Chapter 18: S1-E17: Fury of the Melee 1/2

Chapter 17: Fury of the Melee

Forward: I'd like to thank Max00 and Rainsfere for their support. They helped by giving me advice and insight for the battles scenes on this lengthy chapter.

…

As the first signs of the rising sun shined through the small openings of the tent, Geralt began to wake up at this early hour. Already there was a lot noise going around the tournament grounds as the servants and workers were busy getting the area prepared for the upcoming Melee. No doubt most of the knights and warriors involved were active, using the last few hours to steel themselves for the challenges ahead.

Despite the building tension he felt for the coming battle, Geralt's thoughts lingered on the mysterious information he had overheard between Cersei and Pycelle. Between the fact that the poison that had killed Jon Arryn had been stolen along with the queen seeming to be taken medication to prevent pregnancy from her husband. He wasn't certain if the two clues were linked together, though there must be some distant connection. What he needed was to question Pycelle further or speak to Cersei even for other clues.

"Have to watch every step from here on…" He muttered as he'd change into his armor, strap his swords on his back and slip Dragon Fang onto his belt. Heading outside, he'd see it was a quite welcoming morning with a cool overcast having creeped in from the nearby sea. His sharp nose could pick up the city stench off in the distance, the surrounding field and light woodland countered it to a degree. Moving across the small sea of tents, he headed to one of the private pavilions set up for the knights and nobility to eat and relax. The smell of fresh food had his stomach grumble, realizing he had missed out on dinner yesterday after his hasty retreat from Pycelle's tent.

Walking around the large shaded area, his gaze was set on a line of tables were cooks were busy getting spiced chicken, roasted pork, fresh bread and much more laid out for the nobility. Getting a plate, he'd fit as much food as possible before finding an empty table, although the whole time everyone nearby gave glances and muttered in low excited tones. He paid no mind as he began to eat, needing all the energy he could get for the day. While his mutations pushed his body beyond normal human limits, it in turn required more energy to perform more incredible feats. A few of his specialized potions did vitalize himself, though such mixtures were unpleasant to drink and left him hungry still.

"Space for another white hair?" Someone chuckled out, making Geralt glance up from his plate to see a familiar face from yesterday. Thoros gave big grin, a quite friendly one even if his teeth were a light red from over drinking wine. Like yesterday he wore his mix of red robes lightly stained with wine, chainmail and plate leggings

Geralt shrugged. "I see no harm."

Giving a pleased laugh, the boisterous man sat down across from the Witcher, setting his own plate along with a large goblet of red wine. "Many thanks then. We drifters must stick together after all…us few vagabond knights and roaming mercenaries." Quickly he'd dig in, being a bit sloppy with his eating as he took apart his whole chicken.

"For a drifter you've come far. All the way from Essos from the city of Myr yes?" Geralt questioned.

Thoros nodded with a small chuckle. "Really every city along the coast of Essos will proclaim itself the 'center of all trade', yet Myr's fertile lands give it an edge over all of them. Ah how I miss the wines from home." At the mention, he'd take a deep gulp from his goblet, giving out a sigh. "Thank the Lord of Light the order does not disallow the drink among the priesthood. Life be dull without such dulling pleasure."

"Lord of Light? Take that he's some patron god of yours."

"Aye. R'Hllor, God of Flame and Shadow among many other titles. The faith to the Red God stretches over much of Essos although the same can't be said for Westeros. Heh…main reason I'm here even."

"To peach the good lord's word and bring salvation to all?" Geralt remarked in a sarcastic manner.

Thoros smirked, amused by the jesting before giving a small shrug. "Eh…more or less. Came here decades back late during Aery's reign when he began his fire obsession. The priesthood saw him as someone favorable to covert and get a foothold here in the Kingdoms." However he'd sigh, stirring his goblet about in one hand. "Turned out he was just bloody insane though. Then came the Rebellion…got caught up in a few battles and next thing I know I've become Robert's drinking buddy."

"Most drifter tales often go that way. I know the feeling well enough."

"Glad you can relate!" The man chuckled, though his cheery smile faded slightly. "I'll admit those years were tough. Between the difficultly of spreading the Lord of Light teachings and the…horrors of the Rebellion…well…even a man like me was shaken by it all." He'd pause a bit, a serious look on his face. "Tell me. Do you plan to face Gregor, the Mountain, during the Melee?"

The sudden change of topic caught Geralt off guard, leaving him silent for a moment before nodding. "Yes." He simply answered.

"Why if I may so ask?"

Again the Witcher paused, lightly picking at his food. "Because someone has to."

The odd answer made Thoros tilt his head, expecting something more righteous as an answer. "What baffles me is why a stranger such as you cares. Gregor is little more than a force of destruction…a man none dare challenge out of fear."

"Sadly that's an emotion I've long lost." It was a falsehood, Geralt did fear for others, mainly those he cared for yet when it came to his own wellbeing nothing fazed him. "Back in my homeland there was always some war or conflict going around. I've seen dozens of Gregors' during my travels…men who take whatever they want through force and fear. The Mountain is simply a thug who was brutal and lucky enough to gain a false title. He may seem unstoppable…but all it takes is the right moves make that image crumble."

For a moment Thoros was silent, making the Witcher wonder if he had shaken the man. However the priest gave a low chuckle before bursting out with a loud laugh. "Ah! I knew it…you have the Lord's fire in you! The flame of fierce justice!"

The man's outburst snapped Geralt out of his serious mood, blinking a bit in confusion. "Not sure what you're getting at."

"Surely you see it? You have a makings of a real champion of the Red God."

By this point the Witcher understood what the man was getting at. He didn't blame the priest for his actions, feeling it was no doubt his fervor that guided his words. "I appreciate the offer, I decline. Never been much of a believer in any faith considering past experiences…" He decided to exclude the violent purging the Eternal Flame had been doing all across Northern Realms.

"Ah…that is sad news…" Thoros glanced aside. "Perhaps in time you'll consider hearing a bit of the Red God's teachings and reconsider?"

"Doubtful."

The priest sighed, giving a shrug before picking at the last of his food and gulping up his wine. "Either way you are a truly decent man Geralt, a rarity in this world." Shifting to stand. "Course…that won't stop me from giving that skull of yours a good cracking." An eager grin crossed the priest's face. "Another freedom of my order is we're no pacifists, considering our duty to enforce justice and order."

"None taken. Just don't be surprised when you meet your match on the field."

"Ha! I like that spirit! So blunt and confident!" Nodding, he'd pace away from the table. "Hold nothing back Geralt. Its time men like us show these knights how battle really is!" His loud voice had those mentioned knights around the pavilion glaring and muttering in annoyance. However Geralt understood the priest's goal, trying to rile the men up with his remarks. "I'll see you on the field Witcher! May the Lord's light guide you!" With that he'd hurry out from the pavilion, escaping the men who seemed eager to brawl the red robed priest right then and there.

"Quite the eccentric…" Geralt muttered, shaking his head as he'd finish up his meal and leave the dining area. For now he'd stroll along the tents until reaching the practice grounds.

…

At the training field, knights and squires were busy training on dummies or sparring against each other. He'd hang back, watching casually as he'd note the different styles and stances used. However, his attention shifted to the familiar sight of white cloaks, as Jaime and Lord Commander Barristan were in the middle of a practice duel against each other. They seemed too distracted to notice the Witcher who watched from a distance, curious to see what the two renowned men were capable of.

Both knights moved about constantly as they fought, stepping forward whenever on the offense yet knowing the right time to back away when being countered. Their form was balanced, flexible in nature for any fight. However neither gained any real edge over the other, making Geralt curious at what this duel was building up to. Suddenly Jaime lunged in, grasping his sword in both hands as he'd strike with quick and powerful blows. The angle of every swing was calculated, aimed to guard himself while maintaining a constant attack.

Barristan however seemed unfazed by Jaime's aggressive strikes, his own sword lashing out to clash with each strike the younger knight dealt. It was obvious from the tense look on Jaime's face that the older knight had a lot of force behind each blow, even though he held his sword with one hand. Soon Jaime's advance was halted as the two clashed blades constantly until Barristan forced Jaime into a sword lock. For a moment they struggled, the young knight dead set on outmatching his mentor, though Geralt could see how the Lord Commander's stance shifted. At the last possible moment, he'd take a step back, withdrawing his blade from the sword lock when Jaime pressed forwarded more forcefully. Being caught off balance, Jaime's guard was down for just a short second as he'd twist his body about in the middle of his stumble, the flat of his blade angled just to block his mentor's slash at his side. Using the momentum of turning about, his left hand lashed out in a strike to force Barristan back and give himself a bit of breathing space. Barristan predicted the counter blow, just leaning back to avoid that armored fist by mere inches.

"Enough!" Barristan suddenly declared, his voice have an aged quality with a wise commanding tone to it as well. "Very well done Jaime. You've been matching up quite well."

"I'd prefer to be exceeding sir." Jaime sighed, sheathing his blade before giving a small smirk. "All these years and I still can't strike you. Do I have to spend another half of my life to accomplish that?"

"Heh…I'll be little more than dust and memories by then." The Lord Commander sheathed his own sword before stepping up to Jaime, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're still young and have a long life ahead of you. Your talent is astounding, but never be complacent…always test and push yourself." The man glanced back over his shoulder, sharp gaze looking to where Geralt stood.

By this point the Witcher approach them, drawing Jaime's attention as well. "Hope you didn't mind me watching."

"Not at all Ser Geralt." Barristan answered back as he turned to face him and offer up a hand to shake. "If anything I'm glad to at last have a chance to meet you. I do apologize for not greeting you sooner at the Red Keep. I've been busy with my duties."

The Witcher shook the lord knight's hand, being surprise at strong grip he had. "No worries. Been just as tied up with my own errands." At this point, he'd glance to Jaime. "Like to say you did well during the joust yesterday. Was a close match.

"Close doesn't change the fact that it was a loss…still thank you for the praise." Jaime replied, tone being an odd mix of his sarcastic nature and knightly formalness. "I can say you were impressive yesterday as well. The arrow trick seemed a bit over the top…not all that practical though it has it's uses." Pausing for a moment, he'd smirk a bit. "That aside though, I didn't think you'd be that mad to charge the Mountain like that."

"Battle instinct. Hard not to step in when I saw Ser Loras in trouble."

"Still mad considering..."

"Yet brave and honorable as well." Barristan interrupted, glancing at Jaime. "I'll admit few would dare face against Gregor…even I'll admit that the man would be an imposing challenge. Men fear such fearsome power and reputation, which are powerful weapons in battle."

Jaime seemed thoughtful on his mentor's words, his gaze shifting between the Lord Commander and Witcher. "Thoughtful words Ser Selmy. However I feel its time I got rest and prepare for the Melee. If anything my brother informed me of some unexpected changes to the rules…troublesome news really." He'd look to Geralt, giving a small nod to him. "I'll see you out on the field Geralt. I expect to fully see what you're capable of." With that he'd walk off from the training grounds and disappear into the maze of tents.

…

Barristan lightly shook his head and sighed. "So gifted, yet this overconfidence hinders him. I wonder when he gained such a mindset."

"It's his age. Seen it dozens of times over my travels and from my adopted daughter when I trained her. Still has it to a degree."

"Heh…a fair point. Thinking back I was very much the same when I was young. Time and tribulations have hardened my resolve ever since." The King's Guard Commander began to walk forward, heading back into the camp ground while Geralt followed alongside.

"He has great potential…as do a lot of other young men I've met during my travels here." The Witcher remarked.

"When they hear tales of men like Arthur Dayne and King Robert during the Rebellion, they strive to surpass them. When you and I pass on, our lives will be remembered and in turn be an inspiration for the later generations."

"Deep words Ser Selmy. For me though I plan to live as long as possible…may see if a Witcher can die in a bed than at the end of a sword or claws of a beast."

"Can't deny such aspirations." Selmy chuckled. "You seem to live a free life considering, having traveled so far to our humble country."

"Came here more by chance really…following my daughter."

"Ah yes…the Red Keep has had rumors drifting about your tale. I'll admit it sounds a bit fantastical with the talk of ancient bloodlines and empires."

"Same could be said of how a bunch of Kingdoms were conquered by highborn noble and his sisters riding dragons."

"True enough. We have those beasts' skulls in the cellars to prove that they existed at least." The knight laughed. "However I feel you are misleading us all with your story."

Geralt was silent as the man looked at him, those eye having such a sharp inquisitive quality to them as Selmy tried to read the Witcher's reaction. "I think you're misunderstand."

"Perhaps…call it just an old man's instinct. I'm not suggesting you have any evil intent, no doubt you do so out of personal secrecy."

"It's more complicated than that Ser." Geralt sighed. "Maybe one day I may tell you…although if you'll believe it will be another matter." He did feel that Selmy was indeed trustworthy, perhaps being more relatable with his older age and experience.

"It be an interesting chat for certain." Soon the group neared the royal tent, no doubt to follow his duties in guarding the King. "Still over an hour until the Melee begins. Perhaps you wish to speak with King Robert, considering he has been constantly speaking about you since yesterday."

Before Geralt could give an answer, the King's loud voice spoke out from within the tent. "Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass, did you know that?!"

Both Geralt and Barristan looked at each other with confusion as they quickened their pace to approach the tent, noticing someone else slip inside just ahead of them. The just as baffled guards let them through to reveal a quite odd scene. Ned had been the one to enter the tent before them, the man having a small look of amusement on his face as he stared at his old friend. Robert was in a mixed set of cloth and leather clothes, fitting garb for wearing under armor. A blond haired squire was struggling to clasp a breastplate across the large man's chest, struggling mainly with his round belly and wide sides keeping the armor apart. The boy seemed embarrassed, no doubt from the King's insult as he'd back away, tugging the breastplate off Robert and standing meekly aside.

"Look at this idiot! One ball and no brains! Can't even put a man's armor on him properly!" Robert snapped out, making the squire shift shyly about.

Geralt sighed and shook his head while Barristan muttering low under his breath. "I getting too old for this." The remark drawing a chuckle from Geralt.

Ned crossed his arms after hearing his friend's angry words. "It's because you're too fat for your armor."

"Fat?!" Robert, had a hint of anger show on his face as he'd step forward a bit. "Fat is it? Is that how you speak to your King?"

Eddard was silent, glancing down slightly before giving a small questioning look at his old friend. In the end Robert couldn't help give a low chuckle, drawing one from Ned as well. Even the page gave a small laugh although the King gave a stern look to silence. Before he could snap out at the lad, he'd notice Geralt and Barristan standing by the entrance out. "Anyway you heard the Hand. The armor too small…so…" He'd pause, the squire giving a blank stare of confusion. "…the breastplate spreader! Go get it!"

The squire snapped to attention, glancing about in a hurry before nodding. He'd spring out of the tent, making both Geralt and Selmy quickly step aside to avoid the lad. "Pretty sure there are no such devices your Grace." The Witcher remarked, dry sarcasm in his words.

"Heh and that's the point." Robert chuckled as he moved to a nearby cabinet to get a wine decanter and multiple glasses for everyone. "He's short witted for a Lannister, but Cersei insisted I take him in. No doubt to toughen him up." With all the glasses filled, he'd pick one up and take a deep drink from it before gesturing to the rest to take a glass.

"Rather not sure. I am on duty after all." Selmy remarked.

"And I'm not that thirsty you're Grace." Eddard added.

Geralt though shrugged, guessing a little wine wouldn't hurt after the large meal he had. Stepping up, he picked a glass before taking a drink, Robert giving a grin. "Heh, Geralt understands. Never a wrong time to enjoy a glass, much less before a battle!"

"Mgh…strong stuff considering." Geralt remarked as he looked at the deep red wine. "Also what do you mean? You make it sound like you're about to join the Melee."

"Cersei picked it out last night. Woman maybe frustrating at times but she has a damn good taste in wine!" Robert answered. "And of course! Been far too long since I've been in a brawl…and after yesterday's matches I just have an urge to hit something!"

Everyone else in the room glanced at each other, all having concerned looks while Robert gulped down his wine, finishing the glass and already working on refilling it.

"And who's going to hit you back?" Eddard suddenly spoke up, making Robert glance to his friend.

"Anyone who can."

"There isn't a man in the Seven Kingdoms who'd risk hurting you. You know that."

For a moment Geralt shifted, half tempted to raise a hand to show otherwise. Course he knew better then to do that, although he did speak up. "I feel Lord Stark worries that you may get badly hurt. The Melee is no joke after all…"

"That's the bloody point! I need some real action after all these years, up close and personal!"

Suddenly Geralt, lunged at Robert, his yellow eyes having a sudden fierceness in them. For a moment the King was caught off guard yet held his ground as the Witcher got up close, right hand swinging out up for the side of Robert's head. His fingers snapped sharply at the King's ear, surprising the man as he'd flinch and shift away by reaction. With that glass of wine already dulling his senses and movement, the man nearly tripped on his own two feet, making him brace one hand to the nearby cabinet.

"That's why. Your nearly drunk sire. Doubt you'd be able to stay on your horse during even march." The Witcher stated, before noticing Barristan tense stance, hand gripping the hilt of his sword firmly. Geralt had to admit the man was fast for his age and knew Selmy could have easily drawn his weapon at a moment's notice. Eddard gave a sigh while shaking his head, though seemed glad the Witcher had put some sense into his old friend.

"Ugh…bloody fast you are…" He muttered before glancing at his wine glass, growling lowly before setting it aside on the cabinet top. "…and damn right as well…I'd be an embarrassment…" Glancing at Selmy, he'd sigh seeing the experienced knight still at the ready. "Relax Selmy. If the Witcher wanted me dead he'd had done it a hundred times since we've first met."

Barristan simply nodded as he'd relax his grip on his blade. "Reflex your Grace. Hard to not react so suddenly."

Eddard at last would speak up. "Perhaps you can watch by horse or on the sidelines instead of from the stands? At the least be closer to the battle."

Robert sighed, thinking for a moment. "Guess it be best choice. Fine then…" He'd move to the nearby wardrobe as he began to shift through the many fine royal clothes. "However I expect a damn good fight…especially from you Witcher!"

"Gladly your grace." Geralt muttered as he'd move aside for the flap out of the tent, stopping before Selmy to give a respectful nod to the man. If anything that short moment of tension had the Witcher feel a deeper respect for the man, knowing he was bold and capable to possibly challenging him.

"Wait for me outside Geralt. I'll be out in a moment." Eddard added before the Witcher left.

Outside, Geralt sighed as he'd pace around in the shady. Already he could hear the overall camp become lively as everyone was awake. No doubt the crowds would arrive soon and settle in around the Melee field for the battle. As he glanced around, he'd notice the towering shape of Gregor stepping out of Pycelle's tent. Quickly, he slipped into the deeper shade of the King's tent to avoid the giant's gaze as the man looked about with a tensed expression on his face. Gregor winced as he had one hand grasp at the side of his head, seeming to be in pain. Lifting up a large bottle full of a milky white fluid, he'd take a deep drink from it, giving out a deep sigh as it seemingly ease whatever pain he had been feeling. He'd soon move on, stomping off for his tent to equip himself for the battle ahead.

"Hmm…gigantism does have its draw backs…" Geralt muttered as he'd step out of hiding, just as Eddard left the royal tent. The man gave a small nod for the Witcher to follow, already leading the way back to Geralt's tent.

"Bold move doing that, but a smart one." Eddard remarked after a moment of silent walking.

"Robert is a man of action, so I simply spoke his language."

"Heh, a cunning move considering. Bet I'd have spent an hour just arguing with him."

"I think your idea having him watch up close helped a lot. He didn't complain after that."

"Aye…he didn't."

By now the two reached Geralt's tent, yet as they neared it the Witcher stopped as he could hear someone moving around inside. He'd make a small gesture for Ned to be quiet before he'd slip through the tent flap, one hand reaching slightly for his swords if needed. He'd quickly realize that his intruder was simply Davos who was checking around the quite bare tent.

"Snooping around captain?"

The sailor gave a small gasp and turned about, giving a sigh when he saw it was Geralt. "Seven Geralt…anyone tell you not to surprise people like that." He'd muttered.

The Witcher just smirked and shrugged as he'd step fully into the tent, Eddard following in. Seeing Lord Stark, Davos gave a short respectful bow before offering a hand out. "Ah Lord Stark! It's an honor to at last meet you."

Eddard gave a small smile as the two shook hands. "I take you're Davos Seaworth. Geralt has told me a bit about you, how you're trader and lord serve under Lord Stannis. How has he been of late?"

"Very busy considering his work on the new fleet. Been spending months sailing between every port across Westeros and Essos just to get the supplies needed." Yet before he could say more there be a sudden trumpeting, the signal for everyone to gather at the Melee field. "Ah but we can chat on the matter later."

"Of course." Ned looked to Geralt. "You sure you're ready for this?"

The Witcher smirked, noting Eddard's troubled look. "I was made to fight Ned. If anything I'm eager to cut loose for once."

"Just don't overdo it. A lot of those knights are honest men…even if they will be fighting just as fiercely." Turning to leave, he'd stop just before leaving the tent to glance back. "Give Gregor hell though. Time he pay for his vile actions…and give a few people some peace of mind." With that he'd leave the tent, Davos following close behind, giving a small grin of confidence to the Witcher before he left.

Now alone, Geralt took a moment to take a deep breath, closing his eyes as he composed himself. It had been a long while since he had been in a real battle, much less mass combat. While he could use his sword skills more fully, he knew he'd have to pull some strikes else he'd easily cripple some of the knights even with their heavier armor. Once more the trumpet sounded, making the Witcher open his eyes as he was now ready, as he'd gather Roach's horse armor, knowing his mount needed much protection as possible. As he shifted through the chest, he'd notice something tucked away behind it, a wooden pole and a greyed piece of cloth. Reaching around to grasp the cloth, he'd pick it up and fold it to reveal it was a banner, the symbol being that of snarling face of the Wolf Medallion with a looming keep in the background, the shadow of Kaer Morhen.

"Heh…not bad." He think back to Tyrion's question about the Witcher needing a banner, being quite insistent on the matter. While he had been reluctant, seeing the finished banner did bring a welcoming feeling, a reminder of returning home. He wondered for a moment what Eskal and Lambert would think about the banner, no doubt joke to high hell about every detail about it. Grabbing banner, he'd get it set on the pole before heading outside with it along with Roach's armor as well.

Striding out of his tent, he'd go to the nearby horse trough where he had Roach tied by. Working on getting the armor strapped across the mare's sides, flank and head he'd mutter to her. "Not feeling nervous Roach? Been a while since we've been in a fight together."

The mare seemed to huff in some understand, head shaking a bit in what he guessed was a no.

"Good. If you can face down a wyvern without an issue, I doubt a few knights will spook you." Patting her head, he'd quickly pull himself onto the comfortable saddle, holding his banner with one hand while guiding Roach between the encampments of tents.

…

Soon the Melee Field was in sight where already half of the knights were gathered up, all mounted and holding high their personal or House banners. Geralt had Roach pace about looking for a good spot, until noticed Loras among the lineup. Moving up to be at his right, he'd give a small nod to the young and lavishly armored knight. "Doing alright today Ser Loras?"

"Just a sore pride after yesterday's jousting tumble." He'd chuckle back. "I'll admit the Melee isn't my favored event, yet I feel I need to strive harder today…show everyone the Tyrells are capable on the field."

"Confidence like that can overcome much. I'm certain you'll do well."

Loras nodded before the trumpet was blown a third time, signaling that the event was to begin. Quickly glancing along the line he'd recognized Gregor, Sandor and Jaime among the other knights. He'd notice a few men from yesterday were missing…discounting Hugh who was very much deceased. By his count, there was only forty now with himself included.

Everyone waited tensely for a moment until from around the stand, Robert and Tyrion rode out with Eddard and Barristan following close behind them. The King and dwarf paced along the line up of knights and warrior, Robert seeming to closely examine them up close with a stern judging gaze. Soon the group stopped at front center of the grouped warriors.

"All of you are some of the greatest warriors and knights Westeros has to offer. Men with unmatched skill, strength and spirit. Many of you shown off such qualities yesterday at the joust and archery match…yet here the Melee will truly test you!" Robert's voice had such a commanding strength to it, almost as if he was readying them for war. "However, I think a few of you have become soft…" The sudden criticism had a few of the men glanced around, confused at their King's words. "Many of you depend on the advantage of having a mount, giving you the speed and defense to best nearly any foe. Sometimes though you won't have that luxury and will have to rely on nothing more than your own two feet."

As if to make the point, he'd shift about on his saddle and drop off the side. Ned gave quite shocked look as his friend landed firmly on his feet, a low wince just escaping the unfit King, although he did well to hide the discomfort. At the least it showed he had sobered up enough to recover some sense of balance.

"Ser Loras reminded me of this. If a knight becomes helpless once dismounted then he may as well be a helpless babe!" Loras shifted in his seat, glancing away in embarrassment as a few chuckles escaped from the crowd. "So that's why this Melee we're changing the usual rules. No horses…no lances…just mace, sword and shield!"

Already a few of the knights muttered, a few seeming unsure of this sudden changes. Geralt saw this as a surprising blessing since now he wouldn't have to deal with dangerous lances most of the men had planned to use. Already he noticed Thoros grinning, seeming pleased at this new turn of events. While he had won a few matches in the joust, Geralt knew the Red Priest preferred more up close and personal duels then those behind a lance.

"After some insistence from his Grace, the original rules I had planned have been…considerable altered." From how it sounded, Tyrion seemed annoyed that his plans had been changed since he had no doubt spent a long time creating them. "While we have fewer men competing we will still start the Melee with two teams. Lucky we have an even amount…unless anyone has any second thoughts?" No one spoke or moved to leave, no doubt not wanting to look cowardly. "Good…that makes my job easier. Overall the rules are simple. No horses will be used in this battle. You are free to use any weapons of your choice…except for you Ser Gregor.

The giant knight gave a confused grunt from under his helmet, before an annoyed growl. "Why is that dwarf?" He demanded.

"This dwarf is still the master of the games. Speaking out of line doesn't help your cause Ser Gregor…so disobey and I'll have you marched off the field, in chains if needed!" Tyrion spoked sternly, surprising many at his sharp warning to the Mountain. "Your history of death at tournaments is well known, as we saw yesterday. If anything I'd rather have you far off at your Keep then remaining here. However your King has decided to give you one chance. You will fight with a blunted sword, little more than a practice blade. You'll need not worry for it is the size and weight is what you prefer using in battle. At the least you won't be easily lopping off limbs, yet if you do go out of your way to kill or cripple anyone then we'll see that you face the King's Justice…is that clear?"

Again the Mountain growled, hand gripping the reins of his horse tightly, tugging them back that his new warhorse whined in discomfort. "Clear…my lord." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Wonderful. Glad we've came to an understanding." At this point Geralt felt Tyrion was testing how far he could toy with the Mountain, making him wonder if the dwarf was that fearless or just confident his rank protected him. "The usual rules of the Melee apply. When first blood is drawn from cut or blow you or you are disarmed, you are to yield to your opponent and leave the field. We will have spotters to ensure no cheating or foul play is done, though I believe all of you will avoid such unfairness. When half the contestants have been bested, a horn will sound which will signal the free for all between all survivors. Any teamwork will be of convenience or alliance. You will be allowed to trade more blows during this half of the battle with being disarmed still considered a defeat." He'd pause for a moment to let all the details sink in. "If there are no questions then choose a side of the field and leave your horses behind. We have extra weapons set in your respective camps if you require any. Besides that I wish all of you the Sevens fortunes and an honorable battle."

With that, Tyrion gave a short bow from his horse while the gathered knights quickly broke away from the line. Gregor was quick to go to the northern end of the field and amusingly many others quickly followed after him. No doubt they felt safer having him on their side, at least until the latter half of the Melee if they survived. Jaime and Thoros headed off to the northern end as well while Geralt, Sandor and Loras moved to the south end.

Geralt glanced at the Hound, a scarred man keeping his gaze set before him with a serious look in his eyes. He didn't say anything to Sandor, not wanting to annoy or distract him before the battle. Once everyone had arrived at the camp, they'd dismount and tie their horses up at the temporary stables that had been set up for them. A few of the knights moved to the nearby weapon racks, checking over a selection of weapons ranking from spears, maces and swords of all sizes. Loras was among the group as he'd eye a few weapons, picking out a heavy mace for himself which he hefted up quite easily. Despite the pretty face and slim build he was stronger than he looked.

The Witcher didn't need any others weapons, feeling his steel and silver sword along with the Dragon Fang would be more than enough for the Melee. Standing at the edge of the camp, he'd calmly wait as the rest of his team prepared themselves. His eyes closed as he'd calm his mind, entering a light meditation to ready himself.

"Praying now? Didn't think you the type." Sandor gruffly spoke, snapping Geralt to attention.

"Was meditating." He'd bluntly answer back.

"If you say so." From the Hound's tone he seemed to care considering. "Let's get one thing straight here. Gregor is mine to kill…not yours you hear?"

"Who said anything about killing?"

"Heh! That is rich coming from you." Sandor laughed. "I saw the look in your eyes when you faced against him. You'd have cut him down at that moment if you had the chance. The eyes of a killer."

Geralt was silent, making the Hound give a grim chuckle

.

"Being quiet about it? Trying to deny what you are."

"No…but I don't boast about it like others."

Sandor's gaze narrowed. "Whatever. Point is keep away from Gregor. Only chance I may to get to get back at the bastard."

By now the rest of the knights were gathering up, forming a line for the coming march onto the field. Off in the distance the other team did the same and even from here Geralt could see the giant Clegane in the distance. Made sense why they called him the Mountain.

"Then best of luck." Geralt simply answered back to Sandor just before the signal horn was blown. "Try not to lose too quickly." Drawing his steel blade, he'd already step forward as everyone began to walk onto the field, going at a slow pace for the moment.

Sandor was quick to follow, catching up to the front of the group where Geralt was. Slowly the distance between the two teams shortened and in turn their pace picked up. Soon everyone was at a quick march as both groups neared. By now Geralt was able pick out the other notable fighters on the other team, Jaime who was following close behind the Mountain, armed with a fine sword and an ornate reinforced heater shield with the front stylized with a roaring lion's head. Thoros was also among the leading warriors, a wide eager grin on his face as he quickly noticed Geralt.

"Witcher! I knew you'd be at the lead!" He yelled out loudly. "Yes…no fear or hesitation!" Glancing about at the knights, he'd rise his sword up. "Watch and learn men! This is how you start a proper battle!" Suddenly he'd burst into a charge, giving a fierce and quite intimidating battle cry. Some of the younger knights on the Witcher's side flinched, while the men of the priest's side seemed rallied. The Mountain gave his own roar as he and the others joined the charge.

Geralt's glance at the other knights, sensing the nervous tension they had. "No backing out. Face them head on!" He yelled out before facing the enemy. With a growl he'd rush forward, showing his inhuman speed for that short sprint ahead.

Loras nodded in agreement. "Geralt is right! Show no fear! We are the knights of Westeros and we back down to no one, not even our own!" He'd close his visor down before he'd charge as well, trying to catch up with the Witcher.

"Don't need you to tell me that damn flower boy!" Sandor cursed out as he too rushed forward and in turn the rest of the men did the same.

For a long moment the air was filled with the stomp of armored feet and fierce yells. In the end both groups met, with the leading warriors clashing first. Jaime and Loras striked at each other, shields up to ward off the opening attack. Sandor and Gregor roared out as their massive swords clashed, sparks flying for a short moment as the weapons roughly dragged against each other in the blade lock. Geralt and Thoros slashed at the same time, counter acting each other's attack with a resounding clang.

Soon everyone else locked in combat as the battle truly began. Men traded blows, often guarding them with shield or their weapons. No one was wounded at first, showing how well trained even the newest knights were. Everyone had chosen an opponent, leading to fierce duels all across the field.

Geralt was too caught up fighting Thoros to focus on Loras and Jaime's fight, yet could see the two towering Cleganes striking at each other. Sandor proved to have more swordsmanship as he blocked and dodged about, although Gregor proved to be shocking agile even with all that plate and chain armor covering him.