Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 187: Dangerous Vibrations (I)

POV: Author

Great Arena.

About three minutes after the start of Phase II...

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Men of the North, West, Reach, Stormlands, Crowlands, IB, Triarchy, the Hedge Knights and Mercenaries faction led by the Red Knight and the three Arcane Shields advanced to the second and final phase. Finally, all the competitors dispersed into the Chaos of the True Great Melee.

There were no more ties of blood or brotherhood on this battlefield. By now, only dreams of glory and wealth spurred the fighting spirits of the participants.

But those hopeful torches were lent dissipation by the arrival of an icy, irrepressible gust of wind...

"You! I challenge you to a du... Urgh!" A knight of House Fell was caught off guard by a series of destabilising swords from behind before he could finish the sentence. The man lost consciousness immediately after receiving a full slash to the temple. Then the demon directed his gaze towards the second easy prey a few steps from the edge of the boundary perimeter and snapped.

"No! That was a duel, infamous! Don't come clo-' Another Crowlands competitor was swept away by a double flying kick and thrown off the red line.

'Seven...' The 12-year-old didn't stop and immediately charged towards a second pair of competitors who were focused and distracted by their fight. An Ibbenese and Tyroshi were soon joined as number Eight and Nine.

Bloody Snow's eye caught other potential prey but then discarded the target. That Florent scion was already prey for Theo Knott.

The Pack of the Northern Beast was also going at it hard. Blows to the back, bites, low and merciless blows, fingers in the eyes, hit and run strategies, surprise 3-on-1 ambushes... everything was fair game. As a result, at least thirty competitors had already left the competition. Some even came out with one or two ear butts missing, others with a broken limb inside out.

"Have you seen those Northern bastards...! Let's stop them!" A small coalition of Knights began to notice the improprieties and infamies perpetrated by Duncan Tallhart's pack.

A Level 5, a couple of Level 6s and a Level 7 charged against the beast that was reaping the most victims and surrounded it.

The pupil had no more reason to follow the master's directives. The paladin cast [Shield Of Faith] upon himself and, with shield and sword guard raised, fearlessly endured the first wave of attacks.

Swords, clubs and axes bounced against shield and armour without affecting the stability of the rock in the slightest. Then, Bloody Snow slipped behind the weaker member at the first opening, stunning him with a shield blow on the chin. The stunned victim stood for a few seconds. Seconds which Duncan exploited to use the paralysed body as a shield guard.

The poor Hedge Knight was felled by a friendly slash, and the Beast pounced on the second, weaker and more distracted victim. A diagonal slash followed by an armoured elbow strike to the half-unfastened ruff ended the second opponent's contest.

Duncan finished them individually, shamelessly exploiting the defence's unassailable advantage.

And, just as the twelfth victim was felled, a gigantic shadow fell over the boy. A brutal slash that sliced through the air with a disruptive sound caught Bloody Snow off guard, forcing him to raise his shield urgently in the perceived rough direction.

*Sduump!!!* Despite Mott's armour, the reinforced ironwood shield, and the protective spell, the boy was lifted a foot into the air and catapulted five or six feet into the air. So monstrous was the force contained in that impact.

Duncan tumbled another five feet to the ground. This blow he had felt. 'Urgh... So I felt it,' thought the young warrior as he felt the partial numbness in his arm and the remnants of vibration all over his body. Bloody Snow looked up from the ground. The shield was chipped, the plates dented, and the shadow continued to approach.

A metallic, guttural, commanding voice emerged from the massive black helmet. "I have found you."

The Riding Mountain did not hesitate to drop the long broadsword, wielded with both hands, from top to bottom, well aimed at the boy's helmet on the ground. Duncan instinctively rolled to the left, and the steel harpooned the ground, missing the target by a whisker.

"Uaaargh!" the sword, stuck nearly a foot deep, broke free from the obstruction diagonally and with incredible speed, lifting clouds of sand and clods of earth with it.

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'Holy shit!' Duncan had no time to dodge or deflect the second blow. He opted for the only alternative left, to lift what was left of the shield and resist. The sideways impact forced him to skid another four feet across the ground. But the sequence of attacks was not over.

A third and devastating blow, charged from the top down, impacted full force on the shield.

*SBAAAM!!* An explosion of splinters erupted from the struggling boy. Head and back was crushed violently to the ground. His helmet recoiled from the half-broken shield, injuring his nose and chin... Duncan had to strain to keep his concentration on the still-active spell.

Gregor showed no mercy and raised his sword in less than a second.

"[Release me, Boy! What are you waiting for?! You won't be able to take another hit!" Shouted an inner demonic voice impulsively, filled with rage and survival instinct.

'Urgh... Maybe just a little push.' Thought the warrior instinctively. *Fiuuu!' Duncan inhaled more profoundly, and time slowed down more. The chains were extended to give the Beast more autonomy. And instantly, a wave of supernatural strength and responsiveness surged through his body. With a slight swing of his back and legs, Duncan returned to his feet, dropping the remnants of his shield. Gregor's sword was already charged backwards, ready to strike within tenths of a second. There was enough room to manoeuvre to dodge the blow. However, Duncan did not opt for a dodge. Instead, he concentrated the excess strength on his legs for a leap, launched himself towards the Human Catapult and brought his forearms together to intercept the blade.

'Now!' With the reaction, the Paladin released the abjuration spell of the second circle he had already chanted and held for the occasion.

[Aid]...A patina of temporary vitality covered the boy's body, invigorating him.

Damascus' bracelets made contact with the enemy broadsword less than halfway through the swing arc. The desired projection was successful. The cohesion of Shield of Faith, Mott's Damascus and Aid absorbed most of the damage, and Duncan used the counterforce of the lever to catapult himself in the opposite direction.

The boy flew at least twenty feet backwards, spinning on himself to land and rise like a panther a moment later. The acrobatic gymnastics sequence would have deserved a gold medal and earned a 10.0 from all six jury members if only the athlete had also managed not to lose his sword.

Bloody Snow was unarmed, but at least he had gained enough distance to escape from that deadly assault and breathlessness to prepare the correct countermeasures.

'So much for "Slightly Stronger Than Me", Baragh of my boots... That's level of strength from: [Captain America would sweat through four shirts to beat The Mountain at arm wrestling!]' Duncan cursed inwardly. The force generated by that tank of muscle was beyond his expectations... it was simply inhuman.

Duncan also speculated that the Basilisk Blood's effects hadn't been completely neutralised. Certainly, that was no sedated horse.

Ser Gregor recovered quickly from his passing moment of disbelief and confusion. The slit was narrow and did not offer a good view. The Mountain spotted his prey again and marched slowly but surely toward Duncan.

The sword was too close to Gregor's range to be retrieved...

'But why such slowness?' Abnormal air shifts behind him aroused the young warrior's sharp sense of danger. Another enemy was lending a hand to the Mountain.

Duncan crouched like a frog, dodging the slash aimed at his head. "Die!" was Ser Amory Lorch.

Duncan dodged and parried the imprecise series of slashes with his armbands. An ineffective assault, and too inexperienced to do him any damage, but enough to waste precious time.

The boy stepped back as far as he could, seeking ever greater distance from the real danger about to arrive. "Die, you Bastard! Die! Die!" Amory accompanied a ridiculous "Die" on almost every slash...

Then the boy suddenly stopped retreating, blocking his sword hand and catching Amory off guard. "My ally has also come, Ser Amory..." The corner of the man's eye turned, and he caught a glimpse of the second giant moley of roaring ironmonger. The sword of a Giant shorter than a foot of the Mountain but just as massive in width was holding its own against Gregor Clegane...Greatjon Umber had joined the fray.

"Send my respects to the Queen and pass on a 'thank you for the sword' from me." They were the last words perceived by Cercei Lannister's second assassin before a twist of an iron hand fractured two of his fingers, disarming him, and a single green-lit right hook slammed into his helmet, knocking him out.

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End POV.

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POV: Jaime

In the middle of the melee.

About ten minutes after two giants began to battle, a boy from the North pointed his new longsword at other targets.

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Every damn muscle in his body screamed pain. Even though he gritted his teeth and inhaled to the maximum of his lung capacity to try and ease the twinges, Jaime's body could not respond appropriately to his commands. It was as if skin, muscles and bones had been soaked in resin, making every movement rigid, arduous and damnably painful.

Jaime was unable to put on the plate armour. Only the breastplate looked like a Lady's breath-breaking corset made of lead. And Jaime knew what it was like to wear a corset. At eight years old, he and his sister were practically identical. Cercei wanted to play "Let's Swap Roles"; her brother wore his sister's clothes for almost a week before family and servants noticed.

All the pathetic and weak Sword of the West managed to equip her with was a half helmet, padding, a light leather torso cover, thin shoulder straps, leggings and armbands; even the shield was totally out of Reach. As a result, Jaime could hardly wield the sword properly.

The physique begged him to lie down and sleep for an entire moon... but the Knight could not give in. Not now that Jaime was a foot away from the finish line. The Red Knight was less than forty paces away... just short of it.

Another obstacle stood before him. A swordsman of Myr sought confrontation. Jaime raised his guard, barely parrying the first slash. The vibration of the recoil felt like a hammer blow on his fingers and wrists, but the sword still held firm. The Lion managed to withstand the second set of exchanges by compensating for the physical deficiency with anticipation, posture and superior fencing technique... But even so, that Level 6 Rank Squire was still ahead in the good physical condition and thirsting for glory.

Luckily for him, Ser Lyle Crakehall came to the rescue. The mighty Crakehall Knight disposed of the Myrense in a few rounds of blows.

As soon as the conflict ended, Jaime turned to his bishop-friend, 'Go away, Lyle! You too. Ser Arlan, Ser Wiston, Ser Addam... You all have your own race to think about! This is not your battle!" The voice expressed reproach, but the eyes deep gratitude towards the four loyal comrades who continued to surround and support him.

"Do you want all the glory just for you again, Sword of the West?!" Reiterated Addam Marbrant aloud amidst the confusion and with his guard still turned towards the possible dangers and without retreating a step.

"Urg, crack hairy arse of an Ibbenese!.... With all due respect, Ser...! This is our race, and we choose to fight whoever the fuck we want!" Thundered Ser Lyle Crakehall in the middle of a fight.

Jaime renounced his pride, and after tacitly thanking his comrades, the shabby Knight continued on his way. It was the slowest, most perilous and painful forty feet ever travelled. Luckily for them, the melee seemed to be drawing to a close. Barely thirty competitors remained in the race. By the looks of it, Bloody Snow and the swords of the North had generated a real mess in the race. Two or three participating members of the North had even been disqualified by the judges... Ser Gregor was still in a tough battle against the giant Umber, and Jaime had lost track of Duncan minutes ago. The last time the Young Lion caught a glimpse of Bloody Snow, he was in the ranks of the Reach, dedicated and focused in a brutal and aggressive swordfight against Greysteel.

Addam and Ser Wiston needed to catch up, giving battle to foes too hostile to be ignored... But in the end, Jaime reached his goal.

"This is where my race will end. Thank you, Knights, of the West. Now, go." Lyle and Arlan nodded.

"May the Warrior smile upon you again, Ser." Ser Lyle finally concluded and then headed towards his own goals.

'Smiling? Mpff... he'll have to laugh his ass off to favour me.' So Jaime thought as he observed the Red Knight up close for the first time...

The warrior was not tall, just under six feet, with a helmet included. The physique looked slender inside the perfect, compact armour of red-lacquered steel. A red horsehair fell from the full helmet from which nothing could be glimpsed. A fine, darker crimson cape rested on his shoulders. The Red Knight wielded only a sword that was at least two inches longer than Jaime's but, at the same time, also finer and lighter in appearance.

The whole thing was adorned with a silvery, bright and fearsome: [Level 10; Rank Knight].

The red warrior had just disarmed and unhorsed a massive Stormlands knight with fluidity and brevity. The man attempted to rise, but the Red Knight pressed the blunt tip of his blade to the crook of his throat, pushing his head back down.

"Urgh... I... I giv... I give up!" The sword withdrew its grip, leaving the defeated man with his remaining dignity.

Then the Red Knight's attention turned to Jaime...

"Fight me, Ser... I challenge you to a duel." Promulgated the Lion, keeping his back and mane well erect to conceal his weaknesses.

"You cannot fight in that condition, Ser. Retreat." Replied a young voice, harsh, metallic and dry but with an off note that Jaime's ear could not identify.

"Beat the same with me." Insisted Jaime without denying anything.

"... You cannot win." The Red Knight.

"Aye, I cannot. But do not underestimate me, Ser. The challenge remains." Jaime raised his guard, draining all his remaining energy. His opponent, after a moment's hesitation, replicated the gesture.

Jaime charged. With his back and legs stiffer and rustier than an iron rod, left to rot in the depths of the abyss for decades, high manoeuvres and footwork were not an option. Only arms, wrists and hands still responded 'decently' to brain impulses.

The Red Knight parried and deflected the ridiculous assault of the novice squire with ease, without counterattacking.

"You will aggravate your condition... You may never recover from the damage." Intimated the Knight. But Jaime did not heed the words and continued undaunted to cleave blows.

The Red Knight returned no blows...

"Fight fair! React, Ser! This is a duel!" Roared the humiliated Lion, attempting a third, more aggressive assault.

*Sting*, *Clang*, *Stiin* For the first time, the opponent attempted a disarming manoeuvre, which Jaime managed to prevent. At that point, The Red Knight provoked began his first assault.

The warrior swung his sword towards Lion's neck with impressive fluidity and speed. Jaime grasped the tip of his blade with his left hand to wield it like a staff and parried the first blow, but the swinging and repulsion allowed the Red Knight to replicate the same fencing motion towards the exposed right flank. Jaime's left palm opened, and he grasped the blade's flat to push it as quickly as possible towards the opposite direction... but the defensive reaction was in vain. The second slash was a feint...

*Stuff!* "Cough! Coff!" A tremendous gloved hook to the pit of the stomach destabilised the Lion. Jaime stepped back as far as he could, straining as hard as possible to prevent his knees from kissing the ground.

"Surrender, Ser Jaime" The adversary's guard rose up. "I will not hold back in the second assault." Threatened the Red Knight.

"Coff...coff...Puit!" Jaime spat a lump of blood on the ground, then retorted, "Would you have granted such favouritism to an enemy in the middle of a real battlefield, Ser?"

The Red Knight did not reply.

"Exactly... So, stop talking and give it your best shot, Knight." The warrior unfastened his crimson cape, letting it fall to the ground, then changed his guard and leg position to a more intimidating style.

'About time.' Jaime was also saving his few remaining cards. He couldn't win, that was as certain as the coming of the next dawn, but at least the swordsman could rekindle the last dying gleams of that raging flame he used to defeat Oberyn. He could feel it in his belly. Even in that pitiful state, that torch could still be rekindled with the right push and motivation. There was still that unexpressed Roar, all he had left to give.

That was the price for Dayne's legacy... and a Lannister always paid his debts.

Jaime inhaled and exhaled... Time slowed, the sound died away, and the sound of breathing roared louder and louder. Finally, the heart quickened, and the ever-rising blood began to cool and extinguish the burning pangs.

The Lion was ready. There was no time for a prolonged struggle. Head, heart and belly begged him to stop this madness instantly before the inevitable collapse of the entire body... One last brief, but intense assault was all he could grant.

The Sword of the West and The Red Knight snapped at the exact moment. Both swords collided with ferocity, fluidity and speed at the limit of human capabilities, creating a steel storm.

The beginning was rusty and violent. The Red Knight's sword surpassed him in technique, fluidity and responsiveness. Several enemy slashes flew through the defence, clashing forearms, hips, thighs and helmets, but the pain felt like a mosquito bite compared to the three hours of constant stabbing he had endured.

It wasn't the apex yet; the flame had barely ignited...

'More' The lion's claw became even faster.

'Even more...' The sword became more fluid and light.

'I see it! I can hear it in the sound... I can feel it in my skin; I can even smell it... I can do more!' An indefinable sensory synesthesia permeated inside Jaime, making sword and swordsman one.

A curved, undulating path, clearly traced and visible only to the lion's senses, began manifesting itself. Naturally, the sword wanted of its own accord to travel that path. With every correct swing undertaken, his faithful friend, companion and lover gave him a thrill sweeter than the caress of his mother, more intoxicating than a warm kiss from Cercei, all seasoned with pulses of adrenalin and danger... it was even better than sex. Simply pure ecstasy. A pleasure the man needed, one he could not give up for anything in the world. Only that sensation could awaken the sleeping Lion.

A slightly annoyed alarm disturbed that magic. The tendon in his ankle had torn, but it didn't matter. It was not painful. The two lovers could safely continue dancing...

Jaime continued on his way, abandoning all worries, all duties, all dangers, losing control of himself...

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End Chapter.

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