Chương 73: Queen Of Love And Beauty
[Edric's POV]
The lists were looking just right, so I had ensured. My squires helped with the armour
and I had the time to ask if their achievements in the melee. Dallin said that they did nothing notable, while Ragnor boasted that he had been on par with a knight.
"We fought all night long, and I only lost because of that bastard blue cloak's arrows. He started firing 'em at me from afar - there was nothing that I could do. Then that mad one with the two axes came charging in and I knew I was at the wrong place."
"Three minutes is not all night long…" Dallin shook his head.
"You were counting each second from the ground? How nice of you." Ragnor chuckled.
"In any case, matching a knight for that long is impressive." I firmly nodded. "With more training, the tides would be in your favour."
"Hear that? I'll be a knight sooner than you." Ragnor grinned from ear to ear.
"Knighted for being better at running." Dallin didn't look impressed.
"I didn't run the entire time..."
I chuckled, shaking my head.
"You are my squires; nothing short of a great accomplishment in battle will earn you knighthood from me."
"Though, any knight can make a knight, no?" Ragnor questioned.
"The honour of being knighted by His Grace is countless times greater than some unknown hedge knight." Dallin countered.
"Indeed, it is." Dickon Tarly agreed. "For a farmer's son, you understand such things swiftly."
"Hmph. A knight's worth is his skill, not the man who knighted him..." Ragnor disputed, turning to me. "Of course, I mean no offence by that, Your Grace."
I nodded. "Ragnor, you wish to be known for your own deeds rather than the man who was knighted by the King. There is nothing wrong with that."
"Yeah... something like that. I couldn't put it better m'self." He nodded twice over. "Speaking of, who knighted you, Your Grace?"
"The Kingslayer." Dickon Tarly spoke for me. "At the age of one-and-ten, His Grace became the youngest knight the Realm had ever known."
"Kingslayer?" Ragnor scratched his hair. "Who is that?"
"You'll see him at the Wall." I smiled, turning away. "The joust shall be starting soon. Use it as experience."
"Yes, Your Grace."
...
"Would you honour me by wearing my favour once more, Your Grace?" Margaery offered right as the joust was about to begin. She smiled sweetly, as she always did. "It served you well before."
"Aren't you quite greedy, lady Margaery?" Arianne scoffed. "He already wore yours in one event. For that matter, you shouldn't even be here."
"I'm afraid that His Grace already has one lady's favour." Arya cheekfully smiled, as if she had triumphed over them. "Mine own, his beloved betrothed. You would do well not to waste his time further on this matter."
I chuckled, showing the hankerchief she had given me. "Arya speaks the truth."
"I see..." Arianne smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "How lovely of a gesture. The knightly King and his future Queen."
"I suppose there isn't anyone more worthy than the lady who shall be queen," Margaery remarked.
As that was settled, I turned my mind to the joust.
Like the other tournaments, I had a hand in the order of things. This joust was mostly based on the lance. The first rounds would be one-tilt affairs, which would weed out the worst of the bunch. I played part-time referee when it came to tilts where neither fell - deciding the victor based on who did better. I tried to be as fair as possible, naturally.
Luck would play a greater factor, opening way for some to advance where they would've otherwise lost. On the rare occasion that both jousters fell each other, a duel on foot would follow.
Since I was on the end of the lists, I had the pleasure of seeing most of it unfold. Two hundred and twenty-six men - and two women - would ride on the tourney grounds today, a myriad of banners soaring in the wind. Half of them I scarcely recognised.
Ser Loras would effortlessly put Taelor on his rump, as if he was pushing a toddler to the ground. Renly managed to fell a squire, Lord Harrold then took down one of his Vale knights, and all participating Kingsguard won their tilts. Rhaerra knocked down Brienne, who did not seem all that experienced with the lance.
After many hours of sitting about, it was my turn to put on a show. With my hyperfocus locked behind bars, I still had a few cards to play. Namely, my physical strength and endurance. No one else could match me in a combination of both. My riding was quite great, too... the only part I lacked when it came to jousting was the lancing part.
I'll need to maximise my strengths, minimising the severity of that flaw...
My first opponent would be a hedgeknight, who I knocked to the ground in a single tilt. He came crashing down thunderously. Per tradition, he had to give up his horse and armour to me. I shook my head at the gesture, letting him keep both. He looked like he didn't have anything to spare.
He bent his knee, making me raise my eyebrow.
"Allow me to serve you, Your Grace. I don't need gold or silver, so long as you grant me food and drink, I shall make due."
So quick to pledge yourself... is this some plot or is riding alongside me so appealing? I suppose fighting in battles is the finest way to make your name, nevermind the loot that could come from it.
"I accept your pledge of fealty." I nodded.
'The Banner King...'
I thought to myself, turning away.
It has a decent ring to it.
The lists would continue on through the days, and my matchups steadily increased in difficulty as I intended. My second opponent would be Andar Royce, followed up by Lyle Crakehall. I knocked down both in the first tilt, overpowering them. Lyle Crakehall did scrape my armour and break his lance but I remained steady.
Perhaps my training with Ser Loras blinded me to how good I was against everyone else...
Loras would be gentler with his lover, gracefully knocking down Renly, and following it up by sending Ballio flying off his horse. Strangely enough, he was not showing off or giving out any flowers. It looked like he was all business in the joust.
Lady fortune seemed to smile upon Lord Harrold Arryn, who fell the recently married Mychel Redfort and bested Arys Oakheart in a stunning upset. Rhaerra would continue to advance, to my surprise. The Hound would fell the likes of Randyll Tarly and Bryce Caron in a single tilt, striking with both accuracy and strength.
As night came, the round of sixteen went underway.
Rhaerra knocked off Oberyn Martell, who still looked a little shaky from the previous competitions. Even so, it was quite the upset. The Hound would end Robar Royce's run while Harrold Arryn would advance once more. Loras, when faced with Daman - the last surviving blue cloak other than Rhaerra herself, was even more determined. He sent him to the ground with a blow of frightening precision.
Ser Garlan Tyrell, Ser Lyn Corbray, Ser Balon Swann, Rhaerra, the Hound, Ser Loras Tyrell and Lord Harrold Arryn would all advance to the quarterfinals on the fourth day.
After three difficult tilts, I did too. Yohn Royce proved a stubborn opponent but I managed to tank his hits before getting a good one of my own - felling him on my third try.
"From your practice with Ser Loras, one might not think you to be all that great of a jouster... but you've certainly proved your worth today, Your Grace."
My worth in regards to pointing sticks at people from horseback.
"You are a finer jouster, there is no doubt." I shook my head. "The difference is that my strength outweighs your skill and experience."
"You are too modest, Your Grace." Yohn Royce heartily laughed. "Your father was strong, too, mayhaps even the strongest - yet he was not much of a jouster."
"I don't believe he found much importance in it." I shrugged.
To be honest, neither did I. I would never choose a lance over bow nor warhammer from horseback. However, it is largely seen as the most prestigious event for knights. And so... I wanted to win one.
"Neither do you, by the looks of it."
I smiled at his reply.
"I'd like to see a lance that can hit a foe from a thousand paces."
"That's a good one, Your Grace!" Yohn Royce laughed at my jest. "Indeed, your bow is the deadliest weapon of them all."
What followed was a night of song, dance, smiles and laughter. It was sweet and warm, though I couldn't entirely enjoy myself being sober. Thoughts of the North lingered on my mind, swiftly followed by the Night King, which dulled my mood.
'To be a 'worthy' adversary and not some doormat I'd defeat with ease, he should be a great deal mightier than I am now...'
'Even if I did defeat him - what would be left of everything around me?'
"What's wrong?" Arya questioned, breaking my train of thought. "You don't look yourself."
"... It's nothing." I smiled, reassuringly. "Just thinking about some matters that are bigger than some joust."
"It isn't just any joust," Arya said, almost in a lecturing tone. "People are saying that it's the greatest ever. You shouldn't look over it."
"I didn't think you were one for spectacles." I raised an eyebrow. "Might it be that you care so much because I'm participating?"
"Of course. Why would I give my favour to someone who was going to lose? You should take it more seriously."
"... Of course, my lady." I chuckled, shaking my head as I had a glass of water. "I'll win tomorrow and name the lovely Lady Margaery as my Queen of Love and Beauty. A crown of wondrous flowers would suit her head, wouldn't you agree?"
"... Sure." Arya said, her voice flowing with sarcasm. She wasn't buying my jest. "Horses will fly on that day, too."
I laughed.
"That will be quite the sight."
At the back of my head, I began to wonder if Arthur had been right all along...
~
The fifth day of the joust would be the last, starting at dawn. Unlike the previous rounds, the quarterfinals would be decided in a best of three. Ser Loras and his older brother, Ser Garlan, would start it off. At first, they seemed equally matched, breaking two lances each. Loras looked steadier than his brother in both tilts. On the third tilt, however, Ser Loras showed his quality and sent his older brother to the ground - proving who was the better of the two with the lance.
Loras' talent and potential was among the finest in the Realm, undoubtedly. In the Hand's Tourney, he was second. He conceded to the Hound because he was grateful as he shielded him from the Mountain's rampage. It had been a year and three months since then, and he looked completely unstoppable.
How in Seven Hells was I going to beat him?
As King, I could ask him to take a dive, and he'd be oathbound to follow my command... but that would be egregiously fraudulent. I doubt that Targaryen God would approve of it and so, all of my efforts would be fruitless. While he didn't specify I couldn't use magic, it probably fell in the same category of 'unspoken rules'.
If I wanted to win that reward, I'd have to beat him as a jouster...
I should worry about who is in front of me, for now.
It was Rhaerra, who left a trail of shamed men in her tourney run.
Sandor Clegane would fell Lyn Corbray in all three tilts, while Harrold Arryn upset Ser Balon Swann, a knight of my Kingsguard. His wife-to-be's favour really was doing him favours, it seems...
Before long, my turn came.
I climbed atop my black war destrier as Dickon Tarly readied my lance. He raised it towards me, and I grasped it firmly. With my free hand, I stroked my destrier's mane before taking my shield from Dallin. The stallion was as fierce as it was loyal, having accompanied me through every battle since the rebellion broke out.
'Three more rounds...'
Rhaerra's choice of mount seemed... different. I felt that something was off.
The bell rung and I hurried my destrier forward, aiming my lance for Rhaerra's chest. Our mounts thundered at great speeds and my destrier seemed to act out, stopping abruptly and rising. I tried to rein him in, but then came Rhaerra's lance - scraping my left side before riding off.
I began to fall, lower and lower...
My life flashed before my eyes...
No.
I clung to my steed, grasping its reins with all my strength and pushing it down.
I had been only inches away from losing grip and falling to my demise...
Thankfully, my saddle had been firm and Rhaerra's blow wasn't strong enough to throw me off.
I rode forward to the other side, taking a deep breath and processing exactly what had happened.
That wicked witch, she used a mare in heat... a card straight out of Loras' playbook.
I looked down on my destrier, lightly smacking him on the head with my gauntlet.
"You better not be gooning over that mare." I frowned, shaking my head. "If you act up once more, I'll ship you to Meereen as Drogon's monday barbeque. And... if we win it all, you can have a harem of mares or whatever. You get what I mean?"
Maybe, since I was on my way to becoming a greenseer, this horse could understand me...
The horse looked at me and nodded firmly, as if he understood what I had said to him.
"Good."
This time, my destrier remained firm as stone. With that, I was able to target Rhaerra properly and grazed her shoulder. She hit me on the chest, too, but it was nothing that could take me down.
In the third tilt, I'd get a proper hit and send her to the ground.
Given that the second tilt was a tie and the third one was a more decisive victory in my favour, I was declared the winner.
I'd ride towards Rhaerra afterwards.
"It seems as if that mask is all but mine."
"Congratulations." Rhaerra didn't seem too bothered by it. "I shall give it to you after this joust comes to an end."
"You could sound a bit more upset by the loss." I chuckled.
"It was a fun game, while it lasted." Rhaerra nodded. "You and your men rose to the occassion where it mattered most. Mayhaps mine could learn a thing or two from yours."
"I like to think they learned from each other. A single dominant force will grow weaker without a worthy rival to push it forward, to greater heights."
"I am honoured that you consider my blue cloaks as rivals to your esteemed Kingsguard."
"I would be lying if I had said otherwise." I admitted.
"You are right, I suppose. Now, the question remains... will it be you or Ser Loras?"
"There are two other competitors."
"They are not winning," Rhaerra spoke as if it were written in the stars.
She was entirely right. Ser Loras would only lose in one tilt against the Hound, though he did not fall. He would win the other two, one in which he fell the Hound. As for Harrold Arryn, I knocked him off twice.
"Seems as if my good fortune ran dry against you, Your Grace."
"You came far, my Lord. There is no shame in that. Your lady ought to be joyful."
"Indeed, she is. Though, the laurel of the Queen of Love and Beauty would've been better."
"My horse could've had wings, too." I chuckled. "All things could be better, my good lord. They could also be far worse."
"Indeed, you are right." Harrold Arryn smiled, nodding. "There is no better person to best me than the King himself."
Before I knew it, I would have to face someone far, far, more skilled than a Harrold Arryn.
The finals had a different set of rules from the other rounds of the day... being, well, the finals. It was a best of seven, in honour of my lovely gods. Being careless was not an option, I had to treat every round as if it were the last.
Maximise my strengths...
I took a deep breath, gathering myself. What was I so scared of, Loras? What a joke...
I want to win.
I need to win.
I am stronger, tougher, smarter, better... I am better.
The glory, the gold, the prestige, the honour, the reward... all of it... is mine alone to win.
And I will win it all...
After hyping myself up, I felt like seven Loras' couldn't beat me.
~
[Arya's POV]
Edric charged forth, his black cape and golden crowned stag etched onto it catching the sun's radiance. Ser Loras would hurry his horse at the same time, with both lance's meeting in the middle. Arya felt her heart quicken as their lances broke against eachother's armour.
Edric's had only grazed the side of Loras' breastplate, while Loras' was a clean blow that almost struck him off his horse.
They both rode onward, to the other side, and took new blunted lances.
You can't lose... you can't.
Arya thought, half in disbelief that she cared so much for a joust and the other half wishing that Edric put Loras on his rump in every tilt.
The next two were less brutal, with Loras winning less decisively. Edric would perform even better in the next three tilts, seemingly improving with each exchange. Ser Loras couldn't quite hit him hard enough while Edric simply lacked precision.
It was a matter of whether or not Edric would get a true strike on Loras before Loras' blows became too much for him.
In the seventh and final tilt...
Edric struck true, breaking his lance and forcing Ser Loras on his back. As the knight clung on, Arya's heart skipped a beat. He had been so close...
What would the tourney organiser decide?
The two rode to opposite sides, awaiting the result.
"In light of these seven splendid tilts, I must award the victory to none other than His Grace, Edric 'Storm' of the House-"
"No!"
A voice like thunder interrupted the judge. It hadn't been Ser Loras, who had been denied victory... but rather Edric himself. This sudden roar caught everyone unawares.
"Your Grace-"
"The champion shall be the one who remains standing!" Edric announced, grabbing a fresh lance from his squire. "Neither of us have fallen. Therefore, there is no victor between us yet!"
Arya was too stunned to speak.
Edric... can be so unbelievable stubborn, she thought to herself. Why can't he happily take the victory as it is?
Yet, this act gained the praise of the entire crowd. Smallfolk and highborn alike cheered gleefully at the prospect of more tilts between their King and Ser Loras to decide a proper, undisputed champion.
They rode to meet each other for the eighth time, each breaking a lance. Several, a dozen...
More and more tilts would go by as the two continued breaking lances and swapping sides. Edric's lance grew in precision as he improved and grew level with his opponent, yet Loras' blows continued to strike true. It suddenly became a matter of who was more durable...
That answer would come in the twenty-fourth tilt.
They met in the centre of the tourney grounds, for the twenty-fourth and last time...
Loras lance struck first, breaking against Edric's lower chest.
He lost himself...
But only for a moment.
Edric firmed his lance and struck true with thunderous strength.
Crack.
His lance broke against Loras' breastplate, and his hold yielded at last as he came tumbling down to the ground for the first time. Arya almost couldn't believe it, yet she had seen how a more focused Edric bested Loras each time in practice...
This time, he had shown his best... which eclipsed Loras' best.
He used his endurance and strength to the fullest, outlasting Ser Loras and improving with each tilt until he struck him just right when he was at his weakest...
It was a decisive, calculated victory. Arya realised that Edric's decision to keep the joust going wasn't a hole he had dug for himself, but rather... a tunnel to absolute victory he had mined from the very first tilt.
He left no doubt, no room to speculate...
He was the champion of the joust.
Edric removed his helmet, tossing it to Dickon Tarly who treasured it like Valyrian Steel. His wild black hair flowed free, revealing a face full of sweat. He showed a confident smile, riding towards Ser Loras and exchanging words with him.
"As His Grace had decreed, the champion of his Great Joust would be the last competitor that remained standing." The judge ruled. "As such, I hereby proclaim Edric 'Storm' of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm... as the champion of this Great Tournament's Joust!"
Once Edric finished talking to Loras, he turned to the centre where one of his prize's, the champion's favour, awaited him. It was a wondrous wreath of purple and golden flowers. He took it, and half of the world seemed to hold its breath.
It was one of the greatest honours a lady could earn, the so-called 'Queen of Love and Beauty'. Gaining it from any knight, let alone a King who had paved his way and earned absolute victory, left all the ladies praying and dreaming. Everywhere Edric looked, he was met with the sweetest of hopeful smiles, winks and blowed kisses.
No doubt, that honour was a prospect that her older sister would gush at...
Even though she wanted to mock them all, she found herself just as anxious. She wanted it to fall into her lap - Arya couldn't deny it. She wanted Edric to dedicate his victory to her and show the entire Realm that their betrothal wasn't just... duty and honour. That it was something he truly wished to realise, rather than something imposed upon him.
He could choose anyone he wished today, she knew. No one in the world could stop Edric when he was determined to do something.
He slowly rode past the crowd, a wave of cheers following his wake.
He rode past Arianne Martell, briefly stopped at Margaery and smiled. Arya had half a mind to throw a rock at him. It almost looked like he'd do it until she realised he was only playing to the crowd. Then, he'd finally stop at Sansa who sat next to her.
"Sansa, you look lovely today." He remarked with a charming smile. "How did you find my performance?"
"It was brilliant." Sansa gave him a smile.
"It looks like my favour turned you from a half-baked jouster to a champion." Arya interupted, grinning slightly.
"Look at you, all red and flustered." Edric chuckled, shaking his head as he deflected her jest. "You're adorable."
"What?" Arya blushed as she denied, shaking her head. "I'm not red..."
"You are one of the reasons why I fought on so stubbornly." He smiled, grasping her heart with just a couple of words. "The sight of your smile has made it all worthwhile."
"..."
Arya strangely felt too embarrassed to reply. Sansa sat silently, knowing what would follow.
"As I am champion, this wreath... and all that comes with it... rightfully belongs to only you."
He raised his lance, which carried the wreath of flowers and laid it on her lap. He had returned her favour with one of his own; the champion's favour. In the blink of an eye, the dishonour of his previous misdeed with Margaery washed away with the greatest honour in the Realm.
For that night, she would reign as the Queen of Love and Beauty.
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực