Chapter 35
SER DUNCAN THE TALL
Duncan had fought in a few wars, but only as a squire. He was tasked with sharpening the blade and polishing his master's armor, but those days were gone. Ser Arlan was dead, and now Duncan found himself fighting in a war by himself.
He had a squire of his own, but Aegon was a Prince and his life was too valuable to waste in a war such as this. The King himself had forbidden him from battle, and even Duncan did not have the heart to take the little lad into battle.
His life had changed much ever since his master's passing. Until a few years ago, Ser Arlan was all the family he had ever known. He was his squire and had thought that the life of a hedge knight was all that he could amount to.
But now, he was Ser Duncan The Tall, master and servant to two Princes. He sat in pavilions and wore the finest armor. His meat was soft, and all the ale he ever drank was sweet as honey.
He was no hedge knight. Not anymore, and while his master had once told him that a hedge knight was the truest knight, now Duncan knew better. For he had seen a thousand knights and then some until now, and the truest of them all was the Prince who sat in front of him smiling wildly at the letter from his wife.
"It's a boy," and Duncan could not help but smile at the news.
"Congratulations my Prince," he offered, and Duncan had no wife of his own so he did not quite yet know what it meant to have a child on his own, but he had never seen the Prince smile so easily as he was in that moment.
"Thank you," spoke the young Prince, as he met his gaze.
"She says that he has my uncle's hair," and his tone was solemn as he spoke of the man, and it was strange that they had come together through the death of his uncle.
The shadow of Maekar Targaryen's death still hung over the realm, even though it was not his death which the realm truly remembered but what it represented.
Maekar Targaryen was a Prince of blood. He was royalty, and yet Prince Matarys had chosen to stand against his own kin for the life of a simple commoner. He had chosen to uphold the King's laws even if it meant going against his own kin.
The example he had set had then inspired hundreds, and now all the knights in the realm all looked towards him as an example. Still, many within the realm cursed him as well for the choice that he had made.
They felt threatened for they feared for the first time that someone might stand up against them for their injustice. So, they blamed him for the plague and the drought and all the suffering in the realm.
They blamed him for everything, even as he fought a war to protect them against a monster who would enslave them all.
"I had hoped to be back home for this day," and he knew that well, for he had seen how the Prince had fought the war with reckless abandon just in the hope of making it back in time for the birth of his child.
"You could go back now," Duncan suggested, and the war was now all but over. The Greyjoy navy had been decimated, and Pyke was surrounded by ships and men on both sea and land.
The castle had been under siege for over forty days, as the men prepared for the eventual offensive, which was not that distant.
"The time has passed now," and the Prince poured him more wine, as they sat in his pavilion as he finished his plans for the final attack.
"Now I must end this reaping and reaving once and for all," and Duncan had seen the savagery of the Ironborn many a times when he was travelling with Ser Arlan.
The Ironborn were thieves and pirates, whose way of life was based on stealing and taking all they could by force. But not in decades before had they ever committed such treason, and try to break away from the Seven Kingdoms.
Dagon Greyjoy's attacks on the Sunset shore had been a mockery of the King's laws and the Crown's power. He had hoped to take advantage of the Spring Sickness's devastation to satisfy his own greed and ambition, and though the lords were spared his wrath and cruelty.
The smallfolk were not so lucky. Thousands were killed, and thousands more were taken in as thralls and salt wives in accordance with the Old Ways of the Iron Islands, while the lords hid behind their castles in fear of the plague.
And once more, Prince Matarys had raised his banners against this injustice and raised an army to push back against the man who had declared himself Lord Reaper.
"So have you given any thought to my offer?" and Duncan frowned.
"What offer, my Prince?" he asked, and the young Prince raised a brow.
"I know that initially you were only meant to stay at new Haven for half a year only," and Duncan nodded, but then the Spring Sickness had come and he could not travel on the road freely without risking Prince Aegon's life.
"But you have been with us for a year and a half. I would be delighted to have a man such as you in my service," and it was a generous offer, one that any knight would have given a hand or a leg for.
But he had long decided on what kind of a Knight he wished to be. The Prince was kind, and treated him like a brother and Duncan knew that he would have a good life in his service.
"I am honored, my Prince. Truly," and years ago he would have stumbled over such words, but the lessons with the Maester had born fruit and now he found himself less of a lunk than he was before.
He could read and write now, and the master of arms had trained him well in the ways of the sword and lance and all the other weapons a knight must know to use.
"But I have already decided on the kind of knight I wish to be," and the young Prince met his gaze, and any other lord would have taken offence at such a rejection but he simply smiled.
"I thought as much," and with that the Prince downed his cup, as the captain of the Raven's Teeth walked into the tent. He wore a different uniform than the rest, and all of the Raven's Teeth wore red robes over their armor.
They were strange men, and their loyalty to their master, Lord Brynden Rivers was truly a thing of legend. Each of them wielded a long bow, and Duncan had not yet seen a finer marksmen than the men in the red robes.
"The preparations are complete," the man spoke after offering the Prince a bow, and Prince Matarys rose from his chair.
"Good," the Prince began and picked up his helmet, and his Valyrian Steel blade.
The blade was one of House Targaryen's ancestral swords along with Blackfyre which was lost to the traitors during the rebellion. Dark Sister was Visenya's blade, and had been gifted to Lord Brynden Rivers who had then gifted it to the young Prince Matarys along with a hundred of his loyal men.
"Let us bring this war to an end," and Duncan rose as well, and followed after the Prince as he walked out of his tent and there Duncan saw a gathering of eight thousand men, all armed and ready to bring down the castle of Pyke.
Pyke was a castle unlike any other, and it was simply three towers built upon three solitary islands, connected by bridges of all kinds. He had heard that once they were a whole island, but the seas had eaten away the land over the years sparing only the three towers.
The Prince rode to the front, while Duncan followed after him as his loyal servant.
"The vanguard will be hit the hardest. You should stay in the back my Prince," the captain of the Raven's Teeth suggested, and the Prince smiled.
"I am their commander," the Prince answered as he put on his helmets.
"And a commander must lead from the front," and the captain of the Raven's Teeth said no more.
"Lord Brynden knew that you would insist on this," and with that some dozen or so men stepped forward from behind them.
"You may lead the vanguard, but please take these men with you," and they wore red capes, and their helmets were shaped in the likeness of a raven's face.
"They will protect you with their lives," and Duncan stepped forward.
"So will I," he promised, and the Prince smiled as he nodded.
"We ride as soon as the walls fall," he ordered, and his smile vanished as he addressed the twenty men that were set to lead the vanguard, and it was nearly impossible to reach the gates.
So, they planned on breaking through one of the walls. Scorpions, and catapults had been loaded on the ships that now surrounded the castle from all sides, and as one fiery arrow tore through the skies, the bombardment started at once.
BOOOM! BOOOOM! BOOOOM!
Scorpion bolts tore through the small bankments on the walls, while others hit the walls and cracked them up. But Duncan saw it, saw a large boulder fly into the sky and hit the wall hard.
THUNK!
BOOOOOM!
Cracks spread fast, and the Prince was quick to command the engines forward.
"ATTACK!" and it took only a few more minutes for the wall to fall, as the Prince pulled on the reins and led the attack on Pyke.
"FORWARD!" and Duncan followed after him, as their group of twenty rode hard and fast through the smoke to clear a path for their armies. They were expecting resistance and opposition, yet even as Duncan's horse pushed in through the break in the wall, he saw no man standing in their way.
They were expecting an army, and yet they saw no man, and the Prince was forced to halt his horse, as they all took in the surprise.
"What is this?" Duncan asked, hoping for an answer yet none came.
"I do not know," and the Prince seemed as surprised as him, as their armies walked through the hole in the wall.
"We move forward," the Prince ordered, and so they rode towards the keep, and once more they saw no man in their way, but as soon as they walked in through the castle gates, a gut-turning stench hit their noses.
"What the...." and he had smelled this many a times. This was the smell of the dead. This was the smell of corpses, and blood and all that came with death.
"My Prince," he began, and he was aware if it as well, and for some reason their horses refused to ride into the castle, and even as Duncan kicked thunder twice, the warhorse refused to budge.
The same was true for all horses, as the captain of the Ravens' teeth stepped forward.
"There is something wrong with this castle," and he saw the Prince exchange glances with the man, before he jumped off of his horse.
"Leave the horses. We will move ahead on foot," and the castle was dark and damp. It was quiet, and their steps echoed in the Halls as they headed for the Great Hall.
Its massive doors were decorated with the painting of a kraken, and suddenly a sharp sound reached his ears. Duncan looked down and saw blood flowing on the ground. He tracked it back and saw it coming from the room.
"Your grace," he called out.
"I know," the Prince agreed, and he gave the men a nod as they came and pushed open the massive doors, and second, they budged the smell hit his nose as Duncan nearly emptied out his stomach.
"Seven Hells," he heard a few murmurs, and the sight in front of him was from hell itself, for the entire Hall was filled with severed heads that were piled on the sides, leaving behind a simple path to the throne in front of them.
The stone of it was black, unlike any other stone he had ever seen. No one knew the origins of this chair, and it was shaped like a kraken's arms, and on that chair sat the very man who had begun this war.
He was old now, and his hair was grey and his eyes blue, just like his lips. He smiled as he looked at them, showing his yellowish crooked teeth.
"Dagon Greyjoy," the Prince whispered sharply as the man smiled.
"I have been waiting for you, my Prince...."
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