Chapitre 115: The Duel
Just outside Shadow City's walls, on a beach halfway between Progress Town and Sunspear stood a makeshift arena with bleachers surrounding it on three sides and the sea on the other. Facing the sea, between the two steps set aside for the smallfolk, are the seats of the seven judges, and behind them that of the nobles of Dorne.
"What a beautiful morning, right?" Lord Allyrion smiled jovially. "The gods smile on us. Have a glass of wine, my lords. These kind servants have brought the best Dornish red I tasted in years!"
"No, thanks." Trystanne tries to smile apologetically but what comes out is a half grin. His father, Lord Dayne, doesn't even bother with false courtesies. Frowning glares at Lord Cedric Allyrion.
"I don't have time for this festival of madness, Allyrion." He growled through his teeth. "Trystanne come with me."
Lord Dayne strides away from Lord Allyrion and the other nobles, Trystanne says a quick goodbye to Lord Cedric and follows his father.
"How rude." Lord Cedric murmurs, taking a sip from one of the glasses that he was going to offer to the two men who are moving away up the beach.
"Don't take this personally, Lord Cedric." Lord Gargalen took the other glass from his hand. "Their son, and grandson respectively will be fighting for his life shortly. I wouldn't feel like drinking wine under those circumstances either, and I don't think you would either. What if your Delonne was in the position of prince Doran?"
Lord Cedric winces at the thought of his daughter and heir being caught in such a predicament.
"Well at least our young prince was lucky enough to have his opponent changed." Lord Cedric looks over at Edgar Yronwood, who is helping his daughter put on her leather armor.
"I don't know whether to call it luck." Lord Gargalen's eyes narrow. "Lord Ormond having fallen down the stairs and broken his arm seems too ... strange." Lord Gargalen bites his tongue to keep from saying anything else and his eyes turn to the Princess of Dorne.
The princess is talking quietly with her husband, Prince Doran is just a few steps away; his knight is helping him with his leather breastplate.
Both Doran Martell and Nysterica Yronwood are clad in leather armor, which gives them much more mobility but also makes them more vulnerable to the blades of their adversary.
"It doesn't matter. Luck or not." Lord Cedric's words are stony. "House Yronwood`s fate has been decided, this `festival of madness' -as Lord Dayne kindly called it- is for the sake of the old fashioned ways. No one doubts the guiltiness of Edgar and his house. By the time the sun sets the ink will be dry."
"The ink will be dry." Lord Gargalen nods.
***
Trystanne follows his father up the beach, away from the makeshift arena and the hundreds of onlookers. The sea breeze ruffles his freshly cut hair and brings a faint salty taste to his lips.
The Morning Sword looks out over the town in the distance, the wooden walls surrounding Progress Town blocking his view of the stone buildings behind it. Doran wanted the walls to be made of stone but his mother convinced him otherwise, telling him that it would only be a waste of coins. The town is growing by leaps and bounds each year, its edges expanding with each turn of the moon. Building stone walls is expensive and time consuming, not to mention permanent. Destroying part of the wooden wall to expand the town only takes a few days and the cost is relatively low, doing the same with a stone wall... Obella Martell taught her son to plan with the far future in mind.
("Towns and cities are like children, when they reach a certain age they grow as fast as lightning, and after a while their growth becomes slow like the steps of an old man. Build the stone walls when your town reaches that age, which will not be for a few decades at least" she said)
While the view of Progress Town is obstructed, the view of the shipyard is crystal clear. Dozens of large buildings containing lots of workshops, dry docks, shipbuilders' offices, material warehouses,... All these buildings stand tall and proud on the beach.
"Trystane." Distracted, the Morning Sword almost collided with his father when he stopped abruptly. The old man turned to his son and looked at him with those hard, strict eyes that when he was a child terrified him and made him want to run away and hide. Not anymore, the intimidating eyes of his father no longer scare him, now he can look into his eyes without fear.
"Father." His tone of voice is dry and somewhat cutting, he doesn't have the patience to feign courtesies, not with the man in front of him. Today he doesn't have patience for much and his father... Jason Dayne always rubbed him the wrong way.
Lord Dayne narrows his eyes at him and glances behind Trystanne for a moment with an odd glint in his eye before he sighs and blinks twice.
Trystanne has seen him do that countless times, he knows there's no one behind him but he still feels like turning his head and confirming it. He suppresses that urge and directs an annoyed look at his father.
"My son will fight soon, if it's nothing important I will go."
"... you always reminded me of him." Finally Jason Dayne says in the softest tone of voice Trystanne has ever heard from his father.
The Morning Sword raises an eyebrow expecting him to continue.
`Who?`
Lord Dayne's eyes darted to Dawn's hilt sticking out behind Trystanne's left shoulder, the greatsword too large to be strapped to his waist. At his waist Trystanne holds the bastard sword that he wields in most battles, Dawn is destined only for true challenges, opponents who have proven their worth in the eyes of the Morning Sword.
"I wanted that sword so bad." Lord Dayne speaks. "When I was a boy that is all I wanted. I would wake up before the sun and train until my body was numb and I couldn't even move my fingers anymore. Day after day for years I trained with my eyes on that sword, and just as Dawn was within my reach she was taken from my hands. By my brother, my older and idle brother. Trystanne Dayne, the perfect heir, the perfect knight, the perfect son." Lord Dayne lets out a dark, self-deprecating laugh.
His son looks at him with surprise, in his thirty-two years of life his father never spoke of his deceased older brother, of the man in whose honor he was named.
`Not honor, I don't think so.`
"Everything I did he did better and with a fraction of the effort. Competing with him was like swimming against the current, futile and stupid yet I never gave up. You know the worst of this?"
Trystanne doesn't answer, he doesn't think his father expects an answer.
"He never competed against me, I never existed in his eyes as anything more than his little brother. All this competition was one sided, for Trystanne I was never a rival. I wasn't good enough to be considered one, not in his eyes nor our fathers. And for that I hated him, I hated my brother like I had never hated anyone before. I became a resentful and bitter man, I admit that."
The old man's eyes shine with remorse so deep that Trystanne steps back at its sight.
"He knew of my hatred, I told him after I found him in bed with a lass I fancied. I punched him in the face and he just looked at me with his eyes wide open, surprised by my outburst. Enraged, I yelled at him how much I hated him, I told him nothing would make me happier than to see him dead. Ashamed of my outburst, I left Starfall, with the idea of never coming back, of never seeing the face of the man who took everything from me without even trying or wanting it. My days alone as a wandering knight were short as the war began. The first Blackfyre Rebellion was swift and brutal, I joined the war in search of glory and fame, dreaming of killing Daemon Blackfyre and finally surpassing the brother I hated so much."
`My uncle died in that war, do not tell me father-` Trystanne gasps and looks at his father waiting for him to confirm or deny the confession that hangs in the air.
"I did not kill him, but I may as well have done. The Battle of the Redgrass Field was brutal, I don't remember much about that day but I remember seeing my brother again after almost two years, I remember seeing him cut through the Blackfyre supporters with Dawn in his hands, no rebel could stand up to him, Bittersteel and Daemon were among the few swordsmen capable of matching him in combat and neither was close." Lord Dayne clenches his fists and turns to face the sea.
"I was fighting against a knight, I stuck my sword between his ribs and got ready to face the next enemy when I heard my brother's scream. He shouted my name, I turned and the first thing I saw was the sun's rays reflecting on Dawn , the sword was stuck in the chest of a rebel, the second thing I saw was my brother running towards me. Everything happened so fast I didn't even realize what was happening, one moment Trystanne was running towards me and the next he pushed me to the ground. I remember being furious, I remember cursing him and opening my mouth to scream at him but then I saw him... Trystanne was standing just two steps from where I was lying on the ground, going through his belly was a javelin. Our eyes met and my brother fell to the ground, by the time I got to his side it was too late."
Jason Dayne fell silent and looked into nothingness.
"You didn't kill him, he chose to save your life." Trystanne breaks the silence and looks sympathetically at his father, it is the first time in his life he sympathizes with the old man and the realization of this leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as if he just drank lemon juice.
"He knew I hated him, I was never kind nor friendly with him so why? Why throw away his life for me?" Lord Dayne lets out an almost bestial snarl, filled with rage, regret, and uncertainty.
"You were a horrible father to me because I remind you of him, why even name me after the man you hate?!" Trystanne ignores his father's questions and gets right to the point. The story was... interesting, but he has other things in mind.
"I didn't, your mother named you and your siblings." The old man admits.
Trystanne frowns and glares at him, now pissed.
"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
"Because I wanted you to know why I behaved as I did when you were a child. For decades I thought the gods cursed me for hating my brother, but then Asha birthed you and Edric. Joy and pride filled me when I saw you both, but then she told me your name."
"And you hated me just because of my fucking name?!"
"No, I never hated you."
"Hard to believe." Trystanne says in a snarky tone.
"I no longer hate my brother, I don't know how I feel about him. I've thought about it a lot and I still don't have the answer to that, but I can assure you I don't hate you. Every time I look at you I feel remorse, the regrets of decades wash over me like a giant wave. I feel shame at my youthful stupidity and anger at what could have been. Watching you grow up was like reliving my childhood once again, with each passing year you resembled my brother more and more in both appearance and attitude and that devoured me inside. I don't expect your forgiveness, nothing can excuse my attitude and it's not that it has changed. I keep seeing him every time I look at you and I don't think that's going to change."
"Then why?" Trystanne's tone is low and full of anger. "Why tell me all this and admit that nothing will change? That I will continue to be the shadow of a dead man in your eyes."
"Doran, your children- they don't know nor trust me. I spoke with him yesterday and I saw the mistrust in his eyes. For him I am another possible enemy, no family. This morning I saw Olyvvar and he did not even hide that I am a stranger in his eyes. I don't think I'll be able to change how they see me, being a loving and doting grandfather like Arthur is not something I can do. I'm not that kind of man but I love my grandchildren, all of them. I don't want Doran to die, I want to give him the best tools for success."
Trystanne follows his father's line of vision and realizes his intentions.
"The law-"
"I know the law, son, and I know there is an exception. With the approval of both the Lord of Starfall and the Morning Sword it is possible. It is an exception that has only been used a couple of times, the last one before the dragons invaded Westeros but still legal in both the eyes of men and gods."
What his father is proposing is that he lend Dawn to Doran for the trial, something inconceivable since only the Morning Sword is allowed to wield the legendary sword. For someone else to wield it is sacrilege, a crime punishable by amputation of the sword hand; that law is as old as House Dayne and respected throughout the continent. Trystanne is tremendously moved by his father's words.
"Doran wont accept it, he is too stubborn and wants this fight to be just." The Morning Sword softens his voice. "But thank you, you don't know how much it means that you proposed that."
Trystanne will not forgive his father for his past actions, he is sure their relationship will not change even with this confession. The ink is dry, decades of neglect will not disappear but for the first time in his life the Morning Sword sees his father in a brighter light, not a shiny one but a less dark one.
They will never get along, not the way he does with his good father -Arthur is much more of a father to him than Jason Dayne- but maybe they can work together.
***
The two champions walked to the center of the arena, the audience cheering for Prince Doran and booing Lady Nysterica, who kept her expression as controlled as she could but the nervousness in her eyes was clear to the young prince.
Doran wanted to look away, he didn't want to look at that girl's face -a girl barely fourteen years old, someone who had just begun to live- he didn't want to look at the bright caramel eyes whose light he will soon extinguish with his own hands. The prince ignored his wishes, he ignored the icy ball that settled in his stomach and the invisible hand that squeezed his neck so much that it was hard for him to breathe. He ignored all that and looked at Nysterica Yronwood's eyes, not taking his eyes off her.
Perhaps he wanted to imprint on his memory the face of the girl who had the misfortune to be born into a doomed family, or perhaps he wanted to show her some kind of respect proper among warriors. Taking your eyes off your opponent before the fight is a slight, and Doran doesn't want to offend Lady Nysterica, enough damage was already done to her.
The two champions knelt in the center of the arena, with Septon Quentyn in the middle with the statuette of the Seven in his hands. With a loud, solemn and even melodic voice, the septon begged the gods to look down and serve as witnesses to find the truth in this trial. He prayed to the Father Above for justice and to the Almighty Warrior so that he sharpens the blade of the righteous and dulls the blade of the guilty.
His voice rumbled in the void and the echo was heard in the distance. As the last echo faded, the septon stepped back and handed the statuette to one of his attendants.
"Fight with honor and fairness for the gods are watching." He told the champions in a solemn tone.
They both nodded their heads.
Septon Quentyn walked away at a slow pace, as he passed Doran he stopped for a moment and whispered something to him.
"You were always a troublemaker, but a faithful and righteous one." He gives Doran's right hand a quick squeeze and keeps walking.
The prince is touched and suppresses the instinct to turn to the Septon. Doran sighs and closes his eyes.
`Gods above, old and new, give me strength. I need it, now more than ever. Give me the strength to strike an innocent, I know how vile my request is and I will accept any punishment for it but please help me. Not for me, nor my parents and grandparents -for we all are guilty of many sins- for Elia, Mors, Olyvvar and Oberyn, they are innocent and their futures too will be decided today.`
The prince opens his eyes and unbuckles his sword belt, grabbing the hilt in one hand and the scabbard in the other.
Doran looks at his grandmother and the judges, waiting for the signal.
"Let the fight begin!" The voice of the Princess of Dorne echoes across the beach.
The prince draws his sword and throws the scabbard towards the sea, vanishing into the shallow waters. With sword in hand he looks at Lady Nysterica, her eyes observing him like a hawk, her own weapon ready in her hands.
***
Prince Arthur has heard his good son -the best swordsman in Westeros, of not the Known World- praise the talent of Doran in the art of the sword. Doran seemed to have inherited Trystanne`s talent, at least that's what Trystanne and many others regularly say, but Arthur had never seen him fight.
For many years his own demons prevented him from going down to the training grounds, and even after healing his spirit he continued to avoid that part of Sunspear. Today he will see with his own eyes if Doran is as talented as many claim, and Arthur prays to the gods that he is.
"The prince is at a disadvantage, the spear of Lady Nysterica has more range than the prince's sword." Lord Allyrion comments from his seat, just a few steps from where Arthur is standing next to his wife, with Trystanne next to him.
Lady Nysterica is armed with a spear, it was made of dark wood, it measured almost two meters, its shaft was smooth, thick and heavy. The last half meter was all steel with a fine blade-like point that tapered to form a razor-sharp stinger. The edges seemed sharp enough to shave with. Attached to her waist was a short sword and a dagger.
Meanwhile, the prince was only armed with a bastard sword, a fine sword of silver steel that shines like the moonlight. The hilt has a silver sun-shaped pommel and is wrapped in red-dyed leather. Silver and red, steel and blood; there is a certain poetic beauty in the colors of the prince's sword.
Arthur looks towards Trystanne expecting him to respond in defense of his son but the eyes of the Morning Sword are fixed on Doran, everything else is ignored.
The prince consort turns his own eyes to the arena when he hears his wife giving the signal.
At first neither combatant made a move, they were looking at each other waiting for the adversary to make the first move. Doran's stance was firm and confident, his dark eyes looking at his adversary.
Lady Nysterica on the other hand was more tense and nervous, her eyes flicking from the sword to Doran's face nervously, losing the contest of patience as she tightened her grip on her spear and made the first move.
Her spear shoots out as a sting, aiming for Doran's chest, despite Nysterica's nervousness her movement is swift and deadly. Doran jumps to the side and the spear passes his left side without even touching him.
The crowd holds their breath and cheers as Doran dodges the attack. Arthur lets out a sigh of relief and looks up at his wife for a moment, he sees how she is gripping the chair arms with such force that her knuckles are white.
His attention quickly returns to the arena and he watches as his grandson counters with a powerful swing. His blade was a blur as it swept up toward Nysterica Yronwood, it sliced empty air, barely missing her leather armor as she sidestepped. Doran shifted his weight and swung his sword, blow after blow, chasing his opponent across the arena. He had Lady Nysterica on the defensive, she blocked blow after blow, sometimes getting her spear up at just the last instant; just a moment before the prince's sword could touch her.
"He is going to win. Just look! She is on the defensive-" someone in the crowd yells and it seems he is right.
Doran's barrage of blows drove Nysterica back, step by step, until her feet were brushed by the waves. The two moved far enough away for the seawater to brush against their feet.
The prince's sword fell in a horizontal strike and Nysterica blocked it with the shaft of her spear. Doran locked his blade against her spear and pressed until she stepped back, the girl tripped on the sand and fell on her ass with a splash of water.
Lady Nysterica loosens her grip on her spear as she falls and Doran quickly catches it with one hand as it floats in the air. He throws it a few meters away and looks at his fallen opponent.
"It's over!" Lord Dayne yells, on the edge of his seat with a clear hint of relief in his tone.
They all watch as Doran raises his sword in a decisive blow, aiming for the girl's neck, ready to slice her head clean.
Arthur feels a chill run down his back and opens his mouth, his wife is ahead of him-
***
Doran breathes deeply, the sea water reaches his ankles and he feels how his leather boots are slowly giving way to the water, at any moment the water will penetrate them and wet his socks. But the prince doesn't care about the notion of having wet feet, that's the furthest thing on his mind right now.
His attention is on the girl before him, Lady Nysterica is sitting with one hand underwater and the other floating in the air still clutching an invisible spear. She is breathing hard and looks up at him with trembling eyes.
`Is over, I will make it quick, that is all I can do for you now. I am sorry, I really am.`
The prince raises his sword, tightens his grip on the hilt and prepares for the final blow. He grits his teeth and hardens his heart.
Doran brings his sword down with all the strength he can muster.
"DORAN!!!"
***
NOTE: Check out my new story. Is another GoT story but very different from anything I have written thus far.
The Revolution of Westeros: https://www.webnovel.com/book/the-revolution-of-westeros_25576593506569105
Also there are advanced chapter in my p@ tre on if you are interested. (Advanced chapter of Prince of Desert)
p a t r e o n. com /EdenofKovir
New Story. Isekaid in Highschool DxD with a system:
https://www.webnovel.com/book/25714170906928005 (Reincarnated with Fairy Tail System (DxD)
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone