Chapter 46

Chapter 46: The Last Seven

…

Richard POV

In the melee ground, I stood comfortably, my heart steady as I looked out from the narrow slit of my helmet. This was it—the final round. 

The herald's voice boomed across the field as he began to announce the names of the last seven contenders. Starting with the Westerlands. 

"From the Westerlands, representing House Lannister are Tygett Lannister, Gerion Lannister, and Ser Galahad!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a roaring wave. Tygett and Gerion, focused and stern, barely glanced at the crowd. Their attention was fixed on the field. 

I, however, turned toward the spectators and waved, allowing myself a moment to savor their reaction.

The cheers grew louder from my gesture.

Then, in the sea of faces, I spotted Elia Martell. Her gaze was locked onto me, still intense. Despite what had happened between us this morning, it seemed her spirit hadn't fully waned. 

I felt a smirk creep beneath my helmet. 

My thoughts drifted, and I searched the crowd again, looking for a different figure. I found her—Alicent, standing among the smallfolk, her hood drawn low to keep her identity hidden. 

She'd been pleading with me to let her attend the tourney, and last night, I'd finally relented. Her happiness had been infectious with joy after my agreement.

Around her, disguised as common folk, stood thirty 

Lionheart family members. Men and women, soldiers and associates, each armed with daggers beneath their clothes, stationed to ensure her safety in the throng.

Alicent spotted me and waved, her excitement clear even beneath her hood. I lifted my helmet slightly and blew her a kiss. 

The ladies in the crowd, thinking the gesture was for them, squealed in delight. Under her hood, Alicent smiled, blowing a kiss back to me. I smiled at her gesture.

Satisfied, I turned back to the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade as I steadied my focus. The herald's voice rang out again, listing my final opponents. 

Oberyn Martell, the Viper of Dorne. Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. And Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold. Each of these men were formidable for reaching the final. 

The field would soon be a storm of blades and clashing armor, and only one would emerge victorious.

I drew a deep breath, letting the thrill of the moment settle over me. It was time.

"These men are the final seven! With that, let the final round of the melee commence!" The herald's voice echoed, and the crowd roared.

I unsheathed both of my swords, feeling them settle into my grip. 

I looked over to Oberyn, Gerion, and Tygett, each of them on edge. Unlike yesterday, there'd be no alliances. This was a true free-for-all.

The trumpet blared, signaling the start of the melee.

Without hesitation, I launched myself toward Gerion, an immediate strike aimed at him.

"Seven hells, Galahad! Why are you attacking me first?" he yelled, scrambling to raise his shield. The top edge of it shattered under my blow, and I took advantage, swinging my second blade low toward his unprotected thigh.

"There's no hard feelings, Gerion," I said, my strike landing with precision.

"Ughhh, gods…" Gerion groaned, collapsing to one knee. I'd held back just enough to avoid serious injury, but it would leave him bruised. 

I prepared to make Gerion yield when a faint sound—a whisper of movement—warned me of a strike aimed at my back.

I spun my sword, reversing the grip mid-motion, and caught the incoming attack just in time, steel clashing against steel. The impact reverberated up my arm, but I held firm.

In the same breath, I pivoted, the momentum carrying me into a full spin as I swung my second sword with blistering speed. 

My blade arced through the air, poised to strike, and I saw the shock in my attacker's eyes as he realized how quickly I'd turned the tables.

Tygett saw the incoming sword and lifted his greatsword to parry. Sparks flew as our blades clashed, my sword biting into the metal and leaving a visible crack. 

I spun my reverse grip on my other sword back to normal grip, aiming for his thigh.

"Ughhh!" Tygett grunted, wobbling but still standing. I sighed and delivered a quick roundhouse kick to his wounded leg.

Both of the Lannister brothers were on one knee ground after that, groaning in pain.

"So, do you two yield, or shall I keep at it?" I asked, my tone light and almost playful, the tips of my swords pointed at each of them.

"I yield. Gods, that was too quick, you should've given us a chance to show off," Gerion replied, raising his hands in surrender, always the playful one even in defeat.

"I yield," Tygett echoed, his voice rough and tinged with disappointment. The sting of falling short was clear in his eyes.

"Good choice," I said with a grin beneath my helmet. "I'm aiming for a record here, so I'll leave you to lick your wounds." As I said that I could spot the martial men hiding them out the melee grounds.

I turned, my focus shifting to the four men still left in the melee. Across the field, Ser Brynden Tully—the Blackfish—was locked in combat with Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold. 

To their right, Oberyn Martell moved with the lethal grace of his namesake, his spear slicing through the air in swift arcs. 

But I could see he was outmatched; Ser Arthur Dayne, wielding his legendary sword Dawn, held an impenetrable defense, backing Oberyn up with each precise, unyielding strike. 

Despite Oberyn's agility and speed, his attacks seemed ineffective against the skill and composure of the Sword of the Morning.

Two down, four more to go, I thought. Without hesitation, I jogged toward them, my eyes narrowing as I calculated my approach, intent on disrupting this duel.

…

Ser Barristan Selmy 

The moment the final round melee began, a familiar figure approached me. It was Ser Brynden Tully, known to all as the Blackfish, a man of honor as steadfast as the riverlands he hailed from.

He inclined his head, a rare smile curving beneath his helm. "Ser Barristan the Bold," he said, voice carrying even over the clamor around us, "would you honor me with a duel?"

In the preliminary of the melee, unlike the others, Brynden hadn't rushed in with the other knights against me. Instead, he joined me, helping me, and we made it out of the preliminary. I respected him for that action.

I took in his stance, his shield was raised, his sword poised. A worthy opponent.

"I accept your duel," I replied, stepping forward and squaring up to him. He did the same, and we circled each other.

I was the first to strike, lunging forward with precision. My longsword clashed against Brynden's shield with a resounding clang, the force reverberating down my arm.

He absorbed the blow well, bracing himself and shifting his weight to counter, but I kept pressing, relentlessly. There would be no pause, no mercy.

I struck again, a swift upward slash, aiming to catch the edge of his shield and open his guard. Brynden reacted, turning his shield just in time, but it left him off balance.

Seizing the moment, I pivoted, swinging my sword in a rapid arc toward his unshielded side. He barely managed to raise his sword, catching my blade on his, but the impact drove him back a step.

I circled him once more, my sword raised, my steps light on the dirt.

He grunted, acknowledging my advantage, but his eyes held that steely determination.

He surged forward, bringing his shield up with force, trying to shove me off balance, but I twisted, sidestepping with ease, my movements fluid.

With a flick of my wrist, I lashed out, the flat of my blade catching him hard against his armored shoulder.

He staggered, and I closed in, pressing him back with a flurry of rapid strikes, each one delivered with purpose, each one meant to wear him down.

Brynden's defenses were strong, but I could see him starting to falter, his shield sagging just a fraction with each block. Sweat glistened on his brow, his breaths coming harder now.

I drove my sword against his shield again, this time shoving forward with all my strength, forcing him back further until his feet dug into the ground.

He tried to counter from the ground, but I deflected his attack with my shield and disarmed him, striking my sword against his gauntlet.

"Do you yield?" I asked, voice steady, my sword poised to strike again.

Brynden looked up, pride warring with the realization that he was bested. With a resigned nod, he lowered his sword. "You've won, Ser Barristan."

I lowered my blade, inclining my head in respect. "You fought well, Blackfish."

After beating him, I focused my attention elsewhere around the melee ground. To my surprise, the two Lannister brothers were already knocked out of the final.

My eyes focused on a fascinating scene. I watched my fellow Kingsguard and Oberyn teaming up against Ser Galahad, the young knight.

I was in awe of the display of the young knight. The man whom Prince Rhaegar had taken a liking to. The man who had previously defeated Ser Arthur.

Moments later, Oberyn yielded after losing his spear and receiving a hit to the shoulder by Galahad which caused a painful cry from him.

After that, it was just Dayne left, and despite the respect I held for him, I could see the toll the melee was taking.

Arthur slowed down and was on the defense, the relentless pressure of Galahad's assault having tested his limits.

With that I chose to join in. Galahad noticed this and took steps backward.

"Would you mind if I help you?" I said to Arthur. He nodded. 

Just like that, Arthur and I faced off against Galahad.

Galahad's energy seemed inexhaustible, a whirlwind of motion that kept both Arthur and me on our toes. His twin swords were always moving to block and strike.

He darted between us with agility, striking with precision, then slipping away before we could retaliate.

"Together!" I shouted, and Arthur and I surged forward, hoping to overwhelm him.

But Galahad anticipated our advance, feigning left before pivoting right, slipping behind Arthur. In a flash, his swords flashed out, scoring a hard hit on Arthur's shoulder, causing a grunt of pain.

Arthur grimaced, but before he could counter, Galahad turned his focus back on me. I swung my sword in a wide arc, but he ducked under the strike, his movements as fluid as water, then countered with a sharp thrust aimed at my midsection.

I barely had time to raise my shield, the impact reverberating through my arm.

Galahad wasn't done; he pressed forward, following up with a flurry of strikes that left me struggling to maintain my defense.

Each blow to my shield chipped away at my resolve. I blocked one strike, then another, but with every second that passed, I could feel my whole arm going numb from the force of his strikes.

I fought back, my sword crashing against his, but he slipped out of reach again, weaving like a shadow.

And then, in a moment that felt both drawn out and instantaneous, he made his move.

Arthur and I, weary and desperate to land a decisive blow, attacked simultaneously, hoping to catch him off guard. Galahad, however, remained calm.

He ducked under my strike, spun to the side, and with a swift maneuver, he delivered a sharp kick to Arthur's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. In the same motion, he turned his blade towards me, eyes gleaming with determination.

I regained my stance just in time to see him coming. With a surge of adrenaline, I lunged forward, sword aimed straight at his head.

But he anticipated my move, pivoting on his heel and stepping aside, letting my momentum carry me past him.

As I turned, I felt the rush of air as Galahad's sword swept low, slicing through the air and catching me off balance.

He struck with blinding speed, the flat of his blade slamming against my arm and sending my sword flying from my grip. It clattered to the ground, leaving me momentarily defenseless.

Breathing heavily, I stood there, my heart racing. Galahad's other sword was already aimed at my throat, the glint of victory clear in his stance.

"Yield," he said, his voice steady yet firm.

For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my defeat settling heavily on my shoulders. Then I inclined my head, a mix of respect and acknowledgment. "I yield."

After I had yielded, he went to point his sword toward Arthur Dayne, who was on the ground, exhausted. He had yielded too.

The crowd cheered, and looking in the distance, I could see standing ovations from nobles.

Prince Rhaegar and all the nobles and ladies stood and clapped for Galahad.

With this win from the young man, he had undoubtedly cemented himself as the greatest knight in Westeros.

…

Note: A pure action chapter, hope y'all like it.