3 The King's Tourney
It's been three years since the Great Council and the Old King Jaehaerys has recently passed away.
The Crown has arrenged a Grand Tourney in honor of the new King Viserys.
Meanwhile, the "Dragon's Bastard" has excelled at every lesson he was taught and earned himself a squireship under Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
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King's Landing
104 AC
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"So, have you thought of a name for it? All great swords must have names."-Rhaenyra said as Daeron was busy admiring the craftsmanship of his new sword.
"I think I might go with Doomblade."
"Doomblade? Is it not kinda ominous? A sword that brings Doom."-Rhaenyra said, laughing at Daeron's naming sense.
"It will bring Doom to my enemies, not me. It's a good name."-Daeron said defensively.
"Sure, are you going to Doom the entire tourney with it?"
"You know very well I'm not old enough to participate on the King's Tourney."
"And since when has that mattered? You can just hide your face behind a helm like one of those mystery knights, and then reveal it after you win. I heard you recently took down a knight twice your age."-Rhaenyra said, matter-of-factly.
"He was inexperienced and recently knighted, and he let down his guard because I was 'just a child'. Most of the people participating in this tourney are skilled veterans, some of them are even considered Masters at the melee. We are not even in the same level, and they wouldn't lose by letting their guard down."
"So you of won't participate at all?"-Rhaenyra asked quizzically.
"I never said that."-Daeron said, his voice laced with a mischievous tone while Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.
"Princess!"-They were interrupted-"Your mother has been looking for you. The Royal Party is leaving, and you know they cannot without you. Let us make haste."
"Duty calls, Princess. I should also go join the procession, least I be forgotten."-Daeron said, sheathing his sword, the gods only knew he didn't need another lecture on weapons near the Princess.
"Goodbye, cousin. Let us meet each other later."
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"Doomblade? That's a rather silly name for a sword."-Laena interjected-"It should be something like Seaparting."
"Thank the Gods the two of you aren't together."-Laenor joked-"Your children would be cursed with terrible names."
Daeron roller his eyes, dismissing Laenor's attempt at jest. They have been traveling to Maidenpool for 5 days now, together with the King's Retinue for the upcoming Tourney to be held in King Viserys' honor.
The King was travelling with a large party. With the exception Lord Lyman Beesbury - who had been left at King's Landing to maintain order in the capital - the entire Small Council was accompanying the King. As was Queen Aemma and many Lords of the Realm, alongside the Kingsguard and five hundred Targaryen household guards.
Rhaenyra had refused to travel in the royal wheelhouse with her mother, and was instead riding alongside Daeron and the Velaryon children on horseback, with Ser Harrold riding alongside them as Rhaenyra's escort.
"Speaking of it, I heard you were recently betrothed to the Sealord of Braavos's son."
"Father arranged the match. He said that it would benefit our House to have a powerful ally in the Free Cities. I do not know much about him, I'm afraid." Laena said gloomily, l excited about the match.
"I heard he's quite handsome."-Rhaenyra added.-"The Nestoris are a wealthy and powerful family in Braavos. I even heard that some of them are keyholders."
"What are keyholders?" Laenor asked inquisitively.
"I think they are like Braavos' small council." Rhaenyra said.
"No, I heard from father that they run the Iron Bank." Laenor argued.
"Keyholders are the descendants of the founders of the Iron Bank. They are the ones who select the ones who lead the bank, and they even have a voice in selecting the Sealord."-Daeron corrected.
"Here comes another of the dreaded lessons of Daeron the Reader."-Rhaenyra said, not masquerading her annoyance.
"Hey! Enough of that nickname! If either of you paid attention to the maesters lessons, I wouldn't have to remind you of them."-Daeron bit back defensively.
"Laena, I heard you recently claimed Vhagar as your mount."-Rhaenyra changed the subject.
Laena's face immediately lit up at the mention of her dragon, Laenor quickly joining the conversation.
And so they continued for the rest of the afternoon, speaking tales of dragons and ancient heroes, as well as gossip of the Court, until the Royal Party reached Maidenpool just before sundown.
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As the sun rose over Maidenpool, the tournament grounds buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Knights and Lords from all corners of the realm came to compete in the jousts, melees, and other contests of skill and valor.
It was the first day of the tourney, and the day the archery competition was taking place. In the first round, the participants were divided in 35 groups of 10, each person received a bow and 5 arrows and had to shoot a target 50 paces away.
The closer the arrow was to the center of the target the higher the score, and after the five shots the points were tallied. The archer with the highest cumulative score in the group, would advance to the next round.
The competition continued late into the morning as the wheat was separated from the chaff. Only the best archers in Westeros would continue in the next round.
Many among the commons showed their skill, while many a knight or man-ar-arms failed miserably. The most impressive of them was a masked man, small in stature.
The short man managed to hit the five shots straight in the center, each one splitting the previous right in the middle.
The second round was much like the first, with the targets set at double the distance and only three shots available for every qualifier, who were divided in groups of 5.
Besides the short Archer, who managed to reenact his previous feat, there were also those who showed themselves a cut above the rest, them being Robb Rivers, the Bastard of Raventree Hall, a bastard of the Blackwood family from the riverlands. Bill Burley a northman, from one of the northern mountain clans. One-Eye Tom, a burly middle-aged commoner from the westerlands, who in spite of having only one eye was able to reach the final round. And lastly, Garran Fyllanar, a sellsword that hailed from the free cities.
In the final round, a flock of doves would be released from a distance of a hundred and fifty paces in their direction and the final seven would have to shoot them down before they crossed the hundred paces line. The first to hit the doves mid-flight, would be crowned champion. The second and third to do so, would be awarded the second and third positions, accordingly.
The Champion's purse for the Archery Competition was two thousand gold dragons, with the second place receiving a thousand gold dragons, and five hundred gold dragons for the third place.
All seven archers were lined up side by side, and as soon as the doves were released into the air their arrows flew. But only one found its target. The short Archer was the champion, Garran Fyllanar and Bill Burley managing to hit after a new flock of doves were released, marking the end of the archery competition.
After the Archery Competition was concluded the winners were presented before the King. As the short man took of his mask and revealed his sliver-gold hair and the Herald announced his name, crowd cheered loudly while the noble boxes were shocked.
"Hahahah! I new you had a valid reason not to watch the tourney, but I never thought you would be taking part in it!"-Viserys said while laughing loudly.-"Are you also going to be participating in the melee or will you join us for lunch?"
"I would like to join you if it's not much trouble, Your Grace."
"Good, good. To think you would take part in the tourney at your young age, and even come out one of it's champions! It appears I will have to prepare an additional reward."
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The melee was to be fought in the afternoon, but this time Daeron was not in the field, but rather sitting in the Royal Box, besides Rhaenyra and the Velaryon siblings.
"It was amazing! How can all your shots hit the bullseye?"-Laenor said excitedly.
"I heard your last shot hit through the dove's throat!"-Laena complemented.
"So much for not being old enough."-Rhaenyra said mischievously.-"So why aren't you down there right now?"
"I told you, I'm not yet good enough to participate in the melee. I participated in the archery because I was confident in my eyesight and technic."-Daeron responded.
"Either way, you won, and now the King is going to reward you specially. Any idea what it might be?"-Laena asked.
"No. The only thing he said is that he will summon me when we return to King's Landing."
At that moment, the blare of a trumpet announcing the start of the melee resounded.
"Be quiet! It's starting."-Rhaenyra interrupted.
Knights, free riders, hedge knights, men-at-arms, sellswords and even some older squires were participating in the melee. Nearly a hundred men took part, fifty on each side.
Daeron also saw his father Prince Daemon among them. He wore night-black plate armor, it's breastplate encrusted in rubies exhibited the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. He wore a horned helm, it's pitch black horns decorated with red, orange and gold silken streamers resembling flames. His mount was his trusty black charger, Arrax. And on his hip, he bore Dark Sister. Having donned his armor, Daemon looked every bit the fearsome warrior he truly was.
As soon as the trumpets were blown the fifty men on each side, charged at each other on horseback. As they crashed into each other the battle began in earnest.
The air was punctuated with the sounds of battle, metal clanging against metal, horses neighing and men screaming in agony.
Moreover, the mad charge of the horses had kicked up plumes of dust making visibility a challenging endeavor. Still, the heralds tried their best, shouting out the details to the best of their ability.
The favorites to win the melee were most closely watched, helped in no small fact by their brightly decorated armor.
While some men fought in isolated groups, others formed temporary alliances as the fight dragged on.
Over the next three hours, many were eliminated. Be they squires, hedge knights, sellswords or even anointed knights, in the melee all were equal. Everyone fought with the strength of their arms, and those that lacked it, left with shattered bones and fractured skulls.
Although it was a bloody affair, thankfully no one had died as the melee progressed to its final stages.
Of the hundred men only seven still remained on their feet. The horses had been long abandoned, as men took to their feet. And those unfortunate or slow enough to dismount from their horses, had it cut down from under them.
Among the final seven Daeron saw were Ser Harrold Westerling of the Kingsguard, Lord Boremund Baratheon of Storm's End, Ser Lymond Mallister of Seagard, Ser Steffon Darklyn and Ser Erryk Cargyll also of the Kingsguard. The Prince Daemon Targaryen and lastly there was a tall knight who was wielding a morningstar and wearing a simple, unadorned, coal black armour. In fact, it's only decoration was the sigil engraved on it's breastplate - black pellets on a scarlet field.
With only seven fighters left, the fighting became much more intense.
Prince Daemon immediately engaged Ser Harrold. Dark Sister shone in the dwindling rays of the setting Sun as the two great warriors dueled. Daemon moved fluidly, his fighting style mostly predicated on savage, rapid attacks. Ser Harrold on the other hand, stood strong, weathering his blows with calm, practiced ease. With neither able to gain an advantage over the other, the fight quickly became a stalemate, with both of them trading blows to see who would fall first.
Meanwhile, Boremund Baratheon, who had defeated Ser Erryk, was now facing off against Ser Steffon, while the mystery knight, some Ser Criston Cole, was busy fighting Lymond Mallister.
Boremund Baratheon was a giant of a man, and in his battle fury he fought like a raging beast, wielding a giant spiked iron warhammer he struck blow after blow at Ser Steffon.
Ser Steffon, although lacking in raw strength, was frighteningly fast. He deftly managed to dodge or parry most of Lord Boremund's blows. Only two of them got through, the first blow splintering Ser Steffon's wooden shield on impact and the other striking his side, denting the white scale armor. Ultimately, it became a test of endurance, and in spite of his great strength Lord Boremund was a man past fifty namedays while Ser Steffon was only half his age. So when the exhausted Lord lost his footing, Ser Steffon immediately sent a blow aimed at his head with his entire strength behind it. The force of the blow sent the tired Lord Boremund toppling to the ground. In fact, the strength behind the blow was such, that it had dented the helm and snapped off one of the great bronze antlers attached to it.
While Ser Steffon was busy fighting Lord Boremund, Ser Criston had made short work of Lymond Mallister. Ser Lymond was a good fighter, but he was no match for Ser Criston, whose morningstar had beaten him bloody till he had no choice but to yield.
At the same time, Prince Daemon finally managed to triumph over Ser Harrold. They were both pretty evenly matched, but Daemon with Dark Sister in hand was a true nightmare. He had battered down Ser Harrold's defenses with his relentless attacks. But even then their fight might not have ended, had Ser Harrold's sword not shattered. Now weaponless, Ser Harrold chose to yield to the Prince.
Now there were three. Prince Daemon, Ser Criston Cole and Ser Steffon Darklyn.
And as everyone looked on attentively at the final fight of the melee, Daemon suddenly sheathed Dark Sister. He then proceded to take off his helm and sit down on the sand of the arena, as everyone looked on dumbfounded. Even the other two fighters were astonished and looked askance at each other. But before anyone could intervene in this peculiar situation, Daemon motioned impatiently to the other two to get on with the fight.
It seemed that the Prince in his usual arrogance, had chosen that he would fight the victor of their match.
The other two warriors stood frozen for sometime, confused by this unexpected turn of events. But in the end these were seasoned warriors, they got over their shock.
And once they realized that the Prince posed them no danger for the time being, they turned their swords on each other.
Ser Steffon immediately went on the offensive. His sword sliced through the air in a savage cut, aimed at Ser Criston's ribs. But Ser Criston was no tired old Lord, his morningstar immediately batted away Ser Steffon's blade, and he followed it up with an upward swing aimed at Ser Steffon's breastplate. And although Ser Steffon managed to evade that strike, it rendered him off-balance. This enabled Ser Criston to sieze the momentum of the fight and he immediately went on the offensive, swinging the morningstar in a savage arc aimed at Ser Steffon's legs. From then on the fight was horribly one-sided, Ser Steffon was stuck on the defensive, blocking and dodging blows aimed at him, while Ser Criston pressed the attack.
Ultimately, the blow that Lord Boremund had struck on Ser Steffon proved to be the deciding factor. It slowed his movements, and although he tried his best to compensate for it, he just wasn't fast enough. And eventually, Ser Criston's morningstar found it's mark upon his breastplate, sending him reeling to the ground in defeat.
Finally, after the melee had gone on for four hours straight, the deciding battle was upon us, as Ser Criston and Prince Daemon faced off.
Ser Criston had picked up one of the discarded wooden shields from the arena, and he used it now to turn the blade aimed at his neck. And although he managed to fend off the attack, Dark Sister still managed to tear off a chunk from the wooden shield, rendering it useless.
Discarding the now useless shield, Ser Criston took to the attack, matching Daemon's savage cuts with his own powerful blows in a dangerous dance of steel and death.
When one of Prince Daemon's strikes finally struck Ser Criston, it sheared through his plate armor, drawing blood. But before Prince Daemon could capitalise on it, Ser Criston Cole's answering strike caught him in the ribs, sending him stumbling away.
And so back and forth they went, trading blow for blow, injury for injury, till they were both beaten bloody.
They were evenly matched. At least until, fate seemed to shine upon Ser Criston, and Prince Daemon slipped on a muddy patch of ground. The Prince didn't fall but it disrupted his balance, sending his attack swinging wildly away from its target. Ser Criston didn't miss the opportunity. He brought down his morning star in a savage arc on Daemon's right hand, sending Dark Sister flying, leaving him weaponless.
But Daemon was a stubborn man, even disarmed he would not give up the fight. He pulled out his dirk and lunged at Ser Criston. But before he could reach him, Ser Criston kicked Daemon in the chest laying him out on his back.
And before Daemon could get up, Ser Criston sat down on top of him, straddling his chest.
Ser Criston then wrenched off Daemon's helm. And then holding the morningstar below his chin, he demanded,
"Do you yield?"
For a moment everyone went still, as Daemon didn't answer, instead glaring hatefully up at Ser Criston.
But as his bloodlust waned and his head cooled, Daemon growled out,
"I yield."
Ser Criston Cole had won. The stands thundered in claps and cheers at the new Champion.
The Herald announced the winners, as the King presented them with their prizes one by one.
The Champion was to recieve a purse of five thousand gold dragons. The second place would receive twenty five hundred gold dragons and the third place, fifteen hundred gold dragons.
And last of all, the Champion Ser Criston Cole was presented with the Victor's laurel.
It was beautiful, a crown of roses as white as the fresh fallen snow.
Ser Criston picked it up. And as he approached the Royal Box all conversation died down, as everyone waited with bated breath to see which Lady he would crown.
Even though Daeron did not know why, he still felt a tingling nervousness at the bottom of his stomach as he waited.
As for Ser Criston, he had shed his bloodied armour and was now dressed in a simple white tunic and black leather breeches. Riding upon his snow white horse, with his handsome features, coal black hair and emerald green eyes, he cut the perfect picture of the gallant knight from the stories.
"I, Ser Criston Cole, Champion of the melee, crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of Love and Beauty. May her beauty blossom like these roses, and may her sweet presence bring joy and happiness to all."
Growing up, Rhaenyra had often been neglected. Not deliberately, of course. But considering that Viserys was obsessed with having a son, and with Aemma being often bedridden in that endeavor, she had been sidelined.
And at that time with there being so many Targaryens, she hadn't received the attention of the court either. Also, it hadn't been long since Viserys became King. So, this was the first time she was receiving such attention.
And that too, from a brave and handsome knight who was declaring her the most beautiful woman.
She was obviously flattered, and maybe even a little bit smitten, as she accepted the crown of white roses from Ser Criston Cole.
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Daeron whatched as the knights in their shining armour riding their great chargers, rode forth like the heroes of a thousand songs, brutalizing each other for the sake of gold and glory. The jousting took place in the last day of the Tourney, being the most prestigious competition.
Lord Boremund rode with Lady Rhaenys' favor, battering down many a hedge knight and free-rider till Daemon sent him flying from his saddle.
Ser Harrold rode like the wind. His white Kingsguard armour the color of milk, and his cloak the color of freshfallen snow, he thundered through the ranks toppling numerous knights.
Others of the Kingsguard weren't so lucky as both the twins Ser Erryk and Arryk fell prey to Ser Criston's lance. In fact, with Ser Ryam not participating the honour of the Kingsguard rested in ser Harrold's hands.
Another surprise, was Ser Lymond Mallister. He was by no means a bad warrior, in fact he was one of the final seven of the melee. But that day, it was as if he was a man possessed. He was unstoppable. In his first few matches, none of his opponents were able to last longer than the third tilt.
As for Prince Daemon, unhorsing Lord Boremund was just the beginning. He followed it up, by unhorsing Ser Hosteen Frey and Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard.
Then in a closely fought competition, he defeated Ser Gunthor Royce, a nephew of his wife, Lady Rhea of Runestone.
Ser Gunthor was a fearsome warrior, known as the Bronze Giant, he wore the ancestral runic bronze armour of House Royce. But in the end, those runes weren't enough to protect him, when he was thrown to the ground and trampled by his panicking horse. He ended up with six shattered ribs and a broken leg.
Ser Criston Cole also displayed his prowess. Wearing Princess Rhaenyra's favour he proceded to obliterate Ser Vaemond Velaryon, Lord Corlys' brother, who had to be carried off the tourney field, on account of his injuries.
Ser Lymond on the other hand, made short work of the Hand's son, Ser Gwayne Hightower.
In the end, it came down to six knights- Ser Harrold Westerling of the Kingsguard, Ser Lymond Mallister of Seagard, the new court sensation, Ser Criston Cole, Lord Tymond's brother Ser Gerion Lannister, Ser Edmyn Tully of Riverrun and the Prince of the City, Prince Daemon Targaryen.
By then, it was already late in the afternoon. So the King decided, to break for lunch. The final matches would be held after lunch. After lunch, the final matches began.
The first match was between Ser Criston and Prince Daemon. As soon as the trumpets was blown, their horses broke into a gallop, as they thundered down the jousting lane.
In the first pass, neither was able to gain an advantage. Both of them, breaking their lances on the other's shield. So they jerked their mounts around, and rode back to the lists for a second pass.
For the next five passes, they stayed locked in a stalemate. With neither being able to unhorse the other, they broke a dozen lances, each. Finally, it was the seventh pass that decided the winner.
Prince Daemon spurred forward in a hard gallop, leaning forward on his mount he held his Lance stock steady.
But Ser Criston shifted his seat deftly, in the instant before impact. Daemon's point was turned harmlessly against his shield, while his own hit square.
The black wooden shield with the red dragon emblazoned on it shattered, throwing the Prince from his saddle.
Ser Criston had once again foiled Prince Daemon.
In the following match, Ser Lymond unhorsed Ser Edmyn Tully on the first tilt itself, thus winning an easy victory.
Ser Harrold rode against Gerion Lannister, in the next match. Both of them being experienced fighters, the match lasted four tilts, when Ser Harrold finally managed to unseat him.
The final three had been decided - Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Lymond Mallister.
Ser Criston and Ser Lymond fought a closely fought match. They rode against each other for ten tilts before a victor was decided, when Ser Lymond unhorsed him.
Ultimately, in the finals Ser Harrold was given the victory by default, when Ser Lymond's wayward strike in the fifth tilt, accidentally killed Ser Harrold's horse.
Ser Harrold had won in the jousts, in spite of fighting against men several decades younger than him.
By the time the jousts had concluded, the Sun had alteady set and the Moon hung low in the sky, so the winners were quickly brought forward to be rewarded by the King.
Ser Harrold who had won the joust was awarded a purse of ten thousand gold dragons, and the Victor's laurel with which he crowned the Queen Aemma.
Ser Lymond Mallister took second place, and was given a purse of five thousand gold dragons.
As for Ser Criston Cole who had finished third in the joust, his prize was twenty five hundred gold dragons.
The King had thrown a lavish feast, for the end of the Tourney. Six whole aurochs had been roasted, for the occasion. There were cakes and pastries, and fresh fruits from every corner of the Realm and beyond. And then there were rich wines and alcoholic beverages of every flavor, flowing endlessly.
Amidst all the food and drink, there was song and dancing. And as the minstrels strummed their instruments and played their songs, the nobles in their expensive garments took to dancing.
Daeron saw Rhaenyra dancing with Ser Criston Cole, who looked impeccable in his emerald green doublet, which brought out the green in his eyes.
Daeron himself wasn't much for dancing, so it had been a little surprising when he had readily agreed to a dance, when Laena had asked him.
As the night wore on, and everyone had eaten their fill, and the songs changed from bawdy ballads to soft, melodious music.
Daeron saw Rhaenyra lead Ser Criston to the seat of the King, at the high table.
"Father, I have a request to make of you."-She said.
Viserys motioned for those sitting near him to quiet down.
"What is it you want child? Just ask, and it shall be yours."-He declared.
"Father, you have seen Ser Criston's performance in the Tourney. Wouldn't you say he is the perfect, gallant knight."
"I can't speak about Ser Criston's gallantry, for I don't know him well. But I know of at least one Dragon whose arse would be quite sore for a couple of days, because of him."-Viserys japed at Daemon's expense.
As the laughter died down, Rhaenyra continued-"Ser Criston won the melee, and finished third, in the lists. He even defeated Uncle Daemon, who everyone considers a fearsome warrior. Father, he is a great knight, and so, I want you to name him my Sworn Protector."-She demanded.
Viserys looked at Ser Criston inquisitively.
"Ser Criston, what say you? Do you want to be my daughter's Sworn Protector?"
Ser Criston bowed to the King.
"My King, the Princess honours me with her kind words. And, to be her Sworn Shield, and defend her from the evils of this world. There could be no greater honour for me."-He said, eloquently.
Viserys turned to his daughter once more- "Are you sure about this, daughter?"-He asked.
"Yes, father. I have no doubt that Ser Criston would defend me faithfully and honorably."
"Very well then, I shall cater to your whims, this once."-He declared-"Ser Criston of House Cole. I, King Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby appoint you, the Sworn Shield of my daughter, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. May you protect her with honour, until your dying breath."
