Chapter 58 - Melee.

[Chapter Size: 3000 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Harrenhal, 101 AC.

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The days went by, and the routine remained the same. The tension between the two candidates for the throne kept rising, both seeking votes and favors from every possible direction.

The King's Hand himself negotiated in Viserys's favor, while Otto Hightower met with numerous nobles to secure the support of the majority of the kingdoms. At the same time, Corlys Velaryon did the same on behalf of his wife, seeking more votes for her. Despite the unfavorable situation, he certainly had no intention of giving up.

The first day of the jousts finally arrived. Jon, Lyra, and everyone else quickly gathered to watch the contests.

On the Northerners' side, only five knights out of the three hundred had entered the competition, far fewer men than the other kingdoms, precisely because the North did not have the custom of training knights.

For this tournament, around two thousand two hundred knights had gathered, but not all of them were allowed to compete, and only three hundred were selected, with a handful chosen from each kingdom. The North had only its small number.

The first days of the jousts passed quickly, with eliminations taking place until only thirty-two knights remained.

There were so many famous names at that time that Jon had no idea who they all were. Although he was a curious child, always eager to learn about men of great deeds, he also devoted his attention to other things and barely had time to learn about the greatest living knights of that era.

Even so, seeing them in action left him fascinated. Those men won battle after battle, seeming invincible in the eyes of any child only 10 days into his name.

Unfortunately, none of the North's representatives had managed to qualify. Most of the Northerners were simply waiting for the melee, which would take place once all the joust participants had been decided over the following days.

Daemon Targaryen had also qualified. He certainly enjoyed drawing attention and was quite aggressive in his approach, attracting the eyes of the entire realm.

Jon could not help but be fascinated by every one of those performances, wondering what it would be like to one day become one of them and perhaps compete in a joust, imagining how he would defeat each of those opponents.

In any case, the jousts came to an end after three full days of competition, with almost every match decided in the first pass unless both opponents were exceptionally skilled. The matches were held across ten different fields, where one knight charged against another.

Then, at last, the melee began.

All the children and adults were gathered in the North's main area, where Lord Stark assembled everyone and gave a speech to all the men of the North, declaring that they would crush the southern kingdoms and prove why the North was so feared, to the point that no southern kingdom had ever managed to conquer it... at least until the arrival of the dragons.

Everyone shouted enthusiastically. Jon, Rickon, Lyra, and the others were excited as well, raising their hands and cheering as loudly as they could to support the adults.

Lord Stark had entered the melee alongside many Northern lords, all eager for battle, while wielding Ice itself.

Some Northern lords were giants. Lord Mormont, Lyarra's brother, was a bear in human form. Meanwhile, Lord Flint of the mountain clans and Lord Umber looked like towering, imposing giants from the moment the herald announced their entrance into the arena.

Jon and the children cheered for them with shouts and applause.

At the same time, the tournament favorites entered. Unlike any other group, it was the Kingsguard itself, coming from the Crownlands alongside several other lords and Prince Daemon, representing the king. They entered the arena wearing white cloaks and carrying themselves with proud confidence.

By far, they were the best-prepared group. The only one absent was the Lord Commander himself, Ser Ryam Redwyne, who remained at the king's side. The other six white cloaks entered one by one, with the crowd applauding more enthusiastically than they had for any other kingdom's entrance before them.

The match began, and it was exactly as Jon had imagined. Although, the melee was bloodier—far bloodier than Jon had expected. That was the best way to describe it.

Knight clashed against knight. Swords crashed against shields, while others dented armor. The only reason people did not lose limbs was because their armor absorbed much of the impact.

The sound of steel echoed throughout the entire battle.

Men tried to force their way past one another. The clash of metal continued to echo across the arena, whether from armor colliding, men shoving one another, or swords crashing against other swords and shields.

The fighting was, for the most part, chaotic, but there was a certain beauty in the way the Kingsguard moved. They fought in perfect coordination, advancing against each kingdom and bringing down their opponents one after another.

The North performed well up to a certain point, but everything changed when they had to face the Kingsguard. After defeating nearly all of the Vale's representatives, the white cloaks finally met the Northerners.

Jon and the others watched everything anxiously, but the outcome soon became clear.

When only four men remained standing, including Lord Stark, he still managed to defeat one of the Kingsguard, but he ultimately fell before the next opponent, who was already waiting for him.

In the end, he had to leave the arena, where he was welcomed by a round of applause from the men of the North, who celebrated the fact that he had defeated one of the finest swordsmen in the realm. After all, that very man had overcome fighters from the Vale. Even so, it was impressive to see Lord Stark defeat his opponent from the Vale and then a member of the Kingsguard.

House Stark's two-handed Valyrian steel sword did its job magnificently. Lord Stark was a stronger man than most, so Ice suited his hand perfectly. His Kingsguard opponent could not withstand the force Lord Stark put behind each blow for very long.

"You were incredible, Father!" Rickon shouted the moment his father walked over to them.

The man merely showed a faint smile. "I managed to hold my own... but in the end, we lost."

"Even so, we finished fourth among the kingdoms," Lyarra commented.

The Reach continued fighting against the Stormlands after the North was eliminated.

The Iron Islands, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands were also defeated. A group from Essos had come as well, but it did not last long, just like Dorne. Although Dorne had also participated with a group, it was far from representing that kingdom's finest swordsmen.

Now, only the Reach and the Kingsguard remained. Just moments earlier, the representatives of the Stormlands had been defeated by the men of the Reach, and now the final decision would be between them.

The final battle quickly began. The Reach still had five men standing. The Kingsguard now also had five members, but they were joined by men from the Crownlands and, among them, Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Very quickly, the young dragon wielding Dark Sister caught the attention of every noble as well as the common folk gathered on the hillsides to watch the battle.

How could he not? He was Caraxes's rider. He was Prince Daemon. People liked him. At least the smallfolk certainly did.

Jon also clapped and watched each of the men as they tried to strike down their opponents. Not all of the Crownlands men fought; they intended to eliminate all of the Reach's men before turning on one another.

He particularly liked the way Daemon, despite being excessively aggressive, always looked for an opening between the body's main joints, where armor could not provide complete protection so that the wearer could still move.

Beneath the armpits, behind the knees, at the heels, the neck, the elbows, and even the palms of the hands, there were small openings protected only by mail, preventing a blow from striking the skin directly.

Even so, Daemon managed to attack those exact points every time he created an opening against Lord Tyrell. His opponents began to bleed, and not even the mail could withstand the blows of a Valyrian steel sword.

This continued for some time. Daemon managed to defeat his opponent, and the Kingsguard did their part against the others as well.

Soon, they turned to fighting one another.

Daemon was not yet powerful enough to defeat older, more experienced men like those white cloaks. He fell in the next bout. Despite his defeat, the people still applauded him.

The Kingsguard then began facing one another after defeating the lords of the Crownlands, putting on a true spectacle and showing why those men were considered the finest.

"Look, Jon! Look at how they fight! You'll have to surpass them one day!" Rickon shouted.

Jon simply ignored his friend's excitement beside him and watched everything with an expression full of interest, seeing shields and swords crash against one another.

It was impossible not to be fascinated by it. He wanted to be down there as well. He wanted to show what he was capable of.

He wanted to prove what his dreams meant. In those dreams, he saw entire battles, himself defeating men twice his size, fighting without wasting a single movement, always searching for an opening in his enemy before finishing him off and moving on to the next.

Fast.

Deadly.

And efficient enough to command a war, leading his men while demanding that his troops continue following his orders, even as the ground became soaked with blood.

He wanted to be like that.

He wanted to become a sword so that, one day, everyone in Westeros would look upon him with admiration, while men regarded him with respect... and fear.

"I will become the greatest swordsman Westeros has ever seen," Jon said to himself as he watched the last men fall.

The final battle was a one-on-one duel. Ser Clement Crabb against Ser Harrold Westerling.

Everyone cheered for the two Kingsguard knights until Ser Clement lost his balance. In a single instant, the tip of Ser Harrold's steel sword rested against his neck.

The man simply looked up and smiled. He did not seem angered by losing to a fellow member of the Kingsguard.

With his surrender, the champion was announced.

Ser Harrold Westerling.

Soon, the victor was celebrated throughout the arena. People applauded and shouted enthusiastically for the man, and the celebration continued for some time until the king finally declared the tournament at an end.

"I thank you all for being here. Now only the jousts between the remaining contenders remain." The herald began to announce.

The king also rose to say a few words. Jon ignored Rickon's and the others' antics and listened from the North's stands. His voice was clear, but Jon knew the man was pushing himself too hard, though he still tried to preserve his dignity.

Over the past few days, Jon had spent a great deal of time at the king's side and knew that he was living through his final days. The old monarch only revealed who he truly was when he lay in his bed, and Jon could see the genuine look of exhaustion on the king's face at those moments.

Jon had never told anyone that, nor should he. But he could see that behind that firm and resolute gaze lay the great weakness of a man who had simply lived too long.

That could not help but leave Jon feeling somewhat saddened.

The man was immediately met with applause from all of Westeros. While everyone clapped, Jon kept his worried gaze fixed on the king.

But... suddenly, he noticed something. His eyes immediately turned eastward. Upward.

He was searching for something in the sky. Something that should not have been there, but somehow was.

There were a few dark clouds, although the day was still mostly sunny. Perhaps because of those distant storm clouds, Jon had failed to notice the tiny black speck growing on the horizon.

"Jon, what are you looking at?" Lyra asked when she noticed he was no longer paying attention to the king's speech, the royal family, or anything else.

His eyes remained fixed on the sky, drawing more attention than the royal box itself, considering how close he had become to the king over the past few weeks, yet he did not seem to care about anything except the sky.

Without answering, Jon simply raised his hand, pointing toward the tiny speck that was steadily growing larger. Lyra narrowed her eyes beside him.

"What is that?" she asked curiously, managing to make out the small dot as well, though she had no idea what it was. She could only tell that it was getting bigger and bigger.

"A dragon..." Jon murmured, speaking more to himself than to Lyra.

She looked at him in shock. "What? A dragon? Why would a dragon be coming here? Aren't there only two dragonriders alive right now?" she asked, staring at him as if searching for any sign that he was joking.

"Hey, what are you two talking about?" Rickon grumbled as he walked over and bumped into Jon.

But Jon never took his eyes off the sky.

"Jon said there's a dragon coming this way, up there," Lyra replied, pointing toward the horizon.

Rickon tried to follow her gaze. "I can see something coming this way... but isn't it a bird?" he asked, still confused.

"Can't you see? It's getting far too big. It only looks small because it's still very far away," Jon replied, finally understanding what was happening, and he swallowed hard.

He knew exactly what it was. Jon had dreamed about it that very night. Or rather, over the past several weeks.

Ever since he had entered that dragon's mind, he constantly saw it looking westward, as if searching for the source of the presence that invaded its mind night after night and prevented it from hunting other dragons.

The dragon had never liked that. Jon could feel it.

The creature was far too proud to accept someone invading its mind. Nor could Jon control the moments when he would suddenly awaken, seeing the world through those ancient, fierce green eyes.

The people were still celebrating. No one besides Jon, Lyra, and Rickon had noticed the dragon's approach.

"Warn your father. Quickly!" Jon finally blinked and realized what was happening. That dragon was coming straight for them... He could even see the beat of its wings now as it drew closer and closer.

"Warn your father about the dragon, immediately!" Jon shouted the next moment to Rickon before he could even process the first warning.

Rickon's eyes widened before he ran toward his father, who was still wearing his armor while several lords' sons helped him remove it as he spoke with Lord Mormont.

"And you, warn Grandma. We have to get everyone out of here!" Jon told Lyra, who immediately ran up into the stands, where the leading ladies and other Northern nobles were gathered.

"Grandma! Grandma! There's a dragon coming this way!" Lyra rushed over to her mother and grandmother, who were talking with the other women of the North, when they heard the girl shouting in desperation.

"What are you talking about, Lyra?" Alys Stark was startled by her daughter, but she could see the fear in her eyes.

She simply pointed at the sky. "A dragon is coming this way! Jon said it isn't safe here. We have to go somewhere else," she said.

The women began looking up, turning their attention to the sky.

The dragon was no longer just a speck on the horizon. It was already possible to make out the outline of its wings as they beat, descending in a diagonal flight, using its own weight to drive its body downward and gain even more speed.

"Gods..." Lyarra immediately stood up. That was unmistakably the silhouette of a dragon.

"Quickly! We have to get out of here!" Lord Stark also rose to his feet. "Dragon!" he shouted, interrupting the conversations of most of the people nearby as he spotted the dragon in the sky.

The people around them heard the urgency in his voice. They immediately began searching the sky.

It did not take long for everyone to realize that the dragon was already much closer.

"Dragon!" people began to scream.

Panic spread throughout the area. Even the royal family, who had still been celebrating, looked upward, expressions of shock escaping them as they saw the enormous black dragon flying straight toward the arena.

Jaehaerys's eyes widened. "No..." he murmured, his lips trembling. "What is that dragon doing here?"

"Rhaenys! Daemon! Go to your dragons immediately! That's the Cannibal! It's coming this way!" he shouted with all the dignity he could still muster.

The two of them paused for only a moment before nodding. Daemon was still wearing his battle attire, stained with blood from the cuts he had suffered while fighting a member of the Kingsguard. He quickly mounted a horse and rode off, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the sky.

The dragon finally arrived, and the beating of its wings could already be heard. People ran in every direction, while Jon remained beside the Stark family.

As the creature drew near, it spread its wings to their full span, covering the arena and blotting out the sunlight.

Then it roared.

ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR

The roar made the entire arena tremble, announcing its overwhelming presence and leaving everyone frozen in fear.

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