The Tourney at Ashford

Davelyn was out in the rain for some daily practice. He had his boar spear in hand and was going through some exercises with it. He didn't feel like having to dry his shirt later though, so he simply has his soaked traveling trousers and boots. If it were not cool and raining there would probably be a decent sweat going on him.

Walder entered the square, his right hand still aching from yesterday but still very much on the mend. He was carrying a small wooden practice shield and his trusty mattock in hand, determined to get some practice in today. He noticed the dornishman practicing already, and raised his hand in greeting.
"Mornin' lad! How goes it?"

"Wet!" he responds with a laugh that was a bit ragged from shortness of breath in the moment. He lowers his spear and approaches. "Out for some morning practice eh? How've you been since I last saw you? Tourney going good?"

"Aye! Have to keep those skills somewhat in shape after all..." He responded. "Tis been good. Got to beat some eejits yesterday, release stress... You?"

"Just building up stress on this end unfortunately. I came here to joust, but my youthful impatience is driving me crazy waiting," he says with a wide smile. "I heard there was a fight yesterday... and Lord Baratheon was involved."

As he talks the last sentence through, he starts stretching a bit. He then lifts the spear in challenge with a smirk, clearly interested in practicing with an opponent than wet air. But he also doesn't let the conversation die either.

"I've heard he's a big guy himself. How tall was he compared to you?"

Walder knocked his mattock on his shield a few times, giving a sly smile at the young man's challenge. He kept up the conversation on his end too.
"Aye, Lord Baratheon was involved. He's just slightly shorter than me, 'e's a good fight, he is."

Lunging forward just barely within the reach of Walder's shield, he tests the waters, so to speak. This river was a dangerous one.

"I hate to admit it, but I think I would have liked to see that. Though as my lord's lord I'd really rather wish a brawl hadn't broken out around him. Will probably trickle down in some fashion," he says with a chuckle. "But I'm sure there was plenty of ale involved so hopefully that will take much of the blame."

Walder held his ground determinedly, shield in hand and mattock at the ready.
"Aye, my condolences lad. But he didn't get beaten that badly, and aye, the ale will take much of the blame."

"Good to know," he says, further testing the behemoth before him, pushing the the mattock out of the way for a moment with his spear.

"I've never been one for brawling myself. I'd prefer to buy a round and let bygones be bygones."

Walder covered himself with his shield, and brought his mattock to bear against the younger man's spear with a clang and crushing strength. He grunted a repsponse. "Aye, been in too many bar brawls meself, but I do usually find myself in situations where diplomacy is not an option."

The bigger mans blow against his heavy spear easily pushes it out of the way, but Davelyn's own resistance was probably stronger than expected.

"Well, that's why we train," the Dornish bastard says with a nod. "The warriors job."