Chapter Seventy-Two

…

Tourney Grounds King's Landing

King's Landing has always run with three things; Intrigue, Gossip and Murder. It is practically the lifeblood of the Lords and Ladies of the Realm. The Smallfolk's struggle might be for little things like putting food on their bellies, but for the Lords of Westeros, it is the former which on their lives revolve in. The infamous Game of Thrones, a never ending wheel that crushes those whom are unlucky enough to end up below it.

Those at the top are given the highest of glories but one way or another, nothing lasts and even those at the highest tend to get crushed by the full weight of time and ambition. Not even the almighty Targaryen Dynasty survived the wheel, not for all their might and their dragons. The moment they entered the game, their doom is sealed as their last legacy was crushed under the full weight of the Stag's hammer. No one is above the wheel. The only question is, how long can one maintain his position at the top before the inevitable happens?

That is what Robert is thinking right now as he sits almost like a rubber puppet on his ornate wooden chair studded with gold and Delianite. He has never felt so helpless and crushed at the moment as once more everything seems to implode around him.

His idea about making Myrcella Queen after him seems like a brilliant idea at the time. Who would not think so? For the first time since Mad Aerys plops his crazed behind on the Iron Throne, finally someone who is capable and worthy enough to sit on the damned thing appears. Now his rather ambitious son is going against his eldest daughter with archaic laws from the damned Dragons to regain his crown. Worse, he has with his side the biggest and probably the most ferocious fighter of the land with him at his side as a champion for his Challenge.

Currently said ferocious fighter is down below in full blown armor happily swinging his longsword against hapless Smallfolk "rioters" captured by the Goldcloaks beforehand during the riot. Nineteen dead bodies are now lying disemboweled one way or another down below much to the cheering of the observing lords and his smug son who is already preening as if he has won the Challenge he sets already. The damned beast of a man despite cutting in half his latest victim doesn't even look winded from all the murdering that he is doing.

There is only one man who can muzzle and stop Clegane in his tracks. Normally Robert would be already calling his ass to deal with the rather errant crazy knight. Unfortunately said man had already made a permanent non-return trip to The Stranger leaving everyone in a pickle. Robert

That is another reason of Robert's rather big case of issues currently. Other than of course the rather misbegotten Challenge of his son, the Death of Tywin Lannister is another thing. For years the balance of Power in Westeros had been kept steady due to the power and influence of the Old Lion. Now with the Old Lion dead, the shift of power would move again. The question is who would be the new players that would step in to fill the vacuum caused by the Old Lion's passing. With Cersei as queen deceased and Old Tywin also unable to shit gold anymore, House Lannister is currently in turbulent waters.

Robert of course has not been idle. He cannot change the fate of House Lannister and that of Tywin but he can try to stop and overrule his son about his misbegotten Challenge to his sister about the Crown. For some reason however Robert fails to find Joffrey and instead of putting in even more of an effort, Robert as his style when depressed requested a whore from Chattaya's brothel to fuck him silly.

Now here he is, father to two children about to fight for his crown and king to a kingdom that is highly unstable. He stares at his friend at his side. He almost pities the ragged looking Lord of the North. The dour face of Stark seems even more withdrawn than usual and Robert cannot blame him. Tides of change are hammering on the Seven Kingdoms and as a Hand, it is his job to help the King clean it up. This tourney was supposed be a welcome to his friend for his position. Apparently it seems that instead it was not living up to Robert's intended purpose on making King's Landing welcome for his frigid friend. Robert would bet his warhammer that if he opens up poor Ned's brain and examine his thoughts, he would be seeing his friend's deep seated desire on wanting to go home back North.

The sound of trumpets rising from the other side of the field brings Robert out of his morose thoughts as he turns to see the retinue of Rivendell with Black Guards and Death Dealers accompanied by members of the Silver Order being led of course by no one else but its famous lady, and beside her…

"Myrcella," Robert mutters beneath his breathe as he sees his daughter. Instead of the familiar summer gold and yellow dresses that Myrcella prefers, she is right now instead wearing armor, A full metal plate of gold beaten and molded to fit her lither form. Two lions clawing each other adorn the chest piece with a stag emblem on the right shoulder pauldron. Her usually straight blonde hair is tied to a braid behind her showing her entire face only with a thin layer of makeup. There is no smile on her face as her eyes angle to meet that of her brother.

She looks every bit of the warrior and if not for the stakes, Robert might have been beaming with pride. Instead it is a grim countenance as the warriors of Rivendell pause while Delianah alongside Myrcella walks forward to meet with Ser Barristan who was put in charge of the Challenge of Kings, as the people are already calling it.

"Ser Barristan, I am here with Princess Myrcella, the Rightful Heir of the Seven Kingdoms in answer to the Challenge of that overgrown fop behind you. Let it be recorded in the annals that she is present in this moment,"

"I concur my lady. And as per the Challenge, it is a duel to the death. Does the Princess Myrcella have a champion representing her?" asks Ser Barristan.

"She does, the Second Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell would be representing her. Though he prefers to be named in this challenge right now by his title, The Mandalorian,"

"Very well, so be it. My lord, my lady, please step forward with your champions!" booms Ser Barristan before turning to Lady Delianah. "My lady, if you will,"

"I understand Ser Barristan," bows Lady Delianah before she places a hand on Myrcella's shoulder.

Robert just watches as the stressed look of Myrcella seems to soften under the gaze of the Lady of Rivendell. Not for the last time, Robert thanks his lucky stars that he has the common sense of putting his daughter under the care of the brave Lady of the Riverlands. Now as Delianah exits the field, the two pairs stride forward, Joffrey almost miniscule in his confident swagger amidst robes of red with lion designs with the monster of a man while Myrcella walks forward with her weird armored champion which is supposed to be the Second Prince of Dorne.

"Ladies and Gentlemen today we witness the Challenge set by Joffrey Baratheon to his sister, Crown Princess Myrcella Baratheon to be the heir of the Iron Throne. Both are represented by Champions. Fighting for the honor and pride of Prince Joffrey is Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain-,"

"RAAAAAGHHH!" the giant of a man roars making the hairs of Robert's butt stand up in alarm. The man is as confident as he is loud while swinging that overlarge sword like a little toy.

"Princess Myrcella would be championed by the Second Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, also known as The Mandalorian?" he finishes questioningly as he stares at the smooth unadorned helmeted man whose only sound is that of a deep breathing through his helmet.

" The winner of the Challenge would be labeled as the true heir or heiress of the Iron Throne, while the one who lost will forfeit his life alongside his or her Champion. Before the Challenge starts will both want to say a few last words?" asks Barristan turning to the two.

"Yes, I do," Joffrey walks forward in a confident swagger. "My sister is a throne stealing whore. I'm pretty sure that she manages to convince the ones supporting her to help her take my birthright from me by sleeping around. Today we will see that mistake corrected. Have no fear my lords and ladies. I do not plan to chop her head off even in victory, nay. Traitors who sleep around for power deserves a far more severe punishment, maybe a banishment to The Wall under the tender mercies of the brave and loyal men of the Night's Watch will do. She can open her legs for them there all day and night," with a flourish he bows before walking back beside Ser Barristan who is trying and failing to hide his face of disgust.

Robert on the moment is trying to disappear into the cushions he is sitting at. He really made a big mistake raising that boy. Even poor old Gendry, his oldest bastard is not as bad at the swashbuckling moron that is his trueborn son right now. Around he can see the rest of the Lords and Ladies nodding to the words of the prince. Inside Robert winces. He knows of course how patriarchal Westeros is. He has hoped however that Myrcella's suitability of being capable and her deeds would be enough to sway the age long stigma of the Westerosi Lords and Ladies.

"Good speech! Good speech!" the armor clad form of his daughter claps as she steps forward looking in mock cordiality to her younger brother. "I have no desire however to bandy useless words with you Prince Joffrey. For you are not worthy my time. I have however something brief and short to say to the Lords and Ladies of Westeros who have come here today!" she half shouts confidently as she turns to the assembled crowd with confidence.

"My brother has come down from whatever dream land that he is living to challenge me for the throne! I say I accept. Let this argument about who earns my father's place once and for all be ended in the ancient way. By bloodshed! Do the gods make known their will! Today let it be finished!" and with that powerful ending she strides off marching to the end of the field as the two champions now walk towards one another.

…

Point of View of The Mandalorian

Oberyn Martell, for it is Oberyn Martell beneath the armor and the bodysuit of drab black and grey inhales and exhales through his helmet as the monster that murdered his nephew, his niece and his sister walks towards him. Once more the burning fiery heart of his Rhoynish blood burns like Wildfire inside his chest. He compresses it though, turning the inferno in his chest to cold resolve as he approaches closer and closer to his enemy.

Once in another life, Oberyn might have been cocky. The Red Viper of Dorne is hailed as one of the greatest warriors in Westeros in this generation of theirs. For good reason to; he has survived the slave fighting pits of Essos, making a name for himself there. He has learned from the best gladiators not only to fight to twin, but to fight and showboat about it at the same time. What's the point of being the best after all if you can't even revel on it?

Everything changed when he got his ass captured by the Black Guard of Osgiliath.

It was supposed to be a secret infiltration for Oberyn, one that he did many a time to rival Magister manses at Essos. His brother had little to none knowledge about it. He had after all prohibited Oberyn from finding out the identity of that young girl that eerily looked a lot like his deceased sister. Thus after arriving in Dorne, Oberyn went off to one of his daily "tours" that his brother was used for him to do. This time however Oberyn did not bring anyone with him but himself and a few dozen sellswords with non-Dornish descent. People might call him rash, but he was not at all stupid. Dorne had bad blood with Rivendell due to his actions and the last thing he wanted was to deepen that divide even more. Thus with his plan ready and his target made up in his mind, he sailed North from Dorne.

Long story short, Oberyn was apprehended even before he can fart the moment his small retinue arrived at Osgiliath. The sell-swords were filled with quarrel bolts and Oberyn was imprisoned.

He expected that he be left in the dungeon to rot before judged and brought back to his brother. He was a high lord after all his head cannot be chopped off without a trial at King's landing. Instead he was treated humanely, devoid of torture and interrogations. He was given exotic food and drink he had never seen before in his entire life.

Most importantly he was given a chance, a chance to fight avenge his sister by his own hands.

Oberyn trusts and believes Doran. However he does not possess the inhuman patience that his brother has. Oh he knows Doran will make true his word of bringing justice to their family. The Red Vipe of Dorne might be the snake that everyone is wary of, but they cannot be any more wrong. The deadliest of snakes is not the one that is being put on display but the one hiding in the bushes ready to strike at the tiniest chinks of the armor.

Oberyn however wants the feeling of that monster's blood on his hands, and finally be at peace. He cannot remember much of that time, only a madness of determination that seems to course through his very own blood and soul. He trained with the Black Guard night and day, tempering the fire within his self with the cold icy ruthless persona of the men and women of Rivendell's armed branch. He donned the rather lackluster, simple helmet given to him by the Watcher of Osgiliath and joined the Bounty Hunting Guild of Rivendell as The Mandalorian. He coursed the land hunting down and fighting off the meanest, baddest and the most sadistic of the land, honing his skiills again and again till his focus and self-control is as hardened as the spear of pure steel he is holding. Every wound, every hurt he got was a lesson. Every fight was a step forward to his final goal. Now here he is, at the end of the road which he made for himself and the promise of the Watcher of Osgiliath, Lord Draco coming into fulfillment. A chance, just one chance where he would be able to put his spear on the skull of the one who murdered and raped his sister.

"Fighters!" begins Ser Barristan as the two stands facing each other. "This is an honorable battle before the gods. There would be no cheating for it would be a fight to the death! Let it be said that-,"

"RAAGGGGH!" the giant bear of a man roars and without warning slashes his massive longsword as easily as a man would wield a tourney sword, and just as fast.

The old Oberyn might have been bisected in an instant with his choice of fighting attire being his lightweight apparel of Dorne which offers zero protection against powerful swings of enemies like The Mountain. The new Oberyn however is another story. The pieces of his armor is not made of steel although it looks like one. The smiths of Osgiliath will not tell him what it is, only it is very durable and hard.

Right now however it is saving his life.

The longsword connects at his back fully and instead of being split in two, Oberyn just stumbles forward despite his breathe literally knocked off his body. Instinct makes him raise both greaves in a defensive manner in front stopping the Mountain's follow up blow from the front this time heading to his chest. The impact rattles Oberyn's teeth and it forces him to backpedal to avoid breaking his bones. If not for the wonder steel that make up his greaves, he might have been armless already. As it is Oberyn backsteps one at a time as the Mountain in a fit of rage keeps on swinging and roaring at the same time. It is all Oberyn could do to prevent himself getting killed by blocking the sword swings aimed at his unarmored parts by the greaves. He is not even given the chance to pull the spear strapped at his back as he blocks left and right, each strike making him backpedal on the arena, making sure that he keeps his footing. One wrong step that would lead to him falling would be the absolute end of him.

Of course everything is not a hundred percent solid in Oberyn's defense. Twice the longsword of The Mountain goes past his guard and impacted on his domed helmet making the Prince of Dorne go cross-eyed. It takes all his concentration not to clutch his dome in pain else an opening on his defense appears.

No matter how strong or fit The Mountain however is. He cannot obviously go on swinging non-stop without halting. One way or another he must take a breather. It does not help that the sword he is wielding is a heavy two-handed longsword. Despite wielding it easily like a tourney sword, it must be taxing his strength used so continuously. The fact that no man in Westeros even dares fight against him and the giant behemoth is rather…..lacking when it comes to the endurance department.

The swings becomes wild, more like a sledgehammer instead of the deadly accuracy a sword might be. Compared to the Mountain, the Mandalorian has prepared himself for this day mentally and physically. The rather sudden change of the Mountain's behavior is something that Oberyn takes advantage of. With a feint block that he acts out by falling unto his knees, he goads the Mountain to commit a full downward stroke with all his weight which Oberyn promptly rolls over making the Mountain unbalanced as he stumbles forward. Oberyn seizes the opportunity to grab the spear of steel at his back and with a flourish draws it against his opponent who snarls against him as he also goes into a ready position, the longsword being held in one hand at the side.

"You are a dead man!" the Mountain growls before marching forward.

This time Oberyn is on the offensive as he lunges forward with the spear. The weapon is made of pure steel of the same alloy as his armor and Oberyn has become used to it already due to his extended usage of it during his training for this fight.

The Mountain is forced to side step and parry the thrust by swining his sword double-handed on it. The contact makes sparks fly all over. Roaring , the Mountain uses his larger bulk to press his advantage towards Oberyn. This of course once more forces the Prince of Dorne to be on the defensive as he presses his elbow at the back of the steel spear to stop the sideward slash of Clegane in its tracks. Breaking the deadlock, he immediately aims at Clegane's neck with his own counter which the giant of a man blocks.

Forcing it for a second or two in a duel of strength, Oberyn lets it stay that way for a bit before breaking the challenge of strength. Clegane slashes from below and heading up which the spear mets with a block. This time however, the all powerful strikes of the Mountain are not as effective as the long spear reach counters is the perfect defense against the heavy-handed style of Clegane. Like a bamboo dancing against the storm, Oberyn twirls and whirls the steel weapon expertly tiring the large knight one counter at a time.

Everyone watches in baited breathe as the two dances against each other, one trying to rip out its prey in half, the other backing around or parrying in perfectly skilled counters. It seems an even fight.

At least until the exhaustion of the Mountain finally catches up to him.

Knights are not meant to fight in long durations on foot. Especially in a hot morning like today. With a combination of full body armor and metal plates, everything inside the cocoon of steel must be boiling already. It is too much for any man, even for monstrous ones like Clegane.

The next deadlock between the sword and the spear catches everyone off guard as the Prince of Dorne finally ceases giving ground. As surprised as them, the Mountain that Rides this time takes the initiative to break the deadlock by cutting downward to the unarmored knees of Oberyn, the attack however is sloppy and everyone can see it. Oberyn himself just drops the end of his spear to stop the blade from connecting with a small clang as the weary knight starts a deadlock once more.

Oberyn however has no plans on indulging him. Going with his namesake, he strikes this time. It starts with a kick on the knees of the Mountain who grunts as the metal plates bite deep down hard where the metal joints conjoin. With a backward kick, Oberyn connects his foot with the spear making it go a complete three sixty from the back aimed at the Mountain's head. If not for his reflexes, he might have been brained. Instead he blocks frantically starting to back away. This time Oberyn advances as he twirls to the side and smacks the spear at the Mountain with his entire body weight with it. The knight's armor rings like a bell as it connects on its chest making him back away at least ten paces.

With an angry roar, Clegane romps forward despite his weariness at Oberyn who thrusts forward with the spear. As he expects, the Mountain parries it stopping in his tracks. Frustrated and pissed off. He makes once more a downward stroke which Oberyn blocks once more but this time using his gauntlet as leverage to prevent being forced back. Annoyed at being prevented on reaching his prey, the Mountain breaks the deadlock and attempted the same attack in an effort to get past the Dornish Prince's guard. Tired and still recovering from his last desperate move, the downward strike is not as strong and Oberyn just raises his left gauntlet to block it with a steel ringing steel meeting.

Now stuck in a deadlock, Oberyn notices the golden opportunity. With his right holding the spear still, he stabs it forward like a knife aimed at Clegane's throat. The knight however catches the haft just in time stopping the downward stroke though he bleeds from where he catches it. Oberyn is not done though. Now letting his outer fire rage, he pushes forward making the Mountain backpedal to prevent the spear sliding from his glove to his throat. Oberyn is not letting him dictate the pace though. With a mighty Spartan kick at the plate on the jewels, the Mountain screeches as the armor bit within as he stumbles backward letting go of Oberyn's spear. Now holding the spear two-handed, Oberyn darts forward with his spear making the giant man panic as he tries to parry one-handed with his sword while his free hand still clutches his crotch. He is able to block it but clumsily with a lousy hold on his sword. Twirling the spear, Oberyn hooks the longsword's pommel on it before pulling it away from the now downed Clegane on the ground sending it clattering on the ground somewhere at the back. With a smack, Oberyn makes the giant murderer fall flat on his back looking up at him and the pointy edge of his spear centimeters away from his throat.

In another time, in another universe Oberyn would have forced the man to confess and delay killing him resulting in his own death. This Oberyn however is cold, calm and burning with a raging fire honed like a knife.

"You killed my sister, you raped her, you murdered her children!" he hissed through his helmet.

The Mountain that Rides tries to say something but Oberyn doesn't give him the chance as he pushes the spear forward on the man's throat pinning him to the ground. Oberyn doesn't let go till the last of his gargles finally stops and blood begins to pool.

Oberyn just stares at the now corpse of the murderer of his sister before pulling the spear out and turning to the silent crowd who witnesses a man taking down the Beast of the West. Knowing that he is debt to the Ladies of Rivendell for this opportunity, Oberyn drops to one knee facing Myrcella and beside her, the Lady Delianah Tully.

"The Challenge is finished. All hail the victor, chosen by the gods who gave me strength. Princess Myrcella of House Baratheon, long may she reign!"

…..

Author's Note:

Wew. This chapter is tiring to write but its 4400 words soo yah. A bit longer than what I usually write. Anyway hope ya like this chapter. For those who have been waiting for Dorne to step up. This is it. Hehehe

PS: For those who still fail to realize. Pedro Pascal plays the Mandalorian and Oberyn Martell also. You can see him as the Mandalorian also using a spear at Season 2 of the show.

PPS: Hope ya like the fight scene. I put a lot of effort on it and how to prevent Oberyn from getting his head bashed off like in the show.