White

He eyed the lists with thinned lips, his tongue briefly running over his teeth as he sighed. Slowly he put on his armour, his match was practically already decided. 

He would lose.

The thrill of his last victory had faded, dread blooming in its place. 

"Ser!" Garrett shouted, the boy running through the tent flaps. Aerions eyes flicking over to him, the boy rapidly slowed as he picked up Aerions vambraces from the ground. Quickly the boy started to clasp the armour, Aerion shook his head.

Even Garrett's expression betrayed worry, tightening the knot in Aerion's stomach.

"Garrett I have this" he commanded. He clasped his armour, slowly and methodically, checking each plate as if they could decide his fate. 

He eyed the helm in his hands taking a deep breath as the faint sound of murmuring crowds ran through his ears. Then he stepped out of the tent flap, the sun beating down upon him brutally.

The crowd greeted him with scattered applause, though the nobles' gazes drifted elsewhere. As if this match was already decided—he felt a spark of anger take hold for a brief moment.

The silhouette of a crow stood out starkly against the dry ground. He didn't even look at his opponent as he mounted his horse, carefully placing his helm over his head. 

The noise of the crowd was muffled by the headgear, he dropped his visor with a deafening click. The heat of the helm was overwhelming as sweat dripped from his brow. He leaned forward slightly, his hand gently running across the neck of his horse.

"Steady now" he murmured, his horse huffing at the words. A lance was placed in Aerions hand, his fingers clutching it like a lifeline. His other hand held his shield steadily.

His heart beat slowly dropping, his calm overtaking his dread for the moment. His head raised, his eyes observing his opponent. The man atop a white steed, his armour gleaming beautifully in the sun. 

A large iconic white cape running down his back, ruffling gently in the breeze. His shield held steadily and lance held loosely in his grip. 

Criston Cole.

A spike of annoyance, dread and anger all rushed through him. He took another deep breath, the ribbon on his arm feeling like a weight as it seemed to drag him down. 

A sharp horn blast pierced the air, the sharp sound warped by his helm. He didn't take his eyes off of his opponent, this man had won the last tourney versus Daemon Targaryen.

He'd need the Gods' favour to win. 

His eyes snapped to the ribbon wrapped around his arm, a Princesses would have to do. 

"Lords and Ladies of the Realm! Gaze upon this contest of Valor!" The Herald announced, the crowd quiet as they listened with rapt attention. "Whoever wins shall be entered into the Finale!"

"On the white steed, comes Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard! Sworn protector of the Realm!" The cheers roared, the sound echoing around the inside of Aerions helm as his grip on the reins tightened. 

"On the black steed, comes the young Ser Aerion Rivers!" The crowd's cheer was loud, but scattered. Quite a few smallfolk and nobles alike seemed to believe this match was already lost.

A simmer of annoyance lingered beneath his calm facade. Though he dared not look towards the Royal Box. A moment of silence passed, his blood thrumming through his body.

A horn blasted through the arena. 

Aerion dug his heels into his horse's side, feeling the animal surge forward. The world seemed to shrink, the rhythmic pounding of hooves matching the quickened thud of his heart.

His lance dipped as he aimed low, his shield rising to meet Criston's lance-

CRACK!

-the first pass was jarring—both lances collided with shields, but neither rider faltered. Aerion's body trembled from the impact as he swung his horse around, a tightness growing in his chest. Criston Cole had not wavered in the slightest.

He dropped the broken lance, quickly grabbing a new one from a squire's hand. 

He steadied his breathing, whispering again to his horse, "Steady now," before turning for the second pass. Sweat gathered under his helm, running down his neck as he adjusted his grip on the lance. Criston was already in position, poised like a statue. The crowd roared, but the sound felt distant.

They charged once more. Aerion tried to block out the doubts clawing at him, focusing instead on the rhythm of his steed and the weight of the lance in his hand. He braced for impact.

CRACK!

This time, Criston's lance connected solidly with Aerion's shield, the force pushing him back in the saddle. But he held on—barely. His own lance glanced off Criston's armour, not even slowing the man down.

His arm felt heavy, the weight of the ribbon searing through his awareness. He could see Criston was unscathed, riding with the confidence of a man who knew victory was inevitable.

"Gods" Aerion muttered, gripping his lance tighter. The crowd's anticipation was palpable, the tension in the air so thick it felt like a weight pressing on his chest.

Then came the third charge.

Aerion's lance aimed slightly lower this time, focusing on Criston's midsection. He felt the lance tip align with his opponent's armour, hoping, praying for some stroke of luck.

CRACK!

Criston's lance struck his shield hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but Aerion's lance found its mark—just under Criston's arm. Criston wavered, faltering for the first time.

Aerion gasped for breath as Criston struggled to stay in his saddle, gripping the reins with white-knuckled fingers. The crowd gasped as the Kingsguard teetered…but he did not fall.

The crowd roared, a cacophony of disbelief and excitement, washing over him like a wave. Aerion felt the weight of their gazes, a heavy mix of scepticism and hope.

They circled for a fourth pass, and Aerion could feel the fatigue settling in, his chest burning in pain. He whispered again, this time more to himself than his horse, "One more."

He urged the beast forward, digging his heels in once more. The anticipation surged, a crackling energy that made his skin tingle.

This was it, his chance. He aimed low again, determined to exploit Criston's moment of uncertainty.

As they closed the distance, time seemed to stretch. He could see every detail—the glint of Criston's armour, the tension in his grip, the way he steadied himself for the impact.

CRACK!

The collision was brutal. Aerion felt his body buckle, the shockwave of the impact vibrating through his bones. But this time, luck was on his side. His lance slipped just beneath Criston's shield, barely grazing the man's thigh. Criston's horse stumbled, and for an instant, it looked as if the Kingsguard might be unseated.

Aerion gasped, his heart racing, aware that this was the opening he needed. The crowd gasped as Criston wavered but did not fall. He circled for the fifth pass, adrenaline surging through Aerion's veins. 

They charged again. This time, Aerion aimed for Criston's midsection, focusing all his remaining strength into the lance, praying for luck.

CRACK!

Aerion's lance struck true, the force sent Criston's horse rearing. In a moment of chaos, Criston lost his grip, and the Kingsguard was unseated, crashing to the ground with a thud that echoed across the arena.

The crowd erupted, a thunderous roar shaking the very ground beneath him. A wild grin rising to his face as he lifted the broken lance into the air, his ribbon flapping in the wind like a flag of war. The crowd only roared louder at the gesture of victory. 

He felt as if he was on top of the world, even as exhaustion and gravity pulled him down he stayed atop his horse. He threw the lance to the side carelessly and roughly took his helm off. 

His gaze flickered toward the Royal Box, King Viserys stood from his seat clapping with a grin on his face. The Queen seemed again, not too bothered as she worriedly eyed the crib besides her. 

Rhaenyra's eyes however were wide in surprise. A breathless laugh escaped her, a genuine spark of joy breaking through her usual composure. She instinctively leaned forward, her expression caught between disbelief and delight, unable to look away from him as the crowd erupted in cheers. 

—-

God I hate writing Jousts, so boring! Do I have him win the final or not? Please tell me, because it feels too isekai ish to win, but he's already beaten Criston?? But a lot of that was luck….im not sure, anyway I hope you enjoyed.