Post by The Smith on Jul 30, 2009 13:10:37 GMT -5
Ser Aaron Royce sat on the back of a courser in the Red Keep’s training yard, long after the sun had set. His daughter had been born less than a fortnight prior, and Aaron feared for her life, as small and frail as she was. Eleanor had taken to motherhood well and was already fiercely protective of Joanna, and had taken charge of the staff in the Bronzehall soon after moving in. Aaron, however, was anxious.
The heir to the Eyrie found himself unable to sleep for several nights in a row after Joanna’s birth, so he ended up making his way out of Maegor’s Holdfast and into the deserted training yard. Guards could be seen patrolling the keep and city walls with torches, but there was hardly another soul in sight.
He had always been a skilled rider though only a middling jouster, but Aaron had always found that idleness bred anxiousness and so he contended himself to practice with the lance since he could not force himself to fall asleep.
He had set up a quintain with a heavy bag of sand on one crossarm, and a shield on the other. He spurred his horse towards it, couching his lance as he was taught when he first had been taught to joust by his father and Ser Jonathor Waynwood, the old Master-of-Arms in the Eyrie.
He struck the shield slightly off-center, and almost dropped his lance from the impact. The sandbag swung around and struck him in the head, knocking him sideways from the saddle. He landed heavily on the ground, but sprang to his feet nimbly and remounted the horse to try again swearing the whole time.
The second time he charged, he came to a similar effect, but retained his seat in the saddle after being slapped by the sandbag. He rode slowly back across the tilt, wondering what he was doing wrong. He shifted his grip on his lance slightly and changed the position into which he couched it, and his lance struck dead center in the shield. Aaron spurred his horse just before the strike, pushing it faster, and the bag swung by missing him completely.
He charged at the quintain for three more hours, and was knocked from his horse half a score or more times. His brown and green tunic was stained from the dirt he had fallen into, though the color did not show up much against the fabric. Aaron was aching all over and covered in sweat, but he considered this a victory. He could already notice differences in his own form that would lead to better success on horseback in the future, and every one of his strikes with the lance as more accurate than the last.
The horizon was not yet beginning to lighten, but he could tell that sunrise was only a few hours away. He’d rubbed down and fed his horse after leading it back to its stall in the stables, and wished that he had someone to go hunting with. The hours just before dawn were was the best time to catch certain game, but both of Aaron’s brothers were gone from the capital, and Eleanor would certainly be asleep by now, or else with Joanna. Aaron smiled at the thought of his wife and daughter, and left the Red Keep, walking down the hill to the Bronzehall, where he climbed into bed and soon fell into a deep sleep.
Ser Aaron Royce improves to Grandmaster Horseman
Ser Aaron Royce improves to Novice Lancer
The heir to the Eyrie found himself unable to sleep for several nights in a row after Joanna’s birth, so he ended up making his way out of Maegor’s Holdfast and into the deserted training yard. Guards could be seen patrolling the keep and city walls with torches, but there was hardly another soul in sight.
He had always been a skilled rider though only a middling jouster, but Aaron had always found that idleness bred anxiousness and so he contended himself to practice with the lance since he could not force himself to fall asleep.
He had set up a quintain with a heavy bag of sand on one crossarm, and a shield on the other. He spurred his horse towards it, couching his lance as he was taught when he first had been taught to joust by his father and Ser Jonathor Waynwood, the old Master-of-Arms in the Eyrie.
He struck the shield slightly off-center, and almost dropped his lance from the impact. The sandbag swung around and struck him in the head, knocking him sideways from the saddle. He landed heavily on the ground, but sprang to his feet nimbly and remounted the horse to try again swearing the whole time.
The second time he charged, he came to a similar effect, but retained his seat in the saddle after being slapped by the sandbag. He rode slowly back across the tilt, wondering what he was doing wrong. He shifted his grip on his lance slightly and changed the position into which he couched it, and his lance struck dead center in the shield. Aaron spurred his horse just before the strike, pushing it faster, and the bag swung by missing him completely.
He charged at the quintain for three more hours, and was knocked from his horse half a score or more times. His brown and green tunic was stained from the dirt he had fallen into, though the color did not show up much against the fabric. Aaron was aching all over and covered in sweat, but he considered this a victory. He could already notice differences in his own form that would lead to better success on horseback in the future, and every one of his strikes with the lance as more accurate than the last.
The horizon was not yet beginning to lighten, but he could tell that sunrise was only a few hours away. He’d rubbed down and fed his horse after leading it back to its stall in the stables, and wished that he had someone to go hunting with. The hours just before dawn were was the best time to catch certain game, but both of Aaron’s brothers were gone from the capital, and Eleanor would certainly be asleep by now, or else with Joanna. Aaron smiled at the thought of his wife and daughter, and left the Red Keep, walking down the hill to the Bronzehall, where he climbed into bed and soon fell into a deep sleep.
Ser Aaron Royce improves to Grandmaster Horseman
Ser Aaron Royce improves to Novice Lancer