Jon was walking through the tourney grounds at Ashford, enjoying the sights before the tilts. It was when the herald's horn called out that his heartbeat quickened. Calm your nerves, Jon. If you miss and get hit, your career will be over. He took a deep breath and saddled his charger, inspecting his armor to make sure it was on properly.

Jon was waiting, when the herald called out, "Ser Addam Wessley against The Knight of Sweetsong," Jon didn't wait for the man to finish listing off the other names. He placed his helm upon his head, brandishing his shield quite proudly. The sigil was a golden harp on a white and dark green chequy. Taking one last deep breath, Jon gave his destrier a tap on the ribs with his stirrups, ushering him forward to the tilt.

Everything seemed to be moving as slow as molasses, Jon noted, as he watched the lance of his opponent slowly make its way towards his chest. Jon reacted as quick as he could, shifting in his saddle to dodge the lance while maneuvering his lance to the left, aiming at the center of the knight's chest. Jon was moving like molasses as well, but he kept steady and did not balk. When the lance missed by a hand's breadth while his struck true, he could not help but grin.

The roar of the crowd almost drowned out the herald, but he shouted louder. "The Knight of Sweetsong is the victor of this tilt," he cried out into the clamor. One of the fair ladies in their seating area had offered Jon her favor, and he took it and place it upon his lance. The herald then waited and began calling out the names of the next match.

Jon had been sitting upon his horse, adjusting slightly, when the herald cried his title once more. "The Knight of Sweetsong versus Ser Bryen!" Jon sat for a moment before he shook his head clear of the thoughts racing through his mind and spurred his mount to the tilt, where he readied his lance once more, the daisy upon his lapel giving him a little more courage.

Jon was moving faster this time it seemed. He saw the lance coming and moved in his saddle, almost unbalancing him - though he still managed to hit his lance upon Ser Bryens shield, smashing the lance to splinters against it. Cursing quietly, Jon grabbed the lance offered to him by the squire and readied himself. When he spurred himself forward, he felt a sense of confidence in himself as he maneuvered himself and his lance once more. This time, the lance hit Ser Bryen in the shoulder, knocking him off balance and causing him to fall.

Jon breathed heavily as he heard the dull roar of the crowd. His helm was starting to block out sounds, or perhaps it was some sweat blocking the way. In either happenstance, he was grinning from ear to ear as the day of jousting ended.

Later that night, Jon came to the two knights he had unhorse to collect ransom or their armor and horse. Ser Addam paid up with two gold dragons, while Ser Bryen swore and handed over his armor and horse. While Jon was leaving the tent, he heard Ser Bryen curse him under his breath.