(123-07-31) Tyrell-Merryweather Wedding: Joust & Melee
Tyrell-Merryweather Wedding: Joust & Melee
Summary: Inspired by his sweet bride, Ser Loryn Tyrell wins his first tourney with a clean sweep following a final pass against the mystery Patchwork Knight. Said Mystery Knight wins the Melee and is revealed as Ser Desmond Snow.
Date: 07-31-123
Related: The Wedding Feast

Green and gold and royal blue - the colors of the two united houses with roses and harvest fruits adorning the stands in elaborate garlands - for the sake of the bride's devoute faith the seven rainbow colors flutter from each post. The high box holds the newly married Miranda Tyrell along with her goodmother, the lords of Longtable and Highgarden and their wives. The Merryweather toddler sits in his mother's lap and occasionally his sister's. The young bride looks entirely smitten - a rose colored blush to her cheeks that matches her beautiful gown embroidered with Tyrell roses.

Knights of the greater Reach houses have set up their pavilions and banners stream in the breeze. Notably absent is the archer of Hunter Hall - the Tarly's not participating for whatever reason. Whispers of Dorne are occasionally heard when the matter is brought up. But for the most part, the field is full of Oldtown and the Reach's finest knights

Silver trumpets sound as the knights are called to parade across the field, announce themselves, and salute the lady bride and the lord of the Reach and his faithful bannerman beside him.

There are knights everywhere. Big knights, little knights. A few gigantic knights. One of them — clad in mis-matched platemail that bears absolutely no decoration, and already wearing his heavy jousting helmet — arrived late at the tourney and named himself the Patchwork Knight. Really, it was a suggestion from a steward, who overheard the gigantic figure attempting to come up with a clever name for himself. And, given his platemail, it suits. And now he is standing off to one side with his charger, keeping well away from conversation, waiting for his turn in the lists.

The tourney began in the morning with a joust solely for the young squires who followed their knights to Highgarden and an archery competition. As the afternoon sun mellows, the big event begins, the joust of the knights. Instead of the usual Elder Tyrell, who's slumped in a seat, nursing a serious hangover, Lord Lorant Tyrell has taken the honour upon himself to act as one of the judges along with the Elder Hightower, who's a common fixture at the tourneys in Oldtown. The first rounds have come and gone, with the first knights being eliminated from the field.

With such a large turnout, the judges have decided to run the last rounds as single elimination. Each knight has one remount - if he can. And so things have progressed to the quarter finals, in which the pairing saw Ser Brynden Hightower walk away the winner - to a big round of applause and cheers from the locals for their local boy.

The announcer in Tyrell colours steps forward to announce the next pairing: "Ser Nigel Merryweather against…" He pauses for a moment and squints. "The Patchwork Knight!"

Ser Nigel Merryweather carries his helm under his arm - a cornucopia is a strange thing to put atop a helmet but nonetheless Miranda's older brother is representing their house. He wears a yellow and green favor on his arm but the lady who gave it is unknown. He runs his hand through his dirty blond hair and waves to his sister and baby half-brother before saluting the high box. His lance is lifted in honor of his odd opponent and he secures the rather silly helm, adorned with bronzed fruits spilling out of the horn of plenty.

Ser Malcolm Storm is once again astride the restive Motley, the beast armoured for the joust much as the man is, in plain rather old fashioned style with the reversed colours of House Kellington to signal the knight's status. While the knight's armour and sheild are well polished and fresh painted, the only thing fancy about him is his beard, visible with the visor raised, and the fancy dagger he's sported since the campain in the North. As he passes the small folk stands on his parade, he signles out some respectable grandmother and salutes her with his lance. The the excited squeals of her family and friends, she loops a scarf for a favour over his lance point. Saluting her again, her rides for his place.

Daevon has searched the crowds for any sign of the Tarly's, and it's with surprise he notes their absence. Not even a jeer from the stands as he was expecting. The Maiden Knight is, of course, absolutely resplendent in his gleaming platemail, a sturdy horse beneath him, and not the fierce creature he sometimes rides. He fights respectably, but not spectacularly in the opening rounds.

Mounting his charger — a big beast — the Patchwork Knight rides to his end of the lists. A squire hands him up a lance, and Desmond presses it up into the air in return to Ser Nigel's salute. But he doesn't speak, not even to thank the squire who handed him the lance. And when the scarf is dropped, he heels his charger into a hand-trot, and then a gallop, lance dropping into position a touch earlier than is quite normal. His shield is tightly-held against his body, and he leans forward, trying to present as small a target as possible. He strikes Ser Nigel's shield, but the tip slides off, failing to do more than make contact. Still no words as he rides to the far end of the List, raising his lance in salute.

Ser Nigel spurs his charger forward, the blue and gold of its trappings shining in the summer sunlight. He and the Patchwork Knight thunder towards one another at high speed but both have good form and focus - the lances strikes but brushes off harmlessly. He reels the horse and glances to his lance to see that it's intact - another salute and a second pass.

Rycherd arrived without little fanfare, not being well known within OldTown but he bears the Lannister mantle and in the first few rounds showed himself to be a fierce competitor with the lance. His horse is a beast of brown and white, strong and sure and clearly the two have been working together for a while now. He is a sportsman and doesn't gloat over those that he dispatches early on. Now he sits off to the side and watches the other potential competitors joust.

While Brynden may be looking just as distant as before, his lance is true, which has served him well so far today. Placed where the other competitors are, he watches the two out there rather carefully.

The knight of Longtable is trying to find the best way to unhorse the larger knight- the angle of his lance shifting more outward to try to knock the man askew. It finds little purchase and harmlessly shifts off the big man's shield - leaving himself more open to a strike in that moment.

Again, the signal comes for the tilt to begin, and the Patchwork Knight again heels his charger into a gallop almost immediately. He's clearly depending on his own momentum to — with luck — dislodge the Merryweather knight. But it's not to be. He does land a solid blow, the lance audibly cracking, but no one is dislodged. Once again, once he has a fresh lance, he raises it in salute to his opponent. At least he's a polite one.

Nigel lifts his visor to smile and salute his opponent before he snaps it shut and goes for a third pass. The crowds cheer the speed and skill between the two though it's clear the larger man is slightly ahead as far as points go.

And in the final of the three passes, the mystery knight does not fare so well at all. Something is off — either he lowers his lance too late, or he is thrown off-balance at the last moment, but it skitters entirely off the other man's shield without even really denting the paint. And he receives a blow himself. Riding to the end of the lists, he raises his lance in a final salute and trots off to the side, not lingering to gloat at the hair-breadth win.

It was a good match - the pair were fairly even, the horses speedy and true, the strikes flexing the lances if only resulting in a few cracks. The bride's brother is beaten purely on points but he enjoyed the contest all the same - Nigel salutes the mystery knight again and heads to his tent to change out of his armor for the celebrations to follow. He later makes his way up to the high box to watch the remaining contests up there, where the good wine is. Miranda blushes at some good natured ribbing as he takes a seat alongside.

A cheer is raised for the mysterious Patchwork Knight after the final round, although it seems that a larger percentage of the audience has been rooting for the bride's brother. The Tyrell herald steps forward for the next announcement. "Well, we have a winner here! The Patchwork Knight! Still, well done, Ser Nigel!" He pauses for a moment so the audience can cheer the two riders and to check his notes. "Next up, we have…. Ser Rycherd Hill against the groom himself, Ser Loryn Tyrell!"

Malcolm cheers each patch good naturedly, but his dark eyes watch carefully as he makes notes in his head for furure contests. He eyes the mystery knight with a look that is hard to read, as the man cears the lists after the final pass.

Ser Loryn Tyrell had been sporting a rather goofy grin most of the day, even when he got seriously whacked by an opponent during the previous round. It seems nothing much can shake the young knight on this oh so happy day. He rides into the field again, the bride's favour proudly displayed on his arm and blows a kiss towards Miranda before he takes up position. Helmet and lance at the ready.

Miranda returns the kiss with a goofy summer-sweet smile of her own. Her brother makes some more comments which results in her elbowing him. Her stepmother nods in approval.

Rycherd gives a polite clap at the Patchwork Knight's win. He also observes, not just for entertainment but to get a feel for the competitor incase the two of them face off later. And then his name is called and it appears he will be facing the newlywed man today. He raises his lance in acknowledgement and then rides to find his place on the field. His favored lady of the day is of course Lady Chessa, his aunt, rather than any young ladies that offer their tokens.

Loryn lowers his visor and spurs his horse on. Thundering hooves across the muddy ground. He feels the other man's lance tip his breastplate, but not much harm is done. His own lance finds exactly the right sweet spot on the other man's chest and Ser Rychard goes tumbling off his horse. Loryn can't resist a loud happy cheer, dropping his lance to raise both arms into the air and blow another kiss to Miranda. Then he remembers manners and steers his horse to where the other man has fallen to check if he's alright.

Miranda's on her feet as Rycherd falls, so it's a good thing her stepmother has the little Merryweather in her lap. She is excited to see Loryn's excellent placement of lance (a joke from her brother no doubt) but hoping the other man is all right.

Rycherd lowers his visor and spurs his horse forward. He lowers his lance, and gets a glancing blow on Ser Loryn but before he can enjoy his marginal victory, the other man's lance lands a solid blow on his chest, hitting him squarely in the sweet spot and sending him tumbling off his horse. Luckily, Rycherd manages to roll away from the hooves of the horse so that he's not crushed. Once he manage to sit up, he gives a motion to the crowd that lets everyone know he's fine…bruised, his chest will certainly feel that blow for the next week but he's moving.

The Patchwork Knight stands now, his charger resting its head on his shoulder as he observes the next bout. Even in the heat of the sun, he keeps his helm on, declining offers of water or even wine from several friendly knights. When Ser Loryn lands such a telling blow, he punches his fist in the air and lets out a wordless cheer, the first sound he's made since arriving at the lists.

Brynden raises an eyebrow as he sees Loryn's blow knock Rycherd out of the saddle. "Interesting," he remarks to nobody in particular, as he waits for the rest of this.

Malcolm gives a rueful wince for the Hill he met the other knight, having been often in his position, put cheers heartily for the friend he knighted with his own hand.

Rycherd lets his squire come and help him up, motioning for him to retrieve his steed and pulls off his helm. Strangely for a man that decidedly lost, he has a grin on his face. It's been some time since Rycherd was unseated and he gives a salute to Loryn for his skill.

There is cheering among the Tyrells to see one of their own do so well at the tourney and some ribald jokes about the source of Loryn's sudden strength. The herald though manages to keep a straight face when he steps forward once more: "And we have a clear winner here, Ser Loryn Tyrell, with a sound defeat of Ser Rychard…." He checks his list briefly, although only two names are left for this round. "And now we have two local favorites… but only one can win! Ser Malcolm Storm meets the Maiden Knight, Prince Daevon Targaryen!"

A thunderous cheer from the crowd- smallfolk and nobles alike placing bets. The high box is on their feet to watch this one with anticipation. Miranda manages to blow a kiss to Loryn before he moves off the field- all jokes ignored for the moment. Nothing like a winner to impress the ladies, although she's the only one that really counts now.

Daevon raises his lance in a salute to Malcolm, before they charge for eachother. But something's off with the Maiden Knight, and to the gasps of the crowd he completely misses, even as Malcolm's lance splinters on his shield.

Janei is, of course, sitting up among the other Tyrells, including Miranda now. She cheers and claps for Loryn as he wins, grinning for her cousin. Then the next round begins, Daevon and Malcolm. Her eyes are a little wide as she watches this particular matchup.

For all his smiling and playing to the crowd during parade, he is all business once he takes his place in the lists. He salutes his friend with a small half smile of delight before lowering the visor. When the scarf drops, the ridiculously pretty destrier pounds towards a familiar opponent. For once as focused as his rider. His lance hits with a slight cracking as they pass.

Miranda leans into Janei. "I missed watching him ride during the Maiden's Day festival. I didn't know he was -that- good though," she says of her new husband. "Oh I hope he rides against one of these two, that'd be so exciting…"

Rycherd has moved off to the side, letting his squire attend to him as he watches the next contest. He remembers Malcolm from the other night and watches as the man faces similar challenges that he did on the field. He does start to stretch the stiffness that he now has from the blow to his chest, getting ready for the melee that's to come after the jousting.

Daevon knows Malcolm, the two of them have jousted against eachother too many times to count, and it's almost always an eventful match. The second time Daevon's horse crashes forward, hooves tearing up the ground, and Daevon aims his lance, just right, brute force, and all that strength behind him, throwing Malcolm straight from the saddle to the cheers of the crowds.

The tilt of the Twilight Storm's visor once he turns his beast suggests he's surprised as the maiden Knight by the effects of the first pass. Secretly, he was expecting to be imediately unhorsed. He lowers his head and this time is belief in his friend's superior skill is vindicated, for all his vain attempt, he misses the Maiden Knight's sheild, and the Bastard of Kellington goes flying off the back of his horse, landing with a thump. There he lies for a minute, stunned, before Blanchet comes out to help him up.

Loryn returns Rychard's salute before he dismounts and leans against the wooden rails to watch the meeting of two of his dearest friends in Oldtown. He gasps audibly and whistles when the Maiden Knight knocks Malcolm off his horse with a well-placed hit, then joins the crowd in their cheers for the prince.

There is some conferring among the two judges and names are written on four pieces of parchment, that are then folded and placed into an earthenware jar, which is handed to the herald. "And we have the participants of the next round!", he calls out across the din, "Ser Brynden Hightower, Ser Loryn Tyrell, Prince Daevon Targaryen and… the Patchwork Knight." He steps to were Miranda is sitting in the seat of honour and holds out the jar to her. "Please, Lady Miranda, do us all the honour of drawing the two matches!", he tells her, "Draw the two names of the first semi-final!"

The Patchwork Knight is silent as Daevon Targaryen unhorses his opponent. Well, not really silent for very long. He can be heard laughing, long and hard, after he sees that Malcolm is unhurt. And then the announcement for the semi-final matches are about to be drawn, and he begins leading his charger back toward the lists in anticipation.

Money changes hands - not as much as in some cases as both were held in high esteem and neither was a dark horse or unexpected victor. Miranda seems to be pleased by the outcome but is surprised by the herald's request. She stands and takes the jar - drawing out two names. "Ser Brynden Hightower against Ser Loryn Tyrell! May the Warrior bless and keep you both!" Of course the pious bride would add this.

Loryn eyes his new wife when she pulls his name and Brynden's from the jar. She may not know but he has not forgotten that the Hightower, whom he once served as a squire, unhorsed him in another tournament not so long ago. "Ah, payback time.", he mutters to himself and waits for his own squire to help him back into the saddle and equip him with a fresh lance. He blows Miranda a kiss as he rides into the grounds again and waits for Brynden.

Janei cheers again, clapping for Daevon. Then she looks to Miranda, and says, "Yes, Loryn's very good. I love watching them compete." She's grinning as she sits back again, settling in to watch the battle that is to come.

Brynden keeps silent as he looks between the others, waiting to hear the draw now. He doesn't say anything, just taking a few deep breaths as he waits for the results. When he hears the names, he's unable to hold back a laugh. "Come on, Loryn, let us give the crowd a show!" A bit lower, he adds, "And remember, if I knock you to the ground, it's a good chance for your dear wife to take care of you, yes?" Moving to get ready for this now.

Nerves! While Loryn manages to chuckle softly at Brynden's joke, he is still anxious about a repeat of the last tournament and it shows. The hold on his lance is wobbly and he misses the other knight completely. Luckily, the Hightower is not much better and only grazes across his breastplate without breaking his lance.

Charging forward, Brynden has to move a little to avoid Loryn's attempted strike. But that does mean his own attack is off, and no points are scored this time. As he reaches the end, he turns his horse around, getting ready to charge again now.

"My rose-knight, you can do it," Miranda calls out with a smile. "You can do it!" And perhaps that was the encouragement he needed against the Hightower…

Apparently Miranda's words reached Loryn's ears, for the young Tyrell goes into the next round with far more determination. And it shows as he lands a solid blow on Brynden's chest that splinters his lance and sees the older knight tumble to the ground. Chuckling softly, Loryn reins his horse in and calls out: "Well, now -you- can have your lady coo over you, Ser Brynden, don't say I don't do you any favours!" He waits a moment to check that the other man is OK while basking in the cheers coming from the stands.

Near to the women in the stands, Chessa - abundance of rings, sharp nose and all - has been watching as well. WHo she favours is anyones guess, but the well put together older woman has been watching the ongoings of the wedding tournament none the less with an occasional glance to the vocal women.

The Merryweather lord and son both fist-punch the air when Loryn takes Brynden out, the Tyrells applauding with good vigor for the groom's showing of skill and prowess. Miranda does a little jump of pure excited joy at the solid strike. The crowds, of course, seem equally pleased. It was a Tyrell versus a Hightower - a good match for the Reachmen no matter who won. But the second solid victory for the groom does spur another round of ribald jokes and a few leers at the radient bride in the box above.

Malcolm misses most of the bout, being in his tent to be changed into his mellee armour, but returns in time to offer Daevon his randsom purse and cheer on the newlywed.

Daevon cheers along with the others as Loryn unhorses Brynden.

As Ser Loryn dismounts his next opponent, the Patchwork Knight smashes his fist into his breastplate several times in a sort of clanging applause. And then he mounts up and accepts a lance because, clearly, it is now his turn to taste dirt. He does await the official announcement of the pairing, however, sitting his charger just to one side of the lists with the same stolid patience he's displayed all day.

Well now. One moment, he's in the saddle. The next… Well… the horse and saddle isn't there anymore. Taking the blow that sends him out of his saddle, Brynden flies through the air and tumbles to the ground, bouncing a time or two. He manages to get to his feet, a bit slowly, and removes his helmet. "Well done, lad…" he offers with a nod to Loryn. "Good luck in the final." That offered, he limps off the field, managing to stay on his feet, if only barely.

Daevon raises his lance to the mystery knight, atop his own horse. Waiting for their names to be called.

Rycherd raises a salute again to the man that unseated his second opponent. He doesn't feel as bad now because it appears the young Tyrell is rather good at the joust. He then steps into his tent to change for the melee, missing the next fight so he can change his armor.

Once the cheers for the two knighs of the Reach are dying down, the herald steps forward with a rather happy smile on his face. "Well, that was exciting! The pupil besting the master at last! Well ridden, Ser Brynden, Ser Loryn!" He doesn't need to consult any lists now to shout out the second pairing: "And now we'll have the Maiden Knight, Prince Daevon Targaryen meet our mystery man of the day - the Patchwork Knight!"

Smiling beneath his helmet, the Mystery Knight in question raises his lance in a returned salute and trots to his side of the lists. He straps on his shield, taking the time to really check its straps and facing for any cracks, and examines his lance with equal intensity. If he loses, it seems, he wants to lose on his own merit.

And then the pair are charging one another, and the Patchwork Knight manages to actually deflect the famed Maiden Knight's lance. And to crack his own against the man's shield. If one were close enough, they could hear the huff of relief as he reins in at the far end, accepts a new lance, and salutes his opponent.

The Mystery Knight's lance crashes into Daevon's shield, putting his own aim off, his lance going wild. The second pass Daevon fares little better, at least this time he manages a glancing blow, and to avoid the lance coming at him.

The Patchwork Knight misses entirely on his second tilt, but he manages to keep his seat! And, turning around — saluting very formally, even bowing slightly in his saddle — he runs the third tilt. He does a bit better — just enough to gain him a close victory against his opponent. Which he does not remain to gloat over. Simply saluting the Maiden's Knight once more, the huge mystery knight trots off to the sidelines and waits to be called for the final.

Miranda bites her lip. This means that her Loryn was going to ride up against the large pile of mis-matched metal. She has to have a drink before this one, looking to Janei. "Do you think he can unhorse this one? I mean, he's… huge." She looks concerned.

Once they've faced off for the third time, Daevon returns that salute, and heads off the field to make way for the finalists.

"It's about the angles." This comes from Chessa, to Miranda. "The right force, the right angles, he can." Supplies the widowed Lannister nee Tyrell. "Quite possible."

Rycherd hears the cheers as the next round is finished and manages to make it out to the field to see the last jousting match of the day. It appears that the Patchwork Knight is going up against the young Tyrell. Now this will be interesting. Rycherd keeps an eye to the field while he continues to strech himself. He can still feel the blow to his chest and wants to make sure he's not stiff for the fight.

The noise on the stands increases with the intense duel between the popular Maiden Knight and the stranger who could be anyone. Even a few boos can be heard when the judges announce their decision through the herald that the Patchwork Knight has won by points. "It was a narrow victory, but a fair one!", he calls out soothingly, "Well done, Prince Daevon, we know we shall see you again with a sword in hand, which is where your true calling lies!" He pauses to let the audience cheer for the Targaryen knight a bit more, before he continues: "And now for the final, we'll have the bridegroom, Ser Loryn Tyrell meet the mysterious Patchwork Knight!"

Miranda glances over at Chessa and offers a worried smile. "Wouldn't it be grand if he bested the mystery knight at our own wedding tourney? Another thing the silly bards will add to the songs they've already started singing." At least two or three were performed at the wedding.

Loryn inhales deeply when he rides out again, not without blowing another kiss towards Miranda and seek her encouragement which seems to have served him well today. He studies the mysterious stranger for a while, hoping the odd armour may provide some clue as to identity. Then he dons the helmet, picks up another lance and readies himself for the final while an excited hush falls over the tourney grounds…

Brynden has come to a stop at the sidelines to watch this one. Expression thoughtful as he leans on something to keep him steadied.

The Patchwork Knight raises his lance in salute to Loryn, and a slow breathe out could be heard from anyone near him. Again, he checks over each piece of his equipment with a thoroughness that might denote a hint of nervousness. But surely not, from such a huge, silent, man. And after all, he just defeated the people's champion, the beloved Maiden's Knight. His charger paws the ground lightly, readying himself.

Janei starts to nod confidently, grinning, in answer to Miranda. That is, until the winner is announced, and her face falls. "Well, he usually does." It's only for a moment, however, as soon Loryn is up again, and she's smiling again as she watches.

Loryn charges forward, but only just manages to brush the other man's breastplate without doing any damange. The Patchwork Knight's lance strikes him rather harshly and breaks, but Loryn manages to remain in the saddle. Exhaling with relief, he readies himself for another round.

And the first tilt! The Patchwork Knight's charger kicks up clods of dirt as it bears down on Loryn. He manages to keep his seat as the other knight lands a blow, and to crack the tip off his own lance. Hurriedly accepting another, he raises it in salute as he turns his charger about. "That's my good lad," he mutters softly to the animal. "There's my beautiful boy."

Miranda closes her hand around her holy star and watches anxiously. The traded blows are good - neither one hitting -too- hard by the large mystery knight hits a bit more solidly than her beloved. "Is it always so difficult to watch ones husband do this? Worrying with every pass that something will go wrong?"

Once again lances meet and while Loryn manages to land a decent blow this time, the mystery knight deflects it well. Luckily Loryn proves a nimble rider, for although the Patchwork Man's lance strikes a solid blow, he can shift just enough in the saddle for it to lose its sting. And they are off on another, final, tilt. Not a peep can be heard from the audience now as they seem to collectively hold their breath.

"Always. But rarely does it even. Breathe my dear, you'll not be made a widow so soon. The Seven willing, you'll not be made one at all. He will previal, it is his wedding after all, and your's." Chessa smiles, watching the well matched pair as they meet and clash again and again. Though her nostrils flare a little each hit and she holds her breath for a moment as well.

The Patchwork Knight reins in and salutes across the field. He looks perfectly upright in his seat, brick-like against Loryn's grace, an unlikely champion in his horridly-ridiculous platemail. He smiles beneath his helm, checks his lance once more for any cracks, and prepares for the final tilt.

Loryn rides again and manages to just about nudge the other man's breastplate, but doesn't break his lance. At the same time, the Patchwork Knight fails to find purchase on his own chest and both ride away without a decision. The judges stick their heads together to confer and without making a detour through the herald, Lord Lorant takes a step forward to call out: "Ride once again for a tie breaker!"

Loryn exhales, mutters a dark curse to himself and grips his lance tight. "Here we go…", he murmurs.

And suddenly, it's a draw. The Patchwork Knight sits still, until it's clear that there will be a fourth tilt, and then he exchanges his perfectly-good lance for a fresh one, reaching down to pat the squire on his shoulder in gratitude. Saluting across the field, he waits for the signal. He fidgets slightly, an indication that he, too, might be expressing a bit of nerves.

Miranda is on her feet, leaning at the edge of the box and gripping the rail tightly with her hands. She is pale as the white roses in her hair as the two take the last line up against one another. "Warrior, please ride at his side…"

Malcolm is visiby startled by the Ser daevon's loss and goes to meet him as he comes off the feild, more mobile in his mellee plate. He turns to watch the final pairing though, clearly fascinated by the excellent lance work.

Daevon stands near Malcolm, but his gaze doesn't leave the jousters. He nods, just once in response to whatever's whispered.

Rycherd was half expecting the young Tyrell to fall under the skill of the other, potentially more experienced knight. Much to his surprise, they are tied after three rounds, forcing another match. Despite being unseated by Loryn, Rycherd finds himself quietly rooting for the young groom.

Once again the two knights ride… and whether it was whatever Loryn muttered to himself or Miranda's invocation of the Warrior… but he finally gets it just right and hits the Patchwork Knight right in the chest, lance splintering into several pieces. There's a breathless half-second until the other man is lifted from his saddle, then Loryn throws both arms up into the air and lets out a delighted cry of pure joy. Some people would know it's the first time he's won a tourney - and now his wedding tourney no less.

He leaps off his horse and clambers into the stands to draw Miranda into a tight sweaty (not to mention metallic) embrace and kiss her, before he remembers his opponent and clatters back to the grounds to check on the mystery man. "Well, ridden, Ser! Would you not reveal to us your identity, so your praise can be sung for being a formidable foe?"

The tilt begins. The Patchwork Knight comes out hard, but his horse is exhausted, and though he tries gamely to work up to a furious gallop, it's obvious that the poor beast is faltering somewhat. And the Knight himself has trouble couching his lance! What's happened? Disaster! Finally, at the last moment, he gets the lance seated properly, but it is far too late. He doesn't even touch Ser Loryn's shield, while the happy groom slams him so solidly that he rocks back in his saddle. For just a moment, it looks as though he may keep his seat. But no. He's over and backward, hitting the dirt with a resounding crash.

He rolls over, managing to prop himself up on his elbow, and lifting an arm to wave in the negative. "Please.. Neh yet, Ser. Neh yet. There is still the melee. Well-ridden." His voice is soft, but there is the strong accent of the North that might just be made out. "A noble joust on a noble day." The most he's spoken all day. Standing, taking his steed by the reins, he begins to lumber off the field.

The crowd goes absolutely wild as Loryn knocks yet another knight from his horse. It's the sort of tale straight from a ballad, that they rarely get a chance to see. There's stamping and cheering, and everyone bellowing his name, along with some cries of "for love!!!" There's wolf-whistles of appreciation given as he kisses Miranda, and more than a few women in the crowds dab handkerchiefs to their eyes at how touching and romantic it all is.

Leaning a bit more heavily on something now, Brynden watches the end of the tilt, unable to hold back a grin as he sees how it ends. Pushing himself back onto his feet, he moves the rest of the way off the field. Looks like he's done for the day.

Miranda meets him halfway down the stairs as he runs up into the stands; the fact he's whole and unharmed only makes his victory that much sweeter. There's a long pure kiss that surely will set the singers in a flurry to write -yet another song- or at least add a verse to the existing ones. She lets him return to salute the fallen mysterious knight, bowing her head gratefully to the big man for not killing her husband on the field. Always good.

Ser Malcolm Storm cheers the new made husband as loudly as he can, joining his voice with that of the sentimental crowds.

Lord Merryweather leans in to whisper something again to his liege-lord, gesturing to the happy couple as they share their tender moment of well-applauded bliss.

Daevon joins Malcolm in the cheering.

Rycherd adds his voice to the choir of cheers because truly it seems like the fates had designed for the groom to win his own wedding tourney.

Loryn accepts the stranger's request with a nod and smile, then returns to the stands where the two judges are awaiting him with the prize purse - and a large rose crafted from solid gold, that now remains in the family. "Well done, boy, well done!", Lord Lorant smiles warmly at his nephew, who lifts the rose and the purse in happiness. Then Loryn wanders over to Miranda, to hand her the golden rose with a deep bow and another kiss as well as the purse. "May it help you to continue to do your good work with the orphans.", he tells her softly.

Meanwhile, a Tyrell servant steps forward with a red cushion in both hands on which three smaller golden roses lie. "Ser Brynden, Prince Daevon, Ser… Patchwork!", he calls out, "You all rode well today as well, so we'd like you to have a little memento of this beautiful day as well…" The three semi-finalists may step up to pick up their roses as well.

Malcolm steps back to let his other friend take his share of the glory. Pleased with outcome for all he had to pay Motley's ransom.

Miranda motions for one of the servants to bring Loryn a chair. "Get out of your armor and come watch the melee with me, my love." She gives him a slow sweet kiss that no man could resist - he grins at her and obliges. No swordplay for him. Unless it's the kind that Miranda's brother starts making bad jokes about. His stepmother smacks him upside the head again to the general amusement of the box.

Daevon takes his rose. "Thank you." He gazes down at it for but a moment, and then strides over to where Janei is seated, amongst the other Tyrells. He presents the rose to her, with a flourish.

Collecting his rose, the big mystery knight avoids his other two semi-finalists, though he offers a civil bow. And then he goes and gets ready for the melee. In a secluded corner, he quickly switches helms, keeping his back to all. But if one were to look closely, the sword he chooses for the event might be somewhat familiar for its outrageous size.

Coin changes hands in the stands, women dab at their eyes with handkerchiefs, and vendors work the crowds with their boxes of tempting nibbles. The green-eyed baker's wife of the Oldtown Bakery seems to be making quite a bit of coin off the event, her tray resting atop her pregnant belly.

As the crowds refresh themselves with some of the free beer and wine provided by the bride's family (always a big hit) the arena is reset for the melee swords competition - the men given down-time to change into their melee armor, drink some cool water or wine, and relax.

Blanchet supplies the Bastard of Kellington with some water, after which he moves his arms and legs in the closet he can manage to stretching in the confines of full plate. He is already looking about to see who his opponents are likely to be.

The Patchwork Knight advances toward the melee, resting an overlarge longsword on his shoulder, a shield in the other hand. He nods politely to the other knights, but does his best to stand a bit apart, simply waiting on the word.

Janei's eyes widen a bit as Daevon approaches her, but then she's smiling happily as Daevon gives her the rose. She looks downright excited, in fact, though she tries to maintain decorum. She accepts the rose, saying happily, "Thank you, your Grace."

"You're welcome, my lady," Daevon replies to Janei. With the rose given, he turns and heads back off to the melee.

The melee is called, knights and hedge knights wanting to make names from themselves (and benefit from the Tyrell largess) enter. Many are beaten into submission until only four men remain on the field…. After a brief pause to allow them to drink and catch their breath, the heralds call them out once more to square off against one another.

The Patchwork Knight enters the melee grounds from one corner, smashing his shield against the pommel of his huge sword. He really is big, on foot. It was hard to miss it even atop a horse, but here, on the ground, it cannot be escaped. His helmed head is fixed on Ser Rycherd as he waits for the melee to begin.

At the herald's nod, the new Tyrell lady stands and raises a handkerchief. Miranda smiles at the knights before her and calls out loudly, "Warrior guide your arm to honor and victory! Begin!" And fluttering, the handkerchief falls. Loryn joins her at the rail and cheers before they resume their seats, he kissing her hand happily before taking a goblet to drink.

Rycherd is sweaty from the earlier melee but there's some grim satisfaction at being one of four left on the field. While he has no interest in squaring off against his Lannister cousin, he instead picks the mysterious knight that did so well in the jousting. He gives a salute to the large man before stepping into the ring.

The bastard of Kellington hans the water skin back to the former servant who fills in for yet another run away squire. He squints at the feild and makes his way towards Ser Ludvik Lannister, trying to figure out if this is the Lannister that pounded him to jelly at his first tourney or not. So many Lannisters, so hard to tell apart….,

Daevon gets ganged up on, by Reach Lords, friends of the Tarlys for all that they themselves are not on the field. There's absolutely nothing he can do. For all his skill he's not able to fight them all off, and several are wielding larger, heavier weapons than a sword, knowing that Daevon's not proficient in defending against such. Daevon very quickly ends up yielding.

While he didn't do well at all in the joust, Ludvik's done better in the melee so far. Getting back into position, he offers a brief grin to Rycherd, before he turns to face the incoming Malcolm.

Malcolm tries a faint to test the man's spead, watching his neck in that unnerving way he has.

Returning Rycherd's salute, the Patchwork Knight rushes forward. It seems as though he intends to just bull through the other man with a huge overhead chop, but at the last moment, that chop turns into a downward stab, surprisingly deft, and he is suddenly slightly-offline, the result of dropping his left foot backward instead of continuing forward.

Ludvik shakes his head as his attack bounces off, and as the other man's attack does the same. Good day for this," he offers, lightly.

Rycherd was ready for the man to rush him, even prepared himself to evade his blow to the head but then he side steps and gets a glancing blow off his armor as Rycherd swings and nearly misses disarming him.

Malcolm moves in something like a bow as he dodges, "It is. Well met." His sunny smile doesn't stop him swinging for Ludvik's shoulder on the 'Well.' His sword ends up bouncing off the other's gorget.

Another flurry of blows, and this time the Patchwork Knight's trickery doesn't seem to work as effectively, his oversized blade scraping off Rycherd's armor. He raps his sword against his shield again as he circles, still largely wordless, though breathing can be heard as the heavy armor's weight begins to tell.

Rycherd moves in once more to clash their greatswords together. Even though Rycherd is the smaller man in this fight, his strength shows as he heaves his sword for a glancing blow against the Patchwork Knight's chest. Just as his armor stops Rycherd's blow, he feels something similar as the rounding blow hits his chest.

Miranda claps as the menfolk swing their blades. She's turning her golden prize over in her fingers and wondering what she can do with it - donating to the sept high on her list as Loryn clearly noted. She shakes her head as the big knight continues to fight with a massive blade.

Ludvik grins, moving forward for another attack. Trying a quick feint to the left before he moves to the right.

Rycherd swears under his breath as the rounding rining in his ears are felt from the blow to his head. He swings his greatsword but the Patchwork Knight is faster and dodges out of the way. How that man moves so quickly is beyond him but he manages to get the next blow through his defense, hitting him in the head soundly.

Malcolm slips as he tries a thrust at Ludvik's chest. It doesn't hit home and he takes an unexpected step back as the Lannister's blow lands.

Ludvik moves in for the attack again, shaking his head a little. "Solid armor there…" he offers, moving forward again.

Rycherd brings his sword down on the Patchwork Knight's head, just as his greatsword solidly hits his chest, causing a light wound. Sweating a little under his armor, he continues to try to best the mountain of a man in front of him.

The Mystery Knight moves well for a big man is slightly ill fitting plate. He manages to get up over Ser Rycherd's guard.

Norah has been here all this time. She's settled in the stands with the other Lannisters, and possibly a couple cousins to watch! She's wearing primarily light purple with dashes of Lannister red and gold to avoid heatstroke!

Much of the crowd winces when the Lannister knight is struck on the head. No doubt his head is ringing from the giant's solid blow. Miranda looks to Nora and frowns in sympathy. There's a reason Loryn is not participating in this one…

Norah gestures at a Lannister servant abruptly, standing up in her seat to anxiously watch the fight. Given she's still recovering herself, the level of activity from her this week may cause gossip!

Rycherd get brings down his greatsword, getting a lucky blow to the Patchwork Knight's neck. He would have done greater damage but the other knight hits him solidly in the head, forcing him back. Rycherd brings in another mightly blow to the head but the armor blocks him. He dodges out of the way before the Patchwork Knight can respond. The third swing comes at the Patchwork Knight's arm, trying to disarm him but the armor stops his attack. Once again Rycherd is able to stay just ahead of his blade.

The Patchwork Knight keeps trying to step online, but manages to step into a blow to his gorget. He gives a wease as he staggers back. Still, his blade and feet keep moving.

Malcolm grins, "It's not pretty, but it's good." He keeps moving in a dance of irregular rhythyms and sudden lunges. He must have gotten the measure of the Lanister now and he gets in ofer the other man's sword to ring his helmet, amidst a fast exchange of blows.

Ludvik winces at the hit to his helmet, staggering back a few steps, before he presses forward again, not giving up yet.

And oh! The Patchwork knight is battered but still manages to stay, battling away at the Hill knight - nearby, the Lannister nearly gets his head lopped off and the crowd roars for the display. Many on their feet to see if he can recover from this nasty blow (lucky for gorgets, eh?)

Rycherd gets a second wind and just barely dodges the Patchwork Knight's sword as he sword barely touches his armor. His own sword solidly hits the armor on the man's abdomin but it doesn't pierce through. Rycherd moves in again to place a blow at the man's neck but this time his armor blocks the blow as their dance causes Rycherd to move again causing the man to barely miss. No matter how hard Rycherd seems to hit the Patchwork Knight, the man keeps standing.

Malcolm manages to thunk Ser Ludvik's head again. The dance gets faster for all the weight of the armour. The knight in Black and blue circles like a shark watching for openings. And he finds it, striking again hard. His smile belies the intentness of his gaze. When tthe big man goes down, that expression changes and he steps back, sword pulled back into the guard position. With real concern in his voice he asks, "Do you yeild, Ser?"

That latest hit drives Ludvik backwards, and to his knees. For a few moments, it seems like he's going to yield, but then he moves forward once more. Can't give up this soon, can he?

The Mystery Knight keeps moving, but the earlier blow seems to have put him off his rythym, all taps and near misses, until finally he swipes to Rycherd's head, but he staggers under another blow to his head, the ill fitting armour wiggling a hair more than it should. And another. Still he fights on.

Both Rycherd and the Patchwork Knight are starting to feel the heat of the sun and sweat under their armor as they work each other hard. The Patchwork Knight manages to provide a glancing blow to the head while Rycherd returns the favor with a moderate and then lighter blow to the head. Rycherd is completely focused on his opponent so he doesn't see how his cousin is faring against Malcolm. He watches the Patchwork Knight move and tries to plan his blows so he can finally down the man.

Up in the box, Loryn is enjoying the show. He has a goblet of sweet wine in one hand, his lady wife's hand in the other, and some of his friends down below beating one another up for his amusement. Life is good.

Continuing to press on, Ludvik takes another hit, wincing as he stumbles backwards, before he moves in for another attack. More offense this time.

Malcolm shakes his head, eyes worried, "Ser Ludvik, you fight well. There is no dishonor in stopping…." His concern doesn't stop him thrusting to the Lannister's chest again, even as memories of being the recipient of a nearly identical pummelling from a Mountain of a Lannister his first mellee haunt him.

Norah calls at Ludvik, cheering for him, teetering over the railing in excitement. She takes something from her lap throwing it's bottom over the railing, holding the top so it unfurls. Ludvik's personal flag - a lion laying and holding three plums with its forepaw.. Well she's clearly embroidered it herself and its impeccable.

Many of the crowd cheer as Ludvik continues to press the attack, "Hear me Roar!" being shouted in admiration. Even as Malcom wrings his dome yet again. The Patchwork Giant gets another good hit on Rycherd but, gorgets! Wear them, love them.

The fight has taken a turn for the worse for Rycherd as the blows from the Patchwork Knight wears him down, he feels the sting of the man's sword on his neck as he brings it down. While he manages to get in blows to the head and neck, the Patchwork Knight's armor keeps him from feeling Rycherd's blade.

And once again he's smashed back. It seems to mostly be the adrenaline that drives Ludvik at the moment, but he continues to swing for the other man. "Stand still… you bastard…" he growls.

Norah Cheers SO loud for Ludvik "For Teryne! Show her in her small days Lannister determination." she yells excitedly. She is a supportive young, pretty wife. although between the cheering and weather - her hair is quite out of sorts. It might be hard for some of the other ladies to watch her cheer considering she's a perfectly well mannered and soft spoken young woman at garden parties.

Malcolm thumps the Lannister's head again, with an expression very like regret. The Bastard of Kellington has his own rather vocal cheering section amongst the Smallfolk, though not many amoung the nobles. He murmurs to soft to carry, "Please. For your wife's sake…." Even as he attacks again.

Malcolm looks on with increasing alarm as he keeps pounding at the man's head and he keeps on fighting.

"When the hell are you going to fall man?" Rycherd says almost to himself as he batters away at the Patchwork Knight. He manages to land two solid blows to the other knight's head but the man doesn't fall. For his own persistance, he's rewarded with a blow to the chest and a resounding blow to the head for his trouble. The two of them are trading blows well but eventually one of them is going to fall. Rycherd hope his stamina outweights the massive knight he's fighting.

The ongoing brawls have the crowd on their feet - many wagering who will fall first - the bold Lannister or the piecemeal giant in the mottled armor. The groom leans over to his newgood brother and places a wager.

Ludvik grimaces as he gets hit again, his own swings slower and slower. Stepping back a bit, he seems to prepare himself for another strike, to put all he has in it.

Twin sword flash in the sun as both the Patchwork Knight and Rycherd bring their greatswords down upon each other. While Rycherd's armor stands true, The patchwork armor protecting his foe shifts under the weight of the sword allowing another blow to go through. However, those betting on the Patchwork Knight going down first are to be disappointed because another knight falls as these two continue to go at it.

Malcolm takes a swipe at the stubborn Lannister's arm, thinking how like his cousin the man is and deeply concerned for the man's sense and safety, only to be starled by the result.

One final swing, that's what Ludvik has left in him. As it doesn't work, he falls over, taking the hit to his arm as well, right before hitting the ground. Pulling off his helmet, he rolls over on the side, vomiting.

The marshall holds up his hand to call a temporary halt to the fray so the Lannister knight can be seen to. There's a collection of coins trading hands, collective groans and cheers. Mostly, the crowd wants to ensure he's not dead. The Bastard of Kellington's is met with cheers above and beyond that of bets being paid and collected. In the high box, it seems the Merryweather knight owes his goodbrother some coin, Loryn clapping for Malcolm and raising his glass in toast. Miranda seems more worried for Ludvik's health.

Norah winces at Ludvik's stubborness. She gestures at a coupleof the pages and squires below the Lannister flag. In a remarkably unladilike manner that she normally doesn't partake in, the new mother and farm raised girl is over the rail and dropping into two squires' arms and soon enough on her feet. Its ungraceful but she's smiling and gestures that she's perfectly fine to someone in the crowd. She waits for Ludvik to be dragged off side by a medic, fully intending to be with him and hold his hand.

Malcolm looks truly alarmed and calls for a healer, even as he surveys the feild and discovers nearly everyone else down or being helped to healers. He casts a sheepish look in Norah's direction. He watches the other rather battered pair, and begins to move that way.

"Hey…" Ludvik manages to get out in Malcolm's direction. "Well fought…" The last he gets out before he gets helped to the side, where he's placed on the ground.

Rycherd takes a few moments to catch his breath as the melee is brought to a halt. He glances over at his cousin with concern for it appears that Malcolm has hit him hard. He looks over at Norah and sees her distress, frowning inside his helmet. But he doesn't interfere. He instead tries to get his second wind.

Malcolm must have heard, for he turns and bows to the fallen Lannister, "Well fought indeed."

The Lannister is taken off the field and back to his tent by the maesters and their novices assigned with such a task. Norah is of course permitted to stay at the side of his litter, as they don't feel safe about letting him walk back just yet. The herald looks to the remaining three and checks to see if they are ready.

Norah takes a wet rag, carefully removing Ludvik's helmet and gorget for the healer. There's no shame in a wife tugging armor off her husband "Check his head, he suffers ill heads as it is. Make sure he's alright. The vommit tells me that Teryne is to be placed as far from his bedchambers as possible unless he calls for her." she mumbles at the medic, her presence suddenly very noticable. "GO on Rycherd! Make them remember our roar. IF you win I'll have for you the finest peach crumble in all the kingdoms!" She calls, cheerfully as she heads with Ludvik.

Muttering something vaguely as hears Norah's words, Ludvik stirs slightly, but doesn't move much more than that so far.

Malcolm seeing that the bloody and battered Patchwork Knight, though tottering is still standing, he gives him polite salute before they have at.

One Lannister down, another Lannister retainer falls a few passes afterward. The crowd cheers for the mystery knight's skill - this was the man who almost won the wedding joust, he's almost won the melee now. But as before, he must defeat the 'local favorite'.

Rycherd collapses under the weight of the Patchwork Knight's crushing blow, falling to the ground, his greatsword left to his side. While he might have been winning at some point, he clearly has been taken out by the other man's skill. As darkness descends, he recognizes that today may not have been his best showing at the tourney.

Malcolm gives a startled woof as the air is knocked out of him. Despite the alarming dent in his breastplate and his long custom of staying down when he falls in a tourney, this hs him up, an hard expression on his face, one he generally only shows people in a real battle.

Staggering on his feet, the Patchwork Knight raises his sword and shield gamely after landing his first shot on Malcolm. Gamely, he sets himself to fend off the next attack and — hopefully — retaliate.

Malcolm staggers again and blood starts to visibly escape his chest peice.

Blood is running from beneath the Patchwork Knight's helm, dripping onto his gorget, but he raises his sword gamely after delivering another powerful blow. He seems nearly unable to defend himself, but his strength allows him to still attack.

Malcolm falls like a marrionette with it's strings cut. Suddenly, there is rather a lot of blood pouring out every where. He isn't moving.

Miranda and Loryn are on their feet for the end of the match. He murmurs something as it gets close to the end and soon - down Malcolm goes. The healers who had been tending to Ludvik split off to rush to his side. The crowd looks alarmed - seeing their hometown hero fall is a bit upsetting even if it was one hell of a match. They reserve cheering until he's pronounced 'okay'.

The Patchwork Knight staggers down on one knee to grab at Malcolm's helm, trying to tug it off, his sword and shield dropping off to the sides. "Get a Maester!" His voice may be familiar, echoing though it is within the greathelm he wears. And he lays a hand on Malcolm's chest. "Ser. Come now, Ser. All shall be well." He, too, seems in need of a Maester — blood is leaking out from various wounds. But as the Healers arrive, the giant mystery knight pushes himself to his feet.

Malcolm is pale and deeply unconscous. The helm releases a fall of stripey hair, lank with sweat. The breat plate is split and likely only good for scrap. There is so much blood….

Peri is quiet, slipping out of the maesters' tent, wearing clothes almost good enough to participate in the melee herself. She is wiping brandy off her hands as she kneels down beside Malcolm. Without warning or permission, she gestures at one of the squires, getting the breast plate off. She's probably a crowd favorite today too.

With Peri ensuring that Malcolm is still breathing, the crowd lets out a collectively held breath. A cheer breaks out both for his continuing to live and the mystery knight who bested him so soundly. Loryn motions for him to rise and come forward. "Well fought! A most deserved victory, Ser knight. Now! Will you take off that helm and grant us the honor of your face and name?" Miranda joins him, bearing a fine dagger on a pillow. The pummel is a carved garnet in a rose shape and the guards resemble thorny leaves. The stem travels the length of the blade with etched thorns for decor. A fine piece if a bit showy for everyday use.

The Patchwork Knight hesitates, raising his head and turning to look at where Daevon Targaryen stands. And then, he nods slowly. "Aye. I will." Reaching up, the knight removes his helm and lowers it to his side. Though blood smears his face, and his neck, and though he sways on his feet, the man is perfectly recognizable. These scars fit into a long-established pattern of Desmond Snow having bits hacked off. "I am Desmond Snow — Ser Desmond Snow — The Snow Giant. I've come home." And he lifts the dagger high.

Miranda is -delighted-. "Ser Desmond!" She happily extends him the pillow, a smile wide on her face. The crowd also cheers. What a bit of drama the events have been. And a familiar face at the end of it all besting their Malcolm makes it a bit less bitter a loss for those who have lighter coinpurses this evening.

Peri eyes Mal. She gestures at two male bath attendants - "Take him to the Stark's manse. Not the citadel, you hear? The rest help to the citadel with the Maesters." she offers. She whistles at Desmond, "Send pale Lyne to bathe him and stitch him I'll visit later in the evening.." she murmurs at her attendants. She moves towards Desmond, waiting for him to come get tended. She's not stealing his spotlight.

"Congratulations on your wedding day, Lady Miranda. I am.. I am pleased I returned in time." Desmond stumbles sideways as he talks, and there's a faint slur in his northern burr. He blinks, reaching up and coming away with blood on his fingertips. "I.. Forgive me, Lady. I feel a bit.." And the giant trails off, looking down for a moment and swallowing. And then he bows — clumsily, nearly falling over — and begins to make a hasty exit toward the side of the lists.

Prizes of golden rose brooches are announced for Malcolm and Ludvik - when they recover of course.

Peri watches the man start to stumble, keeping an eye on him. She is careful to walk towards the man, keen eyes watching him, plain braided hair pinned with a netting. to keep it tidied. She offers Desmond her arm when he's ready. She's well balanced and patient.

Desmond is barely able to get an arm around Peri's shoulder before he's doubling over and vomiting. It's a thin spew, but it's a spew, after all. "Oh. Bugger. Fuck me." Not exactly knightly language coming out of the man's mouth. He wipes a hand across his face, coming away with vomit and blood. "I must've taken a shot to the head again, eh?" He's mumbling, and he tries to straighten back up, but in the end, he just lets Peri support him. "Ser Malcolm? The other knight? Will they live?"

Miranda is certainly worried for Desmond but she has hostess duties to perform. Loryn raises another cheer for the victorious and badly beaten knights and then invites everyone back to Garden Isle for yet more parties!

Peri nods at Desmond "They'll be fine champ. Lets get you off to a tent and get your sweat removed, stitched, and some liquid in your system." she suggests, holding Desmond around the middle, surprisingly solid and able to hold him up. "I think everyone got knocked solid in the head." she offers, snickering.

"I hit that one fellow awful hard," mutters Desmond. But from the livid bruise and long cut along his neck, he was the one to come away with the most desperate wound. He lifts his left arm again to the crowd, smiling weakly at a young boy pressed up against the Smallfolk's viewing area. "I remember you," he tells the lad. And the boy calls back, "R'member you too!" Letting himself be led toward the tent and, hopefully, a bench, he says "Good t'see everyone so well."

Rycherd has been laying on the cot, already seen to by the healers. His armor is removed showing him to be a younger man, in his prime. He neck and head received the brunt of Desmond's blows and there are stitches already being done close his open wounds. He's not gained consciousness yet, so he doesn't know who won the day. But at the sounds of the tent going around him, he does manage to open his eyes as Peri brings another to the tent.

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