A/N: With the advent of the twentieth chapter, and the late two month anniversary of the entire project, I cannot stress enough how thankful I am for the support, the love, and the criticisms received to make Stafford's, and the alternate timeline character's journeys better than were intended to be. To show my thankfulness, this chapter is longer than the average chapter, hovering at around 7,000 words. There will also be the response to some of the reviews that I haven't caught up on, and the way YOUR review will be implemented to make everything better for the story. This will be the last Hand's tournament POV, which wraps up the melee in an interesting way. Stafford Baratheon wins the melee, with the help of a lot factors of course, but he pulls off one of the most remarkable melee performances, in reference to Jamie Lannister winning the melee as a fifteen year old in the novels. Also, the melee in this does not include horses, but is entirely on foot. Just to make sure everyone is on the same page. Also, the final time to vote in the poll will be a day before the publishing of Chapter 22, which is the chapter the pairing either goes Sansa/Stafford or Arya/Stafford. If you want your character to be featured as the lead romantic interest please vote, and be recognized. This is one of the writing challenges of the fanfiction to challenge myself, I had to write a plot with a major romance component, with me not knowing what the main pairing would be until the middle of the rising action plot point. Please vote, or your voice will not be heard, as the winner of the poll AUTOMATICALLY becomes the romantic interest.
A Fellow Writer: Like I said, it is part of the challenge, and most if not all story writers know that having a reinforced well established pairing that is already set during the planning stages can help with romances. However, to add challenge, I did not do that, and literally left it to a random factor: public opinion. Thank you for your review
Lily Weasley Potter: Sansa has not been chosen as the main pairing. If you wish to have Arya be the one instead, there is definitely still time, just vote in the poll and have your voice heard. Thank you for your review.
Clove25: I am not beginning a romance with Sansa and Stafford in the traditional sense. Some of the wording may have indicated otherwise, and I should have probably done a better job of explaining that in Stafford's thoughts. Right now, Stafford does not think Sansa is better than Arya if that is vibe you are getting, he isn't THAT interested in both of them actually, and sees both of them as friends. However, the events of the chapter AFTER this will change that, and some of Stafford's hidden feelings for both of them will be forced out. Thank you for review and hope you stick around.
Vulcran: Definitely. Anyway, thanks for the idea, and I am still fully confident the idea will help and not hinder the story. Thank you for your review.
Kizrock: No, Stafford will be paired with one of sister's according to an opinion poll, a day before Chapter 22. The poll will close and lock down the pairing. Thank you for your review.
TMI Fairy: Actually a 10 yard axe throw is a very small distance as World Record distance holders have thrown a tomahawk is about 145 ft. 10 yard is about 33 feet, which is the EFFECTIVE range of the tomahawk in combat. Since it was an axe throwing comp, it is not like combat. (I know a damn axe from the middle ages only had an effective range of 30-40 feet, but pro axe throwers can even make Francisca historical axe throwing enthusiasts can make one 60 to 70 feet). It wasnt supposed to be a 100 yard axe throw, and the miscalculation would have made the throw of 100 PACES, at Stafford's six feet two inch stride, would have made it a 200 ft axe throw which is near impossible. And in actuality, Teenagers, although very rare can outperform perfectly capable adults in athletic competitions in the real world. In gymnastics for example, the gold medalist in the olympics is only 15/16 years of age, and she was competing with people much older than her. Not to mention Roy Jones Jr, was only about 16/17 when he earned his first amateur world title and won a silver gold medal in Seoul. While your points are valid, the events in the story are hardly unrealistic, besides the grave miscalculation or using paces instead of feet. The world record for axe throw bullseye according to my copy of the guinness book of world records is 145 ft, so unless I read it wrong, Stafford's 110 ft bullseye is realistic, as it is a fantasy novel, and we can exaggerate the skill of a fifteen year old. Thank you for the review and criticism
Sorry for the long Author's note. Enjoy!
Sansa
One moment she watched the new champion of the lists atop his horse trot to the stands, and the next moment she held a wreath of blue roses in her hand. Stafford sat there on his horse, now taking in the gasps, the bouts of laughter, and the footsteps of multiple spectators, noble and lowborn, fleeing the premises. She felt her very heart being drawn and quartered, pulled apart at the seams. How could something feel so wrong and so right all at once? The other part of her saw Stafford as her prince that she had dreamed of. The prince that would win her a joust like in the stories and songs she loved so dearly. A prince that would proclaim her beauty across the seven kingdoms, and a prince that she would ride with into the sunset with. That other part saw a friend, riding there gallantly, risking his very life for her sake. In another she had seen both, the kind, black-haired Baratheon, which she had always imagined her Prince Joffrey to be like. The one she had waited for in Winterfell, and the one she had always hoped he had been. Another part of her felt that Stafford had overextended his kindness, and that it was disgraceful and in terrible taste for someone honorable such as him to do such a thing. His impulsion and recklessness was unsurprising, yet even she failed to realize how deeply he could be consumed in it. No matter what, Prince Stafford Baratheon certainly was more than she bargained for yet.
Sansa stared at the wreath in her hands while her father's blank, icy eyes looked down at her, mouth agape. What madness has ruined the mind of Stafford Baratheon? He rode to her, he proclaimed her as his Queen of Love and Beauty, and handed her the crown, without hesitation or a trace of regret. As she stared long into the wreath, her heart could not help but break for her sister's. Even after all she had done, this madness was a disturbing turn of events.
His father stood up with a jolt, quietly seething with rage. Ser Barristan seemed to turn to him to try to calm him in this state. Sansa had never seen the king in such fury.
"What is the fucking MEANING of this?" King Robert roared, still standing up, glowering at Stafford. Renly quickly stepped up as Stafford turned to his father.
"Now, Robert… No need to get worked up over this. We can explai-" Renly attempted to say smilingly.
"Worked up? Renly, if you know what's good for you, stay the FUCK out of this! You've done enough." Robert turned to his son. "What in the seven hells are you doing giving the fucking wreath to your brother's betrothed?" the king exploded furiously, "I've seen this before alright. Somewhere on the Ruby Ford, that silver cocksplatting blowhard is rolling over in his FUCKING GRAVE!" Rhaegar Targaryen. A man, who happened to also be the king's second cousin if Sansa had her history of royal families correctly, was the one he had mentioned. She could only assume from the songs she had listened to growing up that Robert's mind was thrown years back, at that day in Harrenhal.
"See that, father? You all ignored all of my pleas about this disgusting betrayal going on between my betrothed and my own brother, and you turned from me as if I was going mad. Look at what manner of devilry happens before you," Joffrey cried out shrilly. Stafford still stood there on his destrier, not even flinching at the accusations being hurled his way. Ser Barristan was now staring at Stafford, Renly shuffled about trying his best to defend his nephew, and Petyr Baelish, who she had just met yesterday in the tournament seemed to be dying of laughter. He was one of the few people, who were not silent during all of this thing. Everyone in the tournament grounds, were so shocked they were just watching the reaction of the King and other retainers like it was some twisted window into all those years before.
"Stafford, fucking answer me! Give me an answer, damn it! Why the fuck would you do such a thing? How could you forsake your own betrothed Arya for her fucking sister?"
"Perhaps, we should force him to talk. Dog, go to Stafford an-"
"AND YOU, I will not hear any more of your words. Stafford will get a chance to explain himself. I am beyond angry Staff, what in the seven hells drove you to do this?"
Stafford stood there blankly, looked at Renly, who shifted his eyes away. Then, for a brief moment, she felt Stafford lock eyes with her. What he thought and felt were a mystery to her, and her reddening face could only turn away from his stare.
"I am not Rhaegar Targaryen, father. Sansa Stark is not some obsession to me like your Lyanna was to Rhaegar. I do not wish nor plan on taking what is rightfully my brother's. I did not dedicate my victory for her because of some forbidden lust I know I cannot have," Stafford spoke calmly as he could. Renly looked around for a moment after Stafford explained himself.
"Then why the hell did you give it to her?" Robert fumed, still not accepting the explanation.
"Father, I cannot lie to you. And in our own family, when directed with a question, you answer with honesty and integrity. Sansa Stark needed to be recognized on this day, she needed to be given an honor she most rightfully deserved, and it would take the wrath of all our gods to deny her this honor. And with my brother, who has been ignoring her for so long, I'd rather be the one to give the honor she deserves, and even if it shames me and makes me and family look broken to many," Stafford stared at his father dignifiedly. Everyone in crowd remained silent. The king calmed down a little bit, and he recovered his composure enough to regain his seat.
"As much as I still don't agree with your actions, it is respectful that you were at least honest with your intent. Ser Barristan, just move the fucking tournament along, and get to the melee. And someone please get me a damn drink." The king grunted as he sat in his seat. Though his eyes saw his prince, he failed to see Stafford.
"Indeed, the problem with that is the mystery knight was also listed to compete in the melee. An even greater one with the sudden incident we have before our very own eyes. I do not believe it is the best idea to put him into the melee," Ser Barristan suggested as the king shifted around in his seat a little. The commons remained a little silent from the events that had occurred. The king was silent for a moment, but he decided to speak.
"Let him do whatever he wants, not like I could stop him from competing anyway," The king grumbled a little. Ser Barristan seemed about ready to object, but he quickly just nodded in agreement. Soon everyone had come back to their places and the events settled. Renly and Stafford went back to their pavilions probably getting ready for the melee. Renly would not be participating to begin with, so he would be watching Stafford fight in the melee.
After a little bit of silence, her father finally spoke to her. Everyone even the people from the North, who had been watching with her Lord father, had been sent to utter silence by what had just happened before their very eyes.
"I can't help but be reminded of what happened at Harrenhal, because of what Prince Stafford Baratheon has done," Her father stated, "My brother was in the exact same position, sitting next to my sister, while she was handed a very similar looking rosary of blue winter roses by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. It was no wonder, Robert looked like he was almost about to snap at his own son."
"I've never seen the King like that ever. Was it my fault?"
"No, never. If anything, it's Stafford's fault. But I can't blame the boy, and while I did not find his actions agreeable by any means, it still makes sense that he would do it. It's more of a surprise than anything,"
"Why?"
"Stafford never really seemed interested in all of this. Yet as he held his wreath out for you, it was as if Rhaegar Targaryen lived again. Brandon always told me those words that Rhaegar said, and how he would never forgive him for insulting his sister's honor," Her father explained to her, "It's just that from what I've seen from the Prince, he would try something reckless as trying to enter a major jousting tourney like this, but even this is a new level of audacity baffles me."
"That prince is truly surprising. I can't help but be a little impressed by it," Her father looked at her after she said this. He let out a sigh.
"How do you feel about what just happened? None of our opinions, the king's, the commons, and even your betrothed's opinions should matter in this situation. The exchange was between you and Prince Stafford."
"I don't know what to feel about what just happened. To be honest, father, one part of me loved it. To have a rider from a joust recognize me in a way I've never been recognized before. The dream I've had ever since the tournament started," Sansa began to explain to her father, "But the other part of me wanted no part of this. I didn't want this honor from Stafford, other knights would have been more preferable to him. Stafford has his obligations to another, and so do I. And it seems wrong." Her father thought for a moment on what she just said. Whatever he could say would be miles better than what had happened in the joust.
"Everyone has trouble with their feelings. There are things that happen in our lives that we naturally cannot understand, how we ourselves even feel about it. But there is somethings we are certain of. Did you feel harmed or wronged by the prince because of this?" Her father asked her. She shook her head, she didn't feel any malice or any wrongful intention when Stafford did his actions. Even her worst feelings about it didn't bring her to that conclusion. But one thing was for certain, their relationship couldn't really stay the same after what Stafford had done. Stafford, probably couldn't see her in the same light anymore, and she probably could see him in the same way anymore. No matter what Stafford's original intentions were, no matter what he had meant to happen in the action that Stafford had taken, It would have been different if he had not been required to name the queen of love and beauty after his victory, and he had just been given the purse and went on his way. However, that was not the case, and in her heart, she knew that everything had changed.
The melee set up took longer than expected. There were plenty of hushed whispers about the events that occurred. It now seemed Stannis Baratheon, Ser Barristan, and Renly were with Stafford as they prepared for a melee. Ser Barristan was telling Stafford something, while he stated something back. All the while, his stalwart companion Renly Baratheon was with him assisting him. Stannis just looked off in the distance, with an odd expression on his face. Joffrey wouldn't even look at her anymore. Everyone still feeling the impact of Stafford's actions before the melee had begun. The introductions seemed like an eternity as the entire forty man field was introduced into the melee. Well known knights, nobility, priests, and even newly made squires were preparing for the grand melee. This would be the final event in the Hand's Tournament. Everyone was ready for the feast that followed after tournaments. Sansa would never forget what happened at the tournament, all the events and all the strange twists within it.
She recognized many of the faces from the joust, some tired others ready to defeat others in the tournament. Then there were others she did not recognize during the tournament. She heard some of the banter and it seemed that squires also competed in the main tournament. She recognized a green eyed boy, who she now knew as Lancel when Ser Barristan said his name when he presented the rosary of flowers to Stafford. There was also two familiar faces with the squires, the tall greatsword wielding one, and the shorter one, who she remembered his name was Brandon. There were also the usual faces of the Red Priest Thoros of Myr, the charming Beric Dondarrion, and even the Mountain himself in the melee. And far away, stumbling out of a large tent bearing the golden rose of Highgarden, was the Dornish bastard Odyn Sand, his black eyes sparkling as he smiled to himself. She followed his eyes and saw that he had been coldly glaring at Gregor Clegane. Good gods, what is he up to now? There was also other knights, like Robar Royce. And of course there was the now unmasked mystery knight, Stafford Baratheon, with his uncle, who had decided to participate in this melee. Stafford Baratheon and his uncle were discussing what was probably their plan in the melee. She, however, saw the subtle looks Stafford gave her as the pair talked. With two wore a pair of identical sigils in the back, both black crowned stags on a golden field. The two stood there like brothers, until it was time for the melee to begin.
After some short introductions, the people separated to take their places. Sansa wanted the melee just to begin. She had watched the Dornishman stride upon the field, spear and shield in hand, giving one last nod at the Lady of Highgarden before walking to the rest of the competitors. As soon as she saw Stafford look at Renly and his uncle looked back at him. Lord Renly Baratheon looked at the greatsword squire, and Stafford looked at Brandon the reject.
"Begin!" Ser Barristan proclaimed as the melee had officially begun. Forty men went their separate ways and began to put into action each of their gameplans. Some of them grouped up and began to try to eliminate other opponents. Some decided to go solo, or enter the center of the melee grounds, where some of the most feared competitors met. Thoros of Myr, and a few others clashed at the center, forcing some of the lesser known squires to either yield or get knocked unconscious, eliminating them from the melee.
"Thirty-six, I repeat: Thirty-six remain in the melee!" Ser Barristan stated. He then went on to list the names of the people who had been eliminated from the tournament. She did not recognize any of them, so that meant the people of higher renown she recognized in the tournament were still in and fighting in the field. She caught a glimpse of Stafford and Renly, who were now accompanied by the two squires they had been somehow able to form a troop with. They knocked over one of the Freys and started hitting him mercilessly as a group of four, which caused him to yield.
Amid the chaos of the field, Sansa noticed the mail and lamellar-clad Dornishman calmly strolling through the carnage like a battlefield ghost and carefully ambushing unsuspecting foes on the edge of the arena. Odyn Sand was steadily picking off one competitor after another, brutally stunning them with debilitating blows to their chest, eyes, groin, shins, knees and elbows. He feinted a shot to the eye and like the flickering tongue of a viper dove into an upward slash between their legs instead, his foes crumpling in a heap and begging for mercy. He leaped, backflipped, and sidestepped most of their strikes, leaving them spinning into the dirt, prone to a crippling stab to the ribs and extremities that knocked them out cold before they could even scream "yield". At one point, after flooring two axe-wielding mercenaries on his merry stroll, he was cornered by four knights of lesser houses that even he had not heard before. Odyn parried and deflected the flurry of their longswords with his ornate spear, dipping and diving around them in a blinding whirlwind of bronze and crimson silk. Two of them had almost began attacking each other as their swords were redirected to their now-aching groins. He was also fond of kicking dust and dirt up into his enemies' eyes. And after kicking up a foul cloud of dust around him and his four foes, no less than two more knights charged into the cloud, swords raised to help their friends finish the Dornishman off.
As she watched the cloud intently, she realized that after a brief clambering of steel, a few screams, and the sound of bones cracking and splintering, the dust cloud went silent. When it settled a minute later, the arena gasped as Odyn Sand was dusting his shoulders nonchalantly, his spear still between the shoulderblades of one of six eliminated men that laid before his feet. They were utterly mangled, gasping and clawing at their dirt-filled mouths and eyes. Odyn gave them a hard stomp to each of their helmeted heads that left the whole crowd wincing at every crack. As he stepped over their limp bodies coldly, their blood flowed into the arena floor.
Walking away unscathed from his work, Odyn Sand continued his quiet stroll around the arena once more, numerous knights having witnessed his savagery fleeing in his wake. Behind him, Sansa could see multiple stewards rush the bloodied knights on stretchers off the field, the crowd gasping and whispering nervously at the finesse and calm determination of the Dornishman.
She noticed his way of fighting was much different from Stafford's battling style. Stafford focused more on raw power and endurance. All of his attacks were not meant to be deft, they were meant to land and end the match quick. He would charge in and use strong swift blows to make sure no one came for him. This was in contrast to the Dornishman's speed and technique, while not as strong as Stafford's axe blows or not being as tough as he was still managed to dance around his opponents. Ser Barristan yelled some other names, and it seemed the field was trimmed down to twenty-six after he declared a couple more names. Most if not all of those eliminated names were because of the four man troop of Renly, Stafford, Brandon, and other unmemorable squire picking off people who were fleeing the main battle in the center of the tournament grounds.
Suddenly, the tournament got a little more interesting. Renly crossed the Dornishman as he walked to the center, wiping the sweat from his aventail, while Stafford and the rest of the group managed to beat down a group of stragglers. Stafford and the other two squires were successful in eliminating and making yield three more melee participants.
"Twenty-three remain in the melee," Ser Barristan proclaimed, "Ser Heinrich Karstark, Devon of King's Landing, and Ser Raynald Westerling have been eliminated from the competition." Stafford had to take the Westerling down hard. Renly struggled against the Dornishman, who simply danced around him and left him stumbling and gasping at his chest, and Renly could not properly hit him with a sword. Odyn Sand violently struck at Renly's knees and throat between bashes of his shield's rim into the Baratheon's chest.
"That Dornishman is making Renly Baratheon look like a bloody fool. If this is how he plays, I hope I'll never have to witness how he fights," Ned Stark said grimly.
Suddenly, as soon a the Dornishman managed to sweep Renly off his feet, Stafford intervened his brutal finisher with a swift parry with his axe. Renly could be visually seen sighing out in relief, spitting out dirt and dust. The two had a brief exchange, and surprisingly the other three backed down and only seemed to guard what looked like a one on one melee.
"Interesting, Stafford is going to give the Dornishman a chance to fight him one on one. This should be a good watch," her father told her. Stafford assumed his stance, while the Dornishman circles his position. Stafford managed to guard him with his axe, raised high in the air ready to strike at any given moment. The Dornishman was the first to strike, with a swift barrage of blows to Stafford's legs and his elbows, managing to out-maneuver most of Stafford's parries, forcing him back with a limp. Stafford, visibly staggered, managed to catch one of the blows parry it, causing the Dornishman to fall back, but he quickly transitioned into a backwards leap away from Stafford's axe. Stafford charged forward and quickly let out a winded up yet quick downward axe chop, which managed rattle Odyn Sand's nasal helm like a bell. Although rattled, the Dornishman still had ferocity and agility in him, and unexpectedly managed to get his spear through Stafford's now non-face obscuring helmet. It seems he got poked in the eye, because now Stafford seemed to be running away, dazed and tripping with every other step. It looked like Renly, and rest of his little troop was about to intervene, but Stafford held them back with a wave of his hands. The two were basically, although both impaired from the blows they had inflicted to one another. The two battled it out for a bit more, while others were getting eliminated. More minutes passed, and the drawn out battle between the dornishman and the prince seemed to overshadow the elimination. As their blades met amidst the song of steel, sparks flew. There were now only twenty inside the melee. The continuing battle between Stafford and the Dornishman, finally looked like the major stalemate had ended. Stafford seemed to take it to a new level, and he managed to catch the sprinting Sand with the horns of his poleaxe at his ankles. Instead of a direct axe hit from side, it looked like Stafford's objective with his hit was to be a sweeping attack that hit everything in front and to both his sides. The leaping dornishman was caught by a hit that staggered him tremendously. Stafford, then took his opportunity to get in front of his opponent and give him a shove with the shaft of his axe. The force from the shove seemed strong enough to ground the dornishman. Once grounded, Stafford lightly grazed him across the abdomen with a draw cut, right where he remembered his wounds being its worst.
Fighting back with the fury of a cornered beast, Odyn Sand ducked and rolled about on the ground, disorienting Stafford with the dust and mud he had kicked up from the ground. The blow had done little to halt his vigor, his mail hauberk and lamellar cushioning the axe's strike. With a roar, he managed to get on his knee and parry multiple strikes that left Stafford open. But with a sharp halt in his moving, grabbing his abdomen, he stumbled back, unable to land a blow. The Prince recovered his stance, and regained his focus on Odyn Sand.
"That Dornishman better yield now, if Stafford lands that blow, he could kill him," Her father told her.
"He's killed someone in a tournament before. And Odyn Sand is tough bastard. But after the wounds he has sustained, I fear even his hauberk may not be enough." Lord Baelish whispered.
Before Stafford can land a finishing blow on the lurching Dornishman, roaring in pain, someone ran right into Stafford and disarming his axe mid swing. His troop sprung into action against the incoming threat. The Dornishman managed to recover his balance and dropped into a low stance. Renly, immediately stood in front of the new threat. It was the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, who had decided to participate in the melee. Renly, tried his hardest to challenge the monstrous man. When Renly Baratheon, who was about two inches taller than Stafford, gets dwarfed by someone, that person was more than monstrous. Renly tried attacking Gregor, but he was unable to do anything. Renly was thrown down to the dirt, and then two of the squires helped Stafford up to his feet. Stafford managed to recover his axe. With no other thinking, Stafford charged at Gregor and surprisingly parried the blow from his greatsword away once again saving Renly from elimination.
"That prince sure doesn't know the feeling of fear," Her father told her.
"It seems nothing seems to faze him, even a giant,"
"I've heard enough of your little feelings about my brother. Haven't you done enough you little promiscuous little s-" Joffrey suddenly snapped and then got interrupted by her father.
"Finish that sentence, boy and not even your father can save you," Her father defended her. Joffrey went silent. When Sansa finally focused herself back to the action, Stafford and Renly had started an all out brawl inadvertently as the melee raging in the center had moved to the center. From what Sansa saw, Stafford and Renly were holding off eight knights together, as their troop began to collapse. Brandon was knocked unconscious, and eliminated. The taller squire encountered Gregor Clegane, and before he even engaged, he just yielded. It did nothing to halt the momentum of Gregor's sword, which struck the boy so hard that he flew into the dirt, twitching upon the ground. The team that looked so dominant defeating stragglers, had now been reduced to two, holding off eight more people. The only person, who was not participating in the all out brawl, was Odyn Sand, who regained his bearings after the encounter with Stafford. Renly and Stafford never had an instinct to back down. The two had fluid teamwork as they were both able to assist one another when needed. The fought unselfishly literally setting the table for one another as they both eliminated knights, even though they were outnumbered. Stafford and Renly looked like they both were feeling the length of the melee, both looking like their blows were beginning to slow. At one point, they were both on the full defense just deflecting blows, and grounding opponents, to what get what her father referred to as 'spacing'.
It's been close to two hours since the melee began. Stafford and Renly managed to eliminate some more people, in a surprisingly impressive showing. Like a well groomed horse, they were literally able to run through their competition. Stafford and Renly managed to battle off the others, but then with a fury, Gregor Clegane stood in between a now exhausted, Stafford and Renly. In an act of selflessness, Renly stood in front of Stafford as Gregor winded up a sword hit, that would have blindsided the young prince. However, the force caused Renly to go on his knees. Then, Stafford stood in before, Renly could get seriously hurt, and parry the blow. Stafford breathed heavily, probably losing almost all the stamina he had after eliminating eight competitors, out of the twenty that had remained according to Ser Barristan's announcements.
But before Gregor could strike down the currently rattled Stafford, Sansa saw the glint of a spearpoint spark across the Mountain's great helm, the giant reeling from the blow. Odyn Sand had unbalanced the Mountain with a lightning charge and a deep roar. Knocked to the ground about seven feet away, the Mountain struggled to rise. She saw Odyn Sand calmly stride to giant, a light nod to the prince as he passed him by. Stafford was looking onward while trying to help his uncle off the floor. As the Viper's mail hauberk clinked softly, she and the noble stands beside her stirred from their quiet, filled with shocked gasps and cheers. Only a few seats away from her, Sansa could see Ser Loras Tyrell's sister Margaery letting out a sigh of relief.
As his feet thudded upon the fallen giant, the Mountain began to stir and rubbed his head, holding himself up with a greatsword he held in one hand. Upon standing up, Odyn strafed away from Gregor by about another two feet, his shield raised up and his spear poised for a strike. As Gregor faced the Dornishman, she could see Odyn motioning up and down the Mountain with his readied spear. "LOOK AT YOU," Odyn spat contemptuously, his voice seething with hatred. "YOU LOOK LIKE A BITCH." The whole crowd erupted into raucous laughter. Even her father could not stifle a laugh that followed the rest of the royal family. The King sat there, incredulous, a smile spreading across his face. She hadn't seen Joffrey laugh this hard in a while. On the other side of the field, she could see half the other knights halt their fighting as they laughed wildly at the bastard's words.
"SHUT UP. SHUT UP!" Ser Gregor Clegane looked all around the arena, and turned back to Odyn. "FUCK YOU!" The Mountain bellowed as he barreled into a charge, his feet kicking up a clouds of dust. He raised his greatsword in one hand and swept it across the cloud Odyn stood in. But expecting the hit to connect, he was befuddled by his fall into the empty dust, this time recovering from his prone stance a lot faster. "What the-ARRGGHHH!" His voice was drowned out by his own screams, Odyn Sand following his spin away from Gregor's strike with a slash across the back of his knee. Feinting for a strike to his groin, Odyn instead strafed and ran away away, parrying away Gregor's sword as his spear violently rattled his greathelm.
There they stood for a long while, a good twenty feet away from one another. After a short silence amidst the storm of swords, the battle raging on around them, Odyn Sand placed jauntily to the giant who towered over him. His carved spear glinted in the sun, his lamellar armor shining brilliantly. He stopped only ten feet away from the massive brute. Though his leg was wounded, and his pride probably suffering a little from the hits he had taken from the Dornishman, the Mountain battled back with a vengeance. They clambered and clashed in their armor, sword upon spear, haft upon blade. She noticed that Odyn had gotten a little careless with his attacks and his bloodlust got the best of him, as Odyn was subtly driven back by Gregor, the Dornishman leaping and spinning around him with no less spring in his step, but with far less effective evasion of the Mountain's blows. He was caught in the moment, and the rage within him burned like wildfire. She noticed Stafford, and Renly were now dealing with Beric Dondarrion, and other favorites such as Lothor Brune and Lord Bryce Caron. The fighting turned into an all out stalemate for longer than it should have been.
"There are only ten men left in the melee! Lord Beric Dondarrion, Lothor Brune, Lord Bryce Caron, Ser Gregor Clegane, Thoros of Myr, Odyn Sand of Sunspear, Prince Stafford Baratheon, Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, and Steffon Frey!" Ser Barristan declared.
The men reset in an honorable parley, and then less than moments later clashed ensued in the middle of all the tournament grounds. She noticed Renly and Stafford enter the fray, almost fearless of what they were facing. Thoros of Myr had his sword lit on fire, which most of the melee participants probably more than just noticed. Renly Baratheon and Stafford Baratheon cut off most of the people as they entered into the fray. Stafford moved up and confronted Lothor Brune. The conflict between Stafford and Lothor Brune, lasted only mere minutes, as Stafford in an impressive show of strength and power managed to ground and forced Lothor to submit to him. Stafford quickly turned his attention to Bryce Caron, who had noticed this and approached him from the back. Stafford managed to parry his blows and land debilitating strikes to him, forcing an able bodied Bryce Caron back.
"Lord Jason Mallister, Lothor Brune, have been eliminated! Only eight remain in the melee!" Stafford and Renly, suddenly were able to make Bryce Caron fall unconscious after what looked like a clothes line maneuver from both a blunted axe and a sword, "Bryce Caron has been eliminated!"
"Stafford and Renly, prove that teamwork can definitely get you far into a melee," Her father declared. Then everyone in the fighting pit, looked towards an ongoing conflict that interested everyone. The Dornish bastard had attacked Ser Gregor Clegane had been at it in the center for a while. Sansa hadn't paid attention much to it, because she was focused on Stafford and Renly's portion of the tournament. However, this did not stop Stafford and Renly from mercilessly beating down Steffon Frey, who seemed to have the courage to take a beating before surrendering himself to the Baratheons.
"Steffon Frey has been eliminated from the melee, only six remain," Ser Barristan declared with much more than a hint of relief in his voice. Everyone in the audience including Sansa had just experienced a long melee, she estimated about two and a half hours now.
The two now bloodied continued to trade blows, strong technique and finesse giving away to wild and savage strikes. Gregor smashed and hammered through Odyn's parries, but was being constantly outmaneuvered by the spearman's agility. For all that he had taken, the bastard managed to fight toe-to-toe, in a battle for the ages.
As Stafford and the rest of the remaining small pool of combatants, including Thoros of Myr began to catch their breath. Beric Dondarrion, Stafford, and Renly were even exchanging conversation. The Dornishman looked like he had done another sidestep around Gregor's sword as the drawn out fight between the two continued, but the Mountain suddenly begun laughing. His low voice boomed from his helm like the sound of scraping metal and thunder.
"Pathetic." Instead of dodging, Gregor Clegane monstrously grabbed the bastard by his throat and hesdbutted him. Dropping his spear and shield, clawing at his neck, the whole crowd began gasping as Gregor held him high above his head. "Look at you. YOU LOOK. LIKE. A BITCH." And all at once, the stands broke out into a shocked scream as he was thrown back about ten feet away, rending the earth as he crashed into the dirt, to the gasps of most of the crowd. As he laid on the ground, a sudden cry rang out from only a few seats away. Sansa turned to her left and saw Margaery Tyrell wailing anguishedly in terror, her brother Loras straining to hold her back.
"Odyn Sand, the Bastard of Sunspear, has been eliminated! Wait a minute, what is going on?" The Mountain wasn't done yet. He continued his thundering laugh,greatsword laid upon his shoulder. As he reached the helpless Odyn Sand, he raised his greatsword. The crowds were begging and pleading. She turned to Margaery again, eyes wide and mouth agape. Sansa heard screams for mercy, and even a septon reminding himself of the funeral rites if they became necessary. However, a blur came right in front of them at just the right moment, and suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, Beric Dondarrion was also grounded, parrying Gregor's blade before it struck the Bastard of Sunspear, yelling out yield before Gregor could do anything to finish him or Odyn off. As the two laid on the ground, Sansa could see Beric and Odyn exchanging faint nods of thanks. Gregor Clegane had to respect the yield, lest he might be stripped of his knighthood. He instead turned to face the remaining field of three, who were now ready for a final face off. Renly and Stafford went full force against Gregor Clegane, and Thoros of Myr looked like he would wait to see, who would face him when the dust settled. Stafford and Renly both fought the mountain, but with Stafford outmatched in strength, and Renly outmatched overall in everything but speed, Ser Gregor gained ground. The Mountain managed to fight them both back and at once, with Renly grounded. Stafford managed to hold his own against the monstrous Gregor Clegane, and Sansa was even more surprised in the vigor, Stafford managed to fight back with. He looked like he was going to collapse at any moment. And sure enough he did, after a good blow to the mid section, Stafford was unable to gain footing and was grounded.
Without much of surprise, Renly Baratheon managed to step in front taking blow for his nephew, and he was once more grounded, but this time more defenseless. Renly took more blows than Sansa could imagine, she wanted the mountain to stop hitting him. Renly didn't want to yield for some reason.
"Gregor's just made the worst mistake in the melee," Her father told her.
"Why?" Sansa asked him.
"Why don't you ask your precious Prince Stafford? Maybe he woul-" Joffrey tried to start, but then her father had already gone to him and slapped him down a notch.
"I'm telling mother!"
"Quiet boy!" Robert proclaimed, and then the entire crowd began to lose their breath literally. Sansa turned, and saw Stafford's axe come full force across the Mountain's temple, right where his helmet did not protect him. The Mountain made contact with the axe, and he collapsed into the dirt with a thud. He had went limp, unconscious.
"Ser Gregor Clegane has been eliminated! Three remain!" Ser Barristan declared. Stafford offered a hand to his uncle, who didn't take it this time.
"I've had enough of this melee, I'm done, go take this one, Stafford, third is better than any place I could've imagined. I YIELD!"
"Renly Baratheon has been eliminated, final two competitors," Thoros of Myr, got out of his relaxed state. Stafford Baratheon, looked like tried to show that he wasn't tired, and instead of leaning on his poleaxe, he decided to stand tall when he faced his final opponent. Thoros of Myr faced up against him, and they both engaged in what looked like a two way dance of fury. The green fire's embers sparked, as Stafford of house Baratheon parried each blow and returned the favor with his own blocks. Stafford and Thoros fought in what looked like a drawn out dance, with Thoros moving elegantly, and Stafford roughly, but fluidly at the same time. It seemed like their battle lasted a lifetime, until suddenly, the priest managed to disarm Stafford. Stafford disarmed now had one last coup de grace, as he lunged forward and tackled Thoros. The sheer power and surprise knocked him down flaming sword knocked down. Stafford was grazed by the greenfire in the corner of his forehead, but Sansa noticed he didn't seem to mind. Stafford began to use his gauntlets to punch the red priest in the face, and eventually the priest yielded.
"Thoros of Myr yields, Prince Stafford of House Baratheon is the victor!"
Stafford arose doing the unthinkable, being the second person his age, to win a melee like this. He became one of the only warriors to ever win a Joust and a Melee in the same tournament. Bloodied, burned and bruised Stafford raised his hand in victory. The entire crowd seemed behind him, and at that moment Sansa did not see Stafford of House Baratheon anymore. She saw a new person, someone she had never seen before. And her heart tried to reach for him, but something else held her heart back.