Chapter 10: The Duel
"In a duel, man to man, sword against sword, it can be a lack of skill that gets you killed. Often as not, though, it'll be a matter of luck, or if it goes on too long, then it'll be the man who tires first that tends to die. In the end, it's about staying power."
Almost as if the words the man spoke were magic. The crowd of wildlings parts. Creating a circle around the redheaded man and Marq. It's only at this moment Marq can even stop to consider what the hell he just demanded.
Single combat against an unknown opponent who stands a head over him and looks like the meanest motherfucker on this side of the wall. He doesn't even have time to start panicking over it as the red-bearded man speaks up.
"Terms." Not said as a question but a demand. Marq can only barely withstand the sudden urge to salute and shout, sir, sir. It feels like facing down Ser Quentyn when he is in one of his moods. Every word is a command, and god forbid you misstep.
Honestly, if the wildling was more well-kempt and wearing plate armor, it would feel like he was standing in front of Fireball for a training spar again.
The commanding voice of said wildling speaks up again, snapping him out of his thoughts. "If I win, I will drag you beyond the wall, tear out your innards, and use them to decorate the closest weirwood."
Marq opens his mouth, and words slip out before he can stop himself. His muscles tensed and coiled—ready for someone to smack him.
"Damn, bitch, kind of rude, don't you think?" He was never the best at filtering his words.
Around him, several of the raiders burst into laughter. Maybe they thought he was being funny; perhaps they just think he's a moron. Whatever the reason, the severe atmosphere is shattered for a bit, and Marq can breathe, if only for a moment.
Only for everything to go silent as Redbeard looks around the crowd. Silencing them with naught but a look. Then turning the gaze onto Marq.
Frankly, it's not as terrifying as the rest of him. Daemon was scarier looking when he got angry, but Daemon didn't tower over him and every man around and wield an axe almost as large as him.
"Why'd you stop laughing? The little man has jokes. Laugh." Redbeard says with no amusement in his voice, but despite that, several people around them force out nervous laughter.
Right clearly, he can't delay for much longer. Redbeard looks half ready to just cut him in half out of boredom. Marq straightens himself and forces himself to stand tall. His eyes tracking everyone as best he can. Assessing places they can attack from. Trying to figure out the best way to throw a hit on each of them if they get within range, move too quickly, or say a little bit too much.
"If I win, you all will turn back. Go back north beyond the wall where you came from." He's name of 15, A boy, really. But right now, you couldn't tell by his voice. His voice is entirely ice. He doesn't move, standing his ground against the giant in front of him. Grimly, he stood as hot blood courses through his body. The muscles with years of instinct drilled into them locked and coil. Ready to reach out and fight.
Perhaps not the best terms to demand, but judging by the ways the raiders around him shift, reaching for their weapons. He doesn't want to try and push for more.
"Are you sure?" Redbeard questions, voicing the first emotion Marq has heard from him outside of steely determination and repressed rage. Some idle curiosity.
"Yeah. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." He nods, staring at the giant man in front of him. Aware of the dead around him again. Forcing the mention of religion to give him something to anchor helps barely.
It garners him a few odd glances, but most wildlings seem to write it off as some southron oddity. Redbeard nods, and suddenly the entire crowd backs up a few paces. Giving them plenty of room to fight.
Marq drops into a fighting stance, taking sight of the foe in front of him, trying to figure out what to do and how to survive this. As his eyes scan over the chieftain, he eventually meets the eyes of the redheaded man.
They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and at this time, Marq can only assume Redbeard's soul is fucked up. A low cunning and cruelty dancing in his eyes like the embers of a fire. Part of him wonders what Redbeard sees in his eyes.
However, he doesn't have any more time to wonder; he sees Redbeard jump to action, bringing up his massive axe and swinging it like a club right at Marq's head, looking to end the fight in one fatal hit.
Marq realizes something as he ducks under the broad swing. Redbeard is slow. Not slow compared to the average man, but compared to the likes of Daemon and Ser Quentyn? Redbeard might as well be moving in jelly.
That, at least, should make it easier to deal with, hopefully. Marq rushes forward, swinging his war hammer directly at Redbeard's chin, hoping to take him out quickly. However, Redbeard moves with a surprising speed, one he didn't seem to have earlier, jerking his head back just in time to avoid the hammer, then slamming it forward, right into Marq's helmeted head.
His world erupts as his faceplate is hit with the force of a train. His ears ringing, and his vision blurring. The only consolation for him is that Redbeard probably feels worse than he does right now.
Expect he is able to recover quicker than Marq is, as Marq blurrily makes out a metal object coming right at him and brings his shield arm up to intercept.
The axe and the shield collide with a loud thunderclap that rings across the entire courtyard. The force of the swing traveling up and down Marq's arm, he can feel it in his muscles and bones. He dimly realizes how lucky he is that his arm wasn't broken from that.
Marq lashes out, slamming his hammer into Redbeard's hand. There is a sickening crunch and crack as bones break. Redbeard barely seems to notice his hand being broken outside of him, dropping his axe.
However, he doesn't have time to take advantage of his now-disarmed foe as Redbeard charges forward. Grabbing Marq by his clothes and lifting him high into the air. Marq flails around, trying to break free, but is entirely powerless against the more powerful man. Then he is thrown, a brief period of weightlessness before his back slams into the cold hard ground.
The air is driven from his lungs, and his entire back aches. He would have prepared more if he had realized this was going to be a WWE match. He distantly hears something like chanting from all around him. It's unfair that Redbeard gets theme music, but he doesn't. He'll have to ask Torrhen about that in the future.
He is rudely reminded he is in a fight as Redbeard stands over him and tears his helmet off. Then begins laying down punch after punch onto Marq's face. A part of him distantly realizes he lost as his nose is broken under Redbeard's barrage of attacks. Is this really how he dies? In some frozen corner of the world, all because of some poorly thought out decision to go on an "adventure."
No. No! This can't be the end. Torrhen is relying on him; Crow is counting on him. He scrambles for something to grab, anything to use to force Redbeard off of him. Then in the snow, he finally grabs something cold and hard.
Picking it up and swinging right at Redbeard, everything suddenly goes silent. The chanting stops, and the beating stops along with it. Then he hears a thud at his side.
When his vision clears and he looks to the side, he sees Redbeard, blood dripping down the side of his skull. Then looks down at his hand and sees the object he had picked up, a simple rock, now covered in blood.