The Tale of Black Dow

A story written in the style of George R.R. Martin, commissioned for a player of the Game of Thrones - Ascent.

The Tale of Black Dow

(c) 2015 by Joel M Frye

A common fighting man, hard hands, hard heart

Who wears the blood of others, and his own

From wars where he would never be a part

'Less bought and paid for by the lords unknown.

-Song Of The Mercenary

Aye, 'tis no tale for th' bards or th' poets. They know naught o' the song o' a sword whistling through th' air, cuttin' bone as a maid would slice bread. Knights' armor shines in th' sun o' a spring morn, never dented or spattered with blood and bowels. Nay, the bards care not f'r th' faceless who fight in th' shadows while th' lords sit astride their destriers and lead th' rear. Me story would never be heard in th' great castles, me name not sung in th' banquet halls. But ask in th' inns and brothels of Flea Bottom, inquire in th' small towns o' th' Seven Kingdoms. Question th' farmer and th' hedge knight who they'd have t'fight by their side and who they'd fear t'face in th' light and th' darkness that is battle, and they will come close and whisper, for they dare not speak me name too loudly, lest it bring me wrath upon them...

M'name is Black Dow.

I was born t' a farmer who died a foot-soldier in a petty battle 'tween two lords preening over an apple orchard. By th' Gods I say, for a grove o' trees! My mother kept th' farm as best she could, but plowing, 'tis no work for a woman. We moved t' Maidenpool, where she found work at th' inn as a servin' woman, and served whate'er was asked for. I earned me keep as a scullery boy as a lad, but me main occupation soon became fighting. Big or small, any boy who crossed me path soon crossed me, and when crossed, I attacked. From seven on, I lost nary a fist fight until me fifteenth year, when I fancied I could take on a drunken hedge knight who wandered out, unarmed and unarmored, behind th' stables t' relieve hisself. Unfortunately for me, he wan't too drunk t' grasp a branch from a nearby tree, and use't as a staff t' give me th' thrashing o' m'life...in fact, nearly ended it.

I gave near as good as I got, though, and Ser Rhaegar Blackfyre was laid up beside me at th' inn f'r days. He was not much older than I, but had squired f'r some leal lord o' the Lannisters, and so'd been trained in combat. Had he not been found with th' twelve-year-old daughter o' His Lordship in th' hayloft, Ser Rhaegar might ha' had a long and lusty life in th' Lord's court. Even so, th' Master o' Arms knighted him before sendin' him on his way, and so Ser Rhaegar rode off into th' life of a mercenary. As may happen when two young men fight, we soon made fast friends and, as we healed from our common wounds, he told me his story. As soon as we were well enough, he began t'train me in arms, f'r I had decided better a mercenary's death than a life o'pots and pans. Me mother said naught; she h'd taken t'drinking more'n she served these days, and those nights not spent on her back upstairs were spent under a table by th' hearth.

Rhaegar pushed me hard; days there were we spent sunup t'sundown, broadsword and dagger and mace and staves, pounding shields to splinters. I grew strong, had th' speed of youth, and th' rage I had always on hand served me well. He taught me t'focus that rage, and throw't in th' face o' my opponent. Soon we knew th' other's thrusts near before they were made, and we had naught t'teach one another.

One morn before aught else had risen, Rhaegar shook me from sleep. “'Tis time, Dow.” he said.

Still half-asleep, I said, “Time for what, Rhaegar? Th'c**k's not crowed yet.”

He said, “'Tis high time we left here. I'm near spent of stags, and you've yet to earn enough to have armor made for you. We needs must go and find work.”

“Am I t' ride with you? I have no horse.”

“You have horses a-plenty in the inn's stable. Take your pick.”

“But...the horse's owner will come after us, and...”, a wicked smile came t' me face, as it did t' Rhaegar's, “...and we'll have our first battle, then.”

Rhaegar Blackfyre's eyes gleamed. “Be assured, he shan't come to fight alone. 'Tis well past time you were blooded in truth. First, though, we shall ride to Saltpans, for I have a friend there who we would well have on our side. Shadd Su will find provisions for our travels, and mayhaps has a suit of armor to fit you in one of his warehouses.”

So we stole out t'th' stable, and as Rhaegar saddled his mount, I found a chestnut stallion, broad in chest and with spirit. Finding a saddle and blanket t'suit me, I readied me ride, and as th' sun's first light came up, we left Maidenpool f'r Saltpans. 'Twas a solid three-day ride, barely stoppin' t' eat or rest, though we saw naught o' anyone givin' chase. We rode into town and spent Rhaegar's last coppers on a meal and ale at th' inn, and headed f'r th' docks, where Rhaegar stopped at a building hardly standing, yet well-positioned on th'harbor. Standing at th' door, he knocked once, then twice quickly, then twice slowly, and twice again.

A quiet voice came from inside the closed door. “What say ye?”

Rhaegar said, “I say, black is the fire that burns.”

The door was thrown open, and a beefy man burst out, dressed plainly but well, and clasped Rhaegar t' his chest. “Rhaegar Blackfyre! As I live and breathe! By the Seven, it's been too long, my good boy!” When he saw me, he held Rhaegar at arm's length, and said, “And brought another lad. Well-met, young ser. Who might ye be?”

Though his face were smilin', his eyes were not. They searched me up and down as I replied, “Dow, and I am no ser.”

Rhaegar said, “Dow, this is Shadd Su. Don't let him put you off. He is always wary of a new face, even when it arrives with an old friend.” He turned to Shadd and laughed, “This stripling thought he could best me in a fist fight, not knowing that I would bring a cudgel. Nearly did for me, in spite of that. I couldn't let such fine fury go to waste, now, could I?”

Shadd raised an eyebrow, and his gaze softened. “Now that I look closer, I can see where ye left your marks, Rhaegar. Bless you, lad, your courage, but damn your lack of brains.”

I said, “Ser Rhaegar has given me an education since then.”

Shadd chuckled. “I imagine he has, as I know him. Do you have a last name, lad?”

I shook my head. “Dow will do, ser.”

Shadd burst out laughing. “Aye!! Not Rivers nor Stone nor Snow. A pureborn man of the common folk. There's hope for ye yet.” He held a small smile as he welcomed us into his rooms, as he lived where he worked. Turning to Rhaegar, he said, “Well, seeing as how you rarely come with a copper to your name, I suppose ye seek aid from me again. I don't know why I keep opening my door to ye, lad. It costs me much and more each time.”

Rhaegar smiled. “You damned well know why, you old thief. If I hadn't smuggled you out of the castle, old Hugo Farraway would have seen to it you were short a right hand.”

Shadd shrugged. “Gratitude, while warm, is a cloak that wears thin over time. Unless, of course,” he grinned, “it is tailored well. And as your warning suited me perfectly, my gratitude is forever yours.” He pulled out a purse from a desk. “How much is it, this time?”

“Only a few stags. We are more in need of provisions, and armor and a decent weapon for Dow here. The stags we will return as we earn our keep. We are off to sell our swords.”

A deep chortle. “ 'Only a few stags', he says. Then slides in the part about the hundred dragons' worth of goods.”

Rhaegar howled in laughter. “They day you pay a hundred dragons for anything in Westeros is the day I give birth to twins.”

Shadd spread his hands. “Ye have me there, cursing me for a shrewd businessman.” He took a key from his pocket, and went to a heavy door at the back of the room. “The armor, might be I have. The sword, nothing ye'd want to take into a mummer's play, let alone a fight. Come along, Dow.”

We followed him through pile after pile o'goods; at some, he stopped us, and had us choose cloaks and boots and a change o'clothing. Suits o'armor stood as if ready for battle, lined up side by side and seven rows deep. Rhaegar found new armor in much better shape than his old, and I was drawn to a set that gleamed black, even in th' dim light o'th' warehouse.

Shadd shook his head. “I'd not be choosing that armor, lad. The lord it were made for died in his saddle as he readied for the lists. Cursed, it is. No one in Saltpans will have it.”

I gazed into th' darkness o'th' faceplate, and saw th' boy's face with th' broken nose. “No man'd fear me as I stand,” I said. “But sure they'd fear th'black, riding at them with sword drawn. And you have no use for 't. If't fit's me, I shall wear it.” With that, I took th' helm and put it on. It could have been forged t'me head and not fit better. Rhaegar helped with th' rest, and it all went on like it were made for me alone.

Rhaegar looked at me when I was armored. “Magnificent. Black becomes you, Dow.”

I took off th' helmet. “What's better is...I become black. Black Dow.

Shadd said, “A fine name 'tis. Worthy to be whispered over a fire at night.”

We took our armor and gear t' th' front room, where Shadd said he would keep it until we were ready t'leave. He pressed his lips together, and said, “As for the weapon, I know of a man in town who has a sword available. A fine sword 'tis, but the price is high. Vickon Ironmaker is his name, a mercenary like ye'selves. From the Iron Islands, stays down at the Sea Dragon Inn at the end of the docks.” He looked down at the floor, then at me. “He will have ye pay the iron price for that sword, and three men have died trying to fight through him to get it. If ye think ye're ready for battle, then see him. Ye'll find out soon enough if ye have what it takes.”

Rhaegar looked me square in th'eyes, all o' the humor gone from his. “What say you, Black Dow?

“I say, let us find this Ironmaker.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps. Tonight we eat, and rest well. I have heard tell of this Ironmaker, and you will need every ounce of strength you have. 'Tis no walk in the grove you face.”

We ate, and we slept; that is, Rhaegar slept. I lay awake, seeing Vickon Ironmaker in me mind, goin' over all that Rhaegar had taught me. If he were bigger, block high, swing low. Smaller, block low, swing high. Over and over, I fought Ironmaker all night, until I realized he was keepin' me from me sword, and I felt the cold-hot rage come over me.

From then on, I slept like a baby, for I knew th' sword were mine.

Early next morning, we walked t'th' Sea Dragon, and went in. The barkeep was putting up a plate o'pickled smallfish on th' table, and Rhaegar ordered two ales and sat down, looking about. “I wonder if this Ironmaker is an early riser,” he said.

At that, a tall, blond man with a wide chest and narrow hip stood up from his chair in th' corner. “Who seeks Ironmaker?”

Before Rhaegar could speak, I said, “Black Dow seeks a sword. This Ironmaker has one. It will be mine.”

The blond man burst into laughter. “You? You are Black Dow? A boy who drinks ale to chase his mother's milk? And you dare to challenge Ironmaker?”

“I am Black Dow. The sword is mine.”

“I am Vickon Ironmaker, and the price of that sword is your blood. Still willing to buy?”

“You will gladly give up that sword to spare your arse when I am done.”

One side o' his face twisted into a smile. “We'll see how boldly you speak without teeth and with a broken jaw, boy.”

He went t' his room, and came back down with a sword in a sheath. Pulling it out, he said, “Here is 'your' sword, child. And this is as close as you'll ever come to holding it. I grant you the boon of your choice of weapon. Choose wisely, and lose, or choose poorly and lose. It matters not to me.”

“I would beat the smirk from your face with a staff this day, Watermaker.”

“You will learn the lesson painfully, never to mock the Ironborn.” He led us out t' a small clearing behind th' inn, and thrust th' sword in th' dirt behind him. “Now, if you can fight your way past me, the sword be yours. But if you cannot, you will either yield or die.”

Ironmaker grabbed his staff, and I mine, and we began our dance. He were about me height, wider in th' chest but thinner in th' arms and legs. What he was, was quick and surprisin' strong. Th' first few blows were f'r measure, how far I could reach, how powerful, how fast. Soon enough the strikes came in earnest, and 'twas all I could do t' block most o'them. Took him more than a few moments f'r him t'strike me me true, hard enough to drive me to one knee.

“Arrrr!” he screamed. “I'll have your brains mashed in the dirt before you know they've left your skull!!”

Though I had not stood up yet, me mind was clear as air. Y'see, it takes th' first hit to focus me. I stop feeling th' pain, stop hearing th' sounds around me. It's as like I become th'weapon, and th'weapon is me. Th' rage in me runs from hot t' cold, and't no longer matters who be before me.

I stood up just as he charged, holdin' his staff as a lance, lookin' t' stow in th' front of me head. I saw me chance, waited just before he struck, and knocked his staff aside. I spun around him as he flew past, and cracked him on the back o' his head. He fell, stunned but a second, rolled over and was in fighting stance in a heartbeat.

“Aye, so the boy has some life to him. By the Drowned God, the game is on!”

The fight went on f'r what seemed like days, yet th' sun barely moved. He moved like lightning, but when th' cold-rage sets on me, time slows like cold honey, and I could see his strikes coming from a long ways off, easy to block. But he could see mine 's well, and th' sweat spun off our shirts and our staves as we hammered on. Mind me, one thing Vickon Ironmaker can do, is fight. A few glancin' blows would find a mark, but naught t' wound, until a hand wet with sweat slipped from his staff, and I swung hard and true t' his head.

I could not be sure I hit, f'r he still stood f'r a moment. Suddenly his knee buckled, and his eyes went white in his head as he fell face-down in the dirt. He was out but a minute, but 'twas enough time f'r me to grab my sword, and put it t' his neck as he came around.

“Aye, good ser, the sword be yours,” Vickon said. “No need to kill me for it. You won it in fair melee.”

The sword did not move. “You would have killed me for 't. Why should I not do the same?”

Vickon smiled at me. “I have reasons, ser. Many reasons, all of them golden.”

Rhaegar spoke for th' first time since we left th' inn; 'twere my fight, after all. “Ser Ironmaker, would you have me think that this is your manner of recruitment?”

“Aye, 'tis that precisely. I have need of two more swords for my allies. I have moved from town to worthless town, seeking anyone with at least enough skill to keep me amused. Three have died here in Saltpans trying to amuse me. You, Black Dow, are the only one who has bested me. For whom did you squire?”

I said, “ I have squired for no lord, no bowed t' one ever. Ser Rhaegar has trained me in arms.”

By this time I had pulled th' sword away, and helped him to his feet. He looked over to Rhaegar with respect, and said, “Daresay trained you well. If you both be looking for work, I would have some for you.”

So we sealed our alliance over several hours and several ales, and th' three of us headed t' Shadd Su's, where we could gather our gear and armor. Shadd merely shook his head hearin' th' tale o' the sword, and clapped Vickon upon th' back, callin' him th' rarest of birds, th' honest mercenary. Shadd set us on our way, purses full o'stags and the promise o' aid when and where he could.

We spent th' next years growing hard and fast and rich. Vickon knew many and more of th' wealthy merchants needing protection, or minor lords lustin' for more land. Vickon favored black mail armor, and Rhaegar, bein' a Blackfyre and all, wore black from th' start, and I with my suit of black armor, well, we made quite a sight a-horse. One innkeep called us th' flock of ravens, for we bore bad news where'er we went. Vickon tipped th' keep a full dragon, for from that night on, we were known as the Raven Guard.

So I stand before you today, a lord, not by my father's blood, but by th' blood o' a thousand across th' battlefields o' Westeros. We each have small keeps o' our own, and wealth and wenches, but still keep our swords sharp and our wits sharper. We grow not large in number, but in strength, and th' name o' th' Raven Guard still brings th' folk to say, “Dark wings, dark words.” And to a man, they will tell you that the darkest words they know are...

“Yonder comes Black Dow.”

Reviews

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-- wow... what a story... -- i watched all seasons of "game of thrones" recently... and i think you've evoked the atmosphere and spirit of the series perfectly... and i haven't read George R.R. Martin... so thank you for the insight into his style of writing...