[@MrDidact][@Celeste] (collab with MrDidact.) Willas looked down at Tyrion, then up at Sansa, chuckling lightly, when he mentioned the last part of his phrase. "Imp's Delight? The famed wine that I hear you've grown in the Westerlands?" Willas replied, smirking at him. "I'm sure it can't kill me. I've had a hellish brew from Cider Hall, so it can't be worse. Bloody Fosseways." He added, gently taking the cup from Tyrion, and giving it a sip, like a proper wine taster, before drinking more. "You are right. This stuff really is hot on the throat compared to the Arbor, fierce, not gentile. A real delight. But it won't beat the Arbor, Tyrion. Apologies." Willas chuckled, shrugging gently, as he sighed, the Lord Tyrell happy to work under someone such as Tyrion Lannister. The man who had been known as a murderer of King Joffrey, who had....well, actually taken a good bait for his mother, in Olenna's scheme as he heard on her deathbead. It was incredible to think that now, they worked together, and that they had a gentle sarcasm they played with each other. And Willas saw that good in him, beyond an alcoholic dwarf, he was capable of extraordinary things, and he hoped that Tyrion knew that Willas understood he wanted the same common outcome of some good. "I'm glad too, I suppose, House Tyrell is happy to be to provide the bread and wine of our Kingdoms' celebrations. You are right, Tyrion...my family lost a great deal in those affairs. I still suffer the same horrors of hearing of their deaths, every day. We all did. So it is good to see that we are well, especially you Sansa, and merry at this wedding with our houses in order." He said to the both of them, sitting up a little, the Tyrell Lord's appearance a little weary, but kind, and happy, he seemed to still have his heart in the right place, as he gently sipped a little more. "I suppose things did work out well...we look after a prosperous and healthy Kingdom. The wounds of the past, healing. I hope for the world for your daughter and Aemon." Willas said, a ginger smile on his face, still sitting in his chair, as he looked up to Sansa, a tall Lady indeed, far more so than the dwarf she accompanied. He remembered the times, how Loras was almost forced to court Sansa. It would have never fit, his brother despised the presence of women, as kindly as it was, it never was settled, he was agitated, frightened, scared, and Willas had to often look after his most gallant brother, when he broke into tears, he remembered Loras's embrace like it was visceral in his mind. And even with Tyrion, he knew she had a husband who would not lie, would stand tall in times thick and thin, he had proven himself, far and beyond. "Gosh, I don't know I'm going to stand after this, because of the wine or my leg...and I'm going to have to take a cask of that home!" Willas was no fool though he chuckled heartily, he sometimes enjoyed playing one with Tyrion, knowing deep down, Tyrion would understand that Willas understood precisely the certain sarcasm and understanding of his own condition, that a cripple and a dwarf were closely in the same vein...a certain kind of disability that perhaps, they had overcome. -------- Meanwhile, Alerie turned, to see Jaehaerys and Baela, the brother and sister, as they approached. They were both pretty, the typical Targaryen features you would expect, as she nodded, a gleeful and playful smile on her face. Jaehaerys was just the chivalric man she had heard about...she already knew that, Baela not as much, but it hardly came as a surprise. Ah well, she thought to herself, he is being nice, she told herself. She stood, smiling as she shook hands with Baela, the Tyrell's golden and green dress keeping to her frame, yet loose, looser than some Ladies of the Realm, probably bar Dorne, had theirs. A little cleavage, and her golden-hazel eyes, almost at a total and utter contrast with her Targaryen counterparts. "It has been quite lovely, Princess. It's been a beautiful day indeed!" She replied with a certain kind of glee, gently putting her cup down, the one she'd been drinking alongside her father. "Indeed, he's a lovely old Rose, and I suppose, he looked after us well." Alerie added, looking back at Willas, speaking with Tyrion and Sansa. As Jaehaerys bowed, she offered her hand out, Jaehaerys kissing her hand, as she gently blushed. This wasn't the first time. It wasn't going to be the last, as she gently played with the Targaryen Prince's white hair. "You are a playful one, Jaehaerys...you really do know how to make a lady blush, my dear. I didn't know dragons liked the smell of rosebushes. I thought your dragons just set them on fire" She said, giggling, a gentle wink at Baela as she took Jaehaerys's hand, looking at Baela, almost completely teasing him now. Alerie knew no bounds, the redhead beaming. "Shall we go see the rest of the fairgrounds?" She suggested, as they spoke to other luminaries, Alerie keeping her wits and charm about her, knowing Jaehaerys had to be definitely more than enthralled. Honestly, she didn't know with him how it would go, she would let him be kind, experience a warm glow, his warm blood against her hands, the Targaryens were beautiful indeed but Alerie didn't know how this would go. Maybe she'd play him a little, maybe if he was nice enough, and actually genuine, she'd see. He didn't control her. She did. -------------------------------- Ellion smiled, just about to get onto his horse, when he saw Mychael come, intrigued, and wonderlusted at what he saw. Ellion smiled, as Mychel introduced himself, the distant Falcon that he had with him chasing a bird behind. A sparrow in fact, and even Ellion knew that from his father's falconry. Mychael was good, perhaps him and Merlin would have much in common he thought to himself, as he looked back, helm in hand. "Why, thank you, Mychael. It takes a long time to make a suit of armour like this, and I'm lucky for it." Ellion said, with his typical smile, the look in Mychael's eyes a little curious. Sure, a lot of women said that about his armour, and many men would be impressed by it. But it was something in the way that he said it, just a weird thing, that Ellion had well....he had laid with people who weren't the fairer sex. An adventure, an urge nonetheless, he was indifferent and knew ultimately, the place for that sort of behaviour in society was not among Lords and Ladies. He knew his brother and sister understood, maybe not approvingly, but they understood. That was enough for him, because he didn't really care entirely, and Mychael was giving Ellion that sort of thought. "I am Ser Ellion Tyrell. Your falcon is rather lovely. My brother would love to see a bird of prey bred in the Eyrie rather than from our home. He is a falconer, like my father, Willas...alas." He added, smiling as he shook hands, as he looked out of the tent, hearing the distant drumming. "Shit, seven hells. I need to be out there...I'll be around the stables to talk later. It sounds like we have a lot in common, Mychael, even if our lands are different. Wish me luck, as I wish your falcon's talons their target." He said, almost a little romantic in his words, well, not towards Mychael, but it did sound very poetical. Ellion blushed more around his sister, yet to anyone else, seemed hardened, fired and gallant as any, as he mounted his steed. Trotting out, Ellion could see the crowds, and knew he had to make his introduction. ------------------------ Ellion smiled with a particular beam, the crowd cheering, the noise of some women, commoners and lower ladies alike, particularly so as he threw a red rose from his gauntleted hands into the crowd. Spiky it was, from the fabric of his chestplate it had come, as he turned his head, looking down the list, the Targaryen that he was to joust yet to come out. He smiled, his fair face and long brown hair blowing in the gentle breeze, his golden eyes catching the gaze of Willas, as he looked back, with a gentle nod. They knew he didn't have a suitor, or a lady waiting, he was a brave, young soul and to them, looked beautiful, and the exact epitome of a Knight in shining armour, perhaps. Some chanted, and some swooned, the shining presence of the Reachman an opposite to the black armours of the Targaryens, a light that shimmered, the golden and reflective surfaces brilliant in the golden sun. Ellion relished in it. As he made his way to the end of the long line, it felt like a mile, his heart thundered, and he smirked. This was wonderful. It was no doubt that Viserys would be good, he was a master at this, after all, and getting this far into the tourney had been a hell of a proof to himself that he could cut this, as he gently let Desdemona bray a little, the horse kicking feet into the sand.To the end, he said to himself, to that end. Helm on, lance raised. He looked across, into the distance, the gentle sweat that would run through him, his mind focussed. Duncan had backed away now, and had found his spare lances, as Ellion only put his mind to one task. What was coming out on the long distance. Viserys casually rode his black destrier, which he so humbly named Balerion, onto the field, his visor up so the crowd could see his bright smile and clear violet eyes. His fair hair and youthful skin made a startling contrast to the dark, draconic armor he was encased in. Instead of roses, Viserys had wrapped silken flames around his arms; and these he unwrapped and handed to several young maidens in the gallery as he rode by. Viserys was a married man, but he had something of a reputation, one that his wife Princess Nymeria Martell did not begrudge in the least. Many said she was an accomplice to his pursuits. Indeed, there was more than one Waters at court in Summerhall, though even Viserys did not dare to display them at the festivities. His squire, one of his Martell nephews, had retreated and awaited him with extra lances at the ready. Viserys did not even deign to give his opponent more than a cursory glance. Instead he bowed his head to his family watching in the royal box, and winked at Nymeria before sliding his visor down. Now a snarling dragon covered his smile, and Viserys awaited the sound of the charge at the end of the lists. He had heard tales of the Tyrell boy's prowess, but he did not expect much. Viserys had already unhorsed four great knights, and he doubted the youth would make it past the first lance. Already bored by waiting, and completely calm, Viserys held his lance in hand and was already thinking about who he might next face. The drums beat, and the noise of the trumpet signaled only one thing. It was the same rush, again and again, and only learning to control it was the only way that Ellion knew it could get better. A certain kind of focus, and it fired into Ellion's mind, the rose-designed helm covering his face and locks, only the metal shine visible from afar. Desmedona's hooves kicked, as the horse lunged forwards, the lance pointed forwards, as the horse picked up speed. The green and white shield concave held tight in his left arm, and the green and golden lance pointed directly at the other oncoming lane, was a sight and a half, and so too was the dragon that rode that was coming quickly. Viserys was going to be good, Ellion knew that. He'd have a tough time beating him, but he knew the only way it would work, would be to outlast, and make sure his athleticism kept him able to keep going, tilt after tilt. He knew not much of strategy, but it was sound enough to work, and would at least keep the crowd happy, if anything. Then he'd pick his strike. The two were racing, as Ellion gently pushed his lance to the left, straying away, as he smashed it into Viscerys's chestplate, though it scrubbed past his hip and ricocheted off his shield, snapping into two. Strike. The crowd cooed, as the two trotted back around, Ellion looking directly into Visaerys's eyes, and knowing full well beyond the metallic dragonhelm that the Targaryen wore, he would see the same. Duncan already had another lance, and so it began again, as he picked it up, and began again, the horse kicking it's hooves upward as the Tyrell gently poked it to move. He couldn't yet tell, and was angry, that Viserys had taken a close shot, as had he. They were close, the young Ellion was closer in abillity than he'd first imagined, but it would take the luck of the Seven, because he didn't know how to weigh this one up. He'd try and last, he thought to himself, well, whilst getting whatever he could in strikes. Nobody could see it, but Viserys fumed. The boy had struck, and worse yet, kept his seat. There was no easy victory here. The Prince now understood Ellion was not to be underestimated. Viserys called Doran for another lance and readied for another pass. This time, he would not underestimate the Tyrell. Viserys charged when the trumpet sounded for another pass. He kept his shield steady, but his lance rode high. As they closed the distance, Viserys' lance lowered until it was dead center on the golden rose of Ellion's shield. The lance splintered and Viserys grunted as Ellion's lance struck his own shield. Viserys managed to bear the force gamefully and barely stirred in the saddle. He saw the Tyrell buckle after the pass, but he kept ahorse and rode down the lists. Viserys threw down his broken lance, determined now. The boy had skill, and stamina. But Viserys would break as many lances as it took to see him drop into the mud. Ellion felt the force still echo in his suit almost, as he let it recoil, breathing hard, knowing he had to keep up his mind, in order to remain horsed and on an equal number of strikes. A tall order, against Viserys Targaryen, but one that he had to keep going with. There was no going back now. The jousts felt tough, hard, and worst of all, for both of them, it was not going to be a deadlock broken easily. Staring down from the stands, Willas, Alerie and the Targaryen family of Viserys could only watch on, waiting, hoping, the tension building on every single tilt. The third was the same, so was the fourth. And the fifth. If the tension in the air could be felt, it would be cut like a knife, it could be pieced apart in two, because they were dealing hits, and still staying true, the number of strikes by both jousters the same by the eighth tilt. Many broken bits of wood were being swept off the ground, and the number of lances that they were going through seemed almost comedic....any Hedge Knight would have conceded by now, given he'd be out of lances! And yet, they were going. Desmedona felt fresh, after a swig of a pale, trotting back to the position, Ellion's stare keeping strong, even if his body felt weak, his mind was better than this. And from the commoners to the higher Lords, the wenches to the Ladies, they were watching, and waiting. It had been truly unexpected, but Ellion had held his own. And nobody still knew which way it would go. The horses charged once more, and Ellion breathed out hard, the air rushing out of his lungs, and holding for just one second, as he lowered his lance. He had waited, he had waited, and let the stalemate hold for the last couple, restored his focus, his mindset. Viserys would think the same, and go for a crippling hit, no doubt, but Ellion had a mind to throw whatever he had now, end it whilst he knew Viserys would want to maybe carry on. He knew his spot, it was visualized in his head, and he would strike it. As they came closer and closer, he lowered the lance, aiming it off-centre, higher than dead centre. Viserys was taking hits to centre with little on his posture, he could hold it. But Ellion took a punt that if it wasn't glancing, if it went right, and if he stayed in that position, it would throw him. And by the Seven, those small calculations he hoped, he prayed, would end it. Ultimate glory, or ultimate defeat. The two were a heartbeat away. The Tyrell and the Targaryen, like a pair of unstoppable forces on only one course, made contact, and in almost what felt like a snapping moment, Ellion managed to hit the very head of the second dragon on Viserys's shield, almost pivoting the blow and turning at an angle, a dangerous but ultimately worthwhile move....as it threw the very thrust of the force directly into Viserys. The lance snapped, but it smashed with a hell of a lot of force, his shield arm forced backward and into his chestplate, uprooting him from his mount, and throwing him off backwards. It was an incredible hit, something Ellion didn't believe was that true, as he let Desmedona skid, the loud smack of metal on gravel audible, Viserys hitting the ground off his mount. Ellion knew what he'd done. He hadn't just struck the poor fucking guy, he'd literally smashed him off his horse, not just weaked his grip, he'd flung him out. He saw a wincing movement, and instantly stopped, dropping the shattered lance, going under the wooden fence, towards where his horse trotted, looking almost at Ellion with a cold and sullen stare. He looked down at Viserys, his helm off, as he put it aside. "Are you alright?" He asked, looking at his posture, his legs, his arms. When people got crippled, killed and maimed at these fucking things, the last thing he wanted to look like was indifferent after severely injuring a Targaryen Prince. That, did not bode well for him...so at least this looked better? That said, he did look fine, albeit winded. "We gave one hell of a show. You ride well, Ser Viserys." Ellion said, his concentrated and focussed expression melting, as he offered a metal gauntleted hand to Viserys, helping him up, as his face turned to a certain smirk, and smile. Not smug, but well, it wasn't exactly the look of someone who had lost. "We've given these people quite enough merriment. Well played." He said, keeping his hand out, knowing he'd be confused. Viserys kept a broad smile on his face as he removed his helm, and took the hand graciously, inclining his head to Ellion before grasping his gauntlet in his hand and raising Ellion's fist to the gallery. The crowd's cheers rattled the stands. Viserys had almost never been unhorsed, and it was a worthy feat to have done so. And despite his fall, the Prince seemed in good spirits. Viserys turned his head to Ellion, grinning, "A fine thrust, Ser Ellion. You are one of the best riders, I've ever seen. It has been an honor." Ellion could only smile, keeping their hands raised, not entirely infering what may have lay beneath Viserys. It was like nothing he'd ever heard, it was a moment of pure triumph, of pure wonder, that he had done it. And he felt invincible, as he walked towards the cheering crowd. He had a reputation to retain, and it came with chivalry. Viserys handed his helm to Doran and strode off the field, waving to the crowd who cheered him almost as much as they did Ser Ellion. It was the kind of chivalrous display that audiences absolutely adored and Viserys knew it was expected of him. Unbeknowest to all except those who truly knew him, he was seething. The boy had defeated him, and Viserys vowed he would see the favor paid back.