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.

"Don't get distracted Witcher!" Thoros yelled as he'd step up, grasping the front of Geralt's leather jacket piece as he'd pull the Witcher forward and spinning him about in a disorienting throw. While caught off guard by the moment, Geralt moved along with the throw as he'd drop into a tumble to avoid falling over, standing up just as Thoros stabbed at him. He'd parry at the last moment to stagger the priest back before he'd side step around and counter attack at the priest's side, yet the large man proved to be reckless as instead of dodging away then step forward in a shoulder tackle.

"Crazy old man" Geralt muttered, having nearly stabbed the man by accident. Thoros just laughed as he'd moved boldly forward, swinging his sword broadly out with each stride as if challenging the Witcher to attack back. A normal warrior would go on the defensive, try to back off or find a prime chance to counter, but the Witcher did the opposite. He'd strike back as both blades clashed again and again, meeting force with force. Both men held their ground, though Thoros was began to pant heavily while Geralt hardly seemed winded despite the constant attacking.

Just as Geralt was about to lash out at the priest, he heard someone yell out behind him. His arm and body turned about as he'd parry aside a mace from striking at his back, surprising the knight who had thought him an easy target. The Witcher didn't stop there as he'd duck to the right side of the man, avoiding a shield bash before he'd cut at the knight's exposed side, going across the least armored spot along it. The man yelled in pain as the fine Witcher sword sliced through whatever under armor and clothing that was under the plate, drawing thick blood with one slash. Grasping his side, the man backed off as he lowered his mace. "I yield!" He hissed out yet Geralt hardly listened as already another warrior stepped forward to challenge.

Thoros also was ambushed, the Red Priest giving a roaring battle cry that had the knight running away, which he chased after laughing like a maniac. "This isn't over Witcher! Don't lose just yet!" He yelled out. By now a few of the other knights had been bested and now began to target others, a few focusing on men still dueling another. A few got blindsided by a mace to the head or cut to an exposed spot, leading to curses and yells for 'yield!'.

Thoros had gotten separated from Geralt, giving him time to catch his breath while taking down a few knights on his own, using his more wild and usual tactics to outmatch them. For the Witcher he put his mutant speed and reflexes to full use as he'd weave and dodge attacks from all sides before sneaking in a solid slash be it to the side, back of the leg or with a powerful strike with the flat of his blade knock their weapon from their grasp. In time, the men started to realize that the Witcher had taken down three men on his own in just a matter of minutes.

"Surround Ser Geralt! Outmatch him while we can!" Someone yelled out. Quickly the Witcher realized a six knights had surrounded him, seeming to have formed an alliance just to take him as early as possible. Geralt held his ground, cat eyes glancing fiercely at the grouped-up knights.

"Best back off now. You'll need twice the numbers to make this a challenge." He calmly stated, sword up as he took a defensive stance.

Someone from the side gave an angry yell before charging, soon getting a back-hand blow to the face, knocked him off balance. The young man didn't stand a chance as the Witcher quickly disarmed him, flat of his sword striking hard enough at his arm to drive a pained howl from him as he probably got a fracture wrist from how strong the strike even against plate armor.

Two knights moved in this time, not making the same mistake yelling out during their attack. Geralt anticipated their coordinated attack, using his inhuman speed to ducked under a stab and followed into a roll to avoid a sweeping mace. Using the momentum and his agility, he'd spring back onto his feet then twist about to slash across backs of both men, drawing shocked cries as his sharp blade cut through their armor."

"Guh…what…what kind of weapon is that?!" One gasped as they'd struggle away, dropping their weapons as they surrendered.

"It's like valyrian steel…" Another muttered as Geralt again took a defensive stance, keeping such a calm look still despite the still being surrounded.

By now the group of warriors were hesitant, unsure of how to face Witcher whose speed and strength were unlike anything they had seen. A few nervously shifted back whenever his yellow gaze focused on them, worried he'd rush them and cut them down in moments. In the end though their resolve returned as all three rushed at him, trying a combined attack.

The trio were all uniquely armed with one having a shield and mace, another a two-handed sword and the last with just a long sword. The one with the shield was up first, lunging in shield up to block Geralt's opening attack before he'd stab out. The Witcher hated dealing with shields since direct attacks never worked, requiring more agile tactics to counter. If anything he'd use an Igni to burn or overheat the shield off, yet he obviously couldn't do that. The long sword knight moved to flank him, trying to trap the Witcher between him and the shielded warrior. Both men attacked at once, yet Geralt was quick to adapt as he parry the swordman's blade to stagger him back before twisting about to just dodge the other's stabbing sword. The unshielded knight yelled as he got stabbed by his ally, making him curse out gripping at the light wound at his side.

By this point the man with the two-handed sword rushed in to try and draw Geralt's attention as he'd slash at the Witcher from behind. With the shield man limiting his movements, Geralt rolled to the side to avoid the crashing blade, then quickly stood up to lunge at man with the great sword. He barely blocked the incoming attack and was forced onto the defensive. The large weapon didn't offer much defense against Geralt's rapid attacks and he had no way to counterattack. The shielded knight followed after them, giving a yell as he gave an overhead swing to draw at the Witcher.

However instead of turning his blade about to block it, he'd move his left arm out to have the strong Stark bracer block the blow. It did draw a grunt from him, the armor piece absorbed the hit well. Shoving his arm back, he'd force the shieldbearer back, leaving his guard expose for a powerful kick. The force behind it had him fall back a few feet as Geralt's mutant strength showed off for a moment. With one knight knocked down, he'd focus back on the one with the great sword as he'd duck under a diagonal slash, slipping around one side and strike the flat of his blade against the man's knee, forcing him down onto it. Before the knight knew it, his left arm was grabbed and twisted back along with the Witcher's blade pressing to his neck.

"I yield!" The man gasped out as he dropped his sword, unable to swing that far behind him, much less being in a painful arm hold. The man was shoved forward as Geralt wordlessly rushed to the other knight who was busy struggling back up. He tried to get his shield raised only for it to be pinned down under the Witcher's boot. Before he could even try bashing out with his mace, the young warrior soon had sharp steel pointed at his face and those yellow eyes starting fiercely at him.

"I surrender…" He muttered, giving a sigh as Geralt backed off. Just then a signal horn blew out, a sign that half the warriors were bested by now.

"Huh that was quicker than expected." Geralt muttered before noticing another group of six were already surrounding him. He'd recognize a few from his team even as everyone realized just how dangerous he was. "This is more like it." He'd give a small grin, which was a bit unnerving to men. This time all six attacked, not holding back in an all-out attack. With adrenaline pumping through him, Geralt just let instinct take hold as push himself to the limit. He was a blur of movement as he'd weave and dodge between everyone, misdirecting attacks towards other knights or having them overreach themselves.

Soon one by one they were getting picked off as Geralt slipped his blade past their defenses and armor, landing multiple cuts, kicks, punches and pommel blows until they gave up. However as he clashed with the third remanding knight, a familiar yell came off to the side. "Back off! The Witcher is mine!" Thoros loudly declared, grabbing and turning about one young knight who had lost his helmet during the battle. The unfortunate man got a powerful head butt to the forehead, making his eyes roll back before falling roughly back. While the priest seemed daze for a moment, the knight was out cold, making the man laugh out.

"Not as tough as they look heh?" The priest looked roughed up, his red robe covered with dirt and blade

Geralt ignored Thoros as he focused on defeating his currently opponent who'd he quickly disarm with a strong parry and a spinning strike to the hand with the flat of his blade. Cursing lowly, the warrior backed off while he could as already the Red Priest stomped forward for a second match against the Witcher.

"Is your Red God going to hand you victory priest?" Geralt jested in a dry yet serious manner.

The priest shook his head. "The future isn't set in stone…yet I have glimpsed it fires." He'd step forward, arms out and sword held high. "For these last years I've questioned my faith…numbing that doubt in drink and battle. I thought today would be just the same, yet yesterday the flames showed me this moment."

The Witcher was silent, wondering what the man was getting at with his so called vision of his.

"Faith is a powerful thing Witcher. Today it has been restored within me!" The man held his sword out as his left hand touched at base of his blade as suddenly flames shot up across the metal. Holding the flaming weapon high, the nearby men gasped out in shock, confused at what just happened. "Behold! The Lord of Light share his blessing this day!"

Surprise hinted the Witcher's face, not expecting this sudden claim. He heard how in the past the priest used wildfire, an alchemy mixture that was very resistant to water, in certain battles such as the Ironborn Rebellion. The flames of wildfire were green, while the flames around the sword were a fierce red. His medallion even shook fiercely for a moment, hinting of a strong magical power behind that burning weapon.

"Well Thoros…you have my full attention now." Geralt muttered. "Let's see if your faith will give you victory!"

The red priest smiled widely as he'd roar out, making the surrounding knights flinch back in shock as he'd rush forward. Like before, he and Geralt's blade clashed, the runes along the steel sword glowing as they reacted to the enchanted flames of Thoros sword. The man seemed to have a surge of strength about him as he'd forced Geralt one then two steps back, pressing his burning weapon closer to the Witcher's face. Up close the heat of the fire was intense, much like the ones created by Igni.

"Yield Witcher! I rather not burn you…" Thoro threatened, his eyes wild with fierce fanaticism.

Geralt growled out, body tensing up as he put the full force of his mutant strength forward. He'd shove back, driving that burning blade away from his face and give him enough freedom to back step from a sweeping slash. The Red Priest kept up the attack as he did wide swings, making nearby warriors hurry away to avoid flaring embers of his sword. Geralt kept backing up, dealing back counter blows at the same time as he matched force with force. Sparks flew as both magically empowered weapons clashed, ringing clank of metal echoing across the field.

If anything the battle drew attention as the men stopped to watch the epic clash, unable to believe someone could match up to Thoro's inhuman ferocity. Like before the man began to tire from the constant attacks, unable to break Geralt's defense and dodging speed. At this point the Witcher decided to end this as he'd leap back to avoid an overhead strike, only to lunge in with a downward slash of his own. Thoro's eyes widened, yet it wasn't fear or shock only an amazed realization as if he had expected this.

He quickly raised his burning blade up to ward off the blow, giving a strained grunt as the power behind the Witcher's attack forced him to one knee. Sparks flew about from the clashing blades, Geralt not hesitating as he swung at the man's left, aiming for the neck. Thoros had little energy and time left to defend himself as he tilted the burning sword about, just enough to guard but also flinging the weapon from his grip. The flaming sword flew overhead, a few observant knights being quick to duck aside as it neared them.

Thoros fully dropped onto both knees, panting hard as the Witcher's steel sword pressed to his neck, bringing a pleased grin to his face. "Glorious…you are truly unmatched…" The man chuckled between breaths while Geralt kept that calm expression.

"You knew this would happen didn't you?"

"Yes. The fire did not lie, even if the outcome was a bit unclear. Visions can be that way.." Thoros bowed his head, smirking. "You are indeed chosen. No matter your belief is Witcher, you have grand part in the Lord's plan!"

Geralt didn't answer. He hated the talk of prophecies, even more when given by clerics and religious fanatics.

"Yet your battle isn't done. For you have a Mountain topple and a Lion to humble."

…

As if on cue, Geralt heard a surprised yell off to the side, making him and the other surviving knights' glance over to the right. Thoros burning sword had landed just between Sandor and Gregor, blade embedded into the dirt. The two had seemingly been locked in personal battle for most of the Melee, being equally matched. Sandor still wore his hound helmet which hid his face, yet from the way he tensed up around the burning sword hinted a fear for the flames coming off the weapon.

Gregor however was unfazed as he'd howl out, snapping Sandor out of that fearful state as his brother swung his blunted blade up. The Hound quickly raised his own large sword up, bracing himself for the powerful blow. He partly blocked the strike as the blunted sword broke his guard and uppercut his helmet, knocking it off his head and drawing a painful crack to the scarred man's jaw. He'd tumble to the ground, panting and growling from the pain, struggling to get up as his brother loomed over him.

"You've become weak Sandor. A little fire had you cowering." Gregor mocked as he pointed to the sword just as the fire covering it sputtered out. "Should just kill you…put such disgrace aside…"

"Then do it you bastard!" Sandor cursed out, suddenly turning about to swing his sword up at the towering knight. Gregor caught Sandor's arm with one large hand stopped the attack with ease. Despite his toughness and strong armor, Sandor yelled in pain as the gauntlet on his forearm was being crumbled under that powerful grasp. Soon the Hound was forced to let go of his sword, unable to stop the brutal disarming.

"Nah…killing you be boring. You at least give me a challenge whenever you get the balls to face me." The Mountain laughed under his helmet while Sandor howled as his metal bracer started to dent under the unhuman grip, starting to crush the man's arm. "A broken arm should do…"

"Let him go."

Gregor snapped his head up, glancing to the left to see who had spoken up to him. He'd see Geralt standing nearby, those yellow eyes staring unblinking at him.

"You again? You have a habit butting in when unwanted…" The Mountain growled.

"Let Sandor go Gregor. You've bested him."

"Shut up Witcher! I don't need you-uggh!" Sandor bit back the pain as his brother squeezed harder down at the forearm, ready to snap it on a moment's notice.

"He may be a failure, but he's right Witcher. This doesn't involve you…"

"Maybe so…" Geralt stepped forward, sword up at the ready. "Yet the Melee is still going and no one seems eager to fight either of us." Indeed the lingering knights were either battling each other or just watching in shock at what was happening before them, as Geralt directly challenging the fearsome giant. "You're nothing more than a child murder and rapist. A coward who relies on fear and brutality to have their way. I'm not afraid of you…if anything even the most pathetic nekker is more fearsome then you."

"Nekker?!...What the fuck is a nekker?!" Gregor snarled before roughly let go of Sandor's arm. He'd following it up with a strong kick the fallen man's side, knocking the Hound a few feet aside and stunning him. Standing tall, he'd hold up his giant sword with one hand, giving an angered growl under his barreled helmet. "Stupid freak…forget the rules. I'll break you in half. See how righteous you are when your dead!" He'd heft up his blunted great sword high, roaring out as he'd swing it down at Geralt's neck. The attack was fast with the strength in those arms and weight of the weapon, no doubt being powerful enough to knock someone's head off. For the Witcher though the attack was slow as he'd glance at the nearing blade, ducking under it at the last second before shuffling to the left side of the giant.

The powerful left swing made the giant of a man unbalanced, not expecting the Witcher to be agile enough to avoid such a sudden attack. Geralt sword slashed out at the Mountain's exposed side, the enchanted steel blade striking directly across, however it didn't slice fully through armor like past opponents. The Mountain grunted from the hit and backstepped, giving the Witcher a short chance to see the damage done. The meteorite steel had sliced through the plate, revealing multiple layers to the specially design armor, chain and harden leather. It be a miracle for any man to move wearing so much and he couldn't imagine how hot it must get as well.

Gregor roared in anger as he'd twist about, left armored hand swinging out, the backhand no doubt as strong as a hammer. Geralt brought his sword up to guard it, grunting as blocking it made him skid backward, but he was quick to move as that great sword neared him again. He'd sidestep and weave around the towering warrior, circling behind him as he tried to find a weak spot among that dense armor. After all, even the tougher protection be it armor of men or the hide of a monster had gaps to it. When he checked around he'd see that the back of the armor joints from the knees, ankles, shoulders and elbows were more lightly armored, only having chainmail or leather at those points to allow movement.

"Stop dancing and face me!" The Mountain continued his wide attacks, trying to use the great reach of his weapon to force Geralt back. A normal fighter would try to put as much distance between the man's blade and lashing fists, yet the Witcher continued to avoid each powerful attach with ease. Shifting to Gregor's right side, he'd suddenly give a short leap as he bashed the toughed hilt of his sword against the side of the man's head, making a resounding clang echo outand a pained cry escape from the Mountain.

Gregor lashed out again with fist and sword blindly, Geralt continuing to avoid them while he looped around. Once more he leaped, hilt striking the head again, this time denting the side of that barrel helm. Once more an echoing bang and pained cry. "Fucking…grrahhh! Stop that!" The Witcher didn't relent as he'd duck under a straight punch then rose up to suddenly grab at the armored collar. Yanking Gregor forward as he'd give two crossing blows with the sword hilt and pommel, warping the metal visor and further denting the helm with the raw strength behind each strike.

Despite the stunning blows, Gregor's toughness was put on display as he'd endure the ringing pain and give a strong left jab right at the Witcher's chest. Geralt realized the man's move and leaped back, though got the blunt of that fist to the gut. Grunting out, he was knocked a few feet back yet maintained his footing. He'd grasp at his stomach, he'd take deep steady breaths as he'd stare down the man. The force of that blow feeling like getting butted by a Chort or Fiend, showing just how freakishly strong the man was.

"Ruined my…gah! Damn helmet!" Grasped at the dented helm, he'd struggle to get it off because of the damage done to it. Geralt stood back, giving the brute a chance to at least remove his damaged helmet. Once it was thrown aside, Gregor's look of pure rage was fully shown across his gruff reddened face, eyes bloodshot from frustration from the ringing pain in his head.

"Having trouble Mountain? Head aching after that?" He knew the man was no doubt suffering intense headaches because of his abnormal size. Even if he was drugged up, it left him sensitive to head blows. With him mentally pained and angered, he'd be more unfocused and clumsy.

"Going to…kill you…crush your head…" Gregor grunted, teeth gritting together as he strained against throbbing pain in his skull.

Geralt tensed up again for another attack as the Mountain lifted up his great sword for a slamming blow, trying to crush the Witcher with the blunted blade. The Witcher moved at the last second as the weapon came crashing down, lunging at the left side of the man. Gregor was too addled to react quickly as Geralt twisted about to put his full strength behind his next attack. Honed mutant strength and meteorite steel sliced through the exposed back calf and knee with ease, cutting through the man's thick muscles with ease.

Gregor growled out in pain, his react quite subdued for such a deep crippling wound. He'd slump forward, planting his sword into the ground to brace his body up as the armor began to weigh on him from the lack of leg support.

"Just cut the muscle fiber in your leg and knee. Recoverable yet crippling. You won't be able to stand or move properly with that injury. Yield." Geralt calmly stated, flicking blood off his sword.

"Lier. Just a flesh wound…" Gregor panted as he'd suddenly shift upward, grunting as his badly cut leg buckled, seemingly support him.

The Witcher had a surprise hint show in his eyes, seeing the man ignore a quite grievous injury. Perhaps the man was that addicted to pain killers that his body was numbed to such injuries. It be one explanation the claims of being invincible. "Idot…Give up. Don't make me cripple you."

Ignoring the warnings Gregor yelled out as he'd turnabout and swung his blade, going for a low sweep at the Witcher's legs. Leaping over the attack, he'd quickly roll to the man's right, drawing out Dragon Fang with his left hand for an up-close attack. The mountain flexed his arm back, trying to drive his elbow and shoulder backwards to stroke, though only giving Geralt an easier target. That sharp dagger sunk right into the nook of his elbow, stabbing through thick flesh and muscle until the very tip pierced through the other end.

Roaring out, Gregor lashed out with his left fist, forcing Geralt to withdraw, but the damage was done. The Mountain seemed unfazed with the injury, even as his body showed just how damaged it had become. His arm became limp, struggling to hold the blade up now as his elbow could hardly flex upward.

"Give up." Geralt growled as he paced about the towering man, sheathing Dragon Fang after brushing the blood off of its gleaming blade.

"Fuck you!" Gregor just switched the blade to his left hand, once more lashing out with fearsome strength still. It was futile as the attack was avoided and Geralt flanked him after a quick dodge. Grasping his sword with both hands, he'd tense for a powerful strike, decided to try rending through the back of the plate armor. The Mountain tried to turn about to defend or force back, taking too long to react meteorite steel cut across the left shoulder and back. Plate and chain armor was sliced through, along flesh and muscle. It took much of Geralt's self-control to stop the blow from cleaving into the warrior's spine.

This time the giant howled in true pain before he tumbled, his injuries overcoming even him. His grip on his sword loosened as he laid on his back, blood lightly marking across the grass. Geralt loomed over the man, fierce yellow gaze looking at that stubborn face. The watching knights were dead silent, openly gawking at battle's outcome. Geralt at last could hear the nearby crowds cheering and calling out in the distance. No doubt they were going wild after what they had just witnesses as the Mountain was seemingly bested.

"It's over Gregor." Geralt muttered as he looked back down at the giant.

Suddenly the man's left arm twitched and swung out, sweeping for Gealt's legs. If it had been anyone else they would have easily been tripped over, but a Witcher's reflexes were far too honed for such a trick. His steel heeled boot stomped down on the man's armored wrist, a crack being heard as the joint fractured. Gregor yelled from the crushing pain while an intense scowl crossed Geralt's face, annoyed at the man's persistence.

"Heh…you enjoy it…" Gregor chuckled between deep breaths. "Hurting others…your eyes show it!"

Geralt was silent, his answer being his boot grinding down more on the man's wrist.

"Doesn't change a thing…I'll kill you…don't matter how…"

At that point the boot twisted, a snap following as the wrist was then broken in one move. Gregor groaned out in pain, body shaking from the shock.

"You won't hurt anyone else ever again at this rate." Geralt moved his foot off the limp limb taking a deep breath as he calmed himself.

"Finish it then! Kill me…because I swear I'll gut you…and everyone you fucking care for!" Gregor yelled before giving a crooked grin. "Maybe I'll find that girl…"

Geralt gave an odd look, confused at what Gregor meant.

"Heh…your silver haired bitch. Ciri…whatever…the one I heard rumors about. I'll show her…"

The Mountain didn't get to finish his cruel threat as a spiked studded glove soon crushed down at his face. With two powerful punches there'd be a sickening crack and gush of blood as Geralt broke the man's nose, maybe even cracking the right cheek considering the buckled look it had. That blow shut the giant up as he'd lay very still, having at last fallen unconscious. Geralt winced a bit as he flexed his grip, surprised at how tough the man's face was considering the stress he felt in his knuckles.

"Pray you don't meet her…because she'd be far less merciful…" Geralt muttered, uncaring if Gregor could even hear him.

In the end Gregor was still, face stuck in an angered scowl while blood oozed from his twisted nose bloodied mouth. For the first time in the man's violent life he had been completely bested, the only blessing being that he drew breath still.

…

By now a small group squires had hurried over, muttering quickly at the sight of the Mountain passed out and bleeding. "Get the cart!" One yelled as another already hurried off to the northern camp. Considering the sheer weight of the man and his armor, it be difficult to move him to the infirmary tent back in the main camp. Because of his serious injuries, he'd need the aid of Maesters to tend to his wounds. Geralt wasn't sure if he'd be disqualified or punished for badly injuring Gregor, though no one had called out or had tried to intervene during the battle. Perhaps they didn't think they could stop the Mountain or the crowd was too eager to see the fight's outcome.

By now Geralt's attention shifted to the surrounding crowds along the field as shocked gasps and amazed cheers filled the air as everyone noticed who was being carted off the field. Soon there were growing chants of 'White Wolf', 'Witcher' and Geralt as everyone knew who had toppled the infamous warrior. Even the knights gave cheers and laughs, Thoros being the loudest. For a short moment Geralt couldn't help but smirk at the praise, unused to such attention.

"By the Flame Geralt…I knew you were good but…the man hardly fazed you." The Red Priest remarked.

"Just fought him the Witcher's way. Figured his weaknesses and exploited them." By this point his attention fell to the remaining knights, at least eight others from what he could tell. "Still a few left." His sword arm shifted up slightly, making the remaining knights tense up.

A few looked at each other before giving small chuckles and shaking their heads. "Considering what we witnessed…I doubt we'd stand a chance." One knight admitted. Soon one by one the remaining knights dropped their weapons into a pile, giving respectful nods to Geralt as they surrendered.

"Not me…" A familiar voice growled as Sandor shoved through the group, large sword in hand as he'd suddenly rush at Geralt, forcing the Witcher to lock blades to hold him back. Up close he could see that Sandor's jaw was badly bruised, most likely cracked considering the blood coating his teeth and worn lips. "I had him…yet you got in the way again!"

"Right, because trying to get your arm broken was part of the plan." Geralt countered back. "Just saved you a lot of trouble considering."

"Maybe. Was good to see the bastard beaten after all these years…doesn't make me any less pissed with you." He'd press in, showing off his strength as he forced his blade closer to Geralt's face. "I was going to put him down…now you denied me that. More reason we settle our little rivalry here and now!"

"Gregor disarmed-"

"You think I care?! Fuck the Melee and the rules. This is personal for me now!" Before either man could react someone suddenly spoke up.

"You'll heel Hound."

Both Geralt and Sandor glanced to the crowd, watching the gathered knights step aside for Jaime as he approached, plated helm under one arm to cool off after the long battle. His armor was more of a bronze color then golden with all the dust covering it and his white King's Guard cloak was worn from moving about constantly. His fine sword had blood on it and the lion shield was lightly dented from blocking a dozen strong blows, keeping that fearsome image still.

For a moment Sandor paused, seeming tempted to snap out an insult at the Lannister, only to mutter a low curse before backing off. He'd thickly spit up blood before shaking his head at Jaime. "Should just beat you to hell as well…problem is your father hang me for that…"

"Glad for your honesty Sandor." It seemed Jaime didn't take the threat personally, chalking it up to the Hound's temper.

"Where's Loras? Last I saaw he was clashing against you." Geralt questioned.

"If you're worried about the Tyrell then you don't need to worry." Jaimed stretched his right arm, the shoulder piece dented from a quite strong mace blow. "He was tough despite his looks. Matched up against me and a few others for quite a while. I sent him away with a few good cuts…nothing too scarring I'd say."

For a long moment Geralt stood by, knowing well what this meant. "So that leaves just you and me then."

Jaime's face lost its smug look, a more serious gleam showing in those eyes. "Indeed it is."

For a moment it was silent on the field, the only noise being the crowds cheering on, calling out for the White Wolf and Kingslayer. Slowly the remaining knights along with even Thoros and Sandor backed off, everyone sensing the fierce tension building up.

"Are you really that confident still? I just beat the Mountain…someone even you seemed hesitant to face."

"Heh…true." Jaime glanced down, focusing on Gregor's discarded helm. "I have faced him plenty of times. Be it on the joust or mock battles, I felt he held back just ever so slightly against me…or maybe I was just that on guard with his brutality." For a moment he'd pause, looking back up at Geralt. "Seeing you fight though reminded me why I wished to be knight…the conviction to face any challenge no matter how impossible."

"I'd rather not hurt you Jaime. You're sister and father may disapprove." Geralt muttered, shifting to a low battle stance.

"Heh…no doubt. This isn't about them though but me. This is about my honor…my ambition." He'd lift up his helmet, fitting it over his head. "That is why I must beat you Geralt of Rivia. For you are my final challenge…my dragon to slay. The final proof that I am worthy of the title of the greatest swordsman of Westeros." He'd take a strong stance, roaring lion shield forward and sword out at his side.

"So be it." Geralt muttered. At first he thought this was just the young man's ego, yet the short look of those eyes…he knew Jaime was serious. There be no more smug jests or boasts, he would truly face the might of the young Lannister. "Expect no mercy Ser Jaime…"

"I expect nothing less! Come White Wolf…Hear Me Roar!"

With that both rushed forward, both giving a fierce short yell before reaching each other, sword slashing out for greatest duel to grace Westeros for so many years.

…

Notice: An epic cliffhanger don't you think? I can say this chapter has been hard to write considering it's my first prolonged action scene. I must have rewrote it three times over. Hard to detail such fighting while trying not to be too repetitive with actions, movements and so on. I hope I did the Geralt and Mountain fight properly since in the end Geralt would never fight the Mountain head on, yet use tactics before all else. Share what you though about this grand fight and the next that will follow.