Crowned Stag (rhaenyra targaryen x male oc)

Rhaenyra's Champion

Mason twirled the lance in his hand as he stared down Ser Harwin Strong. For a brief moment, he looked up to the royal box to see Rhaenyra nodding her head at him.

Ser Harrold approached Princess Rhaenyra from behind, "Ser Harwin is the strongest knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms, Princess."

"But he is not the fastest," Rhaenyra answered as she gazed at the arena.

"I guess it helps that Baratheons are never themselves when they fight," Harrold says and Rhaenyra smirks at him. She would finally get to see what Mason's men saw in battles at the Dornish Marches. She loved that side of him.

The warrior in him.

Ser Harrold went back to his post as the tournament master shouted, "Let the first joust begin!"

Mason immediately charged first, grunting as he ordered his horse to go faster, "Mason immediately charged first, grunting as he urged his horse into a gallop. His lance was aimed steadily at Ser Harwin Strong. The two knights collided with a thunderous crash, their lances shattering on impact.

Boremund and Elenda who were sitting a few feet away from the royal box stood from their seats in shock. As did the Princess.

The force of the blow sent both Mason and Ser Harwin crashing to the ground. The crowd gasped in unison as the two knights tumbled from their horses, their armor clanking loudly. Mason was the first to recover, quickly rolling onto his feet and shouting for his sword.

Thom scrambled to give it to him. Mason immediately unsheathed it and stomped over to Harwin Breakbones.

Ser Harwin, slower to rise, struggled to get to his feet as well. His squire threw him a sword as well. Mason charged forward, his blade gleaming in the sunlight. Ser Harwin, battered but undeterred, met him with a fierce roar. The two engaged in a brutal melee, Ser Harwin's fists and sword flying with powerful, crushing blows.

Mason ducked and dodged, his agility and quick reflexes helping him avoid the worst of Harwin's strength.

In a moment of skillful precision, Mason aimed a slicing blow at Harwin's knee. The sword cut through the armor, forcing Ser Harwin to collapse with a pained cry. As Harwin fell, Mason threw a punch at the knight's face.

"THE BRUISED KNIGHT!" A voice in Mason's head rang out. Mason breathed heavily as he threw another punch.

Mason's vision blurred with rage as the echoes of every insult ever hurled at him played out in his mind. "Coward," "Bruised knight," "brother-killer"—each word sliced into his soul. The memory of Borros, his brother, dying by his hand to defend Rhaenyra's name, haunted him.

The clashing of swords rang in his ears as he landed another punch, but Harwin took it squarely, refusing to back down. Mason's breath came in ragged gasps, his determination unwavering. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he raised it high above his head, ready to strike. In his mind, Harwin's face morphed into Borros's, a twisted amalgamation of past guilt and present fury.

"I'LL TAKE YOUR HEAD!" Borros laughs from beneath him.

"I'LL TAKES YOURS!" Mason shouted.

But just as he was about to bring the sword down, a voice cut through the haze of his rage. "I yield," the words came, shockingly clear.

Mason blinked, the fog lifting for a moment. It wasn't Borros—it was Harwin, yielding honorably.

The realization hit Mason like a cold wave. He lowered his sword, breathing heavily. The crowd, which had been holding its breath, erupted into cheers and applause.