Post by The Smith on Oct 20, 2008 17:53:31 GMT -5
It was a bright morning in Duskendale when the Lord of the Dun Fort walked out to his tourney ground. He could see the chalk cliffs lit up by the sun, and felt the warmth on his back. It felt good to see his home, on a day like this. On a day like this, he could forget about the frustration and loneliness. He could forget how empty the Dun Fort was.
Besides, at least he had friends here, on this day. Lord Olyvar Wyl was riding in tourney ground, lance in hand. “Come on and join me!” Olyvar called as he cantered past. “We’ll see how well you fare against a Dornish lance!” Then he turned and charged at Ser Jonas Potsdam, the Dun Fort’s Master-At-Arms.
Brynden chuckled and signaled to a stableboy, who immediately dashed away to get the lord’s horse, while Lord Olyvar’s squire helped armor Brynden. I really should get my own squire, Brynden mused. He could think of two choices – one would be easy to get, the other a bit harder. It made his heart ache.
Then his horse was brought forward, saddled and ready, ears perked. Brynden had chosen a four-year old golden red stallion for himself, the last horse out of Wenhaver and Sunspear. Grey old Wenhaver was the grand dame of the Blackdusk stables, and at twenty-four she was retired, but still hale and hearty. Sunspear had died a couple years ago, and this young blood bay was his last son. Brynden had named him Red Sun. Red Sun’s fiery, rich red coat resembled Bonfire much more than his own sire, who had bequeathed his buckskin coat on almost all of his foals, but Brynden loved the uncommon golden red color.
Now the giant young stallion stood still, mouthing the bit calmly, while the Dornish squire held the stirrup for Brynden to mount up. “Thank you, boy,” Brynden said, smiling down at Olyvar’s squire. “Now I’d advise you to run to Lord Wyl and make sure his head doesn’t ring too much when I knock him off his horse.” He winked and nudged Red Sun forward, walking up the slight incline to the tourney field.
“Finally got here, have you?” Olyvar called. “I’ve grown tired of riding against Potsdam.” Ser Jonas was grinning; his armor was dented, but so was Olyvar’s.
“I’ll warm up with Ser Jonas,” Brynden said. “There’d be no sport if I knocked you off in the first pass.”
“I’ve still got plenty to give,” the Master-At-Arms snorted, taking a fresh lance and riding to the other end of the lists. Brynden took a lance, and kicked Red Sun forward, who shot forward into a canter at once, gaining speed. How my life has changed, Brynden thought, as the horses thundered to one another. He could recall another time when he rode against another Master-At-Arms, Ser Ethan Smallwick. He had been a boy, mounted on a faithful old schoolhorse named Apple…
Two lances dipped and leveled, two shields swung forward, and the destriers reached other at full tilt. Brynden recoiled smoothly at the bone-breaking impact, rolling it off and delivering a hard blow to Ser Jonas Potsdam’s shoulder. Jonas reeled, but stayed in the saddle. The two horses cantered past, regaining their stride, with both riders still mounted. The second pass saw Jonas’ lance smartly hit Brynden’s shield, and Brynden hit Jonas’ shield even harder. In the third pass, Brynden shifted his seat slightly, drawing Red Sun closer to the line and pushing him faster, so that Jonas could not aim and hit Brynden’s shield in time. Instead, Brynden leaned forward and delivered a heavy blow, knocking Jonas from the saddle.
“Well ridden, Potsdam!” Olvyar said. “I can see why you’re Master-at-Arms, if you can keep your seat against Lord Brynden.”
“Thanks,” Brynden said, breathing hard and riding over to Jonas. “Are you hurt?” he asked, dismounting and helping Ser Jonas up.
“Not at all, my lord,” Ser Jonas smiled. He was clearly winded a bit, but he did not seem upset in any way. “You beat me fairly, and chivalrously.”
“And you…”
“Back in your saddle, Brynden!” Olyvar Wyl said, riding to the other end of the lists. “Come on, now! I’m raring to go.”
Brynden and Jonas exchanged grins, and Brynden mounted up again. Stroking Red Sun’s neck, Brynden trotted to the other end of the lists. A stableboy handed up his lance, while at the other end Olyvar’s squire armed him. Brynden felt a twinge again. I really should get a squire. If nothing else, there will be someone else in this godforsaken castle. He would be riding up to King’s Landing tomorrow. Perhaps he would talk to Selyse about it…and her, yes, he would have to talk to her.
The flag flashed down, and Red Sun charged.
Brynden snapped back into concentration, eyeing Olyvar and measuring his blow, but his distraction had cost him already – he only managed to get a minor scrape in, while only just barely blocking Olyvar’s blow. Red Sun whinnied, and Brynden’s head reeled for a moment.
Pull yourself together and concentrate, he told himself sternly, this time taking his lance from Olyvar’s squire. Brynden began to lower his lance as Olyvar came up, but pretended that he was on the defensive instead of an attack position, bracing his shield arm for the blow. The feint worked, and Olyvar left himself open. Brynden did his old tactic of spurring on his horse and drawing closer to the line – throwing himself off his opponent’s aim – but a split second later he saw that Olyvar had anticipated this, and copied him. Shit. Brynden moved by instinct – he shifted his seat, leaned out of it, and knocked Olyvar’s lance aside slightly as he lunged and hit Olyvar squarely on the breast plate. Olyvar swayed dangerously as he passed. He managed to cling on for the next three passes, though, and only on the fifth did Brynden manage to knock him down. It had been a tightly contested battle.
He reined in Red Sun, and the stallion tossed his head and half-reared, nostrils flaring. Brynden spoke to him soothingly and stroked his neck. Brynden was exhausted himself. He had learned new things from that joust alone, so unexpected had Olyvar’s attack been.
“Good ride,” he said to Olyvar, with a tired grin. “You almost had me…several times.”
“But not quite, eh?” Olyvar replied, wincing a little as he got to his feet. “Good hit there; I didn’t see that coming. Ow.”
“What’s the matter, Oly, does it hurt?” Brynden grinned Olyvar gave him a dark look, and Brynden laughed.
“You were the one who was so eager to joust.”
“Aye, but I thought I’d win,” Olyvar winked. “I will at the tourney, you’ll see.”
“I think you might,” Brynden said, seriously. He dismounted, and they walked back to the stables, leading their horses. “You’ve really improved. Now, what you’ve got to work on his your strike preference…” as they walked back, he broke down the jousting positions and techniques to Olyvar, who listened earnestly.
Result:
- Brynden Royce works towards Grandmaster Lance
Besides, at least he had friends here, on this day. Lord Olyvar Wyl was riding in tourney ground, lance in hand. “Come on and join me!” Olyvar called as he cantered past. “We’ll see how well you fare against a Dornish lance!” Then he turned and charged at Ser Jonas Potsdam, the Dun Fort’s Master-At-Arms.
Brynden chuckled and signaled to a stableboy, who immediately dashed away to get the lord’s horse, while Lord Olyvar’s squire helped armor Brynden. I really should get my own squire, Brynden mused. He could think of two choices – one would be easy to get, the other a bit harder. It made his heart ache.
Then his horse was brought forward, saddled and ready, ears perked. Brynden had chosen a four-year old golden red stallion for himself, the last horse out of Wenhaver and Sunspear. Grey old Wenhaver was the grand dame of the Blackdusk stables, and at twenty-four she was retired, but still hale and hearty. Sunspear had died a couple years ago, and this young blood bay was his last son. Brynden had named him Red Sun. Red Sun’s fiery, rich red coat resembled Bonfire much more than his own sire, who had bequeathed his buckskin coat on almost all of his foals, but Brynden loved the uncommon golden red color.
Now the giant young stallion stood still, mouthing the bit calmly, while the Dornish squire held the stirrup for Brynden to mount up. “Thank you, boy,” Brynden said, smiling down at Olyvar’s squire. “Now I’d advise you to run to Lord Wyl and make sure his head doesn’t ring too much when I knock him off his horse.” He winked and nudged Red Sun forward, walking up the slight incline to the tourney field.
“Finally got here, have you?” Olyvar called. “I’ve grown tired of riding against Potsdam.” Ser Jonas was grinning; his armor was dented, but so was Olyvar’s.
“I’ll warm up with Ser Jonas,” Brynden said. “There’d be no sport if I knocked you off in the first pass.”
“I’ve still got plenty to give,” the Master-At-Arms snorted, taking a fresh lance and riding to the other end of the lists. Brynden took a lance, and kicked Red Sun forward, who shot forward into a canter at once, gaining speed. How my life has changed, Brynden thought, as the horses thundered to one another. He could recall another time when he rode against another Master-At-Arms, Ser Ethan Smallwick. He had been a boy, mounted on a faithful old schoolhorse named Apple…
Two lances dipped and leveled, two shields swung forward, and the destriers reached other at full tilt. Brynden recoiled smoothly at the bone-breaking impact, rolling it off and delivering a hard blow to Ser Jonas Potsdam’s shoulder. Jonas reeled, but stayed in the saddle. The two horses cantered past, regaining their stride, with both riders still mounted. The second pass saw Jonas’ lance smartly hit Brynden’s shield, and Brynden hit Jonas’ shield even harder. In the third pass, Brynden shifted his seat slightly, drawing Red Sun closer to the line and pushing him faster, so that Jonas could not aim and hit Brynden’s shield in time. Instead, Brynden leaned forward and delivered a heavy blow, knocking Jonas from the saddle.
“Well ridden, Potsdam!” Olvyar said. “I can see why you’re Master-at-Arms, if you can keep your seat against Lord Brynden.”
“Thanks,” Brynden said, breathing hard and riding over to Jonas. “Are you hurt?” he asked, dismounting and helping Ser Jonas up.
“Not at all, my lord,” Ser Jonas smiled. He was clearly winded a bit, but he did not seem upset in any way. “You beat me fairly, and chivalrously.”
“And you…”
“Back in your saddle, Brynden!” Olyvar Wyl said, riding to the other end of the lists. “Come on, now! I’m raring to go.”
Brynden and Jonas exchanged grins, and Brynden mounted up again. Stroking Red Sun’s neck, Brynden trotted to the other end of the lists. A stableboy handed up his lance, while at the other end Olyvar’s squire armed him. Brynden felt a twinge again. I really should get a squire. If nothing else, there will be someone else in this godforsaken castle. He would be riding up to King’s Landing tomorrow. Perhaps he would talk to Selyse about it…and her, yes, he would have to talk to her.
The flag flashed down, and Red Sun charged.
Brynden snapped back into concentration, eyeing Olyvar and measuring his blow, but his distraction had cost him already – he only managed to get a minor scrape in, while only just barely blocking Olyvar’s blow. Red Sun whinnied, and Brynden’s head reeled for a moment.
Pull yourself together and concentrate, he told himself sternly, this time taking his lance from Olyvar’s squire. Brynden began to lower his lance as Olyvar came up, but pretended that he was on the defensive instead of an attack position, bracing his shield arm for the blow. The feint worked, and Olyvar left himself open. Brynden did his old tactic of spurring on his horse and drawing closer to the line – throwing himself off his opponent’s aim – but a split second later he saw that Olyvar had anticipated this, and copied him. Shit. Brynden moved by instinct – he shifted his seat, leaned out of it, and knocked Olyvar’s lance aside slightly as he lunged and hit Olyvar squarely on the breast plate. Olyvar swayed dangerously as he passed. He managed to cling on for the next three passes, though, and only on the fifth did Brynden manage to knock him down. It had been a tightly contested battle.
He reined in Red Sun, and the stallion tossed his head and half-reared, nostrils flaring. Brynden spoke to him soothingly and stroked his neck. Brynden was exhausted himself. He had learned new things from that joust alone, so unexpected had Olyvar’s attack been.
“Good ride,” he said to Olyvar, with a tired grin. “You almost had me…several times.”
“But not quite, eh?” Olyvar replied, wincing a little as he got to his feet. “Good hit there; I didn’t see that coming. Ow.”
“What’s the matter, Oly, does it hurt?” Brynden grinned Olyvar gave him a dark look, and Brynden laughed.
“You were the one who was so eager to joust.”
“Aye, but I thought I’d win,” Olyvar winked. “I will at the tourney, you’ll see.”
“I think you might,” Brynden said, seriously. He dismounted, and they walked back to the stables, leading their horses. “You’ve really improved. Now, what you’ve got to work on his your strike preference…” as they walked back, he broke down the jousting positions and techniques to Olyvar, who listened earnestly.
Result:
- Brynden Royce works towards Grandmaster Lance