So far, so good.
Khari had made it through the first two rounds of jousting more or less intact. Though she'd had a couple lances broken on her, it wasn't anything that would do more than bruise, which of course wasn't the point. Really, she'd always known this was going to be her weakest event; she hadn't had all that many opportunities to practice. She could ride, of course, and she'd been working with lances to the extent she could, but Skyhold sure as shit didn't have a tilting area, and so putting all the components together was the work of a couple days in Kirkwall and last minute work yesterday.
She was lucky to have made it as far as round three, but she refused to show so poorly that she had no shot at the overall win.
Which was why, despite having a pretty good idea that she was about to get her ass handed to her by this next guy, she was still letting Leon strap her onto her horse. She had to get out there and do whatever skill or luck allowed—even if she'd watched this Caron guy wipe the floor with the last knight he'd jousted.
Her breath was shuddery; her heart unsteady in her chest. Her nerves jangled together like mangy tomcats squalling and swiping at each other in a dirty back alley, and dammit, she was going to have to do this anyway. It wasn't even the danger or the prospect of this particular defeat that was doing it. It was just the thought that she couldn't let her dream end here, like this, with a whimper instead of a bang, taken out of the competitive point totals before she'd even been allowed to do the things she was good at.
“Don't suppose anyone's got any last-minute sage wisdom, huh?" She shifted slightly in the saddle, tilting her head so the slit in her helmet allowed her to see her friends.
"Don't die," Ves suggested, and not for the first time. He'd been watching almost all of the tilts, not just Khari's, to better study her potential opponents. Or rather, to let Saraya study them, since that was where the majority of his riding skills came from. He'd been helpful thus far, for the most part.
He stepped to the other side of Khari's horse while Leon worked, giving him a pat on the neck and staring down the lane at Caron, getting ready on the other side. "And don't try to outmuscle this one. You won't. He's brute-forced his way this far, and doesn't seem to care where his shield is most of the time. If you trade body shots, he'll come out ahead. Personally, I'd aim high, and make sure my placement is perfect before worrying about power. Somewhere near the gorget." He glanced back at her. "At the very least, don't worry about him trying to do the same. A crushed arm or ribcage seems more likely."
The only trouble with that was, Khari couldn't be totally sure she had that kind of precision in her. It was exactly what was missing when she practiced the individual pieces of jousting without really being able to practice it all at once. Still, it was probably really good advice; she nodded.
“Don't die, aim better than him. Got it." She pushed a breath out between her teeth, grimacing when some of it caught in the confines of the helmet and blew back at her. She was really learning to hate this thing. Not that she had a problem with helmets generally, but the emphasis on total concealment here was not her usual reason for wearing one, and the almost complete close-in was irritating.
She shifted her left leg so Leon could adjust the straps on her shin, pulling her shield into place herself with her free hand. It was basically strapped onto her arm; one less thing to remember to grip. The downside was, Caron wasn't the only one who sort of forgot it was there sometimes.
The last few straps in place at her legs, Leon lifted the gold-and-grey striped lance near his feet up to Khari. It was one of a large number they had, since one of the acceptable ways to earn points was to succeed in splintering one on an opponent. The other, of course, was to knock them off their horse.
"He has better reach than you do," he said, patting her armored knee with one large, gloved hand. "So you're going to need timing as well as aim. One other way to go might be to try and get your lance under his. Aim for the armpit, take some force out of his hit and even the distance a little."
Stel didn't really have a lot to add to the strategy portion of the discussion, it seemed, though she did grin under her mask and pull something out from her sleeve. A handkerchief, by the look of it. Dark blue; not quite her usual indigo, but close enough that Khari could identify the object as a favor. Reaching up, Stel tied it around Khari's right wrist, winking under her mask.
"Good luck, my friend."
Khari had only half a second to grin back before the horn sounded, signaling that it was time for the riders to line up. She forced out another exhale in a shortened burst, nodding and swallowing. Like some kind of conditioned response, the sound had pulled her head back into the game, and further from her friends as a consequence. She waited for everyone to step clear; only Leon would remain in the list area itself, since he was serving as squire for this exercise.
The horse beneath her moved smoothly with the direction of her knees alone, approaching the near end of the list, which consisted of several even stakes driven in a straight line into the ground, their tips painted chevalier red and yellow. At the other end she could see Caron—he really did look quite large. His horse was tall and sturdy, too, something which only increased his advantage. Khari, being small and swifter than she was strong, had opted for a lance on the short end of things, on the rationale that it was easier for her to handle and quicker to adjust. Caron had obviously taken the other approach. His light blue and white one looked heavy, and a good two feet longer than hers at least.
The crowd applauded, as was customary at this point. Both riders swung their horses so as to see the Emperor's box, where Lucien did indeed sit, observing the proceedings. Not for the first time, Khari wondered if he might not be in the least suspicious that she'd do something like this. It was probably good that there wasn't a lot of time to think about it. The riders bowed in their seats, then wheeled around, arranging themselves on their ends. Khari was closer to the audience on Lucien's side; Caron rode the opposing side.
She shifted, tensing in her seat and leaning her weight just a little forward, stepping harder into the stirrups and readying her shield. Her right hand squeezed the handle of her lance; she tried to time her breath to coincide with the start signal.
Exhale.
Inhale.
The horn sounded again, and with a sharp “hya!" she urged her horse forward. Already keyed up by her own nerves, he leaped into a gallop immediately—though not as smoothly as she would have liked. It took her a second to feel that her shield was in the right spot and start bringing her lance around.
Too late; she nearly bit her tongue with the force at which Caron's lance collided with her shield. The sharp sting of pain radiated up her forearm to her shoulder; Khari grit her teeth as the joint wrenched, nearly leaving the socket. She angled the shield just fast enough to stop his lance from shattering; her own hit only air as they passed. She was forced into a backwards lean, but kept her seat, finishing at a canter and then turning her horse back around to reset at her end. The crowd's volume had swelled momentarily at the hit, but died back down quickly when neither rider earned the point.
Her shield arm was still feeling the force of that hit; Ves hadn't been wrong about the force Caron could apply. Khari flexed her fingers and hoped it didn't go numb. She approached Leon a bit shaken—she'd felt air between her seat and the saddle on that one.
"You all right?" Leon spoke quietly, re-fastening a few things that had come loose with the sheer force of the pass. He looked up at her, though, letting his hands work automatically while he studied her with what must have been a furrowed brow under his mask. "You look a little stunned. Well, ah—" he gestured broadly to indicate her body language, rather than her facial expression.
“Yeah, I'm—I'm okay." Khari had to pause for breath midway through the sentence, grunting slightly when her effort to lift her shield back up into the ready position immediately failed. Sure enough, the limb was going insensate. Handing her lance to Leon, she used her free hand to loosen the straps and shift them up somewhat on her arm before tightening them again. Hardly a substitute for actually actively using it, but at least she wouldn't be a total sitting duck on the next tilt.
Leon frowned openly beneath his half-mask. "If you're certain." He clearly hadn't failed to notice her improvised solution, and while it technically counted as being in control of all her equipment for rules purposes, the subtle reproach in his voice made it obvious that he wasn't entirely satisfied.
Much as she valued his advice, Khari probably valued him more for this: the fact that all of that aside, he wasn't insisting. He knew how important this was for her. And she had decided already that it was important enough not to let this setback end the round for her. She had to get herself enough points to have a fighting chance at the rest of this.
Taking up the lance again, she nodded slightly, guiding her horse back out onto the list. This time when the horn sounded, she eased into the pace a little more, narrowing her eyes and trying to see the weaknesses Ves and Leon had pointed out to her.
And all of a sudden, there it was. Emboldened by her disadvantage, Caron dropped his shield slightly in an attempt to hit her early, like last time. Khari's hand tightened on her lance, and she followed the path she could see. Tilting her lance, she aimed high and precise, placing the very tip of the wooden instrument between Caron's sternum and shoulder.
The impact came with a crack this time—her lance splintered on his platemail, large shards of wood tumbling to the ground and leaving her with less than half of what she'd started with. Caron's aim wavered with the hit, his lance slipping low and catching unluckily between her leg and the saddle. It came out of his hands, the point of it digging into her relatively unprotected inner thigh, close to her knee.
“Fuck." The word was a low exhalation; gravity pulled the lance away and it fell heavily to the ground, but there was already a smear of blood decorating her saddle. She had no way to know how serious the wound was; she couldn't see it from where she was, and her own tendency to push pain to the very periphery of her awareness was not helping. But the slickness of the leather suggested the lance might have nicked something important.
The crowd-noise was nothing but a low buzz at the edge of her senses as she rode back to reset again.
"Khari." Leon was still aware enough of the surroundings to speak quietly, but he regarded her with undisguised concern. "You've got to forfeit the next pass. That's going to need a healer immediately." He was already inspecting the wound himself, sliding her foot back out of the stirrup and setting her shin over the crook of his elbow to get a better look at the damage.
But Khari shook her head before he'd even finished. If she forfeited now, the match would go to Caron and she'd lose the opportunity to earn any more points at the joust. She threw her broken weapon-stump to the side of the ring, already working to untie Stel's favor from her wrist. It was long enough to wrap around her leg; it would have to do for now.
Leaning slightly over, she tried to tie it on herself, but a numb hand and the other shaking from adrenaline were not helping matters. Her whole body was shaking, actually; she hadn't realized until just now. Her breath, too, little shudders echoing around in her helmet and drowning out so much of the other noise.
“Leon—Leon please, can you—?" She gestured with the hand that still clutched the blue linen. One more pass—she just had to make one more pass without letting him score a point on her, and she'd be the winner. Three tilts, that was the rule. She could make one more. She could.
She might as well have sucker-punched him. Actually, that probably would have been easier for him to accommodate, if the stricken look in his eyes was anything to go by. There was a very slight shine to them behind the mask, his jaw flexed where he clenched it. "Khari, no. This isn't a battle; the point isn't to risk your life. If you let this bleed—" The stain was already beginning to run, blood dripping down the side of the saddle and off the toe of her boot. "You've got to trust that what you've done already is enough. That what we'll be able to help you do tomorrow is enough. You can make up the points." He pressed one gloved hand over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding more effectively than a little strip of fabric would be able to do.
"You can't make it up if this wound gets worse. Your legs still aren't at their best, and you know you're going to need them for the rest of this. Please. Don't ask me to help you hurt yourself." He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I can't. I won't."
Khari wanted to insist. To hold him to the implied promise of the kind of person he was. The kind that let other people make the big, important decisions in their own lives. Who didn't try to force anything on anyone in his personal relationships.
But she was being a heel. He wasn't trying to force anything, except maybe her continued good health. And she was making him feel shitty for doing even that much. She wanted to tilt again. She'd seen the hit last time, and she really believed she could make it happen again. She wanted to prove it to everyone else, too. Every little fight here felt like the big one, and she wanted to win them all and show the world that she could.
Her lips parted, but when she tried to speak the first time, she failed. Even more than she hated the idea of forfeiting, she hated the idea of making him feel that way. For fuck's sake, Leon was her friend. More than that—he was family. And family was trying to look out for her, and she was making him feel bad about it.
Gods, she was an asshole.
“Okay. Okay, I'll forfeit. I'll—" She blinked, swallowing past a hard lump in her throat. Trying to make this feel like it wasn't the same thing as surrendering was really fucking hard, and she really wished she didn't have to do it.
But if she was anything, she was an elf of her word, and she looked up to where the officiants sat, making the hand signal for forfeiture. They called the match, and the win went to Caron. It sat bitter and hot in her belly, like an ember. Maybe she could make something of that later, but right now... Khari pressed her lips together, feeling herself sway sideways a little further than she'd meant to in the saddle. She leaned her good hand on Leon's shoulder for support.
“I'm going to need some help getting down, I think."
And maybe a healer wasn't a bad idea after all.
Khari had made it through the first two rounds of jousting more or less intact. Though she'd had a couple lances broken on her, it wasn't anything that would do more than bruise, which of course wasn't the point. Really, she'd always known this was going to be her weakest event; she hadn't had all that many opportunities to practice. She could ride, of course, and she'd been working with lances to the extent she could, but Skyhold sure as shit didn't have a tilting area, and so putting all the components together was the work of a couple days in Kirkwall and last minute work yesterday.
She was lucky to have made it as far as round three, but she refused to show so poorly that she had no shot at the overall win.
Which was why, despite having a pretty good idea that she was about to get her ass handed to her by this next guy, she was still letting Leon strap her onto her horse. She had to get out there and do whatever skill or luck allowed—even if she'd watched this Caron guy wipe the floor with the last knight he'd jousted.
Her breath was shuddery; her heart unsteady in her chest. Her nerves jangled together like mangy tomcats squalling and swiping at each other in a dirty back alley, and dammit, she was going to have to do this anyway. It wasn't even the danger or the prospect of this particular defeat that was doing it. It was just the thought that she couldn't let her dream end here, like this, with a whimper instead of a bang, taken out of the competitive point totals before she'd even been allowed to do the things she was good at.
“Don't suppose anyone's got any last-minute sage wisdom, huh?" She shifted slightly in the saddle, tilting her head so the slit in her helmet allowed her to see her friends.
"Don't die," Ves suggested, and not for the first time. He'd been watching almost all of the tilts, not just Khari's, to better study her potential opponents. Or rather, to let Saraya study them, since that was where the majority of his riding skills came from. He'd been helpful thus far, for the most part.
He stepped to the other side of Khari's horse while Leon worked, giving him a pat on the neck and staring down the lane at Caron, getting ready on the other side. "And don't try to outmuscle this one. You won't. He's brute-forced his way this far, and doesn't seem to care where his shield is most of the time. If you trade body shots, he'll come out ahead. Personally, I'd aim high, and make sure my placement is perfect before worrying about power. Somewhere near the gorget." He glanced back at her. "At the very least, don't worry about him trying to do the same. A crushed arm or ribcage seems more likely."
The only trouble with that was, Khari couldn't be totally sure she had that kind of precision in her. It was exactly what was missing when she practiced the individual pieces of jousting without really being able to practice it all at once. Still, it was probably really good advice; she nodded.
“Don't die, aim better than him. Got it." She pushed a breath out between her teeth, grimacing when some of it caught in the confines of the helmet and blew back at her. She was really learning to hate this thing. Not that she had a problem with helmets generally, but the emphasis on total concealment here was not her usual reason for wearing one, and the almost complete close-in was irritating.
She shifted her left leg so Leon could adjust the straps on her shin, pulling her shield into place herself with her free hand. It was basically strapped onto her arm; one less thing to remember to grip. The downside was, Caron wasn't the only one who sort of forgot it was there sometimes.
The last few straps in place at her legs, Leon lifted the gold-and-grey striped lance near his feet up to Khari. It was one of a large number they had, since one of the acceptable ways to earn points was to succeed in splintering one on an opponent. The other, of course, was to knock them off their horse.
"He has better reach than you do," he said, patting her armored knee with one large, gloved hand. "So you're going to need timing as well as aim. One other way to go might be to try and get your lance under his. Aim for the armpit, take some force out of his hit and even the distance a little."
Stel didn't really have a lot to add to the strategy portion of the discussion, it seemed, though she did grin under her mask and pull something out from her sleeve. A handkerchief, by the look of it. Dark blue; not quite her usual indigo, but close enough that Khari could identify the object as a favor. Reaching up, Stel tied it around Khari's right wrist, winking under her mask.
"Good luck, my friend."
Khari had only half a second to grin back before the horn sounded, signaling that it was time for the riders to line up. She forced out another exhale in a shortened burst, nodding and swallowing. Like some kind of conditioned response, the sound had pulled her head back into the game, and further from her friends as a consequence. She waited for everyone to step clear; only Leon would remain in the list area itself, since he was serving as squire for this exercise.
The horse beneath her moved smoothly with the direction of her knees alone, approaching the near end of the list, which consisted of several even stakes driven in a straight line into the ground, their tips painted chevalier red and yellow. At the other end she could see Caron—he really did look quite large. His horse was tall and sturdy, too, something which only increased his advantage. Khari, being small and swifter than she was strong, had opted for a lance on the short end of things, on the rationale that it was easier for her to handle and quicker to adjust. Caron had obviously taken the other approach. His light blue and white one looked heavy, and a good two feet longer than hers at least.
The crowd applauded, as was customary at this point. Both riders swung their horses so as to see the Emperor's box, where Lucien did indeed sit, observing the proceedings. Not for the first time, Khari wondered if he might not be in the least suspicious that she'd do something like this. It was probably good that there wasn't a lot of time to think about it. The riders bowed in their seats, then wheeled around, arranging themselves on their ends. Khari was closer to the audience on Lucien's side; Caron rode the opposing side.
She shifted, tensing in her seat and leaning her weight just a little forward, stepping harder into the stirrups and readying her shield. Her right hand squeezed the handle of her lance; she tried to time her breath to coincide with the start signal.
Exhale.
Inhale.
The horn sounded again, and with a sharp “hya!" she urged her horse forward. Already keyed up by her own nerves, he leaped into a gallop immediately—though not as smoothly as she would have liked. It took her a second to feel that her shield was in the right spot and start bringing her lance around.
Too late; she nearly bit her tongue with the force at which Caron's lance collided with her shield. The sharp sting of pain radiated up her forearm to her shoulder; Khari grit her teeth as the joint wrenched, nearly leaving the socket. She angled the shield just fast enough to stop his lance from shattering; her own hit only air as they passed. She was forced into a backwards lean, but kept her seat, finishing at a canter and then turning her horse back around to reset at her end. The crowd's volume had swelled momentarily at the hit, but died back down quickly when neither rider earned the point.
Her shield arm was still feeling the force of that hit; Ves hadn't been wrong about the force Caron could apply. Khari flexed her fingers and hoped it didn't go numb. She approached Leon a bit shaken—she'd felt air between her seat and the saddle on that one.
"You all right?" Leon spoke quietly, re-fastening a few things that had come loose with the sheer force of the pass. He looked up at her, though, letting his hands work automatically while he studied her with what must have been a furrowed brow under his mask. "You look a little stunned. Well, ah—" he gestured broadly to indicate her body language, rather than her facial expression.
“Yeah, I'm—I'm okay." Khari had to pause for breath midway through the sentence, grunting slightly when her effort to lift her shield back up into the ready position immediately failed. Sure enough, the limb was going insensate. Handing her lance to Leon, she used her free hand to loosen the straps and shift them up somewhat on her arm before tightening them again. Hardly a substitute for actually actively using it, but at least she wouldn't be a total sitting duck on the next tilt.
Leon frowned openly beneath his half-mask. "If you're certain." He clearly hadn't failed to notice her improvised solution, and while it technically counted as being in control of all her equipment for rules purposes, the subtle reproach in his voice made it obvious that he wasn't entirely satisfied.
Much as she valued his advice, Khari probably valued him more for this: the fact that all of that aside, he wasn't insisting. He knew how important this was for her. And she had decided already that it was important enough not to let this setback end the round for her. She had to get herself enough points to have a fighting chance at the rest of this.
Taking up the lance again, she nodded slightly, guiding her horse back out onto the list. This time when the horn sounded, she eased into the pace a little more, narrowing her eyes and trying to see the weaknesses Ves and Leon had pointed out to her.
And all of a sudden, there it was. Emboldened by her disadvantage, Caron dropped his shield slightly in an attempt to hit her early, like last time. Khari's hand tightened on her lance, and she followed the path she could see. Tilting her lance, she aimed high and precise, placing the very tip of the wooden instrument between Caron's sternum and shoulder.
The impact came with a crack this time—her lance splintered on his platemail, large shards of wood tumbling to the ground and leaving her with less than half of what she'd started with. Caron's aim wavered with the hit, his lance slipping low and catching unluckily between her leg and the saddle. It came out of his hands, the point of it digging into her relatively unprotected inner thigh, close to her knee.
“Fuck." The word was a low exhalation; gravity pulled the lance away and it fell heavily to the ground, but there was already a smear of blood decorating her saddle. She had no way to know how serious the wound was; she couldn't see it from where she was, and her own tendency to push pain to the very periphery of her awareness was not helping. But the slickness of the leather suggested the lance might have nicked something important.
The crowd-noise was nothing but a low buzz at the edge of her senses as she rode back to reset again.
"Khari." Leon was still aware enough of the surroundings to speak quietly, but he regarded her with undisguised concern. "You've got to forfeit the next pass. That's going to need a healer immediately." He was already inspecting the wound himself, sliding her foot back out of the stirrup and setting her shin over the crook of his elbow to get a better look at the damage.
But Khari shook her head before he'd even finished. If she forfeited now, the match would go to Caron and she'd lose the opportunity to earn any more points at the joust. She threw her broken weapon-stump to the side of the ring, already working to untie Stel's favor from her wrist. It was long enough to wrap around her leg; it would have to do for now.
Leaning slightly over, she tried to tie it on herself, but a numb hand and the other shaking from adrenaline were not helping matters. Her whole body was shaking, actually; she hadn't realized until just now. Her breath, too, little shudders echoing around in her helmet and drowning out so much of the other noise.
“Leon—Leon please, can you—?" She gestured with the hand that still clutched the blue linen. One more pass—she just had to make one more pass without letting him score a point on her, and she'd be the winner. Three tilts, that was the rule. She could make one more. She could.
She might as well have sucker-punched him. Actually, that probably would have been easier for him to accommodate, if the stricken look in his eyes was anything to go by. There was a very slight shine to them behind the mask, his jaw flexed where he clenched it. "Khari, no. This isn't a battle; the point isn't to risk your life. If you let this bleed—" The stain was already beginning to run, blood dripping down the side of the saddle and off the toe of her boot. "You've got to trust that what you've done already is enough. That what we'll be able to help you do tomorrow is enough. You can make up the points." He pressed one gloved hand over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding more effectively than a little strip of fabric would be able to do.
"You can't make it up if this wound gets worse. Your legs still aren't at their best, and you know you're going to need them for the rest of this. Please. Don't ask me to help you hurt yourself." He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I can't. I won't."
Khari wanted to insist. To hold him to the implied promise of the kind of person he was. The kind that let other people make the big, important decisions in their own lives. Who didn't try to force anything on anyone in his personal relationships.
But she was being a heel. He wasn't trying to force anything, except maybe her continued good health. And she was making him feel shitty for doing even that much. She wanted to tilt again. She'd seen the hit last time, and she really believed she could make it happen again. She wanted to prove it to everyone else, too. Every little fight here felt like the big one, and she wanted to win them all and show the world that she could.
Her lips parted, but when she tried to speak the first time, she failed. Even more than she hated the idea of forfeiting, she hated the idea of making him feel that way. For fuck's sake, Leon was her friend. More than that—he was family. And family was trying to look out for her, and she was making him feel bad about it.
Gods, she was an asshole.
“Okay. Okay, I'll forfeit. I'll—" She blinked, swallowing past a hard lump in her throat. Trying to make this feel like it wasn't the same thing as surrendering was really fucking hard, and she really wished she didn't have to do it.
But if she was anything, she was an elf of her word, and she looked up to where the officiants sat, making the hand signal for forfeiture. They called the match, and the win went to Caron. It sat bitter and hot in her belly, like an ember. Maybe she could make something of that later, but right now... Khari pressed her lips together, feeling herself sway sideways a little further than she'd meant to in the saddle. She leaned her good hand on Leon's shoulder for support.
“I'm going to need some help getting down, I think."
And maybe a healer wasn't a bad idea after all.