The sun hung high over Stonehelm's lists, blazing through ragged clouds that rolled in from the sea of dorne. Now came the true test of muscle and steel.
Dozens of knights, men-at-arms, and aquires gathered in the fenced field below the stands. Some wore their house color proudly, some wore plain steel. Winning this brawl would net oneself a dozen of gold dragons, and most importantly the recognition of the lords present. Any hedge knight or freerider would stake their life for it.
"Remember," Lanner said as he fitted Dramon's armor. "The melee's not a dual. It's a storm, chaos. Strike quick, protect yourself, and most importantly keep moving."
Dramon nodded, donning his helm. The horns blew quickly.
The melee began like the breaking of a wave - men shouting, charging, shields colliding with a thunderous clap. Steel rang against steel, the air filled with sweat, dust, and the shouts of the onlookers.
Dramon moved through the chaos like a snake. His weapon - a blunted longsword- danced in his hands. He parried the blow from a knight from nightsong , turned his shoulder to avoid flailing axe from a squire, and answered with a swift strike that sent whelp sprawling into the dirt.
"Too wide," Dramon muttered, sidestepping another opponent. "Keep your step steady, you fool." said as he kicked him in the shin.
A heavy impact struck his backplate. He turned just in time to see Ser Janas of Tumbleton, grinning beneath his dented helm.
"Still think greenboys are equal to knight?" Janas taunted, swinging his mace.
The blow missed by inches, Dramon ducked low, slammed his shoulder into Janas's chest. Janas raised his mace and brought it down hard. Since Dramon already anticipated this, he stepped to the side and slammed his shield against arm that was holding the mace. Janas screamed in pain and let go of his mace. Dramon didn't hesitate and hit the knight hard on his neck with his longsword, Janas went down hard taking him out of the competition.
Around Dramon the melee raged. Men fought in groups, banners trampled into the mud. Dramon spotted Derrin and Greg, his companions, back to back against two folks. Without hesitation he waded in, striking one from behind with the flat side of his blade, both seized this opportunity to overpower the other foe.
"Push them toward the fence!" He roared.
They obeyed instinctively. Together, a small band of brothers, forced a number of combatants against the fence, eliminating like a chaff.
The same scene replayed across the field. A small number of participants banding together to force out others. But soon after these groups turned on each other as soon as they were the only one's left.
For the first time, Dramon realised they were among the last ones still standing. Only a handful of retainers remained, prime amongst them knights from the host house. There were also other knights from prestigious houses from all over the Stormlands.
"Fall back," Dramon hissed to his men, as he noticed that they were getting surrounded. "We'll face them together."
But before they could regroup they were separated by the Swann knights who planned to isolate and defeat them one by one. Dramon fought ferociously, but against the massive number of opponents he could only barely hold on. Fortunately, a knight from the Storms end adorned in stag horned helm, came to the rescue.
"Have you have no shame? To gang up upon a boy?" He boomed, his swing of the halberd sending scores of Swann knights stumbling. Together they laid down on Swann knights heavily.
Not long after, they became the only last two combatants standing. Dramon conceded to the knight who helped him.
"Ser, I would like to know your name, mine is Dramon Wyce."
"I'm called Martyn." The knight answered.