Bab 114: He will fight
"I am innocent, and I know I am not going to get justice here. The judgment of men has been polluted by foul lies and tricks. You leave me no choice but to turn to the gods. I demand a trial by combat!"
Lord Yronwood's words were met with anger and indignation. The crowd shouts all kinds of insults, some as common as "Bastard", "Cunt" or "Oathbreaker", others more creative ones:
"Your fancy clothes and castle can no longer hide your true face, you're nothing but a churl!"
"The fucking white demons form the northern stories are more righteous than you!"
"Even the Seven Hells would reject a treacherous fiend like you!"
"Hang him by the balls!"
The last one caught Doran completely off guard and he couldn't suppress his laughter, luckily his laughter was drowned out by the indignant roar of the crowd.
The judges were equally furious, Lord Dayne's face was so red it looked as if several blood vessels in his face had burst, he punched the handrest of his chair with such force that the wood cracked under his fist.
"You dare involve the gods in your filth?!" The furious Lord spat angrily.
"Now that there is no doubt about your guilt, you turn to the gods?!" Lady Wyl glared at him with anger-shadowed eyes.
"Well, he never seemed like a good loser." Mocked Lord Allyrion, despite the lightness of his words, his eyes reflect the anger and indignation that he truly feels.
"Did he lose his brains?" murmured Lord Manwoody. "The champion of House Martell will be-"
Lord Manwoody is interrupted by Lord Dayne, who stands up abruptly and glares at Lord Edgar.
"Fine! A duel you want? A duel you will get!" Jason Dayne's lips quirk in a dark, bloody smile. "I will tremendously enjoy seeing Dawn slicing you open like the fucking pig you are."
"Even treacherous scum have the right to a trial by combat as long as noble blood flows through their veins." Lord Gargalen nods, supporting the duel.
"Hmph." Lady Wyl snorts but nods. She clearly disagrees, she doesn't believe Lord Yronwood deserves that right, but she also knows that the ancient laws of Westeros are sacred and not even the king could deny a man of noble blood the right to a trial by combat.
Lady Ladybright looks at the princess, waiting for her verdict. Even though the judges technically have equal power during the trial, she is still the Princess of Dorne.
The princess feels Lady Megara's eyes and turns her head slightly, their eyes meet and the princess nods a little.
"Lord Gargalen`s words are correct." Says Lady Megara Ladybright out loud.
"We all agree then." Speaks the princess getting up from her throne. All the eyes turn to her and silence quickly returns to the room, everyone present leaning forward to hear her verdict. "Trials by combat are an ancient tradition dating to before Dorne as we know it was founded, to before the dragons came from their now fallen empire, to a time where the gods were more present in our world. Is an ancient and sacred tradition, legend says he -or she- who denies this right will be damned to the Seven Hells for seven eternities, one in each hell. I will not be that fool."
The princess's eyes scan the crowd.
"Will you? Will you deny the laws created by our gods?"
Several people fidget and look nervously from one to the other, watching their peers' reactions before saying or doing anything. Some brave people speak out loud.
"The princess`s words are fair!"
"Aye, we will not defy the gods!"
"Aye!"
"We are servants of the Seven!"
"Let the gods judge him!"
With the crowd accepting the trial by combat Lord Edgar feels a great weight lifted from him and he steps forward drawing attention to himself.
"Let the one true God and its Seven Aspects decide the fate of House Yronwood." He shouted to be heard by everyone present. "Since it is the future of my house that will be judged, I say the future of my house should be the one who fights!"
More than one person looks at him in bewilderment.
"What?" Prince Doran's words are barely a whisper. "Does he intend for Ormond to fight against-" The prince looks at Lord Yronwood in disbelief.
"Since House Martell accuses us of such vile things, let the future of House Martell fight for them!"
"Is he mad?"
"This is nonsense!"
"What madness is this?!"
"Lord Yronwood!" Prince Arthur looks at him angrily. "What you are proposing is inconceivable! Let your son fight against-"
"Your grandson, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell." Lord Edgar's eyes lock onto the Prince Consort's. "Since your daughter is out of Dorne he is the most well-suited candidate for such an honor."
"You can't possibly accept this!" Lord Dayne looks at the princess.
Dorna Nymeros Martell's eyes are fixed on Lord Edgar, but her gaze is not locked on his; she is lost in her own thoughts. Despite the expressionlessness of her face for prince Arthur it is obvious that his wife is perplexed. Lord Edgar's proposal caught her completely off guard; she is calculating dozens of possibilities, reviewing every word said by the treacherous lord in search of some trick or deception.
Before the princess can make a decision, a young boy steps forward.
"I will fight!" Despite looking towards the judges, Lord Ormond Yronwood's eyes are fixed on Prince Doran. "I will fight for the future of my house, for my mother and my sister! Not my father, for even I can no longer believe in his words. He is not the man I believed him to be but I am not him! I love Dorne and its people! I will fight!"
Several people follow Ormond's line of sight and look at Prince Doran. Every second, more and heads turn towards him.
Doran's olive complexion is pale and his eyes are wide, his pupil is dilated and his hands shake slightly.
Manfrey Martell places a hand on Doran's back, snapping him out of his stupor and back to the present.
Since Ormond Yronwood made his statement, no one said anything, afraid that if they made any noise they would miss the prince's reaction, his reaction to the clear challenge that the Yronwood heir has just made to him.
***
The Princess of Dorne looks at her grandson with clenched fists, she knows she can't intervene. The challenge that Ormond Yronwood has just made to her grandson will be remembered for many generations, and Doran's response will decide how that memory will be.
`A cowardly prince who hides behind his grandmother's skirts or a brave and fair prince who fights for justice and the gods.` Her eyes darken, everything her grandson achieved could be sullied and corrupted, such is the power of being declared as "a coward". Cowardice is frowned and mocked by everyone, nothing is worse than a cowardly heir. She knows more than one lord who made sure their heir had "an accident" after being branded as cowards.
***
Doran closes his eyes for a second, in that second his mind is assailed by memories of his days in Yronwood, by memories of the boy who became one of his greatest regrets.
Opening his eyes he straightens his back and his face becomes impassive as a statue.
"I am Doran Nymeros Martell and I will fight for Dorne, for my house and for my gods until my last breath!"
***
"This is not what we planned!" Tristanne glares at his good mother.
"Calm down, son. Drink and calm your nerves" Arthur hands him a glass of wine, the Morning Sword looks at him with a shadowed face.
The three of them are in the princess's solar, it's past midnight and the trial ended hours ago. It was agreed that the trial by combat would be at dawn the next day, in just a few hours.
"Calm my nerves?" He grunts and picks up the glass, instead of drinking he spears it hard against the wall. The glass shatters into pieces and wine drips from a painting.
"That painting is older than the Seven Kingdoms." The princess looks at him disapprovingly. "And that wine is from a vintage planted by my late father, only one barrel is left."
"A painting and your wine? This is what you care for!? My son could die!" Trystanne takes two steps towards the princess and he looks down on her, literally since he is two heads taller.
She doesn't flinch and looks up at him with stone-hard eyes.
"What do I care for, you ask?" Her words are calm as the serene sea but beneath the waves the currents are fierce and unforgiving. "I care about everything, about every living soul within my realm, their futures are in my hands. Do you know what that is like? Do you know anything about my concerns and responsibilities? About the weight of the Kingdom over my shoulders?"
The princess lowers her voice until her words become a whisper that sweeps through the Morning Sword like a breeze through a forest. Trystanne staggers back like the branches of a tree swaying under the pressure of the wind.
"Don't forget your son is no ordinary boy. He can easily destroy a whole legion by himself if he wants to while his adversary... Ormond Yronwood is not match for a full fledged knight. What you should worry about is not the duel but Edgar Yronwood. That man did not act like a mad man, nor a fool, but like a man with a purpose."
"My love," Prince Arthur draws the princess's attention to him. "Do you think Edgar will try to sabotage the trial by combat?"
"I don't believe it, husband." The princess's golden eyes look at her husband with absolute certainty. "I know it. The question is how."
"We can ask Doran to read his mind!" Trystanne hopefully proposes.
"No, we can't." Arthur shakes his head. "Doran once compares the Mind Arts to skinning a fish, just as the butcher has to have a steady hand and act confidently, the mind reader has to be precise and calm. To discover what Edgar Yronwood has hidden in that head of his Doran would need to dig deep into his mind, something that requires a lot of finesse. Do you really think Doran is in the correct state of mind for that?"
"He saw the Yronwood boy as a friend." The princess sighs. "He needs to concentrate on the duel, we can't distract him. Not right now."
"Then what?"
"Then we act, us alone. House Martell survived millennia before Doran and will survive just as long, if not longer, after Doran." The princess confidently declares.
The two men nod, one more convinced than the other.
***
The sky turned pink and gold as the sun rose over the Summer Sea. Doran Martell, hands resting on the stone railing of his quarters balcony, watched the light spread and the world go from black to pink and then gold and orange as dawn crept over the Shadow City that lies beneath the walls of Sunspear.
In certain light the roofs of some buildings could almost be mistaken for gold because of their shimmering golden sheen.
They say if you look directly at the sun for too long your eyes will burn and the ashes will fall from your sockets. Doran has heard those words countless times in the last twelve years.
`Eleven, not twelve- not yet.` That day is only a few days away, the day one is supposed to celebrate with family and friends, a day that is supposed to be filled with joy and laughter. The prince doubts he will feel much joy this year.
"When a Dornishman dies his body is burned and if he is of Rhoynish origin his ashes are thrown into the sea. They say the waves will carry the ashes to Essos, to the Rhoyne where our Divine Mother will accept him in her embrace. If the Dornishman is not Rhoynish his ashes are thrown into the desert, where he becomes one with Dorne itself." Doran turns to Ser Lothar. "Both options are the most poetic, they have a certain beauty."
"You're not going to die, not today at least. So you shouldn't worry about such traditions." Lothar confidently declares.
Doran says nothing for a moment, turning to face the sea and watching the sunrise.
"My grandmother hopes I win using-" he clenches his fists. "-any trick within my reach." The word 'magic' is not spoken but its meaning is clear to both of them.
"Will you?"
Doran feels the eyes of his knight on his back, Lothar's eyes do not judge him or have expectations, they are calm and patient. It is something Doran always liked about Lothar, his knight was always loyal to him and he accepted him no matter what. Many times Lothar did and said things that go against his oaths and even honor, all for him.
`Is a good man to have by my side, the best sidekick any hero could ask for` At the word hero the prince makes a face, he never liked that word, he never felt comfortable being called one.
"No," Doran finally answers. "I will fight with my sword, I will protect myself with my shield. Nothing more."
Lothar nods approvingly and after a few moments of silence he speaks again.
"My prince, we have to go. The trial by combat will start shortly."
Doran pushed away from the railing, tore his eyes from the dawn, and turned toward the balcony door. Not even the beauty of dawn was enough to ease his gloomy mood; It was cruel that the day would begin with such beauty and end with the blood of an innocent being shed on the desert sands.
***
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
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone