chapter 11 the melee

Today is the day I've been waiting for—not just to fight the king, but to beat him. To make him knight me, legitimize me as a true Lannister, and from there… well, I'll decide what comes next. I grin at the thought.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," my father says from the corner of my tent, sipping on his wine.

"Shouldn't you be out there placing bets?" I ask, adjusting my armor.

"I already have. Seems people are still putting their coin on the Mountain, Jaime, or the King himself," he says, smiling. "Some even think Barristan Selmy will win."

"Selmy's a legend, true," I mutter. "If he weren't so old, I'd have asked him to train me."

My father chuckles. "Old or not, he's still Barristan the Bold.

Yes he is i say but it's time for one legend to fall and another to rise, eh? You'll be rooting for me, won't you?"

He fixes me with his sharp green eyes. "Always, son."

I smile. "Then wish me luck."

"You don't need it."

As I step out toward the arena, the roars of the crowd flood my ears. The stands are packed, thousands of faces shouting for blood. Around me, fifty other fighters prepare for battle, but I only have my eyes on a few. The King, Jaime, the Mountain, and Barristan Selmy—they're the only real threats here. The rest are flies waiting to be swatted.

The fight begins, a brutal melee of swords and spears clashing and bodies falling. But no one dares come near me my reputation doing me justice. I watch as the King takes on two men at once, his warhammer crushing them like kindling. Jaime duels nearby, cutting down knights like they're beneath him. A man comes at me, sword raised. I grab his blade mid-swing, my gauntlet catching the steel, and yank him toward me. My other hand closes around his throat. I squeeze until his face turns purple and he slumps unconscious.

The rest keep their distance in fear looking for easier prey fucking cowards i think to myself.

Minutes pass, and one by one, the weaker fighters are eliminated. Soon, it's down to five: me, Barristan, Jaime, the Mountain, and the King. The Mountain charges first, a wild beast bellowing for vengeance. I sidestep his slash and drive a right hook into his jaw. He crumples to the ground. The crowd erupts.

Next, Jaime comes at me, faster, more precise. His sword flashes, trying to keep distance, but I'm faster. I grab his blade, knee him in the gut, and deliver a knockout punch to his jaw.

Only two remain.

Barristan eyes me, cautious. He knows I'm no ordinary opponent. And as good as he is i can see his breathing roughly even legends tire, and age slows the greatest of men. He strikes, aiming for the kill. I sweep low, knocking him off his feet, and point my sword at his throat. A trickle of blood forms at the tip.

"I yield," he says, breathless.

I grin, but my victory is cut short by the sound of thundering footsteps. King Robert charges me, hammer in hand, a wild grin splitting his face. His swing is ferocious, faster than I expected. I raise my arms to block, the impact rattling my bones. He forces me back a step.

"Well, well," I say, pushing his hammer aside. "Seems my father was right about you."

Robert looks surprised—no one survives his hammer, let alone catches it. He bellows a laugh as I draw both my swords.

"Taking this seriously now, are we?" he taunts.

"Your strength demands it."

Our weapons clash, sparks flying as steel meets silver. The crowd's roar becomes a distant hum as we exchange blow after blow. Each strike sends shockwaves through the air, the king's might undeniable, but years of drinking and whoring have slowed him. After five minutes of relentless combat, I can see him tiring.

Now's my chance.

I drive the pommel of my sword into his chest, knocking the wind from him. But the king's still got fight in him—he answers with a right hook that splits my lip. I spit blood, grinning.

"You've still got it, old man."

I toss my swords aside, and so does the same with his hammer. We go at it with our fists, battering each other with savage blows. My fists slam into his body, but Robert fights back, his strength impressive for a man his size. I catch his fist mid-swing and slam my forehead into his, sending him staggering. I tackle him to the ground, raising my fist for the final blow—

"Enough!" my grandfather's voice cuts through the frenzy.

I glance around. A hundred men have their crossbows trained on me, ready to fire. I release Robert and stand, offering him my hand. He takes it, his face bruised but laughing.

"Kneel," he commands, still catching his breath.

I drop to one knee, even then towering over him.

"Barristan," the king calls, "your sword."

The old knight steps forward, handing the blade to Robert.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the innocent. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

The king taps the blade on my shoulders. "I knight you, Ceasar Lannister, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Now rise."

I stand, and the crowd explodes with cheers, louder than ever. None cheer louder than my father. I catch his eye and smile, knowing I've made him proud. My grandfather, watching from the stands, gives me a rare nod of approval.

But I don't pay him any heed. My mind is already on what comes next.