Full Tilt 

Rain hammers the steel of my helm as I fit my boot into the worn stirrup and hoist myself onto Horse's back, settling into the familiar leather of the saddle, praying my racing heart does the same in the cavern behind my ribs. The beast huffs impatiently, hooves digging into the flooded earth beneath us. She knows what - and who - waits on the other side of these towering doors. Horns sound from the arena. Cheers erupt as the chains draw back the wooden gates, rusted iron clanging with each link peeled away. The cry of metal bites through the chorus of voices, and I look up from Horse's mane to meet the gaze of the figure waiting ahead.

A steed - pitch black with elaborately carved armour fitted to its muscled body - rears in excitement, its rider sitting rigid upon its back. The rider's steel matches that of their horse, the face of a wolf pounded expertly into their breastplate. Through my slitted field of vision, I study them for subtle signs of knowing, of recognition. But my opponent's expressions are hidden by their own helm, entirely protected. Though I can't see them now, I wonder if their eyes are also searching mine. They must know, I think with a spike of fear.

We stand for just a moment, our animals churning the mud beneath them and baying, their patience running out. Without a word, the rider tugs at their horse's bit and urges them to the end of the list.

The lick of fear in my stomach flares to my throat. Air comes restricted and painful into my lungs. My mare carries me to the end of our own list. The crowd continues to scream and chant. The rain is coming down so relentlessly there is a sheet of mist obscuring the edge of the arena. My opponent is but a dark smudge in the blur. I can almost pretend they are a stranger. The squire at my knee shouts something above the din. I nod and reach for my lance.

In the seconds that follow, I feel nothing but the weight of the weapon in my hand. I know that Horse is moving rapidly - the stands on either side blend and disappear at the edge of my already limited vision. Despite the cold, my breath heats the interior of my helmet. Horse stays close to the tilt, so close I'm worried she'll catch a leg on one of the posts. But she's smarter than that. She's giving me my best chance.

I think I've taken half a breath when I see the other rider explode into view. They burst from the veil of rain like a spearhead, moving at breakneck speed with precision and intent. Their shield, like mine, is poised to protect their neck. Their armour glistens. I search for the weak spot and find it within two strides of our lances clashing. Their left shoulder is slightly exposed, leaning too far into the open space between lists. I shift my lance, angle it upwards, aiming for the corner of the steel wolf's ear. I brace for the impact of their weapon against my own shield. This happens in under a heartbeat.

Before we make contact I hear a gasp of shock. Not just from the crowd, but my opposition, too.

My helm is shaking loose, and with it, the leather strips that bind my long hair. I felt the locks tickle the base of my neck, escaped strands no doubt streaming behind me. In our closeness, I see my rival's eyes widen. Despair strikes me down before the lance does.

Gray sky fills my vision as I topple backwards. The entirety of my ribcage has shifted within my body, the bones vibrating as I sail, briefly weightless, through the air. Then there's nothing but mud. It pours into steel, through my chainmail, sucking at my struggling arms as I land writhing on the ground. Everything in my chest screams in agony. No breaths come, and I gape soundlessly in the earth for what feels like eternity. What was formerly cheers are now cries of outrage and disbelief. They'll kill me, I think, and then --

Darkness. Someone throws a cloak over my head, covering me entirely. My gauntleted arm is grasped by a hand beneath the fabric, fingers working quickly to undo the gloving. Air reaches my lungs now, though just barely. I can make out some of the crowd's protests:

Is that who I think it is? How did nobody know? Outrageous! Dishonorable! A shame to her family! And how many of us did she fool? Have her hanged! She's unfit! It's unbecoming!

My soaked glove and gauntlet are yanked from my arm, leaving it bare, and then the hands return, closing around my fingers. A voice I recognize speaks from beyond the cloak.

“Come.”

I'm dragged to my feet. Stumbling across the muddied arena, still beneath the privacy of the cloak, my saviour marches me away from the feral onlookers. I trust my squire has gotten control of Horse, though no doubt she will be impatient to be by my side again. With every step, my boots grow heavy with dirt and hopelessness. I was discovered. But more than that, I lost. Worst of all, lost to him.

Him pulls the cloak from my head unceremoniously, and I blink and look about the tiny shed where he brought us. Rotting holes in the ceiling let in the rainfall. We must be in the arena stables. My helmet, thrown off in my fall, is gone. I stare at my reflection in his own helm, the streaks of water on the metal reminiscent of tears.

“Why?” He asks, the word laden with hurt. It comes out like a whisper, like the breath had also been knocked from his lungs.

“I've been trying to tell you,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. No, I think, you've come so far. Don't let him see you break now. “I can take care of myself.”

He takes a heavy step forward. Without our horses beneath us, he towers a head above me. I keep my jaw upturned, lifting my gaze. Through the slit in his visor I can see the dark of his eyes. Finally. They hold mine without blinking.

“Your father trusted me with your safety. You've not only embarrassed the crown, and yourself, but me as well.”

I scoff. “The crown? Embarrassed? So you can seduce the King's daughter whom you swore to him you would protect, but God forbid she beat you at your own sport.” I spit at his feet. Whatever guilt I carried, whatever shame, the rage burns it away. How dare he claim to be my protector? “How noble, Ser."

“Seduce?” He rips the helmet from his head, and I feel the lingering pain in my ribs double. Red eyes stare into my own, his cheeks wet not just from the rain. His hair spikes out in all directions, damp with sweat. Lips part to speak, but no more words come.

My armour is heavier now. Everything within me wants to beg him to take it off for me, to lift the terrible burden from my body for good. To beg him to run from here, with nothing but our horses and leave the lances and the crown behind. A cool hand lands gently on my cheek, a warm breath brushes over my lips as my eyes begin to close.

BANG

A cry of agony bellows from outside the shed. We leap away from one another, armor clanging. My hand flies to my ribs as I gasp in pain from the sudden movement. Outside I can hear Horse, her baying growing more and more frantic. She found me. The squire's frightened attempts to calm her are no longer working. I have to go.

When I looked to him, he is already holding out his helmet for me to take. Deftly arranging my hair beneath so that it's hidden once more, I place it over my head, pausing before lowing the visor. It'll be the last time he sees my eyes, at least for some time. I let him look, and I look back. Then I slam the metal down over my brow and turn.

However heavy my armour is, the weight is mine alone to bear. I leave him there, knowing my words did far more damage than my lance ever could.

xxxxx

Thanks for reading! This was really fun, it came right off the dome which is the first time something like this has happened to me. Anyway, hoped you liked my Knight of the Seven Kingdoms meets Mulan meets Padme and Anakin (or something like that).

P.s., Left the heat on low for this one, but let me know if you want a chapter two. I can turn it up >:)

P.p.s, a tilt is what they call the barrier between jousting tracks. so. metaphor there for ya.