(121-02-14) Freeriders and Tirocinium
Freeriders and Tirocinium
Summary: The freeriders compete, with some surprising results.
Date: 14/02/2014
Related: Maybe someone else is kind enough to link these? :P

Tourney Grounds, The Reach

The Tourney Grounds stand just outside of the walls of Oldtown. There is a raised platform of several levels for noble viewers, with space for comfortable chairs and little tables to be set in place, and tall posts for canopies to be hung to keep the sun off. Not far stands the great board where the lists are kept. On the far side of the grounds rough tiered benches are available for the smallfolk, and past them there's a flat field for the knights to erect their pavilions in the grass.

The long log rail for the jousts stands right before the Lords' and Ladies' platform, with the space for the melee just beyond it. The archery butts are mounded at the Southwest edge of the grounds, where a great meadow of purple-red fireweed spreads off into the distance. The rough little narrow road to Blackcrown cuts through it.

Dainel is slow to enter, riding a donkey and leading a horse. He has a cart behind the donkey and seems to be hauling wine? Yes. Wine. His armor is polished and he seems to be entirely relaxed and almost in a state of Zen. He moves to sign himself in.

Lord Garvin Tyrell arrives on his white palfey, resplendent in his Braavosi-styled fighting gear. Nyran rides a smaller horse behind him, and when Garvin finally dismounts, the squire takes his horse and leads both off. Lord Pansy slowly makes his way to the registration area, taking the time to look over the competition milling about, a small, cocky grin on his lips.

Kai slowly makes his way onto the tourney grounds, hand lightly rested upon one of his three swords as he walks along, ignoring the glances of his fellow competitors, whom are quite a bit more intimidating than your average knight in armor, and they do quite enjoy goading men of Kai's looks, the fact that he wears three blades does not help him much either. Regardless, he ignores them, stepping up to the registration area and signing up.

Daevon's here with his cousin Igdahn. There's benefits to being a Targaryen, the most notable of which is no one questions you when you take the best seats in the whole tourney field. He's making sure that his cousin is comfortable with cushions, and is warm enough, has a drink and all of that and in general fussing over her. He himself isn't dressed to fight today, instead he's in his noble finest.

Riding in from the blackcrown road, fashioned in armor tinted as black as charcoal, and a plain barrel helmet of a similar shade, is Derrioth. He is riding upon his silver dapple horse, it's silver hair blowing lightly in the breeze as the steed marches along. He dismounts afterwards, his armored shifting lightly as his features are hidden, though those who ware familiar with the sellsword would most likely recognize the man by his armor. He makes his way over to the registration, signing himself in before moving aside, his longsword in its sling with his shield on his back as he looks over his competitors, whether he's grinning or frowning is unsure, as his helmet conceals his features.

Eonn rides up on his big white mare. He rounds the field, to the less desirable spot, where he'd be hit by arrows if the archery contest was going on, but can now observe from horseback without blocking other people's view. As if he isn't tall enough already.

Kevyn does not look terribly intimidating, it must be said, but he's not a proper knight yet, either. He arrives in gear that, while not shabby, is clearly borrowed and rather old. He does wear a gold ribbon rosette tied to his belt, though, and he walks so best to show it off. He makes his way to the lists, eyeing the other competitors present and trying to look confident. He doesn't entirely succeed, but he tries.

Igdahn is in much finer spirits than she was during the previous tourney. Perhaps having come on foot instead of on her sofa-shaped steed has proven more congenial to her constitution. Perhaps it was the stroll she took in the gardens earlier in the day. Perhaps she simply finds her cousin good company, for she prattles along to him on this topic and that as he sees to her, reporting on letters from her father and others back home and news from that quarter. Nothing so scurrilous as to constitute gossip, of course, but mundane sorts of details of household economy which she relates with a girlish fascination. "Is the fighting to be very harsh, to-day, good cous?" she finally asks. "I will have to keep my eyes closed for much of it, I fear."

The tradition does tend to be to save the best for last, and so this stormy hour is reserved for the freeriders. Of course, everyone knows that this is going to be the more bloody, and interesting, set of contests, so the visiting knights and the people of Oldtown have braved the weather to watch. Freeriders are not allowed to joust, so the favourite event is still yet to come, but there's still excitement in the air.

Daring choices made with the cut of her dress, fashion-forward Keyte Tyrell is in rich green today, embroidered with thousands of golden stitches. It literally must have taken months to make, this gown, and here she is, dragging her skirts as she makes her way distractedly toward the dais with her attendants. Every other step or so, she rocks up onto her toes to peer amongst the assembled, looking for someone. Where is he. Not on the dais, although spotting Igdahn and the Maiden's Knight draws a wave from her. "Ho, my lord and lady!"

Daevon offers a wave of greeting over in Eonn's direction. He watches the others as they arrive, while also listening to Igdahn as she speaks, prompting her with various questions. He shakes his head at Igdahn. "Today they fight to honour the Mother. She does not prove of harsh fighting. It will be a chance for the competitors to show off their skills but I doubt that anyone will be seriously injured." He smiles at Keyte. "Lady Keyte, will you be joining us? Who is it that you are seeking?"

Derrioth would notice Eonn, giving him a nod as a form of greeting before noticing Kai. He looks to Kai, beginning to walk over casually as the faint sight of a Mastiff chasing after a hare in a playful manner could be seen faintly down along the blackcrown rose.

Kevyn scans the crowds and, when he spots Keyte, waves to her. With a rather silly grin. He then proceeds to get himself properly entered into the competition…among the freeriders. The generally older and more experienced freeriders. Perhaps he is feeling confident about all this. Perhaps more than he should. Still, he does it with a general air of enthusiasm.

Garvin sighs his name with a great flourish, as his squire pours from a wineskin into a small, silver goblet, then offers it to his lord. Garvin barely seems to notice Nyran, as he turns again and begins walking slowly through the crowd, sipping mead. Looking up to the grand dias, he smiles and gives a wave toward Daevon and Keyte, touching the brim of his absurd hat.

Igdahn's own gown is a pale reflection of Keyte's, the green having lost its vibrancy, opting for an opalescent pallor, and emroidered in silver, rather than gold. The cut, too, is decidedly unstylish, with a high waist and straight, loose robes flowing thence to hide any semblace of shape that might be under there. From behind her veil she takes in the visage with a kindly smile better hinted at through her voice than seen, "Oh, please, do join us, my Lady. I am glad of that, good cous," she tells Daevon, "I pray Mother keep them all safe in the game." That done, she returns her attention to the Lady who'd joined them. "How beautiful your gown is. It astonishes."

"My, but I should be honored to sit with you, Ser Daevon!" Keyte's usual enthusiastic charm is laid on, her smile as bright as ever. Hitching up her skirts for the sake of her balance, she clambers up the dais to join he and Igdahn. "Oh, but the Hero Squire, of course, Bane of Dolphins, Rescuer of Lordlings. I fear if I spend too long a-look I shall miss the sporting, though, sadly." Nevertheless, once she's settled she returns to looking — and is rewarded, ho! The wave she returns to Kevyn is… well. Energetic, to say the least. "You are too kind, my lady," she asides to Igdahn, finally peeling her eyes away from the squire to grin. "And you are radiant today, of course. Do you enjoy the sporting?"

Kai stands about silently as he awaits for the event to begin, slowly scanning the crowd expressionlessly, sizing up his opponents. He spots Derrioth approaching and turns to face him, calling out towards him, "Greetings, Derrioth." he says, nodding slightly, "It is good to see you here." he finishes, although he keeps his blank expression, as playing the charmer all of the time is annoying.

Daevon waves at Garvin. He smiles at Keyte. "Oh, the Dolphin's Bane, although you should not speak such a name during a festival dedicated to them and the Mother." He settles back quietly to watch the goings on.

"Greetings, Kai." Calls a muffled voice from behind Derrioths helmet as he stops a short ways from Kai, "It is good to see you here as well. Though I am dissappointed I am not allowed to joust." He says, bringing his arms to fold behind his back calmly as he looks about the rest of the competition, taking note of Kevyn but drifting his gaze from the squire to look to others, "I suppose your day fares well?" He asks of Kai, a bark coming from the blackcrown road as the hare is by now chasing the mastiff around.

The Hightower Heralds at the lists shuffle names and draw lots and mutter to each other excitedly.

Igdahn lets out a short, bashful breath of laughter. "Your words are too kind, my Lady," she tells Keyte. Though she is decidedly more radiant than she has been this past month in her bedridden state, she still has a certain weakness about her. "Oh, yes, the horses yesterday were so graceful and majestic," she enthuses. "And the horsemen so very artful in handling them. But when they're apt to hurt one another I must confess it produces in me a certain anxiety."

One of the Heralds runs out onto the field to face the dias. "The Freerider Derrioth!" he cries, "To meet the Freerider Kai, in contest of arms!" There is some laughter from the smallfolk; they saw Kai on the pillory so recently.

Garvin looks around suddenly at the herald's words, searching the crowd until he spies Kai, lips curling in a small grin as he sips his mead again. "Better that Derrioth have to face him than me," he says to his squire, who quickly refills his goblet from the wineskin. "I've fought the Pansyslayer before, and my arm still smarts from it."

Kevyn offers Derrioth a quickly-bobbed nod when the swordsman looks in his direction. Both he and Kai, and the other competitors gathered, are eyed like he's making some attempt to size them up. He tries to stand up straighter, perhaps to make himself look taller, or just to get an ever-so-slightly better view of the upcoming match.

Kai nods slightly as Derrioth speaks, and then the heralds cry out, "Good luck." he says simply, walking towards the grounds where the fighting will take place as the people laugh, he seems unbothered by the peoples goading, keeping his features emotion-free and his posture strong. He stops as he reaches the field, turning and awaiting for Derrioth to step across from him, hand rested upon the pommel of his longest falchion.

Dainel quietly finds himself a seat, petting his sweet little ass, rubbing the beasts' cheek gently as he watches the announcement, listening calmly and smoothly. "Pansyslayer.." he rolls his eyes just slightly, moving into the cart to take out a speciality box, opening it to reveal a pack of delicate dainty little steamed dumplings. He plucks one to pop in his mouth, lazily.

"On of the dolphins bit me," Keyte laughs, somewhat a reply to Daevon's gentle scolding. "Perhaps it's good luck, do you think? Some sort of auspicious transfer of goodwill." Or maybe the dolphins just wanted fish. "Oh, I missed the events yesterday," she responds to Igdahn, not a hint of regret in her tone. "Horses are… well. My lady shouldn't fret for the menfolk! Any injury claimed on tourney soil would surely be celebrated by the competitors, I should think." Her eyes wander back out to the grounds, as the herald calls.

The herald runs back to hop over the tilt and stand on it to watch, excitedly.

Derrioth looks up slightly as Kais and his own names are called, "Guess they want to get one of us out of the way, hm?" He says, lightly chuckling as his left hand comes around to bring his shield out infront of him, is right hand reaching across to slide his longsword from its scabbard as he makes his way out to the field, opposite side of Kai. His posture is just as strong as Kai's, though more authoritative, his dark tinted armor making him look somewhat menacing as he awaits Kai's move.

"Certainly good luck," Daevon says. "A blessing from the mother indeed. That or a warning that dolphins have problems telling the difference between fish and hands." He missed the excitement as green as he was from being out on the sea. He nods at Keyte. "Yes, injuries are worn as badges of honour." His eyes return to the field.

"Quite painful-seeming badges," Igdannha frets a little bit, despite Keyte and her cousin both trying to talk her out of doing so. She lifts one hand behind her veil, chewing briefly on one fingernail before she returns both hands to her lap, clutching them there to remind herself not to graze, leaning forward to watch the first pair of opponents square off.

"I like the first one," Keyte tells Daevon, her smile dimpling, sunny and bright. Spotting Igdahn's fidgeting, she sneaks over a friendly hand for the holding, coupled with a gentler sort of smile. "They'll be alright, lady," she promises reassuringly, before turning expectant eyes back to the field.

Eonn sits on his mare at the far end of the field, watching. He starts eating a chunk of hard bread.

Garvin moves to the edge of the fighting area, taking up a spot with the best, most unobstructed view. His squire elbows his way past others to appear at his side.

Igdahn looks down to her lap and the hand reaching for her hand, and, smiling broadly, she slides her hand into the one offered to her, pressing the hand with hers as she would clasp hands with a sister, taking a breath and straightening her back, leaning a little bit toward the Lady. "That one there looks quite forboding, doesn't he?"

Kai's wraps his fingers about the grip of his longest falchion, drawing it swiftly with his right hand, and then gripping the lower section of the grip with his left, pointing the tip towards Derrioth's throat. He remains still for a moment before bringing his sword about to his right side, pointed backwards.. And then he is gone, dirt kicking up behind him as he morphs into a blur, closing the ground between Derrioth and himself in moments and then bringing his sword about, slicing upwards and to the left towards Derrioth's right arm, aiming for his blade arm.

There's an eager roar from the crowd in response to Kai's vigorous attack.

Kevyn blinks, several times, as the fight begins. Trying to follow the blur that is Kai.

Daevon watches the fighting avidly, silent now as he focuses upon the swordplay.

Derrioth would wade to the left and right, taking a few steps forward, carefully watching Kai's movements from behind his helmet, seemingly having no trouble watching Kai's blurring speed, having been used to it. Derrioth picks up speed lightly as Kai draws clowers, and when the man makes his move he kicks up some dirt himself, lowering himself while leaning slightly out of the way of Kai's attack, barely missing before swiftly bringing his blade back around his neck, as he swings over towards Kai's right leg diagonally.

Now hand-in-hand with Igdannha, Keyte shifts, leaning toward the Targaryen in kind. "Aye my lady, and a hardened criminal is he, too. He spent time on the — oh, my!" Delighted as the first strikes are struck, the Tyrell girl gasps, her eyes twinkling. "Look how fast they are!"

Kai exhales sharply as Derrioth's blade speeds towards his leg, he raises his right heel, and begins to slide his foot out of the blade's path, but he is a tad too slow, and he feel's Derrioth's blade runs along the inside of his leg, only just escaping a wound that would put him out of the contest, a quiet grunt escaping his lips. He continues to slide his foot through the dirt, putting his weight onto his left as he swiftly performs a full spin to his right, bringing his blade about to his left side, and then swinging horizontally to the right, aiming to cath Derrioth in the right arm once more.

Dainel is observing, quiet and polite, eatting his supper while watching, seemingly enjoying his dumplings. Hise grin shows as she watches the group in the crowds too.

Derrioth grunts, shifting slightly aside as he watches Kai's blade come down, knowing it's going to make contact he only just begins to break into a roll as Kai's falchion slashes his upper-right arm. Derrioths rolls aside, away from his opponent before bringing himself to one knee and twisting around, his eyes fixated on Kai as his wound begins to bleed, a nasty looking wound but not something that'll get him eliminated. It isn't long before Derrioth brings himself back to his feet, and raises his shield, stepping forward before abruptly breaking into a charge, bringing his sword around as he sends his blade towards Kai's right arm.

"Oh!" Igdahn startles a little bit at that first charge, lifting up her free hand before her veil, though obviously peeking out between her fingers. "Oh, he's been hit, look— he limps," she narrates back to the Lady beside her, closing her fingers over her eyes once more when Kai returns the blow and draws blood. "And he bleeds."

"Yes," chirps Keyte, applying a soft squeeze to Igdannha's hand. She isn't dismayed though, rather excited. "What a splendid start! Gracious me, but that's a charge in," she provides in co-commentary. "What sport!"

Kai grunts quietly as he tries to put some weight on his right foot, but finds the experience a little too painful; as such, when Derritoh charges, he is forced to slide to the left, and tilt his torso back, his blade held down low for a counter-attack that will never come, due to Derrioth's blade, which barely misses his right pec, sliding along the outside through his armor, drawing blood and leaving Kai little chance to counter-attack straight away, and when he does, the attack is too weak, and slides along Derrioth's breastplate weakly. But it is not over, and he slides to his left after his failed counter-attack, lifting his blade over his left shoulder once more and attempting to slice into Derrioth's right arm once more.

Dainel is quiet, watching the fight with baited breath.

Derrioth growls lightly as Kai's blade comes about and slices into his right arm, underneath the wound he had previously left, though it is not as lethal as a wound as the previous. Derrioth flicks his sword slightly, sending some of the blood upon it off into the dirt as he brings himself around, advancing as he lowers his shield, bringing his sword over and across his left shoulder, before bringing it back down diagonally towards his opponent, the attack not looking to be at any particular area of Kai, but if it were to connect it'd most likely slash across his torso.

Kevyn winces at the blows Derrioth and Kai are exchanging. The sight of blood isn't exactly encouraging. He checks the straps on his borrowed armor, trying to make sure it's all properly in place. If it's not, it's not so out of place that he notices.

Igdahn takes heart from the squeeze to her hand, and, hearing the excitement in Keyte's voice, she spreads her fingers once more to look out between them. Now Kai is bloodied, as well, but both of them are still going strong, so she supposes it must not hurt all so badly. "I can scarcely believe they're still standing."

Eonn raises his eyebrows at the battling pair, watching.

Kai grunts quietly, sliding to his right with a signifigant amount of difficulty, his right foot drenched in blood now, and the wound that graced his pec seems to be deeper than what it first appeared to be, regardless, he parries Derrioth's blow as he steps to the right, and widens then hops back, widening the distance between them for a moment so that he may catch his breath. He exhales slowly, and then smiles at Derrioth, the smile widening into a large grin that shows teeth, and then he lets out a laugh, a charming laugh like that of a child, one which only Derrioth had previously heard. He then places his right foot back on the ground, his face going entirely emotionless once more despite the pain that assaults him, and then he launches himself forward once more, sending a sharp thrust towards Derrioth's right shoulder, his sword whistling as it cuts through the air.

Keyte practically bounces in her spot as she continues to watch, her excitement infectious despite the violence just yards away. "Neither I, lady, neither I! What a marvelous show, oh. Do you think he will yield?" She spares a quick concerned look for the Targaryen girl beside her, but the battle-grunts quickly draw her eyes back.

There's another roar from the crowd in response to the fight, and then a hush.

"This is taking too long." Comes a voice from behind Derrioths helmet, muffled and stoic, loud enough for everyone to hear. Derrioth brings himself around in a circular motion bringing his shield around to smack away Kai's blade, tightening his grip upon his longsword as he slides his left foot to the side, taking a swift and powerful step forward with his right as he frowns lightly, though his expression concealed under his helmet. Despite the similar pain pulsing through his right arm, the sellsword manages to muster enough strength to flick his blade slightly before he twists his wrist around as he raises his right hand upwards, before brutally thrusting it down towards Kai's chest.

"Oh, I pray he yield," Igdannha beseeches the kindly Mother, squinting at the fight, "He should not be hit again in such a state," she turns her prayers aside to Keyte, as if she somehow might have power to stop the fight, if she could only be convinced of its necessity. "Ah!" she covers her eyes again as Derrioth thrusts so viciously at the heart of Kai.

Kevyn sucks in a breath as Derrioth's blade goes for Kai's chest. He mouths the word "Yield," though it's barely in audible. He makes himself keep his eyes on the fight as it inches toward a conclusion.

Kai sees it coming. He sees a thousand different ways to dodge, block, counter-attack.. But he can perfrom none of them, his body too exhausted, injured and lacking blood, his skin pale now. As the lethal blow that would end his life comes, he exhales sharply, time slows down for him. He uses the momentum from Derrioth's shield bash to keep his body moving, his body twisting to the right, and this is all he can manage before the blade pierces the right side of his stomach, just below his ribs. He takes the piercing blow silently, expressionlessly, cold eyes watching as he angles his body to take the blow as best as he can. He stands still for a few, heart-pounding moments before he begins to fall towards the dirt, hands still tightly gripping his blade.

Garvin grips the silver goblet in his hand hard enough to actually bend the bowl, sucking in a hard breath. "He's killed him," he whispers. "He's killed the Pansyslayer."

Keyte purses her lips tightly, brows lofted high upon her forehead as Derrioth aims such a bold blow. She latches her free hand upon the one intertwined with Igdannha's, her squeaking squeal muffled behind closed mouth, and then: "Oh! Oh! Don't look, lady!"

There is a roar from the crowd, and the heralds shout, almost as one, "Hold!"

Derrioth pulls his blade out from Kai's chest as he begins to fall, throwing the blade into the air before grabbing it upside down, and slamming it down into the dirt. He tosses his shield aside before pulling off his helmet, setting it down next to him before walking over to Kai, a ever so slightly worried expression on his face as he goes to offer assistance to the man, "It's over." He mutters slightly, frowning.

Igdahn moves her newly freed hand to join the other one over her eyes, both hands trembling as she hears rather than sees the thud of body onto dirt before the shouting starts up all around. She doesn't look, as she's been bidden not to look, but, "Is he dead? Did he die?" she asks, wavering-voiced, from behind her veil.

Kai slowly rolls onto his back as he bleeds onto the ground, apparently not quite dead yet, his right hand releasing his blade, moving to lie in the dirt. He silently stares up at the sky with bright grey eyes, his heart pounding, the voices of those about him muffled as his body struggles to continue on living. He keeps an expressionless face as always, silently wondering to himself whether or not he may die, disappointed that he let himself lose, his skin growing paler.

Garvin lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing somewhat. "Nyran, go find some wine. Something strong. Don't get in the way out there, just be ready to bring them both a goblet." His squire nods and pushes through the crowd.

The heralds start running out with a stretcher. The young Maester who was standing by runs after them, yelling, "By The Crone's cunt! Be gentle!"

Daevon's praying, what else can he do. It's the Mother's festival and a truly bad sign if someone dies here.

Others spring to their feet as Kai goes down, but Keyte stays nestled in the cushions on the dais next to Igdannha, shifting her head this way and that to try and keep her view of the grounds and, of course, the injured. "I… I'm not sure, my lady," she admits breathily, wrapping her arm a bit absently around the Targaryen's shoulders for comfort. "I think he lives. he's moving still! He's — oh bother, my lord of Redwyne just stood up in my way." Clearly, the emphasis is meant to be overheard, and upon the overhearing, her lord of Redwyne plonks back down on his rotund bottom in front of the girls with a peevy look on his face.

The Maester, shouting and swearing at the heralds, tries to bind Kai's bleeding wounds before the young men move him onto the stretcher. The heralds are more interested in getting the second round going. A shoving match ensues between one of them ant the angry Maester, who roars, "Just a minute, damn you!"

When the killing blow doesn't fall, Kevyn can't hold back an exhale of relief. His eyes are wide to the point of gawking as it ends, and he continues to rather gawk at the roaring Maester and his shoving match with the heralds. He seems tempted to laugh, but can't quite manage it.

Dainel opens his wine skin and takes a long draw, petting his sweet little ass again, rubbing the beast behind the ears.

Derrioth moves away from Kai, grunting as he moves over towards the men getting in the way over the maester, "Get out of the way." He growls, glaring at them both with a rather pissed off expression, evening pushing and shoving if he has to. He turns his head over towards the maester, "Get someone for my arm," He says, "It'd be boring if I back out now.". And with that he mutters to himself, "Why'd I have to go for the chest…"

The Maester, too busy to really take note of who just helped him, says, "Thank you!" to Derrioth and continues binding Kai's wounds, good and tight.

Kai idly lies down as he is tended to, having little strength to do much of anything other than think, and think he does, extensively.

Igdahn feels tears springing to the corners of her eyes, either overwhelmed by the action or upset by all the bad language being used. At least she still has her eyes covered twice over, by hand and by veil, so nobody can see her eyes leaking. One faint sniff and she's sitting up straight, lowering her hand and compelling herself to look to the field.

Once Kai is bound up, the Maester, still cursing, allows the Heralds to get the man onto the stretcher, and move him to a cart. There he continues to tend the sellsword's wounds.

One Herald, left on the field, scuffs at the blood on the grass a little with his boot and then shouts, "Lord Dainel Redwyne! To meet Squire Kevyn Cockshaw, in contest of arms!"

Derrioth grunts as his wounds are beginning to tended to, not paying much attention to the Maesters actions as he rather keeps his eye upon Kai, watching over in a concerned manner. "You might want to stand close by the field.." He says to the Maester, "I'm going out there again, after all.".

Late and lightly scented with wine, Ser Viggo Cockshaw slips into the noble seating with somewhat awkward aplomb. Just in time to see his squire! "Here, here!" He calls, baritone loud and clear (and only a little slurred) amid the crowd.

"Idiot!" the Maester tells Derrioth. "Get the boy to bind your wounds!" He points to an acolyte, not much younger than himself.

Nyran edges toward Derrioth, holding a goblet of wine at arms length, hoping not to be too noticed by the man.

"Watch your tone, I'm still lethal, even with these wounds." Derrioth warns, as he looks over to the acolyte, motioning him over with his left hand before looking to the squire. He glances to the goblet and then back up to the squire, "You can have my share." He says, looking back over to the field, leaving it at that.

With the Redwyne tucked back on his bottom, Keyte can more clearly see, and Igdahn will feel the drape of her arm about her shoulder relaxing some. "The Maester has him well in hand," reports the Tyrell girl, confidently. "Oh, oh! It's Lord Kevyn's turn, aye. I've not even a pennant to wave for him, alas." In lieu of such, Lady Keyte springs her hands into the air above her head, and bounces merrily as she adds her voice to the crowd's. "Cockshaw! For House Cockshaw!"

Kevyn readies himself to take position, the heralds have finished clearing the field. He draws his borrowed sword and gives it a wave, playing to the crowd. Awkwardly. It's not a particularly fearsome flourish, but he tries.

Dainel moves towards Kevyn, shifting to offer the young man his hand. "It is my great pleasure to meet you. If at any time you feel or I feel it is too much, A gentleman's yield?" he half asks, half suggests, generously and graciously taking his time cracking his neck and shoulders.

Igdahn's hands collapse to her lap in relief, and she bows her head in thanks for a peaceful moment before she looks up to see the next pair squaring off. There's going to be another bout. And she's still exhausted from the first one. "Who?" she wonders, not knowing the combatants, either of them.

"My lady, you're welcome to wave this in place of a pennet?" Viggo offers dryly, the flutter of feathers passing in from of Katie's eyes. They're bright in ore and gold and red, all dyed, attached to his odd hat. He takes a seat behind the pair, nodding to the other lady at her side with a genteel (although lopsided) smile. As Kevyn bows, his attention his shifts to his squire. He winces at the flourish. "That lad…" Ahem. "He looks fine, does he not?"

Nyran backs away from Derrioth, then guzzles down the wine as fast as he can, before hurrying back to Garvin's side. Lord Pansy barely notice his arrival, let alone the drinking. He does hold his own goblet to be re-filled.

Dainel eyes Nyran and without any fuss - he tosses a wineskin at his darling relation. "Oi."

Eonn is sitting on his big white mare at the far end of the field, watching Dainel and Kevyn take to the already bloodied grass. Kai lies wounded in a cart, tended by a Maester, while one of the citadel's acolytes binds Derrioth's arm.

The crown is eager, noisy, and thrilled in spite if the wind and damp.

Winding his way through the crowd Nico has apparently arrived late to this event. The young man looks around curiously with an excited little smile on his lips. Green eyes look over those here and those apparently getting ready to fight. He brushes back his long crimson hair from his face and starts looking for a good place to watch the action.

Garvin remains in his place at the edge of the field, no one to block his view. He sips a little more mead from a small silver goblet, but is trying not to drink enough to dull his senses.

"Ah! Ser!" Keyte is surprised by Viggo's offer, twisting in her seat to beam a warm grin at the familiar knight. "You are too kind, indeed. My many thanks, I do so promise I shall take utmost care of it in the waving." She takes his hat, but it is not with utmost care that she waves it, alas. Enthusiasm is the word of the day! "Cockshaw! — Oh, but my lady, it's the lord Kevyn of House Cockshaw, of course. He were brave enough to race in and rescue the little lord Hightower from the dolphins, you know. — Doesn't he look grand, lord ser!" All this, with her attention flitting constantly back to the field.

Derrioth simply watches upon the sidelines as the acolyte most likely tends to his right arm. He is silent, not wanting to talk too much as he's being treated, just watching, his sword, helmet, and shield having been brought back to him…

Nico makes his way further from the crowd still trying to find a good spot to watch. He finally comes to the edge of the field near Garvin and pauses looking out at the field intently as he stands a few paces away from where the Tyrell lord is sipping his mead. He doesn't seem to notice the other man just yet brushing his hair out of his face once more and waiting for the next match to start.

Igdahn is perhaps not seeing what the others are seeing in this Lord Kevyn, when Viggo insists him to be a fine figure, and Keyte that he is quite grand. But she thinks it might be rude to mention that he doesn't seem quite as foreboding as the rest of the participants, and so she merely gives a meek little nod, arranging her veil with her fingers.

Kevyn takes a deep breath, then takes the field. His left hand, the non-sword one, is raised to wave enthusiastically in the direction of the dais. Dainel is offered a salute that's not quite polished enough to be called knightly. It wobbles too much. But it's a generally respectful gesture.

Enthusiasm is all well in good. Viggo seems fairly cavalier in the shaking of his hat, chuckling to himself as the feathers flail back and forth. Dipping his head in a polite nod, he greets the Lady Igdahn. "My Lady, I did not catch your name but believe it is my deepest pleasure to meet you." He grins at Katie's enthusiasm. "Yes, he does look well." Dark eyes slip towards the field, moustache curling over his lips. "Stab him with the sharp ends, Lad!" Make your knight proud. He tips his head at the salute. Not bad.

Dainel 's head bows once before his sword is drawn, the older ex-squire cracks his shoulders, waiting for the signal "To the best. After this, regardless, you must join me for wine." he drawls along calmly, giving a quick, practiced salute befitting a knight despite his lack of the title.

One of the free riders from House Mormont arrives dressed in a breastplate enameled green and steel helm shaped like a bear's open mouth. On closer inspection, however, it appears that it is not a free rider. It is the lady herself. There may be some gasps and murmurs in the crowd at the arrival of a woman to the competition. Maera, however, struts right in as if she'd always belonged.

Kevyn's form is not particularly impressive, but he's a strong enough lad, and he's driven by adrenaline verging on panic as he faces up to Dainel. So he makes a quick, brute force strike toward the man's chest that actually connects. It leaves him open, but he's so surprised to have hit anything he doesn't do much defensive right off.

There is an unknown gentleman trying to garner an introduction from her, and, as chatty as she'd been with her cousin before and the newly met Lady at her side, now she clams up, somewhat, looking to Daevon briefly and then lowering her eyes to her lap. "Yes, sir," she answers Viggo, and anything else she might say is so muted that it's lost under the renewed clatter of weaponry upon the field of tournament.

Derrioth would divert his gaze from the field as he sits along the sidelines, hearing some of the gasps and murmurs, he raises his left hand, waving to the lady if not hailing her over before looking back to the field, watching with what appears to be only a bit of interest.

Dainel 's form is good, but he's been a farmer for the last few years. His blade goes up for a clean slice, attempting to keep it clean and in good form. His OOMF is audible from a distance from the strike, the man backing up a bit and preparing to go after the younger man now.

"He's wearing my favor," Keyte leans in to murmur a little less openly enthusiastic to Igdahn, a quick flush of red blooming in her cheeks. She seems to take Kevyn's waving quite personally, straightening up and smiling brilliantly, giving Viggo's hat an extra wave. "Aye, me!" But she's a little less vocal than for the last tussle, it seems.

"Well done!" Viggo shouts as Kevyn lands a solid blow in the first dance. He blinks in confusion at the Lady's sudden shyness, tipping his head in confusion. Then it hits him. Manners. "Oh, my apologies, My Lady. I am Ser Viggo of House Cockshaw. The lad afield is Kevyn, my squire." The second causes him to wince.

Kevyn swings back his blade in one of those wide, grand strokes that actually approaches looking (kind of) impressive. It's also the sort of thing that's heavy and slow to do with a broadsword. And this time…he misses. Without, again, bothering with anything resembling defense. Which is a bigger problem when you haven't succeeded in hitting your opponent. He leaves Dainel a wide opening if the man takes it.

Dainel's armor clangs impressively! His sword shifts, instead of going for a slice, the red headed man's blade goes up to give the squire a good smack across the chest. "We're fighting with swords, not playing pattacakes." he scolds, trying to get a bit of distance and reaction time for himself and the squire. He seems relaxed still.

Eonn watches in silence from his mare's back. He bend down to feed the horse the crust of the bread he was eating, then scans the crowd to spot Maera and look past the combatants to her.

Igdahn leans in closer to Keyte, listening, then sits up straight once more, smiling behind her veil, "Oh! I did not realize. How exciting," she tells Keyte, her own face coming over all blotchy as she comes to understand the peculiar lens through which the fight is being viewed. When Ser Viggo introduces himself, her head returns to that deferent downward cast. "And I, Igdannha Targaryen," she pronounces her name with delicate care, half-lost in the noise of the crowd. She is hardly announcing herself.

Kevyn takes another strong-ish but poorly aimed swing at Dainel. And misses. His weapon making a whistling sound as it connect to naught but air. Frustratedly he…tries roughly the exact same attack tactic again. And, again, it leaves him pretty well wide open if Dainel takes the opportunity to batter him again.

Dainel 's reaction to the first attack is to spin his sword to try to catch the lad on the hip, and it is a real lousy swing. The repeat offender is a quick, swift -despite the sword size slice to try to get the lad to get off his neck. Likely just a bit afraid his armor won't hold up.

Keyte gasps, appropriately awed by the (kind of) impressive swing-and-miss of Kevyn's borrowed sword. However, it's without any subtlety that she enquires of the nearby knights, "They're not so quick as the last two? That criminal moved so fast I could barely see, hum." She tries to put her mild disappointment aside as the squire bearing her favor misses once more, drawing a deep breath to steady her smile and reaching out for Igdahn's hand again. "Huzzah, Lord Kevyn!"

At Igdahn's introduction, Inigo's charming nod becauses altogether more deferrent even as his ears strain to hear the words. "Well met," he bids, collecting his flask from his hip. He gestures to a servent for a goblet of wine with his other hand. "Kevyn is still in training, my lady," he half-way defends to Keyte.

Eonn shakes his head grimly as his attention goes back to Kevyn and Dainel.

Garvin watches the battle with great interest, paying particular attention to the squire he's heard so much about. Now and then, he remembers to take a small sip of mead. Nyran is always there to refill the silver goblet.

Kevyn is very obviously still in training, but he's getting rattled enough from repeated hits that he's at least not paying attention to trying to look impressive anymore. He makes a desperate hop back and then swings down, hard, at Dainel's leg. It's done without any particular strategy other than avoiding getting nailed again.

Dainel 's not trying to be impressive at all, but at the whiff he gets stiff, and due to the stiffness he is rewarded with the delightful feel of steel in his leg. His swing as a result misses quite considerably "Yield. I yield. Any further and we've gone to savagery not sport." he makes the yield gesture calmly, backing up with a limp.

Nico watches the fight with wide eyes standing very still his eyes following every move as if afraid to miss anything. After a moment a little girl runs up to him and tugs on his shirt. He crouches down and she whispers something in his ear. He nods and passes her a coin watching her run off before he follows exiting the grounds with one last wistful look toward the ongoing fight.

Igdahn gives Keyte back her hand, smiling to herself below her veil as she sits closeby the lady and supports her in cheering on her champion, even if she doesn't cheer, much, herself. By the time she gets around to really watching the contest, it's over, and she squeezes Keyte's hand briskly. "Your champion takes the prize," she speaks quietly but merrily, happy for Keyte.

"Wha?" Kevyn is winding up for another swing when he hears the word 'Yield.' He blinks down at Dainel, looking very confused for a moment. Did he just…? A shake of his head, to regain some of his wits, and he nods. Lowering his sword. "Oh. Err. Of course, mater. Uh, well-fought." He extends a hand to Dainel, in a rather awkward attempt at sportsmanship.

The crowd's roar is indecisive. There's pleasure that the match is fought and won, and a certain dissapointment that it didn't get to the savagery point. After all, what are the freerider's fights for if not for savagery? Still, there's a good percentage of the crowd who are visiting knights, and they approve, thunderously.

"Oh," Keyte is quiet for Viggo's defense of his squire, but after a moment spent processing that information, she's back to her vibrant self and waving the Cockshaw knight's hat once more. "Well, good show! Good — oh! Oh! Did you see, my lady, good sers! Oh! He landed one!" She turns her beaming smile to Igdannha, bouncing again on her cushion, boisterous in contrast to the Targaryen's restraint. "Ah, tis a grand thing, isn't it lady? Did you see? Did you see?"

Garvin is among the first to cheer, quickly thrusting the goblet at Nyran, so he can slam his gloved hands together in loud applause for the young squire's victory.

Derrioth silently raises his right brow, watching as the man yields. But, he lowers his brow, simply letting out a yawn as he leans back setting his shield aside as he slides on his helmet to conceal his features once more. Crossing his right leg over his left, resting his left hand on the pommel of his sword, and his right hand on his left.

Viggo's roar lacks any indecisiveness. It is well he lacks a cup yet as he surges to his feet with applause and a grin for his squire. He would have spilled it all over them. "Huzzah! Well, well not badly fought at all, lad!" Not bad. Could be better. "That favor of yours served him well, my lady," he teases Keyte lightly.

Dainel wraps an arm over Kevyn "Help me get to the medics, I'm bleeding a bit more than I'd like, please?" he mumbles, smiling slightly. "You fight well, you'll do well in your career, now I promised you wine, go open the cask on my cart after you drop me off and help yourself. Share with friends and all that." he mumbles, waving it off.

Now the Herald just walks out onto the field. He looks a little hesitant. And he takes several deep breaths before he shouts out, "Lord Garvin Tyrell! To meet the Lady Maera Mormont of Bear Island, in contest of arms!"

Maera applauds the young squire as the red-haired Redwyne yields, and when her name is called she steps out towards the field. She bends at the waist when Garvin approaches, her movement made slightly stiff by the steel breastplate she wears. "Lord Garvin."

Kevyn nods to Dainel and mutters, "Aye." He looks a little abashed at the idea he's done the man an actual injury. He offers an arm for the other man to lean on, and will assist him over to the care of the maester and his helpers.

Lord Pansy's name is called at last! Garvin tosses the tabard-cape back over his shoulders and strides onto the field, the plumes of his wide-brimmed hat moving in the breeze. Tugging his gauntlets tight, he draws his rapier, the dark Valyrian steel rippling with patterns of red, black, and dark green. He looks Maera over for a few moments, frowning. "Lady Mormont," he says in a tight voice. Then he swipes the blade upward in a salute, he gives his opponent a bow, then steps sideway in a ready stance.

Igdahn gives a light, breathy giggle that gets trapped in her veil, sounding no less pleasant for being as muted as it is. "I saw, my Lady," she tells Keyte. And she did— she saw the yield, at least. "It must have done," she'll even agree with Viggo. "Isn't it right that you should—" she breaks off, baffled by the Lady coming to fight.

The herald actually gives Garvin an apologetic look.

Her smile is vividly sunny, and Keyte is bouncy-pleased at Igdannha's response. "It were a marvelous thing," says she, riding high on Kevyn's success. The gentle mocking of Viggo prompts the Tyrell girl to blush again, but she's quite firm as she responds, "Just so! The luck of the dolphin-bit, you know. It's very auspicious to be bit by the creatures." As her lady companion breaks mid-sentence, Keyte's attention sways. "Hmm, lady?"

Eonn urges his big horse a little closer to the field, now.

The crowd falls hushed, staring at the oddly matched pair. Some of the visiting knights laugh, though.

"Why is she joining into the games with the gentlemen?" Igdahn asks Keyte rather frankly. "She competed on horseback yesterday," she goes on, watching the field with curiosity. "But this seems a different sort of thing."

Derrioth grunts as he brings himself up to his feet, cupping his hands near the mouth area of his helmet before calling out, "Mop the floor with 'im, Lady Mormont!" He yells before sitting back down, bringing his hands up above his head as he stretches, a quiet grunt escaping him as he does so.

"I had not know it was so auspicious a thing, my Lady," Viggo offers with a crook of his whiskers, settling back into his seat. A goblet is ferried over him and accepted without comment. "This is an interesting state of events…" The Lady Mormont. "Did she just?" He wonders of Igdahn with interest. "Perhaps she has love the blade. I have heard such of their house."

Drawn from the celebration of her champion, Keyte's features twist as she glances back out to the field. "Oh! I say, how did I miss my sweet cous taking the field?! Tyrell! Tyrell! The Lord Garvin, huzzah!" She leans a great deal closer to Igdahn again, but speaks loudly enough that Viggo might still be part of their conversation. "The Lady Mormont's a fine hand with a blade. I have seen her cleave a ser's sword in two! Still, it seems an odd thing to watch a lady at."

Maera ignores the whispers, and draws Longclaw from it's sheath. She holds the Valyrian steel bastard sword in her hand as if it were an extension of the limb, and wordlessly swings for Garvin's chest. She feels the slight thump of his rapier against her forearm through her armor, but she pays no heed to it, and doesn't bother glancing downwards. "You seem displeased, Lord Garvin."

Garvin dances in and sweeps this thin sword at Maera's sword arm, but the blade bounces off her heavy armor with a dull clang. He's not fast enough evading, however, and her larger blade slices easily through his tabard, doublet, and chest, blood beginning to soak through his clothing. "There's no more honor to be had fighting a man while wearing those heavy plates," he says through gritted teeth, "than there is in fighting a woman."

Kevyn wanders back to the edge of the lists when he's able, moving more slowly than before. He gained several bruises from his time on the field. He boggles some when he sees Lady Mormount facing off against the Tyrell, but it certainly makes him interested in the match.

"Or at least if Ladies are going to enter the game, they might compete against one another," Igdahn is really trying to wrap her head around it, but, no, it's not sitting very well with her.

Eonn is interested, too. Perhaps tensely so. He's leaning forward on his mare, and the animal can sense his excitement. It paws the ground with a heavy hoof.

Daevon's been avidly watching the combat. Always one to wear his emotions openly, his lips press together in a line of irritation at something said as he watches this current bout.

The heralds and masters-at-arms at the lists begin to whisper to one another, yet again.

Derrioth sits idly, watching the fight, while his head and face is concealed, it's easy to tell he's interested by how he watches the fight. The man resting his hands upon the pommel of his sword once more as he simply stares.

There is a probably a joke about femininity in there somewhere, but Keyte is not going to make such fun of her dear cous. "Aye, just so," she agrees evenly with Igdahn instead, bobbing her head and offering a few more words of encouragement, personalised as though the fielded lord might hear her. "Cous, Tyrell, my fierce cous! Huzzah, the Lord Garvin!"

"No honor?" Maera laughs at this, but it lacks humor and warmth. "I have battled and slain many a man on my Island, and rode side-by-side with Lord Stark." She twists to avoid the swipe sent at her arm with ease, and uses the momentum to strike at Garvin's abdomen. "I am ruling Lady of my Land, and I've executed in the Old Way with my own hands with my ancestral blade. Do not make the mistake of calling me just a woman."

Garvin staggers back from the blow, lowering his sword and raising his left hand. "Hold," he says, pain in his voice. "I lost this fight before it began. Even if I could get past all that clanking plate you insist upon wearing, they'd say the only opponent I can defeat is a woman." His left hand goes to the stomach wound, as he drops to one knee. "I'll take no further part in this disgraceful and dishonorable match. Go back to your island, Lady, and tell of your great victory over Lord Pansy. I yield."

On his great mare, Eonn laughs a bark of chilly laughter.

Derrioth stands to his feet in a unsurprised manner, clapping slightly as he watches from behind his helm, and looks over towards the lists before back to the field. "You made a bad choice, Lord Tyrell." He calls out taking but three steps forward before continuing, "If people heard you had defeated Lady Mormont of Bear Island, I don't think most men you could defeat would match up to a victory as such." He finishes, crossing his arms along his chest as he simply stares out to the man.

Igdahn can't hear what those on the field of tourney are saying, but when Garvin yields to the Lady she actually goes so far as to applaud his gallantry. It's not much more than a faint pat of frail hand on hand, but she obviously approves.

At the lists, the masters at arms start muttering and drawing their lots again.

Daevon stands up and calls out, his voice crisp and clear. "Lord Garvin, your injury has clearly made you light-headed. I suggest that you hold your tongue and go get your injuries tended to. This is a contest in the name of the Mother and by questioning the honour of your opponent you bring shame to yourself."

A new and younger herald trots out onto the field, after a push from one of the Masters-at-Arms. He gives Maera a wary look, then lifts his arms and shouts, "The Freerider Derrioth! To meet the Lady Maera Mormont of Bear Island, in contest of arms!"

"If you came to the North I would never have insulted you in such a fashion." Maera says coldly. That said, she sheathes Longclaw in a smooth move, and turns to walk off of the field. She pauses near Derrioth, "I hope we meet on the field. You are a good man, and a good warrior." She pats his shoulder, and then grins when the announcement is made. "Come. Now we shall have a real contest."

Garvin holds his left arm across his abdomen, the blood flowing freely down his tabard. "If I came to the North," he says with a sneer, "I'd never insult you by defying the customs your people hold." He turns then, staggering from the field. His right hand still clutches his sword, but the tip of the blade drags through the grass behind him.

Derrioth nods to Derrioth, grinning behind his helmet, "That we shall, though I'd have hoped they waited a bit before they decided to have me eliminated." He says with a like chuckle, simply joking as he sets off towards the field, he stops at one end, twisting himself around to face the other side as he brings his right hand around, grabbing the handle of his blade but not drawing it. Grunting as his left hand comes over to grab his helmet and take it off, tossing it aside, as he looks to Maera, raising his right brow with a grin

Beside Igdannha, and of course unsurprisingly, Keyte claps as well. At Devon's stance, though, she abruptly sinks lower in her cushion. Oh dear. Setting aside all the impropriety going on, Keyte turns to Viggo and offers him back his hat. "My apologies for hoarding your hat overlong, ser!"

Igdahn turns her head toward her cousin, listening to him quietly as he says his piece. "Surely, good cous, you might not fault him not wishing to harm a Lady," she posits meekly from her seat.

Viggo's dark brow furrows at the finish of combat, applauding loosely around the goblet in his hands. An interesting end. He shakes his head, offering Keyte a brief crook of a smile. "Hardly worth an apology, my lady." He places the hat on his head with a demonstrative flourish and dips his chin in a low nod. "I mean to go see to my squire. If you will excuse me." Rising, he bows at the waist to the pair of ladies and makes his way from the pew.

Dainel seems to have limped off to talk to other Redwynes, and gossip, eying between the two, he claps for Maera and returns to drinking wine and gossiping

Eonn watches Maera take the field again. He smiles at her. It's a wise-acre, knowing sort of smile.

Daevon sighs and sits back down again. He seems to have lost what joy he had in watching the contest though and he's frowning, troubled.

Maera walks back to the field with Derrioth, and when he tosses off his helmet she pulls her own off and throws it into that direction. Next, she unbuckles the buckles on her breastplate. "If anyone wants to fight me sans armor all they have to do is ask." She calls out before the breastplate joins the helmet in the pile. She strips of her armor quickly. She is, of course, wearing a padded tunic and breeches that keep her rather modestly covered. That done, she lowers herself into a fine bow to Derrioth, and draws Longclaw again.

Derrioth chuckles, undoing his breastplate and pauldrons before tossing the three items aside, and much like Maera he's wearing a padded tunic, his being plain black, "If that's the case I shall do as you do, I don't see it as much fun if my opponent doesn't get to wear armor either." He says, drawing his blade before giving a bow, not exactly a elegant one but it works. He twists his wrist slightly, allowing it to give a quiet pop before clenching his grip upon his weapon and nodding to Maera, seemingly allowing her to make the first move as he slides his right foot back a bit.

Igdahn receives no answer from her cousin, and below her veil her brow knits, and she returns her attention to the match, thinking, no doubt, more of Daevon than the match.

Dazzled by all of Viggo's flourishing, Keyte's smile grows. "Ah, yes! Please, if you could… give him my regards, of course. Ah." The Tyrell girl affects a bit of a sigh as the Cockshaw night exits. The sight of the Maiden's Knight as she twists back earns a quick knit of concern across her brow. "Perhaps my lord ser might enjoy some refreshment?"

Garvin joins Kai at the cart and allows the young maester to bandage his wounds. Nyran hovers nearby, fretting and offering the goblet again, but Garvin just waves him away.

Daevon offers a smile to Keyte at her suggestion. He nods. "That would be a good idea." He's back to watching the field.

Maera takes the Valyrian steel sword up in both arms, and swings for Derrioth's head. It is a fein, and she quickly takes her right hand off of the blade to smack the man's wrist the flat of her sword. He evades, and she twists around just in time to dance out of the way of his blade. "I think you may be better with that then the curved sword. What did you call it again?"

The young Maester, having finally finished with Kai, sulks over to Garvin, hesitantly.

Garvin snaps at the maester to get on with it, impatient to have the bloodflow stopped. He tends to get iritable when his blood-alcohol level is so low.

The maester actually seems relieved. He knows what to do when snapped at to get a bandage on somebody.

Grinning, Derrioth speaks up, "An Arakh, and I'm only better with a westerosi sword when I don't want to kill someone." He says, shortly after swiftly evading her attack, "Though I don't think I'm quite as good as you." He admits, a gentle smile upon his face. He oddly looks relaxed, at ease and enjoying his fight for the most part, and it isn't long before he comes around to Maera, bringing his blade back, around his shoulder as he comes in for a swing at her right arm.

Smile blossoming again, Keyte nods knowingly to Igdahn. Refreshment is always a good idea when menfolk are down in the dumps! "We've honey cakes and sweet wine and Arbor's red," which are all conveniently offered by one of the prettier Tyrell serving girls. The lass does her best not to succumb to her starstruck admiration of Daevon. Meanwhile, Keyte ignores the sporting of Derrioth and Maera to try and spot her champion squire and his knight amongst the crowd at the lists.

Kevyn hangs near the sidelines, wincing as he takes in a breath. He eyes the maester's cart again, perhaps considering another visit there. But he's reluctant to take his eyes off the match between Derrioth and Maera.

Maera's sword is still in her right hand when Derrioth strikes for her right arm. She bends backwards to avoid the broadsword until her back is nearly parallel to the ground, and Derrioth's sword sails over her by mere inches. She springs forward as soon as the blade has cleared, and uses the momentum of her rising to strike out at his right hand.

Daevon's nothing if not polite, and so he thanks the serving girl for both the sweet wine and a honeycake. He nibbles on the cake, sipping at the wine and focuses his attention back on the fight, happier now.

When Maera's blade strikes at Derrioth's right hand, it'd cut into his gloved hand, he lets out a loud and audible grunt of pain as he loses his grip on his blade and it goes flying out of his hand as he pulls his hand away to avoid his injury becoming more serious than it is. He grunts, moving aside as he looks to his blade upon the ground and then up to Maera, grinning as he raises his hands, his right hand still bleeding, "I guess that means I've lost." He says, despite his wound of his right hand being quite serious, bleeding heavily and fast. "It's a shame, before you came I thought I might have actually had a chance at winning."

There's a silence. The crowd is confused. And then Eonn yells a cheer. And then they roar approval. Maybe it's a woman who shed it, but there is blood.

The maester, just finished with Daevon, turns and walks out onto the field, cursing under his breath. The master-of-arms standing by the lists starts laughing bitter laughter, and he, too, walks out onto the field.

"Ah, that looks nasty." Maera says, and she sheathes Longclaw without cleaning Derrioth's blood off of the blade. She moves to his side to help him to a Maester. "And if I had known what a tizzy it would cause perhaps I wouldn't have come." She reaches into her tunic to pull out a badly embroidered handkerchief, and if Derrioth allows it she'll press it to his wrist.

"Squire Kevyn Cockshaw!" shouts the Master-At-Arms. "To meet the Lady Maera Mormont of Bear Island, in contest of arms!"

Distracted from her distraction by the roar of the crowd, Keyte joins in the clapping and such, shaking her head to attention. "My, my. She's quite the arm, don't you think, my lord ser Targaryen? Oh — ay, me. And I've no hat to wave, this time!"

Derrioth, even without help with Maera wouldn't have too much trouble making his way over to the Maester, allowing Maera to press her handkerchief against his wrist, "It's fine, but I must apologize for not being at your party to congratulate you for your victory over the Archery Contest, I'd have been there but I was abnormally busy lately." He says, seemingly not too concerned with his hand despite the wound. Derrioth sends the master of arms a cruel yet subtle glare, that practically says, 'You wouldn't be laughing if it was you out there.', though he doesn't seem to upset by his loss.

"She is," Daevon replies to Keyte. "She's a fierce warrior. I would like to face her some time." He admits. He does applaud, although no roaring from him.

Kevyn grimaces as Derrioth goes down. With blood drawn, too. It only gradually dawns on him that this means it's his turn again. He pales, visibly. On the one hand, he'll have to fight a woman. On the other hand, he'll have to fight someone who just did that. When the field is clear again, he'll take his place upon it with a look of nervous bemusement.

Maera claps Derrioth on the back, "I'm sorry for the hand." That said, she turns to begin unbuckling her sword belt, and begins to pull the belt from the loop where the sword is held. It seems the lady will be doing battle sans armor AND with a sheathed sword. She manages an easy smile for Kevyn, and bows to him.

"T'would be a sight of sporting, indeed," Keyte chatters at Daevon, reaching up to untwist a braid and draw a golden ribbon from her hair. It's something to wave! And wave it she does, freed curls bouncing as lively as the lady herself. "Huzzah, the lord Kevyn! House Cockshaw!"

Eonn, on his white mare, just smiles at Maera's actions with her sheath. He's wearing white asters in his beard and seems quite merry.

Kevyn offers Maera an extra-awkward salute. He's not even sure what to do about her, in terms of courtesy. Especially when she keeps her sword sheathed. He doesn't put his away, but he doesn't attack her, either. He just kind of stands there in a semi-defensive position, like he's completely flummoxed about how to proceed. He will need a minute. It will not be entertaining for the crowd.

Derrioth grins as he's clapped on the back, "Thanks, and don't hurt the kid too much." He says as she walks, it isn't long before he leans back and calls out to the squire, "Don't let your guard down!" Though it could be assumed to be taken by both parties.

Garvin finally accepts the goblet from his squire, downing it in one long gulp. He holds it to the side, letting Nyran fill it again, this time with red wine.

Maera doesn't advance in an aggressive fashion like she did with Garvin and Derrioth. Instead, she paces around the squire like a prowling panther waiting to make a strike. "Tighten your grip." She suggests softly before she swings at his wrist to loosen his grip.

Kevyn continues to stare at Maera, like something inside his brain has frozen. He turns, slowly, as she prowls around him, following her movements, but he still seems unable to bring himself to engage her. Even as closely as he's watching her, he's surprised when she swings at his wrist. It's not a hard swing at all. But, as if in a spasm, he drops his blade. He looks down at it, wide-eyed. Then back up at Maera, with the same expression. And then, apparently exhausted of any other vaguely appropriate response, stutters out, "IyieldIyieldIyield…umm…I yield…my lady."

The Master-at-Arms slaps his hand to his face and groans.

Derrioth raises his brow, looking to the Master-at-Arms before calling out towards him, "Can you really blame him?" He asks, "If I was his age I'd do the same." he finishes before looking back to Maera, clearly impressed though not surprised.

"Are you sure?" Maera asks Kevyn with a tilt of her head. "If you'd like to pick it up again you could, but I must insist you tighten your grip." She looks at the squire thoughtfully, "And widen your stance a bit."

"The lord Kevyn… hum." Even Keyte's cheering stalls, as the sporting seems to roll to a stop. She clears her throat, and glances around to gauge the appropriate reaction from the rest of the crowd — and then clears her throat again, as the squire drops his borrowed sword. Keyte crosses her arms in something of a huff, and purses her lips, clearly vexed.

Kevyn shakes his head at Maera. Now very aware of the remaining crowd, and what they just witnessed, he's eager to get off the field as soon as possible. He takes a deep breath and, in something more resembling a man's voice, repeats, "I yield, Lady Mormont."

Garvin lets out a long breath of relief, surprised to discover he'd been holding it so long. He leans toward is squire a bit, wincing as the motion opens his bandaged wounds. "Nyran, fetch a fresh skin of Arbor red, and when young Lord Cockshaw leaves the field, be there to present it to him in my name. He's a brave lad to face the She-Bear as long as he has."

Eonn , on his mare, laughs. It's not with scorn, just pleasure.

"You should go to him," Daevon suggests to Keyte. "He did well to get so far, and he should not be troubled to be bested by a better opponent. He's fought well and with honour. It takes a strong man to know when to fight on and when to yield." He picks up a few more of the honeycakes.

Maera lets out an exhale of air as well. "Fair enough." That said, she turns to walk towards Eonn and Bottle. "This doesn't feel like a victory."

"You have defeated the Freeriders," says Eonn, grinning down at her. "I think the lad made it so far due to an unlucky, or perhaps lucky, draw of the lots. Are you hurt?"

Kevyn picks up his sword and gets off the field promptly. He will definitely take that bottle of wine. It will all be drunk tonight.

The Master-of-Arms stops slapping himself in the face, stiffens up his spine, and shouts out, "The Lady Maera Mormont of Bear Island! Champion of Freeriders! And the Squire Kevyn Cockshaw! Second!"

This declaration is met with all manner of reactions. Cheers, and boos, and laughter, and a small brawl over by the pavillions, among some squires who were too young or ill-trained or drunk to attempt the contest.

Daevon would join in the applause but his hands are full although he does call out his congratulations. He takes his honeycakes over to where Eonn and Maera are. "Cake?" he asks the two of them, well Eonn mostly. Then to Maera he says. "Lady Mormont, you fought well."

"No." Maera says, "The only hit I received bounced off of my gauntlet." She looks to Daevon, and her expression is sad. "Did I fight at all? It feels like I only had one real fight."

Keyte mm and hmms a bit, and seems completely relieved for Daevon's suggestion. "Oh," says she, and, "Oh," again. "You think, my lord ser? I could… I suppose I could do that." And since the Targaryen seems to be leaving, she picks up her skirts and bids darling Igdannha a good day, and sweeps over toward her… champion. Ahem. She does at least make an effort to clap as the results are shouted to the crowd at large.

Garvin slides from the cart to his feet, snorting at the declaration, as he turns away. Nyran gives Kevyn the wineskin, then hurries off to collect the horses. Garvin keeps his back to the field, most pointedly to Lady Mormont, and waits until his squire returns to help him onto his palfrey. Slowly, the pair ride toward the city gate.

Dainel is quietly starting off with his fine ass, cart of wine, and horse, seemingly content to find a place to sleep.

Eonn grins at Maera. "Indeed. The draws at the lists were, mmm, unfortunate this day." He glances over to where the ruckus near the pavillions is going on.

Eonn shrugs at the violence, then leans down from his mare to accept the cake Daevon's offering. "Thank you, My Lord," he says.

"Would you like to fight me?" Daevon asks Maera. He's in his noble clothes, no armour at all, just fancy finery that will surely be ruined if he attempts to fight in it. "Although I cannot promise to be any better than those you have already fought. I would say that you did fight though, you fought against expectations, and you fought against the best the contest had to offer. You won fairly, and if the challenge was not what you hoped for, perhaps next time it will be. They do say be careful what you wish for." He offers one cake to Eonn, and takes a bite of the other. "None for you," he tells Bottle, just in case she had any hopes in that regard.

Kevyn swallows. Oh, look, there's Keyte. He tries to look vaguely dignified. It's debateable how much he succeeds, but he makes an effort at it, clearing his throat. "Lady Keyte. I…I thank you for your favor today. It brought me much luck in the draws, I'm sure."

The big white mare nuzzles at Daevon's shoulder anyway. No cake? How wrong.

The maester, and the acoloytes, start to drive their mule-drawn cart, and the injured men upon it, back into the city and towards the Citadel.

Derrioth remains upon the cart of the injured, due to his arm and hand injuries that he knows he'd best get checked out.

"I would fight you." Maera says to Daevon, "But you've no armor, and I'm afraid we would hurt each other without it. That is not something I wish to do. Lady Brax's man…well, used to be Lady Brax's man, he got cut badly on the wrists as it is." She doesn't mention Garvin's injuries.

Well this is awkward. Keyte approaches Kevyn with her skirts held out of the dirt, her bejewelled slippers peeking out. She sure dressed up today, yanno? She clears her throat, and musters up one of her delightful smiles for the squire, despite her (his) disappointment. "You were most brave to sport with the freeriders, my lord," she says, dipping a curtsy. "And second, no less! The luck of the dolphin-bit were surely with you, today. I shan't keep you long from your celebration, my lord. You fought well, and with honor." Those might be borrowed words. She delivers them warmly, regardless.

Daevon actually smiles at Maera's response. "Another time then," he suggests.

Kevyn smiles at Keyte. She is dressed up, and it suits her. It takes him a moment to come up with any sort of response, beyond a clearing of his throat. "I…well…" He's not so sure about that last part, himself. "Thank you, my lady. I shan't keep you, either." He sketches a quick bow to her, and then retreats to find his knight, or his wine, or…something.
aevon stands and leaves Grand Dais.

"Soon." Maera promises Daevon. "And it shall be glorious. Of this I've no doubt." That said she turns, "I'll be out for a bit, Eonn. Do not wait up for me." A pause, "Collect my armor?" It's still scattered about the grounds.

Eonn smiles at the exchange between the two. "I could ride and collect My Lord's, as well, I think." But he dismounts and moves to gather Maera's belongings off the grass.

Daevon nods at Maera. "It shall be." He agrees, eyes gleaming at the prospect. He shakes his head at Eonn. "Far better for us to fight when we are both fresh and prepared."

"Have a good evening, Ser Daevon." Maera bows her head respectfully to the Targaryen, and turns to leave.

Or… something. That's presumably what Keyte and her attendants scurry off to find, too.

Eonn stops in his work to watch Maera depart, once she's distant enough that she's not likely to notice him doing so.

Daevon would actually help Eonn pick up the armour, in fact he's about to take a step to do that when he remembers the clothes he's wearing. He exhales and watches Eonn watching Maera.

Eonn's eyes go sad. And then he continues gathering up the equipment. He carries it to load it onto his horse, tying it onto her saddle with neat precision.

Daevon finishes his cake and he's still watching Eonn. He speaks, quietly, words filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

Eonn finishes tying the stuff down and leans his head against the mare's thick neck. He says, "I am, My Lord. Of course. My apologies."

"Don't apologise," Daevon says. He sighs. "Usually, I hit things with other things until I feel better. Or I go ride until I've left all my troubles behind. I don't usually resort to drink, but if you want…" he shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm intruding. Just tell me to go away and I'll leave you with your thoughts."

"I resort to drink a great deal, I think," says Eonn. "But riding will do. Perhaps. A swim in the sea?" It seems to be an invitation.

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