Chapter 25
DUNCAN THE TALL
The trial had ended with Prince Maekar's death. He had been down on the ground when he had heard the Prince yield. He was hit yet Prince Aerion's voice had been clear as day when Matarys had held a blade to his throat.
He had offered him mercy, not for his sake. No. But for the sake of his father. For the sake of the man who had knighted him.
He had turned towards the stands at once, calling for the healers so that Prince Maekar may have a chance but his mercy would be his falling, for Prince Aerion would rise again and put a dagger into his side.
Never before had he cursed his own weakness as much as he had in that moment. If only he had been a bit faster. A bit stronger.
He could have ended that fight. He could have defeated Prince Aerion. He could have saved him.
But he had failed and the dagger had struck true, but even with that blade lodged into his side the Prince had struck the last blow, as he would sever Aerion's arm at the shoulder, and only then would the bastard call out his loss.
By then Duncan was already ready to strike at his head, but before his blade could cut his flesh the Kingsguard would come and parry the strike, and spare the dishonorable cur his life.
He would tell them of his treachery. He would scream it, for all the lords and ladies to hear, only for Prince Baelor to walk to the field himself and offer him a nod of acceptance.
'I know. I saw it all,' and then his own strength would leave him as Duncan would fall to the ground, and embrace the darkness.
He would think it all a bad dream when he would wake again, hoping to find himself sleeping under some hedge along with his Master. But alas! It was all real.
The wounds were real. The trial was real. The deaths were real.
Rhysling. Hardyng. Manfred. Morrigen. Cargyll. Fossoway.
Maekar.
Seven had died by the time he had woken up, and many more were fighting their battles with the Stranger including Aerion and Matarys.
The festivities had ended, and only death and misery filled the Meadows of Ashford as Duncan wondered if this was the true cost of justice, and if he had the heart to bear it.
His own wounds had festered, but the Maesters were hopeful of his recovery. But the same could not be said for Prince Matarys.
Aerion's knife had struck true, and no the Prince had yet to wake even after three days had passed since the end of the trial. The Meadow had begun to empty out by now, as the merchants all packed up their tents for their new destination yet all of them would carry with them tales of this trial.
Duncan found himself under his hedge, for he lacked the courage to face the men in that castle. He had won, and yet sometimes he wished that the trial had taken his life as well but the Gods had chosen to test him, and for some odd reason amidst that crowd of Great Men Duncan had managed to survive when many men better than him had died.
Still, he spotted the glistening whit armor in the distance and knew that he could avoid them no more. The kingsguard rode towards him on their horses, and came for him.
"Ser Duncan, the Prince has summoned you to the castle," and it was Ser Rolan Crakehall who jumped down his horse as Duncan pushed himself off of the ground with his crutch.
"Which one?" he asked.
"Prince Baelor," and he had hoped to hear another name, but Duncan could only nod and follow besides them, and he could hear the whispers and murmurs as he walked through the Meadow, and wondered if they would ever stop.
"You will have to get used to it," Ser Roland added as he walked beside him, and it as if he had read his mind, and then his eyes shifted to the Kingsguard who had accompanied him, and eyed him with clear disdain.
"Will I have to get used to that as well?" he asked, and Ser Rollan eyes his brother in white.
"Aye," he added softly, as he kept pace with him, and as the castle walls came into view he knew that he could wait no more, and so he gathered up his courage to ask the question.
"How is he?" he finally asked, and Ser Roland's face shifted at once.
"He has not woken up still," and that was nothing new.
"The Maesters say they have done everything they could for him. They say the rest is up to him," and Duncan's grip on his crutch tightened.
"If there is anyone who can pull through it's the Prince," Ser Donnel added in, much to his surprise.
"He would never die from something like this," and then his eyes shifted towards him as he looked Duncan in the eye.
"But if he does you shall bear that burden for the rest of your life," and Duncan could say nothing to that as they walked the rest of the way in silence, and slowly he was led through the Halls until he was outside a solar.
"Go in," and before he could even knock, a voice came from the inside.
"Come in," and Duncan drew in a heavy breath as Ser Rolan pushed open the door and he slowly walked into the solar.
The place was dark and cold, and the fire had not been lit. A book lay open on the table, but the Prince stood behind it, facing the window as he looked out at the yard outside.
He wore black, much like the rest of the castle, in mourning for his brother.
"Aerion has woken up," and Duncan would be lying if he was happy hearing that.
"He lost the trial," and now he turned to face him.
"So, he will head to the Wall as soon as the funeral is over," and Duncan ground his teeth.
"Forgive me, my lord. But that is a much kinder fate than he deserves," and the heir to the Iron Throne motioned for him to sit down, while he did the same.
"Perhaps you are right," and seven people were dead because of him. Seven men, including his own father, while Prince Matarys fought for his life.
"But that is the fate the Gods have chosen for him," and he had wronged his son, and yet Prince Baelor was a kinder man than he ever could be.
"And I am afraid I do not have the heart to see more of my kin bleed," and Duncan could hardly fathom what the man must be feeling.
His brother was dead. His son was fighting was fighting for his life, from a wound given to him by his own nephew.
"He would deserve it," and the Prince nodded.
"I have little doubt about that," and perhaps the Wall would prove itself to be a worse than death itself. Duncan had heard rumors about the place, and it would be nothing less than hell for a Prince who had lived a lavish life.
"Truth is that I find myself at an impasse," the Prince began, and he seemed to have aged a decade over the last few days.
"I am the unfortunate man who had to see my own brother draw his blade against my own son," and the Prince scoffed at that.
"No man should ever suffer such a fate," Duncan added, and the Prince.
"Aye," and the Prince sipped his wine.
"We cannot push on Maekar's funeral anymore. His body has begun to fester," and he was surprised that they had held it out for so long, and the question must have been obvious enough.
"We pushed it on because of Matarys," and he hear the pain in his voice.
"There was a fear that he just might join my brother in the ground, but thankfully he still fights on," and Duncan nodded.
"He will survive," Duncan added strongly.
"Your son is a good man. An honorable man. The Gods will surely show him mercy," and Baelor had a broken smile on his face as he sighed.
"Maekar was a good man. Honorable as well, and yet the Stranger still came for him," and what could he say to that.
"You must be wondering why have I called on you?" and the question had come up in his mind indeed.
"I am your man, your grace," and he owed the man a debt he could never hope to pay back, and Duncan's life and blade were pledged to him from this day to the end of his days.
"I am yours to command till I draw breath," and Prince Baelor looked him in the eye.
"Matarys is a good son. He has never given me or my wife much trouble. He has no vices except for one," and Duncan did not what the Prince wished to say, but he would listen.
"He was much fond of his wagers," and the Prince chuckled as he mentioned that.
"Wagers?" Duncan asked, and the Prince nodded.
"Aye, and he would win them all. He was blessed in that way even as a child. He would predict outcomes at tournies, and changing of the weathers and so forth. He made one the day I first rode against your master, and much like before won himself a handful of gold dragons from the Kingsgaurd outside that door," and Duncan had not heard of this.
"That is interesting, but how does this concern me, your grace?" Duncan asked, as those mismatched eyes narrowed.
"Because yesterday he made a wager on you," and the words shook him to the core.
"Matarys loved my brother, and yet he drew his blade against him because of you and while all I have seen of you tells me that you are a simple enough hedge knight, my son saw something else," and Duncan wished he was that special.
"I am nothing but a simple hedge knight," Duncan countered but Prince Baelor shook his head.
"Aye, but Matarys believed that you could be more and I have never known him to be wrong," and so he made him an offer.
"That is why I want you to come with me to Kingslanding," and his eyes widened at that.
"Your master has trained you well but there is still much left for you to learn. I will finish your training myself, and hopefully I wil...." and yet before he could finish, the door to the solar was swung open, as a servant ran in.
"What the..."
"He has woken up!" and Duncan could not believe his ears as the Prince sprang to his feet.
"Prince Matarys has woken up!"
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