King's Landing
The festivities were in full play, and the jousting lists had begun. Though of course, to say the least, the Tyrells did not make an understated appearance at such a wedding, or a joust like this. The two large green and gold tents were pitched almost as a high as a house at the end of the lists, and whilst it was not just the presence of House Tyrell alone, it did indeed scream of the status of the Reachmen that had come here. Fighters from House Tarly, Goldengrove, Florent, Hightower, and nameless other Reach houses, great and small, had entered the melee, jousts and the feasting, and to say the least, Ellion Tyrell was certainly one of them.
From the golden glint in his eyes, a trait that seemed incredibly pronounced in Ellion compared to his brown-eyed brother or father, to the gentle smell of roses that seemed to trail him with his brown curly hair looked after gently, there was no doubt that he had come here to please. Ellion was looking on in the mirror, and with his squire, Rodrick, affixing the last pieces of his platemail. His armour was truly something that had been sculpted almost perfectly, having an edge. The Northern Kingdoms had cold pragmatism at their heart, the Westerlands, a strange mixture of Plate and mail that didn't seem to mix, that looked overbearing....like the Lannisters that Ellion knew. The Dornish had light leather, and it suited them in their climes, but they did not look beautiful. Neither did the Stormlands, the tales he was told of Robert Baratheon's armour, with a stag's antlers on his helm, by the Seven he wish he could have seen it with his own two eyes. The Reach did armour in a way that never failed to turn heads. Each strike, each curve, plate, was functional, but was an artisan's work. The silvery-gold armour almost shone in the light, with Roses and thorns etched in, it was done across the surface, from his metal vambraces to his shoulderplate, his chestplate which in itself, had numerous vines, roses and thorns interlocking, covered in other flowers, scratched in with a metalworker's tool and an artisan's eye. It's price? You didn't ask, it would have been rude to know. A helm that in itself, would look ornate to most, but was functional, the visor interlaced with strong steel that was in a rose-like design, though allowing for a clear vision, despite being a little blurry in places. From his pointed metal boots, to his crafted metal vambraces and gauntlets, themselves even having etching. Gold cloth in the shape of a rose, sat on his shoulderplate and on numerous parts of his chestplate, while under the arms and under the plate itself, was a hefty compiling of mail, something that could offer a little more movement than a solid plate would, while leaving no gaps at all. If Ellion had ever seen a better suit in the Seven Kingdoms, it had to be that of perhaps Lord Jamie Lannister, or the Whitecloaks. The helm in his hands, he looked on, seeing a particular woman emerge from behind the cloth cover to his quarters, turning his head rather than looking in the mirror. Sister.
"You boys like your armour far too much. Far more than my dresses!" Alerie giggled, as she kissed her tall brother on his cheek, Ellion blushing his usually firm cheeks as red as a Cox's Apple. Alerie's burgundy hair brushed by, kept to about shoulder-length, her green and golden dress a light one, adept to the climes of King's Landing.
"I aim to please, sister." Ellion replied, as he smiled, wrapping his gauntleted arm around his sister, the two of them getting on well. Even if Alerie didn't agree entirely with her brother's lifestyle, she knew that he had his ways, and why he did all of it. It wasn't easy to see it at first, but Alerie appeared to be the sharpest of the four siblings, she appeared to have a certain kind of intelligence, wit and charm that didn't immediately make it's way to the surface, but could be deduced by spending enough time with her.
"So you do....fancy Ellion Tyrell, you really do want to bombard the senses. Are you trying to get yourself a beauty? They'll all fall at their knees for you." She said, walking around him, his squire, Duncan, a boy of ten, away and cleaning his lance.
"Well....possibly?" Ellion meekly said, as Alerie giggled further, grabbing the hilt of his sword.
"They all just fancy a bit of cock really. You don't need all the perfume in the world...you're in King's Landing, love. Anything goes, even if you're as beautiful as you are, brother." Alerie giggled further, as she heard the hubub of chanting outside, before looking back at Ellion.
"I'll leave you prepare. Sounds like you'll be in the lists soon. I'll join father in the stands." Alerie said, as she gently headed towards the exit of his quarter, before turning, Ellion almost entirely speechless. She was a huge tease, sisterly, not in a Lannister-type way doing this, just because she could. And Ellion himself, despite his total grasp of how to attract men and women, didn't actually understand how his fucking sister worked.
"Good to hear. I'll do what I can. No pressure...there's only thousands of people and you to impress."
"Oh, come on, Ellion. You're good. Don't get killed, because there's going to be a lot of disappointed maidens if you do. Okay?" With that, Alerie winked, as she left, leaving Ellion looking on, confused. Her sister was mad, he thought to himself, as he saw his squire head back in, a gleeful look on his face, the Tyrell's head coming back to his senses. Right, he was here to joust.
"Ser Ellion, I've cleaned your lance, is there anything else?" Duncan asked, as Ellion looked down, taking a knee.
"Not really, I think that's enough for now, Duncan. Is my horse ready?"
"Aye, whenever you are, Ser Ellion." He spoke, as Ellion smiled, knowing his squire reminded him a lot of a young him. He was from House Peake, and had black hair, though he was very short for his age, a brave lad- one he could see definitely getting involved in some melees and jousts of his own when he was older.
"Good to hear it, Duncan." Ellion stood once more, and headed out of his quarters, headed towards the exit of the tent, the roaring crowds coming into view, the enormous Red Keep, the banners of all the major Houses, including the golden rose on the green banner, of his own. Knights and squires milled around, ladies and lords, the area felt tight and humid. But the stables and the lists were close, the noise of metal on metal clashing loudly, as the first lists sprung into life. Ellion would sweep the first ones with ease, but how far he could go, he didn't even really know. Ellion had a method, a certain kind of confidence and commitment that many didn't have, combined with a certain kind of precision with his lance. He was fit enough to endure tilt after tilt, and when his moment come, he always just went all in, when he saw his opponent would buckle. The sight was one that even Ellion knew he wouldn't see in his lifetime maybe, a phenominal tourney for the whole realm to see.
Headed towards the stables, he found his steed, Desdemona, named after his first love. A fine galloping dark-haired warhorse, a loyal friend, and the steed that he chose to use when hurtling towards another man with a very sharp, pointy wooden stick, at very high speed. Jousting was dangerous, and the stakes were high. Fall off, become a cripple, die, or stay on, become a cripple, die, bloodily and incredibly messily, in front of a crowd. Ellion understood the risks he was taking. And that well, glory was a better one to go for. Mounting the horse's saddle, he heard his steed gently bray, as he reassured it. The white and golden quilt, and the pretty nature of his horse, hell, even it didn't smell as badly of shit and hay as the other horses, said it all that Ellion understood that he knew that there was a certain image to retain. Might as well see how far the well goes, he thought to himself. And he was good at being stupid, perhaps he thought to himself. He'd proven it so far. And he wasn't going to die on this field. He wasn't going to be complacent. He was going to joust.
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Alerie ran up the large stand, two Tyrell guardsmen by her side, as she found Willas, her dad. Willas Tyrell may have had a bad leg from this exact sport, but he did enjoy watching jousting, even if it gave him an uncomfortable memory. He remembered, the sight of Oberyn Martell, and the fact that it was him who had made the cripple he was today. The horse falling onto his leg, and twisting it. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt, it was an agony only beaten by the raven on a fateful day, 25 years ago. How he knew it hurt more, well, you only needed to barely ask him. Willas had been insular, but he was good at what he did, and kept a facade, of something that hadn't been deeply affected by it. The Master of Coin, the Lord Treasurer of the Seven Kingdoms, sat comfortably, as his daughter came by his side, taking a seat, surrounded by a small retinue of guards. They were close to the action, but not too close, commoners, other Lords and Ladies, all scattered in a weird way.
"Ellion is getting prepared, father. He looks dashing as always."
"So did I back then. Seven Hells, I was good." Willas cracked a wry smile, as Alerie took a seat by his side, Willas not a drunken oaf, or a bad particular influence. He just seemed to look after the family, and he was kindly enough to those he met, a good hearted man. Even Alerie's particular cunning and wit, her charm and her plotting, even had to weaken to the fact that her father did all he could that was good for the family, and didn't sit there like some fool.
"Will you go to speak with King Jon?" Alerie asked, as Willas sighed, drinking a little more Arbor Gold, the wine a beautiful one, and that of their homeland.
"Later. But I think he's attending to matters of politics. By which I mean, the King is probably having to deal with those Stepstoners again." Willas replied, as he drank gently down a little more, looking back to his daughter.
"It's good to see you again, Alerie. I always guess you are still looking after Alys?" Willas asked, as he leaned back in his chair, looking down as two jousters went into each other, to much cheering, somehow staying on their horses.
"I try, father, but she's so stupid, she doesn't even..."
"She's younger than you, Alerie. Just let her do what she wants. She's a good girl, she might not have a lofty set of goals, but Alys is happy. So are you, my dear. I hope so, at least!" Willas said, chuckling as Alerie sat up, chuckling herself a little, smiling. She enjoyed her time with Lady Alys a little more than her father, but even so, she was close with him, and knew that he was kindly, and well intended.
"Alright, I suppose so. I wish I could join you in King's Landing for longer father, it looks exiting here. It's boring back at home, here there seems to be so much intrigue."
"It isn't all good, my dear. There are some dangerous men here, you need to be careful. Seven Hells, I'm not sure how I'm not dead yet." He replied, as Alerie chuckled.
"I just need bigger fish to fry. More than Merlin or Ellion can do here. Help our family." She said, as Willas nodded, knowing just how much like Margaery she sounded. Alerie's fire burnt bright, like his deceased sister's, she always looked out for her own, disregarding the others that only wanted to watch House Tyrell flounder. And whilst she was right, even Willas knew it wasn't time, not yet.
"Soon enough, my dear. You're a smart woman, you'll do more than just be some wife to some Lord someplace, we will look after you and make sure you do our family proud. Now, we should watch the tilts. Shall we get more wine?"
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