The sun rose in a wash of pale gold, casting a soft glow through the shutters of the Rose and Falcon. Tiber stirred beneath the woolen blanket, the air warm and still from the bath the night before. He stretched, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and sat up. His armor rested in the corner like a slumbering beast, but today, he wanted no part of it.
He dressed simply: a tunic of dark blue, breeches, and leather boots. His sword belt stayed on the hook. Even Twilight, resting against the wall like an old friend, remained untouched. He wanted to feel the city without the clank of steel weighing him down.
Downstairs, the taproom was just as empty as it had been when he'd first arrived. Only Robbie, seated at a corner table with a tankard in hand, offered any company.
"Morning," Tiber said, stepping down the last stair.
Robbie looked up, his round face breaking into a grin. "Morning, ser. Or just Tiber, eh?"
Tiber nodded, walking over to join him. "Still empty. I figured it'd be busier by now. Even when I came in last night, it was just you."
Robbie chuckled, taking a swig. "You're our first customer, friend. We only opened last week."
Tiber raised his brows. "Huh. That's nice."
He pulled out a chair and sat beside the dwarf. "You run this place alone?"
"Gods, no," Robbie said with a snort. "There's another. Mairon. My partner."
Tiber cocked his head. "Mairon? That's a strange name."
"Valyrian," Robbie said. "His mother was from Dragonstone. He's proud of it too, always humming some old tune from Dragonstone."
"What does he do."
Robbie grinned. "He is a bard. And a damned good one. Voice like silk and smoke. Says he has the best pipes in the Seven Kingdoms."
Tiber smirked. "Where is he now?"
"Off in the Vale," Robbie said, waving a hand. "He heard about some knight and ran off to make a song about him. Said it'd be the making of him."
Tiber leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "So he just wanders around looking for songs?"
"That's what bards do," Robbie said, then added, "He'll be back. Probably drunk and broke, with another tale in his belt."
Tiber nodded and spent the rest of the day walking Gulltown. The week passed in a blur—markets thick with voices, gulls screaming overhead, ship sails snapping in the harbor wind. He watched sword-dancers perform near the docks, bought a lemoncake from a stall, and listened to a fishmonger scream at a sailor for shortchanging her.
He didn't wear his armor once.
Until the night the knock came.
He had just sunk into his bath again when it sounded—firm, hurried. Tiber groaned and stood, grabbing a cloth to cover himself. "Come in," he called.
Robbie entered, his face pale and strained. "Tiber… I need your help."
Tiber frowned. "What's wrong?"
"A raven came," Robbie said, holding out a crumpled letter. "From Mairon. He's in trouble. Big trouble."
Tiber scanned the page, eyes narrowing. Bandits. Can't return to Gulltown. Death threats.
"Why do a bunch of bandits want to kill a bard so badly?" he asked.
Robbie shifted awkwardly. "In the letter he said… he may have… well, he might have… bedded the bandit leader's wife."
Tiber closed his eyes and shook his head. "Of course he did."
"I know he's a fool," Robbie said quickly, "but he's my friend. And he needs help. Real help. He's in Redfort lands now. Please."
Tiber sighed. "Fine. I'll go."
He stood, dripping water on the floor. "Now get out. I need to armor up."
Once Robbie left, Tiber dressed slowly. First the gambeson, then the chainmail over it. Then the plate, heavy on his shoulders and arms. Then his tabard—blue with the twelve-pointed white star. Lastly, he buckled his sword belt, the weight of Twilight reassuring at his hip.
When he stepped out of the inn and mounted Pebbles, the wind off the sea was sharp and fresh. Without another word, he rode for the Redfort.
Two days later, Tiber reached the castle.
The Redfort loomed over a spur of stone, ancient and grim. Its red banners flapped high above thick walls. The guards at the gate stepped forward, spears crossing.
"Name?" one demanded.
"Ser Tiber," he said.
They looked at him—his tabard, the amethyst pommel of his sword, the steel of his gaze.
"Ser Tiber Septim?" one asked. "The slayer of the Bell Knight? The Daring? The Knight of the Septim Star?"
Tiber frowned. "How do you know that name?"
"Everyone in these lands does. Your duel with Ser Benedict—it's been sung from castle to castle."
"By who?"
"Mairon Silvertongue," the man replied. "His songs have made you famous in these parts."
Tiber grimaced. "Is he here?"
"Aye. At the main keep. But you'll need the captain's leave to enter."
They sent for the captain.
When he came, Tiber looked up—and up. The man was a mountain in his own right, standing tall with a thick red beard and short-cropped hair. His name was Ser Bernard.
"You're shorter than I thought," Bernard said.
"I'm still growing," Tiber replied dryly.
"Are you really him?" Bernard asked.
Tiber unsheathed Twilight and held it aloft.
The Valyrian steel glinted darkly in the light.
Bernard nodded. "That'll do. Come. I'll take you in."
Inside the Redfort, the castle was cold stone and red banners. Tiber admired its stern beauty as they walked. But his mood darkened as they approached the inner keep.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"A trial," Bernard said, frowning. "It's happening now. Was supposed to be tomorrow, but Lord Redfort moved it up."
"Whose trial?"
Bernard hesitated. "Mairon Silvertongue."
Tiber stopped. "What did he do?"
Bernard looked uneasy. "Lady Jeyne Redfort—Lord Redfort's youngest—accused him of rape."
Tiber stared at him.
"Do you think it's true?"
Bernard looked away. "No. Mairon's been here a few days, but he seems a good sort. And between you and me…" He leaned in. "Lady Jeyne's known for bedding half the garrison. When someone says no, she cries rape. But no one dares speak it aloud."
Tiber swore softly. "So Mairon's likely innocent."
"Aye. But now he's asked for trial by combat."
Tiber's eyes narrowed. "And who's fighting for her?"
"Lord Redfort himself."
"And for Mairon?"
"No one," Bernard said. "He's to fight for himself."
Tiber didn't hesitate. "Open the gate. I'll fight for him."
"The lord—"
"Do you want to anger the gods?" Tiber snapped. "You'd deny a man justice before their eyes?"
After a beat, the guard stepped aside.
Inside, Mairon stood in the great hall, holding a sword with both hands, ready to accept death.
Tiber walked toward him. "I'll fight."
Mairon blinked. "Septim—?"
Tiber took the sword from him.
Up on the dais, Lord Redfort—tall, broad, grim—laughed.
"You're the one who killed Ser Benedict?"
Tiber's eyes narrowed. "Are we going to fight, or will you keep flapping your jaw?"
Redfort growled and ordered his men to bring him his great two-handed axe. Then he turned and left to don his armor.
Tiber and Mairon walked to the arena.
"Tell me the truth," Tiber said. "Did you rape her?"
"Gods, no," Mairon said. "After my song, I went to my chambers. She was there. Naked. I refused her. I've a friend here—Bob, a man-at-arms—who loves her. I sent her away. Hours later, I was arrested."
"And the bandits?"
"Oh. That. I, uh, made that up. I didn't think Robbie would actually send someone actually come."
Tiber shook his head. "We're going back to Gulltown when this is over."
Mairon smiled weakly. "Gladly."
Lord Redfort returned in full plate, his sigil on his tabard, his great axe in hand.
Tiber stepped into the circle opposite him.
The septon raised his arms.
"In the eyes of gods and men, this trial shall determine truth. Let the innocent triumph."
The herald stepped forward, voice ringing through the arena.
"Lord Ryan Redfort, the Red Axe!"
He turned to Tiber.
"Ser Tiber Septim, the Knight of the Septim Star!"
The crowd hushed.
"Three…"
Tiber unsheathed Twilight.
"Two…"
The sun glinted off Redfort's axe.
"One…"
Tiber raised his sword and let out a breath.
"Go".
Steel clashed against steel as the first blow rang through the stone-walled arena.
Lord Ryan Redfort came on like a charging bull, his great two-handed axe cleaving through the air with terrifying force. The weapon howled as it fell, aimed straight at Tiber's head. He barely managed to sidestep, the edge of the axe slicing a lock of hair as it crashed into the dirt floor, spraying dirt and dust.
Tiber answered with a quick strike, Twilight flashing out in a horizontal arc. Lord Redfort raised his gauntlet and caught the strike with the haft of his axe, the Valyrian steel almost slicing threw the thick oak shaft reinforced with iron bands.
A grunt escaped the lord's lips. "You are quick."
Tiber didn't answer. He danced backward, boots kicking up dust, watching. Redfort was enormous—nearly seven feet tall, his shoulders as wide as a warhorse's chest. Each swing of his axe was a threat that could cleave a man in two. But he was slower. And Tiber had speed, agility—and a blade like no other.
They circled.
Around them, the Redfort household and its soldiers watched in silence, a ring of mailed men and quiet noblefolk.
Tiber darted in again, low and fast. Twilight's dark edge lashed out, scoring a gash across Redfort's thigh just above the knee. Blood welled, dark against the steel greave.
Redfort snarled and brought his axe down in a hammering overhand chop. Tiber threw himself to the side, rolled, and sprang up just as the axe embedded in the ground with a sound like splitting wood. While Redfort struggled to free the weapon, Tiber struck again—twice, three times. One cut found the lord's shoulder, biting through the links of mail and drawing a growl of pain.
"Fast," Redfort growled, ripping the axe free with a spray of dirt, "but not enough."
He came again.
This time, he didn't swing wildly. He pressed forward with methodical, heavy steps, swinging in tighter arcs, forcing Tiber back. Each blow made Tiber stumble a little more, chipped at his guard, tested his timing. One hit glanced off his side, jarring his ribs. Another caught his pauldron, sending him staggering.
Tiber hissed through his teeth. His shoulder ached. Blood ran from a cut on his temple where Redfort's pommel had struck. His breaths came faster now.
Another swing.
This one he parried—but the force of the blow cracked his arm back, and he barely kept his grip on Twilight. The axe spun and came again, this time in a horizontal slash toward his chest. He ducked, felt the wind of it ruffle his tabard. Then he launched upward, blade-first, and scored a deep cut across Redfort's side, sending a spray of crimson across the lord's red tabard.
Redfort staggered back.
The crowd gasped.
But he didn't fall.
"You think that's enough to bring me down, boy?" he snarled. His voice echoed through the yard.
"I was hoping," Tiber panted.
Redfort spat blood. "You'll need to do better."
Tiber did.
He closed the distance, sword dancing in and out like a viper. Redfort raised his axe high—but Tiber feinted low, then drove the point of Twilight into the underside of his opponent's breastplate, just below the ribs. The sound was sickening—steel puncturing flesh, a roar of pain from Redfort as he stumbled.
Still not dead.
The great axe came crashing down again, and this time Tiber couldn't fully avoid it. It caught his leg—a glancing blow, but hard enough to split the mail and tear into the muscle of his thigh. He cried out, nearly collapsing.
Both men were bloodied now. Sweat dripped down Tiber's face, stinging his eyes. His leg burned with each movement. Redfort bled from four wounds, his breathing labored, the axe trembling slightly in his grip.
"Yield," Tiber said through gritted teeth.
"Never," Redfort growled.
And then, with a final, bellowing cry, the Lord of Redfort raised his axe over his head and rushed.
Tiber stood his ground.
He waited until the last possible second, heart thundering, leg screaming in protest. Then he ducked low—under the swing—and surged forward with every last ounce of strength. He rammed his shoulder into Redfort's chest, driving his sword up beneath the arm, where the armor was weakest.
Twilight punched through mail, through flesh, through muscle. Redfort gasped and dropped the axe. It hit the ground with a dull thud.
The great lord sank to his knees.
Tiber wrenched the blade free and stepped back, chest heaving. He raised Twilight, ready for the killing blow.
The yard was silent.
Redfort looked up at him, eyes filled with pride, pain—and something like shame.
Tiber looked around at the onlookers. He saw the guards. The smallfolk. The daughters. The septon with wide, frightened eyes. And Mairon, standing behind them all, pale and wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.
Tiber lowered his blade.
"I won't kill him," he said. "Let him live. Let this be done."
The crowd murmured. Mairon exhaled like a man waking from a nightmare.
The septon stepped forward. "In the eyes of gods and men, Ser Tiber Septim is victorious. The accused is freed. Justice has been served."
Tiber staggered, then turned. Mairon was already running toward him.
"You mad, beautiful bastard," the bard said. "You actually won."
Tiber grunted, limping slightly. "Of course I did."
They left the Redfort together—bloodied, bruised, but alive.
Behind them, Lord Redfort sat in the dirt, cradling his side, as the septon helped him up and the household looked on in awe and disbelief.
Pebbles neighed as Tiber approached.
"Back to Gulltown?" Mairon asked.
"Back to the Rose and Falcon," Tiber said. "And this time, you're staying out of trouble."
Mairon grinned. "No promises."
They rode into the Vale's rolling hills, the sun dipping low in the sky.
And behind them, songs were already beginning.