Raiden's Storm (ASOIAF)

[Edric's POV, first]

The qualifications for the melee were a bit looser than before; as long as you met the skill standard of most knights, you were good. This led to there being a good bit over four hundred participants, dwarfing the melee of the Hand's Tourney by ten times. As such… I made the decision to forbid horses (otherwise, the field would be more clogged than a Taco Bell toilet). It was going to be a brawl that no one could run from. A moshpit, to be more precise.

Even for me, winning wasn't exactly a guarantee.

Additionally, it would be the ideal place to assassinate me in all of the chaos. I wouldn't be too surprised if a Frey Incident 2.0 happened. 

I chose to withhold any Kingsguard from participating, saving them for later events. It looked like Rhaerra had a different thought entirely, bringing down most of her men. Right about thirty men… which included the man himself, the smartest, the strongest and the most handsome Big Baegel.

Baegel… in terms of Valyrian names, it may actually fit, funnily enough. Even so, I couldn't help but think of bagels when I heard it.

…

"You're looking bloody majestic, Your Grace." 

Dallin, my squire, remarked as he fastened my armour. Ragnor nodded in agreement.

"Aye, it's a good fit. Tobho Mott is a magician."

It was styled after my first true armour except infinitely better. It was mostly black plate with gilded patterns centred around a golden stag. The patterns in question were like feathers in the wind, forming a graceful pattern that words could not do justice to. It was hard to describe… yet it did, indeed, look majestic, grandiose and powerful.

Since it was intentionally larger than my actual measurements, the armour was a little big. I had asked Tobho Mott to make it so that I'd grow into it rather than ask for a new set in a few moons.

It felt like puberty was really hitting its stride lately… I'll definitely grow a few inches minimum.

"I'll have to thank the smith when I have time." I smiled, taking off the helmet. "Do you know who the other sets are for?"

"Who?" Ragnor questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"... It couldn't be." Dallin's eyes widened.

"... Dallin has the right idea." I smiled, nodding. "When you lot prove yourselves, it will be yours. Speaking of… I want you two in the melee."

"Sounds like fun," Dallin remarked.

"Though I doubt we'd do all that well, it would be good for experience." Dallin firmly nodded.

"I would gladly join you as well, Your Grace." Dickon added.

I looked at him and shook my head.

"The men in there would be just as glad to humiliate a highborn boy. You are still too young and inexperienced. Ragnor and Dallin are almost men, and they've seen many battles already. You'll have your turn in the future."

"..." Dickon pouted slightly. "As you wish, Your Grace. I shall watch you fight on the field instead."

"Don't just watch me, watch the entire field. Most of the men there are skilled."

"None of them are half as good as you, though," Dickon said, looking up at me with shining eyes. He had as much of a fondness for martial prowess as his father did... if not more. 

It would not be too far-fetched to say that I was his hero...

I chuckled.

"Mayhaps."

I heard echoing steps in the armour, turning to see an approaching Margaery Tyrell. She was well-dressed for the occasion, looking all lady-like in her ivory silk gown. She carried a wooden basket which, upon closer inspection, carried all my favourite fruits. Peaches, grapes, watermelon slices, raspberries, blueberries and even cherries.

"Your Grace." She bent gracefully, her lips curling into a slight yet sweet smile. "It is my hope that this gift will give you the strength to emerge triumphant. I picked each fruit myself; they are all of the finest quality."

"You know the way to my heart." I smiled, looking down at the bundle of fruit before me. "Though I cannot say that it will make much of a difference in the melee, it will make me quite pleased for the rest of the day. Mayhaps I'll be so content as to lose intentionally and finish the rest of the fruits that I left behind..."

"Then you'd have to forgive me." Margaery chuckled, taking out a flowered green ribbon decorated with House Tyrell's rose. "There is another thing I'd wish for you to have..."

"Your favour?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. Those were usually for the joust. "They're seldom worn during melees."

"For a Baratheon, the melee is the true joust," Margaery said, offering it to me. "As this one is especially large and filled to the brim with competitors, I suspect that even you would face a great many challenges. Consider it a token of encouragement to keep pushing forward... to victory."

"Since you were kind enough to gather all these fruits for me, I shall honour your request." I nodded, taking the flowery ribbon and wrapping it around my arm. It didn't exactly fit my get-up, though. "It's like putting flowers on a dragon."

"It does not make him any less dangerous. If anything, it is a little deceiving." Margaery said, giving me the basket. "I believe the melee is not too far from starting..."

"You don't need to ask me twice." 

I gave Dickon my helmet and gauntlets before munching on the fruits, taking a handful every couple of seconds. Indeed, I felt invigorated with sweet fruit goodness. As I ate, my three squires seemingly socially distanced themselves from us.

I chose to keep some for later, feeling a little full. I did eat quite the meal beforehand.

"Your new armour looks regal and imposing. Powerful. It gives the image of a warrior without equal." Margaery remarked with a smile, placing her hand on the chest where the golden stag stood proudly. "Only fitting for one man..."

"Mhm... Tobho Mott really outdid himself." 

I agreed, noticing that she was trying to subtly rizz me up. Well, it wasn't too subtle... I found the glazing quite apparent. I don't think she was trying to hide it, either.

"Though, if I may add, it would look better with a crown." Margaery looked up. "And the colours... shouldn't it be mainly gold with a black stag?"

"I prefer the golden stag and mainly black armour. I find it less... vulgar. It makes the gold stand out rather than blinding people with too much of it." I replied, subtly putting Margaery's hand off my chest. "Besides... the cape takes on the Baratheon colours. I think the armour's black contrasts well with the cape's gold."

"Hm... you are right." Margaery nodded, stroking her chin. "It does look good, reversed. I suppose you are also someone who does not shy away from their heritage."

I nodded.

"Under the shiny Baratheon cape, I am still Edric Storm."

"It is a most fitting name." Margaery nodded, stepping away a little. "You should be wary of your surroundings in the melee. There are a great many competitors this time around, and you have no horse to gallop away with. In all that chaos, it would be the ideal opportunity for those who wish you dead to act. No doubt... you would also be a prized target to eliminate early on."

"I know." I firmly nodded. "Let them come out of the shadows and face me in the light. If they do come out… well, consider it the perfect opportunity to bash their heads into the ground."

"Only you could be so confident..." She lowered her gaze for a moment before looking me right in the eyes with an expression of care. "Just... be careful."

"You weren't there at the last melee, were you?"

"... No, but I've heard countless stories about it."

"Then you should realise that your worries are unfounded, Lady Margaery." I smiled, pulling back some of her untangled hair behind her ear. "I would sooner slaughter every man on that field than die. Just sit back and watch me win, alright?"

"... Of course."

Margaery nodded, her mouth opened slightly and her eyes looking a bit... dreamy? Perhaps I was imagining things.

"Save the fruits for later... I'll definitely be hungry."

I turned around and faced my squires.

"My armour."

They put on my gauntlets before I put the helmet on myself.

"Let's go and see what you're made of, Ragnor and Dallin. Get your armour, weapons and join me on the field."

"Yes, Your Grace."

~

As Margaery left and the squires were left to their devices, Dallin and Ragnor had a bit of small talk while they got ready.

"Gods, Lady Margaery is so perfect." Ragnor sighed, shaking his head. "I understand why His Grace gave her a good tumbling... he had to do it at least once. I mean, she's beautiful, clever, refined, she brings delicious fruits and throws herself on you? I'd marry her in an instant."

"You'd marry a pig if it stomached the thought of throwing herself at you..." Dallin remarked, chuckling.

"Hey... I wouldn't." Ragnor shook his head. "I have standards, you know."

"Absurd standards, you mean?"

"Every handsome knight needs a pretty lady." Ragnor grinned slightly.

"If you're handsome, everyone is. Besides, you're not even a knight."

"... You just love to hate on me." Ragnor chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "But... you can't lie to me and say that when Edric and Margaery are together, the first thing that comes to mind is not 'That's the King and Queen right there'. Whenever they're together... it looks like a painting."

"Maybe you should be a poet instead." Dallin chuckled, shaking his head. "And no... I don't think that. I only think so when I see His Grace is with Lady Arya."

"Bah..." Ragnor scoffed, lowering himself and placing his palm before his knee. "She's this tiny."

"She's not that short... and she'll be the Queen someday. You should be more watchful of what comes out of your mouth."

"You get what I mean... I'm just being an honest person. His Grace wanted a taste of a real woman - and he got it, alright."

"Can you find another topic to talk about? If not, I'll have to back away, and you can talk to the wall."

"... Rude." Ragnor sighed. "Mayhaps I should talk to the wall."

"You're free to do so... you might even find a new friend."

A moment of silence washed over them as Ragnor looked more serious.

"The world outside of our village... it's just so large, thousands of thousands of times bigger. It's like we have been living in a little well all our lives. A drop of water in the ocean."

Ragnor stated, looking around the armoury - fiddling with the various blunted weapons.

"Our dreams of being knights were just that... but now we can make them happen. It's right here."

"Mn..." Dallin nodded.

"I only wish Davis, Harrin and Lucas were here to see it all. The Kingsroad, King's Landing, Tarth, Storm's End..." Ragnor's smile slowly fell as he thought of his fellow villagers. "They survived every battle... just not the last and most important one. It's..."

"It's just as His Grace said after the battle." Dallin patted Ragnor's shoulder. "We carry on their legacy. We are the King's squires from Mistwood, a small village they don't even have on most maps. Our friends are watching us from above, cheering us on. Not just them, though... we represent our entire village with everything we do. Our mothers, siblings, fathers, their fathers before them... everyone."

"Let's make them all proud."

"... Yeah." Ragnor managed a smile. "We won't win, for sure... but..."

"We'll lose fighting."

"Yeah." Ragnor clenched his fists, feeling more motivated. "Fighting like demons." 

~

[Arya's POV]

"Look, His Grace is wearing Lady Margaery's favour for the melee." One of the ladies said the obvious.

I have eyes, Arya thought. It's never enough for that scheming rose - always clinging onto Edric whenever she can. What kind of lady gives favours during melees? And Edric... he's too courteous sometimes.

She would have ripped it off herself and replaced it with her own... if he hadn't been on the other side of the field. She didn't want to make a scene out of it, besides. In the end, it was just a small gesture... she would be the one who would be marrying Edric. A little ribbon wouldn't change a thing.

Other than the green-gold flowery ribbon, Edric looked every bit of a Horned God. Even with hundreds of competitors crowding the field, he towered over most of them - standing out like a glistening titan amongst dull dwarves.

"Shouldn't he be wearing your favour?" Sansa questioned, turning to Arya.

I was thinking the same thing, Arya thought.

"I didn't think he needed it..." Arya shrugged. "Besides, shouldn't the knight ask the lady? You should know."

"Edric isn't a knight, though... he's the King." Sansa shook her head.

"Hmph, you're just making a big deal out of some fancy ribbon that Edric will probably toss away during the melee for getting in the way." Arya countered. "Difference is, when he wins the joust, Edric wouldn't even look at Margaery for that special title... the Queen of Beauty and Love, is it?"

"The Queen of Love and Beauty." Sansa corrected.

"Yeah, I'll be having it."

Arya crossed her arms with confidence. Though, deep down, she wasn't as sure as she would've liked to be. 

"... If he wins the joust," Sansa remarked. "I think Ser Loras has a great chance of winning. While Edric is a far better warrior, he isn't much of a lance..."

"Flowerboy? Pfft." Arya scoffed, grinning slightly. "Edric will send him flying in one tilt. He'll beat him when it matters; I know it. We can bet on it, if you'd like."

"What would you even bet?"

"Hm... mayhaps a dare?"

"A dare?" Sansa questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like it's something wicked?"

"Wicked? I'd never do that to my sweet, big sister. If you're so confident in flowerboy's lance, you shouldn't even be worried about losing the bet."

"... I wouldn't bet against Edric." Sansa countered, shaking her head.

"You... just did a few seconds ago." Arya chuckled. 

"I only said Ser Loras is a better lance... isn't that obvious enough? You're the one who wants to bet on it."

"Saying he's better would make me think that you'd bet on him... besides, Ser Loras is not better. Edric's lance is worth a hundred of Ser Loras' when he wants to win."

"We'll see."

"Mhm... Edric will make a fool out of everyone." Arya smiled as she watched on. "That's just how he likes doing things."

After everyone got set and ready, the melee began with a loud ringing of a large bell. Hundreds of competitors were hesitant, not quite knowing what to do. They were all aware that in a free-for-all, the men who fought the least confrontations had the biggest advantage.

Meanwhile, Edric charged at his closest opponent and smashed through his armour with a single mighty swing. Before he could swing once more, his opponent turned tail and ran. 

As a minute passed, he had defeated half a dozen opponents in the same fashion. Wherever he walked, men conceded and accepted defeat rather than facing him directly.

They are smart, Arya thought. Better to lose with no wounds than to come out with a broken rib.

Before long, he had been surrounded by dozens of men, however. They had him pinned in a small area - not giving him much space to swing his warhammer or even breathe. 

"Bet he'll have to toss out some lightning..." Arya muttered.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY, LITTLE ANTS!"

It was then that a large figure, Big Baegal, stormed through the massive crowd - smashing through men and sending them to the ground with his colossal mace.

"Big Baegel wants to fight Boy King NOW!!!"

Edric spread out his arms, and lightning seemed to come out of nowhere. It surged violently in his hands and spread out towards the massive crowd, sending the surrounding men off their feet a dozen metres away.

It was always a feast for the eyes when Edric's rage took form as lightning. Arya had left her seat and stood forward to see it more clearly.

Only Big Baegal remained standing near Edric, looking bewildered by the sight.

Edric raised his warhammer and rested it on his shoulder, gesturing for Baegel to approach him.

"Come, then. Fight me."

These four words were as calm as a still lake, yet they thunderously echoed across the tourney grounds...