Melee

Aerion slowly put on his armour, black leather underneath the dark plating. He eyed his fellow squires in the tent, some were younger, most however were his age or older.

When he asked his uncle about it earlier the man pointed out that with the long reigning peace, being Knighted is getting harder by the day, these tourneys are one of the only ways to do so. He took his sword sheath off of his belt, he didn't want anyone grabbing onto it in the melee. 

This was the biggest tournament since Viserys I was crowned. 

It would start with a large free-for-all, four groups of thirty-six squires would all have separate battles, whoever is standing at the end will be moved into a traditional tourney bracket. 

Then it would come to the final, he felt his nerves rise, if he—when he got to the final he would be exhausted. He tied the yellow palm sized Bracken banner onto his belt.

He placed his helm over his head gently, his vision reduced by the visor. He carefully picked up his sword, the armour heavy but not too restrictive he realised as he raised his arms above his head. 

It felt queer, to be so protected, he'd briefly did some training with his old guardsman armour last night. This…it was…foreign that was the only way to put it. 

The sound of cheering crowds was briefly heard through the tent, especially when a squire left out into the yard. The majority of the crowd were small folk, yet still hundreds of lords, ladies and rich men would be watching.

The King would be watching, his potential father may be watching, he took a deep breath. 

'Well, good luck in the tourney' the Princesses' words seemed to bounce around his head as he clenched his fist tightly around his sword as he started to walk into the yard.

His Uncle was watching, that alone sent some resolve burn through him as he looked down at the yellow Bracken banner.

Lifting the heavy tent flap he stepped out into the harsh sun, his appearance received with loud clapping and shouting from the small folk, the nobles simply talking amongst themselves.

His nerves were pulsing yet his determination, his need to win, to fight seemed to quash them. He eyed the large wooden pen in the centre of the grounds. Almost 30 squires were already waiting around in the pen.

He took another deep breath before he climbed over the fence, lifting himself over the wooden barrier, weighed slightly down by the unfamiliar armour. 

The clinking and clanking of the surrounding squire's armour seemed to echo through the grounds, the pen was already crowded, a large cheer erupted from the small folk behind him, another squire was making his way to the pen. 

Aerion walked through the crowd, bumping shoulders with other squires as he tried to find a position with something to his back. The corners of the pen were already taken, almost 5 squires all next to each other in each corner.

Aerion simply decided to stand with his back to the wooden fence, the Royal box in his eyesight was intimidating, the box towering over the other stands. 

Then came the moment.

A horn blast echoed through the tourney grounds, the small folk quietened down at the sound as if the very air had been sucked from the yard. All he could hear was the nervous clinking of metal and the low murmur of the nobles.

"Lords and Ladies! Noble knights and brave men!" A dramatic voice shouted from the Kings box "Bear witness! Only the strongest squire shall endure!" He said, excited murmuring rising from the crowd "Let this trial begin!"

A second horn followed, deeper and more urgent, signalling the start of the melee. For a moment there was stillness—then chaos. 

Aerion instantly ducked under the sudden swipe of a mace, a grey squire targeting him instantly. Aerion rose, his sword a blur as it connected the squires retreating mace, sending it spinning into the air. 

A burst of confidence rushed through him as he briefly scanned the chaos surrounding him while he had the time, luckily no one seemed to be sneaking up on him. 

Aerion pressed his advantage, his sword coming back down, the flat of the blade smacking into the helm with a clang, the grey squire stumbling back into a silver squire that turned quickly. 

The silver squire with an iconic stag banner on his back smacked the grey man with a small war-hammer forcing the man over the barrier with a crash. Aerion had to then suddenly lean back, avoiding a vicious swing of the one handed war-hammer. 

The hammer wielding squire had dull silver armour, the helm large with a thin visor, his eyes a blazing blue. Aerions sword whipped out but was quickly sent off track by the hammer. 

The hammer swung back towards Aerion who took another step back, briefly brushing shoulders with an entirely different squire. 

He snarled, at this rate he'd end up like the grey squire, his eyes flicked back to the squire he brushed, the man luckily locked in his own fight. His eyes flicked back to the Baratheon squire.

The Baratheon was swinging the small hammer down at Aerion, however the bastard stepped closer into the Baratheon's guard, both of their weapons almost useless at this range. 

Aerion instead smashed his head forward. 

Clashing helms with a crash, the Baratheon stumbled back more out of shock, but this was Aerions plan. His foot was already hooked behind the Baratheons ankle, the man falling back with a crash onto his back. 

Aerion dropped, pulling a dagger from his waist and placing his knee on the Baratheon's chest as the knife pressed between the plates of armour on his side.

"I yield!" Baratheon shouted over the crowd, his voice deeper than Aerions own. Aerion then stood up, his eyes scanning the participants surrounding him. At least half of the people were either on the ground or had already been thrown out. 

He noticed Baratheon in the corner of his eye roll under the fence and started to make his way to the squires tent. The shouting of small folk seemed muted in comparison to the clashes of metal, the smell of blood rising from the ground. 

His breaths were already heavy as his eyes flicked around, no one seemed all too focused on him, everyone was still locked in their own fights. But it was only a matter of time before someon—

Sudden movement from the corner of his eye startled him, a foot suddenly planted itself in his side and sent him crashing back into the fence, pain running down his back as he lost grip of his sword. 

His eyes widened, the squire was swinging a mace down at his chest. He kicked off the ground desperately sending himself scrambling back as he barely avoided the hunk of spiked metal. 

Quickly he scrambled to his feet, his hands empty as he clenched his fists. His eyes on the squire as sweat seemed to pour down his face by the buckets, his panting getting heavier by the second. 

The squire had a large purple flag across his chest, he didn't recognise the coat of arms. The shorter squire approached steadily, the mace held loosely in his right hand. 

Aerion watched wide eyed as the purple squire started to circle him, both of them occasionally scanning for other people. 

He thought for a moment, the space around them was quite empty, squires had fallen quite quickly. Less than 5 squires remained on their feet. 

He took a step backwards but faked a stumble, the purple knight quickly pushed his supposed advantage and Aerion stepped to the side avoiding the downward slice of the spiked mace. 

His gloved fist lashed out, smashing against the side of the squire's face with a clang. He winced at the pain that ran up his arm, the purple squire stumbling back, Aerion foot already hooked behind his ankle. 

The squire fell to the ground and Aerion fell atop him, his knee pressed against the inside of the squire's right elbow, not allowing him to swing his mace up at him. His gloved hand latched onto the helm and turned it sidewards harshly, the squires visor now facing the wrong way. 

The purple squire snarled and his left hand blindly shot out to swing up at Aerion, the squire however entirely missed, Aerion now prying the mace from the squire's right fist. 

With a sense of finality he freed the mace from the purple squire's hand. 

The purple squire scrambled backwards blindly as he shakily fixed his helm, only to see the mace swinging down towards him with wide eyes. 

The mace smashed into his breastplate with a painful crash that seemed to vibrate through the squire's entire body. The purple squire gasped and tried to get to his feet only for the mace to come back down, smashing against his helm brutally.

The purple squire dropped face first into the ground, his ribs most certainly cracked and his head splitting in pain as he desperately gasped in the ground, the taste of blood and dirt running down his throat.

A dagger suddenly placed itself in between the gaps in the downed squires armour, the sharp edge placing itself against the purple squires side.

"Y-Yeild" the squire said breathlessly, panting desperately as his hands pressed against the dent in his helm.

Aerion raised himself to his feet unsteadily, stumbling gently as exhaustion seemed to invade every pore in his body. The cheering of the crowd suddenly raised, Aerion looking around only to see a squire in red rushing at him. 

Aerion's muscles ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat trickled down his face. His hand clutched the heavy mace he'd pried from the purple squire, feeling its weight like a leaden anchor in his grip. 

He adjusted the mace in his right hand, testing its weight and then eyed the quickly approaching squire. He felt almost every muscle in his body tense painfully as he pulled his right arm back. 

The moment seemed to stretch, a heartbeat before he threw his right arm toward, his muscles screaming in protest as he released the mace.

It flew through the air with a whistle, a blur of steel. The red squire's eyes widened in shock as the mace hurtled toward him, its trajectory unstoppable.

The mace struck with a resounding clang, a sound that cut through the chaos of the melee like a bell tolling. The red squire staggered, his helm dented and askew. He collapsed to the ground, the impact of the blow echoing in the stunned silence that followed.

The crowd erupted into a roar, the sudden eruption of cheers and shouts crashing over Aerion like a wave. The smallfolk's excitement mingled with the astonished gasps of the nobles, the arena vibrating with the force of their reaction.

Aerion stumbled backwards swaying on his feet, his heart pounding harshly as he looked around the pen. Nobody else was standing, squires either laid on the ground or being escorted from out of the pen. 

—-

Thoughts?