Ser Derren "Rosethorn" of Duskendale, Hedge Knight and Heir of House Darkwood
Highgarden, the Reach
The Tourneygrounds
Derron smiled "The lady who gave me my namesake..." he gestured to Mrycella Baratheon "Though who's th' Dornish boy next to 'er? Is it Quentyn or Trystane? They both ha' the Martell sigil behind 'em. It will be a story I'll tell ye another time..." The "Knight of Thorns" pondered "So, the little Griffon fancies himself a bout. If ev'ry man from Essos is as tough as Axel an' Willhain..." he holstered his armor, trying to hide his worry behind his winning smile "Well, tha'll be for the jousts...wish me th' best o' luck. An' if yer plannin' on joustin' me, pray that ye land softly." Derron smiled as he made his way to the stables, ready for the next match.
He mounted his steed, and asked a nearby squire about his opponent, a "Tom Jackard". He was a lowborn, strong arm, fast rider, but not very experienced in jousting. A look at his armor confirmed it. Sigil of a hammer behind a horse, not the most professional, same sort of armor that he rode in with. Worn, battered, a "stuffed bear" as the Northerners would say. All offense and intimidation and barely any defense or actual experience. But sometimes, luck favors the inexperienced, so they
get experience.
The "Knight of Thorns" was introduced first, with a professional lift of the lance and beaming smile. When Jackard or "The Hammerer" was announced, he simply smiled and rolled up his lance a bit.
An ambitious nickname, Rosethorn thought
but one that doesn't suit him, his technique is sloppy. I'm willing to bet tha' he hasn't held a lance more than a fortnight...As custom, the knights made their pass to salute each other, and Rosethorn numbed himself to the cheering of audiences. He was analyzing his opponent, by his demeanor, by his armor, by the way he steered the horse and the lance. The boy was a good horse-rider, but never had a suit of armor on him. When they passed, they said the usual pleasantries, but Jackard remarked that Rosethorn was a "Ser, and a flowery one. Might not be able to handle his words." Derron asked curiously what those words were, Jackard replied with "I'm going to knock your arse off, dirty your flowery cloak, an' be on me merry way." Bold, but Derron was bolder. With a pleasant smile, he laughed as he steered his horse to the opposite end of the course. There was no better way to intimidate a man than by smiling.
It began, if Rosethorn was numbing out the crowd before, they were silent in his mind as time slowed when the horses raced out of the gates at breakneck speeds.
Twenty seconds. Notice how Jackard attempts to swing the lance like a baker with his peel? While it would make sense to work with the momentum to knock a knight clear off, a precision strike would work just as well by holding higher, and more professionally.
Fifteen seconds, he draws it back, is he really confident in his technique? Jackard moves his shield wide out, to bring the horse as close to the divider as possible. Clever move, but leaves him wide open. Jackard's leaning in to compensate. Time for a glancing blow on both their parts.
Ten seconds, Rosethorn angles his shield upwards slightly, and tilts it to match the lance's straightforward path
Five seconds: Moving his waist and his lance to Jackard's stomach. There's an open spot.
Four...
Gods forgive me sinsThree...
Let me lance strike trueTwo
An' may we both emerge alive an' for th' better.Impact
The bottom half of Rosethorn's shield was torn clean off, splintering its opponent's lance. Against the gut of Jackard, Rosethorn's own lance splintered and Jackard's horse whinnied and railed under the impact, but Jackard stayed on and rode to the other side. Derron slowed down and looked over his shoulder at his opponent, who was winded and realized that racing horses was different than jousting with them. Jackard gruffly demanded another lance, as his shield was untouched. Perfect. A squire asked if Rosethorn wanted a new lance or shield. He declined. Jousting wasn't simply about knocking another bloke off of his horse, it was about strategy.
Another round, and the crowd murmured at how a knight would manage with a broken lance and shield. This was Derron's favorite trick, and under his helm, he was grinning ear to ear.
Out of the gates the two knights rode.
Twenty seconds: Jackard rode fast and hard, he was mad, but hasn't changed his technique.
Fifteen seconds: Jackard did manage to bring his shield across his lower and exposed stomach, as an open piece of armor was a deadly weakness, allowing his horse to ride full ahead without need of reigns.
Ten seconds: Rosethorn gauged the angle of which Jackard's lance was coming, and brought his broken lance back.
Five seconds: Silent prayers were said, breaths were taken, and time slowed.
To the audience, what Rosethorn did was a miracle, but to Rosethorn, and to many trained knights, it was unique, but expected. Derron simply realized that the lance, much like Jackard, was a force that could not be stopped,
however, it could be redirected. The actual skill was in the top of Derron's shield catching the lance as it swung underhand, and tilting the flat of his shield so that it would slide harmlessly out of Jackard's hand. With his opponent sucsessfully disarmed, Derron used his broken, and thereby lighter, lance and directed it at the portion of the armor that would carry the most weight: the sternum. Derron's first lance-mark was a wound, a test to see how his opponent would respond, and he fell right into his hands. Too late did Jackard realize this, too perfectly did the splintered tip of the lance snake its way just over his shield and connect with the upper portions of his body, and too soon would the hopeful horseman be carried off of his horse and straight onto his arse. It was probably a mercy that he reacted so slow, had his shield met the splintered lance, his neck could have been snapped.
With a sickening chorus of exclamations of pain, rich curses, armor clamoring on itself, and a low
snap of some bone breaking around the lower portion of knight's armor: Tom Jackard lost the tourney, sliding on his arse through the mud. The crowd cheered as Rosethorn triumphantly thrust the broken lance into the air. The Maesters, Septons, or Lords who knew well the meaning of House Tyrell's words would relate them to the Hedge Knight. A rose, while seemingly harmless, can be deadly when it finds a nook, and to the careless.
Derron turned his horse around, and dismounted, hearing not the proclamation of his victory, but instead focused on helping up the fallen horseman. He bellowed at the two squires to take him to the Healers, and exited the circuit with the sound of cheering crowds behind him. The Knight of Thorns won this round, but as he knew, there were other, more fiercer rounds afterwards.