Capítulo 16: Chapter 15: "Sparring 02"
260 AC: Red Keep; Training Yard
The clang of swords and the scrape of armor echoed through the training yard of the Red Keep, a space lined with polished stone and straw. This was no ordinary gathering. Above the yard, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen sat alongside his queen, Shaera, and their children, Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella. Lords of the Riverlands, their banners fluttering in the cool morning breeze, watched from the balconies and benches, murmuring among themselves about the day's spectacle.
'It has turned into a much bigger deal than anticipated.' thought William, as he scanned the assembled crowd. A sliver of regret crept into his head, but was quickly shaken off, as William reasured that anything bad that happens will not have anything to do with his blatant instigation. It was at this time, William noticed how everyone in the crowd was observing the center of the training yard, paying no mind to even the royal family.
This was because, at the center of it all stood Lord Walder Frey.
A man of unworldly proportions, Walder towered over the assembled warriors. His monstrous frame, powerfully built, cast a long shadow on the ground. His brown hair, tied loosely, fell past his shoulders, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to glint with mischief. He held a spear—over three meters long—with one hand, twirling it lightly as though it weighed nothing. His armor was minimal, a chainmail vest and bracers, leaving his arms and legs free to move, at least that is what it seemed to the spectators, but only Walder knew that he was far from vulnerable, as he still wore his invisible vibranium suit underneath.
Before him stood the formidable Kingsguard: seven knights in gleaming white cloaks and polished steel, their faces set in grim determination. At their head was Ser Gerold Hightower, the towering White Bull himself, the young but extraordinarily skilled and experienced Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, known for his unflinching courage and masterful command of battle. Beside them loomed Ormund Baratheon, his heavy hammer resting against the ground. Ormund's black armor bore the sigil of the stag, and his sheer presence radiated strength.
"Seven knights and a bull-headed lord," Walder said, trying to mess with the knights' mentalities, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. "I'm glad you agreed to spar with these old bones."
A ripple of laughter and murmurs swept through the audience. Ormund grunted, stepping forward.
"Careful, Lord Frey," he said. "Your tongue might be sharper than your spear, but neither will save you today."
King Jaehaerys raised a hand, silencing the whispers. "Lord Frey," he said, his voice calm and regal, but if you listened closely, one could hear the fragility and fatigue of the king, "you've challenged some of the finest warriors of the Seven Kingdoms. Today, we will see if your boasts carry weight."
Walder smirked, planting the butt of his spear into the ground. "I'll make it quick, Your Majesty. Don't blink."
The yard fell into a tense silence as the combatants prepared. The Kingsguard formed a disciplined line, their shields shining like mirrors under the mid-morning sun. Each knight bore their preferred weapon—longswords, maces, and axes—all honed to perfection. They moved with purpose, their armor clinking softly as they assumed their positions. At the center, Ser Gerold Hightower hefted his greatsword, his expression unreadable but resolute.
Beside them, Ormund Baratheon loomed larger than life. He rolled his shoulders, loosening his neck as if preparing for a hunt. His hammer, a monstrous weapon that most men could barely lift, gleamed with menace. He exchanged a glance with Ser Gerold, a silent understanding passing between them. They were united in this challenge—a foe unlike any they had ever faced.
Walder, by contrast, stood alone and unbothered. He rested his spear casually across his broad shoulders, his posture relaxed as though he were about to enjoy a leisurely stroll. A faint grin played across his face as he watched his opponents line up. He spun the spear with a flourish, the tip slicing the air with a sharp whistle.
"Shall we dance, then?" Walder called out, loud enough for all to hear. "Or do you need the king's blessing to begin?"
The crowd chuckled nervously. Prince Aerys leaned forward in his seat, his eyes sparkling with fascination. "Father, do you think he can truly defeat them all?" he asked.
King Jaehaerys smiled, as he was glad to see his son speaking to him civilly, but did not answer. Instead, he raised his hand and let it fall.
"Begin!"
The command rang out like thunder, and the yard came alive with movement.
The Kingsguard advanced in a coordinated assault. Two knights moved to flank Walder while Ser Gerold and another pressed the center. Their movements were swift and calculated, their boots kicking up clouds of dust as they closed the gap. Ormund hung back, his hammer poised, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Walder moved first.
With a fluid motion, he brought his spear to bear, the long shaft sweeping out in a wide arc. The tip scraped against one knight's shield, forcing him to stumble back. Walder spun the spear, redirecting it toward the other flanker. The blunt end struck the knight square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Sloppy," Walder said with a laugh.
Ser Gerold took advantage of the opening, stepping in with his greatsword raised. The blade came down in a powerful arc, aiming to cleave Walder in two. But the monstrous man was faster than anyone could anticipate. He sidestepped the blow with a dancer's grace, his spear darting out like a serpent. The tip struck Ser Gerold's shoulder, glancing off his armor with a sharp clang.
Another knight lunged from behind, his sword aiming for Walder's unguarded side. The crowd gasped as the blade came perilously close. But Walder effortlessly pivoted, his spear sweeping low to catch the knight's ankle. The knight yelped as he lost his footing, crashing into the dirt with a heavy thud.
"Two down," Walder counted, his grin widening. "Shall I make it three?"
The yard was a storm of clanging steel and roars of effort as the Kingsguard regrouped. Walder stood at the center, his spear spinning in his hands like a living thing. The fallen knights scrambled to their feet, wary now of the Walder's reach and speed.
"Surround him!" Ser Gerold commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative.
The Kingsguard obeyed, spreading out in a wide circle to deny Walder any avenue of escape. Ormund Baratheon stepped forward, his hammer swinging in slow, deliberate arcs as he measured his opponent.
Walder smirked. "You've got the right idea, stag-man," he said, shifting his stance. "But it won't save you."
Ormund surged forward, his hammer crashing down with the force of a falling boulder. The crowd held its breath as the weapon came perilously close to shattering Thorkell's ribcage. But the titan moved with his inhuman reflexes, sidestepping the blow with ease and lashing out with his spear in return.
The spear's butt slammed into Ormund's chest, forcing the Baratheon lord to stagger back. Walder followed up with a sweeping strike aimed at Ormund's legs, but the lord recovered quickly, blocking the strike with the haft of his hammer.
"Better," Walder admitted, stepping back just in time to parry a sudden thrust from Ser Gerold.
The Kingsguard pressed in, attacking in pairs. One knight feinted high while another lunged low, forcing Walder to twist and pivot to avoid their strikes. His spear became a blur, deflecting sword strokes and battering shields with bone-rattling force.
Then Walder decided to turn the tide.
Using his spear's length, he hooked the edge of a knight's shield and yanked hard. The knight stumbled forward, off balance, and Walder stepped in with a brutal thrust. The spear's tip struck the knight's helm, sending him crashing to the dirt.
Without missing a beat, Walder spun on his heel and jabbed the blunt end of his spear into another knight's knee. The man cried out as he crumpled, clutching at his leg.
Ormund roared in frustration, charging again. His hammer swung in a devastating arc, but Walder ducked low, his spear darting out to catch Ormund in the side. The blow wasn't enough to fell the stag, but it sent him stumbling again, his breath ragged.
"You fight unlike your house sigil Baratheon, more like a bear" Walder said, grinning. "Big, strong, but slow."
The remaining knights of the Kingsguard hesitated, their once-disciplined formation now in tatters. Walder pressed his advantage, his spear moving with relentless precision. He drove one knight into another, forcing them both to the ground with a single, powerful sweep.
Ser Gerold and Ormund remained standing, their armor battered and dented. The White Bull's face was grim, and sweat poured down his brow as he raised his greatsword.
"This isn't over," Gerold growled, stepping forward.
"I'm afraid it is young bull." Walder said with a laugh, before lunging forward with blinding speed.
His spear shot out, catching Ser Gerold's greatsword mid-swing. With a twist of his wrist, Walder sent the blade flying from the knight's hands. Before Gerold could recover, the blunt end of the spear struck his chest, sending him sprawling to the dirt.
Only Ormund remained.
The lord of Storm's End gritted his teeth, hefting his hammer with both hands. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the two giants faced off.
Ormund charged, his hammer a blur as it arced toward Walder. This time, Walder did not dodge. Instead, he planted his spear against the ground and braced himself. The hammer struck the spear's shaft, the impact ringing out like a bell, but the weapon held firm.
Before Ormund could recover, Walder twisted the spear, trapping the hammer's head in the crook of the shaft. With a mighty heave, he wrenched the hammer from Ormund's grasp and sent it flying across the yard.
Ormund stared in disbelief as Walder stepped forward, the tip of his spear stopping just short of the Baratheon lord's throat.
"It's over." Walder said, his voice calm but commanding.
Ormund nodded, his chest heaving with exertion.
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing across the Red Keep. Walder lowered his spear and stepped back, raising it above his head in triumph.
King Jaehaerys stood, a faint smile on his lips. "Well fought, Lord Frey," he said, his voice carrying over the noise. "You have proven your worth today."
Walder laughed, resting the spear on his shoulder. "A fine warm-up for the war to come, Your Grace," he said, to the shock and amusement of the crowd.
Ormund Baratheon approached, his armor dented and scratched but his expression begrudgingly respectful. "You're a damned beast," he said, extending a hand.
Walder clasped it, his grip firm. "And you're not half bad for a young stag. In the very least I'd say you live up to your father's legacy."
The defeated Kingsguard rose one by one, their pride wounded but their newfound respect for Walder evident. As the crowd began to disperse, the Walder stood alone in the yard, his spear glinting in the sun.
'Invincibility is indeed lonely...'
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
mori04
mori04 It's Christmas season everyone, so fret not if the chapters are a little irregular, it really depends on whether inspiration hits me.
Thanks for the support, comment if you are enjoying the story's proceedings and drop a Power Stone if you think this story is worth it (I'm still trying to figure out the ranking system on this app, views are slow these days)
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