Weiss
It didn't take much to prepare for the melee, Weiss was a veteran of many battles, back on Remnant at least. Here, most of Weiss' combat experience came from her killing of the Ironborn raiders during the Greyjoy Rebellion, and several years of practice in the training yard, regularly against several opponents at the same time. Ever since Lord Tywin allowed her to exercise her skill with a blade, Weiss crossed swords with many knights and men-at-arms, and won. With her body in peak shape after years of training and exercise, coupled with her Aura and clever use of her Semblance, it wasn't arrogance when Weiss said that she was going to win. There was no arrogance or malice in her words, just pure logic.
Weiss wore her heavy armor like a second skin, it was a special set she had commissioned nearly a year before, and it had cost her a few hundred gold dragons. It was inspired by the armor that the Lannister knights wore, with a bright silver chest piece with a golden snowflake with seven points, and red and black steel formed the rest of the plackart. The armor protecting her neck was decorated with seven stars, and her pauldrons were forged in the shape of a lion's head, with matching silver vambraces with a seven-pointed star protecting her elbow. A mini-skirt of white linen fell around her waist, protected by metal tassets. Weiss' legs were protected by greaves and cuisses, her poleyns decorated with the seven pointed star. The sabatons, or the metal shoes she wore, were forged in the shape of high heels, giving Weiss' height a small boost. And the final piece was a great helm, fashioned in the shape and style of the Arma Gigas. While she could summon the piece itself to wear as a helmet, that was a bit too much for her tourney debut.
Even if she was 'blessed by the Seven', Weiss wasn't willing to push the limits of Westerosi religion. The people and nobles could turn on her at any moment, so she had her armor decorated with seven pointed snowflakes and stars. Weiss had been a celebrity in her past life, and been taught by Jacques, so she knew all the intricacies when it came to manipulating the masses. If anything, this was easier, with no mass media or live microphones everywhere to worry about. She silently held the blunted copy of Kalimeris, waiting for the melee to begin. A knight with the inverted colors of House Frey stood to her right, armed with a blunt mace and shield.
"You're small, for a knight, Lannister." The Frey Bastard scoffed. Coming from an upsized weasel, that was hilarious. Nearly a hundred lords and knights lined the fence that enclosed them within the area that would be their battle, and many of them were paying attention to the confrontation. Weiss avoided gazing upon the Royal Box, she didn't want to see the Queen glaring at her right now, even if it was funny..
"And you have the tongue of a toll collector." Weiss snarked, her voice echoing in her helmet. She didn't actually need armor, as her aura would protect her from any and all damage, but it served well as a symbol. Plus, she had to admit, it felt oddly intimidating being in a suit of armor. Contrary to what most people thought, the stuff was remarkably easy to move around in.
The Frey reeled back at hearing her voice. "A girl?" Wasn't that obvious with the curves of her armor and the high heels? What, did he think she was just some effeminate man? She made a note to make the man eat his mace in the coming melee, if she got a chance.
A Florent knight to her left whipped his head around to shoot her a glare through his helm's visor. "A Lannister girl? I've heard of you, blasted witch."
Weiss narrowed her eyes and steeled her already calm nerves. She had already been preparing herself for reactions such as these. Most men in this world were misogynistic pigs who believed themselves to be superior to women, and didn't allow them to fight, yet that didn't stop all of them. Black Alys and Sabitha Frey had proven that during the Dance of Dragons. And that wasn't even counting the North or the Dornish.
"You are fortunate, for the Seven who are one are forgiving." Weiss said simply. "I, on the other hand, am not. I will need to pray for the forgiveness of my sins once the melee has been concluded, and I, named as champion." Better to play off as the simple, pious girl, up until the melee started. Then she was going to open up a can or two on them. Call it divine retribution on her part.
The Florent and the Frey bastard both erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Weiss ignored them as she allowed her eyes to wander amongst the other competitors. It was interesting, seeing how different the armors of every kingdom varied. Most were, at a glance, as different as could be, since the quality and style of armor depended on their wealth and from where they came. The Frey Bastard for example, wore a heavy shirt that was made of metal scale, supported by a few pieces of plate armor along with a half-helm that left his face exposed. The Florent on the other hand, wore full plate from head to toe, with his elaborate helmet sprouting a giant orange plume that would earn him attention wherever he turned. It would likely be cut in half and stomped into the mud by the end of the day. The Reachman wielded a warhammer, his grip on the handle tight.
"I mean to do the same." Florent boasted. "To beg the Father for forgiveness for what I am about to do to a maiden."
Weiss smirked underneath her helmet as her eyes passed a bald man in red robes. He seemed familiar, though it had been a few years since she had seen King Robert's Red Priest. Was he going to light his sword on fire that made him famed throughout the realm? He would make an excellent opponent, if only he wasn't near the far end of the battlegrounds. He had some skill, and a flaming sword at least would be unique amongst her foes weaponry.
"Father above judge me kindly." Weiss said low enough for the two to hear. She closed her eyes, getting her 'warface' on, as Yang would've put it. This was her real public debut to the Kingdoms, and she certainly couldn't afford to mess this up. Failure was not an option.
The Frey shook in laughter once he realized she had started to pray. "There's still time to back out of this, Lannister."
"Mother above grant me your mercy." Weiss ignored him and continued her prayer to keep her pious appearance. She resisted the urge to snark about how if there was anyone he should be praying to, it was her for some mercy.
"No woman should brandish a sword." The Florent sighed as he shook his head. His tabard had a sly fox that looked like it was ready to pounce. She was going to make him eat those words. And maybe also that stupid plume for good measure.
"Beautiful Maiden, lend me your courage." Weiss ignored him as well, slowly lifting the Kalimeris copy into her starting position, just at her side.
"D-Don't taunt her." Another voice joined the Frey and Florent. It was a Serrett of Silverhill, one of Lord Tywin's bannermen. A beautiful peacock was engraved onto his cuirass. He looked vaguely familiar, was he one of her victims? Or maybe he'd seen her fight in the Gold Keep?
The Frey sneered in the Serrett's direction. "Scared of a girl?" Before the Serrett could say anything, and likely ruin her fun, they were interrupted.
King Robert suddenly stood up from his throne and boomed in a deep voice that likely had been trained on the battlefield. "Go on already! Fight before I piss myself!"
"Almighty Warrior, grant me victory." Weiss finished her prayer. The moment those final words escaped her lips, the trumpeters raised their instruments high in the air and blew as hard as they could, signaling the start of the melee.
The Frey and the Florent immediately turned towards her, their mace and warhammer already in mid-swing, yet Weiss was faster. With her sapphire eyes gleaming underneath her helmet, Weiss dodged both strikes and countered, hitting the Florent's great helm with a strong strike that seemed to cause his armor to shake, and jammed the pommel of her sword into the Frey's exposed nose in one single, fluid motion.
The two knights collapsed into the mud, not even a minute into the melee, and they were down, and out. First blood to her, as it were. Everyone else took a step back in shock, even those engaged in their own battles were stunned at how fast it had gone awry. Weiss ignored the Frey's screams of pain and stepped over him as a squire moved to see the wellbeing of the Florent, who stopped moving after the strong blow. Licking her lips, Weiss couldn't help but start to smile underneath her helm. Her next victim, the Serrett, took a step backwards as her eyes zeroed in on him, and she took a step forward.
"This is going to be so much fun!"
Blake
In a tourney, melees and joust were the two main events that many attempted to compete in and win. It was a place where a lord or knight could prove their skill at arms, and their reward would be fame, glory, and a large amount of coin, fifteen thousand gold dragons for the winner of the melee, and twice that for the winner of the joust. Nearly a hundred fighters had signed up for the melee this time, which would take hours for a champion to appear. The winner would declare their 'Princess of Love and Beauty', as only the winner of the joust could name a 'Queen'.
Blake watched with disinterested eyes as foolish men risked their lives for a chance at glory. Most were armed with maces, hammers and morningstars, as a blunted sword would be useless in such non-lethal combat. Thoros of Myr, for example, wielded a sword that was lit by wildfire, bravely defeating any who may approach him, either from the sheer heat, or from melting someone's weapon.
"Your dog is running again, dear Nephew." Uncle Renly jested, turning his head towards Joffrey. The Hound, her cousin's sworn sword, was competing in the melee, and turned tail and ran as soon as he caught sight of the Red Priest's flaming sword. Not that she could blame him, she could feel the heat from here, and well, that fire did not look natural in the least.
Joffrey's face turned into a nasty snarl that twisted what could've been an objectively OK face. "He disgraces his future king!"
And what a king he would be, one that would bully and abuse his subjects as he does with his own siblings, his flesh and blood. It would be just as bad as one of the Targaryens, if he was allowed to act unchecked. At least he was scared of her, Blake had threatened to cut off his manhood after she caught him dissecting one of poor Tommen's cats just to see the babies.
"Bah! Shut it boy! You're ruining my fun." Uncle Robert boomed as Lancel Lannister, his royal squire, refilled his goblet with more wine. Father was right to not trust the lions, they were ambitious and encouraged corruption within the Royal Court. In fact, Blake was sure that there were more men on their payroll than there were loyal to Uncle Robert. Worse was how stopping them was nigh impossible. With the Queen as a Lannister, and her father bankrolling the Kingdoms, preventing them from sinking their claws in wasn't a feasible alternative.
"Your Grace." Cersei shot her Uncle a glare. "It is his nameday tourney, should Joffrey's sworn sword not be named the winner?" The Hound ended up surrounded by a half dozen knights in his attempt to run from Thoros, who waved off three more with his flaming sword.
"Only if he earns it." Another voice waddled into the Royal Box. Blake had to strain her neck to catch a glimpse of the infamous Imp, Tyrion Lannister. He wore a fine velvet doublet with the roaring lion of House Lannister. She was impressed, he didn't have a goblet of wine in his hand nor a whore on either arm, truly it must've taken a monumental effort on his behalf.
"Imp! About time you got here!" King Robert laughed. "I was starting to get bored." Ser Barristan, the Kingslayer, and Ser Preston Greenfield stood behind him in their brilliant white armor. Great, now she was going to have to deal with the Kingslayer interacting with his brother nonstop.
"My apologies, your Grace." The Imp gave a sarcastic bow. "I was preoccupied, placing bets. You see, one of my cousins cost me more than a few dragons yesterday, so I used the remainder of my coin to make it back during the melee."
Ser Jaime smirked, but said nothing as Tyrion Lannister spoke. It was weird how, despite how objectively attractive he was, she hated his attitude. If she hadn't met Adam in the past, she might've expressed a little interest in him, but she'd learned her lesson about appearances being deceiving, and to be a lot more careful in who she dated, her taste in men had been a bit off.
"The Kingslayer's competing on the morrow, not in the melee, Lord Tyrion." Lord Baelish, who everyone called Littlefinger said, with a knowing smirk. He was the Master-of-Coin and was Jon Arryn's man, or so he claimed, Father didn't trust him, not that she could blame him. Something about him was
off, to her. She couldn't explain it, but she was reminded of someone back in Remnant.
"And for that I thank the Seven." The Imp said sardonically. "It would've been a hard choice, choosing between my brother and my cousin."
Blake turned her attention back to the melee and narrowed her eyes. Though the dust was starting to kick up, she did manage to see a glimpse of red and silver armor amongst the carnage. Now who was that? Red and silver, those colors were a bit uncommon, generally used by Lannister that weren't the Kingslayer. Ser Jaime generally used a set of armor that appeared to be made out of gold when he was competing, partially to stand out amongst the crowd, and to show off his wealthy father. She would be able to get a better view once the amount of competitors were trimmed to only a few dozen and the dust settled somewhat.
The Hound had managed to defeat four knights when a fifth slammed his mace onto his dog shaped helm, sending the scarred man to the ground. Strange, he was a skilled warrior, why did he go down so easily? Maybe he just had an off day? Blake shot her cousin a brief glance. Joffrey's face had turned a shade of red as he seemed to grind his teeth, just like Father, who remained silent as he sat beside Blake.
"Cousin?" Uncle Robert raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze towards the melee. "Is that who I think it is?" He turned to Lord Tywin, who had yet to speak a word.
The Lord of the Westerlands didn't turn to give their King a glance, instead he kept his gaze focused on the melee. The corners of his lips turned upwards into a sharp smirk that nearly sent a shiver down Blake's spine. The times she could say he even smirked could be counted on one hand, and still have leftover fingers. The Old Lion said only one single word.
"Indeed."
After nearly two hours of fighting, only around two dozen fighters remained standing. Those who had been knocked unconscious or accidentally killed were pulled off the field by a group of squires that roamed the exterior of the battlegrounds. There were fortunately few of the latter, given how hard they were fighting. Thoros of Myr was one of the last still standing, his sword of wildfire still burning strongly even as he fought off a Piper and a Westerling. The Piper's morningstar drew too close, and was left an unrecognizable sludge for a weapon. He surrendered soon after Thoros aimed the sword of wildfire at his throat. She was growing a bit bored, and was sorely tempted to leave. Watch one man get knocked unconscious in an oversized sparring ring, you see them all. Plus, to her eyes, these were just pathetic showings of skill.
Bronze Yohn Royce, one of Jon Arryn's bannermen, also stood strong, wearing a set of bronze armor that was covered in runes. If the rumors were true, the set of armor he wore was thousands of years old and enchanted to protect him from harm. There certainly was some truth to the rumors, given he'd taken blows from men half his age and was still standing. He was a good man, and was Ser Waymar's Father. Bronze Yohn slammed his simple mace onto the helmet of a Morrigan, and then finished him off by shoving the younger knight into the mud. The older man released a warcry and charged another knight from the Westerlands, a Marbrand of Ashemark.
Blake was also able to finally get a glimpse of the knight in red and silver. She pursed her lips together as she watched the Lannister practically dance upon the battlefield. The Lannister knight was short, most members of that family were rather tall, and had elaborately decorated armor. The knight's armor was decorated with stars and seven-pointed snowflakes, with a helmet that seemed eerily familiar. The way the armor was shaped looked like it was made for a woman, not a man, complete with armored heels. But who could it be? Tywin Lannister certainly hadn't put Cersei in some armor, it wasn't his style.
"She's a lot better now!" Uncle Robert mumbled loudly. She? Did they allow a woman to fight? Was this the Lannister girl that Blake kept hearing whispers about? Shit, maybe there was some truth to those rumors after all.
"She's been practicing." Tyrion added with a smirk. A small chair had been brought for him, planted in between the Queen and Uncle Robert. Blake's eyes dropped to give the Lannister's unconventional weapon a glance. It was a rapier, decorated with red rubies and forged in the style of Myrtenaster-
Blake's eyes widened in shock, and she felt her breath get caught up in her throat. T-That was impossible! This was just a simple coincidence. There was no way Weiss had also ended up stuck in this world. Yet, the way the Lannister woman danced in between the swings and strikes of her opponents made that very clear. Now that she was thinking about it, it made a lot more sense. Blake had seen only one person fight like that, both on the same team and against it in spars. Her chest started to hurt, and the corner of her eyes started to water, despite Blake's best efforts.
The Lannister avoided several swings from a knight without a house sigil, using her rapier to guide the warhammer away from her body. Normally, such a move would result in the rapier's thin blare being snapped in half, yet the Lannister's weapon remained in one piece. Blake's stomach started to hurt. Even if the evidence pointed towards the Lannister being Weiss, Blake had been burned so many times by false hopes that she sincerely doubted that this was her old friend, even if she hoped with all her heart that it was.
Another thirty minutes passed, and soon, only three fighters were left standing, with the rest thrown about the field, most with broken bones if Blake had to guess. Bronze Yohn Royce, Thoros of Myr, and the Lannister girl. It spoke to her skill that her main competition was a veteran of the Rebellion and someone with magic on tap.
"Bahahahaha! She actually has a chance of winning!" Uncle Robert laughed, earning himself a glare from the Queen and Father. Blake remained silent and firmly seated, unable to turn her amber eyes away from the mystery girl. She ignored the others, allowing their jabs and conversations in one ear and out the other. Renly was particularly loud, making dick jokes about Littlefinger.
Classy as ever, Uncle Renly.
The three warriors appeared to size each other up, with the girl being the smallest of the trio, yet seemed the most dangerous, in her eyes. The three slowly approached each other, with the girl and Bronze Yohn's faces hidden by their elaborate helms. Thoros, on the other hand, was sweating profusely, likely from the heat of the wildfire and the exertion from the battle. One thing her books hadn't gotten right was how tiring melees could be. Especially long ones. Endurance was as important as skill.
Neither man seemed to underestimate the Lannister, not after she emerged from her side of the melee without a scratch. Blake's breath got caught in her throat as the three soon entered striking distance of each other, forming a semicircle. Bronze Yohn held his shield defensively in one hand, his other holding his mace tightly, while Thoros held his burning longsword with both hands, eyeing the both of them. The Lannister held her rapier in her left hand, the point aimed towards the ground, likely to give the men a false sense of security. Not that either of them had bought it.
The tension in the air was so thick, Blake would need an ax to cut through it. Even Uncle Robert was silent, his dark blue eyes observing as all three adjusted their footing and stances. Father was also paying attention for once, after being bored out of his mind the entire melee. Apparently even he was impressed by her skill.
Suddenly, the Lannister made the first move, her rapier moving as if it was a part of her body, striking Bronze Yohn's shield with a slash and warding off Thoros with another when he drew a bit too close. Bronze Yohn, for his part, used his shield to hold off the Lannister and moved to slam his mace into Thoros' side. When the Red Priest took a step back to prepare a counter, the flames that had lit his sword on fire suddenly died out. Bronze Yohn adjusted his swing just in time, and knocked the weapon out of the Red Man's hand. Thoros yelled in pain, grabbing his hand, and quickly backed off, just as the Lannister girl went back on the offensive. Holding her rapier like a fencer, the Lannister quickly thrust her blade, each hit aimed at the Lord of Runestone's shield.
Bronze Yohn did not back off, and instead pushed forward, which forced the Lannister to switch to a slash, not the rapier's strongest move and she knew it as the blade skidded off the shield's surface. Bronze Yohn attempted to bash his shield against her chest, but the Lannister Girl's speed was her greatest asset against him and she exploited it to the fullest. She jumped to her left, Bronze Yohn's right and swung, forcing the older lord to use his mace to block. He only managed to block one strike as the rest of the Girl's thrust impacted against his body, causing him to groan loudly in pain.
The Lannister then aimed for his knees, using a weaker slash to force Bronze Yohn back on the defensive. The Lord swung his shield around as a weapon, which made the Girl back off once more. She was playing it cautiously, and seeming to slow down a bit. Her eyes thought she saw a flicker of
something from the Girl. It was faint, but present, evidently the Girl did have Aura. And it seemed to be drawn towards Yohn? What was up with that?
"Gods know I wish I was down there." Uncle Robert sighed, scratching his belly through his velvet shirt. "She fights like a killer that one, if that blade wasn't blunted then old Yohn would be the One-Leg, not Bronze. Bah! One-Leg Yohn!"
Jon Arryn's grimace was enough to stop the others from laughing, though Uncle Renly chucked. Blake was a bit taken aback, people, including her, it seemed, kept forgetting something about Robert. Underneath all the fat, and the whoring, he was still one of the finest warriors in Westeros.
The Lannister Girl started to circle Bronze Yohn, who followed her movements, never allowing her to have a clear shot for his back, even with the limp that he now had after she targeted his knees. Each passing minute only made Blake more convinced that this was indeed Weiss Schnee. Blake balled her hands on her lap, and bit the inside of her cheek.
The Girl suddenly changed directions, and charged straight towards Bronze Yohn, swinging with what appeared to be wild strikes, yet were hitting the weakest parts of the Valeman's shield. Weiss kept pushing, swinging harder and faster until Bronze Yohn was forced to hide behind his shield. Forced back step by step, he came up against the fence that separated the Royal Box from the melee grounds, causing the audience composed of lords, knights and smallfolk to gasp in shock. Not that Blake could blame them, watching a waif that size manhandling a famous knight like Lord Royce was certainly an impressive and shocking sight.
Strength like this did not belong in a girl of that size, not even Brienne, as strong and skilled as she was, could force a man as well known as Bronze Yohn Royce up against a wall, or fence in this case. Blake and the others in the box quickly stood up and approached the edge to see what would happen next, the Kingsguard holding their shields ready to protect Uncle Robert, Cersei and Joffrey. The top half of Bronze Yohn's shield had broken, and the Lannister girl's rapier sat right next to where his helmet and cuirass met.
"Yield." The Lannister girl said, her voice muffled and echoed by the helm she wore. It was as familiar as her helmet, and her eyes were hidden by its visor. Yeah, that was Weiss's tone, alright. The last time she'd heard that was when the team had to buckle down for Midterms, and Yang had objected to studying.
Bronze Yohn stared at her in shock for what seemed like eternity until he nodded carefully, so as to not touch the blunt rapier. "I yield."
The crowd immediately started yelling and murmuring amongst each other. Blake could not remember a single melee where an undisguised girl had won. The Lannister removed her rapier from Bronze Yohn's shoulder and offered her hand to help pull him upright, but he refused, so she took a few steps back, as the Valeman rubbed his neck. Blake sensed the Girl staring at her through her helmet, and the Lannister remained frozen for a few seconds as the crowd yelled jeers and cheers in confusion. She stood as still as a statue as Blake and the rest of the occupants of the Royal Box returned to their seats.
Only Uncle Robert remained standing, who started to clap with his meaty hands. Father joined in, as did Littlefinger, Ser Barristan and Uncle Renly. Their Champion returned the rapier to her side in a flourish, and turned to face the Royal Box.
"A fine showing! I haven't been that excited in years." Uncle Robert boomed as loud as Blake's heartbeats. It was so hard to believe that this was happening! "Go on, take off that helmet and reveal yourself, Girl."
The Lannister Girl's visor drifted in Blake's direction for just the briefest of seconds before nodding. "As you command, your Grace."
The girl's armored, small hands reached for her helm. Each slow movement made Blake's heart beat even faster, and the pit in her stomach started to grow. The Lannister girl removed her helmet, revealing sapphire blue eyes that seemed to shine in the sunlight, and hair as white as snow that was tied into a tight bun. Blake's eyes widened in shock as she mustered up all of her self-control to not jump down there and pull the Schnee into a tight embrace and not let go. Weiss acted as if she didn't recognize Blake, not even giving her another glance now that her helmet had been removed. That made her heart drop. Have her memories not returned yet? Or was she just putting on a good poker face? Blake was reminded of when Weiss had done some press conferences as the Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, with much of the same unmoving facial expressions.
Weiss bowed her head and went to one knee. "Weiss of House Lannister of Lannisport, at your service, your Grace." Even her voice was still the same now that it wasn't muffled by her helmet. Lord Tywin was pleased, his smug smirk never leaving his face.
"On your feet Lannister! You are a champion today." Uncle Robert waved her off and motioned for a man to give Weiss the crown made out of purple lilies. "Name your Princess of Love and Beauty! Or should I say Prince."
The crowd erupted into laughter at their King's bad joke. If Weiss was offended, she didn't allow it to show up on her face, which no longer had her signature scar. Weiss took the crown without a word, and approached the Royal Box. Suddenly, a set of glyphs, each in the shape of an seven-pointed snowflake, appeared beneath her feet, forming a stairway that allowed her to be eye-to-eye with those in the Royal Box. Sapphire blue eyes met amber, and Weiss extended the crown in Blake's direction.
"May I have this honor, my Lady?" Weiss shot her a subtle smirk, one she recognized very well. The crowd gasped and Uncle Robert, Uncle Renly and Tyrion Lannister laughed at her boldness, while Cersei shot a glare to vile that it looked like it should've been able to kill. She always did hate Blake, especially after she gifted Tommen a black cat, which he named after her for some reason.
Slowly standing from her seat to stop herself from rushing her old friend and taking a few steps to approach the Schnee, Blake gave her a kind and relieved smile. They needed to act as if this was their first meeting. "You may."
And with that, Weiss Schnee placed the crown of flowers upon the head of Blake Belladonna.
A/N
What a wonderful start to the week! With a moment that everyones been waiting for has finally happened. This also happens to be the single longest chapter I have written for this story.
To celebrate, I commissioned some art of Blake in the dress she wore this tourney!
Im debating with opening a Ko-Fi or Patreon, where the funds donated would go to commissioning even more art for A Song of Weiss and Fire.
The finished version slid into my emails shortly after I posted the sketch!
