(Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire nor its characters. Those all belong to George R. R. Martin, aside from my OC.)
(Firmridge, the Riverlands)
Some of the very best warriors within the realm were participating in the melee, eager to showcase their skills and win honor for themselves.
Sat atop their mounts, they all eyed each other warily, assessing their opponents for any sign of weakness, while their squires made sure everything was in order before returning to their place.
Cheering for them were crowds of smallfolk and the various young nobles present.
"My Lords and Ladies. Men and Women of Westeros" at the Herald's announcement all went silent. "On behalf of His Majesty. I welcome you all to today's event the melee. In front of you stand a hundred men who seek to prove their skill and might for all to see."
"A hundred men who will fight for the right to be champion of the realm. With it an opportunity to join the royal guard and a tantalizing prize of 30,000 golden crowns."
"Lorimas Iron Mudd, Bronze Yohn Royce, Ser Lyle Crakehall the Strongboar, and Lord Desmond Sharpclaw Osgrey are just a few of the notable warriors that we will witness on this fine day." the herald said whipping up the crowd as some of those mentioned waved.
"We cannot forget Prince Oberyn Martell, Ser Tygett Lannister, Lord Jason Mallister, Thoros of Myr, and the infamous Ser Sandor Clegane who are bound to make this an exciting battle."
As the herald did his best to whip up the crowd, the participants made their way to the arena, waving to the crowds and proudly presenting their favors if they had one.
Once they made it in front of the King and the Royal Family, the warriors and herald bowed their heads respectfully, awaiting his command.
Erlend for his part motioned for them to rise and for the herald to continue.
"The rules are as follows. Any who yield must be allowed to leave, their armor to be ransomed by their opponent. The last two competitors are expected to follow the dueling rules and any foul play will have you disqualified and disgraced on the spot. Whoever remains standing last will be declared the victor." the herald explained, "May the best man win and let the melee commence."
As the herald made his exit, the crowds roared in excitement for what was to come.
…
Sandor glared at anyone who looked at him, his presence in this damned tourney was more out of necessity than any desire for glory. That cunt had left their house nearly penniless and those 30,000 golden crowns would greatly alleviate his situation.
Readying himself for the bloodbath to come. The horses began to fidget as they sensed the tension in the air while the crowd excitedly cheered their favorites on. Sandor kept his hands firmly on the reigns of steed, it would not do to have an accident, not when he was free of that blasted monster that shared his blood.
…
Once the melee commenced, all the participants swiftly drew their blades. Three particular blades stood out to the crowds, Longclaw wielded by Lord Jorah Mormont, the fiery green blade wielded by the red priest Thoros of Myr, and Ardent wielded by Lorimas Mudd.
Each was unique in its way and each with an advantage that made their opponent leery of facing them.
On the field, Bronze Yohn and Lorimas teamed up and faced off against Ser Lyle Crakehall and Ser Sandor Clegane.
…
Sandor made swift work of those stupid enough to rush him, a Riverlander knight had been the first to fall to him and a few Northmen fell with him soon after. He couldn't tell their arms or cared enough to check outside of the gold it would give.
"FACE ME CLEGANE!" one of the runts shouted. Oh joy, a glory hound.
Sandor ignored the boy's words, swinging his sword heavily down at the green boy who likely expected some words in return.
The boy was quick he'd give him that, moving to parry his attack.
However, he failed to do so in time, as his blow caught him on the shoulder before he could react. The blow almost sent him reeling back, and refusing to give the idiot any more time, Sandor raised his blade again and knocked the dumb shit off his horse.
Disoriented, the fool could do nothing as the sword was placed at his neck, forcing him to yield to the grizzled warrior.
"The shitstain had some good quality armor, that'll make for a decent sum," Sandor grumbled.
The Reachmen and Stormlanders seemed more interested in trying to cut each other down than paying any attention to the other participants, something he was content with ignoring.
Let the fools whittle away at their numbers.
He hadn't expected to team up with Crakehall of all people, but at least he would be useful in keeping Mudd away from him.
Sandor wasn't stupid enough to tangle castle-forged steel with whatever the fuck Ardent seemed to be made off.
Rumors had spread about the blade, sister-blade to Dawn some called it, a load of nonsense but not ones he was willing to check.
His focus stopped at the old man who would be his opponent.
…
Yohn shook his head in mild exasperation at his friend's booming laughter and roars of approval as the Strongboar gave him a good fight.
This was something the old friends greatly enjoyed, there was nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping and the memories jogging.
Clegane was certainly giving him a good fight, say what you will about the man's personality, but he did not lack in skills.
Nothing like his brother this one, that brute relied on immense strength and reach to beat down his opponents.
Both brothers were dangerous in their rights, at least this one wasn't likely to murder him on the spot for any perceived slight.
"Quite the knight aren't you Clegane."
The man snorted in response, his face serious while his eyes bore holes into his skull.
Not a fan of Knights… should've known. Though there was some irony there, considering his status as a landed knight.
Shaking his head, they both continued their fight, neither giving an inch to the other as they both tried to win. This would not be an easy win for either of the two warriors.
…
Edmund was engrossed by the sight in front of him, it wasn't every day one got to see such a sight.
"When can I participate Dad?" he asked.
"You're far too young for any of that, Eddy." his father responded.
"Am not." Only to receive a kick on his shin from Dany before he could start.
"The heck was that for!"
"For being an idiot." She said, turning her attention back to his father.
Edmund did the mature thing and stuck his tongue rudely before looking back towards the melee.
He and the crowd cheered when Grampa Lorimas beat Strongboar and forced him to yield.
The man dared to smirk at Yohn, choosing to stand guard for his friend and Clegane as they fought. A few of the younger participants had attempted to catch the two fighters unaware, though Gramps made quick work of them.
The two blades moved almost all too fast for him to see, the ferocity they showed and the way they somehow managed to react to each other was quite the sight. Neither side gave an inch as more combatants were eliminated around them.
Edmund swore he'd one day fight just as well, if not better than the two.
…
Sandor grinned inwardly as he felt the old man's strikes beginning to wane, the bronze lord was tiring.
Sandor swiftly made to strike on his left, with the man managing to block it in time, though visibly grimacing in pain. Pressing his advantage, he made to strike on his opponent's left again.
The Lord made to side-step the hound's next attack, only for him to be met with the man's blade again. A constant flurry of attacks followed before a well-timed move managed to disarm the bronze warrior.
With a blade to his neck, Yohn yielded the battle, having no other choice. "You win Clegane, the day is yours."
A gruff 'Yes' was all he was getting from the hound who quickly made his way to his next opponent.
Lorimas had moved to find his next opponent once his friend was disarmed. He'd get to the hound, eventually…