Chapter 7: Laurels - 104 AC

Amidst the raucous and thrilling jousting tournament, two men strode with the poise and confidence of kings, their lances and shields held aloft. They seemed to be circling the battlefield, sizing up the lords and ladies that sat atop the raised platforms. The spotlight was on Ser Criston Cole and the Crab Knight, both poised for the final tilt of the day, the one that would decide who would walk away with the coveted laurel and gold.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, a mere seven years old at the time, was seated in a corner of the platform, her eyes aglow with wonder and excitement. She may not have fully comprehended the intricacies of the sport, but the sight of men fighting one another with such raw passion and skill was undeniably enthralling. Moreover, the prospect of handsome knights strutting their stuff was enough to keep her rapt attention fixed on the unfolding events.

As the two knights prepared to engage in the final tilt, Princess Rhaenyra's eyes were drawn to them, one because of his impressive armor that resembled a crab, and the other because of his devastatingly good looks. Ser Criston Cole was a sight to behold, a perfect blend of Andal and Dornish features that made him all the more striking. Even the young princess couldn't deny the man's rugged handsomeness.

The two knights continued to parade around the tourney grounds, their pride and confidence on full display, though it was clear that they were following the herald's instructions, as it was the final tilt of the day. While the Crab Knight had achieved great success in previous rounds, besting Lord Lymond and Ser Arryk, it was Ser Criston Cole who was the favorite in this last joust. The man had already vanquished the Baratheons, Prince Daemon, and Ser Erryk, an impressive feat for someone who was relatively unknown.

Just as the joust was about to begin, Princess Rhaenyra noticed Ser Criston Cole approaching the king's platform, specifically her corner of it. When he stopped and opened his visor, he flashed her a charming smile. The princess knew what he was after - her favor.

"Princess," Ser Criston bowed. "I was hoping you could grant me your favor to win the joust."

Without hesitation, Princess Rhaenyra rose to her feet, her delicate features betraying her eagerness to oblige. She cast a sidelong glance towards the king, who wore a subtle expression of approval, as did her mother. Reaching for the wreath of flowers, which was placed near her, she carefully threaded it onto Ser Criston's lance.

"Good luck, Ser," the princess said, her eyes alight with joy. Ser Criston dipped his head in reverence, clearly grateful for her benevolent act. With one final bow, he lowered his visor and guided his horse to his designated spot.

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Meanwhile, Lady Laena Velaryon, aged two and ten, was sitting just right beside his brother, Laenor Velaryon. She was draped in a resplendent light blue gown that flowed gracefully around her, accentuated by a lovely cloth circlet that adorned her head. Though the spectacle of the jousting was captivating, she was more interested in the Targaryen family, with whom she was fascinated. Her thoughts turned to the taming of dragons and the whereabouts of Vhagar, a dragon that had captured her attention.

Suddenly, her musings were interrupted by her brother, who nudged her sharply. She turned to him with a frown of annoyance, only to see that he was pointing excitedly to the front, where the enigmatic 'Mystery' Knight, known as the Crab Knight, was seated on his horse. Laena had no idea who this man was, as her father had not informed her of his identity. She stood up, moving closer to the railing of the platform.

"Good day to you, my lady," the mystery knight greeted her with a courteous bow. "Might I be so bold as to request your favor?"

"And why should I give you my favor?" she asked, her voice laced with haughtiness. "You don't even show your face to me."

Unfazed, the knight stated, "Then I will take off my helmet when I win the joust."

"When?" Laena raised her brow. "You seem confident in your ability to win, ser."

"Of course." the knight shrugged. "So, do you want to give me your favor or not? I will give the laurel to you once I win."

The lady was amused by the man's straightforward and borderline rude words. She did not mind, though. "And what if you don't win?" she inquired.

"I do not promise anything that I am not certain I can do," replied the knight.

The lady snorted, finding the knight's overconfidence to be amusing. She turned to her parents and could see her mother lightly chuckling to herself, while her father shook his head, either embarrassed by the situation or simply amused by it.

Without any resistance, the lady shrugged to herself and grabbed the flower wreath at the side of her table, sliding it to the mystery knight's lance. "Then I expect a laurel being thrown to me at the end of the joust, ser," Laena challenged.

"As you command, my lady," replied the mystery knight with a tint of sarcasm in his voice. With that, the knight walked away, positioning himself for the joust.

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As he waited for the trumpet's clarion call, Clement sat tall and regal atop his noble steed, his shield clasped tightly to his arm and his lance held firmly in his grasp. Adorning the tip of his weapon was a delicate wreath of flowers, bestowed upon him by Lady Laena herself. Across the field, Ser Criston Cole stood stoically, his plain brown shield and unadorned armor in stark contrast to Clement's finery.

As the herald's voice rang out across the arena, announcing the beginning of the final event, the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers. Bets were placed, insults hurled, but both knights remained resolute and focused.

With the sound of the trumpet's blast, the two combatants charged forward, their horses kicking up dirt and grass in their wake. The anticipation was palpable as they drew ever closer, their lances aimed true. And then, with a resounding crash, they collided in the center of the field, the force of the impact sending wooden splinters flying and causing Clement's arm to shake within his shield.

The crowd roared with excitement, their fervor rising as they begged for one of the knights to fall. But both remained steadfast, their horses continuing on to the next stage of the tilt. The shattered lances were cast aside, and they changed lanes, each now on the opposite side of the fence.

With renewed determination, Clement and Ser Criston charged forward once more, the cheers of the crowd driving them ever onward. The thundering sound of hooves echoed through the vast fields as the noble knights charged towards each other, their lances aimed and their shields raised high. Like two magnificent beasts, they collided in a spectacular display of skill and might, with Clement unfortunately thrown off balance this time around. Despite losing his lance and his shield being slightly damaged, Clement maintained his composure, refusing to let the tilt defeat him.

Amidst the murmurs and whispers of the spectators, Clement's resilience shone through as he regained his footing and steadied himself. Ignoring the naysayers, he made his way to the edge of the field, where a loyal servant hastily provided him with a new shield and lance. With a determined spirit and steely resolve, Clement and his trusty horse charged once more towards the fence, ready to engage in battle once again.

With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, Clement urged his horse forward, his ribbon trailing behind him like a scarlet banner. The two knights charged towards each other, their lances poised to strike. The impact of their collision was deafening, the force of the blow shattering their wooden lances into a thousand pieces. Still mounted on his steed, Ser Criston Cole was flung backwards, his body colliding with the fence with a resounding crash that echoed through the air. Sparks flew as his armor scraped against the barrier, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, before finally dropping to the ground at the edge.

The crowd held their breath, their hearts pounding in anticipation, as Ser Criston lay motionless on the ground. But then, with a fierce determination, he rose to his feet, his fist slamming into the earth. He demanded his weapon from a nearby servant, who scurried to his side to retrieve it.

"Ser Criston Cole wishes to continue to a contest of arms!" the herald bellowed, his voice ringing out over the bloodthirsty crowd. The spectators erupted into a frenzy of cheers and insults, eager for more action.

Clement dismounted from his horse, his face set in a steely expression of determination. He cast aside his used shield and grabbed a new one. With a fierce glint in his eye, he snatched the Pincer from the servant's grasp, wielding it with a menacing flourish.

And so the battle raged on, two warriors locked in a deadly dance of arms and shields, their every move watched with bated breath by the crowd.

With a sense of urgency, the two warriors made their way towards each other, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. Ser Criston wielded his mighty morningstar, its spiked ball attached to an iron chain, while Clement brandished his trusty axe, its blade glinting menacingly in the light. This was a battle of "unorthodox" weapons, with each combatant wielding a tool of destruction.

Ser Criston spun around the ball of his morningstar, his muscles rippling as he generated enough force to strike his opponent. In a flash, the morningstar hurtled towards Clement, who quickly raised his shield to block the attack. The impact was so great that Clement's shield instantly shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving him momentarily vulnerable.

Seizing the opportunity, Ser Criston turned his morningstar towards Clement once again, hoping to strike a devastating blow. However, Clement was quick to dodge, taking a step back just in time to avoid the whirling ball. Ser Criston continued to swing his morningstar wildly, like a madman possessed, but he couldn't seem to land a single hit on Clement. It was clear that the man was an expert, his familiarity with the weapon making him nearly invincible from his own spiked ball.

Clement knew that he couldn't keep dodging forever, and so he began to think of a way to turn the tide of the battle. In a moment of desperation, he hurled his broken shield towards Ser Criston, hoping to distract him for a split second. The ploy worked, and Ser Criston was momentarily disoriented, giving Clement just enough time to strike. With a swift motion, he plunged the sharp pike of his axe into Ser Criston's thigh, just as he had done to Lord Lymond. To his surprise, however, Ser Criston barely made a sound, emitting only a quick groan before pushing Clement away from him.

As the two warriors took a moment to catch their breath, Clement couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his opponent. Despite the fact that he had been wounded, Ser Criston still had enough strength and presence of mind to push him away.

With great speed, Clement, now disarmed of his shield, grasped his axe tightly with both hands and hoisted it high into the air. Like the thunderous strike of a blacksmith's hammer against glowing metal, Clement brought down his axe with full force towards Ser Criston, who attempted to defend himself with his shield. However, the knight was soon to realize that his shield was no match for the sheer strength of Clement's swing, as it was obliterated upon impact.

Staggering backwards, Ser Criston's left arm trembled from the powerful blow, and he felt beads of cold sweat begin to form upon his brow. Had he not pulled back in the nick of time, his hand would have been severed from his arm. Recovering, Ser Criston swung his morningstar once more, but Clement deftly evaded the attack and sliced through the chains with a swift blow from his axe. The iron ball flew off the rod, causing Ser Criston's eyes to widen in shock and dismay.

Suddenly weaponless, the knight attempted to retrieve a dagger from his waist, but Clement was already one step ahead. With a swift and calculated move, he hooked the blade of his axe around Ser Criston's leg and yanked it out from under him, sending the knight crashing to the ground in agony.

Standing tall above the fallen knight, Clement brought the sharp edge of his axe to Ser Criston's throat, ready to deliver the final blow. "Yield, ser," he commanded, his breaths coming in short gasps. "You have proven your worth to the king. Now yield."

Ser Criston, panting heavily, eventually acquiesced, dropping the ball-less rod to the ground. "I yield. That axe is something else, my lord."

Clement merely chuckled at the remark as he drove the formidable axe into the earth, burying it deeply. At last, he removed his triangular helmet, revealing his youthful and fatigued countenance, his silvery blond locks fluttering in the breeze.

Observing this and the culmination of the combat, the throng erupted into a frenzy akin to ravenous canines who had gone without sustenance for an eternity. Some mourned their lost wagers, while others exulted as their coffers were filled to the brim with gold. Finally, the joust had drawn to a close, with a mere boy that is not even a knight emerging as the victor.

Clement then offered his hand to Ser Criston, to which the man took graciously. "That was a good fight, ser, even my uncle who trained me cannot fight like that."

"I'm sure your uncle is a great knight. He trained you after all."

The herald swiftly approached Clement, holding a wreath of flowers in his hand. He raised Clement's hand triumphantly, proclaiming him the victor of the tournament. The crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer, echoing throughout the arena. "The Crab Knight is the winner of the tilt!" he shouted. "And now, the champion shall choose his queen of love and beauty!"

In a flurry of activity, the servants brought Clement's horse and a new lance for him to use. Clement mounted his steed with lightning speed and grasped the lance tightly. The herald placed the flowery crown on the lance's tip, signifying Clement to choose his queen.

As he rode through the field, the anticipation of the crowd grew palpable. Clement's smirk was evident on his face, as he approached his family's platform. Gormond was beaming with pride, while his father wore a dark expression, perhaps due to Clement's unexpected victory.

"Uncle, what do you have to say now? 'Only for experience', my arse. I won the bloody tourney," Clement remarked.

"Congratulations, dear nephew," Gormond replied with a shrug, masking his surprise.

"May I be knighted now?" Clement asked eagerly.

"Perhaps later," Gormond answered, gesturing towards Clement's father, who was glaring fiercely at him.

"We will discuss this matter further in the tent, son," Bartimos spoke sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "After you claim your reward, return to the tent immediately, without delay."

"As you wish, father," Clement replied with a smirk, basking in his triumph.

Clement continued his leisurely ride around the arena, his handsome face attracting the attention of many ladies. They secretly hoped that he would choose them as his queen of love and beauty, though it was merely wishful thinking.

Finally, Clement halted his horse in front of the platform where The Velaryons were seated. He lowered the tip of his lance towards Lady Laena and placed the crown on her lap. The crowd erupted in applause, a fitting end to a thrilling tournament.

"It appears that you are a man of honor and do not break oaths, my dear ser," Laena said with a sly grin.

"Not 'ser'. Not yet." Clement gently corrected, before gracefully bowing and introducing himself. "I am Clement of House Celtigar, and it is an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady."

As he turned his attention to the two individuals seated beside Laena, who were studying him intently, he once again bowed deeply.  "Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys."

"Aye, 'tis Bartimos's son, is it not?" Corlys inquired with a raised eyebrow. "Fortune seems to have favored you in the tournament. It takes courage to even participate in such a challenge."

"My lord, it was not mere fortune that led me to victory," Clement chuckled. "I simply made the most of what resources I had at my disposal."

"Well, we shall talk later, along with your father." Corlys stood up. "For now, congratulations."

Clement bowed his head respectfully. "I am grateful for your kind words, my lord."