Flags of all sorts of colours fluttered in the late spring breeze. The banners of the Conte royal line, the crest of the city of Corus, and individual flags of the visiting knights garnishing their pavilions and then the flags of all the tradesmen and merchants advertising their wares and trades. For someone not used to riches and busy places the tournament grounds would be overwhelming. Aurelia, born in Tyra, the birthplace of extravagance, the tournament grounds reminded her of the great carnivals of the city and made her at ease.
At as much ease as she could be, considering she was as nervous as she had ever been. Today, she was risking her life in the joust, or at least opening herself up to a few more bruises than she already had. That was enough for Aurelia to think herself crazy.
She had woken up earlier than usual, her joust was first for the day and she didn't want to be half asleep for the lists. Aurelia just hoped that it would be quiet and less people would be there to see her potentially go face first in the mud. As much as she respected her opponent, Lyona of Meag Marsh, she didn't want to be unhorsed by the romantic squire. Drily, Aurelia wondered if her opponent even remembered she had a match today.
"Perhaps a good looking boy wandered by and she's forgotten," Aurelia muttered out loud as she was being armed.
"That's not very fair. Just because she's a girl..." her friend, Marlen of Nicoline paused as he was adjusting Aurelia's breastplate and turned a shade of scarlet, "Oh right. Well. Just because someone has feelings doesn't mean they'll forget to unhorse the Republican."
"You never cease to amaze me Marlen, in your ability to forget I'm a girl," Aurelia said, laughing and shaking her head.
"Most girls I know would try to be friends with the other female squires. You girls are like the ultimate comrade in arms. Plus Brightleigh took you on as a squire and he hates women." He smiled, "Check to see if that's comfortable." Marlen motioned at the breastplate.
Aurelia moved and turned, showing the range of movement, "You did well Marlen." She held out her arms for him to attach her vambraces and gauntlets.
"Well after you smash our fellow squire we shall go stuff our faces with breakfast and spend your winnings on trinkets, I heard there's even real tinkers here selling wares! Or you could buy me lunch." Marlen said, thinking of all the delicious dishes that could be found on the tournament grounds, much better than the food they served at the pages mess.
"Marlen, you will rescue anyone who might make you a meal won't you?" Aurelia laughed and ushered Marlen out of her tent. She took the reins of Reno, her destrier who was waiting patiently, already armed.
Marlen frowned, "I need a bit more of a commitment than 'might', give me some credit, Squire." Marlen flexed at they reached the lists, "Takes a lot of food to keep these muscles working you know!"
"The only muscles you work are the ones in your mouth," Aurelia said with a grunt, hoisting herself up on Reno. She took the lance Marlen handed her with a grin as he laughed along with the joke. Aurelia took a deep breath.
"Scared?" Marlen asked giving her thigh a pat, it was the highest part of Aurelia Marlen could reach while she was on Reno.
"Even if I'm terrified, I'm still more brave than you, Mr.I-Didn't-Sign-Up-For-The-Lists," Aurelia frowned, smacking down her visor. She breathed quietly, calming herself. Relaxing and tensing her muscles, staring down the yard at her opponent, Lyona of Meag Marsh.
"Use your anger for the lance, not your dear, poor, squire," Marlen grinned, patting Reno on the flank, "I'll be here when you get back."
Aurelia heard her name announced and saw the flag of the tournament waved in front of her. Her heart beating heavily, her focus was absolute, staring down Lyona on her mount, picturing the target on the quintin on so many of her practise runs. Aurelia kicked Reno into a charge and hoped to Mithros and the Goddess that she remembered how to handle her lance.
Full Version: Round 1 : Pesaro meets Meag Marsh
Lyona felt herself flying, the ground was below her, but her feet were unable to touch it. She kicked her legs gently, just to see if they would touch, of course they couldn’t, and why would she want them to? She floated gently up, narrowly missing a crystal chandelier.
With ease she pushed herself out the window and soared over a moat and the scrubby edges of a forest, the wind whipped through her hair as she swooped around in circles, she noticed that it was a little longer and lighter than it had ever been before. It whipped around her face easily, blond strands blocking her vision, then darting out of sight. She twirled around, her dress flowing as easily as her hair. It was a soft pink gown, layer after layer of frothy fabric covered the skirt and the sleeves, topped with a myriad of ribbons and bits of lace. Lyona had never loved a gown as much as this one, she swooped down to the edge of the moat, landing near a waterfall that she hadn’t seen from above and which didn’t make much sense appearing in a moat, but was there nonetheless.
She landed lightly on pink slippered feet, looking up she noticed a tall figure watching her. Lyona smiled, her thin lips shooting up into a large grin that revealed her teeth. This was to be her prince charming, she thought, finally! Her dress was suddenly a shade of purple, silky and refined with a low neckline. She frowned at it, why purple? Of all the colors in the world, why purple? she wondered.
Suddenly there was a loud thump and a sharp pain on her side, Lyona rolled over, opening her eyes a crack. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut trying to get back to her dream, but it was gone. Opening her eyes again, she realized that she was staring at a pile of junk that she had pushed under her bed at some point or another. She sneezed, there was enough dust, mold and other unidentified substances to make anyone sneeze. Slowly she untangled herself from her sheet, which was wrapped tightly around her legs, her head still under the bed because she didn’t have enough energy to remove it.
“So that’s where I left that,” she muttered, it was her new boot, hiding under a discarded dress with a giant rip down the side. Lyona had tossed it under the bed months ago, that meant that her new boot had been under the bed for more than months, she cringed, her mother was going to be less than pleased when she discovers that she sent Lyona a new pair of boots just to sit under the bed for months.
Lyona sat up, boot in hand, and tromped across her room, nearly tripping over the mess that covered the floor several times as she made her way to the large mirror that was the only unbroken and dirt-free object in the room. She stared at herself in the mirror and groaned, “I look positively troll-like,” she said to herself, “Was I run over by a horse last night? Why do I always look my worst on the most important days?”
She sighed, and splashed some water onto her face. She wasn’t sure how long the water bucket had been sitting there, but she didn’t think that there was anything particularly wrong with it. Water didn’t go bad.
She looked at her reflection again, combing her long blond hair with her fingers. “My brush is around here, somewhere,” she said, kicking at the mess around her feet, hoping to overturn it, but without success. Her older sisters often told her that she needed to count the number of strokes when she brushed her hair, but even when Lyona could find her comb, she still either lost count or interest before she could get past five brush strokes.
Lyona glanced out the window, it seemed oddly light outside, she had expected it to be a bit darker this early in the morning. Lyona shrugged and looked back at the mirror, then froze, she was late again, she just knew it.
She darted around her room, locating breeches and tunics and boots, assembling a mildly presentable ensemble. She was still tugging her tunic over her head, new boots under the crook of one arm as she raced out into the hallway. Her stockings slid on the stone floor as she ran, at one point she definitely slid into a large vase, causing it to tip over, but she wasn’t sure if it fell because her head was still tuck under the tunic and she was running too fast to hear if it fell.
Still struggling with the tunic, which was rather challenging to put on while she was holding her boots with her elbow, she made it to her horse. Post, as her horse was commonly called, was ready to go it was almost as though he had been waiting for her to realize that she had a joust this morning.
“Not one word,” she snapped at Post as if he was capable of chastising her for being so absentminded. Finally she managed to get her head through the tunic, it was on backwards, but it was on. One of the stable hands had been thoughtful enough to saddle Post while she was dreaming about her true love, but the stable hand was no where to be seen now. She climbed on Post, boots still in hand, and they galloped toward the tournament grounds at break neck speed.
Lyona and Post came roaring into the tournament grounds just when the crowds were already gathering, Lyona had pulled on her boots and though they weren’t laced, they still were able to cling to her thin legs. She galloped past the crowds, partially avoiding them, partially just yelling at them so that they would be able to jump out of her way before she ran them over.
She jumped off Post at a place where she had a reasonable chance of being in the right place, luckily at that moment a short man approached her. “Have you seen Meag Marsh? He’s late,” he said, obviously with a fair amount of annoyance.
“Ah,” Lyona said, “Late, but still present!” She smiled brightly.
The man was not amused. He directed her to a tent where they could get her gear on her before she went out. The tournament people helped her, all the time asking her where her knightmaster was and Lyona could only shrug. She had no idea, she wasn’t her knightmaster’s keeper, after all.
Finally properly dressed, the squire was practically pushed out of the tent. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she neared Post, who was also done up in his jousting gear. Lyona patted his nose, a goodbye gesture of sorts, before swinging herself up onto his back. She couldn’t help feeling that this was goodbye, she was a little concerned about her odds of surviving the joust. And justifiably so too.
Settled on her horse, Lyona was waved toward the pitch even though she wasn’t sure that she was completely ready. She reached up to feel her hair, someone had tied it up in an attempt to tame the blonde mess while they were helping her with her gear. She knew that this style was the most practical to wear while jousting, but she also knew that it was the most unflattering style. Lyona was a little disappointed that she was going to be so decidedly unattractive in front of everyone like this, but she had gotten in enough arguments with various trainers about her hair to push the issue by taking it out of its bonds. Besides, it wasn’t exactly clean due to her late start this morning.
She tapped Post with her heels and they moved to the end of the pitch where an attendant was holding Lyona’s lance. She reached for it, it seemed heavier than usual, probably because she hadn’t done much practicing lately, now she realized that it was a rather serious mistake. She pretended not to notice though and stared down the pitch at her opponent, the other girl was a good deal more serious than Lyona could hope to understand.
She narrowed her eyes, the glare of the sun made her opponent difficult to see clearly, but she already knew what she looked like. Lyona hoped that her hair at least was less well dressed than her own, that would make her day considerably better. She lined her horse up, Post tossed his head and shuffled with anticipation, he could feel the tension in the crowd and was responding to it with an extra build up of energy.
Lyona leaned forward, finding her balance on the horse’s back. When the flag passed across her line of vision she gave Post a sharp kick. He was used to this cue and set off at gallop immediately, Lyona stared at her opponent nearing as she rode forward, the jostling of Post’s gallop making her bounce and fall on the saddle in a violent but familiar manner.
With ease she pushed herself out the window and soared over a moat and the scrubby edges of a forest, the wind whipped through her hair as she swooped around in circles, she noticed that it was a little longer and lighter than it had ever been before. It whipped around her face easily, blond strands blocking her vision, then darting out of sight. She twirled around, her dress flowing as easily as her hair. It was a soft pink gown, layer after layer of frothy fabric covered the skirt and the sleeves, topped with a myriad of ribbons and bits of lace. Lyona had never loved a gown as much as this one, she swooped down to the edge of the moat, landing near a waterfall that she hadn’t seen from above and which didn’t make much sense appearing in a moat, but was there nonetheless.
She landed lightly on pink slippered feet, looking up she noticed a tall figure watching her. Lyona smiled, her thin lips shooting up into a large grin that revealed her teeth. This was to be her prince charming, she thought, finally! Her dress was suddenly a shade of purple, silky and refined with a low neckline. She frowned at it, why purple? Of all the colors in the world, why purple? she wondered.
Suddenly there was a loud thump and a sharp pain on her side, Lyona rolled over, opening her eyes a crack. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut trying to get back to her dream, but it was gone. Opening her eyes again, she realized that she was staring at a pile of junk that she had pushed under her bed at some point or another. She sneezed, there was enough dust, mold and other unidentified substances to make anyone sneeze. Slowly she untangled herself from her sheet, which was wrapped tightly around her legs, her head still under the bed because she didn’t have enough energy to remove it.
“So that’s where I left that,” she muttered, it was her new boot, hiding under a discarded dress with a giant rip down the side. Lyona had tossed it under the bed months ago, that meant that her new boot had been under the bed for more than months, she cringed, her mother was going to be less than pleased when she discovers that she sent Lyona a new pair of boots just to sit under the bed for months.
Lyona sat up, boot in hand, and tromped across her room, nearly tripping over the mess that covered the floor several times as she made her way to the large mirror that was the only unbroken and dirt-free object in the room. She stared at herself in the mirror and groaned, “I look positively troll-like,” she said to herself, “Was I run over by a horse last night? Why do I always look my worst on the most important days?”
She sighed, and splashed some water onto her face. She wasn’t sure how long the water bucket had been sitting there, but she didn’t think that there was anything particularly wrong with it. Water didn’t go bad.
She looked at her reflection again, combing her long blond hair with her fingers. “My brush is around here, somewhere,” she said, kicking at the mess around her feet, hoping to overturn it, but without success. Her older sisters often told her that she needed to count the number of strokes when she brushed her hair, but even when Lyona could find her comb, she still either lost count or interest before she could get past five brush strokes.
Lyona glanced out the window, it seemed oddly light outside, she had expected it to be a bit darker this early in the morning. Lyona shrugged and looked back at the mirror, then froze, she was late again, she just knew it.
She darted around her room, locating breeches and tunics and boots, assembling a mildly presentable ensemble. She was still tugging her tunic over her head, new boots under the crook of one arm as she raced out into the hallway. Her stockings slid on the stone floor as she ran, at one point she definitely slid into a large vase, causing it to tip over, but she wasn’t sure if it fell because her head was still tuck under the tunic and she was running too fast to hear if it fell.
Still struggling with the tunic, which was rather challenging to put on while she was holding her boots with her elbow, she made it to her horse. Post, as her horse was commonly called, was ready to go it was almost as though he had been waiting for her to realize that she had a joust this morning.
“Not one word,” she snapped at Post as if he was capable of chastising her for being so absentminded. Finally she managed to get her head through the tunic, it was on backwards, but it was on. One of the stable hands had been thoughtful enough to saddle Post while she was dreaming about her true love, but the stable hand was no where to be seen now. She climbed on Post, boots still in hand, and they galloped toward the tournament grounds at break neck speed.
Lyona and Post came roaring into the tournament grounds just when the crowds were already gathering, Lyona had pulled on her boots and though they weren’t laced, they still were able to cling to her thin legs. She galloped past the crowds, partially avoiding them, partially just yelling at them so that they would be able to jump out of her way before she ran them over.
She jumped off Post at a place where she had a reasonable chance of being in the right place, luckily at that moment a short man approached her. “Have you seen Meag Marsh? He’s late,” he said, obviously with a fair amount of annoyance.
“Ah,” Lyona said, “Late, but still present!” She smiled brightly.
The man was not amused. He directed her to a tent where they could get her gear on her before she went out. The tournament people helped her, all the time asking her where her knightmaster was and Lyona could only shrug. She had no idea, she wasn’t her knightmaster’s keeper, after all.
Finally properly dressed, the squire was practically pushed out of the tent. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she neared Post, who was also done up in his jousting gear. Lyona patted his nose, a goodbye gesture of sorts, before swinging herself up onto his back. She couldn’t help feeling that this was goodbye, she was a little concerned about her odds of surviving the joust. And justifiably so too.
Settled on her horse, Lyona was waved toward the pitch even though she wasn’t sure that she was completely ready. She reached up to feel her hair, someone had tied it up in an attempt to tame the blonde mess while they were helping her with her gear. She knew that this style was the most practical to wear while jousting, but she also knew that it was the most unflattering style. Lyona was a little disappointed that she was going to be so decidedly unattractive in front of everyone like this, but she had gotten in enough arguments with various trainers about her hair to push the issue by taking it out of its bonds. Besides, it wasn’t exactly clean due to her late start this morning.
She tapped Post with her heels and they moved to the end of the pitch where an attendant was holding Lyona’s lance. She reached for it, it seemed heavier than usual, probably because she hadn’t done much practicing lately, now she realized that it was a rather serious mistake. She pretended not to notice though and stared down the pitch at her opponent, the other girl was a good deal more serious than Lyona could hope to understand.
She narrowed her eyes, the glare of the sun made her opponent difficult to see clearly, but she already knew what she looked like. Lyona hoped that her hair at least was less well dressed than her own, that would make her day considerably better. She lined her horse up, Post tossed his head and shuffled with anticipation, he could feel the tension in the crowd and was responding to it with an extra build up of energy.
Lyona leaned forward, finding her balance on the horse’s back. When the flag passed across her line of vision she gave Post a sharp kick. He was used to this cue and set off at gallop immediately, Lyona stared at her opponent nearing as she rode forward, the jostling of Post’s gallop making her bounce and fall on the saddle in a violent but familiar manner.
"Aren't you gonna bet, Luke?"
Hearing his name, Luke swung around lazily to see what it was Ben wanted. What he saw was Ben looking expectantly up at him, but the younger Rourke soon realized that his brother hadn't heard what he said. "Are you gonna bet?" Ben repeated, straightening up from the ramshackle table and brushing his hands nervously. Narrowing his eyes as he nibbled at a hangnail, Luke knew his kid brother must've placed a shiny copper down. Somehow Luke wasn't surprised-- Ben was starting to get a little loose with his purse nowadays that he had the money to spare. Funny thing was Ben always looked guiltier than a murderer caught in the act when he spent his money.
Pushing that aside, Luke smiled thinly at his brother. "I'm a poor gambler," he explained, at which Ben tossed him an annoyed look as he walked towards his brother. When Ben passed him, Luke gave him a sound clap on the shoulder and expanded on what he had said, "Besides, a man can't go on gut instinct alone. He's gotta know the facts. Facts is, Meag's Marsh will fall outta the saddle."
"I thought you said you don't follow jousting," Ben commented slyly, casting his brother a suspicious sideglance.
Luke lifted both hands and displayed a show of innocence, but only after dodging a passing horse with a mistrustful glare. "I'm just sayin' Meagie ain't here, I been watchin' that stable full of evil beasts and I seen Pesaro's horse dragged out but Meagie's pony ain't even there. That means Meagie'll be in sucha rush to tilt when they get here, they's gonna fall flat on their arse kickin' their stally to get go. Pesaro won't even have to strike to unhorse 'em."
By now the two brothers were pushing through the crowd, exerting enough force and foul language to get them a tight spot up front along the rail. Looking to their left, the Rourkes saw Pesaro atop her destrier, standing ready and the prim picture of polished armor and noble ancestry. "Where is Pesaro anyway? It doesn't sound very Tortallan." Ben wondered, being a poor geography student. Luke didn't know much by way of geography, but he answered, "They're border folk, Ben, get a head on your sh-- shite, that's a girl up there!"
Somebody had always managed to coax Luke to the jousting tournament at least one time every year. Funny thing was, Luke didn't go often enough to see any lady knights in action. He wasn't even familiar with Cailin of Darroch, who had won the tournament on more than one occasion. Staring in unabashed bewilderment at Pesaro, he once again didn't hear Ben as the younger man said something to him. After elbowing his brother brutally and pointing, Luke looked to the other end of the jousting lane. Jahzed, Meag's Marsh was a girl.
Luke grabbed a fistful of his brother's collar and yanked him closer so he could talk to him above the roar of the crowd. "Ben, what the hell kinda sport did you bring me to?"
Ben spread his arms in the cramped space between people as much as he could. "They're still knights," he protested, not fully understanding why Luke was so incredulous. Then again, Ben had seen lady knights and squires in action. He got out a little more than Luke gave him credit for.
"They're gixies!" Luke shook Ben momentarily then let him go, throwing his arms over the rail and leaning forward. He wasn't expecting much sport out two girls. Seeing Ben lean on the rail next to him as the two squires kicked their horses into gear, he asked, "Which one did you bet on anyways?"
"Meag's Marsh."
Luke buried his head in the rail post with a despaired groan, while Ben stood on tiptoe, anticipating with the rest of the crowd the first lance blows.
Hearing his name, Luke swung around lazily to see what it was Ben wanted. What he saw was Ben looking expectantly up at him, but the younger Rourke soon realized that his brother hadn't heard what he said. "Are you gonna bet?" Ben repeated, straightening up from the ramshackle table and brushing his hands nervously. Narrowing his eyes as he nibbled at a hangnail, Luke knew his kid brother must've placed a shiny copper down. Somehow Luke wasn't surprised-- Ben was starting to get a little loose with his purse nowadays that he had the money to spare. Funny thing was Ben always looked guiltier than a murderer caught in the act when he spent his money.
Pushing that aside, Luke smiled thinly at his brother. "I'm a poor gambler," he explained, at which Ben tossed him an annoyed look as he walked towards his brother. When Ben passed him, Luke gave him a sound clap on the shoulder and expanded on what he had said, "Besides, a man can't go on gut instinct alone. He's gotta know the facts. Facts is, Meag's Marsh will fall outta the saddle."
"I thought you said you don't follow jousting," Ben commented slyly, casting his brother a suspicious sideglance.
Luke lifted both hands and displayed a show of innocence, but only after dodging a passing horse with a mistrustful glare. "I'm just sayin' Meagie ain't here, I been watchin' that stable full of evil beasts and I seen Pesaro's horse dragged out but Meagie's pony ain't even there. That means Meagie'll be in sucha rush to tilt when they get here, they's gonna fall flat on their arse kickin' their stally to get go. Pesaro won't even have to strike to unhorse 'em."
By now the two brothers were pushing through the crowd, exerting enough force and foul language to get them a tight spot up front along the rail. Looking to their left, the Rourkes saw Pesaro atop her destrier, standing ready and the prim picture of polished armor and noble ancestry. "Where is Pesaro anyway? It doesn't sound very Tortallan." Ben wondered, being a poor geography student. Luke didn't know much by way of geography, but he answered, "They're border folk, Ben, get a head on your sh-- shite, that's a girl up there!"
Somebody had always managed to coax Luke to the jousting tournament at least one time every year. Funny thing was, Luke didn't go often enough to see any lady knights in action. He wasn't even familiar with Cailin of Darroch, who had won the tournament on more than one occasion. Staring in unabashed bewilderment at Pesaro, he once again didn't hear Ben as the younger man said something to him. After elbowing his brother brutally and pointing, Luke looked to the other end of the jousting lane. Jahzed, Meag's Marsh was a girl.
Luke grabbed a fistful of his brother's collar and yanked him closer so he could talk to him above the roar of the crowd. "Ben, what the hell kinda sport did you bring me to?"
Ben spread his arms in the cramped space between people as much as he could. "They're still knights," he protested, not fully understanding why Luke was so incredulous. Then again, Ben had seen lady knights and squires in action. He got out a little more than Luke gave him credit for.
"They're gixies!" Luke shook Ben momentarily then let him go, throwing his arms over the rail and leaning forward. He wasn't expecting much sport out two girls. Seeing Ben lean on the rail next to him as the two squires kicked their horses into gear, he asked, "Which one did you bet on anyways?"
"Meag's Marsh."
Luke buried his head in the rail post with a despaired groan, while Ben stood on tiptoe, anticipating with the rest of the crowd the first lance blows.
Anna was especially interested in this much anticipated joust. Ever since the round had been announced, she had been waiting for the moment. Rarely had she seen two female squires on opposing sides of a fight, especially a joust. In fact, she couldn't remember ever seeing such one. The draw was random for each round, and most times any female left was pitched against a male. But not this time.
It would certainly be exciting, and so Anna was.
She had heard stories of the two young ladies, mainly complaints from lords who had never met them. Very attractive, but a bit too romantic, one had said of the Meag Marsh squire, and as for the other, the lord had thought she would be better of selling her wares in Tyra for her family. Anna had ignored the comments--prejudice, that was all. So she hoped.
Anna listened to the final calls of the dealers who collected money from any gambler. One of her bodyguards raced to the lists to see who was the favourite, then returned with the startling news- there was none. It seemed the two female squires had drawn as much attention from gamblers as they had from the Queen, and the numbers were very similar. Very interesting, Anna thought. Obviously it is a chance for everyone to show off their skills at picking (or not picking, of course) the winners.
The Pesaro squire was ready on time, although the other squire had not yet been spotted. Anna frowned, a little concerned. Had the girl decided against it? The thought that she simply could be late had never occured to her. No-one was ever late for their runs, males because they had to be on time to impress, females because it seemed a bit more natural. Plus they didn't have admirers, or even lovers, to blow kisses to, she thought to herself dryly.
Finally the trumpets called, signalling the arrival of the other squire. The two lined up, and Anna saw the flag raise. Time seemed to slow, and like everyone else, she unconciously held her breath. Finally, the flag was lowered, and the crowd seemed to uniformally sigh in relief. That was the hardest part, waiting for the start signal. The horses had to be lined up, checked over, lances handed out, and the ready signal given on both ends. Cheating was extremely uncommon, now that more rules were brought in. Stewards were chosen at random each day to hand out lances and check the horses. Even then, some of the older, uncorruptable conservative knights would jump out at the last moment to triple check. But not this time.
The sound of thundering hooves drowned out the soft music that flowed through the field, and the two horses drew closer. Anna's heart ran wildly, her hands were grasped in anticipation, and, if someone had looked, they would have seen a very alert queen, staring at the mounts. If neither managed to unhorse the other, the judges would have to decide on a winner. On one side, Anna hoped that one of the girls would be unhorsed, to save her from waiting even longer, but she couldn't bear for anyone to be hurt. Her heart pounded and she bit her lip. Time seemed to move so slowly. Finally, the squires were almost upon each other, and Anna jumped out of her seat for a better view at the same time as many of the other nervous ladies.
It would certainly be exciting, and so Anna was.
She had heard stories of the two young ladies, mainly complaints from lords who had never met them. Very attractive, but a bit too romantic, one had said of the Meag Marsh squire, and as for the other, the lord had thought she would be better of selling her wares in Tyra for her family. Anna had ignored the comments--prejudice, that was all. So she hoped.
Anna listened to the final calls of the dealers who collected money from any gambler. One of her bodyguards raced to the lists to see who was the favourite, then returned with the startling news- there was none. It seemed the two female squires had drawn as much attention from gamblers as they had from the Queen, and the numbers were very similar. Very interesting, Anna thought. Obviously it is a chance for everyone to show off their skills at picking (or not picking, of course) the winners.
The Pesaro squire was ready on time, although the other squire had not yet been spotted. Anna frowned, a little concerned. Had the girl decided against it? The thought that she simply could be late had never occured to her. No-one was ever late for their runs, males because they had to be on time to impress, females because it seemed a bit more natural. Plus they didn't have admirers, or even lovers, to blow kisses to, she thought to herself dryly.
Finally the trumpets called, signalling the arrival of the other squire. The two lined up, and Anna saw the flag raise. Time seemed to slow, and like everyone else, she unconciously held her breath. Finally, the flag was lowered, and the crowd seemed to uniformally sigh in relief. That was the hardest part, waiting for the start signal. The horses had to be lined up, checked over, lances handed out, and the ready signal given on both ends. Cheating was extremely uncommon, now that more rules were brought in. Stewards were chosen at random each day to hand out lances and check the horses. Even then, some of the older, uncorruptable conservative knights would jump out at the last moment to triple check. But not this time.
The sound of thundering hooves drowned out the soft music that flowed through the field, and the two horses drew closer. Anna's heart ran wildly, her hands were grasped in anticipation, and, if someone had looked, they would have seen a very alert queen, staring at the mounts. If neither managed to unhorse the other, the judges would have to decide on a winner. On one side, Anna hoped that one of the girls would be unhorsed, to save her from waiting even longer, but she couldn't bear for anyone to be hurt. Her heart pounded and she bit her lip. Time seemed to move so slowly. Finally, the squires were almost upon each other, and Anna jumped out of her seat for a better view at the same time as many of the other nervous ladies.
The world was calm.
Or at least it was in Aurelia's mind. The fierce roar of the crowds had grew in volume until it wasn't there at all. The crack of banners in the wind ceased. The thunder of hooves pounding the lane has quieted to a far off sound. All Aurelia could hear were the heart beats of herself and Reno. She had found this place many times before, the place where the world went away except for herself and her horse. It was the place of absolute concentration, and for Aurelia is was as close to magic as she had been. It was also the place of victory. Distractions had ceased to exist and she focused only on her joust and the target she wanted to hit. She had rode the lane before, Aurelia could do this blind, she knew how many paces at Reno's speed it was until the end and where most knights meant. However Aurelia was going to keep her eyes open for this joust.
She smiled grimly as she set her lance, her hold steady despite the jostling of her horse. Her gaze unwaivering at her target, Lyona's shield. Aurelia knew that at the last moment before impact she would shift her weight to pop Lyona out of the saddle. It was the plan and she could see it in her mind.
Reno thundered on, meeting Lyona' mount midway along the list. Aurelia grunted with effort and pain taking both Lyona's lance but also hitting the squire in what Aurelia hoped was the victorious smash.
Or at least it was in Aurelia's mind. The fierce roar of the crowds had grew in volume until it wasn't there at all. The crack of banners in the wind ceased. The thunder of hooves pounding the lane has quieted to a far off sound. All Aurelia could hear were the heart beats of herself and Reno. She had found this place many times before, the place where the world went away except for herself and her horse. It was the place of absolute concentration, and for Aurelia is was as close to magic as she had been. It was also the place of victory. Distractions had ceased to exist and she focused only on her joust and the target she wanted to hit. She had rode the lane before, Aurelia could do this blind, she knew how many paces at Reno's speed it was until the end and where most knights meant. However Aurelia was going to keep her eyes open for this joust.
She smiled grimly as she set her lance, her hold steady despite the jostling of her horse. Her gaze unwaivering at her target, Lyona's shield. Aurelia knew that at the last moment before impact she would shift her weight to pop Lyona out of the saddle. It was the plan and she could see it in her mind.
Reno thundered on, meeting Lyona' mount midway along the list. Aurelia grunted with effort and pain taking both Lyona's lance but also hitting the squire in what Aurelia hoped was the victorious smash.
Lyona’s blood was rushing, her heart was beating so loudly that it nearly drowned out the chaotic noise raising from the crowd. She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on her opponent’s swiftly moving shield while arranging her lance to make contact. Everything was happening too fast, Lyona hardly felt ready, but here was Pesaro already, Lyona barely had time to tighten her grip on her lance before it made contact. For an elated moment, all Lyona could think about was the fact that she had made contact, she could feel her gut twist with the good thought that she had hit her opponent.
The hope was short lived because she could feel herself leaving her saddle, too late did she feel the hot pain of a lance’s contact with her shield as she flew. There was a flash of the bright blue of the sky, one of her blonde strands of hair waving lamely, then the jolt of hitting the ground. The air was knocked from her lungs and she was unable to do anything but try to regain the smallest bit of air.
Gasping like she had just been drowning, Lyona sat up, yanking her helmet off of her head. A thick wave of hair fell from under her helmet as she looked for her horse, he was on the other side of the pitch, wandering around, looking lost. Her lance was laying near her, it had gone flying when she had gone flying. She leaned forward, trying to muster the strength to climb to her feet, but her back hurt ridiculously bad and her shield arm felt like it had been twisted out of its socket.
A few more seconds she waited, her heart beating furiously, then she climbed to her feet and staggered after Post. She grabbed his reins, he flicked his head irritably, he apparently didn’t like losing either. “Stop that,” Lyona snapped at him, “I want to get off this pitch as quickly as possible and I don’t need your attitude too.” She frowned at him and he stopped his fidgeting long enough that she could lead him over to congratulate her opponent.
She walked up to Pesaro, pulling along an antsy Post behind her. “Not bad,” she said with a forced smile, though she was obviously upset. Lyona had always been an emotional person and this was one of those times when she just wanted to curl up with something sugary to eat and cry for a bit, but she struggled to keep her composure for just long enough to get out of everyone’s sight. “Congratulations,” she added with as much honesty as she could muster.
The hope was short lived because she could feel herself leaving her saddle, too late did she feel the hot pain of a lance’s contact with her shield as she flew. There was a flash of the bright blue of the sky, one of her blonde strands of hair waving lamely, then the jolt of hitting the ground. The air was knocked from her lungs and she was unable to do anything but try to regain the smallest bit of air.
Gasping like she had just been drowning, Lyona sat up, yanking her helmet off of her head. A thick wave of hair fell from under her helmet as she looked for her horse, he was on the other side of the pitch, wandering around, looking lost. Her lance was laying near her, it had gone flying when she had gone flying. She leaned forward, trying to muster the strength to climb to her feet, but her back hurt ridiculously bad and her shield arm felt like it had been twisted out of its socket.
A few more seconds she waited, her heart beating furiously, then she climbed to her feet and staggered after Post. She grabbed his reins, he flicked his head irritably, he apparently didn’t like losing either. “Stop that,” Lyona snapped at him, “I want to get off this pitch as quickly as possible and I don’t need your attitude too.” She frowned at him and he stopped his fidgeting long enough that she could lead him over to congratulate her opponent.
She walked up to Pesaro, pulling along an antsy Post behind her. “Not bad,” she said with a forced smile, though she was obviously upset. Lyona had always been an emotional person and this was one of those times when she just wanted to curl up with something sugary to eat and cry for a bit, but she struggled to keep her composure for just long enough to get out of everyone’s sight. “Congratulations,” she added with as much honesty as she could muster.