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For the remainder of the joust, Don Quixote rode just as he had in his very first tilt.
Clean, decisive strikes that sent his opponents tumbling to the dirt.
From the beginning, all the way to the final tilt for the championship!
For five consecutive days, the thunder of galloping destriers echoed relentlessly, churning the once-flat lists into a ruined, muddy wasteland.
Before the echo of the final shattered lance could fade, the herald's booming voice rolled over the crowd:
"The champion of the joust—
"Ser Don Quixote! Ser Don Quixote of the Bloody Hand Mercenary Company!"
Don Quixote reined in his horse and pulled off his helm.
He first bowed to Lord Manderly and the assembled nobles in the high stands.
Then, he bowed to the wildly cheering commoners below. Only then did he turn his mount and slowly ride toward the pavilion where the highborn maidens and ladies sat.
A knight's tourney was the absolute center of martial prowess and prestige for the nobility.
Traditionally, if a knight accepted a lady's favor before a tilt, it signified her admiration and support.
If a knight presented a lady with the crown of flowers after his victory, it meant he was dedicating his ultimate triumph to her, crowning her his "Queen of Love and Beauty."
Take, for example, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow.
Lord Ashford hosted the event to celebrate his daughter's thirteenth name day.
The beautiful maiden sat beside her father, presiding as the Queen of Love and Beauty for the Ashford tourney.
Or consider the infamous Tourney at Harrenhal.
The tourney during the Year of the False Spring.
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen emerged as the ultimate champion of Harrenhal.
In the final tilt, he unhorsed Ser Barristan Selmy, the greatest knight of the age.
According to the millennia-old traditions of Westerosi tourneys...
The ultimate champion of the joust held a supreme right:
To personally choose the Queen of Love and Beauty for that tourney and present her with the crown of honor.
It was a public declaration that she was the most revered lady in all the Seven Kingdoms.
And the champion would defend her honor with his martial prowess and his name.
At the time, everyone in the lists assumed Rhaegar would present the honor to his lawful wife, the Dornish Princess Elia Martell.
She had already borne him a son and a daughter and was the rightful Princess of Dragonstone.
But as the roar of the crowd died down...
The Prince of Dragonstone rode right past his wife—the gentle Princess Elia of Dorne.
Under the watchful eyes of every lord, knight, and commoner in the Seven Kingdoms...
Rhaegar Targaryen placed a crown of winter roses, dyed a deep, frosty blue, directly into the lap of Lyanna Stark.
That single, unprecedented act froze the smiles on the faces of everyone who witnessed it.
And it became the spark that ignited the War of the Usurper.
"A knight fights for the eyes of his beloved, and her favor grants him strength beyond mortal men."
Whether before or after the tilts.
A knight accepting a token from a lady, or presenting her with a gift.
This exchange had long been cemented as a fixed tradition.
---
The highborn maidens covered their mouths, stifling the squeals rising in their throats.
Their eyes sparkled, their cheeks flushed red, and their gazes were locked firmly on Don Quixote.
The hems of their elegant gowns trembled slightly as they shivered with excitement.
Some girls exchanged thrilled glances with their friends, whispering eagerly:
"Do you think he'd accept a favor if I offered one?"
"Oh, I want to give him one too!"
"..."
Soft, silvery gasps drifted from the viewing stands.
Ribbons and small, delicate flower crowns trembled in the girls' hands.
Some had already covertly untied ribbons from their wrists, slipped satin bands from their hair, or gathered small bouquets of flowers.
They had clearly been prepared for this moment.
A maiden with slender, pale fingers leaned slightly over the railing, her voice soft but clear:
"Ser! Would you accept my favor?"
Don Quixote looked her way.
A girl with a sweet, open smile was staring at him intently.
He smiled back:
"Of course, my beautiful lady. Your favor is exactly what I was hoping for."
Hearing this, the sweet-smiling girl beamed even brighter, hurriedly handing her fragrant ribbon down to Don Quixote.
But her smile faltered a second later.
Because she turned to see her close friend offering her own private favor to the heroic knight.
And at the exact same moment, she heard the knight's voice drift up:
"Of course, my beautiful lady. Your favor is exactly what I wanted most."
That bastard... the sweet girl scoffed internally, feeling slightly put out.
Turns out she wasn't the only one; she wasn't special.
Don Quixote refused no one. Soon, his lance was draped in a colorful array of ribbons and tokens.
These were the private favors of maidens and ladies.
They represented their admiration for his martial prowess and his honor.
Soon, his gaze settled on one maiden—no, two maidens.
One girl had long brown hair woven into numerous thick braids.
Her brown hair was soft and heavy, resting gently on her shoulders.
Her posture was perfectly straight, her waist slim and poised.
Her skin possessed a faint, porcelain-like luster in the sunlight, with only a slight hint of pale pink on her cheeks from the constant sea breeze.
Beside her...
Stood another girl, also with her hair tied into incredibly long braids. But her hair was a vivid, striking green.
Her eyebrows, however, were golden.
She was visibly younger than the first.
The girl with the brown hair was Wynafryd Manderly.
The eldest daughter of Ser Wylis Manderly and Leona Woolfield, and the eldest granddaughter of Lord Wyman Manderly.
The girl with the green hair was Wylla Manderly.
The second daughter of Ser Wylis Manderly and Leona Woolfield, and the granddaughter of Lord Wyman Manderly.
Wynafryd's cheeks were flushed, and her large eyes were exceptionally gentle.
She possessed a quiet grace, a sense of calm warmth.
A soft, genuine smile played across her lips.
Wylla, on the other hand, radiated an obvious, overflowing vitality and liveliness.
Her pretty eyes could soften like a mist, or they could burn like a roaring fire.
She looked like the textbook definition of a mischievous girl.
Her every word and action could drive a person to exasperation or fill them with sudden delight.
Don Quixote bowed slightly in the saddle and looked at Wynafryd:
"My beautiful lady, may I place this crown upon your head?"
In his hand, he held the honor crown of the champion.
Wynafryd stood up.
A beautiful mix of shyness and anticipation bloomed across her pale cheeks.
She spoke in a soft but clear voice:
"Of course you may, Ser!"
With that, Wynafryd stepped closer to the railing and lowered her head slightly.
Don Quixote raised the crown, woven from exquisite fresh flowers, and gently set it upon her soft brown hair.
Feeling the crown settle perfectly, Wynafryd moved very carefully, terrified of dislodging the crown of honor that had set her heart racing.
She curtsied slightly and smiled happily:
"Thank you, Ser!"
Beside her, Wylla furrowed her golden brows. Her green braids swayed as she suddenly widened her eyes, having spotted something. She shouted:
"Ser! I want that dagger of yours!"
Hearing this, Don Quixote blinked in surprise. Following the young girl's gaze, he looked down at the dagger strapped near his hip.
It was a blade he kept tied to his saddle—a hidden weapon he used to finish off enemies back when he wasn't as strong.
"Of course, my beautiful lady."
Don Quixote didn't refuse. He unbuckled the dagger and handed it up to the girl.