Hey guys this will probably be the last chapter containing a single fight after this I'll start progressing the arc a little faster. However, I'm not sure if I've managed to set up everything I need to for the rest of the plot to make sense.
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111 AC
King's Landing, Tourny grounds
Third Person POV,
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"Lord Borrros Baratheon heir to Storm's End, vs. Lord Jason Lannister heir to be Casterly Rock!"
The announcer shouted the names of the next two fighters at the top of his lungs and the crowd responded with equal energy.
Like the rumble of thunder stormlanders grew louder and louder as their future lord paramount entered the tourney grounds first.
Borros Baratheon stormed into the arena first. He was a man made for martial contests. His armor was his house's trademark black and yellow. At his side, a lance lifted into the air like a lightning bolt. He roared like thunder he didn't shout some war cry or any other intelligible noise, just pure unadulterated fury.
The stormlanders loved it and they loved their young heir. Baratheon banners and miniflags waved in their hands and stormlords cheered and clapped with fervor at Borros's arrival.
Borros's father Boremund sat not in the royal box but in the box closest to it. Unlike his fellow lords, he wasn't full-on cheering but he did grin with joy seeing his son out there.
Borros wasn't a fool he knew his son was a lackwit. He worried nearly every day about what would happen to House Baratheon after he was gone. Hell, his boy had never even learned to read. But when he saw him on this glorious day he had no doubt he'd do well.
At first, he'd planned to ride himself so his idiot son didn't mess it up. But the boy, for the very first time in his entire life, had managed to have a good idea. Besides his boy was a better fighter than anything else and it wasn't too far off to have him win the lanes.
Still, this would more than likely be the most important tourney of the whole year I if not the whole decade. Even though on the outside he seemed to be just as excited as everyone else within he was already worried that the boy would find a way to fuck it up. He always did after all.
The lord of storms ended suppressed a sigh and continued to cheer with as much enthusiasm as he could muster and comparing that to lord Stark's reaction for his own son and heir, Boremond thought he was doing pretty well.
Meanwhile below Borros roared again gaining energy from the ecstatic crowd. They loved him, or at least that's how it seemed to Borros. He'd been eager to fight in this tourney although he was disappointed that there wouldn't be a Maylay for the Tourny but he wouldn't allow that to bring down his mood.
No he was here to have fun and fight as he'd never fought before. Something that he almost didn't get to do if it weren't for the letters Aemon had sent him.
He took a lap around the arena quickly before riding up towards the royal box. Unlike the others, he had been given specific instructions for this part.
The crowd began to hush as he did so. Reaching it and smoothly slowed his horse to a stop. Then he looked up and locked eyes with a Targaryen Princess.
Borros wasn't particularly well-read or historically knowledgeable but he did know one thing. Apparently this old princess or whatever was related to him somehow.
Not that it really mattered to him. What his father told him was important was that he asked her for her favor and gave the old lady her crown.
Borros could give an Aurochs's ass about who got the crown he just wanted to fight. More than that he wanted to face off against his old friends especially Aemon.
He grinned in anticipation. When they last met, both of them were just boys but now from what he heard Aemon was quite the warrior with the sword. Apparently, the prince had even seen true battle multiple times. At first, he feared he would be disappointed by the other heirs but after the performance Rickon had given, it had filled Borros with hope.
Yes, he couldn't wait any longer and so he raised his lance to the white-haired woman and shouted.
"Princess Rhaenys I humbly ask for the favor of the queen who never was!
A moment passed and some of the lords in the box grew still but not silent. The princess looked at her husband, some random dark-skinned lord with hair paler than his wife's own.
Borros couldn't remember his name. Not that it mattered at all.
Soon, the old woman stood up and placed the loop of blue flowers on his lance.
"Good luck to you cousin and may you achieve victory in the lanes." She smiled down at him and despite her age, Borros couldn't help but admit the old woman was still beautiful. Perhaps he would name her Queen of love and beauty after all like he'd been told to.
"I shall!" He shouted again because Borros Baratheon never saw the point in doing anything quietly.
Riding away he took his place in the lanes and waited for the little lion to show up. He wondered just how much his old friend Jason had changed from boyhood, more than that he hoped that he had grown properly strong.
Borros was not disappointed.
Jason Lannister had always been one of a pair. But even then hed always been the more special one. Still, though the focus had always been on the two of them.
Jason and his twin brother Tyland, but today all eyes were on him. He was nervous, but even more than that he was excited.
He didn't look up at his father or the lord's ladies who cheered for him on this day. He didn't want to think about his father's slightly disapproving gazes, this wasn't about his approval which Jason was never sure he would ever actually earn. He also didn't want to look at his brother whose cheers he could hear echoing all the way down into the arena. His brother was the more timid of the two of them, he had never truly reflected the pride of a lion that their father had tried to instill in them. That was alright though because he wasn't the heir.
Jason unlike Tyland, did need to reflect on that pride. Luckily for him, he was a natural, pride came easier to him than almost anything else. And what wouldn't he be proud of?
There was nothing about himself to be ashamed of. A sentiment he'd shared with his long-time friend Prince Aemon. It wasn't Prince Aemon he was facing off against today though. No. Today he faced another friend of his one he hadn't spoken with in quite some time.
So when he had already suffered the indignity of riding out onto the field second followed by watching the crowd go wild for his old friend and him he was ecstatic!
You see Jason Lannister had a bit of a problem. He was good at basically everything but he wasn't great at anything. He was a good swordsman but not a great one, he was a good diplomat but not a great one, he was a good rider but not a great one.
But Borros was another story according to Jason's memory. They had been boyhood friends at Harrenhal along with the others and despite the distance over the years their little group of friends had maintained that bond. In fact, they had planned to all go out for some drinks together after the first day's lists to catch up at some establishment Aemon had invited them to.
Looking at Borros now though he wasn't sure one of them wouldn't be spending the rest of the day with the damnd Maesters.
Borros was a damned fool, that was something that each and every one of his fellow knights of the round realized. What he lacked in white though he made up for in raw physical ability. Borros had always been gifted, Jason and the others had seen it firsthand.
During their games as youths, there was barely anyone who could keep up with him physically. In fact, the only other one of their friends who was similarly gifted was Harwin but even he wasn't quite as strong or fast as Borros was.
Whether it was soccer or football or any other sport Aemon had come up with Borros always performed well. The main caveat being whether or not he could actually manage to understand the rules of the game.
But the rules of this game were simple enough for even a blunt stag like him to understand.
As Aemon liked to say "Sick them with the pointy end!"
And that thought couldn't help but draw Jason's eyes to the long silver antlered horns atop the storm heir's head. That didn't deter him though, as his eyes narrowed and his grin widened beneath his lion helm.
Jason wasn't afraid though, in fact, his heart beat with the thrill of the oncoming battle rather than nervousness. After all, for what reason would the lion fear the stag? One was the predator and one was the prey.
'And now it's time to find out which is which!' Jadon thought as the first pass came. In a blur of red and gold Jason lunged forth. Borros responded in kind shouting and levying his lance at his old friend.
The two clashed force rocking the two of them as the lances broke across the other's shield. Jason was shocked by the raw force but he wasn't deterred by this. Meanwhile, Borros was thrilled that the shock wasn't too bad but more than that Jason had managed to strike him with enough force to nearly knock him from his saddle.
Borros laughed wildly as he turned his stallion, Quake, and called for a lance. His squire, some random boy from some stormlands house. D, something? Borros couldn't bother to remember the name but they had purple and black colors with lots of lightning bolts.
He grabbed the lance from the ginger boy and moved on. He felt the roar of the crowd, the wrath in his heart, and the thunderous beating of his horse's hooves beneath him.
Quake rode like lightning beneath him and he came at the little lion again. The two met in the middle once more Borros's aim struck true while Jason's met Borros in the shoulder.
His armor protected him well though and his natural strength kept him in the saddle and riding firm. Meanwhile, Jason felt the blows but it wasn't enough to stop him. Even if he lost to his old friend Jason would make it a contest that's for sure.
They clashed over and over again. Lion and Stag became a storm of gold and wrath each vying for nothing more than victory against the other.
The fifth lance passed and not her man's will broke but jousting wasn't just a matter of will it was also a matter of physical ability. Borros, fool that he was, was also far more physically gifted than Jason, and so when their lances met again and struck true Jason could barely hang on any longer.
Even so, Jason refused to give in. Although he had no intent of bringing it to a contest of arms as he knew all too well how that would go for him, he had no intention of giving in without a fight.
The sixth lance came Jason grabbed it out of the air without even slowing. He pushed his stallion as hard as he could for the next pass.
His eyes narrowed and he roared like the proud lion he was as they charged at the Stag knight.
He aimed, not for his shield but rather Borros's shoulder. Borros lance in hand aimed for the same spot he had the last three passes. It wasn't any real strategy but he truly did not need one. Borros could feel that his victory was all but assured.
Each of his lances struck like lightning and cracked like thunder. Points were tied so all he had to worry about was knocking the little lion off his high horse, and that was exactly what he planned to do.
The two met, stag and lion, stormlands and westerlands, both of them heirs to houses of great lords. Their lances crossed red, black, yellow, and gold all mixed.
Borros's aim was true, it was the perfect blow, practiced and with all the fury the heir to Storm's end could muster, but at the very last moment, Jason dodged Borros's lance and slammed his directly into the chest of his opponent.
Victory appeared to have gone to House Lannister as the Storm Lord's heir went flying. However, as the crowd cheated another shock came. Jason overshot his blow and lost balance and in order to prevent him from crashing and falling into the fence, Jason leaped from his steed.
The two of them crashed to the floor and the whole crowd went still. Lords from all over leaned forward in their seats carefully watching to see what would happen. Had one or perhaps both of the great houses lost their heirs? Would one get up and one stay down? Would their parlays finally hit?
Breaths caught, gasps were let out, hushed whispers swirled, and fists clenched with tension. Even the king and the rest of the royal family leaned in with peaked attention.
Who would rise first? The proud lion of the rock, or the princess's storming champion. The tension was so thick it could have only been cut by a Valyrian steel knife.
The stillness held as squirrels rushed to the grounds then as if possessed by the warrior himself, one of them groaned before rising to his knees. The crowd cheered wildly at the victor, while the lords were much more divided. Some remained quiet, others cursed wildly, and at least one lord who had bet the last of his family's fortune in a gamble to make up for previous losses screamed and shouted in despair.
"Damn it my parlay!"
And meanwhile, somewhere in the shadows a few lords chuckled about the sheer amount of fucking money they were about to make.
The crowd grew even more wild when the knight ignored his squire, stood up, and walked over to his opponent who was only just now waking up from crashing to the ground. As the man approached his fallen rival.
He did not revel in his victory, nor did he mock or shame the man before him. (You have no idea how many times I had to rewrite/rephrase that sentence.) Instead extended a hand. His fellow knight looked up at the outstretched appendage.
"You fought well my friend." He said still holding out his hand. The warrior stared at the armored glove for a moment then grinned, grabbed his wrist instead, rose to his full height, and raised it up.
"Behold people of Kings Landing your winner!" The knight shouted holding the other's arm up and waving to the crowd.
The crowd cheered wildly as the announcer called out.
"The victor is Lord Borros Baratheon!"
Jason held up his old friend's hand with a grin on his face. Though he had lost he decided this was indeed a contest he could in fact be proud of. Judging from the roars and cheers of the crowd that also appeared to be true to them. Although he felt disheartened being eliminated in the first round, he was sure this was a performance he could be proud of.
The lords of both the westerlands and the stormlands cheered with equal fervor despite Jason's loss. This was no doubt in part due to some betting against him and winning and those who did bet for him covering up their losses.
He saw his brother who still cheered for him, albeit not as enthusiastically as before. Beside him his mother waved at him kindly, no doubt just happy to get him off the field, and with how much basically everything stung he agreed with that sentiment.
Jason pointedly did not look for his father, already aware of the disappointed frown that would be on his face. Instead, he focused his gaze on the royal box where even the king stood up and clapped for him.
But as the cheers died down and he and Borros began to leave the field after collecting their voices the announcer called out again.
"The king has an announcement if you would all please direct your attention to the royal box!"
Viserys rose forward to the edge of the royal box tall and proud. He grinned widely and spoke loudly enough to carry over to all who needed to hear.
"My lords, my ladies, and good people of King's Landing! The maesters have told me of grand and wonderful news! Your good Queen and lady wife Aemma Targaryen has begun her labors!"
The crowd erupted lords, ladies, and small folk alike. Aemma was a beloved figure of the seven kingdoms. Kind, caring, and earnest, Aemma was one of the few figures within the seven kingdoms who was universally loved by all. Now she began the battle to bring an heir to the throne into the world once more.
A battle that many were sure she would lose. After all, they were going to cheat to ensure that. Thus plunging this entire kingdom into another game to play. But who were the true players and who were the true pawns was yet to be seen. Live or die though it was time to play, whether the lords of the seven kingdoms liked it or not.
So, the cheers of the crowd aligned with the screams in the birthing chamber of the queen. One man's heart grew heavier than ever.
Duty, honor, love, and a promise all began to conflict in the hearts of many men, each of them attempting to sway the course of fate.
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