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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
The group melee was officially an "every man for himself" free-for-all. Last knight standing won.
In reality, the big houses always sent multiple fighters. They formed tight squads on the field, used numbers and teamwork to smash anyone who got in their way, and made damn sure one of their own took the victory.
Solo fighters usually banded together on the spot just to survive the organized gangs. The whole thing turned into a brutal, bloody brawl.
And it was Robert's favorite event of the entire tourney—because he was jumping in himself.
Robert Baratheon had once been a giant of a man, six-foot-five, built like a tower, famous across the Seven Kingdoms for his raw power. At the Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion, he'd charged straight at Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in full armor, antlered helm gleaming, and smashed his warhammer through Rhaegar's ruby-encrusted breastplate. One crushing blow ended the prince, the war, and the Targaryen dynasty. The rubies scattered across the riverbank and gave the place its name: the Ruby Ford.
Rhaegar had been the heir to the Iron Throne, a gorgeous, battle-hardened knight who'd once beaten Barristan Selmy himself at a tourney—only to lose the final to Arthur Dayne.
That single hammer strike from Robert had been legendary.
But that was almost twenty years ago.
After taking the throne, Robert drowned his grief in wine and whores. He stopped training. His body softened, his gut grew, and these days it took real effort just to squeeze into his armor.
When word spread that the king planned to fight in the melee, everyone around him tried to talk him out of it. Robert blew up.
Deep down he knew he wasn't the young lion anymore. The drinking, the feasting, the endless nights with nameless women—it had all caught up. He missed the old Robert: the handsome, unstoppable warrior who never ran out of strength. He hated what he'd become, but he couldn't stop.
This might be his last chance to feel that thrill again.
He chose the group melee on purpose. In the chaos of a real battlefield free-for-all, no one could hold back just because he was the king.
He was doing it, end of discussion.
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and Robert's foster father, finally gave in but ordered the best possible guards to team up with the king. Robert flat-out refused the Kingsguard. "They're too damn good and they'll spend the whole time trying to babysit me. I won't feel a thing."
He also refused too many allies. He wanted to fight, not watch from behind a wall of meat shields.
This could be the last tourney he ever entered. He wanted it to count.
That's when Leo stepped forward and volunteered.
"What the hell?" Robert growled, beard bristling. "You're fighting Barristan for the jousting crown tomorrow! What if you get hurt? What if it ruins your match?"
Leo met his eyes without flinching. "Your Grace, I have publicly sworn my loyalty to you. A knight's oath isn't just words—it's sworn on honor and life. Unless you reject my service… or you withdraw from the melee… I will stand at your side and protect you. The joust tomorrow doesn't matter. Nothing matters more than guarding my king."
The words rang out strong and sincere. Jon Arryn and the others nearby nodded in quiet approval.
Robert's face lit up. He clapped both heavy hands on Leo's shoulders and roared with laughter. "Well said! That's the spirit of a true knight! All right, you're with me!"
Leo's real reason was simple: he wanted the EXP.
"Guarding the king" was just the fancy excuse.
A group melee with dozens—or hundreds—of knights swinging steel in a chaotic battlefield simulation? That was a walking buffet of experience points. Plus he'd look like a hero in front of Robert and the entire court. Win-win.
He wasn't worried about tomorrow's joust. His odds against Barristan were already slim, so he might as well farm levels and boost his favor with the king while he could. Robert still had years left on the throne—staying tight with him was pure profit.
Jon Arryn assigned five solid knights from the Crownlands and the Vale to round out the royal team.
By afternoon the melee was ready.
The moment everyone heard King Robert was fighting, the entry list exploded. Nobles and knights who had been on the fence suddenly flooded in—nearly doubling the field to over two hundred men.
Some were thrilled at the chance to show off right in front of the king.
Others were quietly terrified. In the chaos, do you swing full force at the king? Do you pull back? Either choice could end in disaster.
Even with blunted tourney weapons, the group melee always had the highest injury and death rate of any event. Blades didn't care whose banner you flew.
Still, the king's presence turned the whole thing electric. Most fighters quietly agreed: avoid the king and his group if possible, and rack up as many other victories as you could in front of him.
Robert was ecstatic when he heard the numbers.
Leo just grinned wider.
More fighters meant more walking EXP bags. Perfect.