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He stared at the pieces of armor that were resting on the stand. On a mere glance it looked to be painted black, but when torchlight was shined on it from within a certain angle, one would easily see that it was in fact tinted with a dark red hue.
The cuirass had two griffins etched upon it, one in silver and the other in ruby red tinted steel. They stood combatant and countercharged, dominating the breastplate.
He shifted his gaze towards the cauldrons, it was covered by gardbraces with the faces of eagles masterfully crafted on them; the rondels were griffins in flight, chasing their tail; the vambraces had spiraling patterns that cascading towards the gauntlets whose knuckles were sharpened into talons.
In contract, the lower parts of the armor; the cuisse, the sabatons and the greaves were plain in comparison. They lacked the tinted color of the upper torso; dyed simply in dull black, hinting that they were in fact mere replacements.
The helm was of course fashioned into a snarling griffin head, a long narrow slit where the eyes would be.
This armor was not his.
It belonged to his foolish cousin, Jon Connington, who had damned their line to obscurity and misery when he declared for the Targaryen's instead of his direct liege lord the Baratheons. This armor had been commissioned for him by Rhaegar himself hence all of its finery. He did not know what happened to the rest of it, mayhaps it was somewhere in Essos worn by a raider or gathering dust in some merchant's wares, pried from the long desiccated corpse of Jon Connington.
This armor bore a dark stain on his family line.
The blood of fellow Stormlords had been spilled on its metal.
The scratches of their blades still visible even after efforts to refurbish it.
Ronald Connington could only manage a sigh. He once remembered utterly despising looking upon this armor; feeling only but contempt for its previous owner.
Now however he wasn't so sure.
It was queer he thought that serving under Lord Stannis would have made him sympathize with his exiled kinsman.
He remembered when he encountered Lord Stannis himself as he left Griffin's Roost with his family, he remembered Stannis saying his house shouldn't be punished for being loyal to the crown.
Funny, the more he thought the more he felt it was Jon who saved them.
Griffinmont was a poor seat, less of a keep and more of a glorified tower. Its riches were dismal, it's smallfolk almost nonexistent. It was a desolate and empty place.
But it was theirs, it's infertile soil was Connington soil.
Stannis Baratheon had saved them, saved them from a life of petty bigandry and hedge knighting, for that he had earned their undying loyalty.
So hence why he endeavored to win the grand melee, Lord Stannis had been injured during the joust and so was unable to participate. He would dedicate his victory to him, and to his betrothed.
He smiled as he thought of Cersei Lannister. He didn't know why, but he had this intuition that he was the only one within Dragonstone who was aware Cersei Lannister was head over heels in love with the Lord of Dragonstone. He didn't know exactly why; the best explanation he could find was of his own experiences.
His father was brother to the Lord of Griffin's Roost and hence the pressures of an arranged betrothal that affected most lords weren't placed upon him; meaning playing matchmaker for himself, which was a relief.
His wife was daring and a little fierce, a cousin to the main line of House Bracken. The circumstances of their meeting was queer, he was riding atop a stallion and she atop a mare. Her steed was in heat, and hence his stallion went wild.
It was a painful first meeting it was.
She never hid the fact she thought him an oaf. Even after she discovered his noble blood she continued lambasting his wits.
He thought it amusing, for she was a mere girl of nine whilst he was a lad of three and one. He was sent to Stone Hedge as a squire, hence they had found themselves almost seeing each other every day.
She was always biting, always angry, he only knew later on just why she was so temperamental.
She was a daughter of a Bracken husband and a Blackwood wife. The Houses Blackwood and Bracken had a blood feud that stretched millennia, her parents had married without the consent of both houses hence why she was seen as a pariah.
When he discovered this he felt pity, but did not show it as he wanted to. She was prideful, much like Lady Cersei was. He treated her the sameways he treated everyone else.
He didn't know why but that endeared him to her, he remembered a tourney, less than the one of Harrenhal and more of the like of Lady Cersei's nameday. A knight of House Bracken had insulted her grievously, she was enraged. She gave her his favor, telling him that if he didn't unhorse the brute 'she would never forgive him'." Not only did he unhorse the knight, but he also won the tourney and crowned her his Queen of love and beauty.
The look of embarrassment on her face was something he would never forget. After that they grew closer and closer, until one day he found her on his bed. He did not sully her of course, no matter how much she pleaded.
It was then he had proposed to her father that he wished for her hand.
Her smile that day was very much like the smile Lady Cersei made when she was crowned.
Lady Cersei Baratheon loved Lord Stannis Baratheon, it was obvious to his own eyes.
The problem was if Lord Stannis Baratheon reciprocated such a thing.
He frowned.
He could never fathom just what the Lord felt, he was always withdrawn, at an arm's length away. The only one who knew much of the Lord was Ser Davos and Maester Cressen.
The same intuition that told him of Lady Cersei's true feelings could not get a handle on Lord Stannis. It was obvious he resented his brothers, and that he had the fury so common of his blood, but more than that no one truly knew.
It mattered not.
Stannis Baratheon was his liege.
It was his duty to serve.
Around six dozen knights were preparing now. The number was surprisingly larger than that of the joust, apparently Lord Ardrian Celtigar had wished for the melee to be an even more spectacular event which was quite uncommon. The Lord had declared he would personally gift a treasure from his coffers to the winner of it, something more valuable than gold. The jousting field had been converted into a small arena in which they would begin the melee. The rules in place were a different from a norm.
In commemoration of the future wedding of Lady Cersei Lannister and Lord Stannis Baratheon, knights who hailed from the Westerlands and the Stormlands would have two separate bouts wherein other knights would be evenly distributed in both, the final victors of each would proceed into an one and one affair. The intention was for a Stormlands knight and a Westerlands knight to face off against one another in the name of Lord Stannis Baratheon and Lady Cersei Lannister.
Fortunately, the new arrivals were knights from the Westerlands who had just arrived to celebrate their Lady's nameday; sadly, Lord Tywin Lannister nor Lady Cersei's immediate family were among those who came, except for one.
He was relived in honesty; for if Lord Tywin did attend then no doubt The Mountain that Rides would have been by his side as well.
And facing the Mountain in a melee was something few men wished for.
Many of the Westerlands knights that did attend did not seem to be particularly skilled fighters.
Not including of course the only other Lannister who was in attendance.
Ser Tygett Lannister, uncle to the Lady Cersei. He was strong, fast and big. He heard talk that it was Ser Tygett that Ser Jaime looked after when it came to fighting. Which meant fighting Ser Tygett was like fighting a knight of the Kingsguard.
If he was a betting man, he would have wagered him the winner of the Westerlands melee.
But now was the time for his own fight, and looking back at the armor.
He had the strangest idea.
"Ronnet." He did not see his eldest son as he entered the tent, but he knew just by the sounds of his footsteps that it was him.
"Yes father?" Ronnet was not timid as most said he was, indeed he had the fierceness of his mother in his blood; the problem was that Dragonstone was so deprived of children his age, usually the sons of Davos Seaworth were his playmates. Now with Lord Gerold his son was growing bolder and bolder, much like how his cousin was.
He noticed how he fancied that Banefort girl, his son thought he was clever enough to pull the wool over his father's eyes. Still he saw no need to put a stop to it.
"Help me put on this armor." His back remained turned to him, but the sound of his shifting meant he was put off balance by his words.
"Isn't that Uncle Jon's armor?" He inquired with apprehension, the boy grew up hearing stories of his fallen uncle. How he had brought shame to their house.
"Yes it was, but now it's simply just another suit of armor, the finest our House owns. The melee is about to start, and I wish to use all that is available to ensure a Connington victory." He heard his boy mumble something out, probably feeble protests.
He did not fault the boy for this, there would be many lords who would raise a brow at the choice of armor.
But that was irreverent.
Only victory mattered.
It was a loose fit; Jon had been a bit leaner than he was, but it did fulfill its purpose. It would not hinder him much during the melee.
A very good thing for him.
He felt the blade bouncing off his cuisse, the blow might have left a painful bruise on his thigh, but it would not be crippling.
It was only courteous for him to respond in kind.
He lashed out suddenly with his mace, striking the hedge knight on the helm with it. The man instantly crumpled to the ground, unsure if he were still breathing or dead.
It didn't matter.
There were two more men going after him.
The melee had degenerated into utter chaos, when it first began the knights all stood in a single straight line. Now it was a mere pit of mud, blood and shit. He felt a smile on his face as he felt his heart beating in increasing tempo.
The call of battle was intoxicating, even if it was simple play fighting.
He easily battered away his foes, his eyes flooded with red. He couldn't even make out the exact details of what his foes were wearing.
Crests? Sigils?
Who the fuck cares?
They were all weaklings to be crushed by his wroth.
This feeling of invincibility waned when he faced off against a more dangerous opponent. He saw his mace lodged deeply into an oak round shield.
He cursed as he saw the knight wretched his mace away and engaged him with his blade.
He saw the crest that was on his helm, a salmon's tail.
Oh shit.
"Tis Jon Connington reborn! You almost killed me during the Battle of the Bells! I suppose now's the time I visit my grievance upon thee!" Myles Mooton bombastically said as he hammered him away with his bastard sword.
The Salmon Knight never relented in his strikes, his sense of timing was impeccable for as soon as he was ready to attack with his shield we would resume his attacks.
Thankfully he wasn't looking where he was moving.
The Salmon Knight was a dangerous warrior; but the problem with dangerous warriors, especially those as young as Ser Myles Mooton, is that they often seldom note their footwork. It was a common mistake, he himself was guilty of falling victim to it.
He was subtle, deflecting the man's blows, whilst changing where he was retreating. The Salmon Knight was utterly focused in breaking his guard that he had tripped over the prone body of the hedge knight whose head he had smashed his mace into.
When the Salmon knight managed to regain his bearings, he had managed to retrieve his mace, holding it just above his head.
The man's creative cursing was amusing to hear.
"I yield" He croaked out timidly.
After his departure, there were three left within the field.
Ser Brus Buckler, wearing a dull grey utilitarian armor compared to his, a surcoat emblazoned with three brass knuckles on blue resting over it.
The other was Ser Richard Morrigen, the man was a lousy jouster as he was eliminated in his first tilt, but he was one hell of a fighter. He wore plate colored in dull green, throughout the entire surface there were etchings of black raven feathers. The crest of his helm was in the shape of a raven's head.
Both men were of the Stormlands, so no matter who would win, it would still be a victory for Lord Stannis Baratheon.
Though this did not mean he would submit so easily.
They stood far from each other, staring and catching their breaths.
This bothered him.
He raised his mace above his head, the two other knights regarding him with wariness whilst the crowd watching were also curious of his intentions.
He then brought it down, striking his kite shield hard.
He did it once more, this time bellowing.
"A griffin! A griffin!" He noticed Ser Davos on the pavilion by Lord Stannis' side. He was holding the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to laugh out.
Lord Stannis meanwhile closed his eyes, and looked as if he was sighing.
His boy Ronnet just cringed, utterly embarrassed by his father's antics. Lord Gerold Dayne groaned out, no doubt reminded of their grueling morning spars.
Everyone else just looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
"A griffin! A griffin!" He repeated the war cry of House Connington, in a bid to move his opponents into action and to break this farce of a stalemate.
It worked.
Both men nodded to one another in silent agreement.
They charged in unison, weapons raised. Most likely they thought a temporary alliance would be needed against him.
Ronald Connington smiled under his visor.
"A GRIFFIN! A GRIFFIN!" He snarled out like some creature beyond the wall. Screaming madly as he faced their charge head on.
He had won, if barely.
Ser Richard Morrigen was brought low with just a single strike of his mace, Ser Brus Buckler however was a more tenacious foe. He had to repeatedly hammer the stubborn mule until he finally relented.
Now was the Westerlands bout, and already he noticed the two men who would dominate it.
Tygett Lannister carried a greatsword which he used to great effect, and unlike Ser Myles Mooton, he knew where to move. It was intimidating to see the Lannister knight in action, he was aggressive in his strikes; but was surprisingly able in defending himself with the unwieldy blade. He did not feel confident he would prevail if he were to face him.
Indeed, he had easily bested Ser Denys Arryn. Though to the Falcon Knight's credit, he was no doubt tired from facing off the countless knights who had aimed for him during the fighting's start. Ronald blamed the knight's ostentatious armor for attracting so much gnats, even the Lannister's glamorous armor paled in comparison to its gaudiness.
The other however fought differently.
Ser Ilyn Payne was a sinister figure in battle, he used a wicked looking broadsword which he was deadly precise with. Already he noticed that two of his earlier foes were either dead or crippled for life. He never once focused on defense, completely focusing on the attack, which suited him.
Quickly soon it was apparent they would be the last ones standing. Most of the knights wary to lay a finger on the brother of Lord Tywin Lannister, or to face the mute Payne knight.
They focused in one another, both nodding silently, as if they were acknowledging their prowess.
Ser Tygett Lannister wore something that he thought made his own armor look like a hedge knight's. It glittered under the sun, its gardbraces shaped like lions faces. He wore a long flowing surcoat colored in deep red and with the golden lion stitched on the front. His helm was shaped into a lion roaring, his golden hair dropping near the neck.
Ser Ilyn Payne looked less than a hedge knight, looking more like a sellsword. He only wore half-plate, the rest of him covered in ring mail draped over leather. He wore a mere skullcap that showed his gaunt face. All of it colored in black.
It added to his fearsome presence.
Ser Illyn did not hesitate in his strikes, he did not care he was fighting his liege lord. Ser Tygett was of a similar mind, both men fought with skill. They did not attack wildly like the knights that he faced. They acted aggressively to be sure, but not without mind.
There was a purpose to their dance.
A dance Tygett Lannister seemed to be winning. Ser Ilyn Payne was older than he was, though evenly matched; Tygett had more vigor and all it took was one minor slip up.
Ser Ilyn's eyes widened as he saw the blade hovering just scant inches from underneath his armpit. Ronald didn't know why, but he felt there was a smile growing under Ser Tygett's helm.
Ser Ilyn Payne allowed his sword arm to drop, kneeling before the Lannister knight.
There were maddened cheers among the crowd, Ser Tygett in particular waved a hand towards his niece.
She gave him a small smile.
He was nervous. Ronnet had been anxious for his father's health during the preparatory break for the final melee. He had to mollify his son's owns fears when he had not done so for his own.
Ser Tygett was a knight of considerable prowess. Ser Ilyn Payne was a knight he considered his superior when it came to melee combat, what more than the man who bested him so easily?
He felt the gazes of every onlookers as they stared at them both as they quietly circled each other.
"I was surprised when I saw someone fighting with Jon Connington's armor. I suppose the Lord of Dragonstone had saved the Conningtons from their exile." Ser Tygett had a booming voice that just oozed authority. It was a voice of a Lord and not a mere knight.
"Lord Stannis can be quite the merciful man." Ronald Connington responded.
"You are skilled Connington, you fight like a half-lion. Though considering your sigil, I suppose that might be the actual case." Ser Tygett japed? The stories he heard had mentioned Ser Tygett as an angry and brooding figure. Not one for japing.
"But that is not simply enough." Now it was coming!
Ronald cursed, this man was a terrible knight to be fighting against.
He felt his arm already buckling from the swords impact on his shield, there was no doubt it bruised. Almost immediately afterward Ser Tygett shifted his sword, bring it down towards his thigh.
But Ser Ronald Connington was not that unskilled a knight.
He brought his shield towards his thigh, managing to block the blow, but falling to the ground from the sheer blow of it.
"I'm impressed, I have half the mind to think I'm fighting Jon Connington himself." He said whilst Ronald clambered back up.
'He isn't taking me seriously.' He noted silently at how the Lannister knight impassively stared.
That would be his greatest mistake.
He threw his mace at him, earning a cry of surprise from the Lannister knight who sidestepped to avoid it.
He heard audible cursing as Ronald Connington charged him down.
Both men fell into the mud, Ronald Connington mounted him as he batted his greatsword away with his shield.
Ser Tygett struggled for a while before stopping. He had expected the man to bellow out in anger. Instead he laughed.
"Bugger me how anticlimactic! Not very knightly at all! I'm impressed by your willingness to win Ser Connington." The elated Lannister knight said as he raised his hands in surrender.
"To your credit Ser Tygett. If you had taken this seriously I would most likely be the one prone on the floor." Ser Ronald helped the Lannister knight upwards. All to the screams of a cheering crowd.
"Nonsense Ser Connington. You have proven yourself an able knight. Try to keep that in mind." Praise from a Lannister? That was new.
"To your champion!" Ser Tygett grabbed his arm and raised it up high.
To hear the adoration of the crowd, both smallfolk and nobles. He couldn't deny it was a nice feeling.
When he heard that Lord Ardrian was offering something more valuable than gold, he did not expect it was going to be this impressive.
Even as he knelt, he saw how fearsome a thing it was.
"Where did you ever get such a prize?" Lady Cersei asked curiously of the warhammer.
It was a warhammer whose like was unseen in Westeros.
It's shaft was made of black steel; its head of dragonbone, shaped into a punching fist; the grips covered with leather made from an unknown creature.
"It was a gift. Even I do not know who had crafted it. All I know is that it originated from Volantis." Lord Ardrian carried the hammer as if it were a simple stick, presenting it to the kneeling Ronald.
Ronald Connington bowed his head as Ser Ardrian placed it on his outstretched hands.
It was surprisingly light, too light for what a warhammer should weigh as. The dragonbone would have explained its lightness; the material was strong as steel but weighed half as much.
Ser Ronald Connington immediately presented it to Lord Stannis Baratheon.
All eyes were raised.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ser Ardrian asked annoyingly.
"This victory I dedicate to Lord Stannis Baratheon. " Ser Ronald Connington said simply.
"I see no reason why you should. I was not the one who defeated Ser Tygett Lannister."
"I insist my lord." Ser Connington repeated as he looked into his Lord's eyes.
They were all currently within the main pavilion; the many lords, knights and ladies bearing witness to his award ceremony. They were surprised just as well.
"Why?" Before he could speak, Lady Cersei moved by his side.
"Mayhaps he feels this pays his debt towards you my Lord Stannis?" The Lannister maiden of nineteen namedays said almost exactly what he was about to say. Ser Ronald Connington couldn't help but smile.
"Debt?" Lord Stannis said wary.
"You saved House Connington from exile, even if your brother had decreed it legal. So gifting this to you is his family's way of paying that debt." Stannis regarded her with a neutral face. A face she shared as well.
They looked more and more the married couple.
"Fine." He finally said, using both hands to take the weapon from Ser Ronald Connington.
"Name." Stannis said suddenly, much to their confusion.
"Name my lord?" Ser Connington asked in confusion.
"The name of this weapon? Do you expect me to just call it warhammer?" Ser Ronald frowned slightly, he was bad with names. It was his wife who named their children, and it was his son who named their new seat.
"Griffin's Gift?" He cursed internally, that was a stupid name.
"Griffin's Gift. A fine name." He was utterly surprised by how Lord Stannis seemed to be taken by the name.
Lord Stannis felt the hammer in his hand, judging it's weight and it's power.
Ronald Connington was glad.
With this House Connington had redeemed themselves.