defeat

The next day arrived and Sigmund walked into the blacksmith shop, where he saw a tired looking man polishing his armor. He hadn't lied, he had actually worked through the night. The armor was Beautiful, white and blue, with the insignia drawn on the chestplate. He stepped closer, his fingers curassing the cold metal. It was sturdy, well made. Certainly worth the extra money. He handed the man the money and proceeded putting on the armor. It fitted like a glove.

"See you in the melee", the smith chuckled, "try not to ruin this armor too fast"

Back at the tourney grounds, a circle was created. The organisers guided him to his spot. There were fifty men in armor, dotted all around. Some had swords, some had axes or spears but all carried themselves with practiced confidence. There were also some youngsters, boys of mobiliser than 14. one in particular caught his attention by the giant warhammer he carried. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that thing…

Luckily, he was far away, so he would likely be taken out before he could get to Sigmund. A hammer like that might be dangerous but a boy of 14 would never have the skill to use it, even if he had the muscles. And boy, did he have the muscles. The boy reminded him of some of the orkish warriors that had fought in the order of the dragon. They were formidable fighters. Sigmund was a good fighter, don't get him wrong but he was always better with the bow than a sword and much of his time, which could otherwise have been spent training with the sword, was taken up by his endeavours with magic.

Sigmund calmed his heart, which was racing in his chest, pumping white blood into his muscles as he awaited the beginning of the melee. He tried to spot the prince, whom he had defeated in the archery contest the day before but he couldn't find him anywhere. No one present in the arena had his silvery white hair and no one wore the colors of his house, red and black. Looking up, he saw prince Rhaegar sitting next to the king. They looked very much alike, both with that beautiful hair and those mesmerising purple eyes. They exuded a powerful presence, like they were born to rule. It was very much like his parents had seemed to him, back when he was but a child, playing with blocks and still learning the common tongue. It was a blessing that the westerosi language was almost identical to the common tongue. What a strange coincidence.

The horn sounded, signaling for the melee to begin. Sigmund flourished his sword.

POV: Ashara Dayne

Ashara sat in the stands and watched as the warriors killed each other. A melee without some bloodshed was not a melee worth watching, or so her father had once told her. Her eyes were transfixed on the white haired warrior wearing blue and white armor. It was the same man who had won the archery contest. Sigmund Schneehaupt. Unlike in the archery contest, in which he had dominated with unbreakable skill, now he was struggling to keep up. He wasn't losing but he was overwhelmed by having opponents on every side. The other contenders had seen him in the archery competition or maybe even been beaten by them and they were out for blood.

His armor took blow after blow, indenting as maces hit it, scratched as axes and swords swiped at it.

Eventually, he was too overwhelmed and yielded, walking out of the ring in shame, though notably, no actual wounds were seen. Still, he had run out of steam and clearly didn't have the energy to continue the fight.

"Not as great as you are with a sword, are you?" Tywin Lannister asked from beside her, stroking his daughter's hair as they watched the white haired warrior leave.

In a fit of spontaneousness, Ashara quietly left the stand and waited at the king's gate. As she waited, she began doubting herself. Why was she doing this? He was just some random Essosi man, not even having any land in Westeros… and yet, she felt drawn to him. He was perhaps the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Not handsome -though he certainly also was handsome- but beautiful. His long, white hair framed his face like snow a mountains top, his enchanting eyes and that aura he radiated. 

She just wanted to get to know him, so she waited… and waited… and waited. Only, the white haired man never came. After an hour of waiting, she gave up and returned to her family. She would see him another day.

Where had he gone to?

POV: Sigmund Schneehaupt

Where Skgmund had gone to? Why to the weapons shop of course. He had to have his armor repaired for the following day after all. The blacksmith charged him way too much but he had no choice but to accept, he needed this armor. The free for all battle hadn't played to his strengths but the bracket fighting, one on one, that was where he would excel. Sure, he could fight groups of bandits without any problems but these were trained knights and they all had it out for him because he won the archery competition.

After he had taken his armor to the blacksmith, he went exploring. He could feel death slumbering underneath the city. Most major cities had a small aura of death, seeing as many people were buried there but for a city not even 300 years old, the aura of death was unusually strong. He followed his instincts, which led him to a hidden tunnel, following it -guided by a light he summoned-, he found himself in a maze of tunnels and doorways. He made marks on the walls with icebreaker, so that he could find his way back. Finally, he reached a huge hall and what he saw then made his necromantic heart jump in joy, skeletons, not just any skeletons but those of what looked like gigantic wyverns.