"My lord, you cannot truly be agreeing to this?" Elia asked, fear gripping her heart in a way it hadn't since she had first been taken by the man's soldiers.
"As much as I find those men's posturing pointless and irritating, your people, nor most of the others, will allow for it to simply be dismissed as the nonsense that it is. As such, an example must be made."
Elia's heart stopped.
"An e-example?" She stammered, fists clenching.
"Indeed."
Turning from the two royals Kurt instead focused his attention on his spartans.
"Shane, go back to the camp and send word. Bring in a full set of SPI. I want it ready for deployment at 0500 tomorrow morning."
"SPI sir?" Asked Shane. "Not the modified local armour."
"No. It seems a message needs to be sent, and Mjolnir is too logistically challenging to move, assemble and disassemble on the fly. SPI will have the same effect, but there will be less hassle with transportation."
"Yes Sir."
With that, Shane marched out of the chambers that Kurt had been provided. Technically they were the chambers of Rhaella and Elia, who had been set up together by Kurt's decree, but these chambers were also connected to his, allowing him to keep an eye on his 'companions'.
"My lord, my children?" Elia asked, all but shaking.
Turning his attention back to the Dornish woman, Kurt saw the tremors shaking her body, the acute symptoms of a panic attack. In that moment, Kurt realised just what his discussion might have sounded like to the woman.
Putting on what he thought was his most comforting smile, the same one he used on his spartans when they were young and needed guidance, he stepped in front of her and led her to her bed. Pushing on her shoulders slightly, he got her to sit on the edge of the bed and left to get a chair. Setting it down and sitting in front of Elia.
"Lady- Elia. Elia I need you to listen."
Elia only began to breath more heavily, her shoulders shaking. Rhaella watched from the side, coming to sit next to her good-daughter and try and help her.
"Elia, lovely, please, listen and come back, come back to me lovely."
Elia. I need you to do something for me, do you understand?" Kurt asked. "I need you to tell me something, do you understand? Nod if you do."
Slowly, Elia nodded her head, still shaking.
"Please Elia, can you please tell me five things that you can see here?" Kurt asked.
The young woman's eyes flickered to his, looking confused.
"Come on now, just five things. Tell me out loud five things that you can see."
The woman's eyes flickered around the room, trying to lock on to anything.
"A…a chair."
"Good, now another."
"A t-table, a cup, the carpet a-and the curtains."
"Wonderful Elia. Now, tell me four things that you can feel, four that you are touching."
"Y-you, Rhaella's hand, the bed… and… the floor?"
"Good. This time just tell me about three things you can hear."
"You voice." Elia's voice didn't tremble as much as it once had. Rhaella continued to stoke her good-daughter's back.
"The wind, seagulls."
"Two things that you can smell Elia. Come on, you are doing so very well."
"Wine… and shit." Kurt tried to offer a smile of good humour.
"Very good, now just one more. Tell me something you can taste, just one."
"I… I can taste blood."
Elia breathed deeply, running her tongue over her teeth, finding the cut in her cheek that was leaking the strange taste of blood into her mouth.
"Good. Are you feeling better, Elia.?"
The Dornishwoman nodded slowly, still getting her breathing under control.
"Y-yes. Much better. Thank you, my lord."
"Think nothing of it my lady." He said, standing and retrieving a chair.
"My lord." She asked. "You said… you said examples were to be made. I assure you, I had no knowledge of what Ser Arthur was planning. Please, my children…"
Kurt looked down at the woman as she trailed off, her breathing once again becoming laboured and panicked as she watched him move. Rhaella looked between Elia and Kurt, trying to plead with him the same as her good-daughter.
"You believe that I was issuing orders in regards to your children?" He asked.
Elia slowly nodded.
"They- my family- and those loyal to my children have issued a challenge, and my abdication was not accepted as we agreed. I thought that… that perhaps this would make void our agreement."
"None of these things have been by your urging my lady." Kurt reassured her. "We agreed that as long as you adhered to the letter and spirit of our agreement, your children would be safe. You have, and therefore they are, irregardless of the actions of others."
Elia's shoulders slumped in sharp relief, finding no deception in his words.
"This trial, while irritating, is nothing but a formality, and will be dealt with quickly. Hopefully it will quell any objections the loyalists may have."
Rhaella looked up, half in relief and half in doubt.
"Hopefully, but my lord, who will you be bringing into the trial? You have not called for any of your soldiers, or anyone else."
Kurt smiled, or rather, he smirked. Rhaella thought she saw a note of pride in his eyes, but she was more shocked that Lord Kurt could make such a face. Never once had she seen the man exhibit even the smallest traces of arrogance. He was at all times, the picture of certainty, never showing even an ounce of the pomposity that was common in powerful lords.
"Why my lady, I should think it was obvious. I've asked for only one set of armour. I'll be doing the fighting myself.
Kurt then turned around, moving to the door that connected their two chambers.
"Sleep well you two, tomorrow will be a rather busy day, and it would be best that we are all well rested and ready to face what comes."
The day's discussions on the matters of succession had ended. The lords of the realm had retreated, either back to their own chambers within the castle, or their camps outside the city walls. The Northern forces had done the latter, alongside the forces of the Riverlands, Stormlands, and Vale. The four leading houses of the rebellion led their combined lords and forces through the city streets, and most found that they could not wait to be free of the city, if for no other reason than the smell.
Shit, piss, sweat and death cooked under the sun as the beginnings of spring were starting to return to the seven kingdoms. After the year of the false spring two years ago winter had returned with a vengeance but now, the Maesters seemed to be in agreement that with the end of the reign of Aerys the Mad, spring seemed to be returning to the realm.
Ned thought it a truly strange coincidence, though others did not. Men from the north proclaimed that the Old Gods had made spring return with the death of the dragons who had unjustly murdered Brandon. The followers of the Seven proclaimed similar, but instead that Robert's rightful rebellion and the crushing of Rhaegar and Aerys had brought the beginnings spring and summer.
Robert put even less faith in those pronouncements than Ned, he had heard Robert bemoan the gods' sense of humour if it was so, but the words did nothing but embolden their men, and so neither put much effort into dissuading them.
As it was, both men, found themselves seated in the grand tent that acted as a meeting place for the highest rebel lords. Jon Arryn was seated next to Ned's father and Hoster Tully. Robert, as Lord of the Stormlands and their prospective king, sat with them. Ned was seated next to Robert, as both the man who had led the North, and the heir to Winterfell. After that, lesser, but still important lords were arranged, with houses such as the Boltons, Estermonts, Royces, Malliters and others in the seats after them.
"An interesting start to a council." Lord Corbray said, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a sip. "I don't believe there's ever been a duel as such, not since the Faith challenged Maegor for his crown."
"A last gambit, surely." Jon Arryn said, shaking his head. "They have no other options with the abdications of the Targaryen children by Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia."
"And no true Dornishman would ever lend their support behind young Aemon." Hoster Tully said. "They fought for the dragons in the first place out of duty to their princess, they have no love for Rhaegar, and even less for Aerys."
"And now these, 'spartans'-" Lord Bolton said slowly. "- have placed us all on the edge of a knife. If they should lose this trial, the Reach and Dorne will have all the reason they need to demand that Rhaegar and Elia's children be reinstated into the line of succession."
"You think they will lose?" Eddard asked. "They defeated them once before."
"In an ambush that they enacted on a keep that was in no way prepared for assault." Lord Bolton pointed out. "I think you should understand Lord Stark, that there is a difference between an ambush in the night, and a true battle in the daylight."
"Then we'll lend them some aid." Robert said, slapping the table. "A trial by seven. There's not been one since Ser Duncan the tall fought Aerion Targaryen at the tourney of Ashford. I think I'll take the part of my old ancestor Lord Lyonel. It's sure to be a grand time."
"You will do no such thing Robert." Jon Arryn berated his foster son. "Your life is far too valuable for such a thing. If you were to take part, I can assure you that you will be the first person that the loyalists will seek to kill. After all, without you, there is no one else but their own claimants who hold reasonable claims."
Robert huffed slightly, sinking into his seat.
"Fine then, but we should still send someone to face these dragon lovers alongside Lord Terra."
"Agreed." Ned's father said. "Lord Terra will likely have men loyal to him to fill the spots, but should he have any that are unoccupied, we should send one of our own to fill it, as a show of unity amongst those of us who stood against the mad king."
"My son might be willing." Lord Corbray interjected. "Lyonel is my heir, but Lyn has always been the better swordsman. With Lady Forlorn in hand, I am sure he will make a fine representative in the trial."
Jon Arryn nodded.
"I agree, Ser Lyn is skilled with the blade, I'm sure should Lord Terra require it, he will be a fitting man to stand for us."
"None of this solves our problem however." Lord Bolton said again. "What is to be done if these spartans lose this trial. I'm sure none of us are willing to kowtow to Aerys and Rhaegar's brood."
His eyes shifted over to the Starks.
"Not even the Lady Lyanna's bastard son would be an acceptable choice after all that her foolishness has wrought."
Ned gritted his teeth, wanting to defend his sister. She was a child, and though Ned had long held similar thoughts to Lord Bolton, and many of the men who even now were nodding along with Lord Roose's words, he still loved her.
Hissing in the back of his mind, Ned felt the hateful impulse that told him had Lyanna not done what she had, not only would he still have his brother, but the woman he loved and the son she had bore him as well, rather than his brother's betrothed.
"Aemon will never sit the Iron Throne while we have any say over it." Rickard assured the gathered men.
"And my daughter will be dealt with after this council. It was my own failure that I could not teach her the responsibilities that come with our station. For now, though, we will deal with the present as it is, and the present demands that we place our full support behind Robert as an alternative to Aerys' line. Even should this duel be lost; we will still have the support of every kingdom save Dorne and the Reach."
"The most populous of the Seven Kingdoms, and the one most disposed to treachery." Brynden Tully snarked. "I've seen Dornishmen fight, and if they think for even a moment that killing us all will place Princess Elia's children on that ugly piece of steel, they would do it. You forget these are the same people who murdered a king under a flag of truce. There is a reason they say of the Dornish 'kill them, court them, or let them be'."
"Thank you, brother." Hoster said, looking over at the man seated next to him.
"Brynden is right, should this duel resolve in a way that is nor favourable to us, it is likely that we may have to resort to less than honourable means to ensure that the little prince and princess never climb the steps of the throne."
"'Less than honourable?'" Ned asked, feeling a heat in his gut. "You speak of killing children, babes only just weaned from their mother's breast. How can you consider such a thing?"
"By remembering that the lives of my people can be worth more than my own honour." Hoster shot back. "Tell me Lord Stark, if the Targaryen babes live, and one day rise in rebellion against us with the Reach and Dorne at their backs, will you tell your bannermen and your people that they must do this, because you found the idea of killing them before to be distasteful? What is our honour, when compared to the lives of the man who would go to war should they rise? Compared to their thousands of lives, and those of all those left behind who would mourn them? Would you demand that they fight, just because you could not stomach a single dishonourable act to keep them safe?"
As Lord Hoster finished his speech, some of the lords nodded in agreement, and Ned found himself gritting his teeth more than he had been before. What Lord Hoster had proposed was a dishonour most foul. To murder a child purely for something they might one day do, but Ned also knew of the greed and ambition of Targaryens. His sister sat in a tent, a shell of her former self, all for the ambitions of a Targaryen prince. Would these children, princes and princess by blood with a rightful claim to the throne of Westeros, truly sit quiet and satisfied in Dorne? Knowing what he knew of the south and its ambitions, he doubted it.
"We are not Aerys, nor Rhaegar." Ned stopped, looking over at his father. "We do not demand the heads of children for something that might occur. Aerys did so. He demanded the heads of my son and Robert, not for something that might occur, but something that would be done, and Jon Arryn still refused, because it was dishonourable.
Rickard looked around the table.
"How many men have died so far in this war? How many women and children, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, have mourned their dead? Surely more than Aerys could have killed with his burnings. Should we then have never rebelled, simply sat back, and allowed my son's death and the death of our friends because fighting back would bring only more death? No, we fight for honour and justice, to ensure that such madness has no home in our land, whether in a dog, or a king."
Ned smiled as his father spoke.
"There are times when such actions as have been discussed are necessary, on that I will not argue, but we have not yet reached that point, and I will not have my honour fall to the level of a Dornishman, to murder a man with treachery and deceit or violate the terms of truce."
The lords at the table all but cheered as Lord Rickard stood to make his point, finishing his speech by striking the ground with the cane he had been walking with since returning from the black cells. The sound was almost like that of the staff Ser Gerold had used at the council and seemed the signal that the meeting was over. Ned rose from his seat, joining his father and marching from the tent.
"Come Ned." Rickard said, placing his other hand on his son's shoulder. "We had best speak with your sister, let her know what will be done when we return North."
"Yes father." Ned bowed his head.
"None of that. You are to be the Lord of Winterfell when I die." Rickard's voice was sombre, and Ned knew that he was thinking of Brandon.
"You will soon be the man who all men of the North will bow to."
"I was that before, if you recall." Ned said, trying perhaps to lighten the mood as he had seen Robert do at times of tension.
"Indeed." Rickard chuckled. "Well, I can only hope you are not the Lord of Winterfell for a while yet."
"Hopefully not for many years." Ned agreed wholeheartedly.
The morning came, and the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms were gathered to watch the battle that would decide the fate of the Targaryens' claims to the Iron Throne. A pavilion had been set up almost frighteningly quickly, as if the events of the previous day were expected, and the houses of the seven kingdoms had moved to their seats. The houses of the Reach and Dorne sat closest to the centre, an obvious choice to by the loyalists at some symbolic supremacy, while the rebel houses were seated to the sides and slightly lower, another obvious choice to insult them. Still, the rebel lords filled into their seats, looking down into the arena that had been prepared.
The six remaining kingsguard stood together, clad in shining white armour and cloaks. They looked to all watching as the picture of chivalry and honour. Lord Oberyn was the only outlier amongst them, wearing more flexible leather armour dyed in the colours of red, orange and brown, the colours of his house. The man also wielded a spear rather than a sword, as his six fellows did.
Looking over at the other side, the nobility regarded the lone man with mixed looks of confusion and shock. Lord Kurt Ambrose, the head of the House of Terra, sad alone on a folded-out seat, looking for all the world unconcerned with the seven deadly fighters before him. He was dressed strangely. His armour was a deep green that matched the green of his house's banner but was made differently. It looked enough like armour that all knew it to be such, but it was strange, and left joints and other places exposed, with only what looked like black fabric underneath to protect it.
The strange armour was not what truly made the Westerosi shocked though. Instead, it was the fact that he was alone. Most had expected the man to stand for the trial with seven of his fabled spartans, and if not that, then at least seven warriors to fight with.
Instead, the lord of Fair Isle fiddled with one of his vambraces, strange orange helmet made mostly of what looked like glass resting beside him, without even a squire or page to tend to him.
Growling, Ser Arthur stepped forwards, his fellow combatants for the crown only a step behind.
"Lord Terra."
Kurt looked up, ceasing in his tinkering as his eyes shifted between the men.
"Ser Arthur, gentlemen. I hope this has been a good morning for you."
The utter nonchalance with which the man spoke seemed to infuriate the man, who snarled at him where he sat.
"It has been well." Ser Arthur ground out. "Though I'm sure it will be better once you pay for what you have done."
"Then I should apologise to you, Ser Arthur, and the rest of you as well, because that will not be happening."
"We shall see my lord." Ser Gerold said gruffly. "Once your fellows come to take their place in the trial, unless of course fear of a fair fight has caused them to flee."
Kurt actually chuckled, bordering on a full-blown laugh at the idea. The normally controlled spartan allowed himself to indulge for a few moments, laughing whole-heartedly before calming down and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.
"Fear of a fair fight. I have to say Ser Gerold, I don't think I've ever heard a better joke."
The lord commander glared.
"Laugh while you have the chance my lord but know that if your champions do not come to fight for you, we will not hold back, even if it becomes seven against one."
"Better for you." Prince Oberyn spoke up, twirling his spear. "It will make it less painful, I am sure, when we defeat you. You will have the excuse of fighting all seven of us at once."
Kurt just smiled.
"I'm afraid you will be disappointed, Prince Oberyn. There will be no one else fighting with me today. You are simple inconveniences, not worth brining in my spartans and wasting their time."
None of the men had much time after that to reply. Shambling forwards, hunched under the weight of his chains, Grand Maester Pycelle stepped forwards.
"My lords." He announced, normally small voice carrying across the arena. "We are gathered here in the sight of gods and men, to decide for the realm the validity of the abdications of Prince Aegon, Prince Viserys and Princess Rhaenys."
The old man gestured to the seven champions of the Targaryen family.
"Loyal members of the kingsguard, Prince Oberyn, if you might return to your corner of the arena, we may soon begin with this trial."
The seven men cast final glares as Kurt, who only returned smiles, as if they were children who's anger, he found amusing, rather than threatening.
"Lord Terra?" Pycelle asked the man. "You were asked to gather six others to fight with you in this trial, I hope that they will arrive soon."
"They are here." Kurt said, gesturing to the entrance.
Out of the shade, seven of his spartans emerged. They were dressed in normal clothes, though most all of them would have preferred armour. Kurt had insisted, in order to fully convey the notion of what they were there for.
"They will however, not be fighting with me today. They are here only to satisfy the requirements of this trial. If I fall, then they are instructed to immediately yield."
Standing from his seat, Kurt drew many a shocked look not only for his proclamation, but for his sheer size as he towered to his full height. On his own, Kurt commanded a height almost unrivalled, standing at seven feet, ten inches tall, his already massive height was only augmented by the SPI armour he wore. Now a true tower at over eight feet tall, the sheer size of him was enough to make even the kingsguard he would be fighting look him up and down.
SPI armour was a cheap copy of the Mjolnir that his spartans had once had to make do with wearing and hadn't been used in the field since Alpha-company had received their own sets of the superior powered armour in their first year of deployment. Still, SPI was a good training armour, and was worn traditionally by both spartans in training, and drill instructors. Kurt's own set was modelled after him, as he stood a foot and a half taller than most of his spartans, and a little over a foot over the average Spartan II.
He had no need for the active-camo portion of the armour, but the look of it, combined with its superior construction, meant that not only was he a strange sight in combat, but he was completely impervious to their weapons. Medieval steel would barely scratch the titanium armour components that covered his body, and if by some miracle they managed to get at the parts that the armour didn't cover, the ballistic gel layer would most likely hold up under the pressure of a blade.
Taking his helmet, he placed it over his head, keeping the faceplate polarised so that his face was hidden. The heads-up display engaged, inputting information for him to consider. Standard bio-readings showed up, alongside system summaries for the armour itself. The photo-receptive panels were fully operational, despite the fact he wouldn't be using them. Biofoam injectors were ready, with spare canisters Kurt had had prepared in care of serious injury of one of his opponents. Reaching behind him, he pulled a pair of long, serrated combat knives out of their sheathes and twirled them in his hands. The locals might have preferred swords and shields, but spartan CQC focused on getting in close with the enemy, ensuring that elites and brutes had no time to use their best weapons, the energy sword, or the gravity hammer. These knights were significantly less of threat than most elites or brutes, but the same principles applied considering their similar choice of weapon.
"Very well my lord. If you should insist." Pycelle sounded anything but reassured by Kurt's nod, looking up at the stands before turning to regard everyone in the stands.
"My lords and ladies. We gather here in the sight of gods and men in a trial by seven. A contest most holy, meant now to decide the legitimacy of the claims of the princes Aegon and Viserys, and the princess Rhaenys."
The high septon, wearing his ornate robes and crystal crown, stepped forwards next.
"In the light of the seven who are one, this holy challenge of trial by seven is anointed in the name of the faith. May the warrior give strength to the arms of the righteous, may the father's justice be carried out swiftly, may the crone's light illuminate the path all must take, and may the stranger bring peace to those who may be lost."
The old man stepped off of the arena's grounds, leaving only the eight men who were to fight. A horn was sounded, and the battle began.
The seven loyalists were the first to move, arranging themselves in formation and advancing quickly but securely. Kurt for his part stayed where he was, face unseen behind the polarised SPI EVA helmet.
Kurt watched the seven men approach, eyes watching each flaw that appeared as they moved. Exceptional men one and all, but only men. Kurt wasn't a man, he was a spartan, and to him, these men who in single combat could have matched even the hardest ODSTs weren't remotely close to a challenge.
Gerold Hightower entered his range first, the lord commander of the kingsguard readying his sword before together, the seven men charged.
Kurt readies his combat knives in only seconds, going from a casual stance to intercepting sword strikes in an instant. Medieval steel clashed with his 26th century blade, holding strong against the larger blades.
Kurt twisted, bringing up his other knife to block a blow from Dawn launched by Ser Arthur towards his side. The milky-white meteorite sword sung through the air. Kurt expected the blade to catch against his own, perhaps slide into one of the serrated grooves on the blunt side of the blade, pressing back, there was less resistance than he thought. Kurt however didn't give it much though, diverting Ser Arthur and pushing him back to deflect three simultaneous strikes from Ser Oswell, Prince Lewyn and Prince Oberyn. Pushing them back as well, and sending the two Dornish princes crashing into each other, Kurt struck. He slammed the butt of his knife into Ser Gerold's helmet with enough force to instantly knock the man out and send him tumbling into the dirt, likely with a nasty concussion.
If the loss of their comrade bothered the other six men, they didn't show it. Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne re-engaged from the sides and back alongside Jonothor Darry, While Barristan Selmy tried to draw his attention to by attacking from the front. A descent strategy, but wasted against Kurt, who countered all four attacks with his two blades.
Feeling again the bite of Dawn, Kurt offered Ser Arthur a slight more of his attention. His eyes darted between the white blade and his own combat knife. The castle-forged steel of the other men's blades had left little mark on his weapons aside from scratches but seeing where Dawn had made contact with his knife, Kurt's eyebrow raised behind his visor to see the notch that the Sword of the Morning's blade had left in his own.
'Interesting.' Kurt though, launching a roundhouse kick and instantly tacking Ser Darry out of the fight.
Prince Oberyn's spear twirled in the air, a dance of flashing metal likely meant to distract and confuse his opponents. It was a masterful display, but like before, only by human standards, and Kurt was too far beyond human mastery to be taken advantage of in such a way.
Kurt lashed out, giving the man less attention than even before as he tracked the arc of Dawn's blade through the air. His gauntleted fist smashed through the wooden shaft of the prince's spear, and Oberyn himself was only spared defeat and a badly broken jaw by Lewyn, who pushed his nephew out of the way and was knocked unconscious in his place.
Out in the stands, the lords of Westeros watched in awe. The spartans of House Terra had always been revered, how could they not given their performances at Harrenhall and beyond, but this was beyond what they could imagine. The kingsguard were the greatest knights in all the realm, and for all of Aerys' madness, he had amassed perhaps the greatest collection of knights the order had ever seen.
And now they sat and watched as the most prestigious order of warriors in Westeros, perhaps in all the world, was laid down by a single man.
Ser Oswell went down next, sent flying as Kurt grabbed and threw the man dressed in full armour. The Whent knight slammed hard into Ser Barristan, causing both to tumble end over end into the mud, neither getting back up.
Clenching his fist, Kurt discarded one of his daggers. Several clashes with Dawn had left it with enough notches and divots that it would be useless in combat.
"An impressive sword." Kurt said, the first words he's spoken since the trial began.
"And you will feel it's bite, cur." Arthur snarled, charging again with Oberyn by his side.
The Dornish prince had picked up his uncle's sword after Kurt had broken his spear, and while not as adept with it as his favoured weapon, he was still an exceptional warrior.
Kurt almost mourned the wasted effort. Against any other men, even UNSC men fighting under the same circumstances, they likely would have won. Still, it was time to end the farce, and Kurt had satiated some of his curiosity by allowing Dawn to hammer at his knife until it was ruined. Even now the milky blade didn't have a blemish, no dulling or chipping to go along with what it had done to his equipment. Kurt wondered what might have gone into its construction but saved the thought for later. A final test he would allow, and that was all. Raising his arm, he caught the downward slash of Dawn with the titanium forearm of his armour. The blade bit into the titanium armour, far deeper than Kurt had expected, even after seeing what it had done to his knife. It was still stopped however, and that gave Kurt time to snatch the sword from Ser Arthur's hand and slam him in the face with the blunt side of his own weapon. Ser Oberyn went down last. Whatever insults he'd been hurling at Kurt since the fight began going unheeded throughout.
A second later, both men were lying on the ground, all but eating the dirt. Kurt returned to his more casual stance, taking off his helmet and more closely inspecting Dawn. It any of the lords had been close enough to see, they would have been even further astounded to find that the spartan lord was not breathing heavily, nor had he even broken a sweat.
Tucking his helmet under one of his arms, he looked down at Ser Arthur Dayne and Oberyn Martell. The two men were still conscious, though only barely, and both seemed to be trying to get back to their feet. Kurt put a stop to that however, placing his foot on Prince Oberyn's back and holding the Dornish prince down. Lowering his hand, Kurt levelled the point of Dawn with the slit in Ser Arthur's visor. The Sword of the Morning stilled as he saw the milky colour of his own blade pointed at him.
"Are you quite finished?" Kurt asked.
Prince Oberyn was not, it seemed, and pulled out a dagger that Kurt noticed glimmered slightly in the light, in a way that normal metal was not supposed to. Quick as a snake's strike, Kurt's foot retreated from the man's back and lashed out, slamming into the prince's chin and dislodging two of his teeth. Oberyn was flipped onto his front, fully knocked out now. Kurt's eye returned to Arthur, who had risen to an army craw position.
"Yield, is the term I believe?" He asked, shaking the tip slightly in the Sword of the Morning's face. "I could kill you, but I'd prefer not to Ser Arthur, will you yield?"
Arthur's very being burned at the idea. This man had killed his prince, his friend, and was now about to dispose of the claims of his Rhaegar and Elia's son and daughter. Rhaenys and Aegon were the rightful rulers of the seven kingdoms, and prince and princess besides given their Dornish blood. Loyalty to both Targaryen and Martell families demanded he fight to the death for this.
"I would rather die." He muttered.
Kurt frowned.
"I respect the resolve Ser Arthur, but I think not."
Kurt flipped Dawn, catching it by the tip of the blade and whacking Arthur Dayne across the face with the pommel of his own sword. Arthur's vision went white, before it darkened, and he knew no more.
Long chapter, but everyone's been waiting for it so I'm hoping you like it. I thought about making the fight longer, but in the end, I thought 'Nah'. Kurt would sweep the floor with these guys. The only thing I did allow was a practical investigation of Dawn the 'magic' sword of Westeros. Kurt's interested, more intrigued, by this strange ability of the sword.
Before any of you ask why Dawn was able to cut Kurt's armour. SPI was a cheaply produced, inferior and unshielded version of Mjolnir armour. It was standard for Spartan IIIs during their canon existance, with only a few spartans getting the good stuff (Noble). SPI I felt was a good fit, since it doesn't actually augment the Spartan's abilities when wearing it. It's just cool looking and allowed Kurt to test how sharp Dawn is.
The kingsguard are down and now everyone knows even more not to mess with Kurt or his people. Hope you guys enjoyed. After this council. We should check in with Delta company and the teams sent to Essos and Beyond the wall.
There's been a slight change, due to a review that pointed out the full rules of the trial by seven, which I had forgotten, I altered the trial a little for the purpose of keeping the accuracy. Hope the change isn't too bad, and thanks to reviewer Izanami for pointing out the missed info.