Ser Ciaphas of House Cain Ch.3

CIAPHAS III: VIOLENCE IN DEBUT

“It’s a shame that hurting and thinking don’t often go hand in hand. Many situations call for a unique and exceptional blend of knowing your enemy and knowing the strength of your arm. When that fails, pure violence is a poor substitute. But it is still a substitute.”

— Founding Saint Arabella the Liberator, Order of the Sacred Rose.

— Ciaphas Cain —

“One strap and fixture at a time, sir. I’m still trying to figure all of this junk out,” Jurgen told me.

“You’re doing as good a job as can be expected, Jurgen,” I replied. “Truly, I’m spoiled with you as an aide.”

The current situation brought terrible things in threes. Firstly, the proximity to Jurgen was necessary, and thus, so was his odor. Secondly, his blush at my praise, a sight I could’ve lived happily without. And thirdly… everything else I hadn’t managed to get myself out of.

I found myself being fitted into the armor I’d won off Ser Kegan only a few days past. He’d been almost eager to pass his persistent troubles off to me. Not quite a mantle, but it had the appearance of one. A knight’s armor made me half a knight on its own, after all. The sword and ‘noble bearing’ took care of the other half. So as far as this world was concerned, I was one of their noble knights.

The locals had assumed so already. I hadn’t refuted them. So, for now, I traded my commissar uniform for a steel suit of primitive plate and mail. Amberley was eager to use the boon I’d won to further establish ourselves. And wouldn’t you know? There was a perfectly good crucible for fame and victory being held just a few days later.

She insisted. I protested. She argued her reasons. I ended up giving in to that pretty, pretty face and sensible, sensible mind. That was how I found myself enlisted in the coming tourney, the coming celebration of feudal violence and martial prowess.

Usually, I liked to avoid stupid chances for pointless combat. What good did it do to prove your skill and strength when it got you killed? And that was a rather real possibility, what with the local state of medicine and the damage even a show of battle could cause. We’d certainly heard stories to that extent. It didn’t seem to be a ‘proper tourney’ in Westeros without a few entertainingly gruesome deaths.

Unnecessary danger with abrupt, unpredictable, and final results, to the very letter and spirit of the words. It wasn’t training or conscription or an unavoidable battle in the Emperor’s name. It was a petty showcase, with none of the usual factors pushing me towards ‘courage’ in the face of an untimely death.

Put simply, I’d rather not. Whenever possible, I tried to avoid playing stupid games for stupid prizes. Unfortunately, that (completely justified) prudence didn’t seem so possible when we were already walking this delicate razor’s edge. And the prizes didn’t seem so stupid when they could see us set for life in this new world.

Amberley’s arguments and motivations were valid. We had nothing in here, nothing at all. To change that, we needed to make ourselves seen and known. The tourney presented the perfect chance to do just that, by Amberley’s reckoning. Much of our new realm was gathered for it, and the royal family would obviously be in attendance.

An audience like that couldn’t be passed up, no matter how much I wanted to abandon duty and spend our time stranded here as a simple and blissfully uneventful vacation. It wasn’t to be. We needed to gain a foothold, with favor and fame, and spread our claimed story for any chance at acceptance and establishment.

To be fair, I didn’t particularly want to be destitute for however many years it took the Imperium to arrive. I was no saint who abstained from all worldly belongings and desires. As limited and isolated as this world was, I still desired money and power and an easy life by the local reckoning. Hell, the low local living standards made those desires more important, not less.

That such advantages would serve the Imperium well in the long run was secondary in my mind. They’d serve me well first. Poor men die fast, forgotten and fighting for every scrap of life that passes them by. If possible, I’d avoid that just as I avoided dying at all.

It was just a shame that the path I needed to walk to get what I wanted was, as always, a dangerous one. What I wouldn’t have given for a proper suit of power armor… And preferably, my laspistol for good measure.

My chainsword was a weapon like nothing else this world knew, of course. But any piece of sharpened steel was just as effective as it had always been when stuck in painfully soft and fleshy bits. I knew better than most just how unpredictable a fight (any fight) could be. And I didn’t have any advanced healing or extra manpower to fall back on.

I couldn’t even take refuge in the idea that my skills would be a world apart. One, because I’d been trained to fight monsters more than men. And two, because there are only so many ways the human body can efficiently and effectively move with a sword in hand. Any martially inclined culture will eventually find and master the best of them. If anything, what little skills I claimed would be at a slight disadvantage for not being familiar with the locally preferred styles of swordfighting.

I’d admit to trepidation. Every time the usual nerves had the chance to rear their ugly heads, I hoped I had put them behind me. That was never the case. Combat and the possibility of death on the horizon always tightened my gut with cowardice. Even at this level of combat, I couldn’t find any of the courage the Emperor would value most.

I’d seen too much to take anything for granted. I was a stranger in this land, unfamiliar and endangered because of it. While I might not be facing a Hive Tyrant or an Ork Warboss, any man could get lucky, or worse, be genuinely more skilled than I. But for Amberley’s sake and the sake of not being lethally broke in this new world, I pushed on.

Still, I knew… I could die in this tourney. I could find myself stabbed or beaten or split in twain. I could fall, shit myself, and never get up again. I could leave Amberley and Jurgen with nothing but embarrassment to remember me by.

If there was a better way forward, I would’ve seized it in an instant.

Slowly and methodically, Jurgen saw me properly armored. It only seemed fair that my ever-faithful aide was acting as my squire. Or maybe that wasn’t the best title for him…

Squires were meant to become knights eventually, weren’t they? I somehow doubted Jurgen had that much ambition. He’d likely refuse anything that elevated him to an equal standing as me. He was just simple like that.

Still, he performed all of the duties of a local squire. We’d gone through this song and dance a few times before that fateful day arrived, in preparation for the tourney I couldn’t escape. And I had to admit, the primitive plate armor wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. It was relatively light, rather mobile, and right protective. From leather to chainmail to plate, I couldn’t say I disapproved.

Not that I had much of a chance to do so. A knight’s armor was a status symbol here, just as much as it was the peak of protection. Without it, I wouldn’t have been allowed to join the tourney. Without it, I wouldn’t even have tried.

As far as I could tell, Ser Kegan’s armor was simple but well-maintained. It worked, and that was just about all I could ask for. Amberley asked for more. She had Jurgen ‘spruce it up’ a bit. The Imperium’s Aquila had been painted across the armor’s chest piece as my sigil. Our sigil. It was a small thing, but familiar and comforting all the same. The locals expected heraldry. We’d give them heraldry they wouldn’t soon forget.

The day before, Jurgen and I had taken the time to get used to it as much as we could. Moving about took a bit of practice, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I could move once I got it down. I wouldn’t put it past some of the locals to be able to do backflips in these suits.

I wasn’t at that level, but the mobility I did have was more than manageable. It wasn’t that different from flak armor. Just much more extensive and much less actually effective, if I had to guess. I certainly wouldn’t ride into battle in this anywhere other than here. Against the swords and arrows available, it would do the job. Against a properly terrifying enemy of the Imperium… not so much.

The only additional boon I could’ve asked for was a powered component to the plate armor. But that’d be a bit out of our capabilities without a cogboy to our names. This was the best I was going to get with our current means.

Beyond the tent we’d been assigned, I could hear the clamor and chatter of a crowd. Hundreds of nobles and thousands of peasants gathered to see armored and skilled men try and beat each other to death. What a spectacle.

Jurgen finished armoring me and set about polishing the plates until they shone. They were already shining. But still, I bore his attentions and odor without comment.

I was thankful that Ser Kegan’s helmet (now mine) was full-faced. It hid my fear. My face was already twisted into what was likely a scowling (cowardly) frown. It’d only get worse in the heat of things. I never knew how my expressions looked during battle. But considering how they felt on my face, they couldn’t be pretty sights.

Armored gauntlets with leather palms tightly gripped the hilt of my chainsword. I’d forgone a shield. But only because I didn’t know how to use one and didn’t have the time to learn. I’d rectify that mistake in the future. Every extra bit of protection seemed prudent when even minor wounds could see me dead by infection.

The tourney would be held over multiple days, fitting for such a grand and eventful celebration that spared no expense. It was the kind of event that fully transformed a city. And I was caught right in the middle of it.

The first day was for the more minor competitions and what was essentially a feudal fair. It had already come and gone. The second day was for the melee. An ominous but appropriate name for what was to come, what was soon to start.

Duels? Something so reasonable and halfway civilized? Who would want that? No, no, no, in Westeros, they threw everyone into the arena at once and watched the chaos unfold. The messy showcase of unadulterated violence was like a drug to these people. One that I had no choice but to partake in.

Dreadful anticipation stretched minutes into hours. The sound of horns called over the crowd. Unfortunately, that was my cue. Setting myself and holding onto my sword for dear life, I marched out of the tent and onto the lethally fake field of battle.

I was joined by nearly 200 others in full plate, a detached part of my mind noted then. Most, if not all of them, stood prouder than I felt. My straightly stiff back did its best to match them, to not fall short.

The crowd roared in approval above. None of them were chanting for me, I knew. Still, my eyes scanned the stands for the only one who mattered. Amberley… ‘My lady,’ as the locals would put it.

She’d given me her ‘favor’ in a show we’d put on for her new lady friends before the day’s events began, urging me to win for her. The stern look in her eyes wasn’t a show, however. She expected nothing less than ultimate victory from me. I didn’t want to imagine what it would mean to disappoint her.

Now, I found her with the Ladies Jonquil, Sonya, Nera, Elrie, and Elaena. Tyrell, Crane, Merryweather, Fossoway, and Mooton. The house names still didn’t mean much to us, of course, but the placement of their box near the royal family said good things about the importance and standing of Amberley’s new friends.

They began tittering and nudging Amberley as they caught me looking up at them. But she remained composed. Determined on my behalf. Meeting my gaze across the distance with a look that said only one thing: ‘Win, Ciaphas.’

Putting on a confidence that I didn’t quite feel, I nodded back to her. That simple motion sent the ladies around her into something of an excited tizzy. At least I didn’t have to deal with their antics right now… No, just the prospect of ‘accidental’ but still very final death for the amusement of others.

… I’ll be honest, even compared to entertaining exhaustingly excitable noble ladies, I still think I got the short end of that stick.

We were arranged in a wide circle around the arena’s field, hard-packed earth with only a short-cut layer of grass to act as turf. I saw knights in more variety than I expected from a mere lost feudal world. Simple suits of armor like mine. Grand and extravagant ones that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Sector General of the Imperial Guard. Heraldry and colors galore.

The smiths and craftsmen here worked miracles with what they had, all for the men who stood at the very peak of their realm. Few were more praised in Westeros than knights. They were honor and glory and martial prowess incarnate. Now, I was standing amongst them, pretending (as always…) that I deserved to be there.

“What’s that monstrosity supposed to be?” A little ways away from me in the great circle, a man in gleaming gold armor, decorated with roaring, laughing lions, scoffed and taunted my weapon. “Some unwieldy metal club? Can’t even afford good, castle-forged steel, Ser?”

I didn’t reply. Didn’t even glance over at him, really. And he seemed to take offense to that in the way only nobles could.

“A Lannister is speaking to you, Mystery Knight, and you will pay me proper heed!” He yelled.

Honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to care in the slightest. I was already being forced into this show of battle. I wasn’t about to scrape and bow to some feudal lord beforehand, no matter how locally important he might be.

“You will die for that slight, Mystery Knight,” He scowled, his helmet open to reveal a handsome face and golden hair. “You will win no glory this day. I hope you’ve made your peace with the Stranger.”

Still without turning to him, I raised my chainsword in salute. Half to vaguely and dismissively acknowledge him and half to the distant Emperor, so that He might give me strength to deal with the self-important feudal fool.

In the stands nearest us, an excited murmur began. The crowd — or a portion of it, at least — had heard and seen that interaction. It added a story to the melee. Tantalizing drama. I had more eyes on me after that, and not just from the Lannister and his allies. A man like that was bound to have enemies. Now, I might just have some unspoken allies as well.

I was an unknown. A stranger in a strange land. The Lannister named me ‘Mystery Knight’, and I really was one. I knew I’d ruffle some feathers no matter what I did. But at the very least, I could ruffle them to my advantage.

My chainsword was a crucial aspect in attracting that attention. I would freely admit to not understanding the local customs there. Logically, for a tourney, I should’ve been using a tourney sword of blunted steel. Some of the others were. Yet others were using maces and flails and absurd warhammers, weapons that couldn’t easily be made less effective like blunted swords could and were even designed to defeat heavy armor. A rare few were even wielding what had to be the Valyrian psyker-steel that I’d heard so much about, magically sharp and wholly advantageous.

It didn’t seem like it’d make for a very fair fight. So I decided I wouldn’t even bother. I’d be the Mystery Knight with an unknown sigil and a never-before-seen sword, using everything I had at my disposal. It’d certainly get people talking. Perhaps even rooting for me. I wouldn’t say no to a few cheering fans. They might just help me keep my nerve once the chaos was underway.

The tourney horns blew once more, and the crowd fell silent as a man stood from the royal box. It was my first good look at the royal family, at the king himself. I was both impressed and not so much at the same time.

He was tall and wide, the type of body that made for wonderful fat men. He wasn’t yet. Fat, that is. But I could easily see it in his future. And while the ethereal silver-gold hair of the Targaryens was stunning, it didn’t make for very good facial hair. The mustache the king bore was an unfortunate, blending thing on his pale skin. But I doubt many were eager to tell him that.

King Viserys raised his hands to the crowd’s cheers and spoke, “Welcome! Welcome all! We come here today to celebrate! To exalt! Five years of my rule, and an heir to arrive any day now. These are special days… Days to be remembered for years to come!

“I thank you all for being here. So many from across the realm have certainly made this occasion gay as can be. The crown sees your support and rejoices! Why, we must do this again and again until I am ash in the grave! And that’s a long way away yet, I assure you. I have no intention of keeling over until my son is grown and just as celebrated as I am!”

He seemed a likable sort. Whether he was a good ruler or not remained to be seen. But being able to show gratitude, give praise, and joke around were good signs in my opinion. The knights around me certainly seemed to think so. Many raised their weapons in salute and cheer.

“Now, I shall tarry no more!” The King continued. “We’re here to see the knights of the realm with all of their strength and skill, not listen to a jolly man speak his thanks! A prize purse of 15,000 golden dragons awaits the champion of this melee. But for many, I imagine that comes second to the glory and honor to be won! So good sers! By all means, by all means, give us a show to remember!”

The reality of fighting for the entertainment of strangers settled heavily on my shoulders then as the king retook his seat. So pointless, so necessary… Everything began here. I needed to win. Yet 200 other men likely felt exactly the same. Now, the only way forward was with my sword in hand.

The starting horns sounded, but the sound was barely an echo in my skull. Once more, I found myself thankful for my full-faced helmet. The unseemly grimace that was stuck on my face would’ve made me someone to root against without it.

Slowly at first, all of the knights in the arena began to move, to close distance, and to choose their first opponents. Then, much, much quicker, as the melee kicked off in earnest.

Some turned straight to their neighbors with clashing steel. Others dared to venture across the whole field. I found myself somewhere between the two initial extremes.

I saw the Lannister knight gather a posse around himself. His bannermen and allies outside the arena, no doubt, for I knew his house reigned over one of the Seven Kingdoms. Once he was safely surrounded by men of plate and steel, he tried to turn his focus onto me as promised.

I decided that I didn’t want to be ganged up on by a whole kingdom of knights. Putting off that disadvantageous duel (read: lynching…) would be for the best. Instead, I subtly maneuvered myself so I was dueling a knight from my opposite side, putting him between me and the posse.

My initially chosen opponent wore heraldry of six acorns on a garish yellow. He wielded the classic tourney sword and shield. And unfortunately, he had no qualms about giving his all against me.

Then, all the sensible and careful considerations of my mind fell away to the heat of combat, for show or not.

He lunged for first blood. A step and stab that tried to get past my guard and into my space. I caught the attack with a wide wheeling of my chainsword and swept it away. His steel slid off the hefty chain-covering back of mine without a scratch, all while my chain remained inert. I wasn’t about to waste precious promethium on a petty showcase.

I turned my parry into a quick, darting jab while his sword side was open. The Acorn Knight turned his body to catch it on his shield. Then, he pushed my sword up and away to swing low at my legs.

I stepped back slightly to recollect my stance. It all happened in the span of a blink. My first clash with the locals, and I came away with a healthy wariness for knightly skill at arms. If the Acorn Knight was average, the locals certainly knew the sharp end from the hilt.

I’d faced better foes. Much better. But there was a solidness to the knight’s skills that came from having only swords to work with. They were surprisingly competent, a bit worryingly so. Likely better on the whole than my fellow commissars from the schola.

They were skilled warriors and swordfighters, only held back by their isolation and primitive development. I could certainly see one of them being lucky or skilled enough to stick their blade through my visor (something I’d rather avoid), especially if they seemed determined to gang up on me like a… certain roaring lion aimed to do.

But… against this taste of the local average, I could already see my path to victory.

Re-engaging, I swung down with a heavy chop. Adamantium teeth bit into his shield. He lunged again, and I backed off. I continued to do so, leading him on a short-distance chase (coincidentally, away from the Lannister). I could practically feel his confidence and sense of security rise. Then, he overextended, and I struck.

Even inert, my chainsword cut through his steel sword. The advanced alloy teeth chewed it up and spat it right back out. Disarmed, the Acorn Knight tried to raise his shield. I grabbed its edge and held it down while the tip of my chainsword stopped right above his armored gorget.

We froze like that for the briefest of moments. The rush of victory tried to fill my heart. I tempered it with the knowledge that it was only the first. Slowly, the Acorn Knight nodded.

“I yield, Ser.”

I nodded back and stood him up straight, “Good fight.”

He saw himself off the field, and I begrudgingly forced myself to continue onto the next fight. I was less cautious and wary against my second knight, having gotten a taste of what I faced. But I also didn’t have the luxury of time on my side.

I looked back. The Lannister and his cronies were still there, angling my way. There were maybe five or six duels between us. And some of the cronies at the edge were being pulled off the posse for individual fights of their own. But the Lannister himself still seemed hell-bent on seeing me ‘humbled’ and he’d get the chance if I ended up taking my sweet time.

So, turning back forward, I set out to lead him on a not-so-merry, not-so-courageous chase. The second knight I dueled wore heraldry of a white sun and chevron on orange. I ran at him and swung low, wasting no time. The flat of my chainsword swept his legs out from under him, and I didn’t even pause to make him yield.

Logically, I knew I couldn’t outrun my problems forever. But that’s never stopped me from trying!

A third knight stepped up to meet my blade, his already swinging for the joint of my sword arm. I twisted so that it scraped and slid off my armored bicep. A bit of flustered panic at being so out of position had me leaning into the twist so that I came out of it behind the knight.

There, I kicked out the back of his knees. His weight grounded itself with a thud on the grass. I laid my sword onto his shoulder, angling the adamantium teeth so they caught the light before his helmet’s visor.

He yielded quickly. That strange sense of victory surged within me again. Not just surviving with all I had, but thriving… I wasn’t used to the feeling. It was rather distracting… until I looked up and saw the Lannister and his posse growing closer still.

I’d been doing well against single knights. Half a dozen at once was a whole other story!

My fighting flight around the arena continued. I felled a fourth knight, broke the head off a fifth’s warhammer, and bullshit-flourished my way to victory against a sixth. I shattered both shield and sword off a seventh… and that was about when I ran out of foes to keep me seeming busy (and thus, untouchable by honor or whatever other decorum prevented knights from interrupting duels).

I paused and blinked myself out of the (certainly-not-fleeing) combat fugue. It was half a thing of the usual panic that always seized me and half a thing of genuine pride in myself (dare I say, confidence?). But sure enough, the competitors on the field had greatly dwindled.

I’d done my part in that, and the melee hadn’t been idle around me. Now, there was just me, another lone knight with a sword of that gleaming, rippled, psyker-steel, and two ‘gangs’. One was the Lannister and his posse, aimed at me. The other was gathered around a truly massive man wearing the colors of a rampant stag.

The roar of the crowd reached my ears then as well, “Mystery Knight!/Mystery Knight!/Mystery Knight!”

Idly, I raised my chainsword to them. The cheers doubled and struck me almost physically. I was no stranger to unearned praise. But the unearned cheers of a whole crowd focused on me were unusual and unbelievable even by my standards.

“Seven down — SEVEN! — Seven and seven more to be put on the ground!” A chant started up spontaneously (I had my doubts. It had Amberley’s quick-thinking touch on it…). “A knight in flight! Still in the fight! THE MYSTERY KNIGHT!”

For a moment, I thought perhaps the crowd’s clear favor would make the Lannister reconsider ganging up on me. But that would be expecting a noble to be reasonable and gracious in the face of a minor slight and grudge. I winced. Not likely.

The Lion prowled toward me with six men at his back. I looked for just one more avenue of escape. Unfortunately, my gaze fell on the remaining lone man, the knight with the magical sword… Sighing internally, I pointed my sword at him. He accepted the unspoken challenge with a ringing clang as he hit his magic sword and shield together.

“Craven!” The Lannister roared.

“He dares cross swords with Lady Forlorn, Lannister! I’d hardly call that craven! Perhaps I should arrange seven mirrors for you and yours to peer into!” The knight who’d accepted my challenge taunted back.

And like before, I replied to the Lion with only silence. It had him positively bristling, hackles raised. For a second, it looked like the Lannister would still interrupt my coming duel. He seemed rather peeved with me. I couldn’t say why, not completely. But before he could, the other ‘gang’ on the field charged him and his posse.

The Stag Knight called out to me as he passed, laughing from his belly, “HAHA! Good show! Take your duel, Mystery Knight! The good men of the Stormlands will keep the puffed-up lion off your back!”

The arena’s focus was split in two, to the renewed cheers of the crowd. Half on me and Mr. Magic Sword, and half on the group fight breaking out behind us. Mr. Magic Sword’s shield bore heraldry of ravens holding hearts in flight. And already, I could tell he’d be my most skilled opponent so far.

It was in the way he walked, the way he held himself, and the way we began to circle each other carefully. His sword was a beautiful thing in stark contrast to my trusty and weathered chainsword. The blade’s smoky black ripples seemed to catch the light at every angle, and there was a heart-shaped ruby set into its pommel.

“You’ve made no friends in the Westerlands this day, Mystery Knight,” The Ravenheart Knight said conversationally, audibly amused. “Except perhaps the Reynes. They’ll love to find use for someone unafraid of the Lannisters.”

I noted that for later, replying in the same tone, “You know? I think you might just be right about that.”

He snorted a laugh, “Well, you’ve certainly endeared yourself to the people. I look forward to seeing your face after I win the melee.”

“Sorry, Ravenheart,” I shook my head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. My lady demands my victory, and I simply can’t afford to disappoint her. She’s more terrifying than any sword or mace or warhammer.”

“Ha! Aren’t the good ones always that way? Still…” He trailed off in consideration. “Ravenheart… I rather like that-…”

His momentary distraction was all the opening I needed. I lunged and prepared for the parry. It came just as I expected, and I was already aborting my lunge into a vicious slash to his open side. But Ravenheart was good enough to still block, if not parry.

Suddenly, my blood was roaring in my ears. It came with the ring of the clash. Adamantium vs. Valyrian Steel. It was a screaming song, jagged and glorious. We pulled back and clashed again. And again. The song grew until it became the duel.

Valyrian Steel caught on Adamantium teeth: a shout. It slid down the cover of my chainsword: a scream. Our blades met again and again like whispers on the wind: a melodic keen. He struck and I parried, I slashed and he redirected: a single moment of beautiful duet. 

Even the cheering crowd fell silent to hear the song of our duel. I’ve experienced many things in my unfortunate life in the Emperor’s service, but few like that moment, made only more so without my usual chances of death on the line. It was nigh transcendent. A humming song in the air, a worthy foe, a magical duel, and thousands watching with bated breath.

I almost felt like a different man. A better man. A man I certainly wasn’t…

But I was still a sneaky bastard at heart. I feinted and took advantage when Ravenheart bit. I swung my sword in a singing arc that displaced his guard. His blade came screaming back to the fore. I was already within his reach, tearing his shield apart on Adamantium teeth.

His guarding heraldry fell away to ineffective bits and pieces. I seized my advantage, pressing him back with a flurry of sword strikes. My portion of the song surged. His portion was put on the defensive. Our clashes rang like bells, whistled like woodwinds, and clanged like cymbals.

The duel was almost choreographed, and the song was almost composed. We both played our parts with barely a thought given to the imaginary sheet music. Somehow, we fought with perfect pitch in our blades. Vibrato hummed from Valyrian Steel, from Lady Forlorn. Adamantium teeth drove deep, sonorous, mournful notes ever forward to a coming crescendo.

My chainsword set the tempo, and Lady Forlorn could only react. Accelerando, accelerato, affrettando, our dueling song came faster and faster. Anima, the soul of the song, was clear for all to hear. Our tones rose and fell, ranging from humming bass to ringing soprano as the song called for it.

Bellicoso: warlike and aggressive. Grandioso: grand and glorious. Vivo: intense and alive to its very core. And soon enough, Vittorioso, too: a fighting, crowning solo that emerged from the duet to herald the victory to come.

It was a little thing that led me to victory over such a worthy and equal foe. A tiny stumble. A blade just slightly out of place. And no shield to cover the gap. I took the opportunity with both hands and all but skewered it on Adamantium fangs.

Suddenly, our song fell completely silent. The world seemed to freeze on that moment. Ravenheart was stuck striking out at me just an instant too slowly. And I held myself and the tip of my chainsword right at his neck.

We both knew that I’d won. Two players, right at the climax. That frozen moment was just to let the rest of the world catch up with our abruptly ended song. The crowd was hushed and watching. Victory took long, drawn-out seconds to sink in.

In a real fight, my chainsword would’ve taken his head. He couldn’t have known how easily it would carve through steel plate, but he somehow still knew how dead he was in that moment. Just as I would know the same if his magical Lady Forlorn had found a slightly weaker chink in my armor.

Slowly, decisively, and honorably, without any room for confusion, Ravenheart acknowledged my victory with actions, not words. He let his sword drop. He nodded. The whole arena watched him yield with his honor intact. None would question it after a duel like ours.

Just as slowly, I pulled back from my potential killstroke. I nodded right back, and even moved to clasp his free hand with mine. And with that exchange, the crowd exploded.

“MYSTERY KNIGHT!/MYSTERY KNIGHT!/MYSTERY KNIGHT!”

It was an abrupt wall of noise from all around. Great, roaring cheers that almost rocked me off my feet. Crashing down on me just as they tried to lift me up. Ravenheart must’ve noticed my shock. I could almost feel him smirking as he raised our clasped hands in an acknowledging salute to my victory.

It was almost enough to make me relax. But the melee wasn’t yet over. Armored stomps echoed from behind me. The crowd’s cheers fell to a hush once more. And when I turned, I tensed.

“ENOUGH! I’ll put an end to this farce! You’ll face me now, you Nameless Craven!” The Lannister roared.

It seemed the Lion wasn’t all pride and bravado. There was more to him than his mane. He showed he still had teeth, emerging victorious like me. Still in the fight. But thankfully, his posse was gone. Eliminated by the Stag Knight’s charge. The Lannister had come out on top, but he was the only one to remain. Now, if only he could accept defeat graciously and let go of the slights I’d given him. That, I knew, was too much to ask of a feudal world noble.

“One more duel, and your lady will have her victory, Mystery Knight,” Ravenheart said, clapping me encouragingly on the back. “Bring the Lion to heel for me.”

… God-Emperor, I didn’t want to. I was suddenly made aware of how exhausted I was. Fleeing constantly around the melee, seven fights straight, and then, a duel for the ages. I was only human, and I barely wanted to be participating in this showcase in the first place.

Still, my eyes found Amberley’s in the crowd. She gave me a determined and encouraging nod. As I’d said to Ravenheart, I couldn’t disappoint her. I just couldn’t. So I steeled myself, practically vowing to end this decisively, anticlimactically, embarrassingly.

I turned to the Lannister, took my chainsword in two hands, and raised it in a Grox Guard — the blade and its teeth extending forward from beside my head.

“Finally!” The Lannister practically spat. “You give me nothing but slights, yet you’re too craven to face a Lion of the Rock head-on! I will see you brought low where you belong! What last words do you have before I jam my dagger through your eye?!”

For a third time, I gave the Lannister only silence. It immediately drove him into a rage and a charge. Unfortunately, it wasn’t reckless. He kept his wits about him, putting structure and strength into his movements that would serve him well in any initial clash.

I wouldn’t let him get even that far.

“HEAR ME ROAR!” The Lannister (appropriately) roared.

And for the first time in the melee, my chainsword roared right back.

RRRRRRRRR~!

The sound of its engine-driven chain was jarring in the hush, completely drowning out the lion in front of it. The world flinched in surprise. A classic taste of the Imperium’s unquestionable strength was brought to bear before local eyes. I met the Lannister’s now-half-aborted charge with a step and a single, diagonally-downward stroke of my roaring sword.

Sword and shield shattered on first impact. His golden breastplate was cleaved in twain, the mail beneath split like open air, but not a drop of blood was drawn. I left his skin completely unmarred. It was precisely done. I knew that sword like I knew the cowardice in my heart and my utter lack of anything resembling honor.

Really, it was about ending the exhaustingly petty show and sending a message. The Lannister sprawled backward onto his ass, reaching for the rend in his armor to check for blood, and fumbling for his helmet as if to check he was still breathing. That noble and handsome face of his came out to stare up at me in horror. I simply let my chainsword’s roar die down into silence again.

For a moment, the silent stillness of the arena was deafening. Then came the roars, the cheers, the exaltations of the crowd, stronger than ever. Even the horns signaling my victory were drowned out. The King stood into the triumphant din to address me.

“By the old gods and the new, what a show!” He declared. “Good fighting all around, but our champion is clear! This tourney for my heir will certainly be one for the ages, and I have you to thank for that, Mystery Knight!

“You gave us seven defeated foes, all but arranged in a row. An auspicious number! Then, the Singing Duel! I’ve heard and seen nothing like it!”

My expression soured for a moment beneath my helmet. They’d already come up with a name for it…

“And finally, a feat of strength and magic that won’t soon be matched! Your sword roars your fury, Mystery Knight. ’Tis a glorious thing to witness! But I won’t ask how. Let it be known that a champion is allowed his winning secrets!”

The crowd laughed and cheered with the King’s half-joking decree. I decided, as always, that it’d be best to play into my own hype. Done right, it was a shield like no other. So I raised my chainsword one last time and revved the throttle. It roared, and the crowd roared with it.

“Now, I think all of us are eagerly awaiting the true reveal — I know I am!” The King joked. “Mystery Knight, may we have your name and face to record into the annals of tourney history?”

I sighed, but begrudgingly complied. Refusing the king wouldn’t go over well, and this was the whole point of my victory. Didn’t mean I had to like it… But I still removed my helmet and addressed King and Crowd.

“Ciaphas Cain, Your Grace,” I said. “But I’m afraid I’m no knight in truth.”

The gasps were damn-near physical, as if I’d killed everyone’s puppies. Something inside me tensed at the idea of being torn apart by a mob.

Thankfully, the King wasn’t so quick to judge, tilting his head curiously, “May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story, King Viserys,” I awkwardly chuckled and sheepishly rubbed the back of my head. “I am a man in service to my exiled Lady Amberley Vail first and foremost. Ours isn’t a situation that offers much opportunity for knighthood.”

I motioned to Amberley as I spoke. The whole arena turned to her. She stood with a regretful but resolute smile, cool as a cucumber under the attention, and said, “He is a knight in all but name and title to me, Your Grace. We work with what little we have, yet I could ask for no one better than Ciaphas.”

… She lied as easily as she breathed. Of course, no one noticed but me. I could still just about smell the interest in the air. I wasn’t just the Mystery Champion of the melee; there was also an untold story behind me, behind us. And after a victory like mine, the nobles were bound to gobble up anything we told them.

The royal box was no different. A Valyrian-haired couple, the husband darker-skinned with the distinctive aura of a Rogue Trader and his wife with the presence of a princess (a royal cousin…?), looked intrigued. Another man, brown-haired and green-eyed with a hand-shaped pin on his chest (the King’s Hand…?) looked calculating and warily skeptical.

The youngest ones in the royal box — all of them in their later teenage years: a young man and woman who looked to be children to the first couple, a young woman who seemed to be the daughter of the Hand, and the princess, last but not least — all looked enthralled. I wasn’t sure I liked the almost obsessive light shining in the royal princess’s eyes as she stared at me without flinching or blinking…

And the king was grinning ear to ear, “Well, that just won’t do! Thankfully, it’s well within my power to rectify such a shame! I would knight you, Ciaphas Cain. Would you accept?”

“Of course,” I nodded. It was the only answer I could really give a king…

“Then this will be an unorthodox ceremony, but I doubt many will doubt my decision,” Viserys said with good humor. “Kneel, Ciaphas Cain.”

I did, internally bemoaning my unearned fame and recognition all the while. Even here, it followed me like a curse.

“In the name of the Father, of the Mother, of the Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, and Stranger,” Viserys intoned. “I charge you to be just, a defender of the young and innocent, brave in the face of danger, forged like steel in the face of duty, a protector of women, wise as wisdom demands, and a herald of honorable death when called upon by lord and lady, king and queen. Do you so swear?”

I agreed with most of the oath, but I already knew I was incapable of being brave. Still… “I so swear.”

The crowd cheered, and the king yelled to be heard over them, sounding caught up in the excitement, “Then, be so elevated and rise, Ser, by your king’s decree! Ser Ciaphas Cain!”

I rose, and the noise of the crowd rose with me. Even the younger half of the royal box was cheering, none louder and more enthusiastic than the princess…

Then, someone from the crowd decided I deserved more titles to go with my ‘Ser-ness’, “Mystery Knight of the Singing Duel!”

“Ser Ciaphas Cain, Lion’s Bane!”

I smiled and waved, smiled and waved, but the motion felt forced and the expression felt frozen on my face. Even then, I already knew that last title in particular was going to come back and bite me…

IIIII

[AN: I really played up the danger of the tourney from Ciaphas’ perspective to unnecessary levels in this chapter. But that was on purpose. Cain isn’t a reliable narrator. He’s especially prone to exaggeration when his life is even slightly on the line. And of course, he’s almost incapable of feeling confident about himself unless it’s to do with cowardly survival instincts and wriggling his way out of death’s embrace.

In reality, he was easily one of the best combatants on the field. As you saw. He didn’t really have any trouble until he ran into another once-in-a-lifetime-type warrior (the Corbray, what Valyrian Steel does to a motherfucker…). And then, their duel was legendary. He also can’t recognize that he easily earned everything (the love of the crowd, the coming fame, the knighting, and the attention of the royal family). But that’s part of what makes Ciaphas Cain such a fun character lol.

Anyways, I plan for one more chapter of this new story (an Amberley POV for the rest of the tourney) before I focus on a new Dead End chapter. Not quite sure what that will entail just yet. A bar story, almost certainly, but I’m not sure which… After that, we’ll get right back to Ser Ciaphas.]

IIIII

Bonus Pics (sauce below)