Pre-Chapter A/N:First of all, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate. Gift yourself some good cheer with 10% off all plans on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) page. If you haven't already, I recommend turning on notifications for my stuff so you can see when new stuff drops right as it drops. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio
"You fight well" were not the first words I expected the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to greet me with the second he set his eyes upon me. To be completely honest, I hadn't even been expected to be allowed in. Coming here had been intended to be an entirely performative gesture that had spiraled out of control once the Grand Maester actually ordered I be let in and it turned out that Harrold Westerling was awake already.
"Thank you, Ser. I must say you do the same," I said.
"No. I, I am a great fighter. Maybe the best in the Seven Kingdoms. I said you fight well. Not that you were great at it," he pressed. I lifted a brow. Was he really saying this now? While he laid in a bed in the Maester's wing after I'd knocked him unconscious?
Instead of gracing the statement with an appropriate response, I turned my neck towards his body, silently making my point. Instead of being offended though, he erupted in laughter.
"Of course, of course. You did win our match, fair enough. But tell me honestly, Laenor Velaryon, did you win or did I lose?"
"I'm more curious about why you chose to challenge me than any of that," I said.
Shrugging at the unanswered question, the man seemed relatively unbothered about the purpling that had spread across his face or the fact that his nose was a mess of bandages.
"I sought to teach you a lesson. It's your first joust, is it not? Watching you made that clear enough, so I decided that it was time to teach you a lesson while also giving you a memory to go home thinking about. Well, as you can tell, that didn't exactly go to plan," he said, gesturing to his position on the bed. I chuckled.
"So you wanted to beat me and knock me off my high horse then. Put some humility in me?" I asked, lifting a brow. It shamed me to say that I expected better from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Nothing of the sort. The realm suffers when its young and ambitious are not taught the value of temperance. It was for your own good, I assure you. As The Seven-Pointed Star teaches us: those who fly too close to the sun are in danger of getting burnt," he said, repeating one of the more well-known lessons of the religious text.
"Fire cannot kill a dragon, good Ser. But I thank you for the advice. I will be sure to remain careful when I get to the top," I said. The Lord Commander did not seem keen on saying anything further.
A night of feasting followed every event, but this one was easily the most boisterous so far. I had expected the mood to be somewhat lower considering a vast majority of the knights had been knocked out of the running for the most important event of them all, but perhaps it was because of that that they were even more… energetic for lack of a better word.
Now that they were no longer competing against each other, most of the knights had loosened up. The walls that had existed in the earlier nights had been broken and now things were looking up. My earlier observations about rifts in the realm seemed to have been made hastily. Things were far more complicated. Now almost everyone sought Borros' presence for one reason or the other. He, Cole, and Mallister were easily seen as the favorites to win the thing and since one of the three was a Knight of the Kingsguard and the other, a man well into his fifties, it was no surprise that Borros was the one essentially holding court.
"I wonder if you would rather be dancing with our cousin. Shall I go and ask for his hand for you?" Laena's voice drew me from my thoughts. I scoffed at the suggestion.
"Nothing of the sort. Just thinking. I'll need to beat him if I want to win this thing."
"You said you had no intentions of winning barely a day ago. And then you ended up breaking close to two dozen lances against the Lord Commander before fighting and then beating him on foot," she said, lifting an eyebrow.
"I think at this point, we both have to accept that I'm greedy like that. I have a shot of victory and I want to take it," I said.
"Of course you do," she said with a chuckle.
"So what is your plan?" she asked next.
"Who says I have one?" I countered. She lifted a brow as I spun her around before returning her to my grasp.
"I know you too well to believe you don't. You plan how you get up from bed for breakfast. You definitely have a plan for the joust," she said.
"Well tomorrow has the next stage of the melee so my attention should be focused on that instead."
"Is it?" she asked, clearly holding back a chuckle.
"You know me too well," I conceded.
"Fine. I've been thinking about the joust. The melee is a lesser priority. I don't expect to win with the present competition. I've never beaten Borros when he was going all out, and he isn't even the most dangerous person still on the field. No. I'll give myself good odds, but concentrating on the joust is logical," I said.
"And the joust carries more prestige with it," she added.
"And the joust comes with more prestige," I agreed.
"So what is your plan?" she asked as we turned on the dance floor some more.
"It depends on the pairings. Borros, Cole, and Mallister are obviously the favorites from the way they handled today's dueling. I doubt they would be paired against each other in the first round."
"The draws are random," she said.
"Of course. But let's just assume they won't be paired against each other." Not keen on sounding like a conspiracy theorist by insisting otherwise.
"Feels like a big assumption to just make out of the blue," she said.
"Do you want me to continue or not?"
"I'm sorry, please continue," she said. I dipped her, and then brought her even closer before starting to lay down my plan.
"Assuming I get paired against one of the three, the goal would differ based on which one. If it's Borros, I have to put everything into my first two or three strikes. He's going to have me beat in both endurance and strength. I just have to hope to be a shade more skillful on the day and take advantage of the element of surprise," I said.
"And if it is Mallister?"
"He'd be the easiest of the three, funny enough. I have his number already. Anyone who was paying attention would notice that he spurned longer duels. He took risks, left openings, attempted daring feints, did everything he could to avoid a joust lasting longer than five tilts. He's skilled enough that he can manage to do something like that and not just lose immediately like most people would, so credit to him. But I just have to be certain to avoid the bait. If I face him, I'll keep things conservative. Ensure we go twelve tilts deep before I try any risk or even look to give him a real match," I said.
"So you'll blitz cousin Borros, and tire out Mallister. What about Cole?"
"Cole, I think will be the opposite of Borros. He's going to be more skillful, but I'll be stronger," I said.
"You'll be stronger," she repeated in a doubtful tone, squeezing my arm for good measure.
"It's not the size of one's muscles. It's what one does with them." I winked. Of course, Cole was stronger if we were working off of just our individual strengths. But Igneel was yet to let me down.
"I see. So what about the other four people in the tournament?"
"For them, things are a bit more interesting. I think I'm better than Cargyll, Royce, and Fossoway pretty clearly," I said.
"Don't be so sure about Fossoway," Laena cut in.
"Hmm?"
"I heard the Queen's other brothers talking about him. He's won three tourneys before this one. None of them quite as prestigious or well known as this one, but neither of them were surprised to see Gwayne lose," she said. Interesting.
"I'll be sure not to underestimate him then," I amended.
"You better. Mother's already pissed at you for the stunt with Westerling. If you go ahead and lose because you looked down on your opponent, she'd be apoplectic," she said.
"Oh please. Mother's far from pissed," I said with a scoff.
"You say that because you weren't able to see the daggers she glared into your helmet and you weren't the one whose hand she almost crushed when you took that first punch and went down to the ground."
"She's worried and is masking it with anger. She isn't actually pissed at me," I clarified.
"I see. And this will definitely prevent her from yelling your ears off if you mess up, why?" she asked with a raised brow.
"You know what? Fair enough."
"What about Marbrand?"
"What?"
"You've spoken about six of the contestants. What about number seven. What if you have to face Lorent Marbrand?" she asked.
"Oh him? No way he lasts more than a single tilt against me." I smirked. Marbrand was good for sure. One of the best. But I had his number already.
The second day of the Melee came with a single massive change from the first. The horses were gone now. Now, all the combat would be entered into on foot and that meant things were quite different. Well, that wasn't the only change to be fair. The numbers had been cut so thoroughly that there were only about two dozen of us on the field.
This meant that instead of the chaos that had happened when the horn had been blown the first time, now everyone maintained their positions and kept a wary eye out. Well… everyone except one person.
"Have at me!" Borros screamed his way towards Baelor Royce. The Lord of House Royce, wearing his family's customary rune-adorned armor did not look best pleased to have over a hundred kilos of metal and rage heading his way. But what could he do but prepare for the challenge? He held his blade to the ready, and indeed Valyrian Steel did have a splendor to it that normal steel could never match. The smoky patterns told a tale of age and power that few things could match. If there was one thing that would give any the chance of getting the better of Borros Baratheon in his prime, then it would be one of those swords.
Sadly, I didn't get to watch much beyond their first clash as a challenger made it my way. It was not Cole as I expected. The Kingsguard Knight had somehow befallen twin brothers of House Massey and their teamwork was enough to hold his aggression at bay. Instead of him, my first challenge of the day came from a weathered Gullian Swann.
"I shall have the measure of my future Lord's squire today," he said in lieu of any greeting. I returned his salute and prepared for battle.
His speed belied his age, and I cursed myself for not already beginning to pull on Igneel's power. He closed the distance between us in two sharp steps and then his sword came down. I blocked it, ignoring the way the bones in my arm protested at the impact. I pushed out with my shield and lashed out with my own blade.
He pulled his own sword backwards before deflecting mine. His shield slammed into mine a second later, near taking me off my feet.
'A little help, buddy?' I asked through our bond and I felt warmth and the power that came with it fill my body.
This time, I could track the man's movements quite clearly. His feet moved before his body did. He stepped into my guard, aiming to take advantage of my perceived loss of balance from the previous attack. His pommel lashed out, clearly intent on ringing my head like a bell. I twisted said head to the side, allowing the attack to miss as I aimed my blade for his shoulder.
His arm twisted and the blade was there blocking mine. If he felt any discomfort at the awkward angle, then he did not show it. He simply stepped back and returned to his stance again.
"Good. You learned something under Borros, clearly," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice as he lashed out with an overhead slash.
I stepped backwards, allowing it to pass me as I dove in once it did. Quicker than he had any right to, he was back on the defense, knocking my thrust away with the side of his blade before stepping further into my guard. His shield slammed into mine once more. But this time, I was ready, and even more than that, I was freshly empowered. I held my ground and we strained against each other.
The old man was stronger than anyone with so many grey hairs in their beard had any right to be. But even with that, I was still the clear winner. With a heave, I forced him backwards. But he withdrew before my victory became certain. I slashed at his retreating form with my blade. An attack he ignored as it didn't even get close to him.
"There's some Baratheon strength in you, boy. Good," he said and then marched forward again like he hadn't just been forced back from the previous engagement.
This time I met him at the peak of his aggression. I aimed a thrust for his chest that he slapped to the side. Instead of his shield being the one to bash into mine, I led the charge, hitting him straight on. He bore the attack with a grunt and nothing more as he stepped back with a grace that belied his age. Then his blade came again. I leaned backwards to avoid the first slash and snatched my foot backwards when he moved forward quickly and with intent like he was about to step over and stomp them into a pulp.
He took advantage of the shift in my weight immediately and even with my imbalance, I was quick enough to smack his thrust off target and brace myself for his shield. Except that this time, the shield did not follow the sword, and bracing myself was the wrong move to make. He twisted around me faster than someone his age had any right to move in full plate. Next thing, I felt a sharp pain to the back of my knee. I fell to the ground, not having much of a choice but to complete the motion. I rolled backwards and prepared to spring forwards, but the second I opened my eyes, it was to see his blade pointed straight at my head, unnervingly close as it was.
"Yield, good Ser?" he offered.
"I yield," I said, and then his hand was wrapped around mine, pulling me to my feet. I looked off to the side to see that Borros had won his match and was now harassing one of the Cargylls. The good news was that I was not the first to be eliminated in this half at least. Of course, the bad news was that I hadn't managed to last all that long in the grand scheme of things. There were still about twelve knights on the field as I left. I noticed Ben waiting for me at the entrance of the paddock and handed my cloth over to Swann before heading towards him.
"Who got you?" I asked.
"Cole. He must have been looking for you and ended up taking me as a consolation prize," he groused.
"I didn't even see him anywhere near by the time my duel was over."
"He watched you for a bit then he left. Seems like he felt you had no chance of winning," Ben said.
"Things looked that bad from the outside?" I asked.
"No, you acquitted yourself well. But even the Kingsguard would think twice before facing Gullian Swann," Ben said. And seemingly to confirm his words right then, the older man was faced with the other Cargyll.
Their match lasted a short while before with a single smooth motion, he had disarmed his opponent and placed his blade at the man's neck. That told me he had been holding back against me at the very least. If he'd used a move like that one against me, I doubted I would have been able to defend against it. At least not without having seen it before. From our position at the edge of the field, Ben and I watched the final bits of the melee.
Cole and Marbrand, the two last remaining members of the Kingsguard hunted down the last of the Westerland knights. The Valemen had not forgotten Borros' words from the first round and they came for him one after the other. Sadly, they were just placing themselves in the meatgrinder.
Swann, on the other hand, waited at the edge for the others to clean up. He was challenged by a Bracken, one of the last Riverlanders in the tournament. Unfortunately for said Bracken, he would have been better off waiting for the Kingsguard to get to him. At least then he might have had a fighting chance. In seconds, his cloth joined others around Swann's waist. After him was a Glover, one of the Northern Lords that had managed to make it past the first stage.
Apparently, their main threat, an Umber, had fallen off his horse early on in the first round and they'd not enjoyed the most decorated of outings so far. None of their number still in the running for the joust, and now only one left in the melee. Scratch that, zero, I amended as Glover lasted a matter of seconds. And so when there were only four left, the horn rang, adjourning proceedings for another day at least.
A/N: I hear the complaints about this dragging on. Worry not, we should be done with this by the next chapter plus half at the very most so you don't have to deal with it for too much longer. Quick question though, what would make the tourney more compelling to read? Better side characters? Next five chapters up on patreon (https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.