Chapter 18
SER DUNCAN THE TALL
Duncan had not thought that he would be spending the night in a cell. He sat alone, wondering how it had come to this, but that did not matter now, did it? His fate was sealed, for he had attacked a prince of the realm.
He was meant to be a knight. He was meant to be Ser Arlan's legacy, and yet he had been reduced to a common prisoner awaiting his death. His body still ached from the beating that he had taken from the guards, and when the doors opened, his head spun quickly as he feared that his time had come.
Yet he saw no guards or axes, there as a familiar face walked into the cell along with a servant, and two guards. The boy held a lamp in his hands as Duncan ground his teeth.
"You can put it down," he ordered, and the servant put down the tray as the skies raged down behind him. He could hear the chirp of heavy rain through the little window, and with a small nod from the boy, the guards and servants all vanished from the cell.
Duncan rushed towards the food as soon as they fled, as he ignored the boy, refusing to come to terms with what he was and what a fool he had been.
"Uncle says that I must seek your forgiveness?" and Duncan frowned.
"Uncle?" he asked, and the boy gulped down nervously as he bit into the bread and gravy with zeal, caring little for manners.
This very well might be his last meal, and so he would eat however he may wish.
"Prince Baelor," and a few days ago, he would not have known he was speaking of, but in the last few days, he had struck a friendship with a Prince.
"Prince Matarys's father, the heir to the Iron Throne," and the boy nodded, and he wanted to smash his head in for failing to see the truth.
"You two always did seem rather familiar," he spoke harshly, and he wondered if he still remembered or not, but Duncan had met Matarys once before. It was years ago, and he had just become a squire for Ser Arlan.
It was at a tourney at Storm's End, and he had been carrying Ser Araln's flagon when he had hit a Prince. He had thought his life forfeit the second he had seen the Prince hit the ground, but in the end, the young Prince had offered him no rebuke or punishment.
He had only asked for his name and offered him kindness. Kindness that stayed with him to this day. At least until now.
"We are cousins, and he squired for my father, Prince Maekar," and he knew of these names, and had heard them being spoken with sheer reverence.
Baelor. Maekar. Matarys.
But did they truly deserve this all?
"He is more of a brother to me than Aerion ever was," and Duncan ground his teeth at the mention of that monster, but he could not help but wonder if all of them were just like him.
"Why?" he asked through gritted teeth as he put down his bread.
"Was it a jape?" he asked as he turned towards the boy.
"Make a fool out of some stupid hedge knight," and he shook his head.
"No," he answered weakly, and he was young and sat holding his folded legs as he eyed him nervously.
"I was supposed to squire for Daeron, but he is a shit knight. He planned on spending the entire tourney drinking himself at that inn," and so he chose to make a fool out of him.
"You could have squired for your cousin," he challenged, and then he would have been spared this humiliation.
"I wanted to," and the boy did not lie, and the words should have pained him, but they did not.
"But father thinks that my cousin is too wild, too bold. He has already taken one son from him, and he did not wish to let him take another," and he did not understand that at all.
"Taken one son?" he asked.
"My elder brother Aemon. He was rather bookish and timid, and so it was decided that they would send him to the Citadel to make a master out of him, but Matarys intervened and had him sent to his holdings near the capital. Father was not happy with it," and he did not understand these little games.
"That did not give you and the Prince any right to make a fool out of me," he nearly shouted, as the boy bit his lip and lowered his gaze.
"I am sorry," he said, as Duncan sighed.
"He wanted to tell you," he added weakly, and it all made sense now. Why the Prince had come to him, and befriended him. Why would he take Egg with him during the nights?
He was a part of this ruse.
"We were going to do it tonight," he added, and that did not soothe his heart.
"He hated the lies. We both did," and Egg was crying now, and it pained him to see the tears.
"Dry your eyes," he said, as he finished eating his bread.
"At least I will die knowing the truth," he added as a jape, and those eyes widened.
"You won't die," he answered without any doubt, but he knew better.
"I struck the Prince," and he would do so a thousand times.
"He called me a traitor. I know what becomes of traitors," and he was innocent, but so was Tanselle, and yet their innocence had meant little in these games.
"Matarys promised me. He will protect you," and he wanted to believe it.
"Yet he couldn't even come to say this himself," Dunk mocked.
"Because he is at the Sept keeping vigil," and the words struck hard.
"There was no one else," Egg added, for who would keep vigil for a traitor.
"He is also making preparations for a funeral for Tanselle. But he will not back down," Egg added hastily.
"He is nothing like Aerion. He will keep his promise," and he did not know what to say to that.
"We will see about that," Duncan added, as Aegon.
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BAELOR TARGARYEN
Aerion's actions had put him in a bind. Aerion was his kin, and so blood compelled him to shield the boy from the harshest consequences. Yet Baelor was a Prince and a Knight as well. He had his own oaths that compelled him to doll out justice, as cruel as it may be.
Even if they were to hold a trial, no lord would dare find Aerion guilty. And traitor or not, the hedge knight had struck Aerion, and it was poor judgment under any circumstance to lay hands on a King's grandson.
But Baelor doubted that it would even come to a trial, for just as he had his oaths compelling him, the same oaths compelled his own son, who now sat infront of him in Lord Ashford's solar.
Matarys was an unusually kind boy, and he did not praise him just because he was his son. The entire court praised him for his generosity, and all those who had ever served under him sang praises of him.
But the Matchless was not just kind. He was just, and honest as well. He was sympathetic to the cries of the small folk, and it was why he had spent the past two years fighting a battle against the terrain itself.
The boy had declared the puppet master and his family friends. He had given them their favor, and Baelor knew that this favor had been one of the reasons why Aerion had done what he had.
Still, he wished to avoid bloodshed, and so he called for him in his solar to see if a solution could be matched.
"You know why I have called for you," Baelor began, as he leaned back in his chair.
"I do," he answered, and his face showed little to no emotion. It was strange to see him without a smile and not making a joke. It was unusual, for he possessed a sharp tongue and even sharper wit and was not afraid of making use of it.
"I will not defend Aerion's actions. He has always been brash and impudent, but it would serve no one to see this matter escalated any further," and the boy shrugged.
"I would not mind. Let us hold a trial and let the Gods decide the truth," and Baelor raised a brow.
"You and I both know that it is not the Gods who make the verdict in a trial, and no man here will dare rule against a Prince," and Matarys scoffed.
"Then we shall have a trial of swords then," and so his intentions remained the same.
"Aerion does owe me a melee," and Baelor closed his eyes and sighed.
"He is your cousin," he reminded him.
"He killed an innocent girl," and there was no defense for that. Still, he had to try.
"The Black," he offered, and Matarys frowned.
"I will allow the hedge knight, and the girl's uncle to take the Black and see this matter put away," and that was a generous offer.
"They are innocent," Matarys argued, his eyes narrowing in rage.
"The boy punched Aerion, and kicked him too," and that was a crime.
"The lords and Maekar would sentence him to lose them both," and that would be no justice, but that would be the sentencing for him if they were being generous.
"That is why I intend to call for a trial by combat," Matarys countered, and he felt both proud and sorrow as he stared at the boy sitting infront of him.
Proud for he had raised him well, and sad for he had raised him too well.
"Maekar loves you like a son," and Baelor had summoned him here not for Aerion, but for his own brother.
"You squired him. Do not force him to choose between you and Aerion," for they both knew that if Matarys and Aerion were to step into the ring, then Aerion would not walk out alive.
"Then let me make you the same offer," his son added as he picked up his goblet and sipped his wine.
"I will let Aerion take the Black," and the boy would never accept.
"He would never accept," and with those words, Matarys rose.
"That is all the mercy I have to offer him," he said as he adjusted his tunic.
"Many of the Starks sent their own sons and grandsons to the Wall to this day. He will be no different," and Baelor had done all he could.
"He killed her," Matarys reminded him.
"All for he was jealous and angry. It is time for him to learn the consequences of his actions...."
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