(122-01-11) Of Horses and Arrows
Of Horses and Arrows
Summary: Various people compete in Longbow, Horse races, and that newfangled Horse Archery event.
Date: Date of play (11/01/122)
Related: None.
Players:
Daena..Daevon..Andolin..Tellur..Leof..Rhaegor..Visenya..Gwayne..Dhraegon..

Leof is riding her palfrey, the grey dappled mare sort of prancing a bit. She seems relaxed and is carrying a bow. A nurse is nearby with a few Banefort guards. She smiles a bit but looks annoyed at something but shakes it off. She takes her guard's hand to get down, tiny frame bouncing athletically.

The tourney grounds are set up for horse and archery events. That means the open track marked out around the edges for the speed event, a straight line down the center for the straight archery, and horse jumps and target pendulums for the horse archery event woven all through so they only need to move the cross bars in to set up the jumps. There is a bit of a kerfluffle up at the judging stand. Prince Dhraegon is there, luckily without a dolly and dressed respectably, and the long suffering Helpful judge they generally rope in for these things is here, looking harried. however, there is no sign of Lord Nathaniel Crane, who was meant to be the third judge and who is cosponsoring the event. After much whispered argument, a page is sent to try to talk the cranky Tyrell elder into sitting as a third judge. Sharp ears might hear him murmuring about "disgrace to the royal line" and "What is chivalry coming to" and "Youngsters these days." Still, the curmudgeon knows hs duty and he comes to take his place at the Prince's right hand. There is a fanfare of trumpets. The Prince stands and recites in a stilted monotone, his bass voice a contrast to his child like delivary, "Welcome to the Horse and archery competition, held in honor of house hightower, my future bride, and House Crane's fine breeding stables North of town. Will those competing with bow stand at the starting line!" He sits and takes a long gulp from his tankard.

The Maiden's Knight entrance is, as always, heralded with the cheering of his fans - or the screaming of a lot of young women - whatever you want to call it. He's popular amongst the smallfolk, perhaps a little less so amongst the nobility, but then isn't that the way of such things. He's dressed for the occasion, in close-fitting leathers and carrying a bow as he moves over to line up next to the others, he casts smiles in the direction of his admirers.

Andolin had to be convinced into this damn thing, and he looks unsettled and not exactly happy about being in front of people again. The young Stark's got an entirely moody expression on his face, eyeing the crowd like he's looking for someone, and he sighs and just unslinging the bow from his shoulder.

Leof takes her quiver, and her bow getting strung as she heads for the line in a long short sleeved tunic and fitted leggings, the length of the tunic is enough to keep her small frame swimming and somewhat obscured. Her fingers ruffle through her short blonde hair. she moves to stand on the line without a bit of fuss. Her petite frame shows rather serious musculature. She's slow to stretch, the felted boots actually fairly comfortable looking as she test steps, backing up a little off the line. She isn't getting much fanfare except from the Banefort guards and entourage who seem to genuinely be enthusiastic about her participation and weirdly a few Vale lords and ladies in the crowd - likely family from before her marriage.

There is another fanfare and the flag drops.

Daevon offers a smile towards his fellow competitors. "May the best one win." He says. He eyes the target, nocks an arrow to the bow and releases a solid shot, easily hitting the mark. But then that one was easy.

Leof waits for permission to go, arching, pulling her things down. She waits for a minute and waits for the shot, pulling the strings back "Aye, best of luck Prince." she offers, to Daevon, she releases her arrow quickly, standing still until it hits the target - twack.

Andolin glances to Daevon, and he just looks nervous; he just stuffs down any reply, fitting the arrow and flinging it off. It hits easily enough. There's no flash or showmanship to the way he does it, either, just utilitarian.

A bunch of people get eliminated first round. Being solidly good shots, Ser Daevon, Lady Leof, and Ser Andolin move forward to the next round. The arrows are retrieved and pages move the targets to the second line. There is another fanfare and the flag drops again.

Daevon's done this so many times before. He waits for the targets to be moved back, for everyone to clear out the way and without any tricks or anything else unleashes a second arrow at the target. This one hits as solidly as the first did. Boring.

Standing off towards the crowds is Gwayne. He is dressed in the livery of the city watch, his Hightower colors in tact on his uniform. With his arms crossed he observes with a few other officers as the first round comes to an end. He shares a few words with one of his men before a small pouch is passed amongst them. Smiling he pockets it and looks on before sharing a few more whispers and letting his eyes scan the area for any foul happenings.

Leof 's visibly and utterly calm. She does a little stretch dance before taking a few steps back and taking a few bold steps, drawing her bow up before drawing it back until her thumb is parallel to her ear and releasing. Her hair is standing comically every which way.

Andolin pulls back the arrow again; he manages to, in his nerves, actually bobble the damn arrow from the rest and somehow manages to get it back up on the release and send it solidly to the target. He flushes a little, though, looking a little mad at himself. He's awesome at crowds.

Given his service during the Plague, Ser Daevon has strong cheering support from the smallfolk. There is both grumbling by the elder tyrell and his ilkl about a woman competing, but given the strong showing by women competitors in the last year, a certain amount of betting is in the Lady's favor. Ser Andolin is a near unknown, having only competed once before in archery. Still someone has brought a contingent of Stark household guards and servants to cheer loudly for the new made Knight. Being solidly good shots, Ser Daevon, Lady Leof, and Ser Andolin move forward to the third round. The arrows are retrieved and pages move the targets to the third line. There is another fanfare and the flag drops again.

Daevon's experienced enough at this sort of attention, at the whole archery contests. It's not exciting, just hitting a stationary target a distance away, but once again he places an arrow in the exact same spot he did the first two times. It's solid shooting.

Andolin's nerves get the better of him; the unexpected cheering makes him tense at an inopportune time, and he just sort've fails miserably. Once again, he just looks angry at himself, and just heads off the field with no other fanfaire.

Leof was still recovering from giving her husband a proper heir during the plague, but she did do what she could. Only -2- people in her house fell due to plague. She breathes sharply, shivering as she adjusts herself, tugging her tunic tighter as if suddenly cold. Her weight settles in to do her last shot, she's looking stiff suddenly.

The judges confer briefly, the elder Tyrell's distaste for the peculiar Targaryen Judge plain on his face, but the winner here is obvious. A small second place purse is awarded the Lady Leof, and a two year old bay mare is led out and presented to Prince with much flourish on the part of the Squires and nervousness on the part of the half broken horse.

Daevon accepts his prize with… well something of surprise, he most certainly wasn't expecting a horse. Still he greets the creature, offers her a treat from his pocket and says something about how everyone shot well. His own people then come to lead the horse away and he goes off to prepare for the next event.

The results seem to please the officer as another small purse is handed to him now. Smiling he nods to Andolin as he leaves the field. "A fine display." He says jovially though it seems his coin was placed elsewhere. Gwayne just keeps an eye out now, the crowd being watched constantly. When the horse is brought out a semi impressed look will pass over his mien before he makes his way towards them, though careful not to interrupt the proceedings.

Leof claps for Daevon, politely, making a gesture at one of her maids, who brings her jerkin over without any other indication. She is helped into her jerkin, she makes a few stretching gestures as her mare is brought over for her, she seems to be planning to ride too. She pauses, gesturing at a guard, to ensure she stays ladylike at least a little the relatively tiny woman is helped onto her riding horse, so she's properly on the beasts' back. She puts her bow on her back, and tugs on her riding gloves before a maid hands her a small parcel, which is tucked into a pocket. She looks more like a squire than a proper noble woman at the moment.

Prince Dhraegon announces, "First prize goes to Ser Daevon Targaryen, second to the Lady Leof Banefort, and third to Ser Andolin Stark!" The Grumpy Tyrell calls out, "Mount up for the races!" Targets are moved away and people mount up for the first heat.

There's some Words being had at ye olde Stark tent. Not loud ones, not ones that can be overheard, but soon enough an absolutely broody-faced Andy comes out, probably steered off by Malcolm, who has been manning the horses. His big fat grey horse looks quite happy despite his grumpy rider, plodding along with cheerfully bobbing ears. The pudgy garron doesn't exactly look like a racehorse.

Prince Rhaegor Targaryen is amongst the mounted riders queueing for the horse races. His mount is a fine creature, as black as night, and the prince cuts a fine figure in the saddle. His riding leathers are the same black as his horse, emblazoned with the crest of his house on the breast.

Daevon walks over to Andolin to speak quietly with him. "You did well. Third." He smiles. "And with so many other competitors. That last shot wasn't easy. Do you want a loan of a horse or is yours good?" He knows the grey's now much of a racer.

Leof 's poor dappled grey mare looks delighted and Leof looks delighted too! She looks healthy and wiggles her fingers against her mare's mane. She looks towards Andolin and his tent thoughtfully, she takes her mare around a few other riders, taking a more comfortable place. Her mare isn't the fastest, but it is smooth gaited and not super slow.

Comes now someone else into the field, a lady dressed for riding on a horse. She is lean and pale, though her features mark her as from the south - Dorne, most likely. Her clothes suggest this too - dark robes secured out of the way for riding as well as her hair. "Missed the shooting." she says to a Dornish guard, who moves to the herald to advise that his lady intends to ride in the race.

And so lady Daena Yronwood. atop the blue roan stallion moves to take her place with the others. "Greetings." she offers the other riders.

Andolin looks over to Daevon, brows knit. He looks like he thinks he did anything but well, and his fingers are tight on the reins. Still, though, after a million replies to that flicker through his head, he just finally settles on, "Thanks," with a conflicted sort of an expression. To the offer of a horse, he just shakes his head. "I'd rather be on something I know," coupled with leaning in to murmur something lower to the prince alone, looking wry.

Visenya takes her place in the stands. The Princess wears a gown of black with a dramatic slash of red in the train. Normally she wears white to support her brother. Today, it seems, she wears predominately black to support Prince Rhaegor.

Daevon's got a sand-steed, Sunshine, such a beautiful horse, all silver and gold just like her rider is. They're a matched pair. There's no time for the entrance with jangling bells today, not since Daevon's taken a few moments to pause and talk to Andolin. His smile's warm, his words quiet, he offers a nod of understanding. "Ride like the wind, beat us all," he says to Andolin. He strides away, mounts up, and lines up for the start of the race.

There is a warning fanfare and the flag drops signalling the start of the race.

Andolin looks up at the fanfaire and looks worried again, and joins the line. For all the big fat grey beast is a gentle thing that shows no interest in what's going on - he's even eyeing an enticing dandelion before Andy gives him a heel in the ribs - when he's given the signal to go he can go. He's about on par with the rest, huge hooves picking up in big, high-stepping gallop.

Daena's stallion is fiery, stamping and pawing. Probably it would be a safe bet that it's too much horse for her, but appearances are deceiving sometimes. It starts to rear as the fanfare blares but the rider takes control - the flag drops and the horse bolts down the course. "Go! Go!" she shouts, uring the beast onward. It's fast, quite fast. It surges forward, hooves kicking up clods of dirt behind as it goes.

There's no hesitation from Daevon's horse this time, Sunshine runs like she should, easily chewing up the ground. She's not first, but she is closer to the front then the back.

Leof 's mare is well tempered. The rider waits and she yells at the horse to GO, leading the horse onwards. She's graceful at least. Leof has some skill riding, and some good reactions.

There is a jangling noise and someone turns up late - wearing grey-coloured Southron clothes, including a light wrap around the face so that only shaded eyes are visible, in the way of some of the desert people. The horse is all raw-kneed and ugly as all get out, yellow, with a shockingly bad confirmation, deep, unproportioned chest, and long gangly legs. The saddle is barely there, thin, no protection against those bony hips, with a ridge down the center to keep the beast's spine safe. No stirrups either, the rider hangs on with his knees. The reins do not have a bit that rests in the mouth. At the fanfare, the man - maybe - makes a 'click' sound with his tongue and his horse takes off as if dragons were after her, her body lunging into a bizarre, fluid run that eats up the distance with hungry hoofbeats.

At go, Rhaegor spurs his mount into action. Both horse and rider depart the starting line with sleek grace, but the Dornishwoman's rearing mount seems to have spooked the Targaryen prince's ride, and it loses valuable ground at the start of the race, lagging behind the others despite Rhaegor's best effort to spur it on.

The Dornishwoman and the strange man on the stranger yellow horse are neck and neck, way out in front, with the others in a pack behind and the unlucky Prince Rhaegor trailing as they head into the second lap.

Andolin's big grey apparently had his surge at the beginning; without much of a competitive streak for races, the big garron seems perfectly happy to thunder about in the middle of the herd. Look, ma, he has friends!

Evidently Prince Rhaegor's encouragement is enough to steer his horse back into the race; it gains some of the ground lost out of the gate, edging its way toward the midst of the pack. Not exactly a promising showing thus far, but a decent enough recovery.

Daevon's sticking with Andolin it would seem, or maybe Sunshine's taken a fancy to his grey, because she's riding alongside, and no attempts by Daevon to get her to move faster are working at all. So he doesn't really try, the horses are happy, in the herd, what else matters.

The yellow beast has a fast streak, clearly - but it is, alas, not a mean one. Because as she comes closer to Daena's stallion, she begins to frisk and cavort around behind him. Her rider does not put a boot in, instead he leans forward to murmur something in trade tongue to her, half words, half hand movements in rhythm. The horse puts her ears back, and attempts to keep pace - but she would rather show off, right now. LOOK AT ME, I AM VERY PRETTY!

The Dorishwoman leans down towards her horse's neck, smoothing out the combined profile. She continues to bark out unladylike encouragement to the beast as they fly down the route. They pull away from the others as the race continues.

Leof 's horse is content to keep a consistent pace. She's eager to ride, the tiny not-especially-lady looking lady bouncing on her blankets. Her weight settled as her pale mare continues going, not too far ahead, nor is she intensely behind the lead!

The crowd is going wild as an exciting second lap shakes things up. As they pass the start line a second time, Lady Yarwood continues pushing her lead, and Lady Leof catches up to a faltering man in grey. Sers Daevon and Andolin stay with the pack, while Prince Rhaegor joins them, making up for his bad start.

Andolin's big grey spots the finish line coming; his ears perk up, his head lifts, and he puts on a surprising burst of speed, digging in and switching leads as his head drops, thundering past the finish line somewhere in the middleish. The horse's motivation becomes clear; the Stark has to pull him up and take a big looping circle that slows to a jarring trot as it becomes apparent that someone in a neighboring tent slung a bag of feed to their horses, and the big grey casts longing and wistful eyes at the sack of grain, gnawing at the bit and sending wisps of froth flying. He is hungry from the work, see.

The skinny ugly yellow horse with the grey rider shies suddenly at something tossed by a member of the crowd - a flower. Her rider rises up with his knees, maintaining control by a fragment as she pivots and leaps forward with a cervine movement. The horse cannot catch those in front now, but releasing tension, she manages to keep enough ahead that she does not fall behind the others - who are suddenly moving tightly forward themselves. The race is remarkably close. The yellow horse is sweating, but without froth, and she pulls up and executes a few ridiculous prances, keeping her feet neat and high, clearly proud of herself.

Leof 's horse is eager for the finish lines. She ends the line, letting her horse following as she relaxes the horse, slowing and dropping off the horse, out of the way. Holding her hands up to catch an apple from a Banefort guard, she takes a bite, offering the rest to the horse, "Good girl, good girl." she whispers at the horse.

"Fly home!" Daena calls. She offers the horse more encouragement with her heels in its flanks. Tack and saddle furniture is jingling, part of the lady's tied away robe has come loose and it flutters behind her in the wind. The blue roan finds another burst of speed, but it's probably best this race won't last much longer.

Daevon's horse is having a lazy day. She's not pushing herself and even when Andy's runs off she just stays right in the middle.

Prince Rhaegor is one amongst a cluster of riders who finish in brisk succession, and as he passes the line, he pulls his mount up next to the Dornishwoman. "My compliments on an excellent showing, my lady of Yronwood," he calls to her gallantly, leaning forward to reward his mount for its own average performance with a pat on the neck.

It is painfully obvious who will come in first, the Lady Daena having a quarter of the track lead by this point. Second is harder to determine, the young stark catching the rider on that bizarre yellow horse and it being impossible to tell who's nose was stretched an extra inch further. Prince Rhaegor, Ser Daevon, Lady Leof come in together just ahead of the pack, a respectable showing. The argument in the judge's box is heated over that second place finish.

The Elder Tyrell insists the knight came in ahead of that "Skeleton nag!" Prince Dhraegon is stubborn in his belief that the other one was the faster. The Helpful judge sighs, divides the generous second place purse in half and unilaterally announces, "Ser Andolin Stark and the Mystery Rider in second, the Lady Daena Yarwood wins first place!" Again, a horse is lead out to give to the first place winner: a two year old dappled grey gelding in high spirits with very long legs. Squires carry the cross bars for the jumps out and get in place to start the moving archery targets swinging.

The man in grey inclines his head to the man on the round, food-loving horse, and allows his skeleton nag to spend her dancing time trying to get the attention of Daena's stallion. He pats her skinny withers, affectionately. And he watches the prize, whistling low.

Leof is quiet, watching her mare from the saddle, her weight leaning forward a little. She takes her time to stretch her back and make sure she doesn't fall.

Daena Yronwood's Dornish guards takes possession of the prize gelding. Another offers water to her steaming mount after handing up a quiver to the lady and a finely-decorated recurved bow of horn and wood in colors of black and sand. She secures the quiver on her saddle. The mount watered, the lady is handed up a wineskin which she drinks from for a long moment and tosses it back down to her man. She leans to whisper to her horse as they wait.

The helpful Judge Announces, "And now the third and final event! This is an extreme test of both horsemanship and shooting. As you will notice, each jump has a garland and a target. Each garland is worth one point. Each target is worth three and there will be points for the first, second, and third to cross the finish line. Speed and accuracy count. If you fall off your horse you forfeit.

Andolin's horse is sweating and blowing a little, and Andy leans over to pat and rub at his neck; he walks the animal out, reins loose.

Rhaegor dismounts, giving over the reins of his horse to his groom, and then he makes for the stands, leaning across the rail to take the Princess Visenya's hand and offer her a kiss upon the knuckles. "I fear you ought have worn white, Princess; your brother gave a better showing than I, in spite of your favor."

The latecomer swings his grey desert-cloak to one side and exposes a shortbow - in fact, a wildling shortbow, with wildling heads on the arrows. Each arrow is freshly fletched, however, in blood red. Still, the whole setup is much like the home made, odd saddle on his ugly horse - it has clearly been bodged, altered, and otherwise 'edited' by the rider in grey who is looking at the garlands with a faintly odd expression. His horse does not drink, or even seem to be especially heated - she spots Andy's horse and begins to whicker.

Visenya stands, and leans slightly over the rail as Rhaegor leans across it. When he kisses her knuckles she smiles, "Is that how you would have me?" She lets out a small laugh, "Constantly changing my allegiance to who I think will be the winner?" She shakes her head softly before looking over his shoulder towards the field, "I did not even know Daevon could shoot."

At the whicker from the yellow horse, Andy's grey perks his ears and gives a low, familiar wuffle at the yellow horse. Andy? Just smiles, faintly.

Leof is moving to the line slowly, watching her mare. "Good girl." she coos, likely calming down as she stretches her legs out lazily and bouncing slightly. She looks calm, eyes sparkling with mischief as she watches the stranger, getting into line again.

Rhaegor sidesteps the rail, offering Visenya his arm, that she might join him on the field. "For your sake, if not for mine," he replies in turn, a little wryly. "Shall we find a better spot from which to view the contest?"

The first jump is designed to look like a stylized grape arbour. The top bar is loosely balanced to fall if tapped. There are a bunch of garlands on a pole in reach of a jumper. The target is shaped like a bird. They set the thing swinging and get well out of the way. There is a fanfare to warn the riders, then the flag drops.

Visenya places her hand on Rhaegor's arm, and walks with him into a more crowded portion of the stands. There they fade into the crowd, but not before Visenya says, "Well, it could have been worse. You could have been last."

Daena adjusts her outer robe before the contests begins, tucking corners to make it easier for her to shoot. She secures the end of the reins just under one thigh, she won't be using them overly much here. An arrow is drawn and knock put to the string but not drawn yet. Horse and rider move to their place and as the flag falls they surge forward. They're quickly to their jump and they clear the bar. As they do the lady draws back her arrow and fires - easily a hit on the target. She doesn't have time to check as there is another bar to worry about and another arrow to draw from her saddle quiver. It probably looks like she's showing off, but it's just covecentration. Jumping and shooting is not something anyone practices overly much, at least not like they might shooting at various speeds in a straight line.

Andolin's horse is tired from the run, so is slower off the mark. The big garron pushes off the line with an alarmed snort - what, he has to do more?! - and Andy just gives him his head, knotting the reins with a slip of mane near the withers to keep them from falling. The grey settles into a comfortable pace, but his ears perk at the jump and he shows a surprising amount of life, finding his distance with a little short-step and taking the jump with a tidy little hunter-style jump, low with his belly only scarcely missing the rail. The heavy horse's landing, though, is enough to rattle bones, but the Stark isn't messing with these silly flowers; he rides the landing and takes the chance at a shot right behind Daena, managing to stick it easily.

The benefit to the stranger's odd reins-and-saddle design is that he has no switching or changes he needs to do - the loose reins remain looped in his wrists, but since the horse is mostly controlled by his knees anyway, he has free hands. He nudges his mount, who trots forward and takes a lazy sail over the jump - not graceful. Just there. The man's arrow finds its mark, though. _Thunk_. The head is marked through with barbs.

Leof 's horse is a bit slow, her horse makes the jump, her weight bobbing as she aims and draws back, firing off a shot. Her attention focused on the target as she continues going, focusing on the race now.

The next jump is designed to look like the iconic bridge over the Honeywine in the center of Old Town. The target is made to look like a leaping dolphin.

The yellow horse is not the sort to spook at wildlings, arrows, combat, screaming and dying men, or similar foolery. She streaks towards the next jump and lifts up, graciously kicking up her heels. About now, however, the sudden movement reminds her rider that he has a large number of injuries collected over the last year, that, while healed, are still _tender_. And he has not been larking about exactly appropriately. The man cringes as something twinges, and a moment later, lands in the water, while the horse lands on the other side, and then attempts to turn back around to take a mouthful out of the garland.

Andolin's horse has livened up considerably with the jump, and collects himself nicely, pulling in and settling into a nice round gallop, light on his front end. He flows easily into the next jump, pushing off and rounding over it and landing more balanced this time, ears forward and giving short little snorts with every stride, and Andy once again takes the shot and makes it easily. He's not even touching the reins now, but the horse turns toward the next jump neatly.

Leof well, her horse was doing fantastic, but spooks mid jump. It isn't graceful and the small blonde woman is abruptly not riding her horse. Into the water causing Banefort guards to wait for horses to pass before rushing to fish her out, and help her to her feet. She whistles at her horse and heads over to a bench, settling there to watch the end of the race. She doesn't seem hurt at all.

"A bit more, you." Daena tells her horse as they charge for the next jump, this one looking like the Oldtown bridge over the Honeywine. They make the leap but perhaps the horse coming up on the flank is a surprise - the lady's shot isn't quite as good as the last one. "Hells! Go, you Stranger-damned beast!" she curses, spurring the horse on again.

The final jump is designed to look like a Galley as much as it reasonably can and the target is a gull. The lead riders are neck and neck approaching it, who will be the best shot and who will cross the finish first?

Andolin's fat garron is in a form rarely seen; head up, his gait is absolutely thunderous, snorting with every hoofbeat. Collected, the big grey takes the jump with room to spare, knees up and hooves neatly tucked. The northern horse doesn't even blink as Andy rises in the saddle and takes the shot, the arrow thudding into the target soundly. The horse lands neatly, passing under the line under a lively gallop.

Tellur rolls himself out of the water and limps to the edge. Aware he cannot win at all, he seems to have been glad enough to sneak in and compete - as a total commoner. The Bastard loops an arm around his awful horse and allows her to help pull him away - he is limping a little, but most of that? He came in with. It has been a hard year for the Northron. He leaves quietly.

Perhaps The Black Hound of Yronwood isn't used to being second and she made a slight error in controlling her horse or her mount just doesn't have as much stamina as her opponent's? Either way, Daena falls a heartbeat behind as they come to the galley jump - but even though it is quite high the blue roan stallion clear the top bar and the lady shoots true. Daena looks to see where her arrow struck, this is likely where she lost the race, leaning too late to encourage her horse to pour on the speed. "Hells and fire!" she curses again as another horse and rider clear the line before she does. She pulls up, letting the blowing horse trot a moment. She turns the creature to move back towards the line. "Well done, ser." Daena offers, all grim smile now. "The Warrior blessed you today."

The Crowd gasps in horror as two riders fall and then are on their feet screaming their lungs out for the final length as two brilliant archers fly over the final hurdle and towards the finish. It is close, but there is no real arguement amoung the judges, even though the Elder Tyrell grumps about "These new fashions" and how "In my day there was none of this silly barbaric horse archer business" and also, "In my day this never would have been concidered a real sport." Prince Dhraegon, on the other hand, claps and squeals with delight! This is only the second event like this ever held, but he already loves watching it almost as much as cakes, even if he's too scared to mount a horse himself. At this distance, it is just good fun. Still, The Elder Tyrell Announces, "The Winner is Ser Andolin Stark and the second place purse goes to Lady Daena Yronwood!" They hand the Dornish woman her purse and lead out a beautiful two year old golden Sand Steed Stallion for the victorious Stark.

Leof seems to have taken to fussing at her baby and just watching the event "I did good I think. Send a messenger to Lord Trystan to tell him we did well today?" she asks one of the guards with a smile. She shivers a little, watching the horses and the prize.

Andolin's horse takes a loop to calm down, hooves lifting high as he does a circle. It's not showy so much as excited, and when Andy finally pulls him up the horse gives his big heavy head a shake, sending foam flying pretty much everywhere. He's soaked in sweat but doesn't seem the worse for the wear; northern horses are tough and tenacious animals. Despite the horse's sweaty hide, Andy takes the time to give him a pat on the neck with a little grin, and it's only when Daena approaches that he realizes what just happened; he looks baffled, truly. "I— thanks, you too," he says with a little grin, and then just looks kinda stunned when the horse is laid out. His garron gives a happy - if not exhausted - whicker at the new horse.

Daena nods as her second prize of the day is brought to her. "Well done, all." she offers to the other riders as they ride in. "I shall take my leave… there is likely to be a feast here somewhere, and I fear I will need to be presentable for all the great lords and princes." She waves to the crowd as she moves from the field, stopping before the high seats where the hosts sat, there she convinces her horse to lower its head in a sort of bow, she follows suit. Then she and her men (and her four-legged prize) move smoothly away.

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