Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own the collective works of Van Helsing, Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire or anything that may come into the following Fan made piece of fiction. This is meant for enjoyment alone.

"By the words of my house know that I am Never Alone." speech.

'wow, I didn't think stupidity could come in such a small package as that Joffrey cunt.' thought/flashback monologuing.

"█▄▄██▄▄▄██▄▄█" Wolf howl/roar/etc.

XxxXxxXxxX

Previously:

"In my homeland, the secrets of Damascus Steel originate from a different name called Wootz Steel. The secrets to create this were kept in a small, isolated society." Lucian explained. "I originally come from a family of Blacksmiths and in his youth; my father travelled the land to expand upon his knowledge of the trade. He returned home the only outsider to know the secrets to forging this alloy. That knowledge passed down to me."

There was a brief moment of silence in the Smithy, as both Steffon and Tywin looked at the rippled metal and swallowed this new knowledge of a metal that could potentially be compared to the legendary metal of the Valyrian Freehold that had since been lost to the Doom.

"Well then. You do know what this means don't you Tywin?" Steffon asked, surprisingly mellow and calm.

Tywin simply raised an eyebrow and looked at his taller friend with a warning look in his eye.

Steffon simply grinned widely. "If you're not careful, I might just convince House Blood to find their future in the Stormlands instead."

Lucian scoffed under his breath and muttered 'unlikely' softly as he walked over to the workbench, returning to his work.

Tywin, who had heard the whispered mutter allowed a smile to form on his face before it turned into a challenging smirk.

"Good luck."

XxxXxxXxxX

1454 a.d (anno Domini)

"Again."

His chest ached. Heaving and pressing against the steel plate of his chest armor as he fought for air; lungs burning from the effort.

A part of him was annoyed that what his Master had said had been proven true; that he would reach a point where the weight of his armor would not bother him any longer. Well he was at that point. If only because the ache of his chest and lungs bothered him more.

He felt his Master kick him in the side, the clang of a boot impacting against steel ringing in his ears. Rolling away from the blow, Lucian clambered tiredly first to his knees and then climbing to his feet. His gauntlet covered hands slipped off his knees from the mud that covered them and the fatigue that shook his legs very nearly had him eating dirt once more, but he managed to widen his stance enough to steady himself.

An approving hum from the side and Lucian resumed his run.

The training grounds were thick and slippery with mud, loose dirt and puddles of water. Master had claimed that it had rained the previous night but Lucian could still see servants throwing buckets of water out ahead of him every now and again. The poor footing had made the exercise difficult from its inception, threatening to sweep him off his feet and injure himself. It had succeeded more than a few times by the end of his thirty laps of the grounds outer perimeter, his right leg ached from a badly positioned fall and he had sprained his left wrist when he had foolishly tried to catch himself in a fall instead of rolling into it as he had been trained.

It had been a cold morning. It still was a cold morning, if the furs that were wrapped around his faintly smirking Master was any indication. It wasn't cold for Lucian. The exercise, armor and its thick padding had him dripping with sweat as his skin burned.

It took far longer than he liked to complete another lap of the grounds. Fatigue was destroying his will to continue and every breath he heaved in seemed to take more effort than the previous.

Three more laps into this second round had the sixteen year old boy gritting his teeth with anger and his eyes prickling with frustrated tears. Master expected much from him, but only because he had already given him so much. And what was Lucian giving? Failure and weakness.

"Enough."

Lucian wanted to continue despite the order. He wanted to do at least another lap to prove that he was worthy of the attention and consideration afforded him. He even made a few more meters of progress after his Master had spoken.

But then his legs gave out underneath him and he collapsed to the ground. Muddied water splashed against his face through the gaps in his helm and a pain in his chest gave indication that this latest fall may have bruised a rib, but still Lucian tried to get back up. When his legs could find no purchase on the slippery ground he tried to dig them in. when he could find no strength to do so he then tried to drag himself forward with just his arms.

The blood pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing the squelching sound of boots nearing him just as the muddied water in his eyes prevented him from seeing anyone approaching.

He did however, feel it, when he was suddenly flipped over onto his back and a hand, grasping at the collar of his chest piece hauling him to a somewhat seated position.

His helm was removed from his face and a damp wash cloth cleaned the mud and sweat from his face, clearing his vision.

A stoic faced Vladislaus looked back at him, still holding him upright by the neck of his armor and tossing aside the washcloth with the other.

"I told you to stop. Why did you try to continue?"

Lucian averted his gaze, feeling shame fill him at what he felt was disappointment in the eyes of the man that had taken him in and given him so much. "I, I had to."

"Why?"

"It wasn't enough." Lucian bit out, regret mounting within him from his shame at this failure. "I have to do more, like the other Knights and Squires."

Vladislaus' expression didn't change, instead turning his eyes from the grey eyed boy to look around the grounds to the others watching on. "You speak of the Squires who under went this training before you?"

Lucian nodded, letting out a gasp as the effort tired him out further.

"You ran a total of thirty-four laps." The older man spoke, as his eyes turned to the grounds themselves and its current condition. "In a field of mud and water meant to trip you and hinder you."

"Only thirty four." Lucian agreed. "Please forgive my weakness Master. I, I wanted to do better. I will do better. I can be just as strong as the others. I can be worthy of my place here."

"Oh?" Vladislaus raised an eyebrow, as if amused by the declaration. "So you think you can be just as good as the other Knights under my command?"

Lucian felt his heart plummet. Feeling the implication in these words. That his weakness had been at such a level that the gap between him and the truly worthy Knights and Squires was simply too great.

"You ran a total of thirty four laps in a field that has never seen any other run even half that number, you are already far better than them already my Squire."

XxxX

265 A.C

It was within the ready tent that Lucian ran a final check over his equipment for the Melee. Surrounded by a throng of fellow competitors from around the Seven Kingdoms and beyond and with the air thick with the cheers and roars of the massive crowd that had come to spectate, Lucian blocked them all out.

Compared to a great number of other participants with their gleaming armor and swords, Lucian was so lightly armored it bordered on non-existent. Leather boots and pants and a simple jerkin that left his arms bare were all that Lucian was wearing to provide any sort of protection from the dangers of the Melee and for all appearances, he had no weapon to speak of.

Already more than a few of the others had sneered at him and voiced their opinions regarding how quickly he was going to be gutted.

He ignored them all. The various Sell-Swords and mercenaries were better armed and prepared for this Melee than the Lords were. With the exception of Lord Baratheon; who could be seen roaring with laughter off to the side and another who bore the sigil of a yellow squid, the highborn participants were all clad in armor that was better suited for a parade than actual combat. Lucian could have sworn he actually saw some moron in armor that was crafted from actual silver.

Dismissing the pointless line of thought, the man returned his attention to his hands, or rather, the ripple patterned black gauntlets that covered them. Flexing his fingers one by one to allow the gauntlets to settle properly into place and rolling his wrist for a final check in order to assure that the connecting joints at the wrist that tied to the forearm brace didn't catch. When everything seemed to be in order he clenched his hands into tight fists and squeezed. A few nearby winced at the sound of screeching metal as his strength tried to deform the Damascus Steel. Re-opening and a quick examination revealed that there was only the most minor of scratches from where the sharpened ridges and tips of the fingers had pressed against the palms.

With a small, satisfied smirk, Lucian pressed his hands against his knees and rose to his feet, forcing those nearest to him who had previously sneered at him to back up and their eyes widen as his true size was revealed.

Lucian's standing had proven to achieve a secondary result when the still laughing Steffon seemed to bound over.

"Blood! Good to see you here my friend!" The young Lord practically shouted as he slapped a hand down heavily on Lucian's shoulder. "I see you are still determined to enter this bout with nought but your fists."

Lucian glanced over Steffon's shoulder to eye the impressive stag headed War-hammer that was strapped to the man's back before shrugging. "Well considering I do not believe you could find a larger hammer, I felt it would be best to limit myself. To give you a fighting chance you understand."

Steffon's eyes widened at the barb before he slapped Lucian's shoulder once more and threw his head back in another roar of laughter. "A fighting chance! Hah! Perhaps Tywin should have made you his fool with such japes about you."

The werewolf found a similar smile growing on his face as he reached out to place a hand, carefully, on Steffon's own shoulder. "Regardless, I think that Lord Lannister will laugh no less when he see's you eating dirt this day."

Another bark of laughter left the mouth of the Lord of Storm's End before a hard glint crossed over Steffon's blue eyes. "I will certainly look for you out there in the field my friend."

Lucian simply replied with a nod as the tent flap was pulled back and a sounding horn went off, announcing that the Melee was upon them.

XxxX

Forty people. Gathered together in a dirt covered field with nothing more than a waist high wooden fence to separate them from the spectators eager for the blood-letting to start.

The Royal box was positioned above all others to provide a completely uninterrupted view of the bout. King Aerys was already leaning forward in anticipation while the Queen appeared to be in a quiet talk with one of her handmaiden's. Seated next to the King was a small child, silver haired and purple eyed like the king and queen giving indication that it could be no-one but the one for which this Tourney was set to honor; Rhaegar Targaryen.

The Tourney Crier had given announcement of the notable contestants, lords and Knights from prominent places within the Seven Kingdoms, Lucian had noted but not cared all that much when his name had been announced. The reactions of many of the other Lords and Knights had distracted them from their surroundings. The idiot lord clad in silver armor had very nearly tripped himself up when he had kicked up a rock under his own feet while making a full turn to take in the cheering of the crowd.

He would be one of the first to be eliminated for sure.

A Hush fell when the King rose to his feet, a wide but pleasant smile on his face as he stretched his arms out to his people.

"This Tourney has been set to celebrate the Name Day of my son; your Crown Prince Rhaegar, but it is this very day that marks his Sixth Name Day." Aerys paused a the crowd erupted into cheers, something that seemed to visibly please him at watching the adoration towards his line. "And what better way to mark my son's continued health than for these brave men to fight for their own. The last man standing will emerge with the sweat and blood of victory and the wealth of twenty thousand gold dragons!"

Another cheer erupted, this time many of the competitors joining in, each dreaming of what they could do with that kind of coin.

"Fight well, fight hard." Aerys commanded. "I, Aerys Targaryen King of the Andals and the First Men command this Melee; BEGIN!"

The field erupted into a collective roar as the combatants all burst into action. The two men to Lucian's immediate right and left both turned to charge him first; no doubt considering him an easy target for the first elimination considering his lack of tangible armor and distinct lack of weaponry.

The man to his right was heavy with plated armor and charging with his arms held high gripping a cumbersome longsword.

The man to Lucian's left appeared to be a Sell-sword and was clad in more functional, battle tested armor. Chain-mail on leather with a plain looking arming sword on one hand and a kite shield in the other.

Lucian turned away from the Sell-sword and stepped into the charge of the Hedge-Knight. The Knight's charge was clumsy and wild. There was no apparent skill with how the man held the sword over his head as Lucian could already tell that the grip was too tight and would allow for nothing but a simple and easily predicted overhead swing.

Three long steps was all it took to meet the Knight's charge and step into his guard. It was too quick for the Knight to swing his sword down; something the charging man seemed to notice from how his eyes widened in surprise from beneath his helm.

When the Hedge-Knight tried to swing his sword down regardless, most likely hoping that it would force the unarmed Lucian to retreat or dodge, the Werewolf instead reached up and wrapped one hand around the two handed grip of the other Knight. Holding tight enough so that the Knight was unable to free himself or even discard his weapon, Lucian reached down and grabbed the bottom of the man's chestplate tightly.

The metal screeched and deformed slightly from the power of his grip as Lucian pivoted on the spot and shifted his attention to the still charging Sell-sword. It was a sight that stole the voices of all witnesses as Lucian picked up and threw the heavily armored knight as if he weighed no more than a sack of straw right into the Sell-sword. The now screaming Knight slammed directly into the lighter armored man with all the force of a charging horse and knocked the Sell-sword clean off his feet and back several feet. Both the impact of the Knight himself and then the both of them hitting the floor was enough to knock out the Sell-sword completely.

The Hedge-Knight, while quite shaken from the unconventional tactic, was able to maintain enough of his senses to struggle to his hands and knees.

The last thing that man saw before he too joined his fellow competitor in blissful unconsciousness was the heel of a very large boot crashing into his face.

Lucian turned away from his first two victims of the day, only faintly noticing that his kick against the armored head of the Knight had left quite the dent against it.

His eyes quickly found his next target, a weaselly looking man with watery eyes in chainmail and steel plate with a chainmail coif covering his head holding a small one handed axe in one hand with a wooden buckler shield bearing a sigil of two blue towers on a field of silvery grey strapped at his forearm.

Whatever confidence this man could have held before had quickly evaporated at the sight of what Lucian had just done to the two men behind him and as Lucian advanced toward him, the quite pathetic looking man stumbled back in fear, raising his shield as if it would ward the smiling wolf away.

Lucian just cocked his fist back and stepped into a punch. His fist impacted dead center of the shield, right between two twin blue towers with such force that the shield shattered; breaking apart like kindling against the devastating force of Lucian's Talon. The weasel-man didn't even have time to cry out in pain as his arm broke from the force of the blow before Lucian's fist continued right into the side of his head; dropping him to the ground.

Twenty seconds in, three men down.

Lucian rolled his shoulders before turning his head away from the latest of his, 'opponents'. Around him many of those remaining were locked in combat with one another. Already he could see a couple more men who had been taken out of the Melee; mostly those who had been clad in either ill-fitted armor or found themselves unfortunate enough to face an opponent of superior skill.

Lucian could both see and hear Steffon from the far side of the field, swinging his Hammer to devastating effect all the while mocking and laughing those that he felled.

Another that caught his eye was a young man in armor of plate and chain-mail with a house sigil of a silver fish on a field of blue and red proudly displayed on his chest swiftly disarming another Knight before backhanding the pommel of his sword against the Knights bared face.

Lucian's attention was brought back to his immediate area when he leaned his upper body back, just as a small hatchet flew by.

That the thrown axe buried itself into the back of an unsuspecting Sell-sword was ignored as the Grey eyed Werewolf turned to fully face his attacker.

Tall, nearing a height of Steffon but still noticeably shorter than Lucian himself. This challenger wore a chain-link shirt worn over a leather gambeson a thick belt wrapped around his waist held four iron hoops; one holding a hatchet similar to the one that had been already thrown at him and two holding a pair of larger, bearded axes.

This man's face was only partially covered by a bowl helm with a nose guard. A full beard braided down to his collar obscured the rest of his face and a badge of a yellow sea monster; a Kraken was affixed to the right side of his chest.

"You're strong for a Greenlander!" The man shouted, reached down and pulling out his two axes to hold them at the ready.

Lucian merely shrugged. Anything he could say in reply to that statement would be nothing more than a boast. Words were of no use here, fists and steel were.

So instead of speaking, Lucian advanced toward the bearded man. He quickly brought up a hand to slap aside an axe swing before stepping into a jab with his right fist. This Greyjoy ducked under Lucian's punch and leaned into a shoulder check. Lucian allowed the blow to connect and let himself be pushed back a step. The momentum of the blow allowed Lucian the force he needed to grab the Greyjoy by the back of his helm and bring his face down to meet his rising knee.

There was a slight crunch as cartilage smashed against the helm's nose guard and the force of the blow send the Greyjoy stumbling backward as his helm was torn from his head.

Despite his disorientated state from taking a knee to the face, the Greyjoy was able to stay coherent enough to throw one of his bearded axes at Lucian.

When the axe impaled into the helm that Lucian had raised to block the weapon's path, the Greyjoy growled in irritation as reached up to his face. Pinching one side of his nose he snorted out a wad of blood before reaching down to withdraw his last hatchet.

Lucian tossed the axe impaled helm over his shoulder. Glancing over the Greyjoy's shoulder, Lucian could see that more and more of the Melee's competitors were falling. The Tully he had spotted earlier was just finishing off a very pompous looking Knight bearing the sigil of a blue falcon; House Arryn.

Steffon, well, he was still bashing his way through a group of unfortunate Hedge-Knights. In a direction that was clearly aimed to bring the Stormlord toward him.

Lucian could not deny the fact that; since Tywin had first introduced the young Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to him, that he had been looking forward to fighting him. He would prefer not to be distracted from that fight.

This Greyjoy was a distraction.

Lucian's feet shifted only minutely in the dirt before he leapt forward into a run. Crossing the gap between the two in a matter of seconds.

When the Ironborn registered the sudden charge he simply narrowed his eyes in focus and stepped into his own attack; swinging out with both of his remaining axes from either side; intended to meet in the middle right at Lucian's unprotected head.

It should have, had Lucian not raised his hands to intercept the swinging blades with his hands; catching them neatly. The bearded man only had time for his eyes to widen and register the impossible sound of metal shattering before he felt all the air in his lungs get forced out and several ribs shatter when Lucian snapped out a heavy kick right into the centre of his chest.

His hands lost their grip with the broken axes and his body was sent flying into the perimeter railing. Wood splintered as he crashed to the ground, not even feeling the shattered barrier falling onto him.

A surprised hush washed over the crowd from the manner in which the Greyjoy lord was quite literally kicked out of the contest, eyes widening and in some cases; coin changing hands.

But Lucian paid no heed to any of that. The moment the Greyjoy had smashed into and through the wooden railing, he had already shifted his focus to his next adversary.

Steffon was still trying to fight his way over to him; the remaining combatants multiple enough to hinder the heavy handed man from advancing too quickly.

The Knight with the Fish crest; the Tully, was his next closest.

The Tully himself appeared ready for Lucian as the Lord of Hearthstone advanced his way. Having already dispatched of his previous opponent and positioned himself squarely with his sword raised in a defensible position.

The stance almost had Lucian slow down in his advance. This was the first man he had seen in this Melee display some actual martial competence. So many other Knights and Sell-swords had behaved more like flailing children, swinging swords like sticks and hiding behind their shields as if they were their mother's skirts.

This man's armor was worn from combat and no longer held the shine and luster that newly forged and polished armor boasted. Lucian's eye could even spot a few areas at the armpits and shins where personal modifications had been made. The sword this Knight was wielding was nothing special, its chipped and scratched surface coupled with the worn and slightly dulled edge made it clear that this was nothing more than a Tourney sword and not the Knight's personal weapon.

A good sign. This gave credence to the idea that before Lucian was a Knight who considered this Melee very akin to a game and thereby not worthy of a sword meant to slay sworn enemies.

Someone worth fighting.

Lucian's eyes glinted with satisfied amusement and his mouth twitched into a matching smile as he raised his arms to hold his hands up in front of him; open palmed and ready for battle.

Unlike the other men that Lucian had thus far 'fought,' he closed the gap to the Knight slowly. Short but rapid steps to close the gap with his hands raised in a read position and eyes keenly watching how this Tully responded to his advance.

There was no fear in the eyes of this Trout. No uncertainty. Only surety in himself as he matched Lucian's actions by advancing.

It was not Lucian who opened things but the Knight of Riverrun. A probing strike to his left came with moderate swiftness and with just enough reach that, if left unchecked could score a surface strike to his unprotected shoulder.

In response Lucian shifted his body, turning so more of his side was facing the Tully he raised his left arm up. A backhanded slap met the testing sword strike, a sharp metallic clang ringing from where dulled Steel met Damascus Steel.

Lucian was already ignoring the deflected strike as he noticed a very subtle shift at Tully's feet and the slightest of shifting from the other man's shoulders.

The deflected sword was flipped around; passing overhead to come down for a right-sided strike. A smart tactic. The initial probing strike had Lucian open the left side of his guard and now another attack was coming in to his right to force him to shift and open that side. Most likely with the ultimate goal of exposing a gap right down the middle for a thrusting strike.

Not a bad opening tactic. Were it not for the fact that Lucian did not need to use his right arm to stop this second, right sided attack.

Moving quick enough to meet the second blow, Lucian snapped his left hand out to catch the end of the sword, wrapping his gauntlet covered hand neatly around the blade.

Before he could truly grab a secure hold of the blade, the Tully quickly retreated a step, pulling his sword free and avoiding the risk of having his weapon snapped in to.

Clearly the Knight had noticed Lucian's earlier feat in shattering the Greyjoy's axe earlier and wished to avoid a similar thing happening to his own blade.

Lucian didn't wait for his opponent to recollect himself and return with another tactic. He stepped forward, maintaining the close proximity between the two and thrust out with his left arm; palm open to try and grab at Tully's sword.

When the Tully saw the grasping thrust he flicked his sword around to the back of Lucian's hand and pushed the blade against the back of his hand, forcing Lucian's grasp to be deflected slightly to the side. Continuing to press forward; the Werewolf forced his armored forearm to meet the Knight's blade. A quick twist of his wrist and Lucian very quickly had his hand wrapped around Tully's sword arm.

A sharp tug brought the surprised Tully forward and off balance. And right into the path of Lucian's clenched right fist.

The Riverrun Knight doubled over Lucian's fist and his eyes bugged out as the power of the blow forced not only the air from his lungs to heave out but spit and bile from his stomach to fly out. His sword slipped from his hands as he collapsed to the ground, curling slightly as he fought to breath in, heaving and gasping to bring air back into his lungs.

Lucian kicked the discarded sword to the side and knelt down to the writhing knight, idly noting out of the corner of his eye an impatiently waiting Baratheon.

"Do you yield?"

The Fish nodded rapidly, wheezing as he started breathing again.

Lucian nodded in reply and rose back to his feet, turning his attention finally to his next and last opponent of this Melee.

It was just the two of them left standing. All thirty-eight of the other combatants had been eliminated and were either leaving under their own power or being bodily dragged out by Tourney Servants and Squires.

"Most impressive my friend!" Steffon boomed as he slammed his Warhammer into the muddied ground. "Ser Brynden Tully has bested many men that have come his way, I am glad to see you not counted amongst them."

Lucian shrugged as he stepped away from the now named Brynden Tully and circled around Steffon.

"And to think that when I saw that you would come with nothing but your fists; I feared I would not be able to face you myself." the Lord of Storms End reached up and pulled free the straps holding his chest piece, stripping it from his body.

Piece by piece, armor and cloth was shed from the young Baratheon until he was clad only in his pants and boots. Even his hammer was tossed to the side to land heavily several feet from the man as he stepped forward, arms stretched out wide.

"When you displayed the strength of your gauntlets to me before I believed that you possessed great strength but little more. I see now that it was skill, not strength, that gave you the courage to come here with nought but hands of iron." Steffon grinned widely, flexing his arms and pumping his fists into the air. "Come then Lucian Blood! Let us test our skill as men do!"

Lucian cocked an eyebrow before nodding in agreement. As far as humans went, Steffon Baratheon was impressive in his size and physical strength. If what he had been able to glimpse out of the corners of his eye as the man had fought earlier, his agility was also notable in spite of that size.

His Wolf Claws, chest piece and cloth padding that had been worn underneath were discarded leaving the two bare chested men to stand against each other.

Steffon barked out a joyous laughter. "Ah my friend! This will be such fun!"

Lucian returned the smile as he brought his fists up into a rough boxing stance, muscles flexing slightly.

"I agree."

XxxX

Tywin held out his cup for a nearby servant to fill as he leaned back in his seat. The Lannister box was prominently placed to watch over the Melee very nearly as good as the Royal Box several feet away which meant that the Lord of Casterly Rock did not have to fight for a view of the proceedings.

He had displayed himself as he had intended in the Archery contest not two days ago. He had won, naturally, and felt that the skill he had displayed with a bow as well as the casual ease in which he had proven his superiority had done its purpose in reminding those watching of the competence and skill of the young Warden of the West.

The five thousand Dragons that he had won from that contest had already been 'invested' to Aerys' Master of Coin in a wager for the victor of the Melee.

"I must say dear brother, I am surprised you would engage in such indulgences as gambling."

Waving away the cup bearer and sparing the briefest of glances into his cup before turning to the woman seated to his right.

"And you would be right to be surprised." The man replied. "I find gambling on probabilities and possibilities to be wasteful risks."

Genna Lannister raised an elegant eyebrow. Young and beautiful, the younger sister of the Lord of Casterly Rock possessed the same golden locks as was known for the Lions of the West that framed her face in graceful curls. With curves that could turn the eye of a eunuch in a dress of red and gold silk that could barely contain her sizeable chest, she was truly the Gem of the Westerlands.

"Then how would you explain placing your winnings on this new bannerman of yours Tywin?"

Tywin afforded his younger sister the smallest of smiles as he held out his wine cup to the Melee ring as the forty men who had signed up to participate entered. "Sell-swords from across the Kingdoms and even as far as Essos, Knights who care more about the polish of their armor than its fit."

"Flowery and foolish they may be, that does not discount the training and quality of their arms." Genna argued as her eyes found the new lord of Castamere, no, Hearthstone. "This Lord Blood of yours has an impressive stature, but he does not even carry a sword."

"And yet, he is better armed than he was when he butchered the dogs that saw fit to assail my dear Joanna." Tywin remarked as he took a sip of his wine. "Nor did he wield a sword when he put Ser Bracken to death during the Kingsguard's Trial by Combat."

Genna looked from the imposing man in the Melee ring over to her brother, green eyes widened in surprise. "That actually happened? I believed it to be nothing more than the wild imaginations of the smallfolk."

There was a collective roar from both the crowd and the Melee itself as the King initiated the event and Genna found herself further speechless when she bore witness to this new lord picked up a Knight; Ser Moryn Tyrell of the Reach if memory served, and bodily threw the man at an unfortunate Sell-sword with all the ease she herself would have in plucking a flower.

When Lord Blood found his next victim in the form of Ser Aenys Frey; the younger brother of her own husband Emmon Frey, she let out a very unladylike snort of amusement when she saw the wretched Frey dropped like a sack of potatoes when Lord Blood punched not only through his shield but into his stomach.

She heard a faint gasp of surprise from behind her, where Tywin had afforded her pathetic husband the 'privilege' of sitting. Hearing his displeasure at seeing his brother brought down so brutally had Genna feeling no small measure of pleasure as she took a sip of her wine, noticing that Tywin himself also seemed to smirk from a similar feeling.

"You see, dear sister." Tywin smiled from behind the shelter of his cup. "I am not one for gambling."

It was as if she were watching a cat play with mice that had found themselves trapped with nowhere to run.

The Lord of the Iron Isles Quellon Greyjoy was summarily ejected from the ring after having one of his axes shattered into pieces from the raw power of Lord Blood's own hands.

Ser Brynden Tully; a Knight of some renown for his part in the War of the Ninepenny Kings fared somewhat better. His display against other Knights and Sell-swords had made clear his skill and experience with a sword which had been something that Genna noticed that the Lord Blood seemed to regard with some small measure of respect in that Ser Brynden was not simply rushed and destroyed like the others that had found themselves facing the giant beast of a man. And when the Knight of the Riverlands was bested, he was presented the opportunity to yield with some honor intact.

When she saw Tywin lean forward in his seat, hands empty of his cup and eyes focused with some intensity as the final two; Lucian Blood and Steffon Baratheon faced one another, Genna had some idea as to the significance of this final bout.

It seemed like nothing more than the arrogance of youth when the Baratheon started stripping himself bare of his armor. Those curious gauntlets that Lord Blood was wearing would make short work of his opponents unprotected chest.

What she did not expect however, was for Lord Blood to mimic the man's actions.

Genna was not an overly critical woman. Her appreciation for the male form was not as limited as others in their lust for hard, muscled bodies. It was the reason why seeing Steffon Baratheon bare chested with all of his massive muscles on display did nothing to stir her.

Lucian Blood's body however, while thinner than the wider Baratheon, was no less toned and muscled. Lean and sculpted as if from stone, Genna did find herself having to wet her lips when she felt her mouth go dry.

"Do try to keep yourself together Sister."

Genna flinched back to reality and looked over to Tywin who was glancing over her way with an amused glint in his eye.

Swallowing and taking a moment to regain her calm she shot her brother a warning look. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean Tywin. I am a married woman after all."

Tywin nodded only slightly as his gaze briefly crossed over to a pale skinned Emmon Frey. "For now."

A loud roar drew the siblings from their banter and back to the Melee field to see a fierce looking Steffon charge at Lord Blood.

It was surprising, how fast the Lord of Storms End was on his feet as he crossed the gap between the two in a matter of moments and Genna could not help but gasp and cover her mouth with her hands as a devastating blow slammed into the side of Lord Blood's face, knocking the man back a step.

When the Baratheon continued forward to press his advantage he found himself knocked back a step when he took a blow to the face in very similar a manner.

For all the power of the blow that Lord Blood had taken, only a tiny trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth from where he seemed to have bitten his tongue.

What followed was very similar to how Genna had always imagined a tavern brawl to be. While impressive to note that Steffon Baratheon seemed sturdy enough to take blows from Lord Blood that could and actually had felled lesser men, what both Lannister siblings took primary notice of, was the fact that for all appearances, Steffon's full might didn't even seem to bother the Lord of Hearthstone at all.

It was the single longest individual bout of the entire Melee as the two traded blows. Steffon had a busted lip and bruises littering his chest, face and arms from where he had been struck while Lucian Blood had only slightly reddened skin, as if he was being merely slapped.

So entranced by this display of strength and endurance was Genna that when Lord Blood delivered a swift uppercut that actually removed Steffon from the ground; she jumped up and joined in with the enraptured roar.

It took Steffon a moment longer to find his feet from that blow, staggering to his feet and from the way he was stumbling, very dazed. When he was able to steady himself he rubbed at his jaw he broke into a roaring laughter.

"I cannot best you my friend!" Steffon roared loudly, amusement and a clear lack of resentment in his voice.

"I yield to you. Lucian Blood; The Iron-hand!"

XxxXxxXxxX

A/N

Alrighty then! It has been sooooooooooo long since we have been able to update. The best we can do is apologise to people who have been waiting for updates. Unfortunately for us, COVID, while presenting with lots of free time, had the regretful effect of shutting down the public library where we are able to sit down and write.

We tried to find other places to get together to write, even used programs to link our two computers, but we found too many distractions and could not focus on a story well enough to provide anything worthy of posting.

But Library is open again so we should be able to resume posting some stuff. Not sure if we will be resuming the schedule as was listed before, but we will work something out.

Especially for all those who have been salivating for updates in Zero Chakra Plan. Sorry guys.

Now, in regards to this latest chapter. Let it be known that neither of us are very well versed in fighting. What had been written here in regards to the Melee was out best attempt. So if there is issue to be taken. Well, sorry but too bad. We can't really do better in something we have no real understanding of.

Just like how we have explained with Blacksmithing, we don't know it, but we try out best to make it seem as legit and/or realistic as we can manage.

Hope this was worth the obscene wait and is enjoyed.

Cheers.