Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

POV: Barristan Selmy

Great Arena.

While a duel between a Knight anointed by the Seven faced another anointed by the Old Golds...

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This was not round to seek a chivalrous duel against Prodigy Boy... So there was nothing honourable about this first phase of the contest.

Barristan only had to concentrate on the first objective that would pave the way to his goal: conquer and defend. Selmy had been chosen to lead the Crowlands faction. Although the twenty-six-member group included two other worthy white swords: Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield, most of the comrades were scions of noble birth who had only dreamt of a battlefield.

The training and coordination of many of the 'Knights' of the Crowlands went to waste...

Thoros of Myr's flaming sword and Ser Balon Swann's mace partly compensated for this significant deficiency, but their chances of victory in this contest were precarious.

*Stiing!* *Stuff!* "Stick together!" Barristan thundered after disarming and landing a double slash on a warrior of House Harlaw. The command shout almost bounced off amidst the utter chaos of shouting and clashing metal around them, but a good half received the order.

The Crowlands faction was squeezed between three poles: Ironborns, Dornians and men of The Reach.

In less than a quarter of an hour, six of their comrades had already retreated, and a good dozen more were wounded and heavily fatigued. But luckily for them, The Reach and Dorne were mostly at each other's throats, and it seemed to be the faction led by House Tyrell that was the favourite.

Prince Oberyn was holding as many as two knights of House Florent and Redwine in the centre, but on the other hand, the swords of House Hightower and Bulwer were undermining the left flank of the Dornians, making their way towards the centre.

"Barristan! We must concentrate our forces on the Ironborns! We will be torn to pieces if we stay in the centre!" Shouted Thoros at his side as he continued to batter an Ironborn's shield with his wildfire-displayed sword to pieces and on the verge of catching fire.

Barristan took a breath to assess the chaotic situation. Thoros was partly right; they could not be surrounded in the middle.

"No! The Lannisters are behind them, waiting to pounce on the wounded prey! We must force an exit!" A few suicidal fools attempted to assault the West Faction. Their Leader and commander, Jaime Lannister, had a good idea of placing the flagpole in the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane. No conscientious contestant wanted to ask the Riding Mountain to kindly hand over the pole.

The faction of the Wests had an unbroken herd of ravenous Lions patiently waiting for the other predators to pounce on each other.

Thoros nodded, and Barristan moved to the opposite front, addressing his comrades with the following command: 'Ser Balon, Ser Mandon and you three, defend the rear guard! Everyone else, with me! Assault the right flank of Dorne! Let us breakthrough!" Barristan and Thoros charged first, followed by an honest roar of war in answering assent.

Barristan's sword cleaved mercilessly towards a distracted and worn-out member of House Lemonwood, unseating him in one move. Thoros and Ser Preston thrust like charging aurochs at their comrades beside them, creating a breach.

The Dornians could not hold, their right flank collapsing like a house of cards, leaving The Reach an easy victory over the measly dozen remaining. Barristan had been right.

As soon as the Crowlands group withdrew from the fray, Ser Jaime ordered to assault the Ironborns group from behind, allowing their group a more accessible retreat. Only two members failed to escape from the clutches of Chaos. An almost inevitable but nevertheless acceptable loss.

Now that space was open again, Barristan studied the situation... The North was caught in a pincer between the Vale and the Free Cities coalition, and a duel seemed to occur within a circle.

By the side of that group, the Riverlands was on the verge of giving way against an unlikely group of mercenaries and Hedge Knights, led by a flashy Knight in red armour.

'They're too far away. We'll never make it in time.' The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood astonished for a moment at the impressive display of skill by that Red Knight and three other warriors bearing the blazons of that strange Leader from the East who had given his King a run for his money during the auction. The fencing combination was an unstoppable typhoon that swept away any glimmer of defence.

Twenty Allied swords were on the sidelines surrounding the blue banner. Only those four were assaulting the dozen Rivermen left to defend the flag, and they weren't just winning... They were routing them!

'It seems there isn't just one Bloody Snow who deserves my attention...' Barristan awoke with celerity from the inappropriate enchantment. There was definitely a better time to take the side of a spectator. The elderly knight scrutinised his attention from the opposite side, analysing the remaining possibilities.

The most affordable prey was...

"There!!! Assaulting the Summer Islands faction! Chaargeee!!!"

"Uaaaarghh!" Seventeen swords and hammers from the Crowlands answered their commander's call, charging behind a halved group of strangers on the brink of defeat.

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End POV.

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POV: Jaime Lannister

In the middle of the fray.

Immediately after, eighteen crownland swords assaulted the backs of a dozen warriors of the Summer Isles...

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In his retinue, the Young Lion and ten other swords of the West threw themselves brutally into the chaotic cloud of metal and dust. Jaime absolutely had to lead his group to victory.

Not for his own honour, not for that of his family or the West, but for mere personal gain. It would not be possible to face the Red Knight at his best in this round, and, stock part of that group's skills and guerrilla strategy, Jaime was confident that his chosen opponent would reach the second stage of the fray.

Old Zick had good reason to be so confident in his champion... The Kingslayer had witnessed with his own eyes the defeat of Lord Jason Mallister at the latter's hands.

The Red Knight had disarmed and forced Mallister to surrender in less than three exchanges and then demolished a Frey Knight, a Piper and the heir Bracken soon afterwards... No one seemed to be his match.

'We must win this battle!' There was no other option. Faction West would need more material time to reach that group.

The Red Knight faction must have already retired victorious from the first race. If all of the still competing members of a group had crossed the red perimeter with the two flags, that group would have automatically advanced to the second stage.

"Ser Lyle, Ser Addam! The flag-bearer!" The two knights did not hesitate in throwing themselves towards the indicated prey. Poor Ser Wex Unfear would soon be robbed of his precious burden. Ser Lyle and Wex were both part of the Hundred Volunteers... It could be said that the two were former comrades. Jaime was confident that Ser Lyle would bring his club down on the boy in an 'honourable' and 'chivalrous' manner without causing him too many unnecessary fractures and bruises...

The Ironmen didn't stand a chance. The Harlaw House had remained strong, but all the best axes and swords of the Iron Islands had perished in the Failed Rebellion. Beyond that, the Ironborn lacked skill in land battles. Cohesion and discipline were lacking, and these men were not used to playful fighting. Only Lord Amon Fury and his four loyal knights seemed to be able to maintain that minimum of martial unity...

Jaime's sword vibrated fiercely against Lord Fury's shield, forcing the man to retreat. Ser Ruben's and Ser Edward's swords attempted a counterattack. Still, Jaime anticipated the duo by parrying the first slash with his shield and rotating his longsword along with his torso for a sweep from below. Edward became unbalanced and fell to the ground. Jaime's armed sidekick, his cousin, Daven Lannister, took the opportunity to throw himself at the man and pin him down with his own weight on the already heavy armour and shout:

"Surrender, Ser!" Daven drew his own pointed stiletto towards the helmet's slit to symbolise the hypothetical death that would ensue.

"Urg... I... I surrender..." By now, all that was missing was Amon, Ruben and another handful of wounded ironmen to stop the fight.

Lord Alan and Ser Ruben returned to their positions, showing signs of wanting to continue the duel.

"You cannot win, Lord Fury... Throw your swords to the ground." Jaime suggested, raising his sword and shield as a sign of respect.

"Aye, Ser... We cannot. But we can still fight for the dignity of defeat." Jaime welcomed the choice. The Paladin had to give credit for the effort.

Jaime recalled that a few months earlier at Pike, Amon and his comrades hovered between Level 5 and 6. Then, young Wex was not even on the pinnacle of Level 4, but now, all five of Pyke's Heroes were at least on the stage of Level 6. And Ser Ruben Iron had even broken through the Squire Rank of Level 7...

The new Lord of Pike and his Swordsmen had trained strenuously during this short time, increasing their fighting skills at an astonishing speed.

His cousin Daven was an honest [Level 6 Rank Lord]. So, Jaime would leave Amon to him and take Ser Ruben for himself.

The skirmish lasted less than a minute... But as soon as the entire Ironborn faction was annihilated and the flag conquered, an alarm came from the rear guard.

"Jaime! The Martells are stealing the Ironborn banner from us!" It was the voice of his friend Addam.

Jaime abandoned his attention to his defeated opponents and turned suddenly.

That Red Viper Bastard was fleeing with a handful of men with two banners in their hands. The Dornians had given up the fight against the Reach to attempt one last surprise assault on a much more palatable dying prey!

"Fuck! Don't let them get away! They must not reach the red line!" It was Chaos. Half of the Lions had come into conflict with the members of the Reach. Those devious Dornians had sacrificed two-thirds of their members to hold back their opponents and grant their Prince an escape.

Oberyn and four other swords had slithered away between the opening between the Ironborn and the Westmen... Luckily for them, the pointless skirmish between The Reach and The West quickly ceased. Instead, the two groups joined forces to hunt down the flag thieves.

The retreat was halted just in time. The five Dornians were surrounded by over twenty enemies with red and green blazons.

"That does not belong to you, Dornian Prince." Jaime pointed his sword at Oberyn.

"The right of conquest thinks differently, Kingslayer. If you want it, conquer it with the sword, not vain words. Prove to this arena that you cannot just stab kings in the back!" The provocation had been publicly issued. It was not an escape but an official duel that the Red Viper sought...

'Level 9; Rank King...' Oberyn Martell was the warrior of celebrated fame sung about.

The Prince's mighty ensign and bearer of the Dornish yellow banner, Ser Archibald Yronwood (Level 8; Rank King), thundered in turn, 'I challenge any Highland Knight for the right to this flag...! Well?! None of you cowards dares to face me in an honest One Vs One duel?!"

Murmurs of anger and expletives erupted among the members of The Reach-West coalition...

"I accept the challenge, Ser... And I will take back what belongs to us." A massive man, clad in thick steel with a faded blazon of a white tower crowned with flames on a smoke grey, armed with a bastard sword, stepped forward. Another formidable [Level 9; Rank Lord].

"It's Greysteel!", "Come on, Ser Garth!", "Honour to House Hightower!" grew ovations of support from the faction of The Reach.

But Jaime's gaze was not on Garth, Archibald, or Oberyn... No.

A shortness of breath similar to the first encounter with the Watcher struck the Young Lion. It had been a few seconds, but Jaime's eyes had captured him. They had captured another dazzling monstrous number within the ranks of the Reach...

Above the head of the knight-unknown to him-who stood beside Garth Hightower, hoisted a monstrous and inexplicable: {Level 11; Rank King}...

'Who the heck is that monster! What's his name? Who does he serve? To whom does that banner belong?! He's from Westeros... What the fuck is going on in this continent?!' Jaime peered for the first time and in gloomy astonishment at the knight clad in bruised and dirty armour whose name had not been sung in any ballad nor ever appeared in any tournament or battle of note in the past decades... Ser Jon Cupps.

Now alert to Jaime's abnormal interest in him, the man looked away, backing a step to mingle behind the rows of ranting men waiting for the big show.

"So, Little Lion...? Does the idea of facing a real warrior in a fair fight terrify you by any chance?... Uh uh! Looks like the flower minions have bigger balls than you." Continued to taunt Oberyn by pointing his spear at Jaime.

The Kingslayer awoke from his paralysis. There was a better time and a place to reshuffle all the heraldry of Westeros. Jaime would do the necessary research later. After all, someone similar to him must have picked up on the same anomaly and whom he could ask...

At least fifty contestants were gathering in a circle and anxiously awaiting the answer from the best sword in the West.

"... Let no one interfere! The victors shall have the right to leave this camp with the spoils of conquest. Let no one... and I repeat: "NO ONE!" lay a finger on the winning faction!" Roared the Young Lion before approaching only the Viper with a venomous tongue.

"I accept your challenge, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell." The Red Viper showed an evil, warlike smile.

Not only the small circle of spectators but the whole arena erupted in jubilation. Tens of thousands of eyes and voices were directed at the imminent double duel about to begin.

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End Chapter.

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