Parcival Tyrell wishes to see Lyonel punished for his father's death and stands as the primary accuser for the Laughing Storm. Lord Ashford sits in judgment on the case but, before any words can be said at the trial, Lyonel demands a trial by combat to prove his innocence in the matter. Parcival agrees to stand for himself and the combat is to occur at high noon on the final day of the tourney...
High noon - though any one would be hard pressed to tell. The grey mood that had settled over the tourney seemed to have carried to the weather; thick grey clouds covered the sky though the misty rain of that morning had thankfully passed. The area that had originally been cordoned off from the grand melee would see another use today.
Baelor shook his head slightly as he took his seat, "I do not like this."
Maekar scoffed, "The man killed one of our father's lords. This is, without a doubt, the punishment he deserves."
The elder prince frowned slightly, "And if that happens, we lose the son of a Lord Paramount on top of the one we've already lost." He once again shook his head as Lord Darryn Ashford stepped into the booth and the two combatants took their place in the field.
Darryn stared coldly down at the square, "Ser Baratheon, you stand before us today on trial for the death of Leo Tyrell, late Lord Paramount of the Mander." He looked to the man of the other side of the field, "Your accuser, Lord Parcival Tyrell, has accepted your demand of trial by combat and has chosen to face him yourself. Have you any words to say, Ser Baratheon?"
The Laughing Storm spat at the ground. "You all know my family and that we have no love for the Tyrells!" his voice echoed, "But I would no more purposefully kill one - let alone the Lord Paramount - than I would harm a hair on the head of either of our princes' heads. The Seven know the truth and will see it shown today!" He raised his sword and pointed at the Lord Tyrell, "Now, let's get this done, shall we?"
The field fell silent as the two warriors approached, each covered in plate - the Reachman carries a longsword and shield, weapons of a true knight, while the hairy Stormlander carries only an axe nearly as tall as himself. Both land several hits - Parcival's shield been bitten into several times by the large man's axe and Lyonel's axe handle bore several indentations from where he'd used it to absorb the shock of the knight's blows.
The fight continued on for several minutes, neither side seeming to take the advantage. And then...
Baelor frowned slightly, "Ser Baratheon is slowing."
"Aye," his brother whispered excitedly, "that he is. Swinging that axe around like a savage... no one can keep that up."
Baelor nodded slowly, watching, "But he's not even trying to hit him with the sharp end. See?" He gestured as the Stormlander took another swing, the blunt end of the axe brushing against the knight's shield, "He's not fighting to kill the man. Why would he -"
The prince was interrupted as the crowd roared; the Laughing Storm had smashed the back of his axe through the shield of Parcival, yanking the man's arm at an awkward angle before the shield itself went soaring away in a half dozen pieces. Parcival swung his own blade weakly, his movements suggesting pain, only to have it batted away by the larger man as he swept the Reachman's arm aside with his own. The Baratheon roared as he slammed he head forward, smashing into the forehead of the other combatant.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd and then a moment of silence as the Tyrell wavered on his feet and tottered to the ground. With another roar, the Laughing Storm raised his axe into the air, ready to bring it down upon his stunned foe. The axe came slamming down...
... into the ground next to Parcival's head. Lyonel tore away the dent visor of his own helmet and kneeled down, ripping the bashed and dented helmet from Parcival's head. His face full of fury, Lyonel glared into the Tyrell's eyes, hissing, "Yield, boy. I had no damned intention of killing your father and I have no intentions of killing you!"
Parcival gave the slightest of nods, so much so that even Lyonel had trouble recognizing it. Then, seemingly satisfied, Lyonel rose to his feet, pulling his axe from the ground and turning away from the defeated enemy. He had won - he was innocent and the Seven had laid it before everyone else to see.
The crowd murmured as he stepped towards the stands, axe at his side. He stopped, looking up at the Lord Ashford and the Princes, his mouth opening to speak - and felt a piercing pain in his lower back. The front plate of his armor was bent out every so slightly and a sensation of warmth, followed by a soul-chilling cold, ran through him. The hairy man started to turn and barely caught a glimmer of Parcival Tyrell, standing behind him with blood dripping from his face, as darkness swept up to overtake him.
Unsteady on his feet, Parcival Tyrell watched the Laughing Knight bleed out at his feet. He glanced up to the stands, catching sight of Prince Baelor's deep frown before moving his gaze to Darryn Ashford. The lord of the castle paused for a long moment, then gave a slow nod, rising to his feet, "People of Ashford! Lord Tyrell! The Seven have spoken. Ser Lyonel Baratheon has been found guilty of the murder of Lord Leo Tyrell and the sentence has been carried out before the eyes of all."
In his seat, Baelor slumped back as his brother clapped beside him; somehow, he didn't think that this was going to end here...Statistics: Posted by Rahvin — Sat Feb 17, 2018 11:46 pm
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