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The Daynes must be separated. Willam Blackwood knew that the two had likely formed a pact between themselves before the affair, promising to work together to better their house at the expense of others. Well, he wouldn't allow it. He hefted his sword into the air, bellowing out to the Old Gods as he charged towards the Elder Dayne. He raised his shield in front of him, intent on crushing the Dayne beneath its weight. He never saw Harras charging at him out of the side of his vision, but her certainly felt it when those two large, blunted aces cracked into his shield, throwing him to the side as it exploded into a hundred shards of wood. He could feel a throbbing pain course up his arm, nevertheless he managed to stay on his feet, cursing himself as he backpeddled away from the angry Hoare.
Meanwhile it seemed that Rickard Stark had over-extended himself, pressing forward on the smaller Lord Reyne, laughing as he rained down blows on the man's small buckler. He didn't even notice when his last swing left him off-balance, but Robb Reyne certainly did. In a flash he was pressing back against the man, trapping his arm against his chest with the shield while he brought his mace forward in a heavy swing. Luckily Rickard was able to disentangle himself and throw himself backwards, but that didn't stop the Reyne landing a glancing blow on his right shoulder, if it had been a few inches to the right it certainly would have killed King Stark.
Edric Mormont was in a pickle, stated plain and simple. He had not one, but two Dayne's charging towards him, intent on taking the man down. He was able to fend off the older Dayne, swinging his mace in an arc along the ground to send the man toppling back into a pile on the floor, the Dornishman cursing as his sword was knocked from his grasp. All of this though, made it even easier for Corrick to knock aside Edric's shield, slamming the butt of his spear against the man's throat. The Mormont gave a little jerk as he felt himself suddenly unable to breath, letting go of his weapon as his hand shot towards his throat. Corrick quickly danced away from the man, spinning his spear about so the point hovered above the Northerner. "Yield!" He cried out, putting as much authority into his voice as he could muster.
Daeron stayed on the edge of the arena, watching carefully as the others fought each other savagely. My time will come. He thought to himself, purple eyes flicking about. I will show them what a Valyrian may do.