34 A tourney of death and conspiracy (part 2)

My little brother Tyrion, with his light blond hair and mismatched colored eyes, then halts in front of me without even troubling himself with greetings. His daily problems seem to have made him forget his good manners.

''It is time for you to fulfill your promise, Leo.''

From his small size, my brother looks eager to pack up his things, throw them on a boat, and leave in a gust of wind. From this behavior alone, I quickly become aware of what promise this is.

Tysha.

''I won't.''

Ever since I have thought about his new turn of situation, sixteen days ago, I have concluded that Tyrion would better stop this sad tirade of childish obsession. Better could now await him.

But of course, it was easy to anticipate his reaction. And from the face which he is now making, it seems to me that I was not mistaken...

Betrayal, misunderstanding, and shock... all of it accompanied by some barely concealed anger and sadness.

Seeing the little grimace that he tries to hide, and his yellowish eyebrows forming a straight line is enough for me to guess everything that's going on inside his head. And when his emotions finally calm down completely, under a great dose of self-control, my brother then speaks again.

''And why is that ? When I came of age, you swore to help me leave this place and retrieve her. If I didn't bring word to father about my plans, it was because you SWORE IT.''

The rise in his voice at the end of the last sentence did not escape me, but I understand it. This was a promise made between brothers, something meaningful.

However, I have to break it on the spot.

''The situation has changed and you know it.''

My response doesn't create any distortion in his facial expressions this time, but I can still perceive his sudden realization. And this makes him frown all the more.

''Are you talking about this accursed marriage ? If so, I find your joke to be of a bad and sour taste.''

Too narrow of a viewpoint.

''There was no joke in my words, I fear. You have received new duties which you are now responsible for... Tysha belongs to the past. Face it.''

The notion of duty looks to have triggered my dear brother, for he loses a small part of his composure. It is always at this kind of moment that he comes out with sentences full of caricatural and uninhibited expressions.

''You can't be serious… This is no duty, it's a gigantic pile of loud and depressive burdens. I would rather run away and find my true wife.''

Even if he is theoretically an adult, Tyrion has kept a naive side preventing him from seeing beyond the end of his nose. I don't think that simply finding Tysha would make his life any better. Far from it.

This situation cannot go on any longer.

''Look, Tyrion. We all carry our own burdens, no matter who or where we are. Leave your current problems here and you will find new ones in Braavos. Perhaps, even worse ones… As for Tysha, she is safe and has found her own place far away from you and the Westerlands. Should you be back in her life now, it would likely never be the same as it was. Your paths diverged, it was inevitable.''

Before my brother could start his response, I cut him off and continue my speech. I am not finished here.

''You should forget about all this nonsense for a minute and listen to me. Pursuing your old and idealistic dreams will only lead you to a dead end. What I suggest to you is to choose another path instead.''

Taking a brief pause which lasts a simple second, I pay attention to further keep my gaze focused on his. I'm careful to appear at my most serious, preparing myself to convince him with a new plan of mine.

''Stay, Tyrion. Stay to put your mind on a far greater purpose… a way better opportunity already standing in the palm of your hands. Here and now, as we speak.''

I have a plan for you, brother. One you should have seen ever since your wedding. Alas, love is constantly clouding your mind. Or at least what you perceive to be love… In reality, you only knew Tysha for barely more than a day.

My words, however, seem to confuse Tyrion. He doesn't understand yet.

''What are you even talking about…''

''Your marriage, of course.''

My quick and concise response elicits an equally quick sneer from my younger sibling.

''Is 'opportunity' a new fancy word for walking problems ?''

Might as well play fair now and go straight to the point, so he can realize the true potential of this marriage.

It requires a series of plans and opportunities that will be long overdue. But this is still a chance that should be taken.

''No. You are smart, Tyrion. But you need to see things bigger. What I am talking about is the Seastone Chair. Lord Balon Greyjoy has no more brothers, and his two remaining children have been taken away from him.''

After my right hand leaves the hilt of my sword, I raise my arm and point my finger straight in the direction of Casterly Rock.

''One of them is here… the only lady of the lot. You should understand where I am getting at, now.''

While that comment makes both my brother's eyebrows rise in unison, another realization makes him frown again just as quickly.

''Theon Greyjoy is the heir, not Asha.''

His answer, as categorical as all those fragile-as-glass rules, makes me smile ever so slightly before I tell him of my intentions.

''And you are right, at least in theory. Tragic events are common occurrences… The Seastone Chair may not be the Iron Throne, yes. But each throne has its own game. The real question is, do you want to play it or not ?''

When he made this demand, our father created more possibilities for the future than he could have imagined at the time. Even I didn't directly think about it while proposing to have her married to our distant kin. Now that I've shared it all with my brother, he too fully realizes that fact.

But Tyrion is a cautious man. A good thing, however, filling his mind with more doubts than necessary.

A first question therefore directly torments him.

''So what ? You want me to kill him ?''

''No, just to do your duty and wait for the right day to come. Make sure to have a child, to raise him or her well, and try to get closer to your wife. Let's not forget that after being disciplined enough, the young Erich Saltcliffe will act as your guard. Be sure to gain his sympathy as well. He is the heir to his house, after all… A hostage's mind is difficult to tame or influence, I am well aware of it. But I also know you to be cunning and capable enough to succeed.''

A few seconds of contemplation make my brother's feelings seemingly vary between interest and concern.

''So, I would have to raise an heir and become 'friends' with another ? *Sigh* There are so many issues with that plan of yours… And I'm not just talking about the Ironborns and their mentality.''

More doubts… Well, I'm here to take care of things.

''Mayhaps, but don't worry yourself with those. Just do as I said and, in due time, I shall make sure the rest lines up accordingly.''

In truth, chances are that a part of the problem will be resolved by itself. Since, if it still happens, I won't go out of my way to save a certain manhood… But of course, the future is uncertain due to my choices.

Many smaller problems would be standing in our way to achieving this. And at some point, a conflict would surely be inevitable. The trick is to find how to make all the process easier.

My reassuring words surely make my younger brother feel like a calamitous weight has just been lifted from his shoulders. With his head turned towards the Sunset Sea and his gaze lost in the distance, Tyrion's mind is now filled with thousands of ambitious thoughts.

The lion in him finally awakens.

''My blood ruling the Iron Islands…''

There it is… the right mindset for a Lannister to always have. Finally !

However, this goes far beyond just the 'blood'. It would mean house Lannister directly controlling a second kingdom, as well as their iron mines, rich waters, a new potential port for trades, and… the Sunset Sea along with the end of its trading route.

Successfully implementing such a plan would greatly facilitate the beginning of a new golden age for our house. We currently are the richest, but there is no such notion as having too much gold.

And with our gold mines rapidly dwindling, multiplying our house's enrichment plans is more than necessary anyway. Otherwise, we will suffer a long and disastrous decline in power.

That won't happen, not on my watch.

With a smile containing a touch of humor, I add a layer to what was just said… with a lighter air, this time. I am appealing to his ambitions to help him confirm and strengthen them.

''A better goal than a hole, isn't it ? Do you want more freedom ? Power ? Respect ? Wealth ? You would have it all and beyond.''

Just do it. Accept to take your role in this scheme. Do your part.

After a few seconds of silence, a smile from my brother makes me understand that the desired effect has been achieved.

''Quite tempting, if I say so myself.''

His eyes drift to the impossibly high rock faces of Casterly Rock, seeming to think about what he has to do in the days ahead. And after taking his time a little longer, he turns to me to give his final answer.

''Alright, I'm all for it. Let us play.''

With a smile of my own, I nod my head in appreciation. A new game begins, immersed in the middle of many others.

A squid game is now on, which will be built slowly but surely.

''Good choice, Tyrion. I'm glad you could see reason.''

The intense noise coming from the grounds prepared for the tourney is getting louder and louder, thus making my brother's attention shift to them.

''Right… But we have plenty of time to prepare such things. On the other hand, you don't have much time left before the second part of the tourney begins… So I'll leave you be, the melee is awaiting you. And…''

As he turns himself to me again, Tyrion gains a look that mixes a bit of pity and humor with a whole lot of sympathy and encouragement.

''Try to win, this time.''

'Try' ?

This makes me raise my right eyebrow with a fake look of indignation.

''Do you doubt my swordsmanship ?''

''No, my 'Unshaken' brother. I don't. But do your best to win this one. It would look better, then, when you crown my good sister your queen of love and beauty after the joust.''

Yeah, winning two out of the three competitions of the tourney would be far better. And so would be a crown on Lynesse's head… my wonderful betrothed deserves it.

They shall see that I am way stronger than the last time.

''A good point. Just wait and see, I am going to beat them all to a pulp. You may like the view.''

After a short moment of imagination and anticipation, my brother shares another of his dreams with me.

''I can't wait to see all those proud nobles crushed on the ground, ending up lower than my small self.''

Hmmm… It would be a sight to behold.

''Indeed, that could be satisfying to see…''

My hand comes to rest on the hilt of my sword again, a sign of the growing trepidation currently invading my body and mind.

''Challenge accepted. Shall I make dwarves out of them and a giant out of you ?''

This comedic offer makes Tyrion scratch his chin while pretending to think deeply, before giving me a slightly mischievous smile.

''That deal is even more tempting. A funnier game too, perhaps. So it would be a shame to not take you on that offer, Leo. Add a cup of wine to it and I would die without regrets.''

Once all of this is said, I head towards the rallying point for the melee's participants while Tyrion leaves for an adjacent part of the high and well-aligned bleachers.

Given the tensions between him and our father, I know that Tyrion will be watching from a place widely separated from our family. But Tywin never lets him take a seat too close to our house's members in general. This would therefore not change his old habits.

Although he has been getting a little bit kinder towards my brother, you wouldn't find Tywin calling him 'his son' in private. My lord father only tolerates doing so as a necessity to not lose face in public. This says a lot about the still strong hatred he holds towards Tyrion because of Joanna's death.

It is only when I get closer to the grounds of the tourney that I notice a crowd of people much larger than for the archery competition. Although fights between knights are spectacular, I still find that the talent and the mastery necessary to be among the best archers are far too often underestimated by everyone… whether it be the nobles or the populace.

Archery is an art that asks one a great deal of refinement and technicality. While a swordsman can sometimes make his way toward victory by solely taking advantage of his strength and brutality, such as for the Mountain, this cannot be applied with a bow.

Mastery alone can make the archer's arrow reach his target. What a shame for all those people to not be able to realize it…

On my way there, I then randomly come face to face with lord Hightower and his youngest son Humfrey who has recently been knighted. As he is just as surprised as I am for us to meet here, Leyton decides to respectfully greet me.

''What a pleasant surprise it is to meet you, lord Leonard. With your reputation as a man usually waking up before the roosters themselves, I would have thought you to be prepared before anyone else.''

I was too busy playing under the sheets with your daughter.

But I can't say that now, can I ? A believable excuse would be for the best.

''And I find myself equally surprised to see you here, lord Leyton. As for my near tardiness… properly sleeping has always been part of what I consider to be necessary before fights.''

For whatever reason, lord Hightower gains a barely hidden smile before responding.

''Yes, yes. Most certainly… In any case, I am glad to know that you treat my daughter so well. More than well, from what I heard.''

Oh… He is indirectly implying that he knows for our little foreplays and for the real reason of me not being in advance. Well, let's answer it in a kind and naive way.

''This is only natural, my lord. It is both a duty and a great pleasure for me to do so.''

This makes Leyton nod wisely while stroking his short dark brown beard with his slightly calloused right hand.

''As it should always be.''

Guess a man being married to a fourth wife knows a lot about how this should all go, huh. A total of ten children made with four different wives… A hungry man, to be sure.

After stopping to stroke his beard, lord Leyton's eyes turn to his son as he introduces him by extending his right arm in his direction.

''You already met my son Humfrey, if I recall correctly.''

''Of course, he kindly accompanied my betrothed here along with yourself and lady Rhea a few years ago. Before going to the Iron Islands, I saw him at the feast too.''

Turning to my soon-to-be good brother, I briefly analyze him up and down before addressing him with a nod.

Humfrey Hightower is a medium-built man born a year before me and Lynesse, with shoulder-length light brown hair and eyes of the same color. Although his facial features are similarly slender to those of his sister, these are rather hardened with a muscular jawline, thinner lips as pale as his skin, and way thicker eyebrows.

''Ser Humfrey.''

After giving me a nod in return, he gives me the same greeting.

''Lord Leonard.''

A question then comes to my mind, making me directly turn back to lord Hightower.

''I would have thought to see your heir at the tourney, my lord. Was I mistaken ?''

''You were not. Baelor is there, as well as his brothers Garth and Gunthor. The three of them wanted to be present early.''

As early as he thought I would first have been, I presume. Or I am overthinking things with all this matter of conspiracy…

''I see.''

''Before heading to my seat, I intended to accompany my last son there. He still has to put on his gear, as quickly as possible. You see, Humfrey preferred to sleep some more before the tourney… A trait the two of you seem to be sharing.''

So he won't be part of the melee, but his four sons will. Although I don't really know if this last sentence was a friendly criticism or a genuine remark, I don't seem to care about it in the slightest.

While answering, I then turn to Humfrey again.

''I suppose, yes… We may face each other in the melee, ser Humfrey. And mayhaps, your brothers too.''

His eyes flick briefly to the crowd of people as if silently confirming his thoughts one last time before answering me.

''Many participants have come, promising several hours of combat. So the chance is slim but still exists. May we face each other or not, I wish you good luck.''

''I wish you good luck as well.''

Before we go our separate ways, I manage to create a short incident to give myself the opportunity I've been looking for until then.

Although I had no idea when I would see lord Hightower again, I still brought a little paper here for him. Originally, I was planning on trying to hand it to him somehow after the melee competition. But that won't be necessary, for this moment is all I need.

The little paper contains an invitation for a secret meeting in an isolated corner of the gold mines, the one where I spoke with Laena. I will be guarded by killers from afar positioned in the shadows of this place. They will be close enough to be sure that no harm comes in my way, but far enough to not hear our conversation.

The words put in that paper have been carefully chosen so that lord Hightower does not see me as a threat but rather as a potential ally to his plans.

After sneaking the piece of paper out of my gear, I suddenly pretend to brush Leyton's shoulder clumsily.

''Oh… Forgive me, lord Hightower.''

Grabbing his arm to make sure he's okay, I quickly slip the small paper into the palm of his hand.

Although this sequence of events caught the lord somewhat off guard, the feel of the paper in his hand finally makes him realize the situation. Without trying to question my reasons, he thus begins to follow me in my little act.

''Do not fret over this much. Such a small accident is already forgiven.''

''Then I am glad.''

And we finally go on our separate ways, as if nothing happened.

Later, after everyone was prepared for the fights and suitably equipped, the time finally comes for all of us to march on the wide grounds provided for today's event.

Before I don my helmet, I hastily take a look around the bleachers made for the lords and nobles in the hope to find my future wife.

The sun shines on the different compartments of the bleachers, separated from each other at different heights. Most of these form long rows of seats raised by structures with wooden walls, next to which steps have been placed to reach the top.

One of the bleachers, however, is standing higher and looks far more majestic than all the others. Its structures are not made of wood but stone, with red and gold draperies proudly adorning its surfaces.

In the middle, three long silk banners are hung from the high edges of the stands. In the center is pictured a black stag with a crown placed in the center of his throat, on a yellow background which is sublimated by the rays of the sun.

On the right, one can see a silverish white tower crowned with flames burning on its top. The emblem of my good family, which is their Hightower itself, stands on a smoky ash grey background.

And the one on the left represents our house, with the golden lion standing proudly on its two hind legs. The proud and fiery beast is standing on a red background that no longer evokes for Westeros anything but the blood of those who fell after facing us.

Looking above it, I see that, unlike the other bleachers, this one is protected from the sun by a large wooden roof supported by beams connecting it to the bleacher's ends. The rows at its back are properly raised to allow all those standing there to fully enjoy the show without having to move from their seat.

As I look more closely at the front rows, I manage to see many faces that I recognize. The first person I see is my sister and queen standing at the front with my nephew and heir to the Iron Throne.

Lord Hightower and lady Rhea sit with Lynesse on the right, while aunt Genna has placed herself not far from my father and uncles on the left. None of which are participating in the melee.

The moment my eyes fall on Lynesse, I send her a wink that I hope she will have noticed despite the distance between us. My answer does not make itself awaited, for the gesture is directly sent back to me.

However, to my surprise, I then receive three winks instead of one… from three different ladies having all thought of my gesture to be directed toward them.

My betrothed, then Lehna Lydden, and then… Though I forgot her name, she should be one of Cersei's ladies-in-waiting. I mean… What kind of situation is this ?

Concerning Lehna, I can more or less understand how she could have mistaken my gesture. But still, our little story is an old one… that of two kids exchanging a few kisses. I am now betrothed and so is she. Don't tell me that she still has her eyes on me or something…

As for… hum… the other lady, I am pretty sure to have heard Jaime talking about her going in and out of the king's chambers since our return when my sister wasn't there. With a blissed face, no less. And of course, as always, Jaime has to kindly and silently watch it all as the good guard he is.

I can't even seem to remember the last time she and I talked to each other. Heck, I entirely forgot about her existence. Does she want to make the eight, as they say ? No, thank you… What a drag, I swear.

The worst part may be that Lynesse also saw them winking at me. She might get the wrong idea out of it… Well, for the moment, her piercing gaze seems to be focused on Lehna. I am not the only one who prepares himself to fight, it seems.

By the time I take my eyes off this nascent drama, each participant is getting into position as the fighting is now beginning. The knights present here are numerous, ranging from guards to lords while passing by a few wandering knights who have come to seek some easy glory that does not require them to shed their blood.

And as soon as the departure was announced, some then rushed toward opponents they had spotted beforehand. To my surprise, before I could go and have a nice little duel with Jaime, a man who was unknown to me then got in my way.

This knight, slightly taller than I am, is an overweight, middle-aged man with an incredibly red facial complexion. Whether it's due to his profuse sweating or his weird genetics, his head happens to be redder than some tomatoes I've seen. Literally.

After a few moments of reflection, I find myself recognizing this swordsman's coat being abhorred on his armor. Three yellow beehives on a black pale over a paly black and yellow field… House Beesbury. This is one of the five houses sworn to house Hightower, along with house Bulwer, Costayne, Cuy, and Mullendore.

Not knowing for sure who is standing in front of me, I take a wild guess by believing this knight to be Warryn Beesbury. He can't possibly be lord Ben Beesbury, for the man standing before me looks too young to be him.

''Am I correct to assume you to be the heir of house Beesbury ?''

''No, I serve him. My name is Bertram Beesbury. Well met, lord Leonard.''

I see… A knight of the same house, then.

''Well met, ser Bertram. If you will pardon my curiosity, may I know what the last news from Honeyholt are ? I have yet to meet lord Ben or his nephew, after all.''

My words have two degrees of reading. Although I indeed hear little news from Honeyholt, apart from their successful honey trades, I have met most lords and heirs of house Hightower's lands since the battle of the Straights of Fair Isle… except the Beesburys.

I, who was thinking of finally meeting the heir of this house and perhaps talking about business, end up finding myself in front of one of their knights instead. While it is of little importance, this somewhat disappoints me.

''Of course… As you may have heard, the lord is getting too old to wield a sword. His sight itself is, unfortunately, beginning to fail him. It won't be long before the young Warryn replaces lord Ben, I think. A matter of a few years, at most.''

Neither wielding a sword nor properly seeing ? It seems that the end of his lordship is indeed imminent. Well, he should be older than lord Tully by a decade or two anyway.

Ser Bertram, having understood my indirect question, then resumes speaking with an air of embarrassment.

''Even though lord Warryn could not go to face the Ironborns, he sent me along with half of lord Ben's men to represent my house while fighting for lord Hightower.''

His words are on the defensive and his gaze is now averted from mine… The subject of his liege lord's absence seems to destabilize him.

But regarding Warryn remaining in his stronghold, my disappointment in no way implies the need to get upset here. House Beesbury has done its part, that's all that matters.

This knight looks to be involved, respectful, as well as loyally serving my allies and good family. So he deserves to be reassured, I guess.

''Rest assured, ser, for I believe there to be no harm in lord Warryn's decision. Although strongly recommended by the king when he called his banners, the effort of war was not mandatory. And with or without the young lord's presence, house Beesbury still sent plenty enough help to our cause. It's more than any Dornish lord can boast about, don't you think ?''

Most of the lords who came to the Iron Islands were more interested in gains and the king's favors than they were in 'loyalty'. This was felt more than once and I was able to see it for myself.

Lord Warryn being absent despite his military support could even be seen as more humble than anything else. In the end, he is missing potential opportunities to elevate his house. In any case, judging his decision as disrespectful is too quick of a conclusion.

Focusing on my opponent again, I see that my last words have made him redder than he already was. Although barely audible, I then manage to hear a hateful whisper muffled by his teeth.

''Anything is better than a bloody snake…''

But realizing that now is not the time to get lost in thought, ser Bertram pulls himself together and smiles back at me.

''I am honored by your kind words, my lord. Oh, and I have one more piece of news, if you enjoy rumors and gossip... Not long ago, prince Doran Martell offered his daughter Arianne in marriage to lord Beesbury despite his old age. But my lord is most wise and preferred to have his nephew inherit Honeyholt rather than some half Dornish's spawn.''

A more than apparent dose of contempt for the Dorish, huh… Nothing too surprising, it's a common opinion for many lords of the Reach and the Stormlands.

The marcher lords have been in constant conflict for thousands of years, which has made them increasingly hostile by nature. Their martial traditions have been strengthened due to the many wars happening there. And this has also given rise to impressive castles, each more reinforced than the other.

Again and again, the Dornish Marches cause trouble and ravage the green lands of the Reach whenever they get the chance. I would thus not be surprised if relatives more or less close to the Beesburys were killed there.

And let's not forget that the Peake Uprising of 233 AC has marked many houses through Westeros and created much hostility. It barely happened during the generation of my grandparents, after all. My two great uncles, Tywald and Tion, died there alongside Robert Reyne and king Maekar I Targaryen. They all perished during the Storming of Starpike which ended house Peake's rebellion.

Therefore, I can sympathize with his strong feelings. While the Dornish do not evoke good feelings in general, however, the blame for that matter is mainly to put on the Marches… But whether ser Bertram generalizes these mountain people with the rest of Dorne is none of my business.

Refusing a marriage with a princess is not really 'wise' though. Then again, I don't care all that much about the old lord's choice. What interests me in this conversation is that the hate for Dorne is still running deep in the southern parts of the Reach. That's some good info.

''Indeed, a wise choice. But… a question bothers me, ser. With a reputation like mine, I admit to being surprised to see a man of your… build facing me. No offense intended, of course.''

Even if I do not wish to stir up hatred on the part of this knight, beyond satisfying my curiosity, these inappropriate words are useful for me to gauge him and see if his emotions could be used against him during our duel. Fair play is not that important.

But contrary to my expectations, this elicits a jovial sneer from Bertram who then hastens to answer me honestly.

''None is taken. I am fat and red, you can say it. HaHa ! As for my reasons, I must concede them to be quite childish. Although the tales of your deeds came one after the other to my lord's lands, I have yet to see it with my own eyes. And what better way to see if the rumors are true than by experiencing it myself ?''

So he is just a sword fight enthusiast, in the end. Fair enough.

''A sound reasoning, ser. Then I shall indulge you by not holding anything back.''

Ending our discussion, ser Bertram raises his greatsword and stands on guard while continuing to smile.

''I am honored, Leonard the Unshaken. So shall I.''

Seeing him directly charging me with his two-handed heavy sword, I know that I will not be able to easily parry the blows of that weapon with my longsword which is shorter and lighter.

After a quick and evasive movement, I then try to finish our duel as soon as possible by aiming for his throat and thus forcing him to admit defeat. However, ser Bertram puts all his strength to quickly redirect his imposing blade and uses it to strike my sword in the hope to have it fall out of my firm grip.

Following the clash of our swords, I still manage to parry his blow at the cost of having to step back and momentarily lose my balance. Having trained tirelessly to not let myself be overwhelmed by this kind of situation, however, it takes me less than a second to get back into position.

Before he can properly raise his greatsword, the end of which fell to the ground following my parry, I charge towards him to do a short series of blows without withdrawing my sword between them.

Seeing me prolong my series of blows for longer than necessary, my opponent takes the opportunity to try to give me a strong blow to my left flank. As the blade of his sword comes perilously close to my stomach, ser Bertram shouts the words of his house.

''Beware our Sting !''

However, the extended time of my current attack was naught but a decoy to fool him into recklessly trying to strike me. While Bertram thought he had me, my thoughts were already focused on my next move.

Taking advantage of the several seconds required to move his massive sword, I drop my body beneath it while placing my free hand on the ground to ensure my balance. Once his slow blow looms over me, I straighten my sword arm and quickly placed the blade of my sword against the back of his neck.

Realizing his defeat, ser Bertram Beesbury lets all his fatigue take over and painfully falls to his knees. His further reddened head throbs with heat and dozens of small beads of sweat are rolling down his forehead. The rest of his body is not spared by his abundant sweat, for even his red and hairy hands are visibly wet.

With the little strength he has left, he then congratulates me on my performance during our duel. But the more he forces himself to speak, the more his exhaustion forces him to take a long breath between his words.

''Well fought… my… lord. That will… give me a nice… tale to… tell about to… my kids.''

Seeing that he can hardly talk, I decide to help this nice guy by cutting it all short.

''No need to tire yourself any further, ser. You fought well too. Now leave and rest, you deserve it.''

''With… pleasure.''

After a nod of his head, the tired overweight knight silently walks off the competition field.

And so flies away the vanquished bee.

While turning my gaze to the vast expanse of duels taking place here, I see Roland Hill battling Jory Cassel. It seems that previously, the former defeated Janos Slynt while the latter defeated Boros Blount. The two defeated knights are thus quietly following Bertram with sullen looks.

Trying to find Jaime to initiate a new traditional brotherly duel of ours, I end up seeing him in the distance, already busy with lord Jason Mallister.

Beating my incestuous brother's arse will have to wait, I guess.

As my gaze wanders in the direction of a more than interesting duel between Barristan Selmy and Aegys Valteran, I am suddenly interrupted by a knight coming to face me.

Heavily graying brown hair, slate-grey eyes, bushy eyebrows, large and gnarled hands, as tall as Sandor Clegane…

While those traits are enough for me to recognize this tourney knight, what catches the eye the most about him is his set of bronze armor. This piece of art said to be thousands of years old, is inscribed with runes that can allegedly protect its owner from harm.

The one who is so fond of wearing this ancient armor during every competition is none other than the lord of Runestone, also named the 'Bronze Yohn'. In other words, lord Yohn Royce.

''Lord Royce.''

''Lord Leonard.''

''I haven't seen you since Pyke.''

Before answering me, Yohn heaves a slight solemn sigh. He seems to be about to confess a truth that he can only accept… A truth everyone ends up having to endure over the years.

''Well… I like it not, but my bones are getting old. Had to rest to not miss the tourney.''

Although his answer was pretty obvious, I'm surprised at how vehemently this lord wants to continue participating in the tourneys. But remembering his reputation a little better, it seems quite logical.

''Oh, of course. Everyone knows how much you love tourneys, my lord. You never missed a single one in your entire life.''

With his booming voice, following my words, the old lord exclaims fervently about his unbendable will to continue to fight regardless of age.

''AND THAT WILL NOT START TODAY.''

After examining me more closely while stroking the full length of his smooth, white beard, a look of uncertainty ends up appearing in Yohn Royce's eyes. He seems to be unsure how to judge me. Following his short inspection, his neutral but sharp verdict is given.

''Not all of us are fooled by titles and names. Trust me, lord Leonard, when I say that anyone can be shaken.''

Although I can't agree more on this, I will not let him slight me without a response. Even if he is only stating facts. I can wield words as I do with my longsword.

''So can you, lord Royce. Both by your age and my blade. We shall now see what you are made of... Bronze or wood ? It has yet to be decided.''

Taken aback by my suddenly more aggressive words, a playful sneer escapes lord Yohn's cracked, wrinkled-edged lips.

''Then let us fight. However, I can already tell what your tongue is made of, for it seems to be as sharp as your sword.''

After these words, Yohn raises his common blunted mace and stands on guard in a perfectly academic way. His booming and playful voice is then gone, leaving place for a quiet and highly focused behavior.

Seeing that lord Royce remains on the defensive at first, I decide to fake a vertical attack with my sword towards his right flank. In response to this attack, Bronze Yohn is about to sweep my sword with the brute force of the heavy metallic head of his mace.

My blade then abruptly changes course and quickly smashes down against Yohn's right thigh, which is protected by his bronze armor. His mace being thrown forward while his leg moves slightly backward, lord Royce finds himself momentarily destabilized.

Pivoting on myself during this given moment, my sword comes to the left flank of the lord, trying to aim for his throat. But Yohn manages to move in time to evade his defeat, my sword ending up striking his protected left shoulder.

Feeling more and more unsettled, Bronze Yohn focuses all his attention on hitting my armor quickly with his mace in hopes of sending me on the defensive. Feeling my danger sense activate at this precise moment, I do my best to avoid his blow as soon as possible.

Although no second was left to chance, the blunt crushing weapon designed to smash armors succeeds in fulfilling its purpose. Lord Royce's common mace impacts my armor, forcing me to put my right knee on the ground.

As he takes the opportunity to land a decisive strike with his mace, however, I leap out of energy and unwillingness to lose. Before his weapon comes to impact my armor again, I raise my longsword just in time to come and strike Yohn's hands.

Following this, lord Royce's mace is forced out of his hands and falls to the ground. Not allowing him to pick it up, I swing my sword so that its blade comes stabbing the old lord's armor.

What follows is an abrupt stepping back from my opponent. But his bronze armor seems to have protected him so well that he is still able to stand. Tired of seeing that damn armor saving him, I decide to make a mighty kick with my right foot in the same spot where my sword had previously hit lord Yohn.

This makes the old knight fall backward until he ends up with his back on the ground. As lord Royce struggles to straighten up, my blade comes to rest against his throat and makes him let out a long sigh.

''The Unshaken, huh…''

''Right, and you are indeed made of bronze.''

After respectfully acknowledging each other's strength, Yohn painfully stood up while holding his back with his right hand. After picking up his mace, he then leaves. But after a few steps, lord Royce turns to speak one last time with a serious and calm look.

''May you win this tourney. I will be watching.''

After nodding in his direction, I then focus my gaze on the knights nearby. And I have to say that some rather interesting battles are currently unfolding.

Barristan Selmy just defeated Baelor Hightower, after seemingly having vanquished Aegys. And he is now heading toward Gunthor Hightower.

Considering that Roland is now fighting Jahrod, a good swordsman of the newly named Golden Rain, Jory Cassel must have just lost to him. And just next to them, Sean seems to be holding his ground against lord Prester.

That lucky redhead knight even recently got himself a name, from what I heard. At first, the other members of the Golden Rain began to call him ser Sean the scarred face due to the various scars he got himself during the rebellion. But after a few days, they decided that it was too much of a mouthful and changed it to Sean the Scarface. Well… In the end, some even continued to call him Sean the Bean.

Seems like he isn't fully respected yet…

Further to the right, the king appears to have defeated lord Tommen Costayne and is now engaged in a duel with the Mountain. Two giant warmongers lashing at each other with a greatsword and big warhammer… Now, THAT is what I call a damn duel.

After seeing Jaime being busy with lord Tytos Brax, my eyes finally fall on Humfrey who has just defeated his own brother Garth. Not wanting to wait any longer, I hasten to present myself in front of him so that we face each other.

While still a little out of breath from his fight against ser Garth, Humfrey then notices me and starts to smile after a short moment of surprise.

''We see each other again, good brother.''

Eager to face Humfrey, I respond with a smile of my own.

''I told you so. Though we are yet to become good brothers.''

After rolling his eyes at my comment, he gives me his opinion on the subject with a touch of amusement present in his voice.

''This is only a matter of days, no harm in being a tad bit in advance.''

Accepting his reasoning, no matter how simple it is, I raise my longsword and get into position.

''Good point. Then I shall go as harshly on you as with Jaime.''

Without further ado, my brown-haired southerner of a good brother raises his own longsword and places it right next to mine. Our two swords of the same size and weight then intersect each other at equal height.

''Perfect.''

The next moment, Humfrey tries to take me by surprise while attempting a sudden frontal stab. Except that contrary to his expectations, I don't let myself be fazed and raise my sword just as quickly to parry his blow by blocking his longsword between the blade and the cross-guard of my own.

Right after my parry, I follow up with a counter-attack that my opponent barely manages to block with his own parry before withdrawing his sword and getting back into a defensive position.

As we circle each other, Humfrey decides to take the initiative and launches into another stab. But as he is charging toward me, my good brother doesn't even seem to be looking where he is about to strike. No doubt, this is a feint... or at least an attempt at a feint.

When he redirects his blow, I thus easily parry it and extend the movement of my sword continuously to hit his right shoulder. Humfrey is then forced to back off to better prepare for our next exchange of blows. Understanding that I see through his feints with ease, he thus frowns and grits his teeth in frustration.

For my part, seeing his unstable emotional state, I gain a smile of contentment and provoke the new knight further.

''Your father made you a knight on Harlaw. But after seeing this, I wonder… was it truly deserved ?''

Without saying a word, Humfrey extends his right foot forward as far as possible without overstretching or losing balance. As he lunges toward me, he then extends his sword arm and engages me again with a vertical slash.

Only while executing his slash did he finally unleash all his momentary hate and rage to strengthen his blow to the maximum.

Although my words annoyed him, it seems like he remained in control of himself all the while…

Unfortunately for him, however well executed his blow may have been, all I had to do was sidestep to avoid it and have him slash at nothing but the air. Turning to face me again, my pissed good brother finally answers me.

''Well, I tend to believe that I am more deserving than a boy of nine.''

Hearing his stinging remark only makes me raise an eyebrow in amusement. Still finding the energy to fight me with words, huh ?

''Mayhaps… but I long since killed that boy to let the man be born. Have you ?''

My words seem to have the opposite effect than intended, changing Humfrey's expression from rage to confusion.

''Am I dreaming or are you quoting the northerners ?''

While shrugging my shoulders, I confess my appreciation for these sayings coming from beyond the Twins.

''They do have some nice quotes.''

And our duel continues like this for a good couple of minutes, until my opponent's multiple blows end up tiring him to the point of no return. With his butt on the ground and his sword lying to the side, Humfrey brings an end to our long fight by himself.

While extending my hand to him, I say a few words to have our confrontation take an end on a positive note.

''It was a nice fight.''

After watching my hand for a few seconds, he reaches out to grab it. Following this, I pull him towards me to help him get back on his feet. Once standing, my defeated good brother also say a few words before leaving.

''Aye, a more than nice one.''

The list of participants in this event is so long that many other duels followed the one that saw me fighting against Humfrey. Among other lords and glory-seeking knights, I defeated ser Balman Byrch and ser Hosteen Frey.

Amid these many fights, I saw a lot of knights falling all around me. As Sean faced Jorah Mormont and defeated him, Roland engaged in a long duel against Thoros of Myr who had his sword ignited. Although under the threat of wildfire, Roland successfully multiplied tricks, feints, and well-calculated blows to defeat his opponent in high colors.

Among the worthy mentions, Andrew Windhill beat Amory Lorch in a more than vicious duel. James Lydden tried his luck against Barristan Selmy but was quickly defeated.

Robert Baratheon flattened successively lord Gullian Swann, lord Gawen Westerling, and Sandor Clegane along with a couple of other knights. Having defeated the two brothers, while openly laughing, the king shouted loud and clear to anyone who would listen that he had defeated house Clegane of the Westerlands by himself.

And let's not forget my brother Jaime who fought and defeated various competitors such as ser Rhyman Frey, ser Lyle Crakehall, ser Benedict Marbrand, and Sean. Vincent Kenning also tried his luck with my brother, but much like James, he was easily beaten.

And now, as I finish my second duel with a Frey in a row, I turn to see ser Barristan place his blade on Jaime's neck. Before I could do it myself, he thus defeated my brother.

Deciding to face him now rather than at the very end of the competition, I decide to approach Barristan the Bold right away. And as soon as he sees me coming, he goes on his guard without a word.

While we wait for one of us to take the initiative to engage in the duel, I end up breaking the ice by talking about his previous duels.

''I saw you fight my brother and Aegys. They didn't stand a chance, it seems…''

While continuing to remain firmly on guard, the white-haired old knight merely answers me concisely without taking his pale blue eyes off me.

''Ser Jaime's moves have no secret to me. As for ser Aegys, he fought well. But not well enough.''

Seeing that he doesn't want to elaborate any further on the subject, I end our conversation before starting with a forward slash.

''Very well… Then I ought to be the one to surprise you today, ser.''

The reputed Kingsguard thus uses his longsword to parry my slash before following with a strong riposte rather than a direct launch into the attack.

After that, I tried a few feints but to no avail, for he countered every vicious blow thrown in his way. And my series of feints didn't miss to slightly irritate the skilled knight who quickly comments on the matter.

''I dislike tricks.''

With no intention of stopping my feints, but rather of using them in a better way, I nod my head while pretending to obey him.

''Noted.''

Our intense duel continues with successions of slashes, stabs, parries, counter-attacks, and whatnot. Gaining always more speed and sheer focus, this fight of ours quickly turns into a brutal dance of swordsmen.

Even though I managed to strike the silverish enameled scales of his white plate armor a few times, that didn't seem to help me too much.

Barristan the Bold is pretty good at always keeping his bearings, being focused on each little detail, and getting back on his feet in less time than it takes to tell it. But it all pales in front of his graceful and flawless swordsmanship. His skill is often compared with the acclaimed ser Arthur Dayne, and I now realize why.

Faced with incredible difficulty to defeat or even destabilize this impressive knight, I finally decide to go for a bold and tactical move that I prepared in advance.

While preparing for this audacious strategy of mine, I quietly mumble a short sentence to myself.

''Here goes nothing.''

With a second strike firmly in mind, I thus concentrate on executing a fast and powerful feint. Although the feint was quite perfect, just as I planned, Barristan manages to parry it with some minor effort put into it.

After his parry, the old knight launches an awaited riposte that I then swiftly parry before launching a premeditated counter-attack. Having controlled the entire engagement correctly, a clear striking opportunity is therefore opened up.

For a short moment, during this given opportunity, I execute a double slash on Barristan Selmy. The first one strikes his white armor from bottom to top. And the second one, directed downwards, comes to rest violently on his right protected shoulder, before ending up against his neck with a quick movement of my wrist.

Directly accepting his defeat, however, ser Barristan raises an eyebrow at the risky bet I just made.

''You really just risked it all on the fact that I would parry your feint and do a riposte after it, didn't you ?''

Yeah… I just did a lot of presumptions. Although it could have backfired, I still have my danger sense to warn me if I didn't see something coming. It wouldn't have automatically saved me, but it gave me more chances of success and confidence to try it.

''It's what I did, yes.''

Once he has analyzed my reaction and remembered every part of our duel in length, the Kingsguard nods in satisfaction with our fight before commenting on it.

''Quite hazardous of a move, but nonetheless… well done.''

After we paid our respects to each other and Barristan left, I turn my eyes to the only other duel that was up until then. And immediately, I witness the defeat of Roland against the king.

As quick with tactics and feints as he is, the highly trained and talented leader of the Golden Rain was forced to concede victory to Robert under the yoke of his fearsome warhammer.

By the time my subordinate's defeat unfolded before my eyes, I believe the melee to have just passed the threshold of the third hour. That's some long competition…

The endgame time finally comes, with Robert Baratheon getting into position in front of me. Although I can't see his face, I bet that the towering king is watching me with a glint of bloodlust in his fearless bright blue eyes.

Despite his accumulated weight since his rebellion, just like a fly clinging to a pile of shit, he still seems so naturally drawn to battle.

While the imposing warmonger seems to be increasingly excited at the prospect of our duel, his rough and hard hands are tightly gripping a huge blunt iron warhammer. Thankfully, Robert is not holding his spiked one which he used against the Ironborns.

When it comes to his messy black hair, it is hidden underneath his great antlered helmet which, according to some of his 'fans', makes him look like a horned god.

Having heard a rumor about the joust, however, I decide to ask him about it quickly while I have the opportunity to do it.

''Your grace, I heard that you would not participate in the joust to come. Could this rumor be founded ?''

While cracking his neck to the sides, Robert calmly gives me a response in a way that makes it clear to me that he views this as the most obvious thing in the world.

''Aye, I prefer melees. How am I to hit people with my hammer during a joust ?''

Ah… I shouldn't have asked.

Thinking of one of his previous fights which seemed to me the most eye-catching, I therefore diverges from the last subject.

''Yes, it would be difficult to do so… I have to say that your duel with ser Cregor Clegane was most impressive. Few can beat the Mountain.''

After a short grunt, while reminiscing about his fight with Cregor, the king eventually responds to me with a tone of heightened interest.

Yeah… a warmonger to the core.

''It was a nice fight, indeed. Your duel with Barristan was not half bad either... Now show me what you got, boy, will ya.''

Raising my longsword without flinching or shaking, I put myself in position for the last time in the competition. The time has come to face the king in a singular duel... It won't be easy. Not easy at all.

''As you wish, your grace.''

Under the many loud cries and shouts of acclamation echoing from the bleachers, the last duel of the melee thus begins with countless spectators among its audience.

Barely leaving me enough time to prepare my defense, the Demon of the Trident charges head first like the enraged bull made of iron and steel he is. Although his armor and warhammer appear to be incredibly heavy, the king moves toward me with such speed that it seems as if he is only wearing skimpy leather armor and wielding a simple wooden sword.

A horned demon, indeed.

''HAAAAAAA !!''

As king Robert shouts while he swings his mighty warhammer down on my armor to crush it and send me flying backward, I hurry to avoid his dangerous blow. And I don't even have all that much time to properly secure my balance or make a counter-attack before he harasses me with a second strike.

Not having the necessary confidence to try to parry this new attack of his, I therefore do my best to launch myself under the horizontal blow and find myself facing the exposed left flank of the towering whoremonger king. Even if my quick evasion just left me slightly unbalanced, I'm fast enough to regain my bearings and prepare a strong slash on Robert's back.

Following the impact of my longsword on the king's heavy plate armor, he was forced to lean forward and partly crumble on the ground before resuming our duel. Not giving him the time required for him to be ready, however, I follow up with a series of quick small slashes to destabilize him further.

But instead of collapsing to the ground as I wished he would, Robert shows his inner fury by screaming and swinging his iron warhammer with a newfound raw strength.

''RHAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!''

Any parry being undeniably futile in front of that monstrous blow, I can only try to dodge his blow once more… but ultimately fail to do so. The heavy blunt weapon comes smashing me on the part of my armor that covers my right hip, sending me flying sideways with unparalleled brutality.

Finding myself back on the ground, my free left hand comes touching the impacted part of my armor and I then feel a spot where its metal has been caved in so deeply that it threatens to pierce my swollen flesh. Not helping, my head is red with the sweat and fatigue accumulated during these three long hours.

Barristan the Bold made me dance, and now, the Demon of the Trident is nearly making me fear for my dear life. The warhammer that he currently wields may not be spiked as in times of war, but his sheer strength is enough to turn his blunt weapon into a highly lethal one.

But hardly can I realize the extent of my situation before the tall king, back on his feet, comes charging toward me once again without letting me get up.

''Seven hells…''

Just before the hammer comes to flatten my armor and deform it any further, while gritting my bloodied teeth, I forcefully gather all my strength to roll to the left lateral side before getting back on both feet with a little jump.

Ignoring my small injuries, multiple bruises, and all this fatigue coming my way, I put myself in a correct position and focus again on my opponent's movements.

Turning around and seeing my serious, piercing gaze, Robert lets out a deafening laugh that gains a metallic accent as it reverberates from his antlered helmet.

''HAHAHA ! Do you feel it ? The impending fury and vigor brought by such worthy battles ? DO YOU ALSO FEEL YOUR BLOOD BOILING WITH AN ALMIGHTY SENSE OF TREPIDATION ?''

Following his words, I realize that beyond my highly solicited survival instinct and my general state, there is a little something that makes me fight with ever more rage and resignation.

After shortly accepting that I love what is happening here, this pure feeling of challenge and desire to crush my outstanding adversary, I respond to the king with a smile on my face.

''I guess I do feel the thrill of it.''

Seeing my lips lifted upwards, the sides of which letting out tiny filaments of blood, makes him realize that my words are true. In this regard, we understand each other.

''GOOD. Then show me the full extent of your damn fury !''

And so we continue our duel, one mortal blow after the other, letting the public witness a real glorious fight between two ferocious beasts. Under their amazed eyes, the lion and the stag successively lash at each other with shouts of rage and nerves of steel.

We are both coughing up blood, and though my armor is dented all over the place, the king's is banged up as well, and my last blow sent his helmet flying. We both almost lost several times, but in the end, neither of us admitted defeat and we continued our duel for more than twenty minutes.

Both panting and exhausted, after a moment of non-verbal communication from his eyes to mine, we prepare for our final exchange of blows.

It's time to end this fight.

''OURS IS THE FURY !!!''

As the king shouts the words of his house and uses all his remaining strength in a last powerful swing of his huge warhammer, I remain calm and in control, focusing on the speed and precision of my next move.

Our exchange only lasts a short time, after which Robert's blunt weapon comes crashing into the ground with a thundering sound while the blame of my longsword ends up placed right under his head.

The king is taken… Checkmate.

To the applause of the crowd and king Robert Baratheon's booming approval, I am thus declared the grand winner of the long and memorable melee of the tourney of Lannisport.

While fully savoring this victory which took me endless hours to win, my gaze scrolls from one bleacher to another to analyze the different reactions of those I recognize.

Lynesse is applauding me while standing and remaining silent, giving me a languid look. As Tyrion raises a glass of wine in honor of my victory, Cersei seems to relish her husband's defeat... for more than understandable reasons, of course.

Right in the middle of this moment of victory, a certain knight eventually interrupts it by coming toward me. As soon as he arrives in front of me, the young knight, barely older than me, kneels under the watchful gaze of everyone around us.

Taking me a little by surprise, but in a more than appreciable way, ser Humfrey Hightower then begins to respectfully swear fealty to me.

As my good brother is kneeling in supplication while holding up his sword in offering, he says the well-known words required for the formulaic exchange of vows between a knight and the lord who he wishes to serve.

''I offer my services, lord Leonard. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give you my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.''

Accepting Humfrey's fealty and welcoming him to Casterly Rock under my orders, I adequately pursue this commonly used formula. In private, I might have changed a few words, but not here. So traditional way it is.

''And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise.''

Ser Humfrey thus slowly gets up and presents himself to the crowd by standing beside me. This moment generates a second wave of applause from all sides... Well, I must admit that Humfrey's decision and vow have just closed this great melee in style.

Looking straight at the main bleacher, my gaze then meets that of lord Leyton Hightower. In the crowd of nobles, my good father nods a single time in my direction with a small smile. However, he looks to be somewhat frowning while examining me for a short amount of time before joining the rest of the crowd by clapping his hands.

To the various curious observers roaming around, this gesture might seem like lord Hightower has quietly approved of his son becoming the knight of another house. But nobody could guess what it truly meant, for a secret meeting of many consequences was just accepted.

Looks like I'll be dealing with more and more Hightowers in the future…

Things are getting interesting.