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VeilsightThe Grand Melee
The horn sounded. While others felt a calming effect, Rhaegar could only describe it as a stab of panic that went through him like the tip of a Dornish spear. He couldn't flee or lay his weapons down, so instead of allowing this speckle of fear to immobilize him like a fly in amber, the youngest prince turned it into a rush with the sole purpose to move him forward. His training took over then and he spurred the warhorse with an affirmative touch, brandishing his sword and swinging his shield to cover most of the left side of his body and holding it at an angle to deflect blows away. An idiom came to the Princes mind, one that was taught to him by Pod who in his youth heard it from one of the knights he squired under, Ser Lorimer The Belly. "Oak and Iron guard me well..." he spoke the mantra as he fully entered the fray, his whispers drowning below the noise of the gallop, the hooves sounding like thunder bellowing on the field. In seconds, thunder slid into the noise of opposing waves crushing with each other as the two sides clashed. Rhaegar pressed his heels down, tightening his legs with all his strength and letting his body become part of the motion of the horse beneath, guarding with his shield until the lines broke and chaos ensued. The Grand Melee had begun in earnest.
It didn't take long for the Prince to locate his first opponent. The young Alchemist was closing on him, flourishing a sword lit with bright green flames. It was a weapon that was created to emulate Lighbringer, although it paled in comparison to his father blade, simply a candle before a burning bonfire. But Rhaegar knew vey well that if effectiveness lied within its tricks, and that was when his steed begun rearing in fright at the sight of the dancing flames. He would surely fell if not for the experience Rhaegar had from flying on the back of a creature like Theron.
"Easy! Easy, now!" and somehow, such a decisive call was enough for the steed to find its footing. With his artifice now deemed useless, the alchemist made another passing slashing against the Prince with his sword that resembled a torch. But it was for naught, for Rhaegar met every attack with little difficulty and despite his opponent being two years older than him, Rhaegar knew he was the superior swordsman. With new-found confidence, he unleashed a balanced downwards attack following the fifth parry, the longsword cutting cleanly through the tourney blade, now ruined by wildfire, as if it was made by paper and making contact with the uncovered part between the pauldron. The warrior-alchemist winced in pain, but before he could even recover, the flat of a blade struck his uncovered face, throwing him off the saddle and onto the ground and with nothing but a broken nose and defeat for his efforts
It was brilliant backhand that gave him his first victory and despite his urge to celebrate, he knew that this contest was far from over. Every other combatant was either locked in combat with one or more opponents while others were lying on the ground or dragged away by their squires. And at the center of it all was the White Wolf, fending two combatants at once with profound ease. Rhaegar then noticed it with the corner of his eye, a Falcon flying and a spiked Morningstar whirling on the end of a chain. A Winged Knight was preaparing to attack Jon from the side while he dispatched the last of his two opponents, thinking that glory was reassured with a defeat over his King. No! a voice rung within his head and the Prince instinctively spurred his stallion once again He is not supposed to fall now.
The Valeman must've only heard the sound of drumming hoofbeats as Rhaegar passed swiftly and jabbed his sword forward, slamming the blunted tip into the attackers groin. He heard coughing coming out of the winged helmet, followed by cursing but as the Prince prepared for another duel, the familiar swing of a bastard sword fell upon his opponent. Turning his steed in a tight circle, Rhaegar tried to make sense of the Kings actions, looking at him with curious purple eyes through the slit of his greathelm. But even through its confines, a sudden torrent of cheers from the crowd reached his ears. It seemed that the people were asking to see father and son ride together.
@MrDidact
The horn sounded. While others felt a calming effect, Rhaegar could only describe it as a stab of panic that went through him like the tip of a Dornish spear. He couldn't flee or lay his weapons down, so instead of allowing this speckle of fear to immobilize him like a fly in amber, the youngest prince turned it into a rush with the sole purpose to move him forward. His training took over then and he spurred the warhorse with an affirmative touch, brandishing his sword and swinging his shield to cover most of the left side of his body and holding it at an angle to deflect blows away. An idiom came to the Princes mind, one that was taught to him by Pod who in his youth heard it from one of the knights he squired under, Ser Lorimer The Belly. "Oak and Iron guard me well..." he spoke the mantra as he fully entered the fray, his whispers drowning below the noise of the gallop, the hooves sounding like thunder bellowing on the field. In seconds, thunder slid into the noise of opposing waves crushing with each other as the two sides clashed. Rhaegar pressed his heels down, tightening his legs with all his strength and letting his body become part of the motion of the horse beneath, guarding with his shield until the lines broke and chaos ensued. The Grand Melee had begun in earnest.
It didn't take long for the Prince to locate his first opponent. The young Alchemist was closing on him, flourishing a sword lit with bright green flames. It was a weapon that was created to emulate Lighbringer, although it paled in comparison to his father blade, simply a candle before a burning bonfire. But Rhaegar knew vey well that if effectiveness lied within its tricks, and that was when his steed begun rearing in fright at the sight of the dancing flames. He would surely fell if not for the experience Rhaegar had from flying on the back of a creature like Theron.
"Easy! Easy, now!" and somehow, such a decisive call was enough for the steed to find its footing. With his artifice now deemed useless, the alchemist made another passing slashing against the Prince with his sword that resembled a torch. But it was for naught, for Rhaegar met every attack with little difficulty and despite his opponent being two years older than him, Rhaegar knew he was the superior swordsman. With new-found confidence, he unleashed a balanced downwards attack following the fifth parry, the longsword cutting cleanly through the tourney blade, now ruined by wildfire, as if it was made by paper and making contact with the uncovered part between the pauldron. The warrior-alchemist winced in pain, but before he could even recover, the flat of a blade struck his uncovered face, throwing him off the saddle and onto the ground and with nothing but a broken nose and defeat for his efforts
It was brilliant backhand that gave him his first victory and despite his urge to celebrate, he knew that this contest was far from over. Every other combatant was either locked in combat with one or more opponents while others were lying on the ground or dragged away by their squires. And at the center of it all was the White Wolf, fending two combatants at once with profound ease. Rhaegar then noticed it with the corner of his eye, a Falcon flying and a spiked Morningstar whirling on the end of a chain. A Winged Knight was preaparing to attack Jon from the side while he dispatched the last of his two opponents, thinking that glory was reassured with a defeat over his King. No! a voice rung within his head and the Prince instinctively spurred his stallion once again He is not supposed to fall now.
The Valeman must've only heard the sound of drumming hoofbeats as Rhaegar passed swiftly and jabbed his sword forward, slamming the blunted tip into the attackers groin. He heard coughing coming out of the winged helmet, followed by cursing but as the Prince prepared for another duel, the familiar swing of a bastard sword fell upon his opponent. Turning his steed in a tight circle, Rhaegar tried to make sense of the Kings actions, looking at him with curious purple eyes through the slit of his greathelm. But even through its confines, a sudden torrent of cheers from the crowd reached his ears. It seemed that the people were asking to see father and son ride together.
@MrDidact
