Chapter 15
DAERON TARGARYEN
Matarys was strange. He was the strangest boy he had ever met, and yet there was no doubt in his mind that he possessed the same madness as the rest of their family.
While his cousin's madness offered him greatness, Daeron was plagued with dragon dreams that haunted his nights. He had dreamt of the tourney once, and he had seen only death then, and Daeron had little fondness for death.
Unlike the rest of his family, his cousin did not rubbish his dreams or his pains. He sympathised with him, and assured him that he would do everything in his power to change the destiny he had witnessed.
But Daeron knew the truth. Daeron knew that tragedy was in their fates, that try as he might, Matarys would only ever fail. What was written would come to be, and no matter what he may try, there was no way for him to stop it.
Still, he tried. But Daeron had long given up on trying, and so even as the knights ran into one another at the tourney grounds, Daeron was in the pavilions outside, drowning himself in wine.
He had hoped to avoid this great tragedy altogether, and yet Matarys had dragged him here against his will. Thankfully, he had been spared the humiliation of participating in the tourney, and he had little interest in watching men run into one another.
He was not Aerion, and speaking of his brother, Daeron had not come here to drink. Truly. The truth was that he had been sent here by his cousin of all people, who had asked him to keep an eye on something he had long forgotten about.
He tried to remember Matarys' words, but none came to mind, as he downed another cup of wine.
"More," he said as he put the cup down, and the markets were thinned out as most of the people were at the tourney grounds.
"Are you celebrating something, my Prince?" the woman asked as she poured him another glass, and she was only happy to take his coin.
"Always," he answered as he raised the glass and looked out of the tent, as a loud commotion rocked the entire Meadows. He could feel the thrum of the people himself, as the woman smiled.
"It seems like the day is done. The place will fill up soon," and it would be good for her, but Daeron did not care. He looked around and tried to remember Matarys's words, but nothing came to mind.
"Aerion...," he whispered, and it had something to do with Aerion.
"Puppets...," and his words slurred as he drowned his wine, and he gave up trying.
"Well, he will manage on his own...," and with slurred words, his head hit the counter, as he slumbered away, and it was a slumber like many, as he found himself awake in a great field.
His breath turned heavy, as he felt a great weight on his chest, and he looked around, but saw nothing.
"Matarys," he called out as he turned round and round yet saw no one.
"Aerion! EGG!" he shouted yet no one answered, and suddenly he stumbled and fell to the ground, and as his face hit the ground, he found it wet.
"GUGHH!" he pushed himself up, and saw the field painted red as he gasped in surprise.
"No," he stared at his hands, and saw them drenched in red as well, as a slight growl made him look up, and now he found himself staring at dragons lying dead on a field.
Mighty dragons, whose blood soaked the skies and the ground, and then he felt it as well. The specter of death came for him as he turned around, and in the next second, a storm of fire filled the air, and a loud scream tore through his ears.
.
.
.
"STOPPPPPP!"
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DUNCAN
The first day of jousting had been grand. Duncan had witnessed many a tournies before, and yet this would be his first time riding in one. He had put much on the line to take part in it.
He had sold his horse, his master's armor. He had even sold his own conscience, yet the riding today had only filled him with doubt. The lords and knights jousting today had trained under the finest master of arms for years. Compared to them, he was nothing.
"That was some riding," his squire added from the side, as they walked back from the arena, and he seemed rather excited by the display.
"Aye, it was," Dunk answered mindlessly.
"I always knew Mata...," and he stopped before he could give him a clout in the ear for his lack of manners.
"...knew Prince Matarys was a good rider, but it seems like he has improved much in the last few years," and his Master had often said that a hedge knight was the truest of knights.
He did not doubt his words, but Duncan believed that there was no finer knight here than the young Prince. His riding had been a thing of beauty, and even Duncan, who had little experience, could see the beauty of it all.
"At this rate, he will take the tournament," the young boy added softly, and when he had first come here, Duncan had believed that he would win the damned thing, and yet now, after witnessing the young Prince's talents, he knew that his chances of winning were negligible.
"We should go and congratulate him," Egg proposed, and Duncan shrank back.
"For what?" and the boy tilted his head.
"For winning the joust. He should still be in his pavilion," and suddenly a dark thought hit him, as Duncan was reminded that the boy was not just his squire truly.
The Prince had borrowed him a few times for his horses and his armor, and which boy would ever wish to squire for him in comparison to a Prince. He was a no-name hedge knight while Matarys was a Prince of the realm.
Egg would have a far better future if he were to squire for the Prince, and he had already caught his eye.
Still, he did not have the heart to face the young Prince right now.
"You should go," he offered, and when they had first met, he had been doubtful of the Prince's intentions. Fleabottom had made him cautious of nobles and their intentions, and yet in the days since he had met him, the young Prince had only ever shown him kindness.
"You should come with. Afterall, you are his friend," and he really doubted that, as he waved him away.
"I will be fine," he lied, as doubts ate away at him.
"And come back straight away if he is not there," he added, for he would not have another noble take advantage of the boy. Still, after some hesitation, the boy nodded.
"I will be back before nightfall," and today was the day for lords and knights for renown.
Tomorrow, it would be the day for him to join the lists. Tomorrow, Duncan would be riding against men like the Prince, and he wondered if he even stood a chance against the likes of him.
He did not know when his steps halted, and for how long he stood there on his spot.
He moved only when a voice from behind broke him out of his trance.
"AHHH! If it isn't my dear friend," and before he could turn around, he had an arm swung over his shoulder and looked to the side as Ser Lyonel Baratheon appeared beside him.
He was out of his armor, and one of his arms was in a sling.
"I did not think that you would come to console me," he said, and he had not come here for that, yet he said nothing.
"Come, and let us drown our sorrows in wine and women," and with those words, he was dragged into the pavilion. Duncan was a poor knight. He would never turn down fine food, and Lord Baratheon was a great lord who had just called him a friend.
Duncan sat beside the man, who ignored all of the food infront of him and instead chose to drown himself in wine and ale, and it was after some time, as the dances began, that the man finally turned towards him once more.
"I did not think you would come for me," spoke Lord Lyonel, and he had not. But he knew better and kept his mouth shut.
"I thought you would go to your new friend and enjoy his feast," and he frowned, for he did not know about any feast.
"What feast?" he asked, and the man's eyes were bloodshot, and he had begun to sway.
"Lord Ashford has arranged a special feast for the young Prince in celebration of his victory," and there was some frustration in those words.
"That fucking boot licker," Lyonel cursed as he drowned the goblet and put it on the table.
"More!" he roared, and a servant poured more wine into his cups.
"You are not drinking," he noticed, as those blue eyes narrowed and Duncan hesitated before he answered.
"I am keeping myself steady for the lists tomorrow," and suddenly those eyes lit up.
"Ahh, I had forgotten that you would be riding tomorrow," and then he slapped his shoulder.
"Then promise me now. You shall ride against that young bastard and unhorse him for me," and Duncan gulped nervously.
"My lor..."
"You will won't you," and he could not defy a lord.
"You are one of the finest knights I have ever seen," Duncan began slowly, to not cause any offence.
"Yet you were unable to unhorse him. What chance do I stand?" he asked in a small voice, as those blue eyes narrowed.
"True," he said as he clicked his back.
"Still, you are Tall and sturdy. Use those gifts to smack that smug little bastard a few times for me," he said, and sipped his wine again.
"Plus, the idiot is too chivalrous to draw a ransom from a poor hedge knight like you," he said, and he had not thought like that, and before he could say anything, he heard a commotion outside the Hall, and saw people running and screaming.
"What the hell is going on?" asked Ser Lyonel as a few of his guards walked out, and one of them rushed back in after a few seconds.
"It's the Prince, my lord. He has found some traitors here," and the music stopped, and Duncan was on his feet.
"Traitors," he whispered, and suddenly he remembered how he had sent Egg to him, and so he jumped out of his seat and rushed out of the pavilion even as he heard Lyonel shout behind him.
"Wait...," and Duncan could hear screams now, and feared for Egg's life, yet he became nervous as he saw that the crowd had gathered at a very familiar tent, and as he pushed through the crowd.
"Let me through. Let me through," he shouted, and he was at the front when he was shoved, and he fell to the ground, as a strange whisper reached his ears.
"Take their heads...."
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