Chapter 13
MATARYS TARGARYEN
The bout against Aerion had been a challenging one. For all his faults, Aerion was a good rider, and yet rage blinded him, and he simply did not wish to win against him. He wished to humiliate Matarys. Wished to maim, and that desire made him easy to read and face.
Still, the bout had been a good showing of his skill, and became somewhat of a warning for the rest of the challengers, who all shied away from his pavilion. There was also the fact that he was a Prince of the realm, but Matarys preferred to think that they had been scared off.
So, for the rest of the day, he became somewhat of a spectator as he watched the banners beside him shift one by one until only two of the original knights remained. Still, the Sun began to set, and he was yet to get a second challenger until the field emptied out and Lyonel Baratheon took the field.
"AND NOW FOR THE FINAL BOUT WE HAVE LORD LYONEL BARATHEON AS A CHALLENGER!" and so this would be the end of the first day of jousting, and he had an inkling that his rest was coming to its end.
The man walked to the Royal booth, paid his respects, and then turned towards the pavilion. Just as he had expected, the man walked up to his pavilion and stopped.
"AND HE CHOOSES PRINCE MATARYS AS HIS OPPONENT!" and the man took down his visor, as Matarys was allowed to look at the man's face.
"I do hope you aren't still tired from that bout earlier," and Matarys shrugged.
"It wouldn't really matter, though," he said, as his squires began to tighten his armor and ready his horse.
"HAHAAA! That is the spirit," and Lyonel Baratheon was an unruly beast, and was said to take pleasure in bashing and bloodying up powerful opponents. He was a jolly enough man, but his mood could turn sour in an instant, and few could ever tell what he might do next.
"I am told that you once crossed blades with Ser Ulrick Dayne," and he spoke of the Sword of the Morning, a much-coveted and revered title. The current Sword of Morning had become old now, and was said to be the greatest knight the realm had ever seen.
He had joined them on the campaign, and Matarys had asked him for a spar.
"I did," and what was meant to be an hour-long spar would go on for some twelve hours. Matarys had never been humiliated as such in his life, and he had learned more in those twelve hours than he would have in a year.
"We duelled some twenty-three times," Matarys told him, as he mounted his horse, and the Laughing Storm's eyes narrowed.
"How many did you win?" he asked.
"Three," he answered, though that was a year ago now, and he reckoned that he could push that number to nine or ten if the Gods favored him.
"I see," and then he rode to the opposite end, as Matarys grabbed his lance and rode forward.
"Let's give the people a show," and the crowd held their breaths, as the two of them stared at each other from a distance, and even with their visors covering their faces, he could see the smile hidden underneath that helm.
"HIYAH!" and then they were running forward, and their horses galloped under them as they rushed towards one another, Matarys knew that despite his build it would be hard for him to beat the man with sheer strength, and so as they rode forth he slightly tilted his horse to the outside, at the last moment, and Lyonel's lance hit his shield, and slid away, while his own broke as he hit his shield square in the centre.
THUNK!
Despite his little trick, his arm was numb from the strike, and as he rode to the end of the lane, Matarys knew in his head that he was in for a battle.
"Lance!" he ordered, and a man rushed forward with a lance as he turned his horse, and this time they exchanged no words as they rode towards one another, and he lowered himself to lower his centre of mass, as his horse galloped underneath him, and this time both their lances slipped past their shields as they rode forward, and slowed down their horses.
Matarys turned his horse, and for some reason, he had always had a rather special connection with animals around him. He couldn't speak their tongue, yet he could understand them.
He could feel their pain, and sometimes he felt as if they could follow his words as well.
"We go a bit slower now," and he rushed forth once more, as he heard Lyonel's scream/
"You are a slipper one, aren't you?" and just as they were about to meet once more, the man gave a laugh as he raised his lance, and opened it up.
"SHIT!" Matarys cursed as he lowered his head down at the last moment, and he could feel the lance scratch his helmet's top, as his own missed his shield completely.
And Matarys reached the end of the lane, and it was only because of his slow speed that he had managed to duck the trick in time, and on the other end Lyonel Baratheon laughed.
"I will get you! I will!" and he was laughing like a madman, and these antics of his had earned him his moniker, and so they rode again, and this time he showed no tricks, as their lances hit the shields at the same time.
THUNK!
THUNK!
Wood splintered, and Matarys winced as his arm arched, but unlike most shields, he had a triple-padded shield, so he turned around.
"LANCE!" he roared, and once more they were at it.
This time, the Laughing Storm's lance missed him, as his struck true.
BHUNK!
The man was pushed back, yet held onto his reins, as he dropped the lance, yet still managed to stay alive.
"LANCE!" the Baratheon lord called, and they rode again.
And again.
And again,
And again.
When they had begun their bout, the Sun had just begun to set, and now darkness was here, and the fires had been lit. The crowd had become quiet, and both he and Lord Baratheon were out of their depths.
His entire body ached, including his toes, and sweat dripped out of his visor, as he emptied a goblet on his head.
"How many tilts has it been?" he asked.
"Thirteen," one of the men answered, and they seemed just as tired as him.
"No. Fifteen, your grace," the older one answered as he handed him another lance, as Matarys turned his horse one more time.
"I am sorry, but I need you, boy," he whispered, and his horse neighed at his cool, as Baratheon raised his visor.
"You truly are a cunt, you know!" he roared, and he could not help but chuckle at the accusation.
"I could say the same thing for you, you bastard," he retorted as he pulled down his visor, and they roared forward one more time.
The Baratheon lord was a freaking menace, and Matarys knew that the only way he could win was through a surprise. He had hit his shield some half a dozen times, yet the man managed to pull himself back somehow.
And so there was only one trick he could rely on now, and now a they rode towards one another he raised his lance a second earlier and rather than aiming at the shield, he aimed at the tip of his lance, and few would ever dare to try such a thing but Matarys knew that he was out of options and would be out of steam in a bout or two.
He had to do this.
He had to end this now.
Lord Baratheon did not expect that, and in that moment when their lances hit one another, he was caught off guard.
"AGHHH!" and he tried to hold on to the reins, but the surprise worked, and he was pushed out of his horse, as the crowd roared out.
"YEAAAAAAAAH!" "PRINCE!" "FIRE AND BLOOD!" "FIRE AND BLOOOOD!" they roared, and Matarys roared with them, as he came to the stands and saw Duncan and Aegon shouting out their lungs.
"AND WE HAVE A WINNER! PRINCE MATARYS FINALLY MANAGES TO BEST THE LAUGHING STORM IN THE SIXTEENTH TILT!"
"A TRUE MARVEL!"
He threw off his helm and turned towards the Baratheon lord, who pushed himself off the ground.
"NOW WILL WE SEE A MELEE!" and the man's arm was bent awkwardly, but that meant nothing for the laughing storm, who smiled at him.
"YIELD! YIELD YIELD!" the crowd roared, as Matarys pushed his horse towards the man.
"Do you yield?" he asked, and the man was wincing in pain as he cradled his arm.
"You stole my friend from me," he uttered, as he met his eyes.
"I won't let you steal my glory so quickly," and then he took out his sword with his non-dominant hand, as he wet his lips.
"The Laughing Storm never yields!" and Matarys was tired, but in the end he jumped off of his horse, as he took out his own sword, and the Baratheon lord jumped over the fence to join him on his side of the tourney lane.
"Then I will just have to make you yield!"
"NEVER!" and he rushed towards him with that roar, as the Crowd roared their names.
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