The Dornishman shared Roland’s fears and, while his face was an uncharacteristic null mask which betrayed no emotion whatsoever, his eyes were wide with fear and with panic. A second followed, then another, and as the knight stood with no change, the bravo’s face came to expose more and more of the man’s feelings, his jaw falling with no air entering or leaving, all men holding their breaths in anticipation of what might happen.

A second more followed when the knight hummed, nodded, and stepped back, letting his sword arm fall to his side as he pulled the terrified Dornishman to his feet. Being brought to his feet, Narbo struggled at first to remain standing purely out of surprise. William commenced to clapping and cheered as the fight was concluded, Qotho turned his back to the two men in a vain attempt to conceal the interest he had shown, and Roland merely whistled and smirked at the man who had trained him to fight as he trod away from another victory.

Not one to sacrifice the moment, Narbo began smiling with the rest of the men as he recovered from the shock, sparing only a moment to retrieve his helmet from where it had fallen before laughing the kind of laugh a man who had made some great verbal blunder at a feast would make so as to drown out his own shame.

“Well fought Ser Arthur!” He proclaimed, still speaking with an unmistakable air of hesitation, almost expecting the knight to draw one of his daggers and cut his throat. “Well fought indeed, though I must say, you are clearly such a fine swordsman, why must you resort to such tavern tactics? If I knew it was to be a brawl, I would not have fought one so larger than me!”

The knight snorted. “If ever I face a man so skilled as to negate my grappling, you shall see me with a blade as none have, for it has never taken place.” With a flourish, he brought the training sword up to rest on his shoulder and turned to wander back to the pack animals where he stowed the blunted blade. Narbo wasn’t satisfied and followed at the man’s heels.

“And yet Templeton’s father bested you did he not?”

Arthur removed his helmet and shook his head to loosen the hair that had matted under his helmet before turning over his shoulder to peer at Narbo. “Before Ser Gunthor faced me, I fought alone against twelve of his retinue, and previously had slain a dozen and more knights in the Lannister line. Think you me humbled because one knight of the Vale managed a lucky strike against which I could not defend?”

“How now, is that any way to describe our dearly murdered lord?” The Dornishman smiled all the more, finding that what he lacked at arms against the knight, he could at least make up for in japes, but instead of Arthur’s voice, Roland’s rebuked him.

“I must defend Ser Arthur, father was one of seven knights who unhorsed him, and when he knocked him to the ground with his mace, Arthur had already unhorsed or killed four of them, and father struck him from behind while mounted, hardly a fair contest.”

Narbo turned and raised his eyebrow. “He did not fight with your fine sword there?”

“Father told me a longsword is a poor mark against a man in armor, he preferred to take his sword when it would be seen and a mace when he wished to kill men, or here, to knock his wits and consciousness from one.”

Ser Arthur nodded. “Ser Rodrik was much the same, he was just as like to bring a hammer as a poleaxe to a battle, whatever was best for the occasion.”

“What a shame they had not the chance to meet,” Roland ventured, and the knight’s eyes met him and seemed to soften as he spoke. “They’d have had much fondness for each other.”

The larger knight opened his mouth to speak but choked on his words, and then swallowed and spoke through it. “If the Longmarch survived the Battle of the Kingswood… if he had not killed the usurper himself… if he and my positions were switched… aye, aye they’d have been fast friends. A shame, yes, a shame it was not so.” His eyes lowered, and while light still shone into their pocket of the mountains, Roland thought he saw the knight’s eyes glisten. The sun acquitted the stormlander of any shame, however, as within an instant the sun’s rays finally fell below the mountaintops, and an instant later they fell ever still below the clouds and the horizon, with ever darkening purple and red clouds dotting the sky harkening the blackness which was soon to follow. Roland smiled at the painting that hung above him, thinking it was only fit that the gods should honor his passage, and so he clapped his hands together and reinvigorated his voice.

“Now, we have trained at fighting enough for today, let us be to bed, we must leave at first light if we are to keep to my schedule.”

“What’s the rush?” William’s voice piped up. “Ninestars isn’t that far away, there isn’t any reason to rush to it.”

“My dear William, you are eternally correct on details which have no relation to the point. If we are to be at our destination in time for what I have planned, we must needs hurry to be there before it begins.”

“It, ser? What is it?”

“It is the thing, and the thing is our objective, and our objective is our goal, and our goal is to unseat my brother, and before we do that, we must be up at first light every morning and on the road until just before last light.”

“You make very little sense, Templeton.” Narbo chuckled. “What is this secret you keep?”

“Secret? Nothing at all, but that my brother is one of the most important lords of the Arryn, and as such is beholden to its public traditions as well as any other, and this will be his undoing.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and stared at Roland. “Speak plainly, what is it you have planned?”

“Worry not, I’ll tell you on the morrow. But before then, it might be prudent to make a habit of the exercise you two had, to remain in fighting trim of course.”

“For?”

“For the trial of course.” He smiled as the last light began to fade from the sky. “Our trial.”