Pre-Chapter A/N: Here we go with another chapter, coming in right on time. Next three chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
Aegon held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Not the best combination for a melee where everyone wore some form of armour, but it was the best he could use. He had training with mace, and flail, and war hammer, and spear, and every other weapon like a good Knight must, but Lord Velaryon's specialty was the blade, and so that was Aegon's as well. That was the case with most of the other squires as well, but not the first boy that came to him.
He looked to be about Aegon's age, or perhaps a year or so older. So they were even on that end. His advantage was that he had a mace. That meant he did not need to care so much about where he hit Aegon. Wherever that thing landed, it would hurt—wood or no. So Aegon danced backwards away from the first two swipes of the weapon.
He had the advantage of a better suited weapon for fighting armoured opponents, but he himself only had a breastplate, gauntlets, and a helmet to protect him. Chainmail was used for the rest of it. On his third swing, Aegon leaned backwards just slightly, having judged the reach better now. He went in with his shield first like his Knight taught him to do. He hit the back of the boy's elbow as the swing passed with said shield, forcing him off balance.
He swung with the blow and so turned his back to Aegon. Aegon kicked him in the back of his left knee and when he hit the ground, he put his sword to his neck.
"I yield," the boy said, and Aegon flushed with victory. His first win. And not his last. The crowd was applauding him, but he barely heard it over the pounding of his heart. He looked up to meet the gaze of another Squire. This one had a sword like he did. And just about as much armour, but the quality was noticeably lesser.
He attacked first: a sweeping slash that forced his opponent to take a step back within seconds of his challenge. He followed that with a stab that forced him backwards even further. He back-pedalled in the face of each attack, stepping backwards with dancing feet for each of Aegon's attacks that he avoided. He tried to bring his own weapon to bear, but Aegon used the second of hesitation he had to attempt a downward slash at his legs. He jumped backwards again.
Each attack, he avoided, but it was only a matter of time. The next slash, he dodged by turning towards the side more than backwards. Aegon stabbed out, and his opponent tried to step back again, but this time, his feet tangled themselves. His fall was a matter of inevitability. He tried to stop it, really tried, but once his body had gone too far, his only hope was to break the fall.
He tried to catch himself with his hands, but his gauntlets slid off the sand, failing to find purchase on the moist soil and doing nothing to stop his back from hitting the ground. Aegon stepped forwards, kicking his right hand and the sword it held out of his grip. Then he placed his foot on the other boy's chest and pointed his sword down at him.
"Yield?" he asked after the boy had struggled for a few seconds and seemed to realise that there was no way he would be making it out of this.
He seemed to want to say something to Aegon. At least that was the sense that Aegon got from the way he lifted his head up towards him for a few seconds with no sounds escaping his helmet. Whatever it was, he seemed to think better of it in the end, slumping back to the ground and muttering, "I yield," from there.
Two wins under his belt, Aegon could not deny that he was flushing with the glow of victory as he turned to his next opponent. This one older than him. In his right hand, a flail, and a shield with Buckler colours in his left. The first one he was facing with actual noble blood. For some reason, that made him feel nervy and unsure of what was to come. Still, he accepted the challenge.
He took two steps in his opponent's direction and lashed out with a wide slash. The sword had better reach than the flail, so the best way to win would be to not allow him to get close enough to even have any hope of attacking with his weapon.
He stepped backwards in the face of the slash, but did not continue to retreat after that. Instead, he made good use of that shield of his in the way that Aegon's previous opponent had failed to. He blocked the next slash, huddling behind it in a fashion as he took his next steps forward. Aegon, of course, did as he was taught to do when facing an opponent hiding behind a shield: he attacked around it.
He thrust his blade down but it was deflected by the covering around the Buckler's knee. He took another step and now was close enough that he could use that flail of his. But before he could sweep out with the shield to reveal his other hand that held the weapon, Aegon lifted his foot and slammed it straight into his knee. Not the kind of move that would have been easy or even possible from sword distance when your opponent could see you, but this fight had neither.
His opponent's leg buckled, twisting to the side and making him pitch forwards. He was too close for Aegon to use his sword effectively, so he did what he had lived his whole life being yelled at not to do. He dropped it. Both it and his shield. Before they had even hit the ground, he was reaching out and grabbing the Buckler-coloured shield. He ripped it downwards, helped by his opponent's loss of balance, and punched him in the face with all his strength.
Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. His brain screamed at him over and over again as his hand erupted in pain from within his gauntlet. His only solace was that his armour was heavier than his opponent's and while his hand hurt something fierce, his opponent had gone down. Such was the quality of his armour that there was even a slight dent in the helmet. The boy was not moving so Aegon assumed that was that and moved on, only to be met with another foe waiting for him. He swallowed the pain he felt, doing his best to ignore it like he had been taught and keep going.
He picked up the sword and then the shield before turning and nodding towards the next boy up. Around him, the field was beginning to clear as more and more people yielded and were eliminated. This one had Lannister colours on his shield but Aegon had not met any Lannister Squires during the tourney. That meant that it was unlikely that his Knight was participating. Unconsciously, Aegon began to underestimate his opponent. What could a Knight that did not even ride in the lists teach about Knighthood and fighting?
Aegon baited the attack this time, using the few seconds of rest he got to recover from his previous exertions. The Lannister moved, and in two steps was swinging for Aegon's head. Aegon smiled beside himself as his blade met his opponent's. Steel sang, and that was the song of his life.
Left, right, left again, up, down, to the left, and then to the right. The song made his bones shake and his heart sing as their blades clashed over and over again. The Lannister was skilled. All of Aegon's preconceptions died quickly in the face of reality. And the reality of it was that the Lannister was the best person Aegon had ever fought around his own age. Not as good as Lord Velaryon or Ser Cargyll or even some of the other Knights on Bloodstone that he had sparred against, but definitely better than all the other Squires he'd sparred against—both here and on Bloodstone.
But despite his skill, Aegon was able to come away from their clashes with one distinct bit of knowledge. He was better. Not by much, and not so much so that he did not need to try, but he could see how the boy hesitated just a bit too much with each parry as if he was trying to pick the best one. Movements that Lord Velaryon had pounded into his head until he could execute them blindfolded, in the middle of a storm, and on top of a boat with ease. He shivered internally at that memory.
Those movements that were easy for him took his opponent just too long. He was polished, but not sharp, and that made all the difference. But knowing he was better was not enough; he still had to win the fight. And just being better wouldn't mean that he would win.
There were two ways he had been taught to defeat a superior enemy. Either commit and overwhelm or bide your time and bait a mistake. Looking around with the corners of his eyes told Aegon that the field was fast beginning to dry up. Aegon had no doubt that the second he finished with this opponent, another would challenge him. And so he did something that many could consider dishonourable. Lord Velaryon would love it though.
He kept the fight going. When his opponent made mistakes, he did not punish them as he should have. He allowed the fight to continue for longer, conserving his energy as he did so and ensuring that more people were taken off the field before he had to worry about his next opponent. Of course, his present opponent could not remain ignorant of it forever.
The change in his demeanour when he noticed the mercy was obvious to the naked eye. They did not need to speak. Those who crossed blades shared a language deeper than words could ever allow, and in that language, his opponent's displeasure was known.
Every parry was angry, every strike carried with it the intention to hurt, to do real damage. But in that rage, he left even more openings behind. Rage had no place in this sacred dance, and when the Lannister put far too much force behind a straight thrust, Aegon met it with his own sword, twisting it as he did so and sending his opponent's blade flying in the air with a manoeuvre that Lord Velaryon had almost assured him would never work on anyone with actual skill. He placed his sword at the Lannister squire's neck, bringing their duel to an end.
"I yield," he grunted out, still far from pleased.
Aegon lifted his head now to find that there were only three people remaining in the field. Two squires were going at each other with all the ferocity they could manage—one of them was Jak, the common boy that Ser Willis Fell had taken on as a Squire and the other wore Crakehall colours and was easily the biggest boy to have been in the field. Then there was one more, a boy who wielded a spear and was leaning against it in the middle of the field. He looked to be two or three years older. Near a man grown. Aegon walked over to him.
He did not bother to turn to look at Aegon, so engrossed in the battle between Jak and the Crakehall squire.
"Hail," Aegon called once he was so close that he could practically reach out and touch the other boy if he leaned in as far as he could go. If it seemed like he had taken the chance to get close enough that when their match started he would be able to easily prevent him from leveraging the reach advantage of the spear, then it was entirely a coincidence.
"Prince Aegon. That was a nice trick with the Lannister. Won't win you many friends, but it was smart."
"I have no idea of what you speak. Shall we begin?" he called.
The other boy finally turned to look at him, wearing a smirk on his face.
"I have no interest in facing you," he said.
"What?" he asked, more than a little shocked.
"I know who would win. You are perhaps the fifth or sixth most skilled of those who walked in. Your luck is that you were busy with the dregs while that Jak boy and I cleaned up your betters," he said, and Aegon flushed. His shock was gone now. Replaced with red hot rage. The blood of the dragon sang within him now.
"How dare you?" he hissed.
"Are you going to remind me that you are a Prince of the Blood? Feel free to, but you will find I care little for it. I just want a good fight and you will not give me one. I want Jak when he is done, and I will not risk the match," he said.
"If you are so sure, then why not face me now?" he taunted. This boy was just a coward. That was it.
"I've had eight opponents already. I mean to face Jak at my best. While you are not the great warrior that your Knight is, you will at least force me to exert myself somewhat. If I lose to Jak, it will be because he is truly better. Not because I tired myself out. Besides, you are smart, no? Just wait and when Jak and I face, you can move for the winner like a vulture moves for a dead man," he said. Aegon was tempted to rage at the other boy, force his hand, or just do anything to begin the match now, but he knew better. He had been trained better.
"Who are you?" he asked instead of any of the things he wanted to do.
"Aron Dondarrion. Nephew and heir to Lord Simon Dondarrion of Blackhaven, and his Squire besides. Back home, I am the best my age. I can even beat some anointed knights in single combat," he boasted.
"And what is your problem with Jak? I can't imagine you left the Stormlands to come and fight a blacksmith's boy from Flea Bottom," he said. The Dondarrion looked down at him with visible disdain. His lack of a helmet made whatever he felt easily visible to the crowd. Aegon flushed a hot red underneath his.
"I have no problem with him. I am the best back home. I came here to find out if I was the best in Westeros. He is the best of your lot, so I will face him. And when I win, I will know," he said, and then he turned away from Aegon. Aegon noticed then that the fight between Jak and the Crakehall had come to an end. A twist to the side to take his opponent's foot out from under him, and a blade at the bigger boy's throat won the lad from Flea Bottom his victory.
And then he turned to look at Aegon and Aron Dondarrion.
Dondarrion went forward and Aegon let him. It was not like he could do anything to stop him, and putting himself in the middle of this brewing match would be unwise.
"Take a minute to catch your breath, no? Let it not be said that I, Aron Dondarrion, came at you like a vulture sniffing at your tired carcass," the Stormlander with the tanned skin said with audible swagger in his voice.
"Come if you will," Jak replied instead, levelling his sword at his opponent. Sword and shield like what Aegon wielded.
"I give you a chance, no? Rest, my friend. Rest. We must give this crowd a show. For that, you must be at your best," he refused the challenge and remained at a distance, allowing the other boy to rest.
Jak did not accept the generosity even when it was given the second time.
"There is no rest in battle. A melee is a representation of battle. If you will not challenge me, then I challenge you," he said, marching forwards with his sword held tight.
"If you must," Dondarrion said, and then he was a blur of motion.
He jumped, stretching out his spear as he did so, and there was a clang as the longer weapon was batted away by Jak's shield. Both boys wore little in the way of armour—Dondarrion by choice, and Jak by circumstance. Blacksmith's son or no, armour was expensive.
The lack of armour meant both of them moved quickly. Quicker than Aegon had ever seen anyone other than Ser Cargyll and Lord Velaryon move when fighting. Dondarrion's spear was deflected by the shield, but he was somehow spinning and bringing the weapon around again before Jak could take advantage of the positioning. This time, the shaft of the spear was met by the blade of Jak's sword as he flicked it to the side to ward away the next thrust.
Jak pushed forward, calm and composed as he tried to get close enough that he could nullify his opponent's reach advantage. Dondarrion saw it coming, and matched every step Jak took forward with a backward one of his own before his spear shot out again in a sweeping slash.
It was designed to push his opponent backwards and force even more distance but Jak caught the slash with the edge of his shield, preventing it from threatening him. He tried dancing forwards then, but Dondarrion had already pulled back his blade by then and attempted another slash that he was forced to avoid.
The field was silent but for the sound of steel clashing with steel or wood. Jak was careful, deflecting most of the thrusts with the boss of his shield, and the slashes with the steel edges, not risking one wrong thrust punching through the wooden parts of the shield. At the same time, Dondarrion was careful to not allow the blacksmith's boy to cut the distance and negate the advantage of the spear.
Against Aegon's will, he was forced to admit the truth of what Dondarrion had said. Both he and Jak were better than Aegon was. Only a fool would look at this fight and not accept that truth. But it was not a truth that stung him. Aegon was three and ten. They were both either six or five and ten at the youngest. He had years to reach this level, and watching this made him certain that he would. He would work at the yard till he bled from his feet and his fists so he could one day fight like this. As graceful as the almost dancing, ever flowing Dondarrion, and as stalwart and composed as Jak the blacksmith's son.
A/N: And that is the chapter, kids. I quite like the idea of a common born kid being the Knight of the age. Both Jak and Aron are, of course, OCs. Next chapter comes on here by Wednesday night/Thursday morning most likely. Next three chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.