Fourth Moon, 8009

Fields Outside of King's Landing

Nyel Targaryen sat at the royal stage, waiting for the final day of the grand tournament to start, the field had been cleared of debris and the lazy rays of the morning sun promised that the day would be a hot one.

She had arrived back at the tourney grounds as soon as her father had permitted her early that morning, riding outside the city of Kings Landing with Ser Corlys Velaryon as her escort.

The Tourney had been ordered by her father to commemorate the 10th anniversary of his coronation at Oldtown, and he had spared no expense. It was a truly magnificent affair in which nobles, knights, hedge knights, and free riders from every corner of the realm had been invited. The proceedings had gone on for six days, with the jousts lasting from morning until dusk.

Following each day of jousting, they broke their fast on a magnificent feast with dozens of courses, though her Aunt Rhaenys always made sure to give what was left over to the small folk of the city.

The first few days of the tourney had been exhilarating and the princess had watched every tilt she had been able to, not even retiring back to her tent when the jousts contained only freeriders and minor knights.

‘’Any luck with the egg princess?’’ The voice of the Lord Commander rang out beside her, she had been so engrossed in watching the tourney grounds being prepared she had forgotten he was standing beside her.

She looked down at her egg, its red scales shining in the morning son while the small white spots glittered like diamonds. She found herself not for the first time admiring how beautiful it was.

‘’No change Ser.’’ Nyel answered the Lord Commander, who looked even more pale than normal, his face quite haggard looking even when factoring in the white of his hair, armor, and cloak.

Her egg had been one of two that had hatched within the last two years to the Targaryens, this one had been her mothers Dragon Vhagars, who had made a miraculous recovery from its obesity after laying the egg, even returning to flying. Her mother had given her the egg as she was older than her brother Vaemond. Another egg had been laid by her Aunt Rhaenys dragon Meraxes, though she had not given it away yet.

‘’Be patient princess….it can take years to hatch…but if you keep it close to you than I've no doubt it will.’’ Corlys said with a tired smile, from what Nyel knew he was one of the best knights in the Kingdoms but he had not advanced far in the lists, something he attributed to some sort of illness.

‘’Who do you think will win the day Ser?’’ Nyel asked courteously.

Corlys ran a hand through his silver beard ‘’Your fathers hand Orys sits a horse well….and he is a hard man to knock down.’’

Nyel nodded, she was well acquainted with her fathers hand, whom she had once overheard her father refer to as his brother, as for his chances of winning the tourney Nyel thought they were good, he was tall and broad shouldered and had preformed well thus far, dismounting several young skilled knights from the Reach, hailing from the Houses Edgerton, Orme and Shermer, as well as a Redwyne.

‘’Nestor Royce, Lord of Runestone has served as master-at-arms in the Eyrie for a decade and is renowned as one of the finest knights in the realm, no doubt you have witnessed his prowess.’’ Corlys continued.

Nyel nodded, Lord Royce made an imposing figure in the lists, armored head to toe in bronze plate with runes of the first men etched into them, the man was tall as well and had used his strength to his advantage, winning many victories in the tourney but never requiring those he beat to ransom their arms and armor.

‘’His armor is magnificent.’’ Nyel offered.

‘’Finally, I would be remiss if I did not mention my sworn brother Ser Gregor Goode….he has ridden well this tourney and outlasted all of us…he dismounted Lord Fossoway if you recall, as well as that old hedge knight that made it to the fourth day.’’ Corlys finished, over the six days, the Kingsguard had fallen one by one, though not without winning their share of renown, however only Ser Gregor Goode, the large but quiet bear of a Kingsguard remained on the final day.

‘’Gallant knights all, but you have not truly given me an answer, Lord Commander.’’ Nyel teased politely, causing her distant relative who let out a tired yet hearty laugh.

‘’Nor will I princess…..on foot fights are much more predictable, but jousts rely as much on luck as they do skill, the direction of the sun and wind, the condition of the horse….but if I had to guess I would imagine it comes down to Orys and Lord Royce.’’ He responded.

‘’What of Ser Harwood Fisher….the northman?’’ Nyel asked with curiosity, Harwood Fisher was a young northman and one of the biggest surprises of the tourney. The young man hailed from a poor house that ruled over the region of the stony shore in the North, hardly a bastion of chivalry.

Nevertheless the young northman had acquitted himself well, making it to the final day while dismounting several notable opponents, including a young knight from the Kingswood.

‘’You favor him?’’ Corlys asked.

Nyel nodded ‘’His house is not so great as the others in attendance, but he rides well, none gave him a chance to make it this far.

Corlys frowned ‘’The lad rides well for a northman to be sure….but he is no knight, and he has a vulgar tongue from what I have heard….I would suggest giving your favor to another more worthy princess.’’

At this point, the tourney grounds had grown busy with activity as noble spectators and those defeated in earlier rounds streamed towards their seats on the sides of the tourney grounds, Nyel spotted her father, mother and aunt, riding with the knights of the Kingsguard and her two younger brothers in tow.

‘’I see your father has arrived, pray excuse me princess, I should wish Ser Gregor good fortune in today's bouts.’’ Corlys said, bowing his head, excusing himself.

Her family took their seats around her on the royal pavilion, which was covered by a magnificent silk cover of black and red, adorned in her house's sigil.

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder ‘’You and that egg are inseparable.’’

Nyel nodded ‘’The Lord Commander said the more time you spend with an egg the faster it will hatch.’’

Visenya gave a small smile, taking a seat ‘’It will hatch on its own time Nyel…don't fear.’’

Vaemond turned to their youngest brother Matarys, who did not seem thrilled to be there, it was his first day back watching the tournament since the very first day.

‘’You have to represent our house better than you did on the first day Matarys….people are watching us and if you cry again they will think you weak.’’ Vaemond said bluntly as was his habit. The last few months her brother had been going through a phase where he said everything that was on his mind, honest to a fault.

He was referring to the incident on the first day. The tourney had not been all good as in one of the opening jousts, Lord Commander Brynden Tully of the Goldcloaks had taken a lance to the leg that sent him from his horse, shattering it in a sea of wooden splinters, blood, and bone, Matarys, despite being six years old had begun to weep at the sight.

Luckily for the commander, Grandmaester Arlan had been present for this exact circumstance and he managed to save the man's life but his leg was beyond repair and was amputated.

Matarys nodded quietly ‘’I'll try Vaemond.’’

The first bout of the day featured the aforementioned Harwood Fisher who was seated upon a gray warhorse. His house was a poor one so his armor looked rather unimpressive, heavy boiled leather with gray chainmail over it. He had made use of some of the ransoms of knights he had dismounted and bought a fine wolfskin cloak with silver pendant, his helmet was an Iron nasal helm, freshly forged.

His opponent would be of more noble stock. He was a shorter stockier man with windblown blonde hair and stubble, his piercing blue eyes staring at the crowd. His arms were massive, evident even under his plate armor, which was newly polished. After both jousters had bowed to the King, the man put on a heavy metal helm with long white horns in the shape of a bull, their pearl inlay glistening in the sun.

Nyel recognized his helmet but could not remember his name, Grandmaester Arlan who shared the podium with them seemed to sense her confusion.

‘’Humphrey Bulwer….lord of Blackcrown in the Reach, descendent of Bors the Breaker, who was said to only quench his thirst on bulls blood….hence the horns.’’ Arlan explained and Nyel courteously thanked him.

Her father stood and after letting the excitement in the crowd reach its peak, gestured for the joust to begin.

Both men were given long lances by squires and after saluting the King, rode to their end of the tourney grounds.

With the blast of a trumpet the two riders thundered towards each other kicking up dust, while the crowd roared its approval.

Harwoods pass was poor, his new helmet was clearly bothering him and he struggled to keep his lance steady, the Lord of Blackcrowns aim was better, but the northman managed to get his shield up, sending wood splinters flying everywhere.

The two rode to the end of the wooden tilt and were given fresh lances and in Harwoods case, a new shield, with the sounding of the trumpet the two rode at eachother again.

Neither rider controlled their horse particularly well, they had both changed their horses out due to the fatigue six days of jousting had put on their main mounts.

Nonetheless, Lord Bulwer managed to keep his lance steady, in contrast to Harwood who realized he wouldn't get a good strike in this tilt and attempted to raise his shield again. It was all for naught as the Reachmans aim was true and his lance struck the northman in the center of the chest, sending him flying to the dirt.

A gasp went through the crowd as it did whenever a man took a hard fall, but to their relief, the northman managed to get up with the help of attendants, loudly cursing.

The seating section where the nobility and riders of the Reach had congregated went up in a raucous roar, as the lone Reachman remaining, Lord Bulwer, had represented their Kingdom well.

Ser Corlys had a hint of a smile on his face ‘’See…..he was no true Knight princess.’’

The next tilt had been Ser Gregor Goode of the Kingsguard, armored in magnificent white enamel armor against Lord Nestor the Gallant of House Royce, Lord of Runestone armored head to toe in engraved bronze plate.

This joust went on much longer than the previous one, and after five tilts Ser Gregor was eventually unhorsed, though Lord Royce dispensed with the need for Ser Gregor to ransom his horse and equipment, as he had done the entire tourney and as Lord Humphrey had done with Harwood Fisher.

The next joust was one that the crowd had been clamoring for the length of the tourney, Orys Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Lord Nestor Royce, the winner would face Lord Bulwer in the final joust.

Orys looked magnificent, wearing black plate armor with the stag of his adopted house inlaid in gold, he wore a heavy cloak of shimmering golden silk and an impressive helmet, which was similar to Lord Humphrey Bulwers helmet though in place of bulls horns he had long stag horns of gold on each side.

Nyels aunt Rhaenys leaned over to say something to her but the roar of the crowd made it so that she heard none of it.

Her father let the crowd go on for quite some time before gesturing for both participants to take their positions, and both slowly made their way to their sides, the crowd clamoring as the tension built.

The sun was in full heat today, and Nyel reached for a glass of iced milk, drinking quickly so as to not miss any of the action.

The trumpets gave out their familiar song and the two large knights, made even taller by their massive warhorses charged each other.

Since both lords were armored in heavy plate, it took them longer to reach each other than other jousters did, and it seemed to Nyel that the very ground itself was shaking under the thundering of hooves.

Both men lowered their heavy lances well ahead of time and prepared themselves for the coming collision.

Suddenly Nyel sensed a nervous energy on the royal pavilion, time seeming to slow down, she saw her father stand up, and heard him mention something about the sun, whose rays had rapidly changed position. She turned and saw why her father was concerned. The blinding light of the sun was clearly centered directly in the direction of Orys, whose helmet was covered in sunlight to the point it hurt Nyels eyes to look at him.

Orys was clearly bothered by it as well, struggling to keep his lance steady and his horse straight, and then just before the collision, he made his biggest mistake. He leaned to the left to regain his balance, likely not knowing how close he was to the collision, at this point there was nothing Lord Royce could do as Orys leaned directly into his lance save try and move it to the side.

The lance struck the Lord of the Stormlands in the side of the helm, shattering one of the gold antlers on the side of the helm and turning it inwards, and sending bits of plate chips flying everywhere.

Orys fell from his horse and landed on the dirt with a roar of pain, and with horror, Nyel realized one of the golden stag antlers had bent inwards and pierced his eyes, stuck between his face and the plate. Nyel couldn't see his face but she saw the red blood pouring from the helmet, mixing with the dirt and the dust and the broken plate into a horrible stew. Matarys, his earlier promise forgotten, began weeping.

The royal pavilion, like much of the audience had erupted into chaos, her father stood, trying to remain composed, ordering Grandmaester Arlan to see to Orys’s wounds, her mother was comforting Matarys and her aunt had disappeared to help the Grandmaester.