Chapter Three: Seven Days for One Battle

Seven days to prepare a group of villagers to defeat a clan of about thirty bandits was the time limit Duncan had when he woke up the next morning. Seven days to turn men and boys of all ages and occupations into some kind of warriors that can defeat a bandit in combat with poorly made or makeshift weapons while wearing makeshift armor. Duncan found it a bit ironic with the time limit he had to essentially save this little nameless village. Seven Gods and Goddesses and seven days… Certainly the Warrior, or maybe the Father, was having a proper fit of humor at a situation such as this! Duncan certainly wasn't as he was terrified at failing such a task. If he failed, the village would most certainly be razed to the ground and the young man would have his head adorning a spike somewhere. Now that wasn't a pleasant prospect at all…

As such, Duncan did his absolute best to uphold the task he had accepted. On the first day, Duncan examined the current skills of about twenty that had the potential to actually be able to fight. Ragnar was the first anomaly as he showed off some skills with his axe, more skill than the young man thought he had to be honest. Next was that spear-wielder that was by Ragnar's side, his name apparently Toiia Rivers which meant he was a bastard of the Riverlands. His skill with a spear was rather pretty professional, like he had been a soldier once but lack of practice and time had rusted his skills back to a novice's level. And the final anomaly was the supposed Lannister, his name being Hof. He was the most skilled out of everyone with his knives in both the art of throwing and stabbing, and even had some ability in average swordplay! Those three were only really the ones who had some chance of winning in a fight, Hof having the highest chance out of the three. The rest of the "recruits'' were terrible at the art of combat! Duncan was going to have his hands full just being able to train them, much less be able to train the three anomalies at the same time! But, he had to as he had given his word to do so. He obeyed the Westford motto, so he would rather die than dishonor himself as such.

The second day was spent getting some manner of weapons and armor for them all to use; which they managed to find a good amount of gambesons and leather armor along with some old swords and spears. Only Toiia had his own set of armor, and that came with its own set problems! It was in poor condition, and it beared the crest of the House Targaryen; the dynasty that had ruled Westeros until King Robert, First of his Name, overthrew them and did/ordered the slaughter of most of the entire dynasty. Apparently only two Targaryens survived the purge: a young girl and a young man called the "Beggar King". Anyways, Duncan had to step in and stop some of the recruits from trying to kill Toiia due to his "past loyalties". The young man honestly didn't care what armor Toiia wore. Armor was armor, and that was all it was. It didn't stop five of the recruits from deserting, leaving only fifteen left to fight the bandits. Duncan knew their chances of victory had just shortened in the numbers area, but increased in the training area as it meant less people to train!

The third day was spent in two parts. The first part was making a plan against the incoming bandits so the battle could be in their favor at the start. The plan was simple for what it was, but still a decent plan. A small group would lure the bandits into a narrow area where the rest of the villagers would flank the enemy and pin them into a killing field from all around. Would the plan actually work to what Duncan and the others had made it as such? That had yet to be seen, but the young man was hopeful that the plan would work. The second part was simply training with weapons, which went as well as Duncan expected from a bunch of farmers who some didn't even know how to properly hold a sword so it didn't stab them!

The fourth, fifth, and sixth day was completely and utterly spent on training the recruits into viable warriors that could handle some manner of combat. Many of them limped from the training covered in bruises and sore from the ruthless training regime Duncan had put them all into. For Duncan, the regime was the same his Uncle Mors had put him through when he asked to learn how to fight back when he had been eight. It was certainly a difficult program to follow, but the young man had gotten used to it as Mors didn't coddle the boy at all while training him. He was sort of amazed at how skilled his Uncle could be at times when Duncan watched the old man practice all by himself. His attacks were faster than lightning strikes themselves and twice as powerful with how much wind they picked up! Sometimes, after finishing a set, Duncan would hear his Uncle whisper to himself. He would always whisper "You're still good enough, Butcher. You're still good." Duncan always wondered why Mors Westford would call himself "Butcher", but Duncan never asked as his Uncle really didn't like to talk about his past. The young man always wondered what his Uncle did before living in the cottage with him and he wondered if he should be worried about that hidden past.

The seventh day was a day of rest, a day to pray and hope that they would win against the bandits that were coming the next day. Duncan was afraid of the chances they had against the bandits. His allies were obviously not trained enough, nor equipped enough to take on the bandits without the plan succeeding. If the plan failed, then they would lose the battle and Duncan would have to say goodbye to Westeros after ten and five moons of life. He would once again see his Uncle, but on the other side of life. The young man didn't want to see his Uncle yet. He hadn't done nearly enough to make him proud, and he very much wished to keep such a promise.

But now, it was the eighth day. The day when the bandits would arrive and the villagers would fight back. Duncan prayed to the Warrior that he and his allies would win. He really did.

Duncan groaned as he felt his body wake itself earlier than when he wished to be awake, the sun barely above the house's roof. As he sat himself up, rubbing his eyes to clear out the sleepiness from them, he soon smelled a familiar smell that he had been subjected to for nine days. Bowls of Brown, a staple staple that made up the diet of some of the more poor peasantry of Westeros. It was a kind of soup that always had some kind of meat in it. That is correct. No one kind of meat. It was just meat. That meat could be pork, beef, chicken, venison, rat, and other things that shouldn't be spoken of… Despite its rather disturbing qualities, it was nutritious and filling enough to survive on. It could even be eaten without any utensils as it was solid enough to be grabbed with a hand but liquid enough to still be considered soup! Apparently it was a staple for those living in King's Landing, so Duncan couldn't really criticize its use in other people's lives. Thank the Seven that his Uncle knew how to cook good enough that they didn't have to eat Bowls of Brown.

Eventually, Duncan got out of bed and put his clothes and armor on before leaving his room. He stepped into the main room of the hovel and felt a tiny smile tugged at his lips when he saw Ragnar working on the Bowl of Brown in his cooking pot. The young man had learned a bit about Ragnar over the past few days. The bearded man was a jolly fellow whenever he was drunk or happy with life. He had this certain air about him that just drew people of all kinds to be around him, which sort of made sense seeing how Hof and Toiia were often found near him whenever they were seen in public. Duncan sort of enjoyed being around him as well, and he wondered if Ragnar enjoyed his company as well. He hoped he did, and the young man hoped that Ragnar would live in today's coming battle. He really did…

"Morning, Ser! How did you sleep?" Ragnar asked as he used a ladle to pour the Bowls of Brown soup into two seperate bowls, offering one to the young man. He had a smile on his face and seemed to be in a jolly mood, almost as if he was carefree at the task that laid before them today…

The Westford boy took the bowl and began to eat the food, getting a few chunks of the filling substance down before saying "I slept alright… Just a bit restless for the battle. I hope we can win it with everything we have done." This was the truth. He was restless, almost eager to get the bloody business over with. He didn't know why he was so restless either. It was as if some animal part in the back of his mind was eager to taste blood for the first time while the rest of his mind was simply just numb with the fear of the dangers the task held. Duncan was afraid of dying, not taking a life. He would gladly take the lives of these bandits if their deeds were true, and from what he could tell they were true! Such men, or rather beasts, were not worthy of living in this world and Duncan would gladly be the one to take them out of it.

"We will be fine! I trust that you will help us defeat these vile cur. You've been a good man, Ser Duncan, and I know that good men will always win over evil men. We can do this!" Duncan couldn't help but smile at Ragnar's optimism. He truly did believe that they were going to win, and Duncan was starting to agree with him.

Suddenly, a horn roared in the background; a signal that the bandits were approaching the village. Duncan hadn't even finished his meal yet, and now he had to go fight on a semi-filled stomach! What sort of madness was that?! Let a man eat at the very least…

"It's time, Ser Westford. Let's put an end to this madness!" Ragnar said as he went to the door and picked up his axe, exiting the hovel before Duncan. He was probably heading towards the area that Duncan had told him to be at for the plan, the plan that was supposed to be the deciding point for the battle ahead. He would be leading one of the flanking groups alongside his friend Toiia, which all depended on the distraction group that was led by Duncan and Hof. Hof volunteered for the position while Duncan "volunteered" after the two called out what they wanted to do. What was Duncan supposed to say? He couldn't really oppose them, especially when Ragnar said that with how skilled Duncan was, he could easily lead the enemy to the ambush without a single scratch!

As such, Duncan was now in charge of the distraction and he had to hurry to get there. After shoveling down the rest of his meal, he grabbed his shield and unsheathed his sword. He stopped for a moment to look at the sword's blade, still amazed at how bright and sharp it looked. The young man always wondered why his Uncle Mors had a Valyrian Steel sword, but the only answer he got to that question was "I needed a sword to kill a shadow, so I got that sword." That made absolutely no sense to the young man. "Kill a shadow"? No one could kill a shadow as they weren't living things nor evil monsters like the fabled beasts beyond the Wall. Sometimes, Duncan wondered if his Uncle was sane during some of the few answers to the boy's questions about Mors' past.

Duncan snapped out of his thoughts and marched himself to the meeting point, his heart beating like crazy as he silently prayed to the Warrior to survive and win the battle. When he arrived, he arrived last as Hof and the two volunteers were waiting next to the village's main gate. In the distance, Duncan could see a group of armed men heading towards them; most certainly the bandits.

"About time you arrive. Was hoping that you didn't run off with the stags and leave us to our fate." Hof said when he finally noticed Duncan's presence, lazily twirling a dagger in one hand while his other held a simple iron sword. His armor was the only one that had a hint of red in it, another way for the name "Lannister" to be painted on him. It didn't help that he didn't wear a helmet, letting his blonde hair flow freely for all to see.

Duncan sort of enjoyed Hof. He spoke plainly despite the "class difference" the two supposedly shared due to Duncan having a last name that wasn't a bastard surname. That meant he was supposedly from a noble background, though Duncan doubted that. His Uncle wasn't exactly the ideal noble with his scarred face and living in the woods, just like how the young man had. But now wasn't the time to think about other men. It was time to worry about the mission ahead, which led to Duncan saying "Can you hit one of them with your knives from here?"

"Not yet. Too far away for me to get a kill shot. Give them a few more moments to get closer and then let's start this damned 'party'." The small group waited for the bandits to get closer, watching them with cold glares as they examined the enemy. Duncan counted out the bandits, and his heart skipped a beat when he did so. There were only seven in the group before them. Where were the other twenty-three?!

"There are only seven of them, Hof. This is bad…" Duncan whispered to the blonde as the bandits began to slow down, finally noticing the small group of villagers and Duncan standing at the village's main gate.

"It is, but we have no choice. Get ready to run…" The blond man reared the hand holding the knife back and threw it at the man leading the bandits. The knife flew cleanly through the air and was soon rammed into the man's forehead, dropping him to the ground as a corpse. The rest of the bandits yelled in surprise, and eventually anger, before charging straight towards the distracting group. Duncan didn't know what he screamed, most likely "Run", but they soon were heading into the village with their enemies hot on their trail. He felt like yelling and screaming were happening all over the village as they ran towards the ambush spot. He imagined it was just a trick of his mind, until it was not.

One of the volunteers that had been with the distraction group was suddenly rammed into a house's wall right in front of Hof and Duncan, his corpse pinned to the hovel due to a spear in his chest. A bandit was at the end of the spear, trying to pull it out so he could clearly face the others. He didn't get a chance as Duncan, in a sudden fit of rage at having witnessed one of the men he had trained and ate with for a good week die in front of him, ram his sword into his enemy's head; killing him instantly.

Duncan wasn't expecting how his first kill went. He expected it to be bloody, sure, but it was smelly and he didn't expect it to be smelly. He smelled urine, feces, and the coppery scent of blood filled his nose as he pulled his Valyrian Steel sword out of his victim's head. He felt sick from the smell and felt bile begin to claw its way to his throat. He also didn't expect this was how he would kill his first person. He expected some kind of duel while in the battle, honorably fighting to the death instead of something like this. He watched for a moment as the bandit fell to the ground, like a sack of turnips being carelessly thrown by a lazy farm hand, before being pushed forward by Hof.

"Keep moving! We have to keep moving!" Hof pushed the young man to keep going so their pursuers didn't catch up to them. It was then Duncan realized that the screams that were all around him were truly there. It seemed like the plan had failed as the bandits had ambushed them instead of the other way around! Duncan cursed at this revelation. He should have known such a thing would have happened, and he should have planned for it! He should have known that the bandits wouldn't have just walked on in like they owned the place. They were going to take precautions if they had common sense, and they clearly had it!

Eventually, the three made it to the center of the village where the ambush was supposed to happen; and clearly saw the battle that was at hand. It was pure and utter chaos of a melee as the armed villagers tried to fight against the bandits, flailing their weapons against each other in a death struggle. Duncan could already see several of his allies already dead, as well as some of the bandits, so he had to jump in before even more died. He could save them from dying! He could! With a shout, he said "Charge! Save as many as you can, and make sure to gang up on them! Strength in numbers!"

As such, Duncan swiftly jumped into the melee and quickly got his first opponent. His enemy came at him with a chipped sword, swinging for his head to cleave it in two. All the young man had to do was hold his shield up and block the sword from reaching its intended target before lashing out with his own blade. Duncan's blade hit its target, cutting the bandit's throat open. The Westford boy shoved the dead man to the ground with a swing of his shield before walking towards his second opponent just as the bandit cut down a young villager.

His second opponent had an axe for a weapon and tried to block Duncan's attack. The Valyrian Steel cut deep into the wood of the axe, nearly cutting through it entirely much to the surprise of the bandit. That surprise turned to rage as he tried to tackle the young man to the ground, which surprised Duncan at how strong his opponent was. The young man struggled against the man, trying to keep him off of him, and nearly lost his balance when the bandit kicked him in the shin. Snarling in rage, Duncan reared his shield back and slammed it into his opponent's face.

Duncan heard the bandit scream among the sound of bones crunching and blood spraying from his nose, sending him to the ground wailing. The Westford boy turned his sword around and slammed it into the bandit's chest, killing him almost instantly as blood flew freely from the wound. Just as he was about to pull his sword out of the corpse, another bandit slammed into him and tried to claw at his throat with a knife. Acting on instinct Duncan grabbed the knife by its blade, the iron cutting deep into his palm, and reared his shield back once more before ramming it right into the bandit's throat. The bandit began to choke out blood as he clutched at his throat, his windpipe clearly crushed with his jugular popped.

The young man, now breathing heavily, grabbed his sword with a painful hiss and looked around for another fight. He found it in his fourth opponent who was also looking for a new enemy to fight, wielding a spear. He charged forth and jabbed his spear towards Duncan, who simply moved to the side and grabbed the spear. He tugged it forward, bringing his opponent towards him, and backhanded the bandit with his sword's pommel. Stunned, the bandit stumbled back slightly before Duncan rammed his sword through the man's chest; killing him. Duncan was a bit surprised when the sword was able to get through the bandit's leather armor, but chalked it up to the Valyrian Steel that the sword's blade was. It must be truly sharp if it could cut through leather armor!

Duncan pulled his blade out of the corpse and looked around for another opponent, his heavy breathing becoming heavier. He saw no other enemies around to battle. No other bandits to slay. It seemed as if the battle had just stopped. He felt himself suddenly start to slow down, as if he had been running for an entire day and now had finally stopped. When he finally did crash back to reality, the bile that had been slowly crawling up his throat surged forth when the combined smell of all the dead bodies hit him. He let out the vomit on to one of the dead bandits, nearly dropping his sword as he crouched down as his body convulsed.

Once he finished vomiting, shakily wiping his mouth with his hand, the young man looked up and examined who of his allies remained. He first saw Hof kneeling over a corpse that had an axe buried in its throat, to which I stumbled on over to see who he was kneeling over. Duncan felt his breath get cut off when he saw who the corpse was.

It was Ragnar, his eyes glazed over and his blood staining the ground beneath him. He had several other wounds on him, but none of them were as fatal as the axe stuck in his throat. Duncan glanced at Hof, who was stone faced as he looked at Ragnar's cooling face.

"Hof? Are you…" Duncan asked, earning a look from the Lannister as he stood up. He was clutching his side, blood staining his clothing, and was completely emotionless as he spoke.

"I'm alright. I got a small cut on my side, but nothing compared to the others. I don't see Toiia anywhere, and none of the others have either. In fact, I didn't see them during the battle at all. I think he ran off, and I think he told the bandits about our little trap. Makes sense seeing how he is a loyalist deserter." Hof glanced back at Ragnar's corpse before keeping his gaze on the Westford boy. "Told me he was during a night of drinking. Ran away during the Battle of the Trident after the Prince had been slain by King Robert. Should have known he would do it again."

"...How many are still alive?" Duncan asked as a black rage began to slowly creep into his mind, the desire to find and kill Toiia for the dishonor he has committed multiple times onto himself, his peers, and onto Duncan rising with every moment that passed.

"From what I can count, about eight including us two." So they had six dead minusing Toiia's desertion. That was terrible, yet good. They were still alive, and yet they had lost so many people; including Ragnar. Duncan really liked Ragnar, and he hoped that he had survived. But he didn't, and the young man wanted to cry because of it.

"...You should get some rest. I'll help out with the bodies and the eventual fallout from the elders. You did your job, and you did it as well as you could with what you had after all." Hof said, patting the Westford boy on the shoulder before sheathing his sword. Duncan silently nodded and began to walk back to Ragnar's hovel. As he walked, almost in a daze, and glanced at the villagers beginning to clean up the carnage of the battle as he did so. He wondered what they were going through their heads. Were they too in a daze like he was, or were they thinking of other things. Duncan could only guess as he walked off.

He eventually arrived at Ragnar's hovel and finally noticed something. The sun had just reached its zenith in the sky, marking it as noon. He thought that battles lasted all day, but this one only lasted for a single morning. How was that possible? Well, Duncan didn't want to think about it. He wanted to be inside, which he did with a single push against the door. He then shut the door and stood there in the entranceway, almost swaying from side to side as he silently stood there.

The young man suddenly broke down, falling to his knees as tears poured unshamily from his eyes and began to cough and choke while trying to breath. He didn't really understand why he was crying, but he was. Was he sad because his friend, Ragnar, was dead? Was he sad because his plan had failed because of Toiia's betrayal and cost the lives of multiple comrades of his? Was it because he took the lives of men, no matter how evil they were said to be? Or was it some kind of combination of the reasons before it? Whatever it was, Duncan just cried and sobbed as he leaned against the hovel's wall.

He would continue to cry until sleep overcame him, curled up and leaning against the wall he had fallen against. Duncan missed his Uncle Mors… He would have known what to do in a time like this…