Artys:
The Grand Melee
Ser Artys and his brothers in arms had not brought much honour to the Vale of Arryn during the melée. The first few challengers had been dispatched with ease as is often the case when hedge knights and freeriders met annointed knights. Ser Harrold Arryn had drilled the Winged Knights day in and day out with axe, lance and sword, instructing them to parry, to strike and to look high and cut low. What he had not done, however, was to teach them to stand together as a brotherhood-for was that not what the Winged Knights were? A brotherhood of young Knights drawn from the noblest houses of the Vale? By rights Valemen should have the finest Knights in the seven Kingdoms for this is where the Andal tradition of chivalry first took root generations before the other Kingdoms. Although this claim to fame was disputed by the Reachmen, who based their own on the legend of the ten foot tall John the Oak. Nonetheless what Artys has seen today made him question the valour of his order, rather than locking shields and forming a wall of steel to addressing foes as they came, he witnessed falconed helm after falconed helm disappear into the centre of the grounds where only the bravest, the most glory hungry and the most foolish ventured.
Artys had stayed back to stand by his commander, Ser Harrold Hardyng who, although proud, was experienced in tourneys unlike most of the Winged knights saw sense in surveying the grounds and letting others tire themselves out first before getting involved. As they held their ground Set Artys glanced around and noticed the retinue of House Lannister accross the field and the household swords of the Tullies to his left. These seemed instilled with more discipline and fought together. These men may have been the issue of lesser, often newer houses but had the greater experience, and dealt with their foes far more effectively. He witnessed a Tully sword face off with a taller, more imposing Knight and saw his helm come clean off, yet the man went on to defeat his foe, only this was no man at all but a woman clad in armour. Such things had been heard of before of course but never in the Vale and never before had he seen a knighted woman before. What wonders the world had to show once you set foot beyond the Bloody Gate!
Eventually, Ser Harrold spurred his steed forward and Ser Artys followed his commander into the fray, bringing down his blunted axe on a dismounted northener, a bearded old man clad in rusted mail and leather. Although the man went down instantly Ser Artys found little honour in this victory. Another challenger appeared; a younger man ahorse and visibly better armoured, a man probably like himself, the younger son of a Lord who hoped to find his future in tourneys, in battle or in service to his lord. As fate would have it, it would not be in this tourney as he did not have a weapon with the reach to challenge Artys and could not land any effective blows without closing the distance between them. This proved to be his undoing as he charged towards Artys, only to be dealt a savage blow to the shoulder by Ser Harrold hardyng but as he turned to face the new foe, Ser Artys brought his axe down accross the young knights other shoulder forcing him off his horse tumbling to the ground where he stayed.
As the day wore on, however, his brothers too were knocked unconscious or forced to yield so that only a handful of Winged Knights remained, among them Ser Artys and himself. Fatigue was beginning to set in and he was sweltering in his heavy armour. He scoured the field and noticed that what had started off as hundreds of knights had become dozens of duels where two men would face one another until one prevailed and was forced to find another victor. This had a sense of justice to it, as only those who could defeat successive opponents would reach the end but it also meant that the longer he stayed in the fight the greater the threat his opponent would be. Narrowly besting a man in a green tabard Ser Artys looked around to see Cedric Ruthermont worn down and defeated by a hulking stormlander armed with a two handed claymore. Honour dictated that he avenged his brother but Graftons has always been blessed with more sense than honour and instead looked elsewhere for a less imposing target. Eventually, tired and unhorsed, Ser Artys yielded to a Hightower knight armed with a giant warhammer who had disarmed him, broken his shield and allowed him time to reclaim his axe and fight on.
Later that afternoon he and the winged knights were summoned by Ser Harrold who congratulated them and too kthe opportunity to praise himself on their training. They were told that although many had been unhorsed and defeated early on, the honour of the Vale was safe as Ser Harrold Hardyng, Cedric Ruthermont and Artys Grafton and Matthos Corbray had stood until the final stages. Despite the words of the lord Commander it hardly felt like an achievement to be proud of. As his squire, Balon Coldwater took his armour to the armourer Lord Arryn had brought along as part of his entourage to get the dents knocked out of it, Ser Artys Grafton sought out a healer that could help him stich up the cuts his armour had not been enough to prevent as was to be expected he was not the only man to seek out the man’s services and was told to return later. As he returned to his tent he found Balon in the process of filling him a much needed bath with hot water. Outside of beautiful women, good food and a good fight there was little Artys appreciated more than a scalding hot bath to loosen the knots in his arms and shoulders. as he stepped into the tub he thought back to his defeat recalling the honourable actions of his final foe and he thought to himself that perhaps it was true and that there was greater chivalry and sense to be found in the Reach than in the Vale. He stayed in the water longer than he should, enjoying the water until it became lukewarm and Balon came rushing in and told him that he was expected shortly to make up Lord Arryn's retinue tonight at the feast.
The Feast:
The Feast was everything Ser Artys could have expected and more, great efforts had obviously made. The cooks, the drapers the musicians all had worked to perfection to prepare the perfect evening's entertainment. Unfortunately the conversation at the Arryn table was of little interest, talk of the conflict with the mountain tribes bored him as he had heard it all before fighting them on the front lines. There were whispers of other threats, often associated with mysterious powers that he overheard from other tables. This interested him far more as it seemed to echo the tales of that Erik had told him of during his letters from the Citadel. During his studies his younger brother had studied a great deal concerning magic now that such secrets were no longer a taboo subject. Erik had also overhead a great deal of private conversations he should not have been privy to between the archmaesters. Hiding in plain sight had been somewhat of a hobby to his younger brother, one that had now served the family well in Gulltown. Ser Artys Excused himself from Lord Arryn's company hoping to join in the conversation of those discussing the subject of magic, safe in the knowledge that his lordship remained well-guarded without him. He spent the rest of the night at this table discussing the subject with the members of House Bracken.
As conversation turned to dancing he felt rather embarrassed wondering whether he ought not to return to his Lordship's company rather than overstay his welcome with the Brackens. As he made way to leave, however, a beautiful daughter of house Bracken approached him on behalf of her sister who was looking for a partner. He prepared himself to excuse himself due to his engagement to the eldest daughter of house Belmore but as it turned out that the sister in question had barely turned 11 and was jealous of all her brothers and sisters having no partner of her own. Ser Artys smiled, he had not distinguished himself today but there were other aspects to Knighthood than merely fighting. What kind of Knight would refuse this dance to a young maid? For the next hour, he and little Serene danced alongside all the lords and ladies of the Seven kingdoms not caring what others thought of them. He returned her to her father and sister praising young Serene's elegance and manners before retiring back to his tent for the night where he found young Balon fast asleep. Ser Artys was surprised with his sobriety for what was undoubtedly one of the largest celebrations in recent memory yet when he went to sleep having drunk very little throughout the evening and sleep found him quickly.
The Attack:
A horn woke him in the night.
'That is no part of the entertainement' he thought to himself.
Quickly he became aware of men rushing past his tent in various states of undress with panic in their voices. Could the city be under attack? What fool would attack the capital with all these soldiers present? Remembering that not all those who attended the festivities were worries he started putting on his armour pouring a bucket of now cold bathwater on his squire to wake him up.
'Help me get this on quickly' he shouted to the startled boy 'once I'm gone arm yourself and stay in here, for no reason are you to leave this tent. Understand me boy?'
'To me Winged Knights!' a call rang out in the night. Grabbing his bastard sword he burst out from his tent Ser Artys followed the voice and found his brothers atop the wall. Nearby to them he was glad to see Mychel Arryn loosing arrow after arrow above the heads of his brothers. he quickly his shield alongside those of his brothers searching in the darkness for his foes. What he saw chilled him to the core. Creatures, that looked like fish-men rising out of the sea, making their way atop the walls many guardsmen lay dead already bitten by the creature's monstruous teeth or hacked apart by their brutish weapons. He suddenly regretted wishing to see more magic in his life. Could these be the merlings Erik has talked so much about or was King's Landing under attack from the mysterious fish people of the Thousand Islands? He supposed it didn't really matter, he had a task to do and he was going to do it. The knights stepped forward together and slashed their way along the walls but it seemed too many of the foes had already spilled over into the city. Young Mychel's arrows flew overhead often brining down one of the creatures before they made it to the line of Vale Knights and for this Ser Artys was grateful. The lockstep sound of his brothers marching with him and the slain bodies of the mysterious foes around them reassured him that whilst they were poor tourney Knights, the Winged Brotherhood showed their best qualities on the battlefield.