Chapter Two: A Sellsword's Coin

It had been several days since Duncan Westford, a young man of ten and five, left his Uncle Mors at their cottage to die at the hands of the Night's Watch. It still felt surreal to him, roaming all alone in the beaten dirt roads and lone farmsteads that made up the Riverlands' more desolate regions. He had no real goal in mind. No destination or dream to pursue in the seven kingdoms, nor even the Free Cities beyond! He was just a lost lamb, a prime target for any with their own dreams and goals in mind. Whether it be to use a fresh sword to the cause, or simply a fresh purse to obtain for a night of drinking, feasting, and whoring. It truly depends on the person at hand in every case.

Though… Duncan had no purse to offer. He never had a need of coin before! Him and his Uncle had always fended for themselves with what Westeros' nature offered to them. Well, the old man did use all of the coins he had taken before taking charge of the young man. Most of it went into materials for Duncan's armor, and once upon a time a family of pigs raised to add fresh pork alongside their meals of venison. Wolves took care of that rather quickly however, so rabbits and other types of venison remained as their main source of meat.

But that was in the past. Duncan had to look to the future now, an uncertain future where he had no dreams or goals in mind other than survive. Survive and try to live a life that would make his Uncle proud of him. What would make his Uncle proud…? Would it be making the house of Westford a name that all knew and respected? Would it be becoming part of the famous King's Guard that were sources of stories that all of Westeros would know? Would it be just marrying a woman he loved and settling down someplace to live a life of peace?

Does Duncan even need to worry about doing such a thing with his Uncle now dead?! It would give me peace of mind in such a turbulent time, a time where a dreamless boy must make his own destiny in the bloody seven kingdoms of Westeros. Which brings his state of mind back to the present…

Duncan Westford grunted as he pulled himself up and over the hill's ledge, landing on the other side in a puff of dust and dirt as the sun shone high in the noon sky. He had set a goal in mind when he had first left, something simple and easy for him to do. Get to the Kingsroad. That was something very easy and simple to obtain, and it wouldn't look out of the ordinary for a lone man, rather young, to simply walk along. If what his Uncle said about the Kingsroad to be true, then it should be relatively safe to travel along. Safe enough that a young maid in her maiden suit could walk the road without fear of losing her maidenhood to others of malicious intent. If a naked girl could walk the Kingsroad without fear, then an armed man such as Duncan could easily travel the road!

"Come on, Duncan… Let's find the nearest village and see what we can do." The young man said to himself as he stood up, dusting his pants off as best as he could before beginning to walk on the road. As he walked, he listened to the cheery songs and sounds of the wildlife that swirled around him in the forest all around him. Birds were singing, rabbits were feasting, deer were playing, and other creatures were doing what they normally did as a young man of Westford marched down the cobblestone road.

He continued to walk for a good hour, never letting up as he kept up the march to his new destination in mind. He did not care what village he arrived at. It could be a prosperous town of wealth and joy, or a desolate hamlet of poverty and despair. Any would do, and he would accept them all regardless. A location that wasn't his cottage was a new sight for him, even if he had seen it in paintings or books before. Nothing could truly beat feasting his eyes on the things before him.

He began to slow down when he spotted brightly colored banners in the distance, barely hidden by a cloud of dust. Eventually, a large caravan of armed men escorting a rather exquisite wheelhouse finely crafted and made. It almost didn't seem like it should have been driven by how beautiful it looks!

Duncan soon steered himself to the side of the Kingsroad and came to a stop to watch the caravan journey past the young man. When they neared his position, Duncan could finally see the colors they presented in the wind. They were a black stag with a crown around its neck, standing in a golden field, and a golden lion standing in a bright red field. Those banners signaled that they were two of the most powerful houses, according to his Uncle. They were the House Baratheon and the House Lannister, which meant only one thing.

The young man felt his jaw drop as he watched a rather portly man riding a horse pass on by, giving only a glance at Duncan's form before turning his attention back to the road ahead, while surrounded by knights wearing bright white armor. It was Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm; riding alongside his famous King's Guard that contained such names like Barristan the Bold, Mandon Moore, and even the infamous Kingslayer; less-known as Jaime Lannister. Which meant the wheelhouse carried King Robert's wife, Cersei Lannister, and the royal children destined to lead the seven kingdoms after their father's death.

The caravan didn't stop to take notice of the young man watching them with amazement besides from some suspicious looks from the armed warriors that guarded the place. That changed when a window of the wheelhouse opened to reveal a rather young face of a boy, his hair akin to gold itself, that waved at Duncan with a smile almost bigger than his face. Duncan couldn't help but smile and wave back at the young boy, most certainly the youngest prince of the royal family. Their interactions were cut short, sadly, by the sounds of a woman ordering the boy to get back inside the wheelhouse and to close the window; to which the young child dutifully did.

The King, his royal escort, and the wheelhouse swiftly became distant from Duncan as it marched to the North; to the land of the direwolf and of the Wall. Duncan could only wonder why the King and his family were heading to the North as he went back to his own march. It was certainly a strange sight to see just shortly before his Uncle's death, but it was not unwelcomed. In fact, Duncan felt like such a sight was a good omen for the days to come. To come across the King must mean he will one day stand by the side of the king himself!

Maybe Duncan will find his place in a realm of continued peace, and maybe his dreams will be that of peace as well…

Duncan Westford stumbled onto a small village, barely one hundred souls living in the hamlet, once the sun began to turn orange in the sky and darkness began to settle onto the seven kingdoms of Westeros. It was just a little ways off of the Kingsroad, and it was a small place despite its rather busy location. Duncan wondered if this place was even named or was something that was recognized by the seven kingdoms' maesters. It wouldn't surprise him if they didn't due to how small the place was. The village was a bit rough, obviously not all that wealthy nor was the populace worthy of some kind of militia or guards to protect it. The only thing that was "protecting" the place was a wall in a state of deep disrepair. So poor was its condition that a strong gust of wind could easily push it onto its side! But, that was not Duncan's concern at the moment. His concern was to find a place to sleep and get hot, and hopefully, fresh food in his belly.

As he walked through the village, trying to find an inn or resting place of some kind; he stumbled upon a large and noisy crowd gathered by what appeared to be the village's main hall in a circle. Curious at what may have gathered such a large crowd, Duncan joined them and slowly made his way to the front to view what the crowd had circled around in front of the main hall. Once he arrived, he spotted two groups in intense argument with each other; most certainly the source of the disturbance.

One group was led by a young man with a scruffy beard and an axe, far older than Duncan but not old enough to be considered middle-aged. Two other men flanked the bearded man, a rather dejected person carrying a poorly made spear and a young man around Duncan's age with hair of gold and a set of daggers on his belt alongside a sword. The other group were simply several old men, their beards and hair white with age and almost all seemingly looking the same. The two sides were in intense discussion, mainly the bearded man and one of the old men leading the discussion with their partners chipping in occasionally. Intrigued by the sight, Duncan listened in close to the heated argument that the two sides were in.

"-And you would be satisfied with having our women raped and our children sold to foreign soil; all because you wouldn't raise a finger?! Even the bloody Lannister knows such a thought is foolish, and such foolish thoughts must be thrown to the side. We must fight back, or else we will continue to suffer under their hands!" The bearded man passionately cried out at the old man, the golden haired boy behind him grumbling at the mention of "Lannister". Was he truly a Lannister, or was it just an undesired nickname due to his appearance?

"Do you not remember what happened when we fought back, all those years ago? All who men resisted were put to the sword while their women were raped and any children they deemed useless were tortured to death! You watched your brother have his limbs ripped off and your sister lose her maidenhood before having a dagger thrust through her eye, and you still desire to fight after that?! You are mad, Ragnar! Truly mad!" The old man countered, earning agreeable grumbles from his comrades after he spoke.

"Who wouldn't wish to kill the men who did such a thing? I know not one man, other than you…"

"We simply wish for survival, and you wish for our destruction. None know how to truly fight, and they most certainly will not be able to after eight days of training. Besides, who will be able to teach those who can fight? There is none here, and there may be none near here in eight days time!"

"Sellswords and other men of work often travel the Kingsroad near here, so it wouldn't be hard to ask for one's services! Besides, we need not many warriors. All we need is some kind of plan that will give us an assured victory. If we win, then our village will not be subjected to their cruelty anymore."

"...There is one over there right now, ya know? We could ask him to help us…" Duncan blinked in surprise when the dejected spear-wielder pointed at him, directing the two parties' attentions onto the young man. Ragnar smiled at the sight of Duncan while the old man sighed and shook his head in despair, all the while Duncan was awkwardly standing there with all eyes on him.

"Perfect! We have such a man suited for the task. We simply need to pay him and he will help us."

"He is too young, Ragnar. I don't even think he is ten and six yet!"

"Which only proves that he must be skilled to be a sellsword at such a young age. Say, sellsword: what is your name?"

"D-Duncan. Duncan Westford is my name." Duncan answers, still surprised that they already think so highly of him despite only being here for less than a day. Was their situation so desperate that a young man such as Duncan was an angel sent by the Seven in their eyes?! To the Westford boy, it certainly seemed that way with how Ragnar silenced the old man's objections with a wave of his hand before speaking.

"Ser Westford! We need your help. Bandits have long plagued our village, and they have now overstayed their welcome. They are coming to collect "rent" in eight days, and we desire to fight back. I will give you all of my Stags, all fifty of them, if you aid us in defeating them!" Ragnar looked pleadingly at Duncan, who was taken aback at how eloquent Ragnar's request had become. It was as if he was some kind of noble pleading to the destined hero to save the world from the evil White Walkers of old!

Duncan merely shrugged and said "Okay… I'll do it, I guess?" He was really in over his head, but there was no way he could turn down such a request after being lauded as the essential hero that will save the village from the bandits. In a way, the young man sort of wanted this. He was going to help others fight off those who would only seek harm for others, something that his Uncle always hated; especially those who were secretive about such actions.

"Excellent! We shall start tomorrow morning. For now, you best rest up Ser Westford. We need you bright and clear to aid us tomorrow. I have a spare room in my home that you can use, along with some old bowl of brown if you are hungry! I just need to warm it up, that is all. Let us save this village!"

"You are making a terrible mistake, Ragnar… A terrible mistake…" And with that, the town began to head to their respective homes and hovels to sleep the night away; Duncan followed after the joyful Ragnar as the man led the Westford boy to his home. Duncan was scared. He was scared that he would fail these folk, especially after seeing such hope in Ragnar's face. What made him trust the young man so easily? Was he truly that desperate to slay these bandits that had taken his family away from him, or was there some other reason? Duncan could only think and guess as he ate a mysterious bowl of stew and settled in for the night, laying in a foreign bed in a foreign place that was not his cottage.

Duncan missed his Uncle Mors… He would have known what to do in situations like this! He would have, if only he was still alive…