Arthur pushed through the throng of people at the tourney grounds, his armor clanking with each step as he wove past vendors hawking meat pies and ale. He scanned the area, spotting clusters of knights in polished plate near colorful pavilions, but he headed toward the other end of the field, where he remembered the melee sign up being held. A wooden sign staked in the dirt read "Melee Entrants," and two gold cloaks stood guardl.
One guard looked up as Arthur approached, his eyes narrowing at the expensive armor. "You here for the melee?" He ssked.
Arthur nodded. "Yes."
"Name?"
"Arthur of Harrowfield."
The guard scanned the scroll then grunted. "You're on the list, but you're almost late. Melee starts soon. Head into the tent and wait."
The other guard jerked a thumb toward the entrance. "No funny business in there yeah? Save it for the field."
Arthur dipped his head. "Thank you," he replied before crossing past them and stepping inside the tent. Inside were dozens upon dozens of people, some sitting on benches, others standing in groups or leaning against poles. They ranged from farmer types in patched leather with simple clubs and axes, to sellsword types scarred from old fights and armed with swords. A few looked like dock workers, while others had the lean build of thieves or hunters.
Arthur quickly deduced this was where those who had no noble blood were placed, separated from the lords and knights, which he supposed he understood, but it did annoy him a little. He thought the melee would've been a place where they all stood equal... at least for a moment.
He moved over to a bench near the back, where he sat down heavy in his armor. He pulled his water skin from his pack and took a sip, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. Then he started to size up his competitors, his eyes moving from one to the next. The strange sense he had developed over the last few months pushed his gaze towards a few people. One was a tall man figure with a spear leaning against his shoulder. The spear had a wicked barbed tip, and the man held it with an easy grip, like it was an extension of his arm.
He looked dangerous.
Another was a man with numerous weapons all over his body; daggers at his belt, a short axe on his back, throwing knives strapped to his thighs, and two swords crossed at his hips. He seemed to fight with two swords, given how he adjusted the hilts with both hand. His build was wiry, quick on his feet as he shifted weight, though he didn't look very strong and he seemed to be even shorter than Arthur.
And last but not least, a massive hulk of a man who fought with what looked to be a large maul propped against the bench beside him. The weapon had a head as big as Arthur's chest, spiked on one side and flat on the other. The man towered over everyone, his arms thick as tree trunks, he wore thick armor plated with iron that covered his chest and limbs. Arthur was the most concerned about him, as the size and reach would make him hard to approach, and that maul could crush bones whether he wore armour or not.
Looking at all the dangerous foes around him Arthur felt nervous, his stomach twisting as he watched them. His hands clenched on the bench, and he thought about the crowd outside, the children watching, Mira and Cassie in the stands. But he calmed himself down, reminding himself that he had trained for this every day for months, running forms until his muscles ached, sparring with Jory to sharpen his edge. He could do this, with Sunset at his side he would win. He took a deep breath, feeling better after that, his mind clearing as he focused on the fight ahead.
While Arthur sat there, four people watched him intensely from different spots in the tent. One leaned against a pole near the entrance, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on Arthur's back. Another sat on a bench across the way, pretending to sharpen an axe but glancing up every few seconds. The third paced slowly near the flaps, his hand resting on a club at his belt, his gaze never leaving Arthur. The final man stood in the shadows at the back, taller than the others, with a sword in his hands and a hood pulled partway over his face.
Each of them worked for Rudge, and each of them had been told to kill Arthur the moment they saw an opening, whether in the melee or before the horn blew.
Arthur frowned for a moment as he could sense people looking at him. More than that though he could sense their ill intent, like they were only moments away from attacking him. He sighed. While he did not think they would attack at the moment it was better not to be too careless. He got up from his seat and moved over somewhere else.
He settled on a different bench near the side of the tent, where fewer people clustered. The murmurs around him continued, but he kept his head down and focused on his water skin, taking another sip to steady his nerves. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see a young man about his age standing there, with a friendly grin on his face. The man had sun-browned skin from long days in fields, simple leather armor that looked homemade, and a sword at his hip that seemed more functional than fancy. He carried a shield slung over his back, painted with a crude rose.
"Mind if I sit?" the man asked. "Tent's packed tighter than a harvest barn."
Arthur nodded, shifting over a bit. "Go ahead."
The man sat down with a grunt, stretching his legs out. "Name's Tommen. From a farm near Oldtown. My pa grows apples, but I figured I'd try my luck here instead of picking fruit all my life. You?"
"Arthur. From Harrowfield, here in the crownlands. Farmer's son too."
Tommen's eyes lit up. "Crownlands? Good land, from what I hear, rains a bit too often though since you're close to the stormlands. We get sun most days in the Reach, but bugs that eat half the crop. So what is it you're doing here? Melee gold could buy a man his own plot."
Arthur chuckled low. "I'm hoping a Knight will notice my skill, maybe take me on as his squire."
Tommen nodded understanding. "Wish I could say the same. Pa sent me with his blessings only cause I said I'd expand the farm, but Ma cried like I was off to war. Said the lords would trample us common folk. You nervous?"
"A bit," Arthur admitted. "But ready."
Before Tommen could reply, a shout cut through the tent. Heads turned as the massive hulk of a man Arthur had noted earlier grabbed a smaller man by the throat. The victim was young, maybe eighteen, dressed in squire's garb with a sigil sewn on his tunic. The big man lifted him off the ground easily and slammed him down hard on the dirt floor. The squire gasped and tried to scramble back. But the big man stepped forward and planted his boot on the squire's leg, right above the ankle. The squire's scream pierced the air like a blade.
The tent went still for a second, but no one moved. Men glanced away, some muttering to each other, others smirking or shaking their heads. A few laughed, but nobody stepped in. Arthur's jaw clenched. He looked around, seeing the indifference, and stood up. His boots stomped across the dirt as he approached. "Hey! Get off him!"
The big man ignored him, twisting his boot a little, which drew another scream from the squire.
Arthur reached him and tapped his shoulder hard. "I said stop!"
Still no response. The big man kept his eyes on the squire, grinding down his foot some more. M
Arthur felt anger surge. He activated [Demon Back], his muscles locking and flooding his body with more strnegth. He grabbed the big man's shoulder forcefully and spun him around. The act surprised everyone andthe big man stumbled a step, his eyes widening as he faced Arthur. Gasps rippled through the tent, men leaning forward to watch.
Arthur met his gaze st the man. "Stop, you know the rules. Keep the combat to the field."
The big man looked at him intensely, his face twisting like he was about to murder him right there. His hands flexed and his breath ciming through flared nostrils.
The tent hushed, waiting for the explosion.
Arthur did not flinch. He held his ground with his hand near Sunset's hilt but not drawing yet.
After a long moment, the big man snorted. He turned away, picked up his maul with one hand, and slung it over his shoulder. Then he walked off to the other side of the tent, where he sat down on a bench that creaked under his weight.
Arthur exhaled slowly, then knelt next to the squire. The young man's face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he clutched his leg. "You all right?"
The squire shook his head frantic, tears in his eyes. "No! My ankle... it hurts so bad. I can't stand. Oh gods, I have to fight in this melee. If I don't place at least top ten, my master will drop me. I won't be a squire anymore. I'll have to go back home, broke and useless!"
Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. Breathe."
The squire did not calm down. He tried to get up, pushing with his arms, but his ankle buckled under him. He cried out in pain and fell back, gasping. "I can't! It's broken. What am I going to do?"
Arthur gripped his arms firmer. "Hey! Look at me. Calm down. I'll take a look at the ankle."
The squire laughed bitter through the pain. "You? What are you, a maester? Some hedge wizard? Get off."
Arthur ignored him and gently pulled up the pant leg. The ankle was swollen already, bruised purple and red where the boot had stomped it, contrary to the man's belief it was not broken which was good, because if it was what he could do likley wouldn't help. He placed his hands on it careful, channeling his [Massage] skill. His fingers worked in slow circles, pressing points that eased the pain first, then deeper to knit the bruising. The squire winced at the start, but after a minute, his face relaxed. Arthur kept at it, rubbing steady for a few more minutes until the swelling faded and the color returned normal. It was like it never happened.
The squire stared down, flexing his foot slow. "What... how? It's gone. The pain's gone." He stood up testing, putting weight on it. No wince. "How did you do that?"
Arthur rubbed his hands together, finding it hard to come up with a lie on the spot. "Technique I learned from an Essosi man."
The squire grabbed his hand, shaking it hard. "Thank you. Gods, thank you. I'm sorry for snapping. That wasn't knightly of me. Pain made me stupid."
Arthur clapped his shoulder. "I get it. You were hurting. Just be careful out there."
The squire nodded eager. "I will. My Name's Edric. If I place, I'll owe you a drink."
Before they could talk more, a herald pushed through the tent flaps. "Combatants! Take the field! The melee begins!"
Before Arthur could start moving he got a notification.
────────────
[NEW QUEST RECEIVED]
STEEL AND BLOOD
─────────────
Description:
The horns have sounded and the gates are about to open. Hundreds will enter the melee dreaming of glory, gold, or a lord's favor. Most will leave broken. Some will not leave at all.
Main Objective:
➤ Survive the melee ⚔️
Optional Objectives:
➤ Win the melee 🏆
➤ Place within the top three 🥉
Hidden Objectives:
➤ ?????
────────────────────────────────
Rewards:
• +2 Strength
• +2 Endurance
• +5,000 XP
• Magic Token
• ?????
──────────────────────────────
Failure:
• Death
• Being unremarkable
_________________________________
In the royal tent pitched at the edge of the melee grounds, Aerys Targaryen lounged against a wooden post while his squire fumbled with the straps of his polished plate armor. Steffon Baratheon stood nearby, his own squire tightening the buckles on his greaves, but Steffon's attention was fixed on a buxom serving girl pouring drinks from a flagon. She had a low-cut bodice that left little to the imagination, and Steffon leaned in closeer to get a better look.
"Gods, woman, if your tits are as sweet as that wine, I'd drink from you all day," Steffon said with a wink, his hand brushing her arm as she handed him a cup.
The girl giggled, batting her lashes but not pulling away. "Careful, my lord. A man like you might choke on more than he can handle."
Aerys snorted, taking a swig from his own cup while his squire adjusted his gorget. "Hear that, Stef? She's got you pegged. You'll be the one choking in the melee if you don't watch your fat ass."
Steffon let out a booming laugh, slapping his squire on the back hard enough to make the boy stumble. "Fuck off, Aerys. I'll win this thing with one hand tied behind my back and the other on her arse. Right, love?"
The girl poured him another, her cheeks flushing. "If you win, my lord, maybe I'll let you try."
Aerys rolled his eyes, but grinned. "Save the cock for after you bash some skulls. We've already got this in the bag, us rich cunts always do"
Steffon raised his cup in a mock toast. "To rich cunts and easy wins. May the smallfolk forever admire our large cocks." They clinked cups, spilling wine down their chins as they laughed, the squires exchanging nervous glances but saying nothing.
The tent flap burst open then, and Prince Duncan Targaryen strode in, his face set in a scowl. He took one look at the scene and shook his head. "What in the seven hells is this?" He snatched the cup from Aerys's hand first, then Steffon's, spilling the rest on the ground. The serving girl scurried out with a quick curtsy.
Aerys blinked, wiping his mouth. "Uncle? We're just loosening up."
Duncan tossed the cups aside with a clatter. "Loosening up? You two idiots need to take this seriously. I've had a look at the competition this year, and it's immense. Ever since Father lifted the restrictions on weapons. Sellswords, hedge knights, even some Essosi and Northerners have joined the melee. This isn't a fucking dance; while killing after someone has surrendered is forbidden and death in general is discouraged, men will still die out there."
Steffon puffed out his chest, still smirking. "Come on, Uncle. We're Baratheon and Targaryen. I'll smash through them like a storm. What's a few peasants with pointy sticks?"
Duncan grabbed them both by the front of their armor, yanking them close to his face. "Cocky little shits. You think blood makes you invincible? I've seen lords like you get their heads caved in by a farmer. Take this seriously, or you'll end up on the maesters table at best or in the ground at worst."
Aerys raised his hands, trying to placate with a smooth smile. "Easy, Uncle. We do take it seriously. But we've had the best swordmasters gold can buy. I doubt any of these rabble can match us."
Steffon nodded, crossing his arms once Duncan let go. "Aye. What he said. We're bred for this."
Duncan sighed, rubbing his temple. "That's true enough. Your training's top-notch. But don't underestimate the smallfolk. There'll be a few out there who know they don't have your advantages so they will work that much harder. They've got hunger you two can't imagine."
Aerys exchanged a skeptical glance with Steffon. "Hunger? Please. They'll fold when they see real skill."
Steffon snorted. "Yeah. Sounds like a bard's tale."
Duncan stared at them for a long moment, then shook his head again. "Fine. I've said my piece. Just... be careful out there." He turned on his heel and left, the flap swinging behind him.
Duncan made his way up the wooden steps to the royal box with a multitude of curses on his lips, the crowd's roar growing louder as he climbed. His mind lingered on his nephews' arrogance. At the top landing, he nearly bumped into a group of people, his niece Rhaella, arm-in-arm with two women, and flanked by Ser Duncan the Tall, his namesake.
"My Prince," the big knight greeted with a nod.
Rhaella smiled. "Uncle! We were just heading up."
Duncan returned the greetings, clasping arms with his namesake. "Ser Duncan. Rhaella. Ladies." But his words caught in his throat when his eyes landed on the fourth member of the party. She had wavy black hair that framed her face, emerald green eyes, and features so familiar it hit him like a lance to the chest. He choked up, his throat tightening as memories flooded back into his mind.
Rhaella frowned, tilting her head. "Uncle? Are you all right?"
He stood silent for a few moments, just looking at Cassie in shock and a little awe, his eyes misting before he blinked it away. "Apologies. I... you remind me of someone."
Mira and Cassie exchanged glances. Mira spoke first. "It's fine, my lord."
Cassie nodded. "No harm done, my lord."
Rhaella stepped in, gesturing. "Uncle, this is Mira and Cassie, my friends. Mira's the one I told you about, and Cassie's her... well, they're family now. Mira, Cassie, this is my uncle, Prince Duncan, heir to the throne."
They started to curtsy, but Duncan raised a hand quick. "No need for that. Please. I assume you'll be joining us in the box?"
Rhaella nodded. "If that's all right."
Duncan smiled, composing himself. "More than all right, allow me to lead the way ladies." He turned and headed up the last steps, with the group following. Rhaella linked arms with both Mira and Cassie as they walked, her gown swishing softly behind her.
Cassie whispered, still in disbelief. "I can't believe you ordered three Goldcloaks to watch the children and Alys. Just so we could come up here."
Rhaella giggled, squeezing their arms. "Perks of being a princess. Besides, I wanted you both with me."
Mira smirked. "It's not the strangest thing you've done. Remember sneaking out to Flea Bottom in that awful disguise?"
Rhaella laughed louder. "Shh! Don't tell Uncle about that."
They arrived in the box, a raised platform draped in Targaryen banners, with cushioned seats overlooking the field. The royal family was already there, Aegon at the center, Betha beside him, Jaehaerys and Shaera nearby, Rhaelle with Oxana, and a few others milling about. Aegon turned as they entered, greeting his son first. "Duncan, good. Dunk." He nodded to the big knight, then to Rhaella. "My dear, you look lovely." His eyes shifted to Mira and Cassie, lingering on Cassie with a flicker of shock that he masked quick, his expression turning warm.
Rhaella stepped forward. "Grandfather, Grandmother, this is Mira and Cassie, my friends from the city."
Aegon rose, taking their hands in turn. "A pleasure, ladies. Rhaella speaks highly of you. Welcome to the royal box."
Betha smiled. "Indeed. Sit, dears. The melee's about to begin."
He ushered them to seats near Rhaella, his gaze flicking to Cassie once more but saying nothing as the horns blared below, signaling the start of the melee.
(AN: So the melee is about to start and Arthur got another quest. Survive the melee and there's some hidden objectives. I wonder what they could be. Also what's going on with Cassie. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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