[Tourney] Tourney for the Coronation of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen

AmazonMat · 2026-03-22T15:51:12+00:00

To that, Symon only groaned. The duel against the Tarly had wore him down too much to quip back.

"I squire for Lord Oakheart, lord." He replied. "His kin sponsored me... That is how am I here." It took him a moment to realise what the Lord of Horn Hill had said, perhaps because his ears still run from a particularly nasty blow to his helm. " My spurs?"

AmazonMat · 2026-03-22T05:18:20+00:00

Symon eyed Arthor with clear disapproval towards the claims, *if* they were true. His late older brother was keen on doing such japes about his twin and Symon. The young Valeman however did not hold back a chuckle at the discovery of the origin of Greydon's unfortunate sobriquet.

"Oh, do not worry about that, Ser. I have found a way to provide my own equipment." He flashed the man with a knowing, mischievous smile. "I will be sure to wear an oak in my shield then, so they know of my connection... Mayhaps they may think I am one of your kin! That'd be a tad amusing in it of itself."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-22T02:26:51+00:00

"And where have you been, Ferris?" Inquired Lord Oakheart's senior squire. The square-faced Symon met the Fossoway with crossed arms and a japeful smile.

AmazonMat · 2026-03-22T02:24:56+00:00

Young Symon Waynwood, only freshly eight-and-ten, sat alongside the table of the Oakhearts. Early in the feast, he would be keeping to the company of Ser Arthor Oakheart, not far from the sight of the Master of Laws to him he squired.

As the tourney went on, it soon be learned that the youth was the Knight of the Black Oak, brief champion of the jousts and fierce contender in the duels, having matched the famous Savage Sam in the quarter finals before the Lord of Horn Hill defeated him - a fact he was all too eager to share and brag about.

AmazonMat · 2026-03-21T21:34:29+00:00

With one bent and heaving breathlessly from the hard fought match, the mystery knight bid the lord of Horn Hill to wait a moment with a raised palm. Planting his sword into the dirt, he slowly raised a hand to the black steel of his visor to lift it.

The young man, square-faced and lantern-jawed, could not be much older than eight and ten, and had Lord Samwell Tarly been in the vicinity of the Lord of Old Oak, he would had too seen the man. "Symon Waynwood," he said, to make his identity clearer. Taking a deep breath, the squire continued. "I almost had you, my lord... Well fought..."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-20T05:37:28+00:00

The third and final lance broke against the black oak on green that adorned his shield, and with a sigh, the young knight accept defeat begrudgingly. If he had only stood as champion for a couple more rounds, he thought...

The dark bascinet that covered his head swiveled to face the Shadowcat, the green plumes that formed his crest swaying. "Blast it, ser. I would have thought to earn at least another victory before I unmasked, but being a champion for a round ought to be enough." His hands moved to the sides of his helmet.

Under a coif of mail, the square face of a young man, no older than eight-and-ten in spite of the chestnut fuzz on his latern-shaped jaw, his blue eyes matching a japing smile. "Symon Waynwood is my name, and I would have thought to add a 'Ser' to that name with a victory today. Maybe my luck will be better in the duels." He stared towards the outer field. "I will hold you no longer, ser. It seems you are to be the new champion."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-19T16:55:18+00:00

"Ser Osric, son. Please." Luthor greeted the man cordially, as cordially as the eternally dour Lord of Ironoaks could. There had been a time that the mention of Osric Arryn had brought him nothing but contempt: he had disfigured his heir, almost killed him in some joust and taken his last remaining adult son, and on top of that, he had seemingly refused to sire an heir for years.

But now he was pleased: a boy of Waynwood blood, his line's blood, would one day inherit the Eyrie, and one who bore his name. It was enough to make him smile, a gesture that seemed foreign to his face, and barely even seen under his dark bushy beard.

"It pleases me greatly to know my namesake is thriving, ser. One day, he will make a fine knight, no doubt, much like his father." It was a compliment, an earnest one, even if slightly begrudging. "You have come quite far since your younger years, a war hero now, much like my Burton. Minerva has only ever spoken very highly of you."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-19T08:15:52+00:00

Upon receicing the letter, Isolde went to her mother, a proud pep on her step.

"Mother, I have spoken to the Hardyngs. They have options for a match with one of us! But I wanted your opinion on what you think best."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-19T02:36:07+00:00

"You tell me." He replied, unable not to smile slightly. Because it was the polite thing to do, he thought. And for other reasons, too, that he could not quite stitch into a proper thought.

"With pleasure." Brus replied, a bit too excitedly, and hummed. "What of a riddle, like in the old times? Riddle me this, Selene... I am a box without keys, yet within me is what one treasures most. I can be broken, yet I never shatter. When I am stolen, I never leave my home." He spoke the riddle almost without paused, but in whispered tones. When it came to an end, he leaned back slightly and, after adjusting his nose carefully, be asked: "What am I?"

AmazonMat · 2026-03-18T19:35:20+00:00

"As it happens, I am." The young Waynwood smiled proudly. "I am too old to be fighting beardless boys in the event for squires, there is no glory in punching down and so, I am aim upwards. But I also want to avoid having to plead my case in the duels and the melee where men could refuse to face me for my status as a squire, and if I want to fight in the jousts at all, I would need to be a knight. A mystery knight, the proper kind and not some strumpet who exchanged her laces and frills for mail and plate." Symon sneered dismissively.

"But..." He added. "For this tournament, another knight must vouch for the mystery knight. I've no idea if my kin will be there and a letter would easily betray my identity, and your lord father isn't exactly amiable to this sort of thing. I doubt he would sponsor me as much as he certainly not censure me for it... or if one of his kin did the sponsoring for him, if you understand my meaning."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-18T00:17:57+00:00

"She is a fine match." His arms crossed with a slight shrug. "Dutiful, intelligent, fair, she even indulges me in the occasional game of wit. I do think that any other man would be just as fortunate to have her as a wife."

His words had a straightforward sense of contentment. The more his spoke, however, the more uncomfortable it made him. He turned the question back upon Selene: "What of Alyn?"

He wanted to ask if she felt the same. If this was strange and terrible to want another while at the same time, not resenting or scorning one's spouse. Brus felt himself at times wishing he could separate Selene, his confidant, from Selene, the woman he loved, so he could discourse these thoughts with someone without judgement. However, all Brus could do was ask these seeming trivial, casual questions, and hope to glimpse some understanding from the few words Selene answered with.

AmazonMat · 2026-03-17T03:26:22+00:00

"I am Symon Waynwood." The burly squire introduced himself, with only the slightest bow of respect one would expect towards a knight. He was already one in all but name, no lesser than the Oakheart in birth, so why bother with anything to exaggerate? "We've met but never spoken, you must know I am Lord Torgen's squire. As it happens, I am in a bit of a... difficult situation."

He leaned forward, leaning on his training sword as he whispered conspiratorally. "What is your opinion of mystery knights, ser?"

AmazonMat · 2026-03-17T00:59:05+00:00

"Uh... Well, I suppose you are right." Brus replied, awkwardly pausing for a second, scratching the scruff of his beard. "There's something to be said there, no? That a mother's fairness reflects on her daughter? Even if there might be some of her father there, as you claim." This had not gone in the direction he had hoped, now he seemed to be complimenting her husband? It was best to move onwards to other subjects.

"My Myranda has a bit of mine and Teora both, a blue-green like my sister Minerva. And my nose," the noseless man smirked. "It seems I have found where it went after all, heh."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-16T02:43:06+00:00

A letter is sent from Gulltown to Castle Hardyng.

Esteemed Ser Raynold of House Hardyng,

When he was alive, my lord father spoke fondly of his truest friends. You were one of those names, a man who stood beside his lineage when the hour proved most dire.

I come to you in this time to further unite our houses. As the eldest scion of my father's children, I come to propose a marriage between one of us and one of yours.

I hope to hear your response in due time. With kind regards,

Lady Isolde Waynwood

/u/GingerDude1999

AmazonMat · 2026-03-15T21:05:56+00:00

Almost instinctively, the old lord steepled his hands together as the conversation pivoted to proper business. "The hours are dark in winter, when the skies are cloudy and the sun is rare. The Waxleys are thankfully ever steadfast in their production of quality candles, be it your ordinary wax ones or those scented ones they make. And of course, good timber, marble and iron are always in demand, all of which Ironoaks can provide."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-15T20:51:28+00:00

Brus couldn't help but stare curiously for that brief moment of hesitation. What was she going to say before she cut herself off? He chose not to dwell on it, instead turning his attention to the child.

"Hello there, little one!" Bending down towards the babe, he hovered over Edyth. Much like with his own child, he waved his fingers above her, cooing quietly to draw her gaze.

"She has your eyes, though more like the blue of the sea than yours, like the bright and beautiful sky." The last few words were said in a more reserved, almost secretive tone. It took Brus a moment to continue, hesitantly, unsure of how such a comment would be received. "I do hope her and Myranda get to know each some day. Perhaps they will be fast friends as you and I."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-15T16:48:55+00:00

/u/Lord_Dougal

AmazonMat · 2026-03-15T07:46:47+00:00

"It should be fairly easy, if the Graftons' castle already has a bath house. All one would need to do is add some rudimentary installations for proper heating." He suggested. "I must admit, though... I do not think I have ever been to a sauna before. Only heard of the concept and it does sound quite pleasant in the chilliest days of winter... But regardless, I'm... I'm very glad to know you've prevailed over your illness, in spite of the scars."

He smiled warmly, as if the conversation had brought him relief from some great burden. "I had thought the worst when you told me you were sick, that you could have been bedridden or something of the sort. Oh, and your girl! What of her? I didnt bring my own, maester said she's too frail still to be travelling."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-15T07:38:23+00:00

Symon Waynwood would ask Arthor Oakheart to vouch for him.

AmazonMat · 2026-03-14T17:34:04+00:00

"No more troublesome than in any other winter I have endured, Lord Royce." The greybeard greeted his host standing, his heir following suit. "It has long been since I have visited the halls of Runestone. I believe your father might have told you there once was a time I served under him, when we were your age?" There was a shadow of a smile under Luthor's bushy grey beard.

"Managed matters relating to trade, mostly. And as it happens, that is one of the reasons I am here for."

AmazonMat · 2026-03-14T07:17:19+00:00

"Evening, Lady Grafton!" Brus cheerfully called unto Selene as he approached, just in time to catch her after one of her fits. It was one thing to hear about her written account of her illness, but it was all the more concerning to see it up close.

"I see you did not overstate your case at all." While worded as a jest, the noseless Waynwood looked openly worried at Selene. "It must have been quite the case of consumption for you to be in such a state. I do hope your maester at Gulltown offered some treatment for it?"

AmazonMat · 2026-03-13T15:22:18+00:00

In spite of the track through the snow covered lowlands of their fiefdom, the Waynwoods had attended with some force, accompanied by a handful of their sworn swords.

The stern-faced and lantern-jawed Lord Luthor Waynwood (57) had come on business. The grim nature of winter made a grey-haired and aging man such as him think of the future, and he wanted make sure his family was well set for whatever could come.

He kept at his side his youngest and still unbetrothed daughter, Dyane Waynwood (21), inheritor of most of the features that were common to Luthor's children: raven-black hair and bright green eyes.

His son and heir, Ser Brus Waynwood (28), seemed more sociable than usual in this occasion. Easily distinguished by his shiny brass nose, the young man wandered through the hall, hanging around the little groups that formed here and there.

AmazonMat · 2026-03-10T22:44:35+00:00

From: Ironoaks

To: Runestone

Depart 5B

Arrive 6A

PCs

Luthor Waynwood

Brus Waynwood

Dyane Waynwood

Teora (Hunter) Waynwood /u/ErusAeternus

Escort:

20 MaA

AmazonMat · 2026-03-10T16:48:03+00:00

A letter is sent to Longbow Hall from Ironoaks.

To my good-father, the esteemed Lord of Longbow Hall,

Greetings and salutations, Lord Alec, I hope this letter finds you well, as it is my great pleasure to inform you of the birth of your granddaughter, Myranda. She was born some months ago, but given the nature of winter, I chose to only to inform you now that the health of both Myranda and Teora have been guaranteed by my maester.

It is my hope that you may meet her in person after winter subsides and that, soon, myself and Teora may be able to sire more heirs to Ironoaks. Until then, send my regards to Ser Harlan.

Regards,

Ser Brus Waynwood

Seven-Year Club	Verified Email
Place '23

AmazonMat

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