---

Though still a bit hesitant and chastened after Sir Jory's retrieval (the old knight was far too loyal to ever dare speak against her, but he had ways of making a look reprimanding) Grey sat in the Coulbourne area and watched the tournament attentively. They had competitions in the forest, but none quite like this – so large and so varied in their events. She cheered and laughed at the first event, delighting in the sight of noble men trying to catch a pheasant. Nyle, accustomed to the forested terrain had excelled in that event, and Grey felt a swell of pride for her cousin.

Though, his luck didn't last, and he was eliminated in the next round. The forest folk were built for cunning and agility. The hammer toss required a different skill set entirely.

Nyle, cleaned up and embarrassed at his elimination, came to sit in the Coulbourne area in the empty seat next to Grey during the fourth round. Grey leaned over and patted her cousin on the hand, a sympathetic but proud smile on her face. Nyle looked up and after a moment, offered a small smile of his own. Squeezing his hand, Grey turned back to the arena to continue watching the tournament.

The duel was fierce and had Grey upright in her seat as she watched, her eyes fixed on the two men she'd never met before.

And then it was over and the older one, Jeyco Swan, was named the victor. Grey applauded politely, though without the same intensity as the other spectators. He was… a bit old to marry a thirteen year old. She turned her attention to the young princess, who seemed none too pleased with this development. Grey sighed in empathy. Arranged marriages were tricky things.

Grey was watching Madeline as Lord Swan's banner unfurled.

And the bloody head of King Samson fell tumbling into her lap.

Grey was frozen, stunned as she looked down at it. The skin, loose and lax and wrinkled with age, was a waxy pale color. The eyes were partially opened, eyelids almost closed save for a sliver of white and brown exposed at the bottom. The right one was opened just a bit wider than the left. Long, wiry hair tangled in ropey clumps, the ends crusted with blood. The jaw was hanging open. Blood from the mangled stump that had been a neck was already pooling in Grey's lap, staining her dress, warm, sticky wetness leaking onto her legs under the layers of fabric.

Reality finally found Grey and she screamed. Stumbling to her feet, a hand clamped over her mouth as the head rolled from her lap and fell to the floor with a wet thud. Commotion erupted around her as people finally began to understand the situation.

The king was dead.

Nyle and Sir Jory both shot to their feet and rushed to her, trying to steady her and pull her away as she backed up, only to hit her chair. She couldn't look away from the king's severed head.

---

The moment finally arrived, and looking back on all the charades the northern, landlubbing bastards had him go through just so that he could relish in this moment…it hadn’t been worth it for he figured that he could have fought Ithobal Gully on his own either on land or on the sea. He hadn’t been the best competitor for the tests were foreign to him, but even Cs got degrees. Finally, the tournament of blades. Out of them all, this had been the one that Lord Jeyco was most confident and certain of and he shed all that ridiculous armor so that he could fight in his skin and clothes—the way a true warrior of the Diovire fought.

Jeyco, wearing a white tunic and deer skin pants, approached the chipped and splintered weapons table and selected his two favored weapons, the knives. They weren’t his knives but they would do.

(I’m just cutting to the end of the fight because I don’t know what weapon Ithobal would have selected or if his writer is still around and active.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sand bags had all been busted. Breaking them had been an easier task than attempting to murder his own brother that was one aspect of the northern games that he liked. He had shed the burden on his chest and shoulders to the Gully heir, but winning…he hadn’t had expected to win. He had expected to forfeit, but when he was showered in a deluge of cheers, he was speechless.

Lost for words, Lord Jeyco stood in the presence of over thousands of witnesses. A mixture of roars swirled about him as though he stood in the center of a whirlpool. He was enraptured…was…was this what glory felt like? Was this why fighters fought to the death in a sandy blood-strewn pit so that they could stand before thousands and be baptized in their praise? It had been an unsurmountable feeling. Wait…he hadn’t only won. This meant…he would be the king.

The Diovirene stood there with his one dark eye wide in shock. He was the true king. The corners of his lips twitched slowly curling into an overjoyed smile. Drunk in victory, Lord Jeyco was filled with the euphoria from his win and raised his arms to rally the cheers and praise that doused him. As he turned in a full circle, there was one man in the audience that he most certainly wanted him to see.

It took him a few slow turns, but eventually, he found him looking down on the tournament—probably disappointed in his full-blooded boy that he had lost to the true heir!

Lord Jeyco made sure to make eye-contact with Lord Arthur Gully. Arrogance pulled at his lips as he conveyed a silent message to him that he probably wouldn’t understand. The last time they had seen each other was when he was a child and had both of his eyes. Would father recognize his son? Lord Jeyco didn’t think so, but if he did, then it gave that stare meaning.

Finally lowering his arms, Lord Jeyco set his gaze on the Ainsworth. Princess Madeleine didn’t look too pleased, and he didn’t blame her. If only she knew who he truly was. He bowed to her nonetheless with a smile, and as his banner was unfurled in victory—he had been expecting the shocked gasps, but not the screams.

Lord Jeyco raised his head to see that the Swan banner they had for all of the tournament until now had been switched. It was all orchestrated. Whether he had won or Ithobal had won, both banners had been switched. Unfurled for thousands to witness was the black banner of the Pirate King. The white undead kraken and its numerous tentacles that had a hold on the entire world was displayed for all to see. Lord Jeyco frowned…but why was it soaked in blood?

Lord Jeyco straightened, the scowl still hard on his face. Queen Margaret screamed bloody murder and veiled the princess’s eyes. Guards were rushing about everywhere. Did he miss something?

The king is dead!

He heard a spectator shout.

The king was murdered!

Lord Jeyco’s brows couldn’t get any higher at that moment. This had been horrible timing. The one time where he thought he could flaunt the pirate king’s fame for all the world to see was the same day someone had decided to murder the king and they had soiled his banner with their blood.

“Shit!” Lord Jeyco cursed and quickly strode away. It was time to disappear. There would be too much hype and hostility for pleading innocence. The kingsguard would not hear it. His banner was waving and the Pirate King was already far from innocent. Brandt was pissed. This was not how things were supposed to go!

@Belle

---

Tiras made his way to the tournament slowly. He saw what happened to his half brother and almost had kit go to get some things to try to help heal. He stopped realizing that that would reveal his hidden nature. He saw Lyra's outburst and shook his head, that would not bode well for her. He quickly made his way back toward where he was to see his half brother get carried to the tent. He made a whistle sound and his black falcon flew to his shoulder...which probably revealed his tendency to wear leather.

Before he could do anything with the falcon, Lyra found him and expressed her feelings. He nodded. "I understand. At least he is still breathing to be worried about" he was going to continue when a sound caused his head to snap up. The sound of screaming. He looked at his falcon and his eyes changed color for a brief second. He did not occupy the body like he did occasionally with kit, but he did give it orders. The falcon shot into the sky and circled above the choas above before flying back to Tiras. He let the falcon land on his shoulder and his eyes changed briefly again. He looked at Lyra. "The King has been killed...it would seem the tournament has been cut short."

He heard the frightened crowd stampeding and lightly pulls Lyra to the side of the stables. This was to prevent being trampled. He hoped she didn't notice the color change...he mentally scolded himself for that as he scooped up kit on his arms to keep the fox safe. He tried to spot his sister, but the crowd was thick. Too many frightened people...how was this mess to be fixed?

Lyra

The screams of horror were etched into her memory. Lyra felt like everything was moving in slow motion. But one thing stood out from the pandemonium:

The King was dead.
Not just dead. Murdered.

Lyra stumbled back, pulled away by Tiras. "W-what do we do?" she asked, her voice quivering and terrified. She had just made a spectacle of herself moments before the King was found murdered. She might be implicated, accused of causing a diversion. Lyra's heart was in her throat. She had to get away from here. Had to hide.
Tiras was looking through the crowd for someone, so Lyra slipped away from his side unnoticed. She didn't want him to get in trouble along with her. Maybe she would be overlooked? Dismissed as an empty-headed servant?
Not if Trystan's mother had any say in the matter. She might hand Lyra over as an accomplice to the murderer simply to get the peasant girl away from her son. And, injured as he was, Trystan could do nothing to stop it.

Lyra was lost in the crowd being rushed from the field. Apparently the head of the King had been rolled up in the flag of the man from the sea, Lord Jeyco Swan. What could he possibly have to gain from killing the King. Except that he did win the tournament which now made him King once he married the princess. But he would have had to have been positive he would win. And if it wasn't him, then the real murderer would have had to have been positive he would win. Who could have that kind of power?

The medic tent was soon before her. In the mad rush of people the guards were gone. There was no one in front of the entrance of the tent. No one to block her entry.
Lyra bit her lip.
She had to see Trystan, even if it was the last time.

Ducking inside before she could stop herself, she found him laying on a cot unconscious. Kneeling by the cot, she laid a hand on his arm gently and hesitantly.
"I never wanted any of this to happen," she told him in a low voice. "You terrify me so, but I never wanted you to get hurt. If I am accused of being an accomplice, I just had to let you know this : I had nothing to do with the King's death. I swear to you. And... I think you are a true man, in every sense. I pray you recover from this."

Lyra looked around. There was no one in the tent. No one to see what her foolish heart was moving her to do. In a rush of emotion, she leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

@Belle

The medical staff went to work straight away as Trystan was brought to them. The son of a noble house was sure to receive the best medical attention. First, Trystan was screaming in agony. Any little shift from the movement of the stretcher he was carried on caused him more pain than he has ever felt before. Seeing the drastic nature of the injury, the maester made a call on the spot of removing the splintered spear from his shoulder then immediately scalding the wound in boiled mead to kill off any corruption that would be growing. Of course, due to the pace the maester was operating at, he did not administer milk of the poppy. Trystan, in shock from the injury already, did not notice all the commotion outside of the medical tent. The tournament was still going on, and the people would have a spectacle on their hands...

The treatment worked, much to Trystan's agony. Without milk of the poppy, Trystan felt everything. As soon as the maester laid a hand on the splintered spear, he screamed. Now, one can only imagine the sounds he was making when the splinter was removed and the wound scalded with boiling mead. Trystan fainted from the pain of having the splintered spear removed but was jolted awake as soon as the mead made contact with his skin. He remained awake when the maester stitched his wound shut. The pain of having a needle run through one's skin and muscle was nothing compared to what Trystan had just felt...

As his treatment finished, right before Trystan closed his eyes to rest, he heard move screams outside the tent and saw the maester and his assistants clear out from the tent frantically. Normally, he would get up and move about, trying to see what has happened. However, he was weak, he could do no such thing. Thus, he remained on his cot, eyes closed, trying to gather what strength remains with him.

Some time later, after Trystan had actually fallen asleep but reawakened, he noticed a female figure move into the tent. At first, he thought it was his mother, or one of his sisters coming in to check on him, to make sure the maester is doing everything in his power to heal him. Remaining still to ever so playfully trick one of the ladies of his family, he wanted for the female to speak. However, when she did speak, he realized that it was Lyra who came, not his sisters nor mother. He listened to every word she said. An accomplice? The King's death? Just what in the world was she talking about...? He would have answers, regardless of his injury. If the king is truly dead, then the capital is no longer a safe place for anyone, let alone a high born. He needs to move, he needs to go back to Hyland's Keep and figure out what his family has planned for this catastrophe. Before he can open his eyes, he felt Lyra's presence close to him, and her lips against his cheek. The kiss, seemingly magic, made him forget the wound still fresh on his shoulder. He turned with his eyes closed and made sure his lips found hers. As he broke from the kiss, he said in a soft, but strong, voice "Come with me, back to Mount Promonon..." His eyes opened and he used his uninjured arm to prop himself up, grimacing the entire way. The maester did a fine job with his wound as it remained closed underneath its bandage. Taking a small stumble, he reached out his right hand to Lyra, waiting for her to take it. "If you want to clear your name, stay by my side..." He said to her through a grimace. "We'll need a horse, mine if possible. Hand me my sword as well, we'll need that on the way back to Mount Promonon..." It seems, the two of them would have to make this journey on their own...

---

---

---

---

Isadora had been highly amused by the tourney, though it seemed in every event one of her favored suitors for the princess would lose. First the handsome Thom Clarke who was closest in age to the Princess, lost pathetically in a simple peasant hunt. And then the attractive Nyle Coulbourne failed impressively at the hammer tossing. When Trystan Hyland was thrown off his horse, and blood was pooling around him, Izza's joyous mood vanished. Though she had never met or spoken to him, he was basically her cousin, and she felt oddly upset at his distress and injury. After a red haired lady made a spectacle of herself, and Trystan was haled off to the medical tent, the tourney continued albeit with a tad less enthusiasm after dirt was kicked over the puddle of blood.

They only hopeful left in Isadora's eyes was Ithobal Gully, unfortunately he lost in the last event, thus making the much to old and arrogant Jeyco Swan the winner, and most likely Princess Madeline's future husband. Surly the king would object to a no name sailor marring his only child and heir. She clapped politely as people cheered for the victor. Izza glanced over her shoulder to see how the King, Queen, and Princess felt about this unexpected winner.

The king was not in his fancy seat, which was strange. The princess seemed to be doing her best to hide her concern, as the queen artfully showed no signs of dissatisfaction. And then there was a scream, and the royal ladies faces contorted in horror. Izza whipped her head around as a guard shouted that is was the kings head, and chaos ensued. Along with the other handmaidens, Izza hurried behind the princess and queen, as they were corralled into the castle by the Kings Guard.

She had not seen the head roll from the banner, but the way the queen had screamed, it was hard to deny that the king had been murdered. A million question flew through her mind as the Queen consoled Madeline. Most of the queen's ladies, and Izza's fellow handmaidens stood about the safe room in tears and shaky voices. In all of history the repercussions when a king was murdered were never good. Unless someone got a handle on things very quickly, war was usually the outcome of such events as this. The queen's handmaiden, lady Selma Grigori, Got down on her knees and started to pray, and a few other began to follow her example. Isadora looked to Madeline. If it was true and the king was really dead, that meant the barely thirteen year old unmarried princess was Queen of Lhivoria.

---

Interacting with: Lyra (@Belle) and Trystan (@KillBox)

---

Emerin was loving the tourney, Emerin sat chatting delightfully with his nieces and nephew. however his sister in law had look in her eyes. "I would say that frown doesn't suit you Julia but we both know that isn't true, what is wrong? Is your son not doing good enough for you?" Emerin sipped his mead as the second event began. Well Emerin, my Husband is on his deathbed, My son is falling in love with a servant girl, who is also a bastard who by the way is also his cousin. And to top it all off i'm being pestered by you so it's safe to say i'm not having a pleasant day. she snapped at him. Emerin rolled his eyes and went back to his Wine.

The second Event began: the hammer toss, it was amusing to watch the people make fools of themselves trying to swing the hammer. the young ones around him seemed enraptured by the tournament but the king seemed absent from his seat, Emerin raised his eyebrow but felt it was best not to bother Julia.

Trystan mounted his horse, then was promptly knocked off again, Julia screamed at the impact, while she recovered Emerin took off to the medical tent to see a red haired woman kissing Trystan's cheek, "As much as i like young love my dears, Lady Julia is coming and i suggest you break it up she was.. less than thrilled with your little spectacle"

Lyra

She pulled back with a gasp at the kiss. Raising her hand to her lips, she touched them gently as they tingled under her fingers. Her first kiss...

"My Lord... we can't..." she protested. "I am of low blood, despite being of Hyland descent. We are in actuality cousins. Your family... they would-" her words were cut off when someone entered the tent. Lyra whimpered like a hurt pup when she realized who it was. "L-l-lord Emerin!" she stammered, falling backwards on her bottom in an effort to scramble away. "I didn't... I mean... I... I..."
Panic threatened to squeeze the very life from her. Lady Julia was coming! And one of the lords had seen her and Trystan kiss! "She's going to kill me!" Lyra moaned in fear, covering her face and trying to cower beside a table. "Please do not tell her!" she begged, looking with pleading eyes at Emerin. "I beg of you Lord Emerin! I will do whatever you ask, just please... please don't tell her! Do not let her kill me, or worse cast me out! I shall die if I have to become like my mother! Please!"

Lyra babbled on in whimpering sobs, shaking in fear. If Lord Emerin would not keep this secret Lyra was on her way to becoming a common whore to survive, if she survived at all.
In her fear she didn't realize she was cowering towards Trystan, her mind unconciously turning to him for protection.

@KillBox@MrMonsoon

@Belle@MrMonsoon@KillBox

---

Tiras was distracted long enough to miss Lyra leaving. He looked for her and grumbled. He looked at kit who tilted his head and blinked. "Well you are of no help." he watched the panicking people and hoped that his horse would stay calm. Of course a calm horse was not in the cards for him today and he heard a sound he had been hoping he wouldn't hear. A shrieking sound erupted from the stables at the grey devil stomped and kicked at its containment. This time Tiras could not reach the horse in time to soothe it before it broke out. Once out, the massive beast ran out. Stopping outside the stables it reared and whinned.

It landed and ran, ears flat against its skull as it stayed in a spooked state. It made a bee line for the tent that held the three occupants. Tiras ran, kit now running beside him and dodging people. The falcon flew up and went back to the roost...the bird did not want to add to the problems. Tiras managed to leap on top of the horse's back and stop it with the pull of the mane. He grabbed the lead attached to the bit less bridle and slide off the back of the horse. He found a tree to tie it to and did so before going into the tent, kit right beside him.

"Is everyone alright? My horse almost trampled you" he paused at the small scene before him...but didn't seem to register what was happening.

@MrMonsoon@Belle@BlackPanther

Looking at Lyra, he listened to her words. "I do not believe you to be a cousin of mine. I've researched your family history, Lyra Sky of the Mountains... We are no cousins..." As soon as he finished his reply to her, he noticed that she looks like she had seen a ghost and the name of his uncle Emerin can be heard. "Uncle. Mother knows about this. If what I've heard is correct, the king is dead and the capital is a mess right now. We all need to go back to Mount Promonon and Lyra is staying with me. I don't care what mother has to say. I did not win the Princess's hand, I am free to pursue whoever I want...."

There was more commotion, this time back inside the medical tent, which is now a complete mess. A horse, grey of skin, had stormed in. It looked frightened and confused. Normally, Trystan would approach cautiously and try to calm the beast down. Right now, he neither has the strength nor the patience for that. He turned his head rather forcefully, causing the scene in front of him to turn black for the briefest of moments. He saw Tiras, one of his bastard siblings. "Tiras, dear brother, lead your beast away, and return to Hyland's Keep. This place isn't safe anymore...." He caught his breath and noticed Lyra leaning in towards him. Wrapping an arm around the small of her waist. "Be steady my lady, have no fears. Come, we must go..."

With that, he moved past his uncle, cousin and various things inside the medical tent. Out on the grounds, there was mass hysteria. People were screaming, running about frantically and displaying generally chaotic behavior. Scanning around quickly, Trystan located a horse. It wasn't his, nor was it the biggest, but it will do for the two of them, for now. It seems there has already been some looting and killing among the chaos. "Lyra, we need to move." he said as he prepared to help Lyra on to the horse before he got on himself...

---

The scene was rapidly devolving into chaos. Before she knew what was happening, Grey was being pulled away by Nyle and Sir Jory into the frantic crowd. She couldn't get the vision of the King's bloody head staring blankly up at her from behind half-closed eyelids in her lap. The blood, cooling and sticky, was only seeping further through the layers of her gown. There was a crimson stain blossoming on her thighs and down her legs, though it did manage to reach up her legs and splatter on her chest as well. There were even a few droplets speckled across her face.

People, terrified and scrambled, pushed and shoved, all trying to go or come, filled with the need to do something. Because something had to be done, right? The king had been murdered. Whether that meant running to their families, or trying to just escape the horror, or mindlessly moving between the people, action was required. Grey had to fight to stay upright, let alone with her family.

Losing track of them was inevitable. One moment she was following behind Sir Jory and Nyle, her cousin's hand gripping her wrist. The next she was stumbling to the side, trying desperately not to fall over and be crushed by the mob. A large middle-aged man had shoved into her, dislodging Nyle's grip. She saw her cousin look back, eyes wide, before she lost him in the sea of people. The current pushed Grey back and out, until she was finally free of the mob.

Grey looked around, desperate to find her family. But she was too small to see over the crowd, and every second Sir Jory and Nyle only left her further behind. She yelled their names, but her voice was lost in the thunder of voices, all screaming and calling for their own loved ones.

Grey was vaguely aware of the fact that she was trembling. She needed to find them again, she needed to go home to her girls, she needed to get the dead king's blood off of her and un-see his blank eyes and rolling head.

She turned and ran as fast as she could away from the crowd. Maybe if she could find –

Her half-formed thought was interrupted when she stumbled directly into a tall, oddly calm man. A stable rock in a churning ocean, Grey couldn't help but use him to steady herself. She looked up to see a familiar face – Lord Jeyco Swan, the winner of the tournament. Except… he wasn't a lord at all. The memory of his banner flashed in her mind as she looked up at him. The bone white kraken, stained red with blood on a black flag. The same blood stained her.

Pirate.

Her eyes widened with realization. He… he'd done it. Hadn't he. He'd murdered the king and rolled his head up in that fearsome banner as a gruesome taunt when he won the tournament.

She took a stuttering step back from him, eyes still locked on his one. Her lips parted to scream or call out or accuse… but no sound escaped her. She could only stare up at him with stunned eyes, abandoned by her voice.

---

---

As Trystan was thrown from his horse, Edwin wasted no time in making his way through the crowds of people to find the weasel that was Lord Dunkirk. He found the man behind a tent, with a servant girl who seemed none too happy to be there. "Go," he said to the girl, and she fled the scene, holding back tears. She was a strong one. Edwin turned to face the now fuming Lord Dunkirk, and punched him square in the face.

"What in the hell? If you think I owe you any favors after that catastrophe, you're sorely mistaken!" Edwin shouted, his anger bubbling inside of him. Lord Dunkirk looked at him, a look of pure hatred etched across his visage. "I promised you a better chance, not a win. And you will deliver on your promise, not now, but soon. It's not my fault your brother isn't very skilled," the man said. Edwin clenched his fists as Dunkirk strutted away, and then rested his head in his hands. This was not how he'd expected this all to go.