Finale

Aerion smiled at his Uncle, the man stood across from him with a smile on his own weathered face. Both of them in their armour preparing for the final, Garrett lingered near the corner, eyes still wide with awe from Aerion's last tilt.

"That was good riding" His uncle complimented as the older man meticulously checked over his own armour. 

"That was more luck than skill" Aerion informed with a furrowed brow, his helm held loosely in his right hand, the tent hiding them from the blazing sun outside. 

His uncle titled his head "Mayhaps, but nonetheless it was good riding" The older man said, his eyes roving over his nephew's form. "Be careful" he said seriously.

Aerion scoffed "It's me you're jousting, Uncle. Perhaps you should be the one to take care." he joked as he walked past the older man, though he did feel the nerves build in his stomach.

He had beaten Cole, he hardly knew how he had managed it. He hadn't the faintest idea how he was meant to beat his Uncle either. He was far—far above his weight class. 

But so was Cole. 

Pushing through the tent flaps, the roar of the crowd swelled around him, the applause ringing in his ears as he mounted his horse. His hand trembled slightly as he fitted his helm, the armour cool against his skin. His hand ran down the horse's neck gently, slowly calming his own racing heart.

His arm still hurt from one of Cole's hits, but he knew his Uncle was hit hard by a Manderly not too long ago on the shoulder, the one holding his shield. 

He'd have to drive his lance into his shield, strike again and again until his uncle's arm faltered. But that meant he had to survive several passes with his Uncle. 

He took a deep breath, his eyes catching sight of his Uncle leaving the tent. His presence met with applause, though not as much as him.

It made sense. 

He shifted slightly, grabbing a lance off of a squire as he double checked his armour. His uncle rode past him, his armour shining a bright silver. A shadow of a crow fell over Aerion, the presence of his companions calming.

A horn blasted, the sound piercing the arena.

"Royals, Lords, Ladies, Knights, Men, Women and Children!" The Herald shouted, the crowd hushed in anticipation. "Welcome to the Finale of Prince Aegon's Tourney!" The crowd clapped once the words finished.

"On the brown horse we have Ser Garth Bracken!" The crowd applauded, the older man not affected as he adjusted the lance in his hands. 

"On the black horse, we have The Young Ser Aerion Rivers!" The crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers, their voices rising in unison at the herald's words. A smile tugged at Aerions lips as he raised his shield in preparation. 

He eyed the older man across from him, the man's defence was astounding. It always has been, he was the man who taught him the sword, the lance, the bow, everything he has learned his uncle was a part in it. 

His uncle had shaped him. Criston Cole may be a better jouster, but for him, his Uncle would be his biggest challenge. 

The second horn blasted.

Their horses shot forward, the very air tearing at Aerions form. His shield raised, covering most of his body, his lance raised, aimed at the upper part of his Uncles shield.

His body tensed, every muscle coiled, his grip tight on the reins as they thundered toward each other, the gap closing in heartbeats. He lifted his lance, bracing for impact, his shield angled just enough to deflect his uncle's strike.

But at the last—split—second, his uncle shifted, his shield twisting, his lance aiming higher.

Aerion's eyes went wide.

CRACK!

The force slammed into him, rattling his bones. His shield buckled as his uncle's blow struck dead centre, his arm screaming under the sudden weight. He barely held on, fingers white-knuckled around the reins, his body jolting backward.

For a dizzying moment, he felt the world tilt—air rushing past him—as if he were about to be ripped from his horse and hurled into the dirt. His vision blurred with the impact, his thoughts scrambled.

His uncle was already wheeling his horse around for the next pass.

He grabbed a new lance from a squire, quickly turning his horse and rushing towards the older knight. He repositioned himself on the horse as he approached, his shield shaking slightly. 

CRACK!

Aerion once again was almost thrown from his horse, he couldn't hear the crowd's exclamations as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. His lance however, struck true smashing against his Uncle's shield. 

Yet the man didn't budge.

Aerion almost growled, as he snatched a lance from a nearby squire. Turning his horse as he burst forward, his shield arm aching as he had to reposition himself once more. 

CRACK!

The blow hit like a hammer, jarring his shield so violently that his shoulder felt like it might tear from its socket. He gasped, fighting to stay upright. His vision blurred at the edges, the world tilting with each heartbeat.

CRACK!

His whole body jolted, pain shooting through his side. Aerion barely kept his grip, breath hissing between clenched teeth. Not again, I can't take another. He snatched another lance, his hand shaking as the crowd blurred into noise.

CRACK!

Aerion's entire body shook as the impact reverberated through his arm, pain flaring hot across his shoulder. His hand clenched the reins instinctively, fingers aching from the force of the blow.

He snarled, grabbing another lance and turning his horse around the pass. 

CRACK! 

His lance smashed into his uncle's shield, a perfect strike. Aerion felt the impact reverberate through his arm, the wood splintering from the force. His uncle rocked in the saddle, his shield arm dipping for just a moment—Aerion saw it. A weakness, a small falter. He had done it. He had struck true.

The crowd roared, their cheers washing over him like a tide. For the first time in the tilt, his uncle wavered.

But then Aerion's vision blurred again. His hand shook, fingers numb around the reins. The force of the strike had drained what little strength he had left. His arm, already aching from earlier hits, now screamed in protest.

His uncle was already wheeling around, steady and resolute.

Aerion tried to push his horse forward for another pass, but his body betrayed him. His muscles locked, pain pulsing through his shoulder, his side, his legs. His grip faltered, the lance slipping slightly in his hand. He barely had time to lift his shield.

CRACK!

The blow from his uncle's lance struck him hard, dead centre. Aerion's shield buckled, the force like a tidal wave crashing over him. His body lurched backward, and this time, there was no recovery. His fingers lost their hold on the reins, and he felt himself slipping—falling.

The world tilted, then went sideways as he crashed into the dirt, the wind knocked from his lungs. For a moment, everything went quiet. The noise of the crowd, the pain in his body—all of it faded into a dull hum as he lay there, staring up at the sky.

His crow slowly circled over the Arena. He could faintly hear cheers, but it all seemed muted. He lifted his screaming arms and placed his open palms against his visor. 

The sound of his gloves slapping against his visor seemed to snap the world into place. The cheers of the crowd hitting him like a tidal wave as he clenched his jaw so tight that spots developed in his vision.

Rays of sunlight peeking through the gaps in his leather gloves. "Gods" he murmured to himself, his voice drowned out by the continuous cheers. 

Said sunlight was quickly blocked out by a shadow, he moved his hands. Blinking up at the older knight, breath ragged, pride stinging more than the bruises.

"You fought well, boy," his uncle said, pulling him to his feet. Aerion winced as his shoulder screamed in protest. When he got to his feet he brushed past his uncle, uncaring of manners at this moment.

He walked through the tent flaps, taking off his helm with a hiss at the pain radiating from his right arm. The tent was empty, all the knights were still out there, watching the celebrations. 

The ribbon on his arm felt tight, too tight—as if it was cutting off his blood flow. He dropped onto a bench, his armour restricting as his hands through his hair, dropping his head as he glared at the ground.

He was so close. 

So close

—-

Have a feeling many will be mad at this, remember Aerion is 15, we still have tons of story left and I think it'd be hard to give him any future challenges if he's winning everything first try?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, if you didn't…I'm sorry man :(

Also we have like close to TWENTY 5 Star reviews! Insane