DUN FORT

The rain had stopped when Duskendale finally emerged on the horizon.

It was an ancient city, expanded many times since the days of the Hundred Kingdoms. The harbor was the great heart of Duskendale, with all the houses, warehouses, markets and septs built from that point onwards. Embracing it all was a wall of pale stone, that maintained the safety of the inhabitants of the port city. The gates were open to receive them, and the banners of the Darklyns flapped in the wind, the cloth wet and heavy due to the storm. Many septs' domes and turrets could be counted from afar, each one taller than the other, as they competed among themselves to reach the Seven Above. But rising above anything else was the square stone castle overlooking the port.

Dun Fort.

Gwayne had visited the castle of House Darklyn once, long before being knighted. By then he was squiring to a hedge knight, accompanying him down the road, from castle to castle. He remembered the castle well enough, and the lad who had broken his nose after a quarrel to impress the lord's daughter. The very same man who was now waiting to greet them at the city's gates.

"Ser Jon Hollard, a knight sworn to House Darklyn." Gwayne whispered to the king's ear, as their party approached. Their entourage, with thirty soldiers wearing the Targaryen armor, was certainly an impressive sight. "And brother-in-law to Lord Denys."

The fucker had not only broken his nose.

He had also married the girl.

Jon Hollard recognized him too. An arrogant smile touched his lips as soon as he recognized Gwayne's crooked nose. He was a burly knight, a few inches taller than Gwayne, with reddish hair and a peculiar mustache above his upper lip. He was riding a stallion, maintaining a squire close at hand mounted on his own horse. A helmet with a long feather made him look ridiculous. Ten guardsmen, with shields and wearing chain mail hauberks, were right behind him.

"Your Grace." Ser Jon greeted, climbing down from his horse to kneel on the mud. The feather balanced ridiculously at the wind's will. "Lord Darklyn sent me on his behalf to welcome you to our city and escort you to the castle."

The king threw him an unpleasant glance.

"Then, what are you doing down in the mud?" Aerys retorted, coldly dismissing Hollard's bow. "I'm not here to lose time with a knight I have never heard about."

Jon Hollard stood upon his feet, and the arrogant smile was gone.

It was Gwayne's time to smirk.

And so they rode on to Dun Fort. It was clear the visit was not a joyful one. There were no flowers on the cobble street stones, no songs and praises as the king crossed the city or even children running behind the kinglanders. The streets and the market square seemed rather gloomy under the cloudy sky. On their way, Gwayne noticed a few guardsmen placed at the streets, making sure the city was secure and that no one would dare attempt something against the King.

A few merchants passed through, bowing their heads recognizing the three-headed-dragon on the banner leading the party. Many were also watching from their windows or doors, but rare were the ones courage enough to get down to the street.

"They are afraid of me." Aerys whispered to Gwayne, when they finally reached the castle's gates. He was glad people were hiding like sewer rats, as if all were aware the Doom had finally come for them. "But they will cherish and call my name when we leave. I'm here to get rid of the witch."

Are they afraid or are they angry?

The stillness of a city like Duskendale – with a market and a port – was something rare to find. The horse hooves echoed through the cobblestone streets, joining the gulls calls above. Aerys climbed out of his mount as soon as they reached Dun Fort's courtyard. Gwayne followed quickly, going directly to the king's side, while checking upon his own men through the gates. All thirty of them, clad in their dark armor with the dragon emblazoned in red on their breastplates, were already inside. They gathered orderly, delivering their horses to the boys from the castle's stable that came to their aid.

There were a few more Darklyn guardsmen inside the castle, as Gwayne expected. It was the Darklyn Seat, after all, so it was more than expected that their numbers surpassed the thirty men escorting the king. The Kingsguard counted at least another fifteen, standing at guard in different places: on the courtyard, on the battlements of the castle and the windows.

And there are certainly more.

Not that there were many ways of escape, if one proved necessary. They were obviously outnumbered. If something was to go amiss, it would be practically impossible to leave the castle without being detained by a guard. And even if by some miracle an escape was possible, they had still to flee from the city.

Things must go smoothly if we want to leave alive, he thought to himself, uneasily. The king seemed also aware of the guardsmen, counting them silently while stripping his riding gloves. His squire helped him remove the helmet. Yet, the king was far from nervous, as the squire opened the wooden box to give him the golden crown he had brought from the Red Keep. He was impatient, clearly displeased with the fact that Lord Denys had not received him by the gatehouse. But somehow, he was also confident. And willing to prove all of them who was the king.

This is not the time to be petty.

The defiant lord of Duskendale was not far.

Lord Denys Darklyn was waiting by the castle's main entrance. He was a striking man, close to forty-years old. He had long blond hair and striking blue eyes. Not a cold blue, but a dreamy shade of it, Gwayne noted. His skin was pale, almost as pale as the white stone of the city's walls. Beside his lady wife, he seemed a ghost. Lady Serala of Myr distinguished herself easily from the castle's garrison. She had darker skin than anyone else on the courtyard, and curly hair dark as obsidian. Her eyes, just like emeralds, glinted with curiosity at the king. There was a collar around her neck with a golden serpent.

The witch.

There were other Darklyns, bowing their heads alongside the lord and lady of the castle. Cilliad Darklyn, the younger brother of Lord Denys, was there, as well as his twin, Cedric. And, of course, Rahenna Darklyn, the wife of Ser Jon Hollard, the very same woman from whom Gwayne had stolen a kiss once upon a time. Her features were quite like the ones of her siblings. She had grown softer, maintaining her blond hair and pale skin. And there was a child in her arms, with eyes round as coins. A son, no more than three-years old.

This was the life I could have had, he thought, feeling his heart tight.

Was it worry or regret? He shook his head.

No time for dreams.

The Darklyns – and some Hollards who were part of the welcoming entourage – kept bowing their heads as King Aerys approached.

"Your Grace." Lord Denys greeted, his nose still turned to the ground.

"Lord Denys Darklyn, it seemed your wish was granted." Aerys commenced, with a steely voice.

The Lord of Duskendale rose his face, curious.

"Your Grace?" He asked. Gwayne read some relief in his eyes.

Oh, but only if it was that easy.

"May the Seven take you, Lord Denys. Don't look at me that way." The king mocked, the coldness still enveloping his words. "You wished for my visit, so here I am. Just that for the moment."

"Oh, I see, Your Grace." Denys replied, more firmly this time. He was pale and could have a feeble look about him but was no fool. "I'm sure we will have time to discuss."

"Yes." The king, though, had already moved his eyes to Lady Serala.

"I believe you have met my wife previously, Your Grace." Denys intervened, gesturing toward the myrish woman. "Lady Serala of—"

"Am I here to negotiate with your wife?" Aerys asked, bluntly, his eyes descending to Lady Serala's dress. Gwayne gulped, noticing Lord Denys was well aware the king was staring to the lady's breasts, as if she was no more than a market cow.

"No, Your Grace." Responded Denys, clenching his teeth. "I deal with my own matters despite the ill rumors my people are spreading about my wife."

Lady Serala kept silent, but her eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Certainly." Aerys replied, returning his eyes to Lord Denys. "Rumors are just rumors, but sometimes they hide some truth. Well, but enough of this. I haven't travelled this far to be coldly greeted in your courtyard. Take me inside so we can talk." Aerys eyes moved to the row of Darklyns, Hollards and all the others still hoping to greet him. "Preferably not with your lot staring at me."

Rash words, Gwayne said, noticing Lord Denys was far from please. Even so, it seemed the Defiant Lord of Duskendale was not a man to fear. His words stammered when he didn't try to steady his voice and he glanced constantly to his wife from time to time. Could the rumors be true? According to gossip, the charter intrigue had started only because Lady Serala had planted seeds in her husband's mind. The Lace Serpent, the people called her.

"We can accommodate your men in the barracks." Lady Serala intervened, boldly, proving to have a voice of her own. "I have prepared beds for fifty men, Your Grace. And also food and wine. I suppose they must be weary after the storm."

Aerys exchanged a glance with Ser Gwayne.

"No." Aerys said, his eyes locked on his Kingsguard. "The men came to defend me and, until the matter is decided, they will stay at my side."

"Your Grace, that is pretty unnecessary." Lord Darklyn insisted. "You are our guest and—"

"Steel and flesh protect me better than bread and water, Lord Darklyn." Aerys retorted again. He glanced to the customary plate of bread and the glass of water carried by a little Darklyn girl. The guest right was offered to grant them protection, but the king had not moved to take it.

"You want to bring all your men while we talk, Your Grace?" Lord Denys asked, not making an effort to camouflage the sarcasm.

"Yes." The king replied, sternly. He touched the scabbard of the sword at his waist.

"There is no place for so many men in my private room."

"The Great Hall will do just fine." Aerys replied. "I wouldn't expect any less from a royal visit."

Denys smirked, again not hiding the sarcasm.

"Then, Your Grace, I shall bring my men too."

Aerys laughed, crossing his arms.

"You will do as your king commands."

Tension raised in the air.

Gwayne placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to pull it out if need be. Lord Denys' eyes noticed his movement, before facing again the king. While the two men faced themselves in a game of pride, light rain drops started to fall again. A child screamed somewhere close. A flock of gulls cried from the sky and, finally, Lord Denys opened his mouth again to cut through the tension.

"I'm afraid I can't do your bid, Your Grace." He insisted. "I must look out for my safety, as you must look after yours. I'm sure you understand."

"You dare refuse an order coming from your king?" Aerys asked. "After evading your duty to the Iron Throne? You are treading on thin ground here, Lord Denys."

"All I do, Your Grace, I do on behalf of my family." He replied, trying to be as humble as he could. There was no sarcasm. "I don't intend to offend you. I just want to make sure I'm still the lord under my own roof."

"I respect that." Aerys retorted. He was growing irritated by the rain. "But I don't appreciate your defiance, Lord Denys. Even so, I will allow that you bring fifteen men. Not even one more. If you don't accept such terms, I will leave, and no negotiation will be made."

"It is a sensible decision, Your Grace."

Ser Symon Hollard, the master-at-arms at Dun Fort, obliged immediately, gathering a small group of men. Jon Hollard was one of the knights who integrated the escort, bringing with him his squire, a nephew called Robin. Cilliad and Cedric Darklyn were also summoned, each one of them with longswords at their waists. All the other men were guardsmen, with lances on their hands and swords at their waists.

Fifteen that fight for thirty.

Among the tumult of men being organized, Gwayne noticed Lady Serala whispering something into Lord Denys' ear. She had a wicked smile, he noticed, a smile just as twisted as the golden serpent on her throat. Lord Denys nodded, smiling nervously, before kissing her on the forehead.

"Shall we enter, Your Grace?" Denys asked, climbing the first steps.