(121-05-11) Tilt
Summary: Tameron tries to teach Magden how to ride a horse and swing a sword at the same time.
Date: May 11, 2014
Related: None, directly

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.

It's early morning, and the focus of Magden's training, since the trip hunting wildlings, has been becoming more comfortable fighting ahorse. In part because this is a skill any versatile warrior should master, and in part because Tameron can't quite abide the thought of his squire launching herself off her steed and at a foe like some sort of blonde-haired feist.

Tameron's seated on Horse, guiding her in a circular trot around several dummies in the middle of the field, set at a height to be attacked by a man riding. "Trust Mouse," he tells her, "She's done this before and with riders with more weight than you. Trust her to know what she's about and learn the rhythm of her feet, and it won't feel so awkward." He gestures towards the waiting scarecrow in the expectation of Madgen making a pass at the thing.

After several passes during which she did not trust Mouse, bobbled and dropped ber blade, and was once almost knocked from the saddle by the weighted swing of an inanimate, straw-stuffed opponent… Magden looks ready to launch herself from the saddle. Possibly more like an angry ferret than a feist. "Fuck. My mother," growls the skinny little blonde. "No. Fuck everyone's mother." She brings Mouse around and balances her blade in her hand, breathing out in a huff. "Fucking saddle." She puts her knees to Mouse and shouts, charging the poor dummy whose only crime has thus far been self-defence.

Tameron slowly Horse down enough to watch more carefully, sitting straight in his saddle. "Hold her with your legs!" he calls, "Arms are for the blade. Follow the rhythm and aim low!" Which is perfectly easy to shout when all one has to do is watch.

She doesn't aim low; she aims high. It's probably because she wants to take the stupid thing's head off rather than opt for the just-as-lethal-in-reality body blow. It's only going to bleed gods-damned sawdust if she lays its chest and belly open. Decapitation would be so much more satisfying. So she aims high, glances off the dummy's shoulder, and causes the weighted, swinging arms to whip around again, slamming solidly into her chest. Mouse keeps running down the field, sans rider; Magden hits the ground flat on her back, where she stares at the sky for a beat before thrashing the ground with her fists and feet. "FUUUUUUAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!" she screams. That about sums it up.

Tameron heaves a breath out, bringing Horse to a stop and climbing down off of her as Mouse charges on minus Magden. Can't blame the horse, it's probably hard to tell when Magden's even on her back. The young knight walks over and leans down to offer his squire a hand up. "Did you not hear me, or did you just ignore me?" he asks with a small, wry smile.

Magden squints up at him, her patient Ser all haloed in brilliant morning sun, and simply looks sour. It takes her a moment to get over herself and take his hand. "A little bit of both." She rubs her sternum. "Ow." The breath the tries to drag is next is too deep for her temporarily winded lungs and she coughs. And spits. Lovely. "I am a tedious student." She's aware of it. That's what she's serving by way of apology, this morning.

"Sometimes," Tameron agrees with a faint smile. "Also, you've lost your horse. But, I think she'll come back. Shall we sit a moment?" He nods towards the bleachers, currently not being used by anyone.

Magden looks up and around to find that Mouse has, indeed, gone AWOL. "Fuck," she sighs. She begins to nod her assent, then glances down and notices her right shoulder's at a bit of an odd, droopy angle. She takes a deep breath, grabs it suddenly and savagely with her left hand and shoves, all in one motion. She's rewarded with a sickening POP and a shoulder that looks like a shoulder, again. And her freckles stand out starkly, indicating that she's gone a bit pale. She nods again. Sitting. They should do that.

Tameron grimaces sympathetically for that *pop* and guides Madgen over to the lowest bleachers so that he can sit. He draws out his canteen, uncorks it and offers it to Magden. "You let yourself get too frustrated. Why?"

Magden takes the canteen, drinking deeply — but not too much. She has always been very scrupulous about portions, and sharing. "I want to be good," she replies, simply enough, scrubbing her sleeve across her lips.

"You will be," Tameron replies, accepting the canteen back. He has a couple swallows himself before offering the rest to Magden. "And faster, if you don't let your emotions knock you on your arse."

She sits carefully beside him, declining more water with a simple shake of her head. "How are you always so calm?"

"Practice," Tameron replies with a twitch of a smile. "There are few things a person can truly control, but his own actions is one of them. And there is no situation in which a calm, clear head will not be to your advantage."

Magden considers this, finally bobbling in a gesture that's neither affirmative or negative. A physical expression of 'enh.' "Mostly."

"Mostly?" Tameron queries, head canting. "When does it not, then?"

"Fucking," Magden says, matter-of-factly, with a great deal of assurance for someone who's only done that particular thing once.

That reply causes a sharp, surprised bark of a laugh from Tameron, and he smirks, shaking his head. "Only if it's for pleasure," he replies. He takes another swig of water, though this one he only swishes around in his mouth and spits out into the dirt. "Any rote, a clear head is best in battle. Or in practice for battle."

Magden nods at that, assenting. This is clearly true. Clear heads for battle. "I'll try." She props her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hand. "Are we… not ever going to do that, again?" she ventures, after a moment.

Tameron takes a moment to recork the canteen and put it away. Or maybe that just buys him a moment of time. "Um," he still ends up murmuring, "Well. Probably we will." The words sound more like a confession than a hope, though.

Magden frowns. "Oh." She looks down at her boots, including them in her frown. You suck, boots. "I'm going to go look for Mouse," she announces, and pushes to her feet.

"Take Horse," Tameron replies. "I'll…" find some excuse not to go as well, "straighten the dummies."

"Fine," says Madgen, tonelessly, who knows an excuse not to go as well when she hears one. She strides over and hauls herself up onto Horse's back, without the stirrups or pommel, like she does, because fuck saddles.

And Tam watches her go. If he'll be here when she returns, he'll also be eager to resume her training, rather than any threads of conversation as yet left unraveled.

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