Good day to you, dear readers, knights and ladies of House Amaranth. I'm the humble writer, hoping to give you a decent enough introduction to what comes now. Please, be kind, but determined. This is my first story, and I am experimenting and improvising along the way. This story is my first published one, not my first written, and I hope it isn't the last one. Feedback will, always, be appreciated and hoped for, but I beg of you to be constructive and kind to me. Suggestions are welcomed, joked and ideas dearly hoped for, and your enjoyment, my dutiful search. Please, take into consideration, lords and ladies, than English is not my first language, so I hope for a reprieve if you see something outrageous in matter of language. The story is a crossover between A Son of Ice and Fire, Warhammer Fantasy Battles, Elder Scrolls, Lord of the Rings and some other honorable mentions, such as Dragon Age. Only Sirius Amaranth is my own creation, and everything else is from their respective creators/authors.

If you see any character handled in a particular bad way, please, let me know. I'm new to this, so I will try my best.

Take care, keep your blades sharp, enjoy yourselves, and please, have a nice day.

The Tourney at King´s Landing, in celebration of the Crown prince´s 16th name day was glorious, or so had promised Baelish. Eddard Stark had little taste for tournaments, and even less for melees. He had always found it ridiculous, a pretentious play of war to sate bloodlust and inner demons. Nor that he lacked in one or other department, but he found it silly still. Sadly for him, his friend, King Robert Baratheon, found it extremely entertaining. He watched as rows of knights prepared themselves for combat, wearing a thousand different sigils and banners. He could even see a few Starks and of those from the North. Umber, Karstak, Glover, and even Bolton. He was only thankful for not having crossed paths with Roose Bolton. He was not in the mood for such a meeting. And what a meeting it would have been, with almost every noble from the whole 7 Kingdoms, and some from farther out even.

The Warden of the North sat with all his children, his wife and his bannermen, close to the King, as they waited. Rob and Jon were joking about who would win in a fight, while Bran was simply staring at the Kingsguard, enthralled by the white cloaks and the men who were wearing them. Sansa was talking with the Queen, to his dismay, and Arya had, yet again, disappeared from his sight, although he wasn't extremely worried. He knew that the Jory was keeping an eye on her. Rickon was seating, half asleep on his wife´s lap, and said woman was now talking to the king himself, laughing at some old memory. The Hand of the King was, sadly, absent, as he had some matters of utter importance to attend. Ned knew it was bullshit.

Jon didn't like tourneys, and he had good reason for it. They costed quite a lot of money, and as Hand of the King, it was his job to keep the kingdoms afloat. That, and his old mentor´s health had worsened a little in the few days they had spent at the capital. Ned wouldn´t have come hadn´t Robert ask him personally, and Ned knew why. He wanted her daughter to marry Joffrey. And Ned, against the judgment of his wife, was not amused by the idea.

-Well, by the fucking Seven Ned. Is that who I think it is? - Robert half-drunk voice caught him by surprised. He looked at his friend, only to find the fat king completely baffled, eyes glue to something. Ned, to his misery, could only out of custom, respect and curiosity, turned to watch what had brought such a reaction from his oldest friend. A part of him wished he had not, while other couldn´t have been gladder.

The Martell had arrived with their bannermen.

But that wasn´t what had shocked the man some called the Usurper, no. What had caught him by surprise, as well as Ned, was the woman in purple and silver, more beautiful than a falling star in a moonlighted sky. Ashara Dayne walked side by side with prince Doran, talking to the older man with a smile on her face, much similar to the one she had sported when they had first met, at that seven-accursed Tournament. And, not far away, the Hound waited patiently, in black and dark yellow, keeping a watchful eye on the Lady Paramount. Ned could not locate were Stannis was, although he reckoned he wouldn't be too far. When the couple left the confines of Dragonstone, or were in any place that wasn't Dorne, Stannis tended to keep close to his wife.

Ned´s stomach made a knot. He had not seen her since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, and they had not parted in good terms. And by that, Ned meant that the last time he had seen her, she was crying over her dead firstborn, after Balon Greyjoy had told them how his men had raped the boy, they had tortured him and then feed him to the sea and their Drowned God. Even now he could remember young Sirius´s smile and kind purple eyes. He was almost thankful to have that as a last memory of the boy, and not empty dead eyes. He looked at Caitlyn, searching some comfort in his wife. He found it, in a reassuring smile. She knew very well what kind of man he was, and thus, she did not hold it against him. Lady Ashara had always been kind to her, so she saw no harm in letting her husband speak with the woman. In the past perhaps, she had felt envious of the Lady of Dragonstone. Now, she only felt the kind of kinship mothers felt.

-I'm afraid you are right Robert. If you would excuse me- The Warden of the North rose, and began to walk towards the dornish, prepared for the worst, expecting as much. Prince Doran´s face was one of complete tranquility, a wise man who knew what he was doing, as well as what everyone else was doing. His brother, Oberyn Martell, on the other hand, had a charming smile on his face, yet his eyes spoke of thunder and blood. Ned could help but sympathize for the man. They had both lost a sister, and only Ned had found some closing, but he had also lost three nephews. He wondered for a moment if the man would ever at peace, but by the look on his face, and how his eyes were fighting not to glare at Tywin Lannister, he could not help but doubt it. That man had taken from him two nephews and a sister. Balon had taken the other one.

-Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn, Lady Ashara it's a pleasure to see you. I hope your journey was swift- Doran smiled a little more.

-It was Lord Stark, more than I expected. How fares the North?-

-It fares well enough, if his Warden can come this far South- Ashara´s voice caught him by surprise. It was relaxed, devoid of the latent hate it had adorned it the last time they had spoken. It made him nervous.

-I was called by the King on urgent business, Lady Ashara. I would have loved to remain on the North with my family, but duty called- Ashara´s smile dimmed a little. It still pained him to see it. She had lost a child and a brother, and he could not help but still feel guilty, all those years ago. He had killed his brother, and he couldn´t save her son.

-And a man of duty always answers, right? - Her eyes scanned his face, and he did not know what to do, how to act. So he simply nodded. Some light returned to her eyes; probably a memory from a better time, a happier place. She smiled yet again, a fake smile now; one put up to deal with the audience around them, and bowed slightly.

-It is god to see you again, Lord Stark- She simply walked pass him. Eddard fought not to follow her, to apologize again. He would have lost that fight, hadn't Robert roared for the melee to begin. He looked towards where his family was siting, then to Robert, and then he tried to find Ashara, but like that, the woman he had loved had vanished, leaving him with two men who ether disliked or outright hated him, from various reasons, mainly because he had hurt the woman they had grown to call a sister. Doran simply smiled and directed his brother towards the stand, to sit next to his family, without uttering a single word, probably a show of self-restraint. Ned was thankful for it. He was not in the mood. But Prince Oberyn was less forgiving.

-We all have sins at our backs, Lord Stark. Try to make sure yours down drown you too soon. My brother and I would like to watch, at the very least- And with that, the Martell were gone.

Ashara fought with tooth and nail not to cry. Not because of Ned, sweet Ned, who even after all she had said to him on that day, still felt guilty, not Ned, who had apologized about her brother, when his own sister had been taken from him but a few days prior. She was hurting because her sweet little Sirius had that same look when he saw her in pain, a worried but tranquil stare, which only four men had seem capable of using. Two of those men were dead, one she had loved, and the other she loved and married.

Almost like answering her silent prayer, a strong, yet gentle hand took her own, as Stannis sat silently beside her. He did not say a thing; she did not need him to. His mere presence was like having the walls of Starfall rise around her, just like Arthur. She squeezed his hand, and he passed an arm behind her, bring her in an still awkward embrace for the second Baratheon, and a few tears escaped her eyes, although she could not help but giggle a little, at her husband´s still indecisive attitude in public. To others, it may look like lack of love, but she knew that it was insecurity, and fear of not doing the right thing to help her, no malice in any of his movements.

-My lady- Said a gruff voice. She lifted her eyes from the her husband lap, to stare right at Sandor Clegane, as he gave her a clean handkerchief, boarded in purple and silver. She smiled at her Loyal Hound.

-Thank you Sandor- She said. The man nodded, a little embarrassed, but diligent none the less. Stannis nodded toward his knight, a silent thank and acknowledgment from his lord, before hugging his wife even closer. The Loyal Hound took two steps back, and stopped right behind the couple, not wishing to disturb them, but close enough to shield his lady from the unwanted stares of the Lannister seated not far behind. Someone gave him a pat in the shoulder, and her turned to his right, seeing Ser Davos Seaworth and his oldest son, who were looking forward, eyes focused in the upcoming melee, and they were not alone, as several more Dayne men and Baratheon knights were also around him, his men, the Loyal Guardian of Dragonstone. Only then did Sandor realize that they were forming a semicircle around the Paramount´s family, protecting them from the looks and stares of the nearby nobility. Sandor did not smile. He hadn´t since the little star had died. But he allowed himself to stand a little straighter.

-Mother? - asked a small voice, and Ashara turned to look at her younger child, her daughter Shireen, who looked extremely worried.

-Are you sad, mother? - She smiled at her between the tears and eh pain.

-Yes sweetie, just a little- She lifted her up and she seated her in between her and Stannis. Her husband made no comment, but he began to cares their daughter´s hair, just like she loved.

-Are you thinking about big brother? - Her smile cracked a little. Her daughter might have not been the prettiest girl in the world, not with her Greyscale, but she was kind and sharp –I miss him too. I think he would have fight toady. You think he would have, father? - Stannis didn't answer for a second, and for a moment Ashara thought he had not heard her.

-No Shireen, he would not have fought in the melee- Their daughter nodded, a little sad at that. Ashara stoke her hair, knowing full well the dislike his husband held for tourneys such as this, as to him, they were pompous events, made to quell the desire for blood and the thirst for glory many young men felt.

-He would have won, though, if you had asked him to- And her daughter smiled, bright like a shining star, and Ashara asked herself if she could fall more for the man sitting beside her.

-And win he would have, little bird- Sandor´s voice was still gruff, but it seemed somehow, happier.

-He would have Shireen, he would have beaten them all, even Ser Barristan- the voice came from a young boy, their second son, Arthur Baratheon, a young boy with his father´s eyes and his mother hair and looks. He had idolized his brother, and Joffrey had loved to tell him as such, insulting and mocking him, which had caused great strife between the King´s family and the Paramount's family. Ashara did not blame Robert of it, of course. He had sailed the moment he had learnt of the kidnaping of his nephew. He had other crimes to pin on him.

Her second son had been afraid of suddenly realizing that his brother had not been as good as he remembered, until a few years back, when he realized he had not been idealizing him, but simply admiring his brother´s heroic sacrifice, as young as he had been. He was alive because Sirius choose his family over himself, and it still weighted heavy on Arthur´s conscience, who believed he should be just honorable and brave as his deceased uncle since the first time he had heard about the last Sword of the Morning. His brother's sacrifice had marked him in ways his parents still fought to understand, although Ashara had the feeling Stannis understood it a whole lot better than she did.

Shireen smiled to her older brother, before focusing on the melee. And with the roaring of a drunken king, the uproar of the people, and the sound of a hundred blades being drawn, it began. Sides meet, teams were formed, knight issued challenges and champion roared battel cries. Old rivalries flowed to the surface like molten magma, as Reachman and Dornish slammed into each other. Stormlanders and Nothers attacked Westernlanders, and many hedge knights and free swords searched easy take downs. But several combatants stole the spectacle.

Gilded in silver and green, an armor so beautiful one may hesitate to strike it, the Flower Knight fought under the cheers of a thousand maidens and the lords and ladies of the Reach. Ned couldn´t help but groan at the sight of her eldest daughter cheering the flamboyant knight onwards, to the chagrin of his wife. Arya scoffed, her interest piqued by Ser Thoros of Myr and his flaming blade, as he fought back to back with Ser Berric Dondarrion. The Knight of Flowers advanced, taking down a Dornish and a Westerlander, before his blade meet that of another renowned knight, although with a much darker reputation. And dark he was, in armor and looks, as the Darkstar, Gerold Dayne, pushed forward to meet the Reachman in a hail of strikes, both men desperately trying to top the other. Their battle was epic, but eclipsed by the show that Ser Barrsitan Selmy was giving the public. Both he and Ser Jaime were a white tornado of steel, taking knights by scores. Ser Devan Lannister was locked in a furious contest with Ser Robar Royce, the man of the Vale more than a match for the Laughing Lion.

Ashara found herself more concerned with Ser Beric and Thoros than her own cousin, and not only because Beric was married to her little sister Allyria, but because they were good men, and good friends. Beric had lost an eye when he had tried to saver her son, and had Thoros not saved him, he would have died there and then. In homage to her son, and to remind himself his failed attempt to save him, he had marked in his shield from that day a great silver star among the smaller ones, one that he made sure anyone could see, a remainder of his nephew. Gerold, on the other hand, she cared little for his poison-filed cousin.

-Looks like Beric is putting quite the show- She told her husband. Stannis nodded.

-He and Thoros make quite the duo. They might win, if they keep like that- She smiled, and the smile grew a few times when she heard the disgruntle groan of Clegane.

-Seven above, I hope not. They won't shut up about it if they do- Shireen laughed and Arthur smiled at the comment of the Loyal Hound.

Jaime found he was actually rather enjoying himself. He had hoped to put a good show, but when Ser Barristan had suggested teaming up, he could not have been happier. The Bold and the Kingslayer made a terrible duo, and their foes were paying the price. He blocked two strikes of a Karstak and then took down a Glover knight, fast enough to cover Selmy from a furious Fossoway, who Ser Barristan dispatched in two strikes. He knew both his siblings and his father were looking at him, even if only Tyrion bother to cheer for him.

The melee was booming more ferocious by the second, and more and more combatants fell. And as such, the common folk cheered and roared, uniting their noise to that of the lord and ladies who were also watching. And so, no one noticed the small tear in reality, the breach in the fabric of the World itself. The small breach seemed to float above the battel, high enough for it to make no difference in the outcome.

Robar Royce managed to disengage Devan, but was assaulted by a Redwyne and a Fowler, although they were fighting each other as much as him. He managed to take both of them down, only to curse in every language he knew when he saw someone else charging right at him. And then, he realized it was the Mountain.

-Shit- he whispered. The older Clegane lifted his greatsword for a crushing strike, only to change the direction of the blow in the last second when Thoros came extremely close of cutting his arm off. Ser Beric Dondarrion followed suit, both man surrounding the bigger, but not greater, man in a prison of flashing steel. Robar blinked twice, before joining both men in taking down that poor excuse for a knight.

With every drop of blood, the tear grew in size and power, as the small tear began to feed on itself, forming a small black point of wrongness in the air.

-Father, what is that? - Ned looked at Bran and the followed his stare and pointing finger, barely making out the small black point above the combatants. Caitlyn squinted, trying to see it to.

-What in the seven hells? - Whispered Jon, the grip on his blade beaconing tighter, as he and Rob took a step back, surrounding Sansa, acting on instinct. Ned did not know what it was, but the sensation that now was traveling his back made him act.

It was terror.

-ROBERT! - He roared in a tone he had not used since the war. Half of him didn't expect his friend to react, but the urgency and fear in his voice seemed to pass the veil of drunkenness that surrounded the King´s mind. Robert Baratheon rose from his seat, eyes focusing in his old friend, catching the fear in his eyes, before turning towards what he was pointing, and his family was staring at. For a moment, he did not see the black point, until it became a sphere, floating in the air.

-KINGSGUARD, TO YOUR KING! - He bellowed. And several things happened simultaneously. Ser Barristan and Jaime rushed to their lord, and every knight disengaged each other, as the king´s order had, somehow, cut thought the roaring of the tournament. Every knight advanced to their lords and ladies, not knowing what was happening. Oberyn and his daughters formed around Doran, the son of the latter drew steel. The Captain of his guard, Areo Hotah drew his axe and formed a wall in front of his lord with the Dornish knights that formed around him.

The Hound took a step forward, as Dayne and Dragostone knights advanced to their liege, drawing swords and raising shields. Arthur joined suit, taking with his father his mother´s side, as little Shireen hugged her mother tightly. Stannis seemed unfazed, even as he drew his own sword, and ordered defensive positons to his men. Both Berric and Thoros rushed to their lord´s side. Davos and his son prepared for a fight. Darkstar didn't even bother to go to his kin´s aid. He grasped his blade tighter still and prepared for whatever was about to happen, as a wave of dread washed over everyone in the field.

Tywin gave a single command, as both he and his son were surrounded by gilded steel, gold and ruby red of the Lannister knights, while Devan rallied what westerladners were still ready for a fight. The Mountain grunted, before grabbing his greatsword and simply waited, like a good guard dog, beside the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Loras was already running toward his family, as Renly advanced in between his soldiers to stand beside the Tyrells. Margaery and her mother and grandmother were helping Willas up, as Garlan rallied the Reachmen for a fight.

Then, the sphere grew several times its size, until it seemed capable of covering the entirety of the tourney grounds. For an instant, nothing happened, and before Robert Baratheon could order for someone to fire at the dammed thing, the sphere became almost liquid, as the energy collapsed into the blood soaked arena. Ned could have sworn he hear laughter in his ears, the laugher of thirsting gods. The black energy covered the ground, like a swirling tornado, until it stopped; a covering of black that now had taken the center of the arena, like stagnant water.

Silence overcame everything, a dreadful silence, one that terrified Margaery, for not even the birds were singing. And then, from the blackness, came light, a golden, pure light that could almost blind, as the light changed from gold to silver, before the small black lake erupted upwards, its drops disappearing in thin air.

And from the terrifying happening, the only thing that remained as proof, were two figures that had not been standing there before. Both were covered in head to toe in plate armor, and were armed. One of them was tall and terrifying, covered in blood read armor, images of demonic faces adorned the armor form head to toe, skulls hanged by his side, a great axe in one hand, and a bloody maul in the other, both dripping with fresh blood. His helm was covered in spikes and red blood dragon skulls, and in the middle of his armor, a terrifying sigil of a demonic dragon, with red shining eyes stared in to the crowd.

-No….Nooooooo. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!- The roar of the man made everyone flinch back –Years of planning, a thousand sacrifices! And then you, nobody, a common born! You ruined everything! -

-You waste of blood- He growled, the voice more metallic that it should have any right to be -You are going to pay for that. I'm going to skin you alive and the quarter you for my spawn. I'll make you regret every second of your miserable life, you son of a whore! I will feed your soul to Nagash himself! I WILL…!- The red clad man was trembling in fury, taking quick steps toward the other man, but he stopped when his opponent laughed. The laughter filled the arena, before the other man rose to his full height. He was clad in full plate armor, a tabard of back and amber with the sigil of a roaring dragon with the dawning sun begin it, and a grail in front of the dragon. The armor was adorned, but battered and covered in dried blood. He had a sword to his hip, and his helm mirrored that of the other man, although his was not deformed of demonic in nature, but it mimicked a proud dragon, standing tall for battle, it wings open, forming the wings of the helmet. Runes adored the armor, in gleaming silver and gilded gold, a few ambers etched in the shoulder guards, forged to look like dragon´s heads. The man looked at the red clad man, before slamming his closed fit into the palm of his other hand, sending a shockwave into the air.

-Silence, you disgusting piece of filth! Don't talk to me of regret, monster, when you yourself know little of such a feeling! And do not bore me with your empty threats. The only thing you are good at is slaughter defenseless crowds of innocent women and children- The red clad man roared in furious anger, blood coiling around his form, his weapons roaring to life with hateful runes of red and black.

-You DARE, BRETONNIAN?! I will give you the cold embrace of death! I will make your suffering know no bounds! And when I'm done with you, I will go back to your beloved land, and drown it with blood and gore in such a scale, that Nagash itself will reward me for my dedication! I WILL BE THE END OF YOUR POND W…!- It was obvious for everyone else in the arena that even beginning that sentence would have been a bad idea. He didn't finish it, for a golden javelin of light sailed past the face of the blood clad warrior, piercing the wall of the arena with a flash of light. The amber clad warrior had his hand out-stretched, his gaze, hidden as it was by his helmet, focused on the other man, if one could call the monstrosity a man.

-Your existence is offense enough, vampire. Keep silent of any blasphemies, or I will take your tongue- He drew the longsword, the gleaming steel shone with golden fire. The blood knight stalked around the amber warrior, before speaking

-We were friend, once upon a time. In the past, we stood side by side against the worst the mortal world had to offer. We fought, we bleed, we suffered and we lost much together. Tell me, Amaranth, aren't you tired of this? Of your senseless duty?! – The knight of the dragon crest tilted his head to the side, curious.

-What would you know of senselessness, fallen one? You, who lives an empty existence devoid of anything but unnatural hunger?- The Blood Knight laughed, before continuing.

-We were paragons among the living, knight forged in conflict and battle! The best our lands had to offer, the hammed and the blade! Martial prowess personified, mixed with dauntless determination! And for what?! To protect sniveling cowards! Useless sacks of wasted blood and meat?! Greedy thief in merchant's silks who sucked us dry of out deserved spoils? Burocrats so corrupted they would have impressed the followers of the Great Rot?! Those are who we bleed for? Those are the one we were sent to die for?! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT! – The Blood knight gathered blood around him, letting his power show, letting his magic flow into the air, sot eh other man could see it.

-I have ascended to the ranks of the Chosen Ones of Abhorash! I AM A BLOOD DRAGON! My power is my own, my might mine to use! I will not be commanded by weaklings! I will not be ordered around by mere food! I offer this gift to you! Immortality, youth, power untold, as I offered you so long ago! Join me, brother of old! Dessert that bitch of the lake that has used you for so long, and take your well-deserved spot among the Lord and Ladies of the Night! Abandon this thankless existence you have bounded yourself to, and fulfill your destiny! Take what you deserve! Follow my example, and claim what you are owed by this rabble!- The other man did not move, and simply stood there. Before he began, yet again, to laugh. And like a sudden thunderstorm, he slammed his sword into the ground; point first, as amber energy began to gather around his form, an aura of pure fury taking shape like a bellowing cloak.

-Deserve? You assume to know what I DESERVE, vampire!? - He ripped his blade from the ground, holding it in front of his face; his eyes scanning the reflection in the dirty edge, before turning the blade around, letting his foe see only the edge of his weapon.

-I might deserve a lot of things, vampire. I have made my fair share of mistakes; I have committed my long list of sins. Death should be the only thing owned to me, for the Lady knows I have earned a mighty toll. But I was given more than just death. I was given hope, a chance, something to protect and defend. I had nothing, and I was giving a reason to stand. And so I stand. I deserve nothing but my duty, and my duty I will upheld, and I care less for what you may assume I deserve. It's not what I deserve; it's not what I am owed. Those are arrogant and pompous pretensions. What I may or may not deserve means nothing. There is only one thing that truly matters. And that is what I owe to others. My life, my love, my honor, my fury, my soul. For those I protect I will sacrifice- He strode forward, weapon in hand

-This, is my duty- The vampire laughed a sickening and haunting laughter that echoed in the arena.

-Duty? What meaning has duty for the wolf among the sheep? Do you think duty binds the predator form his prey? Will you give up power like this for a concept as foolish as duty? - The vampire caressed one of the skulls that rested on his armor.

-Yes, duty. And my duty is unmistakable. To protect those I cherish. What others think of me, what other give me, what other call me in fulfilling said duty, means nothing. I am the shield of the kingdoms of men. I am the blade of the Lady. And I long as I breathe, my duty remains. And as long as you exist, my duty is not done- The vampire looked at the man, experiencing a strange sensation, as old as his memory, as foreign as sunlight. It was doubt. He had offered this man everything one could ask for, and he would not take it because it was against his duty? What foolishness was this?

-I casted my excuses into the dirt long ago. You though I would do less with yours, Draleit?-

-Don't call me that! That was the name of a slave to your shackled believes. I AM FREE! I AM UGAN´THOR, RED REAVER! AND I HAVE EARNED IT WITH THE BLOOD OF A THOUSAND OF YOU KIND! - The other man was not intimidated, as he began to walk toward him.

-You will always be the man too scared to stand and speak the truth, too eager to earn your father approval, too afraid to earn your mother´s scorn. Being a coward never had anything to do with freedom. You were not free because you let fear take hold of your actions- the man stopped for a second, his stance lessening for an instant. His foe simply stood there, trembling of barely contained anger.

-I could have understood fear. I could have comprehended doubt. There is no sin in falling- His hand grasped the sword with renewed strength and determination filled his heart, falling in a offensive stance.

-But you choose to not get up. You fell, and choose to not get up. There is your sin. And that, I cannot forgive. You die here, betrayer- Now, the red warrior roared and charged.

-DIE, AMARANTH!- The amber knight twirled his blade and advanced. Like a tidal wave the red reaver attacked, his maul and axe arced in two crushing strikes. The amber knight simply took a step back, and parried both strikes with supreme speed. And the fight, the last one for at least one of them, began. Words echoed in the air, for nobody but the combatants to hear, vows made long ago, still unbroken, still standing.

"I give my body, heart and soul, to the Lady whom I seek. No plea for help shall find me wanting. No obstacle will stand before me. Death will come to find me"

The Amber Knight attacked, his blade becoming a gleaming lightning bolt of death that seemed almost too fast to be true. The Red Reaver barely managed to take a step back, before the blade slashed him across the chest and abdomen. He roared words in an unholy language, before attacking again. The knight simply sidestepped the first blow, ducked under the second, and blocked the third. Not even with his seemingly superior strength, did the Red Reaves mange to beat the lock of weapon both had, his axe and maul pressed against the other´s sword. The Amber Knight then pushed the weapons of his rival to the ground, as both struggled to keep the other´s steel still.

"I am a Paladin of Bretonnia, my blade is my fury, my word is my honor, my actions are the mirror of my soul"

The words keep being whispered, and the Reaver roared at the words, almost like it physically hurt him to listen to them. He pushed him back, as the knight simply changed pose, grabbing the blade with both hands.

"No evil will taint the lands bequeathed unto me. When the clarion call is sounded, I will ride out and fight in the name of Liege and Lady"

He danced through the furious onslaught, scoring hits in his maddened rival. And then, he raised his hand and opened his palm, as the inscriptions on his armor shined with light, as he unleashed a wave of golden light, a wave of power that threw the red killer to the other side of the arena.

"That which is sacrament, I shall preserve. That which is sublime, I will protect. That which threatens, I will destroy, for my holy wrath will know no bounds"

The Red Reaver rose, and charged again, slamming his axe into the ground, the baleful energies harnessed into it released into a torrent, as skinless hound of blood and hate formed around the Amber Paladin. And now, only now, did the Dragon Knight roar, roar with fury in his eyes, roar with fire in his hears, roar with determination in his soul.

-As long as I breathe, hope will burn bright!- He took one monster down with a swing, before whirling and taking two other in a single strike. He crushed the skull of a third under his sabaton, before charging his opponent.

-As long as I stand, justice will prevail!- He smashed the maul aside, before biting his steel into his opponent arm, almost cutting it in half. The retaliation from his foe crashed against his wall of sharp steel, like rain against iron. The words ringed in the ears of every person in the arena, but only some of them had heard those same words uttered before, years ago, in more peaceful times, in more wishful, innocent way. It was impossibility, something that was not supposed to happen, a wound already closed and healed. And yet those words still opened the wounds, and let the pain flow free. Only, this time, hope also tricked out with the hurt and the pain, a dim hope, yet hope none the less.

"Honor is all. Chivalry is all"

He impaled his blade into the red warrior's abdomens, earning a cry of pain from hi foe. The reaver stuck blindly, the Black Knight took jumped backwards, skidding in the sand, until he was some 30 meters form his foe. He then raised his blade above his head, and continued.

-Ours is the Wrath, ours the Fury! For those we protect, we will sacrifice- His blade erupted in flames of gold and silver. The Reaver called his power against, blood surging like a wave, dark red flames surging to answer the anathema in front of him, the Winds of Death and Blood following his commands, a brutal form was created for the power that he was gathering for his retaliation.

-I will show you what true power looks like! By the Blood of Lahmia! By Abhorash! You, pitiful mortal, slave to your wench of the lake! I WILL SHOW YOU THE POWER OF THE NIGHT!– The amber clad man did not seem to react at first, but then he spoke, his voice thundering like a storm, his will becoming veritable power, energy arching from his body.

-I am Sirius Amaranth! Blade of Judgement! Champion of King! I am the Dragon´s Wrath! My will is my own!- He took a step forwards, the sand under his feet simply turning to glass under the amount of power unleashed, the energy reaching its peak, begging to be unleash, begging to be allowed to purify. And the wielder was more than willing.

-I AM A THE LADY´S CHOSEN, NOW AND ALWAYS!- And he struck, swinging his sword, the furious flames unleashed, avenging vindication released in a torrent of fire and holy energy which collapsed against the shield of blood and dark fire, both clashing like the fury of opposing gods. The detonation filled the arena of smoke, and threw many to the ground, while all of those who were still in the arena were thrown back to the stands by the sheer force. When the dust in the air cleared, the Amber Knight stood, his helm shattered, his blood dripping into a pool under his feet, and his blade was broken. He wasn't. His foe, on the other hand, was on his knees, both left arm and left leg missing, with half his torso, as he desperately tried to heal the damage done. Sirius Amaranth advanced until he was standing above his former friend.

-Any last words?- he said simply, his voice tired, but neutral. The other man laughed, before choking on his blood. It took almost a minute for him to speak again.

-If you are going to kill me, at the very least look at me in the eyes, one last time- he growled before removing his own red helmet, showing black air and pale skin, eyes blood red, tattoos cut into the skin. The other man complied, removing his own cracked helmet. Long black hair, curly and yet not unruly, hanged to his neck, a cared for, and now blood-smeared and covered in dust, beard and moustache adorned his features, while a pair of amber eyes stared his former fellow paladin down, hard like diamonds, unforgiving like the glare of hell itself. A white line, the mark of an old scar, ran from one side of his face to the other, a long line that seemed to go though both eyes. A scar meant to take the sight, and only managed to strengthen that sight. A face that had seen battel, blood and loss. A face thought lost.

-You will forever remain a puppet, you know that, right? You will be used and cast aside like a broken sword. You will forever stand alone- the Amber knight nodded, before taking his ruined blade with both hands.

-I know. I have always known. She told me so- he stated simply, shocking the other one to the core. He blinked, doubt flourishing in his blood filled eyes.

-Then, why? Why stay? Why didn't you join us?!- Sirius smiled at him, his eyes softening, his features relaxing just a little. And he said words the other man could not discuss.

-Because, Draleit, I had faith. I had faith in the teachings of my master, the determination of my King, the beliefs of my fellows, the mission of my Lady, the values of our people and the goodness in our hearts. I had faith, I always had faith. And with that faith, I lighted my way into the darkness. I only wish I had been able to give you some of my own light to guide you. But it was a flame that only you could sparkle- The other man was left speechless.

-I am sorry- was all he said, and Sirius knew he meant it. He smiled at his old friend, one last time.

-I know. So am I- The blade was swung, and one life was taken, as the Red reaver began to dissolve, his body simply discomposing as the energy that had kept it standing simply banished. And they Grail knight simply felt to his knees, tired like he hadn´t been in a long while.

"Rejoice, for we, the Knights of Bretonnia... will be your shield"

Those words, they heard, that promise, they took to heart, as the Vow he had made ended. And, like a thousand times before, tired as he was, sad as he was, confused as he was, in desperate need of a rest as he was, he rose to his feet, yet again.

-And while a single Bretonnian draws breath, this war, in not over- He said, turning around, his eyes focusing in a point in space that seemed empty.

-So next time, if you really want me dead, have the basic fucking decency to come personally, bloodsucker scum- Reality bleed yet again, to reveal a horned head, of white skin, red hateful eyes, and bared teeth, long like daggers. And then it laughed, a terrifying laugh that made everyone present tremble slightly. Somewhere, a baby was crying.

-Tsk, tsk, Amaranth. You need to learn that you are a lamb, meant to be bleed, mean to be feed upon. You may have stopped us now, but we both know that there will be a next time, and next time, you will not be there- Sirius´s eyes were fixed in the ground, ad his hands trembled, but if it from was fear or anger, none could tell, until he spoke.

-To face monster such as you, there will be always those who will fight. To protect that which they love, there will always be warriors that stand their ground. While there is good in this world, you will lose. Next time, you will just fail again. For you to win, you need good men to do nothing. And while Bretonnia stands, there will be good men to stand against you- The monsters hissed, but then smiled yet again.

-Maybe, but you will not be there to see it. Kill him- And the shadow morphed, forming in 20 knights of blood red armor and black spines, who advanced to take the head of the Grail Knight. He simply raised his blade, and prepared himself for the coming end.

-In the end, we all die. But what matter isn't when we die, it is not how long we lived, but how we lived, and for what we chose to die, is what truly matters. I am ready, hellspawn. What about you?- the first Blood Knight struck, and Sirius blocked, taking a step back, parrying 5 attacks before retaliating with precision, cutting the hand of his offender. The second knight was better and faster, and almost took his leg off, had he been a second slower. He lost his teeth to the hook the Grail Knight delivered. But the third on slashed him across the throat, making the Grail knight stumble to his knees, pain raking every fiber of his being while the poison ate at him. But he wasn't dead yet. He got up, and with his feet, pulled a discarded sword for the ground to his grip. He smiled, blood still flowing, as he wielded both blades, the familiar rush coming to him like the most natural thing in the world. Gods above, he had missed this.

-So, my turn then? - The monster that had wounded him lurched forward. He lost, for his troubles, half his face, and a good chunk of his neck. He did not get up. The other rushed him, and he struck back, blade biting, slashing and killing things that should have died a long time ago, fire burning in his chest, fury coursing his veins. He was still standing, and as long as he could stand, he could fight. He left only 4 of them, or it would have been more proper to say that there were only 4 remaining when his body finally gave out after a blade gutted him in the stomach, cutting him from side to side. The Undead simply licked his teeth, and raise his blade to cut his neck wide open, as the other two who were intact advanced, ready to torn him to pieces, a predatory smile on his cracked lips.

"I am so sorry, old friend. I could not keep my promise. I see you in the Halls of Grinmir, if he deems me worthy, or I will see you in the Valley of the Lady, for she will find you as such"

And the blade fell. And he smiled the last smile he would make.