubbornly held on despite the pain wringing through his body, choosing to collect another lance, as Oberyn laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing.

Neither had faltered, charging each other once more.

This time, the Prince nearly slipped off his horse, it was a close call that had some booing in disappointment, though both men ignored the crowds. Their eyes focused on their opponent.

Determined to make this the last tilt, Oberyn steeled himself, riding down the tilt grounds with determination and hoping to avenge his embarrassment. Lance at the ready, as soon they charged Oberyn did his best to push all he had onto the lance. 

It struck true right at the hound's shield. The man barely managed to get ahold of himself, yet to the surprise of everyone, just as it seemed that he would escape his fall. He fell.

The crowds went wild as they cheered loudly for the Prince, the herald's words barely audible, "Your Majesty, My Lord and Ladies, Citizens of the Realm. I present to you the winner of the Joust, Prince Oberyn Martell."

Oberyn grinned ear to ear at those words, having avenged his embarrassment from the melee with this victory.

Giving the hound a firm nod, he headed to where the wreath of flowers lay, the personnel who stood guard over it bowed her head to Oberyn before placing the wreath onto the end of his lance.

Riding to where the Royal Family sat, he placed the wreath on the lap of the only woman who deserved it.

"Ellaria, I name you the Queen of Love and Beauty," he said, the look she sent him sent pleasant a shiver down his spine.

He was going to be enjoying tonight.