(Erlend Mudd, Firmridge)
Erlend watched the excited crowd as the competitors made their preparations. Sat right next to him were both Catelyn and Edmund, who had Elia and Rhaenys on their respective sides, presenting a unified front to the rest of the realm.
His lovers, at least those who cared for the blood and gore were also sat close by. Placed closest to them among the stands were the Durrandon and Stark families, clearly showing his favor to two great houses.
Yesterday's archery contest had gone well enough, with Balon Swann winning the entire thing. Stannis had even cracked a smile at that, much to the shock of some of his vassals and the rest of the realm.
"Dad, do you have any favorites for the melee?" Edmund asked.
"Oberyn is quite the fighter when he isn't messing about. Uncle Lorimas is no slouch either, especially since I lent him Ardent."
"No one but Dad can beat Uncle Oberyn," Rhaenys affirmed, confident in her Uncle's chances.
"I wouldn't say no one could, sunshine." earning him a pout from his daughter.
"Daaaaaaaad. You promised not to call me that in front of everyone." She stared at him accusingly, as if he had made a grave mistake that would see his ancestors rolling in their graves.
Erlend just shook his head at her dramatics, conveniently ignoring the pointed look he got from Elia, she did always say that Rhae got it from him, which was simply absurd.
Come to think of it, he'd never actually participated in a tourney before, which was a damn shame. He'd loved to have gone up against the likes of Robert and Arthur Dayne, too bad the former was dead and the latter was under house arrest.
He really should do something about that, the former members of the Kingsguard that stood guard at the tower of joy were all still alive. Lyanna seemed to take no small amount of pleasure in reminding them about how they were taken down by small darts of all things.
Most of the competitors were showing off to the crowd, trying to impress the gathered nobility and citizens. However, the more practical ones chose to warm up a bit and get the blood pumping, either by stretching or sparring with their squires and companions.
No matter how small, every advantage can make the difference between victory and defeat. Sometimes keeping a dignified and regal presence could be boring.
He felt like cracking some skulls, damn it, why did Robert have to die too early. Jon Arryn had sent him many invitations to attend tourneys while he was still alive, the old man had wanted to get to know him better, before he kicked the bucket.
A shame that he was too busy dealing with the Dothraki and scheming Braavosi. Though he did visit the old falcon several times when the opportunity arose, nothing like how fanfics tended to depict him.
To his surprise, Cersei Lannister of all people got up from where she was seated and sauntered over to where he was seated. Only after his approval did the guards let her through, "Your Majesty." She bowed her head respectfully.
"Lady Cersei, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I would like to request a private audience with you after the melee is over."
That was quite brazen of her, even Catelyn and Elia looked baffled by her words, while everyone else watched on waiting for his reaction. Interesting, this wasn't how Cersei worked, something must have happened on her trip from Casterly Rock to make her so blatant.
He paused to think of how to respond, he could practically feel desperation, desire, and uneasiness coming from her. The frowns and anger her kin sent her way, made it clear that this was of her own volition, turmoil was afoot in the golden pride it seemed.
"Very well, once the melee is over we shall meet in my solar." He nodded in agreement.
A look of relief spread on her face, "Thank you, your Majesty." She bowed her head once more before heading back to the lion's section.
Tyrion looked like he wanted to strangle his sister, whilst Genna began chastising her niece for her bold actions.
Not wanting to pay any more attention to them, he turned to his wife who looked troubled by what the vindictive lioness could possibly want. "She's going to be more trouble than Lyanna." Catelyn sighed.
"Maybe, but I know you like to solve issues like these, dear." He spoke bemusedly, something she had no good response to.
This wife of his liked to keep his rather sizable harem in check, Visenya was too focused on building up his powerbase in Essos to pay any heed. Of all his lovers, she had the most authority and regularly exercised it, making sure no one caused any issues for him.
For all her supposed gentleness and kindness, she could be very ruthless when it came to threats to the Crown. It fascinated him, how one change in her childhood, seemingly altered her so vastly from her canon counterpart.
The kids for their part ignored what just happened, more interested in competitors than some grasping noblewoman, with the only exception being Dany, who was sending death glares at the lioness.
Well if there was anyone who was going to despise Cersei to the core, then it definitely would be his little dragoness.
…
(Alerie Hightower, Firmridge)
Her husband was in his cups again and bragging to Paxter again, while she fussed over her little rose.
Nearly all of the Westerosi nobility was present today, even the northerners and those lot never bothered to attend anything of note. The only ones who didn't show up were Doran and the Ironmen.
Not that she cared for that gout-ridden price or those glorified rapists. It was a good thing the King had nearly wiped them all out. No matter what those cowards said behind his back.
Even now, the King's men continued to patrol the Iron Islands and make sure no regression would occur. It helped that the majority of the population were former thralls who had little desire to return to the old ways.
She frowned at the Stags and Wolves who sat so close to the Royal Family. Her brothers and the rest of her birth family were at least sat nearby as well, showing the king's favor to them as well.
At least the ones not down fighting. Naturally, as one would expect, it irked the old bitch Olenna that the Hightowers were favored by the crown, just as they had been during King Visery's reign.
She rolled her eyes at the old hag's assumption as if her kin ever needed the help of an outsider to take the Reach. Her family had not desired the Reach since the rise of the Gardners, it was better to have all the attention on someone else her father and grandfather always said.
One just needed to look at the Tullies to understand that. Still, she found it amusing that Olenna thought of her as a demure and meek lady.
You'd think, the number of times she had snapped at her idiot of a husband and broken her facade, that she would realize the mummer's farce she was putting up.
Her son Willas was the perfect example of the obvious, the boy had to have gotten his intelligence from somewhere and it wasn't from his father or late grandfather that was for sure.
Her daughter's face beamed with joy, as she caught up with her brothers. It warmed her heart that her daughter was happy and cared for them, despite the distance between them.
Seven knows her children are the only good thing to come out of her marriage. Janna and Malory did not disappoint thankfully. They had at least made sure Margaery would not forget or hate her.
"How is the King?" Loras asked his sister.
"He's very kind."
"Surely you have something more."
"Aunt Janna and Malory usually keep him to themselves, so it's hard to spend any time with him." Her daughter pouted.
"But they're so boring. Why would the King want to spend time with them?" Loras whined.
Willas coughed in embarrassment, knowing exactly what those 'times' meant. Her son was already growing up.
Alerie for her part inwardly seethed at her best friend and sister's actions. Those harlots did nothing to hide details about their encounter with the King. It often drove her mad with jealousy just at the thought of it.
They should at least have the decency to be more discreet about their encounters with the King damn it. As if sensing her thoughts, Janna sent a smug grin from where she was sitting, before returning to conversing with the infamous Lady Osgrey.
"You're probably too young for those adult conversations, Marg," Willas said, earning him a huff from his sister and a confused one from Loras.
"Am not."
"We're doing this again." Loras quickly put a stop to one of Margaery's favorite retorts, the poor boy had already been browbeaten with those words by his sister since they arrived here.
Her daughter could be very stubborn at the worst of times.
Shifting their attention, "Hey, who's that with the yellow banner and dogs on their shield?" Lores voiced curiously.
"That would be Ser Sandor Clegane," Garlen responded.
"He's ugly."
"Lores!" She admonished her son, who had the decency to look ashamed by his own words.
While she did agree with her boy's words, it didn't mean he could just go around voicing them, especially if one knew how he got them.
"It's not his fault, I heard it was the Mountain who caused his face to turn like that," Willas said somberly, earning a horrified look from his younger siblings.
Sibling rivalries were quite common, but to do something so horrific to your own brother and at such a young age disgusted her. While she and Malora rarely saw eye to eye, she still loved her outlandish sister.
"It's a good thing he's dead," Garlen said.
Not liking the turn their conversation was going, "That's enough of that, the Melee is starting." She said, putting an end to their conversation before it could go any deeper.
Her children put their focus on the rest of the competitors, though she had no doubt this conversation had affected them, perhaps for the better.
…
(Erlend Mudd, Firmridge)
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 shall 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 reins of the 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 personally 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 he'd admit, say what you will about the man's personality, but he did not lack in skills. Nothing like his brother, 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 that man called Strongboar and forced him to yield.
His gramps 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 the old man 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 a strike on his left, with the man managing to block it in time, though visibly grimacing in pain. Pressing his advantage, he made a strike on his opponent's left again.
The Lord intended 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, 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. Mudd had moved to find his next opponent once his friend was disarmed.
He'd get to the hound, eventually…