New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤 ✦ “You are right, Ser.” Aelor had no answer, but that did not mean he liked the bloody sport any better.
He told Rhaenyra he was hungry, rose on his own, and headed straight for the feast grounds.
The pointless violence had ruined his appetite for the lists.
He needed fruit to clear the taste from his mouth.
Erryk shrugged and followed to guard him.
The jousts ended.
After them came archery, melees, and finally the duels.
After rounds of blood and bruised flesh, the dueling began.
The rules were simple.
Two men entered in armor with weapons of their choosing and fought without restriction until one surrendered or died.
In plain words, a single combat.
The first two bouts were excellent.
Knights swung swords, axes, and flails, and steel rang hard enough to make the blood race.
Because the armor was good, the men were injured at most.
No one had yet been maimed or killed.
The men on the field were not fools.
They had come for honor and gold.
Once they had shown themselves before half the realm’s noble lords, why fight to the death?
So long as the struggle looked fierce, the nobles would cheer.
Most could not tell a true fight from a performance.
The third duel began soon after.
One fighter was Ser Bart Hammer of Ironoaks in the Vale.
He was tall, rough-featured, and armored in silver-gray plate, with a warhammer in one hand and a shield in the other.
Opposite him stood a brown-skinned young man in light armor, holding a long spear.
He was plainly from Dorne.
It was worth remembering that Aegon the Conqueror had brought six of the Seven Kingdoms under his rule, but Dorne had never truly submitted to the Targaryen dynasty.
For years, Dorne had resisted with fire, raids, and ambush.
Only after years of war had envoys from House Martell reached terms with the Iron Throne.
The great war ended.
Smaller troubles did not.
The Dornish remained fierce, and raiders from the south still plagued the marches often enough to be hated in many parts of the realm.
Seeing the Dornish face below, Rhaenyra’s boredom finally stirred into interest.
“I did not expect a Dornish fighter to join this tourney.” She looked at Criston Cole, who stood beside her.
“Who do you think will win?” Criston smiled.
“They have not fought yet, Princess.
It is too early to know.” “They say Dornishmen are savage fighters, barbarians who eat their meat bloody.
I wonder if it is true.” Rhaenyra watched with curiosity.
The horn sounded.
The duel began.
Bart hid his face behind his helm and advanced with his warhammer, not daring to relax.
He had heard the rumors about Dornishmen.
Cruel.
Vicious.
He could not afford carelessness.
Who knew whether this one would strike to kill?
The Dornish youth, by contrast, looked entirely at ease.
He spun his spear in a lazy flourish and paced back and forth.
“Big man,” he called, “should you not be in a smithy somewhere?
Do not waste that ugly hammer.” As he spoke, he shifted lightly from side to side, pressing on Bart’s temper.
Bart had never been to war.
His nerve was not as steady as a veteran’s, and the insult found its mark.
“Dornish monkey,” he snarled.
“Let us see whether your head is as hard as your mouth.” When the Dornishman moved, Bart lunged forward and swept the hammer toward his waist with brutal force.
The spectators leaned in, hungry for blood.
“Fool.
Too slow.” The Dornishman rolled under the blow.
He planted his feet, stopped his momentum, and thrust the spear into the gap in Bart’s leg armor.
Blood sprayed at once.
“Ah!
Damn Dornishman!” Pain woke Bart’s fury.
He raised the hammer and smashed down again, aiming to crush the youth’s skull.
But the Dornishman was too quick.
He rolled away, pulled the spear free, and drove it into a weak point at Bart’s lower back.
The thrust punched through.
Bart staggered and fell to one knee as blood seeped beneath his armor.
The Dornishman did not press the advantage.
Instead, he circled the wounded knight and looked him over with open mockery.
“This brave knight from the Vale seems unfriendly to Dorne.” He tore the spear back out, drawing a scream.
“You called me a Dornish monkey.
What does that make men from the Vale?” His smile sharpened.
“Hairless mountain goats?” Bart struggled to rise, but the Dornishman kicked him down.
“Cowardly Dornish cur,” Bart spat.
“Face me head-on if you dare.
Stop hopping around like a monkey.” The Dornishman laughed without restraint.
“How clever.
You want another man to fight on your terms and abandon his own strengths.
On a battlefield, do you ask enemies not to dodge, Vale goat?” “Die, you bastard!” Bart had already lost reason.
While the Dornishman spoke, he swung the hammer low, trying to break his ankle.
The Dornishman had expected it.
He hopped over the strike and drove the spear downward through Bart’s hammer hand.
With a wrench of the shaft, Degar severed Bart’s hand at the wrist.
His scream had barely begun when the Dornishman drove a knee into his jaw and choked it off.
Then he tore away Bart’s helm, exposing his vulnerable head.
The Dornishman smiled cruelly and kicked him in the mouth.
Teeth and blood spilled down Bart’s chin.
Only a hopeless whimper came out.
With his head struck and his wounds bleeding, Bart finally collapsed and twitched in the mud.
The Dornishman set the spearpoint against his throat and looked around at the crowd.
“Look at him!
What a brave knight of the Vale.
He would rather die than yield.” As he spoke, his heavy boot planted on Bart’s face and ground back and forth.
The spectators blanched.
This was no longer a duel.
It was a one-sided torment.
Knocking out a man’s teeth so he could not surrender was not victory.
It was degradation.
High on the stand, Viserys’s face turned livid.
He snapped at Lyonel Strong beside him.
“Where did this Dornish savage come from?
He has no honor, no courtesy.
Is he making a show of all of us?” Lyonel dabbed at sweat that was not truly there.
“Your Grace, the Dornishman is called Degar Orlyan.
When he registered for the tourney, he said he greatly respected you and wished to offer a splendid performance.” “This is your splendid performance?” Viserys was furious.
“Dornishmen never know gratitude.
You should have arrested him for theft and thrown him into the black cells until he rotted.” “I am sorry, Your Grace.” Lyonel bowed his head.
“At this point, we can only hope he ends Ser Bart’s life quickly and limits the damage.” “You think I need to be told that?” Viserys scoffed and turned away.
On the field, the Dornish youth was still leaping and shouting.
“I heard the Vale was full of warriors.
Why is this knight so weak?
Did someone take a bribe to let him compete?” ✦ ✦ ✦ Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.