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đđ đđđ đđđđ ¡¡¡ a collection of tournament glory, unspoken devotion, blood & spectacle roleplay sentence starters. genre: romance, rivalry, hurt and comfort, angst.
You shall not ride in this tourney. I care not what vows you made, nor to whom you made them.
Wear my favor. Only this once. None need know what it meansâsave you and me.
I watched you fall, and I swear my heart struck the earth before ever you did.
You rode as though you meant to die upon those lists. Tell me trueâdid you?
I need no ribbon bound about my lance to remember whom I fight for.
Half the realm is crying out your name, yet you look upon me as though no soul stands here but mine.
Let me see. Take off the armor and let me judge how grievously you are hurt.
You chose to tilt against him. Do not dishonor us both with a lieâI saw murder in your eyes.
I have sat in those stands since dawn, half-sick with fear, and you come before me grinning like some fool?
I want neither your victorâs wreath nor your glory. I want only that you return to me alive.
The whole court saw you name me queen of love and beauty. Do you understand what you have done?
I can no longer pretend to watch the tourney when my eyes have followed only you.
They bore you bloodied from the field. I did not draw breath again until they swore you yet lived.
That bruise is near as broad as my hand. Sit downâaye, sitâand let me tend you.
My lord husband sits beneath the kingâs own pavilion, and you have named me your queen of love and beauty before half the realm.
Whose favor is that? Do not fashion some pretty lie for me. Tell me whose.
Never once have I prayed before a tilt. Today, I near wore the gods deaf with it.
If you die upon these lists, I shall never forgive you. Do you hear me? Not in this life, nor in any life to come.
You ride on the morrow, and sleep will not have me. Each time I close my eyes, I see the lance strike. I see you fall.
They name you the finest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms. Why, then, do you look as frightened as I feel?
I stitched that favor by candlelight, where no prying eye might see. If any should ask, it was never mine.
The way you looked upon me as they lowered your helmâdo not look at me so. Not when you are about to ride beyond my reach.
I care nothing for the purse, the title, or the songs they may make of me. I entered these lists for you.
I beg youâyield. Let honor damn itself and yield.
Three tilts upon a cracked rib, and never once did you think to speak of it?
Every knight upon these lists hungers for glory. You are the only one for whom I am afraid.
I cannot be both the favor upon your lance and the secret you hide beneath your tongue.
The whole realm has gathered beyond this canvas, yet somehow this tent is the loneliest place in all the world.
Take it off. The armor, the courtesies, the brave faceâall of it. There is no one here but me.
I did not so much as flinch when the others fell. Yet when they leveled their lances at you, I could not bear to look.
I crowned you because I would have all the realm know where my heart lies. I have grown weary of hiding it.
A man might have heard a feather fall when you rode into the lists. Even the king leaned forward to watch.
I stitched your wound while you swore it gave you no pain. Your hands trembled too fiercely for such a lie.
You speak of it as though it were but a game. Men have died playing at less.
The melee is no place for one who has something worth living forâand whether you will admit it or no, you have such a thing now.
Your hands are trembling. Give me the gauntlets; I shall lace them for you.
I have watched men fall from horseback since I was old enough to stand beside the lists. It never mattered until the man falling was you.
You do not ride with rage in your blood. You do not wield a lance so recklessly. Tell me what passed before you mounted.
I shall not sit meekly in the stands while you court death. If you mean to be reckless, then I mean to remain near enough to drag you back from it.
All believe you won that tilt cleanly. I alone saw you turn the blow aside at the final heartbeat.
Do not dare kneel before me. You are bleeding through your surcoatârise, before the whole court sees.
Of all the knights who rode today, you alone came to my tent afterward. The others went to drink of their glory.
I watched you dedicate every victory you claimed today. Not one was given to me. I counted each of them.
How many times must I bind your wounds before you confess this is no longer a matter of honor?
I found your favor beneath the churned mud after the joust, trampled beneath horse and boot. Shall I return it, or must I go on pretending it means nothing to me?
I heard the lance splinter from across the field. I believe I screamed your name, though the gods know I remember little after.
You claim you fight for the realm, yet after every pass your eyes seek the very same place in the stands.
They are already making songs of your victory, and here I sit, cradling the hand that was broken to win it.
The tourney ends on the morrowâand what then? You ride north beneath your banners, whilst I remain behind these walls?
I did not come to see you win. I came because I could not trust the gods to keep you alive without me watching.