43 Price For Vengeance

Thought I'd do my good deed for the day and post another chapter as it's basically just a continuation of the previous one.

Anyway shout out to JustMeRLLY, man straight up sends 3 power stones everyday even when I don't post 🤣🤣 I appreciate it and the others who send power stones even if I don't know what they do.

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(Old Town)

(Afternoon)

(Day before the Melee)

"Why didn't you say you'd be entering the melee!!!" Margaery shouted at Daeron as he was completing some repairs on the orphanage house.

Daeron sighed "I didn't think it was important, lots of warriors both high born and low will compete" he said with a shrug as he continues his work.

Margaery approaches him and grabs his arm turning him around, her features were marred with a frown and her glare felt like it could pierce right through him "Lucerys... most of the fighters are knights who've had a sword in their hand from when they were children, while you-"

"Just a lowborn bastard of some Lord?" Daeron finished with a raised eyebrow.

Margaery pushes him "Of course not!" She shouts out angrily, surprising Daeron.

"We've spent almost every day together and you think so low of me to judge you by your birth" Margaery says in a low tone.

Daeron realises his mistake, he'd automatically assumed she'd think less of him even if they were friends, a product of his upbringing "I apologise Margaery... I've always been looked down upon despite being capable, I should not have assumed you'd do such a thing" he says apologetically as he brings her into a hug, she places her head on his chest.

"Lucerys... you're my friend... I don't want to see you get hurt" she says softly into his chest.

Daeron smiles, he doubted he would get much challenge from the participants "If I'm in trouble I will yield, so banish these troubles from your mind"

Margaery removes her head from his chest and looks up at him her look of worry still present "They won't care for the lowborn fighters on the field, while some knights are still honourable, there are those who will cut you down without hesitation"

Daeron frowns "You mean the Mountain?"

She nods her head slowly as her hands still lay on his chest "The Mountain doesn't scare me, he-"

"Then you're a bloody fool... he scares me, he scares both my brothers, and he won't hesitate to kill people even if they yield" Margaery snaps at him.

Daeron cups her face "Margaery I'll be fine, I can handle myself, the Mountain nor any of the other participants will cut me down"

Margaery huffs and removes herself from his embrace, she turns around heading back towards the orphanage doors "Stupid... stubborn men... foolish pride" Daeron can only make out a bit of what she says as she walks off.

Daeron felt bad about upsetting her like this, but nothing would stop him from killing the Mountain.

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(The Melee Ring)

(Present Time)

Margaery looked upon the field with concern, she just saw Lucerys leave the tunnel, he seemed to be the last fighter to join, her heart was beating rapidly and her hands felt clammy. She saw her brothers out on the field, they had taken different sides of the field so as to not fight each other too early in the melee, while she was worried about them she knew that the Mountain would never be mad enough to kill a son of one of the great houses, but he wouldn't afford Lucerys that same luxury.

"Are you okay dear?" Her mother asks as she lays a hand on her lap.

Margaery putting up her facade gives her a sweet smile "Yes, Mother I was just worrying about Garlan and Loras"

"HA! My boys will show everyone here what true knights are" her father spits out as he takes a large gulp from his cup of wine, the red liquid trailing down his face and landing on his rotund stomach.

Her mother sighed at her husband's antiques as it was behaviour not fitting of the Lord Paramount, she turns away from Margaery to silently reprimand her husband as they were in the presence of other people.

"None would dare strike down any knight with the Tyrell name... but you know that don't you my dear, it's that white-haired pretty boy you're so concerned over" she here's her grandmother whisper from her other side.

Margaery looks at her grandmother with a neutral expression "You must be mistaken I-"

"Please, do not take me to be foolish like your father, did you think your guards would not inform me that you sent them away every time you visited that orphanage?" Olenna states getting right to the point.

"Grandmother, it wasn't-" Margaery tries to speak out her facade slowly cracking, but she's interrupted by Olenna raising her hand.

"Save your breath, you've gotten too familiar with that boy, he's a bastard or did that thought not cross your mind? I raised you to be smarter than your father but it seems you've inherited his aptitude for making foolish decisions" she continued.

"You were born to be the Queen, not some bastard's wife living in a slum... your dream was to be the Queen of Westeros, has that changed?" Olenna states as she stares into her granddaughter's eyes.

Margaery composes herself again as she faces away from her grandmother "I apologise grandmother... I'll make sure to cease my interactions with him" she states neutrally.

Olenna waves her off "No need to bother, I've dealt with the situation"

Margaery's eyes widen as her head snaps back around "You haven't!" She says fearfully.

Olenna stares at her granddaughter emotionlessly "I have... while the Mountain wouldn't accept my gold there were plenty there that would. Take this as a lesson for the consequences of your stupidity"

Margaery felt helpless as she looked towards the field, her eyes scanning for her friend.

'I've gotten him killed... it's my fault' Margaery thinks to herself shamefully as her heart begins to ache.

*HORN*

Margaery looked on helplessly as the melee started and dozens of different warriors from around the field started to converge on Lucerys.

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As the horn resounded, signalling the start of the melee, Daeron's instincts kicked into high gear. With a swift motion, he drew his Valyrian steel sword, its dark and smokey blade catching the sunlight, casting an enchanting gleam that captured the attention of the onlookers. Awe washed over the crowd as they beheld the formidable weapon in Daeron's hands.

However, Daeron's focus quickly shifted as he sensed something amiss on the battlefield. Amidst the chaos of combat, he noticed two adversaries who, inexplicably, ignored each other and instead directed their attention toward him. His intuition told him that danger lurked nearby, and he swiftly scanned the field, confirming his suspicions. A dozen others were converging upon him in different places around the ring, luckily it was a large area so he had time before they got there especially as they had to be careful as to not get attacked from behind.

Without hesitation, Daeron formulated a plan. Realizing the need to neutralize the immediate threats to avoid being overwhelmed, he charged towards the closest two adversaries. His mind raced, calculating each move with precision, hoping that their skills would not match his own.

As Daeron closed I'm on the two combatants, his determination palpable, and the dance of combat unfolded with mesmerizing precision. Their swords sliced through the air as they launched a coordinated assault, seeking to overwhelm Daeron. However, Daeron's skill and prowess shone through as he deftly met their strikes, demonstrating an uncanny ability to anticipate their moves.

The first opponent, a tall and imposing figure, unleashed a powerful overhead strike, his blade descending with formidable strength. Daeron smoothly stepped aside, evading the blow with calculated grace. With a flick of his wrist, he expertly parried the strike, deflecting the blade to the side. Seizing the moment, Daeron swiftly closed the distance, delivering a swift kick to his opponent's chest, momentarily disorienting him.

Meanwhile, the second combatant, quick and agile, launched a series of rapid thrusts, aiming for Daeron's vulnerable spots. Daeron's movements were a blur as he weaved through the onslaught, employing precise footwork and elegant dodges to evade the deadly strikes. With each nimble manoeuvre, he maintained his balance and composure, never allowing his adversaries to gain the upper hand.

As the fight escalated, Daeron's superior swordsmanship became increasingly apparent. He deflected their strikes with calculated precision, redirecting the force of their blows away from his body. In a breathtaking display of skill, he seamlessly transitioned from defence to offence, exploiting openings in their defences with swift and accurate counterattacks.

In a decisive moment, as the first opponent attempted a wide swing, Daeron seized the opportunity. With a swift and fluid motion, he executed a masterful sword move, using the edge of his blade to disarm his adversary. The opponent's weapon clattered to the ground, leaving him momentarily defenceless.

Without missing a beat, Daeron turned his attention to the second combatant. As the combatant lunged forward, Daeron expertly manoeuvred his blade, deflecting the strike while simultaneously executing a devastating cut. The blade found its mark, severing the opponent's hand and sending the sword spiralling away.

Daeron held his sword up to them both, staring coldly at them his blue eyes piercing their very souls.

"I Yield!!!"

"YIELD"

They both say, one of them still clutching the stump where his hand used to be in pain in an attempt to stop the blood flow. Daeron puts his sword down and allows them to leave the ring to seek a maester.

He turns around and is greeted with an unwanted sight, 8 combatants had made it to his location, all seemingly hellbent on removing his head from his body.

Daeron chucked to himself as he holds his sword outwards before getting into his battle stance.

Daeron found himself engulfed in a desperate fight against eight formidable opponents. The clash of steel reverberated through the air, setting the stage for a battle of survival.

With relentless determination, Daeron met the onslaught of attacks with expert precision. His Valyrian steel sword became an extension of his being as he deftly manoeuvred through the chaos. Each sword stroke carried the weight of his life, and he used every ounce of skill and strategy to fend off his adversaries.

The first opponent, an agile and swift fighter, launched a flurry of strikes. Daeron blocked, parried, and dodged, his movements blending seamlessly as he countered with calculated precision. Their swords clashed and sparks flew as the intensity of the fight escalated.

Amidst the chaos, Daeron felt the sting of a cut across his forearm. The pain served as a reminder of the dire circumstances he faced. Unyielding, he pressed forward, using his injuries as fuel to fuel his determination.

Another opponent, with a cunning strategy, attempted a swift thrust towards Daeron's abdomen. Recognizing the danger, Daeron swiftly sidestepped, allowing the enemy's own momentum to carry them past him. In a quick and calculated move, he redirected the assailant's sword, using their own body as a shield against an incoming strike from another opponent.

Daeron's instinctual reflexes saved him once again. As an enemy's sword thrust toward him, he swiftly grabbed the hilt, his fingers closing around it with a firm grip. Utilizing the momentum of the attack, he smoothly redirected the blade, unleashing a retaliatory thrust into an enemy positioned behind him. The force of the strike sent the foe stumbling backward, disoriented.

With the enemy momentarily stunned, Daeron seized the opportunity to unleash a swift and devastating kick to the man's legs. The blow connected with a resounding impact, knocking the opponent off balance. Sensing the opening, Daeron swiftly followed up with a calculated strike, using the pommel of his sword to deliver a powerful blow to the back of the man's head. The enemy crumpled to the ground, defeated.

However, victory came at a cost. As Daeron revelled in his triumph, a searing pain tore through his back. He gasped, a cry of pain escaping his lips as he felt the slash inflicted by one of his other adversaries. Quickly regaining his composure, he pivoted, ready to face the new threat. With deft precision, he deflected the thrust aimed at him, his blade meeting the enemies with a resounding clash.

Daeron's eyes narrowed. Summoning his strength, he arched his blade overhead, delivering a powerful and decisive swing. The enemy had no time to react as the strike connected, ending their life. Yet, amid his triumph, a sudden impact struck Daeron square in the chest.

The force of the blow sent Daeron stumbling backwards, his ribs cracking under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, robbing him of breath. He rolled backwards, gasping and coughing, struggling to regain his footing. The fortunate realization that the sledgehammer was not made of metal offered a small solace amidst the agony, preventing more catastrophic damage.

With sheer determination, Daeron refused to succumb to the pain that coursed through his body. As the large combatant swung the sledgehammer once again, Daeron reacted with lightning reflexes, launching himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the devastating blow that would have ended him. He hit the ground with a rough landing, immediately springing back up, refusing to let his injuries hinder him.

As he regained his footing, a new threat emerged, a foe wielding a menacing mace. Daeron's instincts kicked in, and with a swift motion, he drew his dagger. As the mace swung toward him, he deftly sidestepped the strike, angling his body to find an opening. In a moment of calculated precision, he drove his dagger into the outstretched elbow of the mace-wielding opponent. The impact caused the man to drop the weapon, his grasp weakened by the injury.

Without hesitation, Daeron seized the opportunity. He caught the falling mace in mid-air, his grip firm and purposeful. With all his strength, he hurled the weapon toward the large man who had been relentlessly pursuing him. The mace connected with unerring accuracy, striking the man squarely in the face. The absence of a helmet proved to be a fatal oversight as the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, his threat eliminated.

Daeron swiftly retrieved his dagger, ripping it free from the wounded elbow of his previous adversary. In a display of ruthless efficiency, he wasted no time, bringing the hilt of the dagger crashing into the mace wielder's nose. The force of the blow caused his opponent to stagger backwards, dazed and defeated.

With a cold and resolute gaze, Daeron surveyed the remaining combatants, their will to fight extinguished. Faced with his unwavering determination, they yielded to his formidable presence, their defeat palpable. One by one, they turned and fled from the field.

Daeron is breathing heavily, he can't help but think of how foolish and arrogant he was, he believed himself invincible as he trained with the Sword of the Morning, but even he was overwhelmed with numbers and dirty tricks. Looking across the field it looked a lot less sparse, it seemed a lot of the fighters had been eliminated rather quickly or perhaps Daeron had been too busy to notice the time passing.

"A magnificent fight Ser, I would wager not many would be able to pull off a victory despite the odds... well apart from me perhaps" he hears a soft voice say from behind him.

Turning around lazily Daeron is met with a remarkably handsome man wearing silver armour that seemed to glow in the sunlight, gold seemed to be embedded in the armour in the patterns of vines with sapphires serving to be the flower petals. It didn't take Daeron long to recognise him, he looked incredibly similar to Margaery though she was still much more beautiful.

"Well you were always welcome to jump in at any point, there was more than enough for the both of us" Daeron jibes drawing a laugh from him.

"I am Loras Tyrell, and I shall be your next opponent... don't take it personally but it seems you've managed to anger my grandmother, hanging around with the wrong lady perchance?" he says with a laugh and an arrogant smile.

Daeron looks to the floor and picks up his weapon, something that Loras allows, though his eyes widen when he sees the blade, his shock increases when he sees the pommel "Is that? It can't be"

Daeron smirks at him "It is" he simply states getting a laugh from Loras.

"I can't imagine the Old Lion is going to be happy with that" Loras states.

The two fall into silence as they square up against each other, women in the audience swooned at the intent looks they were giving each other.

The duel between Loras and Daeron unfolded with lightning speed and precision, each sword strokes a testament to their honed skills. The clash of their blades reverberated through the air, creating a symphony of steel that captivated all who witnessed it.

Daeron, despite his lingering injuries, moved with a determination that burned bright within him. He initiated the engagement with a powerful overhead strike, his Valyrian steel sword arcing towards Loras's defences. Loras met the blow with an expert parry, his sword intercepting Daeron's with impeccable timing and finesse.

Undeterred, Daeron seamlessly transitioned into a swift series of thrusts and feints, seeking to exploit any opening in Loras's defence. His blade whirled and danced, aiming for Loras's unguarded flank. Loras, ever vigilant, sidestepped with grace, his footwork evading the deadly strikes with minimal effort.

In response, Loras retaliated with a lightning-fast riposte, a precise and calculated thrust aimed at Daeron's chest. Daeron's instincts kicked in, allowing him to twist his body just in time to narrowly avoid the lethal strike. The tip of Loras's blade grazed his chest, leaving a telltale mark that reminded Daeron of the danger he faced.

The dance continued, the combatants circling each other with unwavering focus. Daeron unleashed a flurry of rapid slashes, his blade a blur of steel as he sought to break through Loras's defences. Each strike was met with a calculated parry, Loras's sword deflecting the blows with expert precision.

In a daring move, Daeron attempted a complex manoeuvre, twirling his blade in a mesmerizing display of skill. His Valyrian steel weapon carved through the air, its dark, smokey blade gleaming under the sun's light. With a flourish, he executed a lightning-fast spin, aiming to catch Loras off guard. However, Loras anticipated the move and swiftly ducked beneath the spinning arc.

The battle continued with a relentless back-and-forth, each combatant showcasing their individual prowess and adaptability. Daeron, though hindered by his injuries, fought with a dogged determination. He utilized his footwork to manoeuvre around Loras, seeking to exploit any lapse in his opponent's defences. His strikes were filled with calculated intent, aiming for the gaps in Loras's guard.

Loras, ever the elusive adversary, countered with a series of deft slashes and thrusts. His blade seemed an extension of his body as if it moved of its own accord. He countered Daeron's attacks with impeccable timing and fluidity, relying on his instinct and skill to maintain his advantage.

The intensity of the duel escalated as Loras and Daeron continued their dangerous dance. Loras, with his remarkable skill, managed to breach Daeron's defences, his sword finding its mark and leaving shallow cuts on Daeron's body. The pain ignited a fire within Daeron, fueling his determination to retaliate with equal measure.

Taking advantage of his Valyrian steel sword, Daeron struck back, his blade slicing through Loras's armour with a whispering fury. The dark, smokey edge of his weapon left deep gashes in Loras's protective layers, a testament to the power and potency of Valyrian steel. The clang of steel echoed, as each blow landed with a resounding impact, their weapons locking in a fierce struggle.

The duel became a test of endurance and skill, as Daeron sought to find an opening amidst Loras's formidable defenses. In a moment of strategic brilliance, Daeron initiated a feint, enticing Loras to thrust forward. Falling for the deception, Loras lunged, his blade aimed directly at Daeron's heart.

With precise timing, Daeron sidestepped, his agile movement causing Loras's sword to plunge into empty air. Capitalizing on the opening, Daeron swiftly manoeuvred his elbow, expertly intercepting Loras's lunge. The impact sent a jolt of pain through Loras's face, causing him to stagger back momentarily.

As Loras, dazed by the forceful blow to his face, swung his sword with a hint of sluggishness, Daeron's instincts kicked into high gear. Seizing the opportunity presented, Daeron executed an advanced counter move, his movements swift and precise.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Daeron expertly redirected Loras's lazily swung sword, sending it spinning into the air. The blade danced through the sunlight, its arc punctuating the tension that hung in the air. As gravity took hold, the sword descended, landing securely in Daeron's awaiting hand.

Daeron points his sword at Loras' neck "Do you yield" he asks in a regal tone.

Loras still nursing his broken nose looks at Daeron with anger and a hint of embarrassment as he nods his head. Daeron turns Loras' sword around in his hand before offering it back to him, which he takes with a small nod before heading off the field.

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Margaery's heart was in her mouth for most of this melee, with every cut and stab they dealt to Lucerys it felt as if she had been pierced too. She was responsible for all the pain he'd been dealt, all because she had found someone that she could be herself around and didn't want to let him go.

She almost stood up and cheered when she saw the last few hired goons running away from him. Her facade had broken and a smug smile had made its way onto her face, watching Lucerys triumph when all the odds were against him filled her with joy.

Turning around she expected to see her grandmother silently cursing with a scowl on her face, however, it was the opposite, she had a small smile on her face.

Olenna didn't even need to turn to know what Margaery was thinking "You didn't think they were my only plan dear?" She said to her. Margaery turned back to the field and was met with the familiar sight of Loras walking towards Lucerys.

'No! No! No! Loras! What're you doing!' She shouted mentally as she gripped the sides of her seat the wood creaking under the force.

She felt like running from her seat and jumping down to stop them from fighting but it was too late, they had already engaged each other. Loras and Lucerys provided one of the greatest fights of the melee, the crowd was roaring in excitement at the sheer skill displayed by that two.

Margaery was having a worse time, she cared for both men down there and right now they were trying to kill each other, she thought she might pass out from the sheer stress of it.

Though she felt relieved when the fight seemed to end with Lucerys disarming Loras and accepting his surrender.

"I say! The lad is quite skilled, he'd do quite well as someone in our service" Mace stated amazed by the fight.

"Truly, seeing a swordsman that talented is a rarity" Alerie adds in agreement.

Taking a swig from his cup, the wine pouring around his beard Mace speaks again "He may be a bit old but perhaps he could squire for Garlan, I'm sure the boy would like a knighthood of his own"

Before anyone can reply the crowd cries out in surprise. The Tyrells look to where the commotion is. Garlan had engaged the Mountain in single combat and things seemed to have taken a turn for the worst.

Garlan held the upper hand for most of the fight, though he struggled to get through the Mountain's defence as he wore thick steel armour that no normal man could move in. He was also forced to keep a distance avoiding the large great sword that Clegane could swing around like it were a dagger. But through unfortunate luck he managed to trip over a body that was on the field, though he was able to regain his footing he was forced into directly blocking one of the Mountains blows. This had the effect of forcing Garlan's sword straight from his hand.

Mace sighed "I was hoping that my boy would be able to conquer Ol' Tywin's mad dog, perhaps Loras could've beat him" he says the last part to himself.

Though before anyone can reply they are all shocked by what happens next. The Mountain doesn't stop and keeps swinging for Garlan, he barely dodged the massive blade as he backed up falling to the floor.

The Tyrells sat there helpless as the mountain lifted his blade and was about to bring it down on Garlan.

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Daeron was watching the fight between the Mountain and Garlan with frustration, the way things were going Garlan would beat the Mountain rendering this entire melee meaningless for him.

Though perhaps that was a blessing in disguise as Daeron wasn't certain he'd be able to beat the Mountain in his current condition, he'd closed all of his wounds after the fight with Loras by using ice to freeze them, though he'd have to keep reapplying it if he moved too much.

Daeron felt bad as he saw Garlan trip over a body that was sprawled over the field, it was a case of extremely bad luck as it seemed to allow the Mountain to disarm Garlan.

Daeron started approaching as Clegane was the last person left now that he's defeated Garlan. Though surprise shoots through him as he sees the Mountain take another swing at Garlan that he manages to dodge. Killing the son of a high lord while he's defenceless, Daeron wished he could be surprised but he wasn't.

Picking up his pace he runs over towards Garlan and the Mountain despite the aching and pain emanating from his muscles. He sees the Mountain swing forcing Garlan to the ground, he then goes to end it holding his great sword high and swiping down on him.

Daeron bursts in front of Garlan holding his sword sideways and bracing it on his arm, the impact of the mountain's sword makes his bones rattle, he held it at an angle to it would redirect the hit to the ground. It made Daeron shudder to think what blocking a direct blow would be like. Not having time to think Daeron takes advantage of the fact the Mountain is slightly hunched over and spins around swinging his sword at his head, he manages to directly hit his helmet with the flat of his blade ringing it and causing him to shout in pain.

Daeron drags up Garlan and they both walk back a bit from the Giant man.

"Thank you Ser, it was incredibly brave to put yourself at risk like that for me, if the angle had been wrong you might have broken your arms" Garlan states as he grabs Daeron's shoulder.

"Think nothing of it, but I'd appreciate it if you yielded, if I fight Clegane I don't think I'd be able to take you as well" Daeron said with a small smirk.

Garlan laughs "As far as I'm concerned I was out the moment he disarmed me. Good luck my friend," he says as he walks off the field.

As Daeron faced off against the Mountain. The Mountain, enveloped in a mad rage, charged at Daeron with thunderous footfalls, his massive form threatening to overpower his opponent. Daeron, determined and focused, prepared himself for the battle ahead.

With a swing of his massive sword, the Mountain aimed to crush Daeron under the weight of his strength. Daeron, relying on his agility and quick reflexes, anticipated the strike and swiftly sidestepped, narrowly evading the deadly blow. The force of the swing sent vibrations through the air, causing Daeron's hair to stir with the gust.

Daeron knew that a direct block against the Mountain's strength would be futile. Instead, he relied on his evasive footwork, gracefully moving around the Mountain's strikes. Each swing of the Mountain's sword was met with a deft dodge or redirection, as Daeron used his superior speed and agility to maintain distance.

Their sword fight became a mesmerizing display of skill and strategy. The Mountain's swings were fueled by sheer power, each strike aiming to overpower Daeron. But Daeron, with his Valyrian steel sword in hand, showcased his finesse and precision. His movements were fluid and calculated, as he maneuvered around the Mountain's attacks with remarkable agility.

Daeron sought to exploit the gaps in the Mountain's heavily armoured form. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, he struck with calculated precision. His Valyrian steel blade sliced through the air with swift and deadly grace, aiming for exposed joints or vulnerable areas in the Mountain's defence.

As the Mountain's sword thrust forward, Daeron swiftly sidestepped, narrowly evading the lethal strike. Seizing the opportunity, Daeron brought his sword down diagonally, aiming for the Mountain's neck. However, the Mountain's immense strength allowed him to slap Daeron's blade away, deflecting the attack effortlessly.

Before Daeron could react, the Mountain's massive hand closed around his throat, lifting him off the ground. The grip was like an iron vice, constricting his airflow and causing him to choke and sputter for breath. Daeron's vision blurred as he fought against the crushing force, struggling to break free from the Mountain's grasp.

In his weakened state, Daeron observed the Mountain winding his sword back, preparing to deliver a finishing blow to his belly. The threat of imminent death loomed over Daeron, but his survival instinct kicked in, fueling a desperate bid for escape.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Daeron swayed his body forward and backwards, using his weight and momentum to destabilize the Mountain's grip. As the Mountain thrust his sword forward, Daeron seized the opportunity and pushed himself to the side, evading the lethal strike by mere inches.

Surviving the near-fatal blow, Daeron's determination flared within him. Though gasping for air and reeling from the intense struggle, he refused to surrender. It was at this critical moment that he acted swiftly, grabbing hold of the Mountain's elbow joint and unleashing his ice magic.

The sharp icicle formed instantly, driven by Daeron's resolve and channelled through the joint of the Mountain's arm. The piercing coldness sliced through the Mountain's elbow, causing him to release his grip on Daeron's throat, his strength momentarily faltering.

Gasping for precious air, Daeron dropped to the ground, aware that the battle was far from over. He looked up to see the Mountain already trying to stomp on him, he pushed himself out of the way grabbing his sword before getting back up.

As the Mountain grunted in pain and exhaustion, he swung his sword once more, but the strike lacked its former ferocity. Daeron, quick to perceive the opportunity, deftly sidestepped the lazy swing, his blade arcing upwards with precision and determination.

With a calculated and decisive movement, Daeron's blade connected with the Mountain's wrist, severing his hand from his arm. A guttural scream of agony and rage escaped the Mountain's lips as he clutched the bleeding stump, his face contorted with intense pain and fury.

Driven by his relentless determination, the Mountain, now fueled by anger and desperation, attempted to retaliate with a punch from his remaining arm. However, Daeron, anticipated the attack and expertly manoeuvred to disarm him once again.

In a swift and skilful motion, Daeron dodged the punch, swiftly removing the Mountain's other arm from the equation. The resounding impact echoed through the air as the Mountain howled in anguish, his frustrations mounting at the loss of his ability to strike.

Bereft of both hands and consumed by pain and rage, the Mountain now stood before Daeron, his towering form an image of sheer brutality and desperation.

As Daeron relished the sight of his formidable opponent's agony, a fatal lapse in his focus led to a dire consequence. His momentary pleasure in seeing the Mountain suffer caused him to lower his guard, leaving himself vulnerable and defenceless.

In a cruel twist of fate, the Mountain seized this opportunity with ruthless efficiency. With a thunderous impact, the giant foot crashed into Daeron's chest, sending him hurtling backwards through the air. The force of the blow was overwhelming, causing Daeron to expel blood from his mouth, his body wracked with pain and turmoil.

Struggling to rise to his feet, Daeron fought against the dizzying haze that clouded his vision. He cursed himself for his carelessness, realizing the devastating consequences of his lapse in judgment. The wounds accumulated from the brutal melee now exacted their toll, testing the limits of his resilience and fortitude.

Each breath became a struggle, the pain in his chest intensifying with every gasp. Daeron's body trembled, his strength waning as he fought to regain his footing. The world around him seemed to blur, his senses dulled by the weight of his injuries.

With only one choice left and a desperate resolve, Daeron knew he had to take a risky approach to defeat the Mountain. Channelling the power of his ice magic, a soft layer of ice began to form beneath his clothes, enveloping his body in a chilling embrace. As his breath mingled with the cold air, a visible fog emerged, signifying the numbing effect taking hold within him.

The icy armour served as a shield against the pain that had previously ravaged his body. Although his movements were still hindered, the numbing sensation helped dull the intensity of his injuries. Daeron's mind remained focused on the task at hand, the weight of his determination outweighing the limitations of his physical state.

With a steely resolve, Daeron advanced toward the Mountain. Sword in hand, Daeron stood before the hulking presence of the Mountain. As the Mountain unleashed another powerful kick, Daeron, relying on his agility and the numbing effect of his icy armour, deftly evaded the attack by swiftly manoeuvring underneath the Mountain's outstretched leg.

Summoning every ounce of his strength and determination, Daeron let out a resounding roar. With a burst of power, he managed to lift his leg high, disrupting the Mountain's balance and causing him to crash to the ground. The ground shook under the weight of the Mountain's fall, echoing the force of Daeron's triumphant manoeuvre.

Without wasting a moment, Daeron seized the opportunity he had created. With a final war cry that echoed through the air, he propelled himself onto the fallen Mountain. His sword, guided by unwavering determination, found its mark, plunging directly into the Mountain's heart.

Daeron watched through the slits of the Mountains helmet as the lights from his eyes died and before he got sent into oblivion he whispered to him "For Aegon and Elia"

Cleganes eyes widened a final time before they shut forever. And with that, Daeron stood and withdrew his sword standing there and lifting his sword in the air to the applause of the Audience. Though he's not standing for long before he falls to the floor passing out.

(AN: Big boy chapter, well at least for this fic. Hope you enjoyed it, I imagine Rhaenys is going to love her wedding present mayhaps she might forgive Jon for bringing an eldritch entity back with him. I wonder what the consequences are for Jon using his magic so much. Anyway let me know what ya think)

Also my friend told me I should make one of these, tbh I'm not too bothered. My stuff will always be free, makes me happy that you guys read it and enjoy it. I love reading myself so I know the feeling of excitement you get when you enjoy a story. Anyway if you do use it send me some suggestions for stories or anything related to that, also might do some commissions on there idk.

Patreon.com/Captainalfie78Works