Chapter 13 - The Melee

Chapter 13 - The Melee

"Ah, it is you, Mystery Knight." The familiar voice of the man who had set my name on the list of the melee smiled as I gave him a similar coin to the one I told him to watch out for.

"Indeed, though I have to admit that armor in these parts is not easy to come by." The man snorted and rolled his eyes.

"While I appreciate you wanting to talk to a lowborn like me, Ser, I would say that it's time for you to enter the arena. Otherwise, you might miss the king's words."

"Thanks for the advice," I said, and walked past him, quickly entering the corridor that was intended for normal knights to get to the arena. When I emerged, almost all of the knights were already standing in the arena, though I noticed how nearly all of them had spread out, as if they were only waiting for the king to give the starting signal.

'Damnit, I'm late.' My cheeks reddened slightly, not that anyone could have noticed that beneath my helmet, and I quickly made my way to a side of the arena that hadn't been crowded yet. One thing in particular that I noticed however was the fact that there were a lot of fighters participating, much more than even in the jousting. It had to be at least four dozen men, though I could see how many of them seemed to be hedge knights, ill-equipped, or some knights of no renown. I even saw a few sellswords among them.

But there were threats I immediately identified, and I was sure that I would do my best to avoid them. I saw a member of the Kingsguard, namely the old Harlan Grandison whose white cloaks blew in the wind as he stood on the other side of the field like an unmoveable pillar. The next dangerous opponent I saw was none other than Tybolt's father, Lord Crakehall, and unlike his son, the man stood a few inches over me and looked like he had more than a few pounds on me as well.

The next enemies my eyes fell on were my biological father Ser Brynden and Ser Desmond, both of whom always outmatched me when it came to sheer skill. My eyes fell on the last man who immediately seemed dangerous to me. He was large, just as large as Lord Crakehall, but was somehow built even larger. I could see strands of grey going through his hair already, but it was clear that the man wasn't going to break down because of old age any time soon. His weapon choice was also a strange one. He held a short-hafted-axe in one hand and a short sword in the other, which gave him no real defensive capabilities but also the chance to attack his opponents better.

"Knights and Warriors from all over the seven kingdoms! Welcome, to my anniversary tournament, where all of you can prove yourself, though in another way the squires did yesterday!" Aerys let his words hang in the air, enjoying the sheer amount of people who were waiting for his next words.

"The squires who fought yesterday proved themselves to be a worthy future of today! But, you now have the chance to show them why the knights of this age are still one of the greatest to ever exist!" Cheers echoed from the seating rows and soon enough the entire stadium was cheering for the king, something he seemed to greatly enjoy.

"Well then-" He raised his voice once again and smiled down at the arena where all the knights were gathered.

"Let the melee commence!"

All hell broke loose after the words left his mouth. The fighters in the normal melee reacted much faster than the squires had, and they immediately saw them move. Most of them charged at the enemies who were closest to them, ready to eliminate the people who posed the greatest danger up close. It was messy, fast and everything but a normal one-on-one fight. I barely avoided a blow of a spear that had been aimed at my head and reacted on instinct, the mace in my hand immediately swinging into the direction the spear thrust had come from. And then when the mace hit my attacker, my eyes widened as I noticed something.

I had sometimes fought with a mace, namely during the sparring matches I fought against Brynden and Ser Desmond, but both of them knew my fighting style. They taught me after all. But the knight who didn't expect such a quick response to his attack hadn't.

The large mace crashed into his chest armor, which crumbled beneath the force of the blow. The knight was sent flying and landed a few feet away from me on the ground. I couldn't see if he was truly alright, however, as three other attackers flanked me. They weren't as well armored as the knights before, but they also attacked me at the same time. I felt their blows against my chest plate and lower armor, and I think one of them even tried to tackle me to the ground, which wasn't a wise choice. My shield blocked the blow of one attacker while my mace hit the sword arm of the second. An audible crack was and the man went to the ground, screaming as he held his now limp arm. I let my mace fall to the ground and quickly threw off the man who had tried to topple me with his tackle. My foot found its way into the wanna-be grappler's face, and his movements stilled almost immediately.

My armored hand slapped away the weapon of the third and last man as he tried to attack me from behind. I used my shield to block most of his blows and then grasped his weapon as he once again tried to thrust at me. I ripped the sword from his hand and used the pommel to jab him into his neck region. It wasn't enough to bring him to his feet, but it gave me enough time to pick up my mace and point it at him. He raised his arms, a low "I yield" escaping from his lips as he did. I acknowledged his decision with a quick nod and then began to survey the rest of the battle.

Only a few of the participants had fallen yet, but it was clear that there would be favorites. Grandison was downing men left and right seemingly effortlessly while his white cloak followed him like the wind, while Lord Crakehall was easily holding four other knights at bay, laughing while he did.

My attention was once again stolen by an attacker in flower-ornamented armor who tried to quickly dispatch me with a strong swing of a similarly ornamented mace he held in his hands. His weapon was smaller than mine, but it was rare that someone could match my physical strength. But he was good with his chosen weapon, I had to admit that. He and I traded quick blows, blocking those that we couldn't dodge and dodging those that would be bad to block. And we took those we had to take, even though it wasn't a pleasant experience.

I felt the head of his mace smash into my armored kneecap and sucked in a deep breath as I felt the blow damage something within. I bashed my shield against his shoulder just as he let out a booming bout of laughter, throwing him to the ground. I raised my mace to quickly end the fight but then felt someone strike the back of me from behind. I fell to one knee, and immediately felt another impact, this time on my helmet. Something pressed against my helmet, and a voice I wasn't familiar with spoke up.

"Yield."

"Like hell, I will." My hand grabbed my attacker's leg and yanked it upward, making him fall to the ground too. I rolled on my back and grabbed the attacker by the arm with which he held his weapon, a bludgeon of all things, in a tight grip. I slammed the hand to the ground, wringing his weapon from his grip, and brought it down on his head until he didn't move anymore. I rose once again, but the knight in beautiful armor whom I had failed to finish off beforehand, advanced on me.

"Fucking shit." I threw the bludgeon that I still held with my entire strength and saw how it hit the knight's helmet, disorientating him slightly. I used the moment to get into melee range and kicked him in the knee. He grunted in pain and once again would have fallen to the ground, but instead, I grabbed him and slowly dragged him to the wooden edge of the arena. He fought back the entire time, his flower-like mace sometimes clipping my legs which were starting to scream in pain, but I didn't let go until I had arrived at the fence and threw his head against it with all of my might. His helmet saved him from the worst, but the sudden force must have shaken his head enough to send him into unconsciousness. The helmet slid from his face and I got a good look at it, paling slightly as I recognized the other fighter.

'Fuck, isn't that Mace?'

I kneeled, inspecting the body of the Rose Lord whom I had sent to dreamland, and checked his pulse, just to be sure. His heart was beating and his pulse was steady. I let out a little laugh and patted him on the back.

"Good fight, my Lord. Good fucking fight." I laid my hand over the Lord Paramount's shoulder and helped the two servants who had already arrived to lift him over the fence.

"Tell Lord Tyrell that he was a great adversary, worthy of being called the Rose Lord." They looked at me strangely but then nodded. When the unconscious lord was carried away I turned back to the arena, hoping that he wouldn't be petty.

'Please let Mace be cordial, please.' I sent a silent prayer to the Seven while I returned to the place where I and Mace confronted each other.

When I did, I picked up my mace, groaning in pain as I did so. My eyes carefully wandered around the arena and I could see how most of the fighters on my side of the arena had been taken care of already, though mostly not by me. I saw how Lord Crakehall was now surrounded by at least nine unconscious men and still seemed just as fit as he had been when the fight started, except for a few tears on his surcoat. However, something that worried me even more was the fact that the older man with the short-hafted axe was now advancing towards my position, his eyes solely on me. A sigh escaped me as I readied myself and the knuckles of my fingers popped as I gripped the mace even tighter.

"You won't yield, I know that." The older man directly stated we were just a few feet away from me, though he didn't seem angry because of it.

"You're a warrior." He said and smiled, before he lunged at me with a speed I would have thought was impossible for a man his size. His axe looped itself around my mace, and I wanted to throw the weapon out of my hand.

"Oh no you don't." I grabbed the older man's unarmored head and headbutted him, sending him stumbling backward a few steps. But he had anticipated my move and also shoved me backward, greatly reducing the effectiveness of my attack. The older man spat out a gob of blood and smiled.

"You're good. If you're looking for a place to stay, house Mormont always has some." My eyes widened beneath my helmet as I stared at the man in front of me, my brain puzzling together who was most likely in front of me right now.

'Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear.'

Right now he wasn't that old, however, and was upon me once again, though I did notice how he favored his right over his left shoulder considerably, most likely from an injury he had sustained while fighting the other participants. Our weapons interlocked again and both of us tried to overpower the other fighter, judging from my opponent's large smile he seemed to enjoy it.

"And who might you be, Ser? I thought Northerners stay away from tourneys most of the time." I asked, trying to buy myself some time and think of a strategy. The older man just snorted and threw me back easily. I landed on the ground with a groan, my teeth gritted slightly as I tried to rise again. The knee was getting worse.

'Alright, this guy's stronger than me. Not good.'

But at the same time, something within me screamed at me to continue and stand up. I lifted my head, staring at the slowly approaching form of my opponent.

"I am no Ser, just to make that clear. Most of the guys here earn the title because of some flowery words and not through deeds." He chuckled and then charged at me again. I rose once again, much to the protest of my wounded knee, and jumped backward, avoiding his charge.

"But my name is Jeor if you need to know, Lord of the Bear Island."

"Alright, so you're a northern lord then," I said, one of my armored feet slightly digging into the partially dug up and uneven ground.

"That's right," Jeor said, and once again charged, his axe biting into my unstable defense as my knee didn't give me the same balance as before. But instead of going down alone this time, I grabbed the older man by the scruff of his armor and let gravity do the rest. Both of us crashed into the ground and I heard Jeor's pained grunt as his left shoulder hit the ground first. My armored fist dug into the ground and I quickly threw a handful of dirt into the face of the Lord of Bear Island. Even with his eyes partially blinded for the moment, he still managed to block the blow of my mace with his axe, but it did cost him something. Even though my mace had been blocked, the axe was flung from his grip, landing a few feet away from us.

My shield bashed against the older man's face, but he managed to grip it and then began to slowly try and rip it from my arm. He was also slowly starting to see me again, and I could tell that he was pissed. When the shield was loosened from my hand, I quickly let go of the mace and smashed my fist into his face, shortly stunning the older man. I quickly moved off his body, however, and positioned myself behind him. Before he knew what I had in mind, both of my arms had locked around his unarmored head and only partially armored throat, applying pressure to it.

"You know..." I said, panting heavily as the older man struggled to escape my chokehold. His strength still was immense, even while I was doing my best to restrain him.

"You Northerners should start wearing some helmets." To my surprise, Jeor began to laugh at my comment, his voice booming through the entire arena.

"Maybe you are right." He let out a last wheeze before his struggles began to weaken and then completely cease. I let the unconscious body of the larger man go and lay on the ground for a few more moments, trying to recover my breath. However, I still was on guard and ready to act if someone attacked me while I was down. After a few moments, I had finally recovered enough strength to rise again and pick up my mace and shield, which felt heavy in my hands.

My eyes wandered over the arena one last time. Nearly all normal knights had been eliminated, except for a few remaining ones. My father, who was battling against the old Grandison, both of their swords moving at blinding speeds, while both Desmond and Lord Crakehall were in a fight. The larger lord had fought far more people than my teacher had, but he still seemed to have enough energy, his huge body moving in ways I couldn't imagine myself doing at the moment.

I saw my next opponent, a knight from house Tyrell, come towards me. He was taking slow, careful steps as if I were some kind of dangerous beast.

'Good, that keeps him off me for now.'

My knee was burning with pain and the rest of my body wasn't better either. The fight against Jeor had taken nearly everything out of me. The Tyrell knight seemed to sense his opportunity and attacked, throwing his entire body into a sword thrust. He had been a tad bit too far away, however, and the reach of my mace proved superior as it smashed against his helmet. I felt my bones shake from the blow but for him, it must have been way worse. He tumbled to the ground, and I saw that I had dented his helmet with the force of my blow. I barely blocked another weapon, a fal, with my shield and still felt how my arm shook beneath the blow. I turned around, turning to face the tired-looking sellsword who stood a few feet away from me. I slowly advanced, careful to not put too much weight on my knee, and blocked yet another bone-shaking blow. The sellsword was faster than me and knew how to use his longer reach well.

I had to end this, and fast. A roar broke out of my throat, though I wasn't sure if it was from pain, anger, or excitement, and I lunged at my opponent, using my shield as a barricade that protected my most vulnerable spots. I felt the flail hit my shield arm, but I powered through the short bite of pain and finally reached the sellsword. If it had been the beginning of the match, I could have scored a hit on my opponent quite easily, but my speed and power had been severely reduced. My mace swing was caught by the flail, but the power behind it still was enough to crack the wooden shaft of his weapon. The sellsword avoided my next blow and backed up, creating some distance between us. His eyes fell on the damaged part of his weapon and he sighed before he dropped it.

"I yield." His words rang to my ears and I quickly nodded before I surveyed the arena one last time. Lord Crakehall had won against Ser Desmond and I saw how Brynden finally managed to disarm Grandison, forcing the old Kingsguard to give up.

But there was another knight that remained, though I was sure that he hadn't managed to get so far because of his skill, as my eyes fell on his unused sword and shield. I growled in anger, before I slowly began to advance, my useless knee nearly causing me to fall over.

The man noticed me and I could have sworn that I saw him grin beneath his helmet as he saw my injured leg. His shield, which was displaying something akin to a black scorpion, was rammed into my helmet with great force. I tumbled backward and fell as my knee failed to support my weight. The knight advanced and his sword stabbed forward. He managed to hit me right under the collarbone where my armor ended and I sucked in a deep breath as I felt the chainmail and gambeson only somewhat absorb the force of the blow.

'This fucker.'

I swung my weapon at the knight, but my movements were sluggish and weaker than before, and the huge weapon certainly didn't help my speed. The knight blocked the blow with that ugly shield of his and the blunted tip of his sword once again stabbed into my throat. The air was once again forced out of my lungs and I was left wheezing. The stout and big knight took a seat on my chest, pinning me and my weapon into place.

"Do you yield, Ser?" His voice was high, thin, and unpleasant as it came out of his helmet. I would have spat in his face if I could, but instead just tried to free myself from the disadvantaged position I was in, though it was futile. The knight began to bash the front side of his shield into my armored face, and he didn't stop. With each blow I received, I felt how I was getting closer to unconsciousness. My struggles got weaker as I got beaten into the ground, not by another fighter who had beaten me while I was in good enough shape, but by some cheap fucker who had waited until the very end to tire out the other fighters.

'I'm not going to lose to this fucking loon.'

The shield once again connected with my helmet, and I felt my brain shake in my head. My grip around the mace loosened I could have sworn that I already heard the shocked screams of the audience, but as soon as your opponent wasn't unconscious or yielded, you were allowed to keep beating them down. But the screams were drowned out, quiet compared to before, but my eyes were sharper than ever.

The shield threw my head into the ground once again, and I felt something crack and break, most likely my nose. Blood began to flow down my face, but I barely noticed it. My eyes were focused on something else.

The Runes.

They danced across my vision, even more vividly than in my dreams. Their forms were all possible colors and brightness, ranging from the most dull and black ones to the brightest white that nearly blinded me. One Rune in particular caught my eye. It was a light green, shining in a brilliant light that was immensely pleasant, almost warming. It was different from the others, standing right in one place instead of moving as the others did. I tried to reach out, but my arms still were trapped beneath the heavy knight.

The Rune started to move again, and I reacted on instinct, something within me refusing to let it go so easily.

One of my hands freed itself from under the knight and then grabbed the shield just before it crashed into my face once again. I wrung the shield from his hand with a roar, and threw him off me, before I jumped up, ignoring my aching knee to reach for the Rune. My hand made contact with it, and I felt how strange energy flooded through my body. I didn't change, but at the same time, I did. My body still was as tired, as beaten up, and as exhausted as before, but I knew what the Rune meant.

Healing.

The sword of the knight stabbed into the back of my injured knee and I fell to the ground once again. The fat knight who I had thrown off me attacked me again, but I didn't give him another chance. My arms wrapped themselves around his lower body and I threw him to the ground, one of my fists finding its way against his helmet, which disorientated him. I knew I wouldn't be able to beat the knight without a weapon, and lunged at my mace that still lay where I had been lying. The knight, who had recovered from the blow, lunged after me, and I felt the tip of his sword dig into the back of my weaker armored neck. I fell to the ground once again, but my left hand had already grasped the shaft of the weapon. My upper body turned around and I buried the mace into my opponent's chestplate with a scream.

Bones cracked and broke as my weapon proved its destructiveness, as it crushed and bent the chest plate with the sheer strength behind the blow. I had overextended my last blow, and I felt my hand protest before the blow even landed. The result didn't change, however, and the knight fell to the ground, his armor rendered useless in front of my strength. I looked at the beaten body of my opponent and spat at him, though I worriedly noted that what I had spit out was more blood than saliva.

'Take that, you fucker.' 

I slowly turned around and found myself face to face with the last fighter of the melee I would have to beat. He had seemingly taken care of Lord Crakehall just a moment ago and now stood in front of me, the auburn hair matted with sweat.

Ser Brynden Tully.

My father.

'Heh.'

A loud and hearty laugh escaped my throat, even when I felt that blood was streaming from my nose and my knee threatened to once again fail me. I didn't know why I found this situation so funny, but I couldn't control myself.

"You seem to have lost quite a bit of blood. There's no shame in yielding, Ser." I didn't respond, instead, my grip just tightened around my mace, and smiled. The feeling that had started to burn when I had first entered the arena was at an all-time high as if it knew that it was the last fight.

'I want to see this through.'

I attacked with a gigantic leap, even when my knee screamed out in protest and pain, and clashed with Brynden. He had fought strong enemies, stronger than mine had been, but I could hardly see any kind of tiredness in his eyes. He moved like a serpent, battering away at my defenses, slowly reducing them to nothing. A few seconds after he had managed to get in the first clean hit, that had sent me to the ground, I knew that I was going to lose.

And I was fine with that. I would accept his victory, but I would make sure he would have to work for it.

I stood up, the huge grin still on my face, and laughed as I swung at Brynden once again. Brynden's sword was a whirlwind of attacks, all of which had a purpose and target. I blocked some, but mostly it was left up to my body to take the damage. I fell to the ground again and saw how Brynden's sword pointed at me.

"Ser give up, otherwise there will be permanent injuries."

I chuckled and slowly stood up again, the adrenaline in my blood being the only thing keeping me going and I knew that I wouldn't remain standing for much longer. I lunged at Brynden once again, my mace raised. Brynden reacted almost immediately and already was moving to intercept me, his sword held slightly lower. I knew how he wanted to redirect my blow, he always had done so in our training sessions after all. Before the tip of his sword could touch the mace, however, I had dropped the weapon and shoved the older man backward. Just as he tried to recover, I picked up the mace once again and attacked. He was forced the block the blow and I felt his bones shake beneath the force.

He avoided my next few swings, and I heard the crowd cheer both of us, seemingly entranced in the fight.

'Idiots, this isn't a fight.' I knew that my loss was inevitable, but I couldn't be happier.

Brynden's sword thrust into my damaged knee and I collapsed, falling to one knee. I let out another chuckler, and rose again, tensing my leg muscles once again to continue. But it was over.

I fell to the ground again, my knee had completely lost all of its strength.

'I'm not done yet.'

I straightened myself again and forced my now-shaking knee to move. Brynden, whose guard had been raised just a minute ago, had lowered his sword and looked at me. He walked over to me, just like I had done in my fight with Tybolt, and looked at me, some amount of sympathy playing in his eyes.

"Ser, you fought well and bravely. Please, give up." I was silent for a short amount of time and then laughed one last time, though it wasn't as loud and booming as the last ones.

"Didn't manage to land even one proper blow on you. Nothing changed from our spars." I said, though there was no bitterness in my words. He had just been straight-up better than me, and I still saw how far I could go. Brynden seemed to recognize my voice, as his eyes widened and his mouth opened.

"Oh no you didn't!" He stomped closer to me and opened my visor, his blue eyes meeting mine.

"You stupid fool!" He screamed at me, and I could see how the crowd had suddenly quieted down as if they had sensed that something wasn't right.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?!" He said, and ripped the helmet off my head, exposing my red hair to the world. Brynden seized my head and looked at my nose.

"Deaths aren't common in the melee, but they do happen!" I saw his angry, but worried face and sighed before I once again tried to stand up, before I fell to the ground once again. Brynden barely caught me and had to drop his sword in the process.

"Give up, you stubborn boy, you have lost!" I looked at him, and I knew that it was over. I looked at Brynden, raising one of my eyebrows.

"And, did I surprise you?" The older man looked at me and nodded.

"You did, you foolish boy." I let out a chuckle and then raised my voice.

'That's good enough then.'

"I yield!" My yell traveled through the entire arena and soon enough cheers broke out at my declaration. The adrenaline drained from my body and I began to feel the accumulated damage from the entire melee. My eyes were getting heavy, but I knew that I had survived worse.

'Everything hurts.'

A small smile grew on my face.

'It was still worth it though.'

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AN: The chapter's done and I hope you enjoyed it. I also hoped that I didn't humiliate any characters, so I just want to make it clear: Donar would have lost to Jeor in a straight fight if Jeor was healthy and had been wearing a helmet. Donar had luck in general with his matchups. Not the best luck, but it could have been much worse (he could have been thrown against the Kingsguard for example).