Dozens of his queen's enemies lay dead around him and the hall's marble floor was slippery with blood. Blood stained his armour and cloak too - not all of it belonged to the men he had slain, but he didn't feel his wounds.
They kept coming.
The old knight handled the sword gracefully and deadly. These men were half his age or even less, but none of them could stand before him. It was only their sheer numbers that would slowly wear him out.
"Surrender, good ser" said a young nobleman who wore the king's sigil on his cloak. "We'd hate to kill a legend like you."
He only shook his head, and it was soon the young man who hit the ground, his brains and blood splattering on the white armor of the knight as the greatsword smashed his head in.
Not your day, poor lad.
The rest formed a loose circle around him, at a safe distance.
"Your queen has no right-" said a bull-like man, a Florent, the old knight knew his sigil.
"She is the rightful Queen. Give my respect to Lord Stannis, but I will not abandon her."
"Stubborn old fool" the Florent man hissed and charged.
It was a mistake. He was slain but he still managed to stab with his last strength - the knight felt as the sharp steel found a gap in his armour. The sword pierced deep. As his opponent fell, still holding to the sword and pulling it out with his dead weight, it made a creaky sound against the enameled plate.
The knight stood still. Then he raised his sword.
"Who's next?"
At this moment, another twenty or so came running.
The circle closed around him. There was no escape from here, not that he would even consider it. The Queensguard does not run.
In the gallery, another group arrived. He glanced up. Archers.
He sent a silent prayer to the Warrior.
What followed was worthy of songs.
The swordsmen died, one by one, and the knight was still standing despite bleeding from a dozen wounds. Only one of them was cowardly enough to attack from behind, but he was inexperienced and his sword didn't find its way. Before he could have corrected the mistake, he was dead.
Barristan Selmy looked up, covered in blood, leaning on his sword, struggling not to fall.
The leader of the archers wanted to give the order but he couldn't find his voice. He gave a salute instead.
So did all his men.
The old knight smiled. Now that the fight was over, the blood loss and the fatigue began to get him. At least four of his wounds were mortal, it was a wonder he lasted this long. It has been a good fight.
Through the large windows at his right he saw a flying dragon in a distance, and a gleam of silver hair. She's safe. I have done my duty.
He had failed so many times in his life, despite his best intentions and honour. But he succeeded now. The thought gave him peace.
As he slowly collapsed, he saw the Stranger's dark figure waiting.
He welcomed him with dignity.