Skinstealer

The crowd cheered as lances crashed against shields, neither rider falling off. The nobles however whispered between themselves. Today was only for thinning the crowd for the real jousting tomorrow.

The sun was beating down on the arena, nobles fanning themselves gently, the smallfolk not looking all too bothered. 

He grabbed the lance, his black horse turning quickly. The squire stumbled back, already grabbing another lance for the next pass. His right hand clenched hard around the handle. 

His body bearing the weight as his horse raced forward. He eyed the man across from him, dull mismatched armour, his shield already breaking from the first pass.

This one wouldn't last long

He slightly dropped his lance at the last second, the wood crashing into the knight's armoured thigh. The man rolled off of the horse with a shout, hitting the ground with a crash. 

The crowd roared, his gaze drifted to them, mostly young children. Tomorrow, the real noise would come

He lifted his half broken lance above his head, the children shouting excitedly. A grin lit on his covered face at the sight before he dropped his arm, a laugh escaping him at the look on the children's faces.

Aerions eyes flicked then to the Kingsbox as he slowed his horse. 

The King barely stirred, eyes glazed with boredom. Aerion felt a flicker of annoyance—what had the man expected?

Said annoyance was quickly banished when his eyes roamed through the box, Princess Rhaenyras eyes were focused on him. A mix of nerves and pride ran through him at the sight. 

He got off his horse, handing it over to a stable hand who quickly brought it away. He threw the broken lance into the corner of the arena, the splintered wood piling up.

"Gods its bloody hot" he murmured to himself, his voice not carrying past the helm, 

His eyes flicked back to the Princess once more, holding her stare for a moment, his eyes most likely not visible under his helm. Then he walked into the tent, taking off the helm.

Sweat dripped down his brow. He took off his thick gloves, wedging them into his belt before he took off his breastplate.

He sat down on an empty bench, the tent filled with knights either preparing themselves or resting. He had already knocked out five opponents from the tourney, that was his last joust of today. 

He sighed in relief as he took off his dark vambraces, they were getting far too tight. He eyed an approaching knight, the man quite clearly looking at him.

He had a large ugly thick scar running down his face, his nose looked like someone had hit it with a warhammer. He had pale skin with raven black short hair and eyes. Aerion eyed him warily, the man looked livid.

Did he knock him out of the tourney today?

"What?" Aerion spoke as the tall man stopped within a few metres, his glare baleful. 

"Oh you don't remember, bastard" the man hissed, Aerion straightened and stood, sudden anger blazing in his chest as his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"Say that again" He spat at the man who didn't seem intimidated in the slightest. The man just snarled as he pointed at his own face.

"You don't remember what you did?" The man repeated, his anger only worsening as his mutilated face pulled into a scowl. 

The face was oddly familiar on second glance. Aerion's eyes narrowed, then recognition hit like a punch.

"Blackwood" he murmured. This was the man he'd fought in his last tourneys final. The memories of smashing a bloody helm into his face ran through his mind. 

"You remember now don't you, bastard" His voice was low, venomous. "You shattered my face, and now you're playing knight, I know what you really are." He scoffed. 

"We fought, you lost," Aerion spat through gritted teeth, but the memory of that final strike flickered in the back of his mind, a flash of blood, a face caving under his strikes, guilt knotted in his chest.

Blackwood's lips curled into a bitter sneer, the scar stretching grotesquely as his fingers flexed by his side, twitching like they were itching to grasp the hilt of a sword.

"You didn't fight, you butchered, you're like an animal" Blackwood spat as he took a step forward. Aerions lips pulled back, revealing his teeth at the words.

An animal, his pulse drummed in his ears at the word, his sudden anger burning away any remnants of guilt.

"You think a scar like this fades" Blackwood hissed "Everytime I look at my reflection I see you!" His voice was venomous, the tent around them watching the confrontation.

"You should be grateful, I'm a much prettier sight" Aerion spat, his teeth still barred, a snarl twisting his face.

A low, twisted chuckle bubbled from the Blackwoods throat. The sound echoing in the silent tent, sending a chill down his spine. 

"You won't be so pretty for long" The Blackwood said "My lance will make sure of that" Aerion snorted, a surprised laugh leaving his throat.

"You wouldn't" Aerion said dismissively, his eyes burning into the Blackwood.

"You're a Bastard, no one would-"

"No, you misunderstand" Aerion interrupted as he took a step forward "You cannot, you will not, ever, even scratch me"

"This isn't me bragging," Aerion said, letting the words hang in the heavy air between them. Silence stretched across the tent, broken only by the faint clink of armor as the other knights watched. "This is simply because I'm better, if we joust" Aerion paused once more.

"You better be careful, otherwise I might carve a few more scars into your face" Aerion hissed, the tent had long gone silent. 

"You'd better be careful yourself-" The Blackwood said as he leaned forward slightly and dropped his tone so that no one else could hear. "-Skinstealer"

—-

Aerion was in the gardens, staring wide eyed at his crow. The bird staring back, it didn't seem too intrigued nor bothered by his stare. 

Aerions mind was more focused on what had happened earlier, he got…so angry. His eyes flicked to the roots of the weirwood beneath him. He clicked his tongue, the crow flying up and landing in the branches at the sound. 

His foot was tapping against the ground rapidly, his mind now going back to the Blackwoods words. 'Skinstealer' the word alone sent a chill down his spine as his mind recalled the bandit he had most recently captured.

'They say he's mad, raving how you want to steal his skin' Myrra's words echoed in his head, he dropped his head back against the weirwood and groaned. His mind was racing, clearly the Blackwoods had been spreading rumours.

That he could steal skin, he clenched his jaw. Someone obviously knows he can skinchange, that alone was dangerous.

Skinchangers are taboo, they always have been, for all long as they've existed. They get burnt from their homes, their remains spread and deaths celebrated. 

Whispers of their kind crept through the halls of power like shadows. To wield such a gift is to dance with darkness, to merge one's soul with beasts—beasts that know no mercy.

Aerion recalled the tales of men who slipped into the skins of wolves, crows, and other creatures, their minds twisted and consumed by primal instincts.

The Blackwoods had struck at that fear, branding him with the name "Skinstealer" to stoke the flames of superstition. It was a dangerous game, people fear what they cannot understand, and to be found out…it would mean ruin. 

——

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How did you find this chapter? We've never really seen Aerion angry before