Mala whipped her rapier around the broad club of the island's native barbarian, the thin steel blade only scoring a thin line of blood across the large mans bared chest. The bronzed man barked a laugh at the scratch, baring his crooked, yellow teeth, and rearing up with the heavy, wooden stick to smack the small woman down when his muscles clenched up, veins bulged through the olive toned skin, and blood poured from the petrified man's nose.

The pirate captain was already on the move, even as the large barbarian collapsed. She flashed her poison coated sword to cut one primitive, while a throwing knife flew from her hand and bloomed in the throat of another bronze skinned savage, this one wielding a crude bone ax. Her crew moved around her, heavy steel blades cleaving through light wood spears and animal skins, tearing through the island's native people.

The black poison stained edge of her rapier sung as it whipped through the humid air of the Stepstones, poking holes through a spear wielding native. Next to her, her first mate, a grizzled old Summer Islander, swung his thick heavy scimitar, nearly cleaving through a man's entire midsection, only a thin string of meat holding the two halves together as they fell atop a pile of its own guts.

Set in the backdrop of their frenzied, though one-sided, melee, was a mountainous island, thick with jungle, and a tall stone pyramid peaking through the treetops in the back. Mala had led her crew here for that temple. A remnant of the Valyrian empire, according to the tales, filled to the brim with gold treasures, Valyrian Steel, and something truly precious. If she was to become Queen of the Stepstones, she would need that treasure.

Already she had made good progress. A dozen pirate ships were loyal to her and under her command. Mala had won their loyalty through profitable ventures, and her uncanny ability to know which target was safe to strike, and which one was a warship masquerading as a merchant ship.

She even had come up with the perfect plan to raid the island. The location of the temple wasn't unknown, neither was its supposed contents, but the native savages had made any prior raid a bloodbath in favor of the defenders. But stories from survivors had revealed to Mala a vital weakness in the barbarians, they relied on the jungle.

That was why the trees around them were on fire.

The smoke and flames drove the savages out into the open, where the better equipped pirates were able to cut them to ribbons with steel swords and pick them apart with crossbow bolts as they emerged from the blazing jungle.

The would be pirate queen slashed another savage's throat, and stood still amidst the smoke, observing her crew making short work of the few remaining natives. The sun crazed lunatics weren't the surrendering sort, which was a shame, because she wouldn't have minded adding a few onto her crew. If nothing else, they were good for absorbing a few arrows.

The tall, slender woman led the way up the smoky husk of the once lush jungle, her first mate directly behind her, and the rest of the crew following at a distance. The Lysian woman was always so very strict about where she stood, and where everyone in her crew stood. A remnant of her noble upbringing perhaps. Her mother had always been so harsh on the servants.

She soon reached the base of the pyramid, finding that the savages must have at the very least been taking good care of the outside of the structure, for the steps remained pristine, with little signs of erosion, and no vines, leaves, or even dirt littering the black stone. Fine leather boots with copper soles clacked as she ascended towards the gaping door midway up the temple.

Mala held out her hand where an already lit torch found a home. Her first mate rarely needed to be ordered around, always anticipating her desires, and moving to take care of them before she ever opened her mouth. That's why she brought the old slave along, he was dependable.

The yellow flames reflected back at her from the contents of the room. Gold coins, thousands, hundreds of thousands of them, from all known realms, from Westeros to the Free Cities, to even far eastern lands like Yi Ti. Jewel encrusted statues of ancient gods, ferocious beasts, and naked women were half buried under the coins. Gold trimmed chests sat wide open, filled with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds.

Weapons of every style hung on the walls, rested against corners, or were displayed in glass cases. Most were plain steel, even if they were of spectacular quality, but one caught her eye. A slender sword, thicker than her rapier, but much thinner than any sword used by a knight. The hilt was beautifully crafted, with an intricate, silver colored loop guard and side ring surrounding a black leather grip and connected to a giant ruby pommel and a golden quillon.

While the handle was nice and beautiful, the blade was what caught her attention. She had only seen one weapon of the same metal, a dagger her father had nearly bankrupted the family for. Smoky grey Valyrian Steel.

Reaching out with her dominant left hand, Mala raised the weapon, admiring its light weight, and gave a few practice swings in the style of a water dancer. The would be pirate queen sheathed the blade in its accompanying scabbard, and slid it onto her belt next to her rapier.

Without even looking back to her former slave and current first mate, the silver haired woman spoke quickly, "I want a full accounting of everything in this room, people you can trust. As much as you can trust anyone in this group."

The fine boots clacked once again on the obsidian floor, "And put the fires out, we'll need the wood for a fortress. I do believe we've found our home."

The big man was already moving, barking down at the crew that had gathered at the bottom of the pyramid, Mala cast a critical eye as the men began moving swiftly. None of the murderous cutthroats dared contradict an order from the old pit fighter, not because they were afraid of him, but because she had worked very hard to establish a reputation of brutal reprisal. There were more than a few skeletons and other corpses in various states of decay strung up on the hull of her ship, the freshest one having only finally died this morning after more than a day nailed just above the water line.

They followed her for her ability to reward them, they were loyal, for her ability to cause them pain and misery beyond compare.

As the men moved about, already dousing the flames and some even salvaging charred logs for hopefully some useful planks, a glint caught the corner of her sharp green eyes. It came from the top of the temple, where an open space was held in reverence above the rest of pyramid. Four stone pillars held a sloped, copper plated roof over a space large enough for ten men to stand shoulder to shoulder underneath.

There was no gold here, just a single stone podium in the center of the space, with an obsidian claw rising from the pillar clutching a single, shining, ruby red with swirls of the purest and deepest blue, dragon egg.

Mala blinked as she saw it, awed by the pure power she could feel from the relatively small object. Beneath the egg, there was some sort of script, in no language she could recognize, though somehow, she felt she knew what it said.

…

DOVAHKIIN

Erik whirled on his feet. Training sword dropping to the muddied ground, shock coloring his brutish features.

"Odahviing…" he whispered under his breath, right before his opponent's own training sword struck him in the midsection, knocking the breath out of his lungs and doubling him over.

"Are you alright my lord?" Ser Edwell Celtigar asked.

The knight, sworn to the service of House Stormcrown leaned over with his much bigger liege, hand on the lord's back.

"I expected you to block the blow and make me look the fool once again."

Lord Stormcrown didn't answer, hands on his knees, his rich chocolate eyes had a focused look to them, though they saw nothing of their surroundings. Not the trampled, muddy grounds they stood on, not the other knights and men at arms training around them, not even the towering white walls of Highgarden itself. His eyes saw ground race past him, waves pass underneath him, and an ebon pyramid amidst a smoky jungle, atop an island surrounded by crystal blue waters.

"Erik?!"

The giant of a man snapped back to reality, Ser Edwell and Vilkas standing in front of him, both with concerned looks on their faces.

"You must be getting old," Vilkas said to the half Nord, "The kid barely tapped you."

Erik's face screwed up in confusion for a second before uttering a simple, "Fuck you," before turning to the young knight, who looked positively contrite for having struck his liege lord so violently.

"Celtigar, your ship, it's escorted Dornish trade ships through the Step Stones, yes?"

Now it was Edwell's turn to look confused, "Erm, yes, My Lord. Twice Ser Davos has assigned myself and The Black Blade to see merchant ships through the Step Stones."

The bigger man nodded, and looked around the training yard to see if anyone might be listening in on the three. Undoubtedly half the men at arms were spying on them for one visiting House or the other, while the second half was likely spying for the Tyrells. No matter, it wasn't likely to do them any good.

"How would you describe the islands?"

The young knight cocked his head, "My Lord?"

Erik gave him a look of apology and expectancy, "Humor me."

"Well…" he started somewhat cautiously, clearly still a little concerned for his lord, "the first thing one notices about the islands is the water they sit upon. Aside from Tarth, I doubt I've ever seen water as clear."

Vilkas handed his old friend a water skin, still eyeing the bigger man strangely, confused as to the point of this line of questioning. Erik ignored him and took a long drought from the opening as he continued to listen.

"The islands themselves are mostly unremarkable. Some are little more than rocks jutting up from the sea, though most at least have some sort of jungle on them. A few islands are said to have ancient Valyrian architecture on them, most crumbled to ruin, but unmistakable for Valyrian, due to the ebon rock used to make them."

The Companion cocked an eyebrow at the knight, "Did you read that somewhere?"

The dark haired young man flushed with embarrassment, "I was always meant to be a maester, but a brother died, and my fortunes changed. But I still spent much of my youth learning to keep records."

The steely eyed Nord huffed, "So you have a diary?"

This, Ser Edwell turned indignant at, "I keep records of my journeys and travels!"

"That's called a diary."

The two went back and forth for a bit, Vilkas continuing to tease the younger warrior, much to the knight's chagrin. Meanwhile, Erik looked to the sky, contemplating what he had seen, what he had heard.

Odahviing was calling him, but the call wasn't urgent. The Thu'um was strange, and a single word could often impart more knowledge than an entire book. But it wasn't the Thu'um that had been used. The castle would have been shaken to its foundations. Everyone for miles would have heard the call, not just Dovahkiin. It was… strange, but Erik felt as though he needed to approach this cautiously. That the red dragon was telling him to be careful, but how had he done this without the Voice?

There was more to this than just the awesome and nearly unlimited power of the Dragon Tongue, which was most definitely not a good thing.

He turned back to the pair of warriors, "Was there anything unusual happening there?"

Edwell shrugged, "Depends on what you mean by 'unusual', My Lord. Pirates infest those island, but every few decades, one gets an idea and tries to unite them."

"Is that what is happening now?"

The young knight nodded, "From what I understand. Ser Seaworth would know more of course."

"I'll have to ask him," Erik muttered loud enough for the other two to hear as his attention was caught by the entrance of another party.

Men all around the muddied training yard dropped to their knees as Robert Baratheon tromped through the mud, making a line straight for the Lord of Dragonstone. Erik straightened his back, shoulders going back as he prepared for whatever the somewhat eccentric royal had in store for him.

"Whats this I hear about you not competing?"

The bigger man blinked. The king was going to ruin his fine boots on the muddied ground and raise a commotion in the training yard… because Erik wasn't going to compete in the tourney?

"Horses don't like me," he replied, "And frankly, the feeling is mutual."

Robert shook his head and waved his hand, "Forget the prissy joust! Who fucking cares which knight looks prettier, I'm talking about the melee!"

He wasn't going to let this go was he?

"My House already has a champion fighting for us in the melee," Erik gestured to Vilkas, looking positively average compared to the two giants conversing.

"And I'm sure he's bloody good, but he's not the man that won me my fucking war! I'd hoped to test myself against that ax of yours!" the royal man all but bellowed, making the trio wince at the way the king's voice meant that there was no way that all of the knights and men at arms watching couldn't hear every word that was being said.

Brown eyes flitted past the Baratheon and to the white armored knight that had accompanied the king, "You're letting the king compete, Barristan?"

The old knight smiled even as the king scowled, "I am the king, and can do as I please!"

"Unfortunately for Westeros," the statement slipped past Erik's lips before he could think about them. No doubt if his beautiful wife were here, she'd have smacked him upside the head. As it was, the color in Sers Celtigar and Selmy rapidly drained.

He supposed he should apologize, but his mind was still thousands of miles away, and besides, King Robert liked it when people were forward with him. People he respected anyway.

True to his nature, the eldest Baratheon barked a laugh, immediately relieving the tension everyone but the king and the two foreigners had felt permeate the training yard, "You're probably onto something there! The Kingsguard protects the King from the Realm, but who's to protect the Realm from the King?"

This time Ser Barristan spoke, a serious tone in his voice, "The Small Council is supposed to temper the worst tendencies of the King, Your Grace."

"Bah!" the eccentric monarch scoffed with a wave of his hand, "Useless sniveling dregs, the lot of them, 'cept Jon and Stannis, but all they do is nag me. Makes me wonder why Cersei even bothers."

"My King," the half Nord started before Robert could start a tirade on the uselessness of his most trusted advisors and the cold nature of his golden haired wife, "Did you really come out here to ask me to participate in the tournament?"

"No," Baratheon clapped a hand on Stormcrown's shoulder and started moving, implying that the bigger man should follow, "No, you and I have a lot we need to talk about."

Erik looked over his shoulder to Vilkas and Edwell, "Keep training him, Vilkas, maybe one day he'll be a match for starving cripple."

"We can always hope," the Nord nodded, though watched the three men leave the training yard wearily.

…

"What did he say?" Lynesse asked as she shifted Farkas in her lap. The toddler was quite enthralled by all the passing knights down in the courtyard below.

Just a few years ago, and it was likely she would have been quite taken with all the shining steel, colorful livery, and handsome young men. But in that time she had been married against her will, fallen in love with that man, given him four children, met an actual demon, been to an entirely different realm, met a dragon, and negotiated with giants.

She had been quite busy the past five years.

"Pirate attacks all across the Narrow Sea are getting more frequent, and apparently that's my responsibility."

The blonde woman had to stop herself from berating her giant of a husband. For one thing, it wasn't his fault he didn't know, he was still rather new to the land and a situation like this one hadn't come up yet. For another, Froki had pointed out that Lynesse berated Erik perhaps a little bit more often than necessary.

"Of course it's our responsibility, our House is the Lord Paramount of the Narrow Sea, as such, we are responsible for the safety of all Westerosi ships, Houses, and citizenry passing through there," she explained to the… well he wasn't stupid, just uneducated, "Besides, this is a good opportunity."

Her husband stuck his tongue out at Alerie, who giggled at the face her father was making. He was always so good with their children.

"Opportunity for what?" he asked after sucking his tongue back in and then using a single hand to tease and tickle his daughter.

The mother smiled softly at the squeals of laughter coming from the two year old before looking up at her husband, "To expand on what we are already doing with Dorne's merchant fleets. Think about it, if we go and make the same deal with every other major port in Westeros, then we'll own nearly all the trade in Westeros, and more than a good portion of it in Essos."

"And what if they don't want to deal with us?" he surprised her with a smart counterpoint, which was disappointing that she was surprised. Lynesse and Erik had had these sorts of conversations before, and it had never been just her lecturing him on basic economics and trade policy, he knew enough to counter some of her more aggressive and reaching ideas.

That didn't mean that she hadn't already thought out the solution to this particular problem, "Then we go directly to the merchants, and instead of negotiating direct military assistance, we establish trade routes that go from large trade hubs right to Dragonstone."

That handsome smile on his ugly face appeared, though whether it was at what she said, or the game of tug of war he was playing over his finger with Alerie she wasn't sure.

"So that way instead of sailing all the way to their destination, they can trade their goods directly with other ships," yes, he was much smarter than she continually gave him credit for, "Merchants halve the time on their ships, lowering costs and dangers of their ventures."

"They'll also lower the amount of gold produced by each trip, but since they'll now be able to make more trips…"

"It would take some time to convince many of them," Farkas pointed at a Reacher knight with large blue and green peacock feather coming out of the top of his helmet in a colorful plume, Lynesse had to work a little extra hard at keeping the very active and excited boy on her knee. The child was already as big as a three year old, and was strong, stronger than Baelor or Rayya had been at this age.

The former Hightower sighed as the toddler finally settled down, and continued, "Most of them will be loathe to change the way they've worked for decades."

"So we go after newer merchants, young Houses, or poorer Houses, someone more willing to try something new," Erik continued his wife's line of thought.

"Exactly," she nodded, "Either they'll make so much gold they'll replace the larger mercantile companies of Westeros, or their success will attract those companies."

"We have to make sure it's successful first."

Lynesse rolled her eyes, "The only problem I foresee is the Stepstones."

Sky blue eyes didn't miss the sudden stiffening by her husband, "Something wrong, my dear?"

"Was just talking about the Stepstones earlier, apparently it is a region stooped in trouble."

There was something he wasn't saying, and she wanted to press him about it, but after meeting Hermaeus Mora, she was more than willing to admit there were some things her husband knew, that she was better off not knowing, and if it was something she needed to know, he would tell her soon, likely without the little ones crawling around them.

"Any idea what to do about it?"

"I'm going to invade."

…

"This is probably a bad idea," Erik grumbled as he fitted his ebony gauntlet onto his left hand, where his temporary squire, his son Baelor did his best to tighten the straps over his thick forearms. The boy was trying his hardest, and was doing a decent job for a five year old, but all the same, the giant of a man used his right hand to help pull the strap tight.

"Why do you say that?"

Vilkas, already in his armor was inspecting the dulled greatsword that he would use as his primary weapon in the first round of the tournament. The former Companion almost looked disgusted by the quality of the steel. It wasn't bad, but when one got used to Skyforge Steel, medium steel just didn't have the right shine.

"Some of the most influential and prominent lords and knights in all of Westeros will be fighting out here in this 'melee' as they call it," the Lord Stormcrown spoke through the sound of his young son grunting while trying to drag the heavy greataxe that Erik would use in lieu of Wuuthrad for the melee.

Reasonably satisfied that the practice greatsword would not snap, the Nord unsheathed the dulled longsword, though Westerosi might still call it a greatsword, or a hand and a half sword due to its two handed grip.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not if I kill someone," Erik responded as he hefted the steel weapon, more akin to a maul than an ax. Wuuthrad only got away with being so big because ebony was so light, this thing would be even more heavy than that beast, "And with a weapon like this, I just might. Plate armor or not."

"Whole thing seems strange," Vilkas conceded, "Not sure why we aren't fighting one on one, blunted longswords, padded armor, first one off his feet loses."

"Well, that's the thing about nobility," the half Nord shook his head before accepting his helmet from Baelor and tussling the child's blonde hair, "They never get to fight in wars, so they have to play at them."

Vilkas gave the longsword an experimental twirl before sheathing it and pulling out the one Erik would be using for the tournament as the man himself helped Baelor help him strap his sword belt on over his armored waist, "Didn't most of these men fight in Robert's Rebellion with you? If I remember your story correctly, quite a few highborn knights fought alongside you in some of the most dangerous fighting."

With his belt now properly strapped on, the lord shrugged, "No first sons, no heirs to the castle's, second sons, third sons, people who didn't have anything waiting for them. Any nobility that had something other than their lives at risk, stayed in the back, only coming to the front when the route was on."

"Of course they don't go to the front lines! They'd be stupid if they risked their lives like that!" the former Companion declared, "More depends on them. They're the generals of the army, the owners of the land, the people paying the soldiers."

Erik nodded emphatically and held out his hand, "So why are they fighting in this incredibly dangerous melee? A blunted sword can still split a mans head open."

"Why are you?" Vilkas reached forward and slid Erik's longsword into the sheath on the sword belt, Baelor watching the blade glide in with awe, "You just told me about the war you're about to be waging with the Stepstones. What if you die in this melee, or suffer some crippling injury?"

"Celtigar is a serviceable sea captain, no one understands pirates and smugglers better than Seaworth, and I doubt there's a single warrior in the world, let alone those islands, that can match your ability."

The swordsman shrugged, "Fair points, but that doesn't answer why you're fighting."

"I think Lynesse wants me to fight…" Erik mumbled lowly to his old friend, low enough that Baelor, who was busy marveling at the crested ebony helm on the bench, wouldn't hear his mother's name. Little snot told the woman everything his father said, especially if it was about her.

A look of understanding dawned on the steely eyed Nord's face, "I suppose she always dreamed of handsome knights winning tournaments in her name. I'll be sure to dedicate my victory to her."

Erik plastered the former Companion with a flat look before grabbing his ebony helm from his son's hands and slapping it over his head.

…

"She's gorgeous, Alerie, really," Lynesse said, holding her niece Margaery as she sat in the box with her sister and her family.

"Thank you, Lynesse, where's your eldest son?" the silver haired woman asked in return.

The younger woman shook her head, "Who knows, he wanted to squire for Vilkas, and Erik won't say no to something like that. If I had to guess, he and Froki are probably bringing him here now."

"Froki?"

"Sorry," the former Hightower apologized, "Froki is my goodsister, it should be easy enough to recognize her in the crowd actually. She is quite clearly related to my husband."

"Ugly?" the old witch Olenna asked from her seat where she looked out contemptuously from the viewing box. The field was receiving the finishing touches of preparation for the melee. Erik needed to get here quickly unless he wanted to miss Vilkas and Edwell compete.

"Fortunately not," Lynesse replied to the old woman diplomatically, just as the door opened and a small blonde child ran through, straight to his mother, followed by the woman whose beauty had been called into question.

"Baelor! You're not nearly as muddy as I thought you'd be!" there was actually only a little bit of dirt and grime on his clothes, likely from the oil coating the blades and the dirt inside the tents.

"Axes are heavy," the little boy said as he stood in front of his mother, eyeing the three year old girl sitting in his mother's lap.

Smiling at the pair of shy 'helloes' the Lady of Dragonstone looked up to her sister by law and noticed that someone was missing, "Froki, where's Erik?"

"Last minute change of heart apparently, Baelor helped him put his armor on," the tall, buxom woman shrugged as she walked past the blonde woman and sat down where Rayya was playing with Loras.

The blonde woman felt her heart jump up at what Froki had just said, and quickly set Margaery on the ground and went to the balcony to get a look at the melee participants lining up. Sure enough, there he was, standing more than a head taller than everyone on the field, even His Grace Robert Baratheon who would normally be considered a giant of a man. Where all of the other knights and lords wore gleaming armor that almost made them hard to look at, Erik was a dark pit of blackness, soaking up all the light.

Everyone around him was giving the dark man his space, everyone seemingly intimidated by him, apart from two men, one was instantly recognizable by his antlered helm as the king himself, but the other would have been difficult to discern had Lynesse not seen the man in full armor those short three years ago on the fields outside Whiterun.

It was unusual to see the pair without their usual weapons. The greatsword Vilkas had over one shoulder was entirely wrong, the blade was the wrong shape, and the wrong color, while Erik's single bladed ax looked ridiculous slung over his shoulders. Wuuthrad's elegance would have completed the picture, though it seemed plenty were able to piece the rest of it together, as a hush seemed to have fallen over the crowd.

Why was he doing this?

She couldn't deny that a small, childish part of her wanted him to do this. To compete in the tournament and claim glory and honor in her name. The former Hightower had spent much of her girlhood dreaming of a strong, handsome, strapping knight to come to her, where she could bestow her favor upon the knight, and watched as the warrior, empowered by her love, unseated man after man in the lists, and would proclaim her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

There would be no crown of flowers to bestow upon the victor's lady, not for the melee, but there would still be glory, and everyone would still know who the victor was, which would, by simple association, cast attention down upon the victor's chosen lady.

Erik was no knight, he wouldn't last two passes in a proper joust, the man simply couldn't control a horse. He would never be handsome, he wasn't born handsome, and war and battles had done him no kindness. Even with all of that, Lynesse couldn't stop the sudden burst of girlish wistfulness that rose up through her as she watched her love, the man she would have bestowed her favor upon, stride with a purpose to his starting position at the edge of the ring.

"A hundred dragons on the king!" someone from the stands shouted over the rising din as excitement started to rise in the arena.

"No one would harm the king, fifty on Ser Lannister to take second!"

"Seventy five dragons on Prince Martell!"

Lynesse hadn't even noticed that the Prince had arrived, indeed the Red Viper was spinning his spear, his copper ringed armor glinting in the sunlight on the opposite end of the field from Erik.

More bets were being made, Mace Tyrell, sitting next to Alerie and their second son Garlan even asked the room for their thoughts on who might win.

"Vilkas," Froki said without even looking up from where she had Rayya and was playing with a pair of dolls. Her blunt statement prompted a response from Lynesse.

"Not Erik?"

"Well, they aren't fighting to the death, so no. Vilkas will beat Erik."

Mace stroked his beard, "This Vilkas is such a great warrior? Many of my bannermen, even my goodbrother who is no slouch as a warrior, still speak in fear of Lord Erik."

Froki stood up as Rayya and Margaery began engaging with each other, neither needing adult attention at the moment, and moved to sit where she could see the arena, "Vilkas was the one who taught my brother how to fight, and he hasn't slowed down one bit."

Surprisingly, Mace didn't come back with any sort of comment or boasting, instead simply nodding at the tall woman's comments and pointing to the bell tower.

With the first great gong, the fifty knights and lords began. The blonde woman's eyes immediately sought out her husband, who with one great stroke, demolished the heater shield of the first knight he encountered, a green apple Fossoway, before hooking the blade of the axe behind the man's ankle and flipping him onto his back. A kick across the face must have knocked the poor man out, for though she couldn't see his face, the knight did not get back up.

A roar of excitement had sky blue eyes searching the field for the source of the applause, finding Robert Baratheon pounding a Riverland knight's shield. The thick banded wood splintered under the blows, but ultimately held together as he tried to reply with sword thrusts to keep the monarch at bay. It was for naught as the King flung the shield wide and used his own shield to push the sword back at the knight and pressed his advantage, bringing the warhammer down onto the knight's breastplate, denting it and knocking the Riverlander out of the fight.

Lynesse brought her attention back to her husband, finding him knocking out a Reacher Lord with the haft of his ax, purposefully avoiding using the deadly end of the weapon. Another lord came at Erik, intent on striking the giant man down, but the Lord of Dragonstone was too quick, easily slapping aside each strike with the ax haft, almost mocking his opponent. Then the lord overreached, causing Erik to reach out with a free hand, grab the armored man by the back of the head, and smash it into his rising knee. While not much damage had likely been done, it certainly seemed to have been enough to force the man to yield, as Erik stalked off, searching for another victim.

Oohs and ahs rained down from the stands as Vilkas and Oberyn had engaged one another. The two combatants were wielding dulled versions of their favorite weapons, and both were wielding them masterfully. The Prince had great reach with his long spear, but the former Companion was as graceful as he was powerful with the ridiculously gargantuan sword.

The master fencer wasn't even gripping it like a proper sword, instead, with one hand just underneath the crossguard, and another halfway along the blade, he batted aside strikes with speed and power, and lunged ahead with tremendous reach by releasing the blade and thrusting with his pommel hand, forcing the Red Viper to dodge time and time again, rolling across the dirt to avoid the quick and powerful strikes of the greatsword.

It finally ended when Oberyn sent a thrust at Vilkas, who, rather than bat it aside as he had been doing, took a risk and shifted his body so that the blade of the spear would pass underneath his armpit, where he trapped the shaft against his body and used his size and strength to pull the prince off his feet. Dropping the greatsword, the former Companion spun the spear around and overhead in a flourish before striking the Red Viper in the chest with the blunt end of the spear, keeping the Dornish Prince on the ground and finished by presenting the blade of the spear to Martell's throat.

The crowd roared its approval, and some dismay, as the smaller man's hands raised in conciliatory manner, showing his surrender. Since Vilkas was new to tournaments and still unknown to the masses, many bettors were in arms over their sure bet being defeated by some nobody.

Lynesse paid them no mind, as the young girl inside her swooned as Erik slammed the backside of his ax into a man's helmet, flooring him instantly, and switched onto another knight, splitting the smaller man's shield and using his own shield to knock him off his feet, where another shield bash kept him down.

She had to admit, her younger fantasies envisioned the combat looking much smoother, her chosen hero dazzling his opponents and working around their defenses to land a final blow. This was brutal, Erik overpowering his smaller, less talented foes, and toying with the more skilled ones, before overwhelming them with a fury of powerful blows that once even got a knight to yield before a single blow landed on his armor.

At the end of it all, however, it was all she could have wanted.

A hush fell over the battlefield, and Lynesse suddenly noticed that the King, His Grace Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, was lying flat on his back, Vilkas standing over him. Robert's warhammer had been flung aside, and the tip of a longsword resting on the King's breastplate. The crowd was stunned, mostly that someone dare strike the king, but also that the powerful and unstoppable war machine that was Baratheon had been defeated by this upstart.

"Hah!" the King's loud voice burst over the silence, the man was boisterous, irresponsible, and sometimes a fool, but he was never one to let standing get in the way of the better man winning, "That giant fucker you call a lord was right about you, YIELD!"

The crowd erupted in cheers as Vilkas helped the king to his feet, and turned to watch the only two remaining fighters apart from himself.

Ser Jaime Lannister hadn't been gifted the reputation of being one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, he had earned it, and was showing how as he mercilessly and relentlessly went after Erik. The big man didn't even bother putting his axe out to deflect or block the golden haired knight's blows, instead simply absorbing them with his shield. The Lannister was too quick for the Stormcrown to properly counterattack without leaving himself open, but also, Erik was too strong and skilled for Jaime's sword strikes to make it past his defenses.

That was when Erik dropped his ax. Sensing an opening, the Kingsguard knight surged forward, but his sword struck air as the big man fell flat on his back. The crowd whooped and Lynesse's heart pounded as everyone thought that the giant man had lost, when the Lord of Dragonstone rolled with his fall while putting a boot in Lannister's chest and grabbing the outstretched sword arm. Completing the somersault saw Jaime Lannister flat on his back, his own sword placed against his throat.

Now there were two.

There was an audible laugh from Vilkas as Erik stood from his most recent 'kill', "How did I know it would come to this?"

The larger man did not bother to retrieve his ax, instead ripping the sparring longsword from his hip, "Because you're an arrogant blowhard with no sense of humility."

Another peal of laughter rang over the quiet arena, stemming from the steely eyed Nord, who dropped his greatsword and drew his own sparring longsword, "First to three takedowns?"

"I assume you want blade only?"

"And put the fate of my pretty face in those warhammers you call fists? No, blades only please."

The two assumed a dueling stance, Vilkas using a high guard while Erik held his in front, "The flat of a blade is perfectly capable of breaking your nose."

"Perhaps," the former Companion shrugged, "but you can't swing one for shit, so I'm not worried."

Suddenly the two were upon each other, with Vilkas swinging first, swinging his sword from a high guard, which was met on each swing, by Erik's own blade. Unlike in his duel against Ser Barristan all those years ago, the big man was not presented an opportunity where he could use his superior strength to wear down Vilkas, as each parry he made, his foe's blade simply bounced off and came for another angle of attack, with the huge man's strength only adding to the speed of the follow up strike.

The two moved to quickly for untrained eyes to follow properly, all that could really be made out by Lynesse was the continual ringing of steel striking steel and the whirling of the blades, but that did not mean that Froki, a talented warrior in her own right, wasn't able to make out what was going on.

"He's got him," she said with an air of finality, and sure enough, some fancy footwork by Vilkas found him letting Erik's sword slide off his own which was positioned high and behind his back, allowing the Nord to put his full body's rotation into a strike at the inside of one of his opponent's knees, staggering him. The bigger man stumbled for a second, seemed to recover as he parried a follow up strike, but that was only a set up by Vilkas, who used the out of position sword to his advantage and struck the side of the ebony helm and then the other knee.

Erik's offended knee hit the dirt with a loud clang, and roars went up around the arena, followed by some mild confusion as, rather than demand a surrender, the silver clad warrior backed off, allowing the ebon clad one to stand again. Either they hadn't heard the exchange between the two in the ring, or hadn't understood what was meant.

"One for me, do you want to surrender now?"

Lynesse's heart thumped as she watched her champion rise from the dirt and assume the same guard position he had before, but before Vilkas could raise his sword to a guard position, Erik was upon him, swinging purposefully and forcefully.

Three blows and parries were exchanged before the duller clang of sword on armor rung out, as the smaller warrior was struck in the side. The crowd roared, expecting to see the bigger man force the smaller one onto the ground with his size and strength, but Erik hadn't been lying when he said Vilkas was the greatest warrior in all of Tamriel, the master fencer recovered his balance quickly, and with deft movement of his own blade and incredible footwork, according to Froki anyway, the Nord's blade found the giant's hamstrings, buckling the knees from the backside and landing the Lord of Dragonstone in the dirt for the second time.

The crowd's roar reached a crescendo as Lynesse's heart nearly leapt into her throat.

"Get up!" she screamed out from the viewing box, drawing looks from her sister and the rest of the Tyrells, not that she noticed or cared.

Erik appeared to have heard her, even over the roar of the crowd, as his head tilted towards the viewing box. Huge fists clenched hard around the hilt of the longsword as the ebon clad warrior turned to face his foe. Whatever Vilkas was saying couldn't be heard over the crowd, but he held up two fingers to the larger man before resuming his guard.

Swords clashed again, the crowd thrumming in response to every strike as it seemed that the smaller warrior might claim another point and full victory.

"Oh, that was smooth, Erik…" Froki said at Lynesse's side.

The blonde woman didn't even have time to ponder her words before Vilkas's guard was broken by a strong slash and deft twist of Erik's sword, resulting in the silver clad knight receiving a strike across his hip again, this time followed up by his disarming. Before the Nord's sword could even hit the ground, the man was being flung onto his back by a powerful horizontal swing that crashed into his chest.

For a second the crowd was quiet, only pierced by a cry from the Lady of Dragonstone.

"YES!"

The onlookers roared their approval of the scene as Vilkas rolled over to his sword and slowly rose to his feet, coughing as he did so.

With a presence even the King would be hard pressed to match, Erik raised a hand and the crowd fell silent, waiting on baited breath for his words.

"Would you like to surrender now?"

The Nord rolled his neck, his helmet clanking against his shoulder pauldrons, "Luck…"

The two resumed guard positions, this time with Erik assuming a high guard, and Vilkas holding his sword to his side. On some, unseen command, the two attacked in unison. Steel ringing filled the ring as cheers filled the arena. The fighting was getting sloppier, it didn't seem like the two were holding forms very well, and more than a few strikes got past the others defenses, but neither one managed to land a blow strong enough to knock the other to the ground.

"Mistake," Froki muttered, unknowing to how Lynesse's breathing would hitch every time she spoke, fearful that her love was going to lose.

Her fears were for naught, this time, as Erik caught Vilkas's sword with his crossguard and spun around the smaller warrior, delivering a powerful strike to his foe's hamstrings and dropping the silver clad knight into the dirt for a second time.

The crowd was deafening, so much so that the Lady Stormcrown couldn't even hear Mace Tyrell comment on the fight, even though she could see his mouth move. But once again, the ebon clad giant raised a fist and the crowd fell silent.

"Do you need time, sir, to catch your breath?"

Vilkas was on him in an instant, sword flashing as Erik raised his own to parry. The two were striking savagely now, there was no guard, even an inexperienced eye was able to see that there was no tactics or maneuvers used, just raw speed and power, as the pair's chests heaved with the exertion of the fight.

Suddenly, after a particularly violent clashing of blades, the pair separated, Erik with his back to Lynesse, and Vilkas facing the viewing box she was in. It was clear that they were trying to catch their breath before the other could, assuming a standard guard for the first time in this fifth round. Her throat was dry, her stomach felt heavy in her belly, her knees threatened to give out beneath her, and her hands shook as she held them to her chest. Erik had to win, for her, he had too.

That was when Vilkas's head tilted, looking up at her, before looking back down to Erik. For the first time since the noble lady had met the skilled warrior, his sword work was truly sloppy, with a slow, wide, telegraphed strike that her husband batted aside with ease, before striking the smaller man's legs in quick succession, weakening his stance, and finishing him off with a powerful uppercut that put the former Companion in the dirt for a final time.

"YEAH!" her cry was drowned out by the massive roar let loose by all of the onlookers. Even the knights and lords who had competed and lost, the ones that have recovered anyway, shouted their approval at the match. Ser Jaime Lannister had a dumfounded expression on his face as he slowly applauded, while Oberyn was shouting and raising his fist to the air.

The King actually rushed the field, slapping the victor on the shoulder, his fiercely bearded face spread wide in delight and laughter as he grabbed one hand of Erik and raised it to the sky.

Lynesse didn't care about any of that, her mind was already in their bedchambers.

Well there you go, a chapter that does next to nothing for the story except partially set up the next plotline, advances zero characters, and was probably boring for more than half the chapter. But, you wanted another chapter, and I've delivered. No one can deny that this is in fact, a continuation of the story.

Barely.

Let me know what you think of the developments, if there were any you able to discern even. I don't know, I just really hate this chapter.

Adieu.