Blood of Dragons

What was promised as a contest of arms became instead a test of will, endurance, and blood. The great melee held upon the fields beyond White Harbor drew four companies of knights and men-at-arms—forty to each side. Two bore the colors and heraldry of the South and two bore the arms of northern houses, the white and grey of House Stark at their head.

Over hours from dawn to day, they clashed in village, hollow, and wood, the fog rolling low and the din of war echoing through the vale of the White Knife. Marshals cried themselves hoarse holding the lines together, driving bands of men nearer and nearer the Wolf’s Den as the companies battered each other to ruin. Men were bloodied, horses slain, ransoms cried and hostages rescued in the confusion. Many a knight was borne senseless from the field, and many more went limping, armor dented and visors caved.

In time, the chaos coalesced. Two companies stood where once there were four, their numbers thinned from forty apiece to seven men each. At last the horns sounded, and the marshals brought them to the tourney meadow before the Den. Beneath the gaze of lords and smallfolk gathered in the fog-draped stands, the two sides faced each other: the southrons glittering with gilt and gold, the North grim in silvered steel and sable cloak.

The northern side formed first: Jonnel Stark, heir to Winterfell, stood tall and cold-eyed with his younger brother Barthogan beside him, blades damp with dew and splintered shield on Barth’s arm. Ser Boren Manderly the Great strode like a great bull with his young kinsman Ser Halys beside him. Jaremy Dustin, the captain of the guard Gery Woolfield, and Yohn Mooton the Riverman completed their line, all mist-wreathed and bloodied from hours of running fights, some with half-a-dozen ransoms to their credit.

Across the square, the southrons array formed. Ser Bryar Mooton, heir to Maidenpool, was there, and Ser Waymar Royce like a brazen giant in his rune-covered silvered steel. There too were Ser Otho Royce and Ser Omrys Baratheon, and the heirs Ser Orbert Farman of Fair Isle and Ser Jon Roxton of the Ring, armor battered and scratched from many skirmishes. There was even a Dornish bastard, Ser Lewyn Sand, son of a distant prince of that land; some said he was only grudgingly accepted in that company, but he had proved swift and sure with his long Dornish spear.

The crowd hushed as the marshals raise their staves. No more woods, no more hostages—this was now a battle straight and final, in the barriered square beneath the watching eyes of White Harbor. In the high stand could be found Cregan Stark and Borian Manderly, leaning forward, intent—the Old Man of the North must have been proud that his two sons were here at the last.

What followed was as fierce as any battle. The lists rang with shattering lances, the trumpeting of destriers, and war cries as both teams of warriors plunged at one another with war lances. Jonnel Stark, heir to Winterfell, and Ser Omrys Baratheon unhorsed one another in the first charge and battled on on foot as others fought around them. Baratheon struck a mighty blow to Stark’s helm, caving part of it in, sending him reeling, and falling… and then after a short scream he was face down unnaturally still. Shocked, Ser Omrys fell to his knees, crying for aid. Marshals rushed forward with men to carry the stricken Stark away, only to discover that he had fallen onto the shard of a broken lance stuck in the mud and it had penetrated the dented visor and into his eye. With all care he was carried away to be attended to by maesters, with Lord Cregan and Lady Lynara at his side. Barth, too, would join them, having been defeated in combat by Ser Orbert Farman. Yet despite this, the skirmish continued, despite the uncertainy about Jonnel’s fate.

Ser Lewyn Sand, the bold Dornish bastard, rode light and fast with his spear, darting through the melee. Survivng the onslaught of Ser Boren Manderly, when carried apart in the midst of the battle he fell on the other northerners, recking nothing of chivalry and more than happy to fall on foes when distracted or outnumbered. Ser Bryar Mooton fought bravely against his distant cousin Yohn the Riverman, but yielded after a hammering blow, while Orbert Farman was battered into the mire by Ser Boren Manderly’s great poleaxe. Jaremy Dustin clashed savagely with Ser Otho Royce, felling him in the first charge before the Royce knight rallied and ripped him from the saddle. Dustin would have his revenge, forcing Ser Otho to yield, and then entered a thunderous contest back and forth with Ser Jon Roxton until the heir to the Ring stood triumphant.

Ser Halys Manderly proved tenacious, capturing the attention of many, as he kept his horse throughout the combat, using it skillfully to aid him even when he was hammered again and again by the likes of Waymar the Rune and Lewyn Sand, and more. His kinsman, Ser Boren the Great, fought like a bull, casting foes down with his polaxe. In the final moments of the contest, the Riverman finally drove Lewyn Sand to yield, and turned with Halys to face Ser Waymar Royce who had unchivalrously kicked down an unyielding Ser Boren as he struggled to get up from the mud. The Rune of Runestone thought to stand and fend off both Halys and Ser Yohn Mooton at once, even as Boren heaved himself upright behind them, mud-slick and cursing. But the Riverman proved the more able, and forced Ser Waymar to surrender.

Only then, with the Rune finally beaten into the mire, did the marshals cry the halt. The field lay strewn with bruised and broken men, their valor and wounds to be remembered long after the fog clears. Word began to spread that Jonnel Stark would live, though lacking an eye, and the relief was palpable.

When the clash was at last ended, the marshals crying “HOLD!”, three remained upon their feet for the North: Ser Boren Manderly, the Great of White Harbor; his battered kinsman Ser Halys Manderly; and Ser Yohn Mooton, born and raised in the North and a follower of the Old Gods. Declared champions, they were brought before the stands and honored. To them were given gilt chains of turquoise-studded gold and purses rich with coin; to their comrades-in-arms, silver chains and lesser prizes; and to all forty of their victorious company, commemorative enamel badges wrought in the form of the Merman of White Harbor, encircled by the black runes of House Royce—a token of the union that had gathered them all.

So ended the great melee of White Harbor: with fog lifting, banners waving, and the names of the champions shouted from stands and walls alike.