[Lore/Event] Judgement Of Heaven - The Trial By Combat of Lord Deziel Dalt

11th month, 303 AC

Arianne.

The atmosphere around the courtyard was palpable as the crowd waited for the trial to start. Of course they are more excited for a bloody duel than a normal trial. Slender fingers rubbed her temple in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. She half expected to be grey by the trial’s end, although the fact that this would be the end of the entire ordeal filled her with hope.

Arianne and her champion stood at one end of the marbled courtyard, eyes focused on Andrey Dalt. He wore a crested helm and light armor like the Rhoynish style of old. His face was unreadable behind his helm, the usual smiling face of her childhood friend replaced by a stoic look of determination. As if reading her mind, the hulking Norvoshi to her side spoke.

“Do not worry, little Princess.”

She turned to look up at him, squinting as her head tilted towards the sun. Her champion wore no armor, simple silks allowing his massive body to move with ease. The light of the sun shone off the steel of his weapon, the magnificent glaive standing as tall as he did.

“How can I not?” she asked with a sad smile. She glanced back at Andrey. “You are both…” A powerful hand rested on her shoulder.

“I will not kill him, my Princess. I know what he means to you. He shall yield.” Arianne nodded, placing one of her own hands atop the Norvoshi’s.

“But what if...he…” She knew she was wrong to question Areo’s skill, but she had not seen Andrey fight. I pray uncle Lewyn did not teach him everything.

“If the Gods deem Lord Dalt innocent…” He shook his head. “I will not yield, little Princess. The Gods shall decide my fate.”

The Gods. Areo’s piety was a source of pride for him, though Arianne failed to see the relevance...most of the time. If Andrey could somehow beat her champion, perhaps the Gods had a say after all. Without another word to her champion she turned and made her way around the perimeter to the rest of the nobility, to a seat with a regrettably good view of what was about to take place.

She sat on the raised dais by the side of the courtyard, flanked by judges and noble spectators. Lady Olenna Tyrell, Ser Aerys Velaryon, Lady Alysanne Dayne, Lord Anders Blackmont, Lady Aliandra Qorgyle and Lord Deziel Dalt were among them, though the last sat with shackled hands. When the two competitors were ready, she stood from her seat and waited for silence.

“Lord Dalt has chosen to let the Gods judge his fate. Should Ser Andrey Dalt defeat my champion, Lord Dalt will be found innocent of any and all charges. Should Ser Andrey Dalt be defeated by my champion, Lord Dalt will be found guilty of the murder of Prince-Consort Aurane Waters of Dorne, and will be sentenced accordingly.”

Simple as that. It was almost farcical to reduce the evidence and testimonies into a simple duel, but such were the laws of Westeros. With a slight shake of the head, Arianne barked one more word, and the trial began.

---

Andrey

Even with the roar of the crowd around him all that Andrey could hear was the beating of blood in his ears, all he could see was the towering man that stood before him. Hands gripped tight around the shaft of his spear he stood still as a statue, eyes scanning across the massive Norvoshi. How am I to fight this man? If I lose I will lose Dez, and if I win, Ari will despise me. There was nothing he wished more than to go back to Lemonwood, to lie beside Sylva and hold Cassana in his arms, but love for family is a hollow thing without the will to defend it. He could only hope that they would understand, whatever the outcome.

Steeling himself, he muttered a quiet prayer and fell into his practiced stance. “Warrior guide my arm, Father grant me justice, Mother guard my family.” Across from him Areo did likewise, lifting his glaive up and giving it a swing, a wide arc that had a sickening finality to it.

Slowly, like two prowling lions, the champions stepped into motion, walking a wide circle around each other. Small spirals of dust and sand kicked up around the field as the two kept a steady pace, neither seeming ready to initiate the fight just yet. Around the edges of the courtyard the roar of the crowd had quieted, a few shouting support for Andrey, others for Areo, and others simply eager for blood whatever the source.

As if on some silent signal Andrey struck first, charging in with a short shout and launching strike after strike at Areo. First he thrust upwards, aiming for Areo’s neck, then downwards towards his groin. To his ribs and to his shoulder and his ribs once more. With a flowing ease the Norvoshi batted each of the smaller knight’s blows away, his glaive singing with each strike against Andrey’s spear. He did not have the speed of the younger man but his greater height and reach allowed him to block several strikes with one motion.

Taking initiative from a thrust towards his head that missed its mark, Areo rammed the butt of his glaive into his opponent’s gut. The force of the blow shocked Andrey, forcing him backwards and knocking away his balance. Even with his armor he was left gasping for breath and backing away quickly from Areo’s sweeping strikes.

The blow from Areo’s glaive dissuaded Andrey from attempting to block any of the incoming attacks. The Norvoshi’s strength made it more likely that he would end up without a weapon than that he would block even a single attack. And yet if he did not do something soon he would either need to find a seat in the audience or yield away his brother’s life. Even as his ribs screamed at him to submit the image of Dez’s head on a pike kept him in the fight.

Stumbling further and further backward desperation began to overtake Andrey. Areo’s strikes came like a rolling torrent, unending and unyielding. His glaive seemed to be able to reach any distance, to strike a blow at any place and time. Andrey needed to get past him but there was no path left open for him, and he doubted he had the strength to make one.

A chill ran up his spine as his back hit solid stone. Just a few feet above him sat the judges, sat his brother, sat Arianne. He had little time to consider any of that as his opponent came walking towards him. He had ceased his attacks, his face as set in stone as always as he came to tower over Andrey.

“Yield, boy.” his growling voice commanded, glaive held at the ready. There was no malice to it, no gloating, no joy of victory. There was nothing to it but cold duty.

Andrey held his gaze, not dropping his stance, his spear still prepared to strike. “I cannot.” He answered. Sylva, forgive me.

“Then you must learn.” Areo rumbled, his glaive lashing out in a low arc.

Andrey’s reaction came as quickly as Areo’s attack. Launching his spear into the sand of the field the blade of Areo’s glaive caught the shaft at an angle. Leaning low, Andrey carried Areo’s blow along the spear and over his shoulders in a wide arc, every muscle and bone screaming their protest. Spinning past Areo’s retaliatory strike Andrey was relieved to find only the empty air of the arena against his back.

Once more on the offensive, Andrey pressed in. His spear was as ill suited for close combat as Areo’s glaive was, but against the Norvoshi’s immense reach it was the best he could do. He began his attack with a strike at Areo’s shoulder which the shaft of his glaive deflected into the air. Andrey followed up with a feint to the right before striking to the left at Areo’s flank. This too was blocked with a grunt from the Norvoshi, the force of Areo’s blow nearly throwing the spear from Andrey’s hands.

Knocked off balance once more by Areo’s strength Andrey did not have the chance to take notice of the fist that came flying like a hammer into his nose. Stumbling backwards, he was sent rolling across the field by a thunderous kick. His nose was broken, he could feel it, but that was less a bother than the tears quickly pooling in his eyes. Jumping quickly to his feet Andrey could vaguely see the various people in the stands, his vision too blurred to make out their faces.

His heart sank as he looked at the man across from him. Despite it all Areo seemed little worse for wear, only a sheen of sweat across his brow showing that he had undergone any exertion at all. At the edges of his consciousness he could feel the pain that was spreading in his body, the fire in his ribs, the drip of blood from his nose.

This ends now, one way or another this has to end now.

Releasing a guttural warcry Andrey charged, spear raised high. Areo responded in kind, rushing across the field like an ocean wave. Through all the pain and fear Andrey took some small satisfaction to see Areo’s glaive held just as he expected. Mere feet from their collision Andrey shifted his grip, thrusting the spear low towards the giant’s flank. It was only too late that he noticed Areo’s glaive had shifted as well. The two of them collided in a mess of steel and blood.

Andrey cried out as he felt steel rend flesh. His spear slipped from his grasp, now slick with blood. He fell to the ground, the coarse sands of the battleground digging deep into his open wound. All of the pain he had kept buried came rushing back to him as his energy fled. He was left numb to the cheers of the crowd, to the screams from the stands, to the groans echoing right beside him. Groggily, he crawled onto his hands and knees. Looking down he saw only red.

---

Arianne

Arianne jumped from her seat at the collision, her hand rising to her mouth as she saw Andrey drop to the floor. Trying to ignore the feeling of nausea in her gut, she cleared her throat.

“The Gods have...have…” Her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing at the pair in the courtyard. Something is wrong. Andrey slowly got back to his feet, hands covering the gash in his leg and his face wrought with pain, and Areo...he had staggered away from the collision and now… Oh Gods.

She kicked her shoes off and ran around the perimeter of the courtyard, screaming at those in her way to move as the crowd murmured and gawped at the bloody mess that was the two competitors. She glanced at the two to see Andrey on his feet, leaning on his spear for support, while Areo was on his knees. She darted in the gate and headed towards Areo, though by the time she got there the situation was clear.

The Norvoshi had fallen onto his back, revealing a horrendous wound on the right side off his torso. Andrey’s spear had ripped it apart, leaving a mess of flesh and innards seeping onto the stone floor. It was all Arianne could do not to wretch then and there, but a voice distracted her from the sight.

“The Gods…” Areo’s head was lifted from the ground as Arianne dropped to her knees beside him. “They have...spoken, little Princess. Lord Dalt is innocent.” He winced as her hand lightly brushed his stomach, the blood thick on his body. “I...I am sorry, little P...Pr…” There was a thud as his head fell back onto the stone, eyes closed. Her champion was dead, her oldest protector able to rest at last. She did not get to say goodbye.

Her hands were shaking as she covered her face, blood smearing onto her cheek. She did not cry, for that would come later and the shock was enough to keep her eyes dry. She got to her feet, stumbling slightly with the knees of her dress covered in blood that had crawled across the stone.

“I…” She took a deep breath, before raising her head and speaking with a voice as stern as she could muster. “The Gods have found Lord Dalt innocent.” Her eyes were focused on the accused, hoping he knew what he had done. Hoping he felt the pain inside that she was feeling. She turned to the foreign judges and Alysanne. “I want you gone by the time the sun sets tomorrow. You, your troops, your ships, gone. This trial is over.” She looked from Olenna to Aerys to Alysanne, but found nothing to say. She left the courtyard without another word, leaving the rest of the guards to deal with the aftermath. For the first time in her life, Areo did not follow.

**

[m] Rolls here

Now please excuse me, I'm going to cry.