Chapter 49 (Revamped)

(Firmridge, the Riverlands)

The final day of the tourney was a mix of frenzy and excitement as everyone looked on at the jousting grounds with anticipation for what was to come.

Ten riders had managed to make it past the first day of the joust, most prominent amongst them were Lorimas Mudd, Oberyn Martell, Baelor Hightower, Raymond Feld, and Gerion Lannister.

There was of course the surprising presence of one of the mystery knights, wearing a yellow and black checkered pattern and who had previously managed to beat back all competitors. The dark horse had become a crowd favorite with his relentless pursuit of victory.

It should be noted that the presence of so many mystery knights in a singular tournament was nearly unheard of.

Those that were unseated had been revealed to scions of noble houses, rogue sons of the rising gentry, and even a few Ironmen who sought to regain some of their reputation amongst the mainlanders.

Still, many had managed to partially achieve their goals for entering, those who conducted themselves well were knighted and allowed entry into service by their impressed opponents, interested lords, or even the King himself.

Not all succeeded, a portion of these 'knights' were little more than amateurs who found themselves sustaining injuries or in some cases outright crippled due to their ineptitude. A clear indicator is the difference between those who earned their positions as knights and those who were given it when they met the minimum requirement.

A particularly significant example was one of the heirs of a prominent noble who had been crippled due to his lack of ability; it remained unknown whether he would continue his position as heir or would be disowned by his furious father.

Regardless, that loss would haunt the arrogant lordling for the rest of his life, which at least many were sure of.

…

Oberyn strode over to his steed with a confident gait, wearing the colors and sigil of the house proudly for all to see, a smile layered his face as he predicted the response of those watching once he came out victorious.

Erlend had cautioned him moments ago, his brother-in-law had been deadly serious.

"Don't do anything stupid"

"Come now my friend, you know me."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Relax my friend. I will be fine."

"Just be careful of that mystery knight, his presence does not bode well for either you or my Uncle."

Even now Erlend was far too cautious for his liking. There were times when that man was as free as the wind, charming and carefree while others where he would make the old lion and thorny grape green with envy as he hatched his plots and schemes.

If his brother hadn't his stick so far up his ass, Oberyn was sure that those two would get along, or kill each other. You could never tell with those types. 

His squire helped him mount his horse before making his way to the grounds. A good lad, unfortunately, his sister had made it clear he and his paramour would not touch the boy. One of the queen's handmaidens was infatuated with the oblivious lad, and she wanted to help the girl get her man, so they weren't allowed to ruin him.

A shame really, he would've loved to test him out.

The first joust of the day would be his, facing him was none other than Ser Breakwind himself. The Hightower heir was still smarting over his loss in the melee and looking quite angry with him.

Say what you will about the Reachman but he was still a formidable opponent, after all, he hailed from a land where Tourneys were as common as the crops and the greenery that filled it. 

Oberyn would be the first to admit that he wasn't the greatest of jousters, though that didn't mean he couldn't win this, it just meant it would be slightly more difficult. 

Making his way to the ground, he waved at the crowds, sending them into a frenzy of cheers and screams.

Some booed at him, while most chanted his name.

Baelor was not without supporters from the crowd, though they mostly came from the Reach and interestingly enough, the Westerlands. 

Picking up his lance, Oberyn moved to position and stared at Baelor right in the eyes.

"Your Majesty. Lords and Ladies of the Realm. Today we shall usher in a new era of chivalry and honor." The herald declared pompously, silencing the crowds as they listened intently to his words. "Before you are two of the best knights this realm has to offer, only one shall move forth to the next stage and attain victory."

"Representing the Principality of Dorne is none other than Prince Oberyn Martell, one of the foremost warriors the realm has to offer, and honoring the Green Realm is Ser Baelor Hightower, a true son of the Mander." The crowd cheered as the herald hyped both distinguished competitors up.

Oberyn raised his lance, his concentration at an all-time high, awaiting the herald's signal. 

As soon the order came, both stallions charged, his lance scraping the Reachmen's shoulder and causing the Knight to lurch backward, before righting himself properly much to his annoyance.

Returning to their positions, Oberyn casually took the lance handed to him by his nervous squire. Awaiting for the next order to move.

This will take a bit, unfortunately.

…

The prince's lance hit right onto the center of Baelor's shield, the sheer force behind his attack made the Hightower heir stumble atop his horse. Had his shoulder not been battered by the Prince's previous tilts, the man may have been able to catch himself.

A shame that it was not the case, as he finally fell off his horse once the lance hit true at its target.

Erlend observed the jousts as they continued, there was some desire in him that wanted nothing more than to jump on his horse and run them all down with his lance, but he kept himself steady, lest he do something incredibly stupid.

A side-effect of the immense magic that now filled him, power came with a price, as it always did. It was now far more difficult to stay still, his body constantly in motion, desiring action, and movement and to free itself from the boundaries that shackled it.

Come to think of it, it was not too dissimilar to Riordan's demigods.

This was an unexpected side-effect of his bond with his Dragons and the strengthening of his magic. Most of these effects had already been rendered irrelevant by his adaptability, but it did not seem to consider his now near-limitless energy as a danger to himself.

Which was fair, he doubted he'd be able to keep up with his whole harem otherwise. Any other man would've been sucked dry truth be told.

Hell's, his imprints had heard that a cult had been gathering followers, who worshiped him as a love god of all things. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation amused him to no end.

He watched the next joust with an expectant look as his Uncle sent Thoros of Myr reeling to the ground, how the red priest had made it this far without fail was a mystery on its own.

Jorah Mormont found himself beaten by the mystery knight, the man would not win the Hightower girl's attention it seemed. Good for him, such a marriage was doomed from the start and they were hardly fit for each other.

Leyton would not agree to a wedding between a northerner and his daughter unless that northerner was the Stark heir. This was Westeros, age gaps hardly mattered.

He frowned as his magic seemed to react to the presence of the Mystery Knight, it was warning him about the checkered man, that he could guess easily.

It wasn't that he was a threat to himself, few in Planetos presented a threat to his existence. No, it stirred at the danger the man posed for his kin and yes he did consider Oberyn kin, despite his oddities.

This man, whoever he was, had ill intentions for those close to him. Something was shielding him, though its protections were quickly crumbling at the sheer weight behind his probes.

Regardless, he would not be able to touch his family, it was impossible to do so with how many spells, charms, and runes that practically drowned the keep all tuned to keep his family safe and their people influenced to be more loyal.

Their existence was explained away as mere designs and intricacies that aimed to honor the Mudd's first men heritage.

Oh, how Erlend would've loved to kill him immediately, it was unfortunate that by the time he noticed him it was too late, he was far too high profile to go missing. Still, the fool was unaware that Erlend was already aware of his existence, the knight seemed far too confident in himself.

Whatever masked his existence seemed to allow the man to temporarily escape his gaze, one of the gods of this planet he assumed. They were the only ones that were part of this world that could do so.

It was not the Seven, he knew that for sure, they seemed to favor him despite his lack of belief, nor was it the old gods for they were content with their northern territories. 

Whatever entity it was, it seemed unable to warn the mystery knight of the danger he was in and the protection failing, perhaps it expanded far too much power doing this little stunt.

That gave him a better idea of who could be behind this bastard.

His Uncle was also aware enough to be cautious once he had warned him of the issue, he wasn't going to act like an imbecile and leave the man blind to a potential risk. One only needed to remember the canon Oberyn's grisly death to realize that.

Regardless since he was here, it mattered not, let the fool play his game, his time would come soon and the runes on his Uncle's armor would hold, he was sure of that. 

With his magic primed at the ready for anything, Erlend watched intently as his Uncle's and the checkered Knight's round was announced.

Let's see what you're up to little pawn.

…

Lorimas felt light, that was the best way to describe it.

Despite the immensity of the armor he wore and its imposing appearance, it weighed as much as the tunics he found himself wearing daily.

This presented its own issues, as it had taken weeks for him to get used to such weightless plates, and fighting with it seemed far too odd to be natural. Originally he intended to wear his normal armor, but his nephew had stressed the need for more 'magical' protection for the Joust.

This mystery knight fella seemed to be far more trouble than expected.

Feeling his steed stir under him, he watched with anticipation for the signal. Lining his lance carefully, as they rode down each other, his lance struck true at the checkered knight's chest, though the man did not budge an inch.

Oddly enough, his opponent's lance failed to hit, despite hitting every single one of its opponents previously. The crowd for their part looked confused at the checkered knight's apparent failure, but cheered on for the King's Uncle, though his lance failed to unseat his foe.

Taking another lance, he lined himself up once more and charged again, yet the same thing occurred, annoying him to no end. The blasted fool would not budge. Why wasn't his lance hitting, where was all that skill he'd shown before gone?

Lining up for the third time, this time instead of aiming for his shield, Lorimas aimed right at his shoulder, changing things up for this round.

Both men charged at each other with as much ferocity as they could.

Unfortunately, it seemed the knight had the same idea, as his lance hit Lorimas right at the middle of his chest, directly where his heart was.

Lorimas felt, or rather more heard his armor groan at such momentum, the most shocking thing being a barely noticeable black aura coming from his opponent's lance. It did nothing. His Armor did not break, the lances hit did little but jolt him.

The knight stared at Lorimas in confusion, the Mudd Lord stared right back at the fool, his eyes unamused at what had almost occurred. 

Feeling the barely withheld fury from the King's Uncle, the Knight made a hasty retreat back to his position. The man's posture was now trembling, almost skittish as if he had realized something, it did not help him one bit that he could practically feel the King's gaze squarely on him.

Lance at the ready, they charged each other once more, but this time the horse under the checkered knight stumbled for a lack of better terms. Lorimas who had done his best to pull back, hit the man directly at where his acromion was located, the joint that attached one's arm to their body.

The proceeding howl from the man as he cried out in shock and pain whilst simultaneously being crushed by the weight of his horse was terrifying to those who had never seen death or battle.

Immediately personnel that were assigned there for such situations rushed to get the man from under the horse. His screams were still loud and reverberating throughout the whole grounds as they did so.

Unnoticed by everyone was the nod sent by the King to his Uncle, who relaxed once his nephew sent his assurances.

Still, Lorimas could not help but feel jarred by the whole situation, for if it was not for his son in all but blood, he would've died today. Staring at his daughter, the Mudd Lord contemplated his next move.

Whoever this bastard worked for surely had accomplices, he would find them and make them regret their decision to come after him and his kin.

…

There was a hushed silence among the crowds as they watched the fallen knight be removed from the grounds.

His blood still soaking the area he fell in.

It starkly contrasted the joyful atmosphere that had pervaded the Tourney once. Those who had attended Tourney's were well aware of the inherent risks that came with participating and thus were better able to deal with the sudden change.

The younger ones though were shocked and more than a little horrified at what they just saw, their parents or guardians doing their best to calm them down.

Erlend was unamused by the fact that his Tourney had been marred by the stupid knight's presence, he'd have to pay him back for terrifying his children. Motioning for the heralds, a short break would need to be taken before they can resume again.

People needed to get their shit together it seemed.

"You're already on it, I take it," Erlend said to his trusted shadow.

"Aye, we're screening everyone he's been in contact with," Ellar said gruffly. "What if one of the Great Houses were involved?"

"They'll have their due."

The SG Commander bowed his head to Erlend, before making his way out.

None of those present had even noticed the short conversation, a basic notice-me-not-charm in place. It helped that his lovers were too busy trying to reassure the children to notice.

Few if anyone knew of Ellar's position and it was best kept that way.

Rhaenys and Daenerys seemed to be the least affected, Rhaenys having witnessed the events of the Sacking and Dany, well she massacred her fair share.

…

Oberyn was not sure how to feel, it had been an hour or so since Lorimas's match and he'd managed to beat Raymond Feld, a slowly but surely rising legend among the warriors of Westeros.

Yet, it felt hollow, the man was more distracted by the botched attempt on old Lorimas's life. They had gone four tilts before the Commander was unseated, it didn't feel as much of a victory as he wanted to.

Anyone with any ounce of experience could see it for what it was.

Wisely, they had all kept mum about it to avoid spreading panic. It would do no good if it was revealed that someone had attempted to murder the King's Uncle in an event meant to showcase the prestige of the Royal family.

None of them wanted to antagonize the King in his territory, who knew if they'd ever be able to leave it? His next opponent was unfortunately not Lorimas, the man had dropped out as a show of 'respect' to his fallen foe.

What a load of bullshit, Oberyn would bet his brother's balls on the fact that Lorimas was more than likely having a 'talk' with the checkered knight.

Looking at the Knight ahead of him Oberyn couldn't be bothered to remember his name, a Stormlander by the looks of it. Charging down at his opponent, his lance struck true, the man's shield turning into pieces from the impact.

The stormlander was so surprised that he failed to keep himself in check and found himself falling off his horse.

"Victory to Prince Oberyn." he heard the herald announce as the crowd cheered on.

…

Alerie sat beside her daughter, watching the Dornishman unseat yet another of his opponents.

While she did enjoy Tourney's, it was hard to stomach the victories of the man that was likely behind the raids on the Reach before the King's peace.

Oberyn Martell was a loathed figure within the Reach and for good reason, unfortunately, he and his sister were far too favored by the King for any retaliation to be made. Not without them losing the King's favor.

"Mother, will the checkered knight be alright?"

"I'm sure he will, your Uncle has recovered after all."

"But he didn't lose an arm though."

"Come on dear, stop thinking of such grim things, did you not have something you wanted to say to me now your brothers aren't here?"

Margaerys perked up at her words, "Princess Rhaenys birthday will be soon, what do you think I should get her."

"Well, you've known her for longer, haven't you? Surely you already know what she likes."

"Well... She likes Edmund"

Alerie gave her daughter a dry look, why the hell was her daughter telling her something everyone already knew?

Looked embarrassed by her mother's look, Margaery moved on to another of the princess's likes "She adores Balerion."

"The Dragon?"

"The cat."

"Then wouldn't her cat like a new playmate"

Margaery looked pleased at that suggestion, kissing her mother on the cheek before rushing to her Aunt. Her assigned Royal Guard was hot on her heels.

Why was she rushing to her aunt instead of staying with her mother? 

Well, obviously Alerie taught her daughter to use her sister for gold, which should take some of the sting from knowing she was getting some and she wasn't. Who was she kidding, it didn't. She would take all the satisfaction she could get, Seven damn it.

…

Gerion could practically feel victory slipping his grasp, his opponent none other than their errant vassal, Sandor Clegane. The man was relentless, they had already broken three lances off each other and neither had anything to show for it.

His next lance managed to catch the hound, if slightly. The grunt he let out at least showed the man in pain. With the fifth lance, the two Westermen faced each other with determination, as soon as the signal came they charged each other.

The hound had managed to hit him square in the chest, before the Lannister realized it he found himself unhorsed and attempting to get his bearings straight as his nephew's vassal looked down at him.

To his surprise, the hound gave him a nod of acknowledgment before moving to prepare for the final round. It seems that the Red Viper would be meeting the hound in the last tilt.

…

"Your Majesty, My Lords and Ladies, we have finally arrived at the round that will decide the victor of this Joust." the herald declared.

"Representing the West, we have Ser Sandor Clegane, the Hound!" a surprisingly large amount of the crowd cheered for the landed knight, who seemed apathetic to their reactions.

"His opponent, representing Dorne, we have Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper!"

The two men stared at each other, their lances at the ready whilst they awaited the signal.

One looked smug, whilst the other was seemingly uncaring for his opponent.

"May the best man win. Begin!" the herald said, as trumpets sounded, signaling the final round.

The charge was swift, both men's lances crashing into each other's shields with such momentum that any lesser man would've fallen then and there.

Again and again, they charged at each other, yet neither fell. Already they were fatigued from their previous bouts, it was remarkable that both men had been able to keep up for so long.

Six tilts had gone by and not a victor was in sight. The Audience watched with bated breaths for a sign of who would win.

The hound found himself struck right at his chest but stubbornly held on despite the pain wringing through his body, choosing to collect another lance, as Oberyn laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing.

Neither had faltered, charging each other once more.

This time, the Prince nearly slipped off his horse, it was a close call that had some booing in disappointment, though both men ignored the crowds. Their eyes focused on their opponent.

Determined to make this the last tilt, Oberyn steeled himself, riding down the tilt grounds with determination and hoping to avenge his embarrassment. Lance at the ready, as soon as they charged Oberyn did his best to push all he had onto the lance. 

It struck true right at the hound's shield. The man barely managed to get ahold of himself, yet to the surprise of everyone, just as it seemed that he would escape his fall. He fell.

The crowds went wild as they cheered loudly for the Prince, the herald's words barely audible, "Your Majesty, My Lord and Ladies, Citizens of the Realm. I present to you the winner of the Joust, Prince Oberyn Martell."

Oberyn grinned ear to ear at those words, having avenged his embarrassment from the melee with this victory.

Giving the hound a firm nod, he headed to where the wreath of flowers lay, the personnel who stood guard over it bowed her head to Oberyn before placing the wreath onto the end of his lance.

Riding to where the Royal Family sat, he placed the wreath on the lap of the only woman who deserved it.

"Ellaria, I name you the Queen of Love and Beauty," he said, the look she gave him sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

He was going to be enjoying tonight.

======

Note: Finally done with the edits, obviously updates will be more scattered but I will try and keep it somewhat regular before my Uni starts back up again and completely throws everything to wack. I've also removed the original chapters, leaving only the revamped ones to avoid confusion and repetition, you can still find them on FF, or drive if you are a member of the discord den, cheers.