(Firmridge, the Riverlands)
The fight between Yohn and Clegane had captured the interest of those spectating, these were some of the best warriors Westeros had to offer, and seeing them face off certainly excited the crowds.
The Lannisters weren't paying much attention to the victory of their Bannermen, their main focus instead being on the errant daughter who did her best to ignore her kin.
Tyrion had been worried about what hare-brained scheme his sister was up to, it didn't help that his gut told him that he absolutely could not allow the meeting to occur.
Despite her attitude and generally self-destructive tendencies, she was still a Lannister and her worth was greater than most lords could ever hope to achieve. A bargaining chip that could be used at any moment.
Had she not been such an utter bitch of a sister, and intensified the division within the family, perhaps he wouldn't have sold her as a broodmare to some lordling.
While he was angry that they had plotted against him, the other branches were still family and their deaths had reduced the strength and size of their House.
"What possessed you to do something so foolish? To barge to the King himself!" Genna whispered furiously to her charge.
Cersei merely sniffed at them, as if they weren't worth her time. "I don't need to explain myself to you."
Tyrion genuinely feared that his Aunt would strike her then and there, uncaring for those snakes that were watching them for any signs of weakness.
Thankfully, she calmed herself, though the look she sent Cersei made it clear that this was not over. "Watch your tongue girl, this might not be Casterly Rock, but you will conduct yourself gracefully."
"Lay of the girl Sis, I'm sure she understands just how much trouble she is in," Gerion interjected.
A wise move, if the defiant look on Cersei was telling. She was likely to cause another stir to spite them, more than she already has.
Sighing, his Aunt turned to spectate the fights.
He could already feel a headache coming, first the old Redwyne hag and now his sister. This tournament was beginning to look more and more troublesome. Only to raise his eyebrow at the expectant look on his Uncle's face.
Shit, he almost forgot.
Uncle Kevan wanted him to find a wife, and by the encouraging look he was sending him and the smug face of Gerion, they expected him to start soon.
Could this day get any worse?
...
Baelor was beginning to tire, making it harder to keep the momentum behind his swings, his opponent was relentless in his assault, a knight from the Vale he assumed by his colors.
The knight's determination was certainly commendable, unfortunately, he was making this more difficult than it should be.
His wild and aggressive strikes were wearing the Hightower heir out, which he couldn't afford to take for too long. Deciding to end this now, he swung with a visible flourish to the knight, wanting to take advantage of the supposed opening provided, the knight swung back without hesitation.
Only for Baelor to swiftly respond and catch him off guard. Before he could react, Baelor parried the incoming strike and then proceeded to give him another blow that sent him down to his knees.
With his blade to the Knights neck, the Valemen had no choice but to drop his sword and yield. "I yield, you have won this bout my Lord." the man said respectfully.
"You sound young, how old are you, boy?"
"Eight and ten name-days, my Lord," the young man admitted sheepishly.
Giving the knight a thoughtful look, a sudden idea came to mind. "What do you think about joining my retinue lad? I'd hate to see such promising talent waste away."
The boy gave him a surprised but ecstatic look and with no hesitation he immediately knelt to the Hightower heir and swore himself to him.
It was almost too fast for Baelor, nearly giving a whiplash in the process. Whatever the reason, this boy didn't care much for his present circumstances. That was something to look into.
"You can keep your ransom boy, make sure to head straight to my men, they'll get you all squared up."
"Thank you, my Lord, I won't disappoint!"
As the young knight rushed out of the area, Baelor could only shake his head in bemusement.
…
Alerie watched her brother acquire another promising knight, the idiot completely ignoring the fact that they weren't the only ones fighting. A good thing that nearly all combatants were too busy in their fights to care.
"There goes Ser Osgrey," said Loras.
Sending his brother a look, "It's Lord Osgrey, Loras, we've been over this." Willas chided.
"Does it matter?"
"It certainly does little brother."
"With how proud he is, this defeat is certainly going to sting," Garlen said with a chuckle.
"Look, it's the Red Viper." Loras pointed at the infamous Prince of Dorne who was having his fun with his opponents.
The Tyrells stared curiously at Doran's brother as he took on three Reachmen with little difficulty and leading said-men was none other than Mathis Rowan. It was quite the sight, as the prince played with competitors like they were unruly children.
She could faintly make out that he was mocking their stances, their mothers, and their pets outrageously enough. The last one seemed a little much, but his riling up seemed to be working.
In quick succession two of the three fell to the snake's blade as they recklessly rushed after their hated foe with only Mathis remaining behind and refusing to fall for his petty tricks.
"Mom, do you think Lord Mathis can win?" Her rose asked with a tilt of her head.
"Mathis might be a competent commander and a skilled warrior…" She started.
"Unfortunately, the red viper is not someone he can hope to beat." Garlan continued, causing her daughter to frown.
"You don't like him, I take it," Willas stated.
"I bet Tyene 5 golden crowns that a Reachmen would beat him," Margaery complained, earning her an eye-roll from her eldest.
She merely huffed at him.
...
Jason knew he was beaten, the Mallister lord wasn't getting any younger, and Lorimas was far more skilled than him despite being near his age.
"I'd love to know your secret, how in the blazes can you keep this up." Letting out a grunt of annoyance.
His brother-in-law's response was to smile smugly at him before swinging his blade once more.
Blasted Mudd and his seemingly unending stamina.
Still, he refused to go down easily, dodging the man's strike and sending one of his own. The two swords met in a flurry of strikes as they tried to get past each other's guards.
He attempted to strike at his left, but Lorimas was well prepared, earning him a cut for his trouble. The next few seconds were a blur as he tried to hold on for as long as possible.
To his surprise, Lorimas backed up a bit, giving him some reprieve before moving forward and swinging at him with great momentum.
Ardent gleamed in the sunlight as it struck down hard on his blade.
The spectators gasped as his sword was cut cleanly leaving him with a near useless blade and a masterful blade to his chest.
"I yield," he said.
"Well fought Brother," Lorimas said with a smile.
"Yes… Yes… you must tell how you have such energy to do this all without tiring you old rascal." Jason grumbled at his friend, though he couldn't hide the smile on his face.
…
Baelor was pleasantly surprised by the northerners showing, that Jorah Mormont was no slouch, which he was quick to realize.
While hardly the best fighter he'd met, the man was certainly skilled, they had been fighting for a while now, neither giving ground to the other. It was invigorating, if taxing and Baelor could feel himself improving.
Naturally, that did not mean he was willing to give the savage the victory.
He did his best to push back the northerner, moving with increased ferocity and hoping to break the man's guard. The Mormont parried most of his attacks successfully, though a few managed to get past him.
The bear's parries did not keep up for long as the cuts gained built and began to affect his performance. Not wanting to remain on the defensive, the northerner thrust his sword toward Baelor's chest.
Pulling back, Baelor swung his blade in response and managed to nick him in his arms. Taking the opportunity given while the man was distracted by the cut, he swung again, this time giving a blow straight to his sword hand and forcing the man to drop his blade to the ground.
"Yield Lord Mormont. You are beaten," he said, with his sword pointed to the man's neck.
"Aye, the fight is yours, Ser Baelor," Jorah said, his tone doing nothing to hide his annoyance.
Baelor felt a bit of relish at seeing it, the man had been looking too closely at his younger sister for quite a while now, and it felt good to put him in his place.
A look of surprise came to both men as Baelor felt a sharp object close to his neck.
"Well then, what do we have here?" The smug voice of a man whose existence greatly irked him spoke up.
"Prince Oberyn,"
"It seems both of you will have to yield now, Ser Breakwind."
That blasted nickname. It only happened once Sevens Damn Him.
Before he could curse the manwhore, Baelor felt what he assumed was a hard knock on his head, completely blacking out as everything went silent.
…
"Are you going to put up a fight?" Oberyn raised his eyebrow at the northerner.
The man only shook his head in response, "I have already yielded."
"Good for you."
Oberyn left the two defeated men, as he sought another opponent to test his spear on. As for Lord Mathis, well that reachmen was already down for the count. There was a reason the golden tree needed to fight him with two of his fellow reachmen.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Oberyn casually waved to his adorable niece as made his next move.
…
"That wasn't honorable of Uncle Oberyn, Dad," Edmund exclaimed in surprise.
Daenerys shook her head at his naivety, "Honor matters little during battle,"
"But… this isn't a battle." Edmund protested.
"It doesn't matter, Martell won. How he did it is hardly important, a victory is all that matters in the end." She ignored the stink eye from Rhaenys.
They were both children, it would take time for them to understand or they'd suffer for it.
"She isn't wrong Ed, your Uncle saw an opportunity and took it. Hardly uncommon." Erlend said. He of course approved of Dany's words, and he felt that it was vital that his son would understand it sooner rather than later.
"Still though, he could've easily beaten him if he fought fairly."
"There was no reason for him to do so, why waste time and energy when he could've accomplished the same result far more easily."
Danaerys didn't miss the approving look she received from Erlend, which brought a smirk to her face. Truly no one understood her King better than her.
Unknown to her at the same moment, a certain silverette sneezed in surprise as she overlooked her Company slaughtering the latest Dothraki Khaalsers sent by her enemies.
For that insult, she deemed that not a single rider would survive the battle.
How dare the horsefuckers try to take her life, even without a Dragon, the fury of a Dragonlord was a thing to behold.
…
Thoros of Myr moved as no priest should, the flames on his sword made his attacks far more terrifying, and his swings were both swift and unpredictable, making him a formidable opponent to face.
Lorimas though remained unphased by the Red Priest's attacks, terrifying as they may be, the flames would not defeat him.
He reacted swiftly to every swing the priest made, responding with his own and parrying what he could, the flames proving ineffective against Ardent. It was a poor match-up for the priest, but the man persisted.
His thrusts and feints did their best to break down the Mudd's resistance, though Lorimas stood strong.
Ardent seemed to weaken the flames as they noticeably began to thin when the blades met.
Thoros tried to move back once he realized what was happening, but by then Lorimas had already noticed and pressed his attack. Giving the man no ground to retreat.
With a final strike, the blades met for the final time, and the priest's sword nearly broke by the impact.
It was still a single piece if one could call it that, with the flames suddenly disappearing to both men's surprise.
Knowing he was beaten, "The daayyyy… is yoooours… M'lord." Thoros yielded, though his words slurred a bit.
The man was a hell of a fighter, even while drunk. That Lorimas would admit easily.
…
"I hope Father is going to be fine." Mya looked at the field below worriedly.
Her father had been caught by the flames a few times during his battle with the red priest and she feared what effect the red priest's magic could have on him.
"He should be fine, your old man is made of sterner stuff," Dalia reassured her daughter.
While she was worried for her husband, she knew he had worse injuries, these could barely compare. Still, it was mighty foolish of him to attack the drunk priest head-on. Magical blade or not, there was no reason for him to be so stupid.
"Father, Prince Oberyn, and the hound are the last ones standing," Mya noted. "He's going to win this."
"I'm sure he'll be happy to know you have so much confidence in him."
In the fight between the last three people, every time one tried to pull back, the other two would not hesitate to work together to force him back in.
It made for a confusing yet highly entertaining sight if the crowd cheers were of any indication.
…
Clegane and Oberyn didn't look too good, the men were visibly tiring faster than Lorimas who only looked slightly winded by his previous fights.
The man held the distinct advantage of having a better blade and the stamina to hold both his opponents off. A war of attrition would see him come victorious, not something either competitor wanted to see.
Yet, they couldn't break past his guard, something that frustrated them.
Their aggressive attacks were losing power quickly, yet Lorimas refused to go on the offensive.
It wouldn't be long before both would go down, that he was confident in.
Sandor, realizing his situation, decided to go for a sudden blow against the Prince, catching the man off guard and holding his sword to the prince's heart.
Lorimas decided to let the man have his win against the Dornish bastard, if only because the man had flirted with his wife. Petty, considering the prince was only doing it jokingly, but Lorimas gained some satisfaction from it.
Dalia, Sevens bless her soul had kicked the man in the balls and walked away, though that didn't mean he couldn't have his little vengeance.
"I yield." the prince said, though he sounded more amused rather than angry by the circumstances he found himself in.
The man retreated a bit back, as now Sandor and Lorimas faced each other.
Lorimas moved quickly once Oberyn retreated, his blade approaching the hound with swift precision.
Clegane instead of meeting Ardent head-on, dodged the attack, and immediately thrust to the Mudd's right, managing to get a blow in before Lorimas could react.
Wincing at the blow, Lorimas remained persistent, as he sent a flurry of attacks toward Sandor, who was forced on the defensive.
Having seen his previous fights, the hound refused to allow Lorimas any momentum, attacking every time the Mudd Lord tried to back away.
It was a game of back-and-forth between the two, though Lorimas held the advantage in his ability to keep up with the much younger opponent.
Sandor did his best to find any flaws in Lorimas's defenses, but none were given, having learned his lesson from the successful blow.
Tiring and knowing he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long, Sandor went in for a last swing, aiming to unhand his opponent.
Lorimas managed to parry the man's attack, but to his surprise, then proceeded to grab his sword arm and headbutted the hound right to his face.
Reeling from the sudden attack, Clegane quickly found himself unarmed and with a sword right to his neck. "The fuck."
"Yield?"
"Didn't know you had it in you, you old fuck." Sandor said once he recovered a bit from the attack.
Shrugging uncaringly, "It's better than sand in the eyes." Lorimas replied.
The crowd, despite being taken aback by the unorthodox win, cheered as Lorimas was declared the winner.
Mya cheered the loudest as possible for her father, uncaring for the disapproving looks she received from some of the nobles present.