Game Of Thrones The Second Bastard - Chapter 7 William Doun

Authors Note:

We broke through the top 300!!! As thanks I will increase the release rate to 2 chapters for the next week.

While this is currently a temporary increase in the release schedule, if the support for the story continues at the speed it is I will Increase permanently maintain a 14 chapters/ week release schedule u003c3

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It would be another few hours before they made it to Meereen. But even then, he wouldn’t have the strength to fight back. The past month had been torture for Edward as he was bound up more than ninety-five percent of the time. The five percent of the time he unbound was when they removed some of the binding to let him move around a little and eat.

They were trying to break him.

Luckily something like this was even close to even to break him.

Determined to the core of his soul, he strained to move. To fight back. To do anything other than lay here as their slave.

It was useless. The only thing he got from fighting back was having his “free” time shortened from an hour to half an hour.

He was at their “mercy,” Goddamn me for being so stupid

His armor and weapons had long been stripped from him probably sold to the highest bidder by now.

“Welcome to your new home, Meereen,” one of the ringleaders mocked, “not as if you will ever be able to see the outside of these walls ever again.”

As we tolled along I could see the beauty of the massive pyramids that they constructed. The architectural magnificent was something they couldn’t fathom possible during this age in my previous life.

“Ramiro, report to my office.” The magister commanded.

“What of the slaves?”

“Take them to be marked in the holding cells below, they will deal with everything after.”

“Will do.” The merchant whose name was Ramiro order the guards to drag all of us down to what I assume was the holding cells below.

“AHHHHH!” the screams of many became louder and louder as we got closer to the “holding cell.”

“Line them up behind the rest of them,” a man who looked to be in his forties commanded as he continued to burn slave marks on the chest of the new “slaves.”

When my turn arrived I was shoved onto a table and strapped down. “Sellsword,” the guard I was assigned to mentioned to the old man.

The old man had a wicked smile on his face, “great he will be a perfect addition to the gladiators the magister will be glad.” And then stabbed me with the burning hot branding staff.

“AHHHHH!” All the pain I had experienced before did not hold a candle to the pain I just felt. The pain was indescribable, my only escape was that the pain was too much and I quickly blacked out

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When I woke up I noticed I was in a small room. The room had a moldy wooden bed with what I would presume a blanket but looked more like scraps of cloth. I also noticed the mark they had put on the left side of my chest. Two intersecting swords with a trident through the middle. My head swam, and my empty stomach churned. I will never be able to live with

That an afterthought first I need to be able to live through this.

I walk out of my room to find a group of men all in the same attire as me worn-out skirts and bare chests. I was easily able to identify that they were slaves as well with their marks on the chest.

“Hey. Where can I get some food around here?” I ask a man who seemed like a western. He had a typical Dornish face which scars all over the upper portion of his body.

“A newbie?” he asked. After receiving a nod from me he responded, “We’re lucky. The gladiators get their own “mess hall,” it’s over there by the gates,” he said pointing to a shabby looking stall which seemed to be serving stew. Well better than nothing.

After finishing three big bowl of stew, I return to the man who was standing there watching the rest of the gladiators spar. He seemed welcoming enough given that he wasn’t a bastard about giving me directions.

“Where are you from, you seem Dornish?” I ask trying to start small talk.

“Aye, I come from the land of Dorne. My name is William Doun. While out as a sellsword three years ago, I was drugged and sold to be a gladiator here.”

“Edward Snow, I come from the North, Winterfell, was hoping to create a name for myself in Essos and like you got drugged and sold to be a gladiator here.”

“A bastard huh Come I’ll show you around.”

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“”

“Over here is the weapons rack, everything is shit, but try and find something that suits your style.”

After a quick tour of the place which didn’t take too long with the place being small and such, we returned the common area where a group of few gladiators could be seen training.

“How about a quick spar?” William asked while picking up a wooden spear, “they don’t let us use actual weapons since we could kill each other or event he guards, but they have decent weight.”

“what about the weapons on the rack?” I ask while trying to find two swords that were relatively equal in weight and had decent balance.

“Those a for when you have a match in the fighting pit,” he said with a grim face, “there we fight to kill.”

“How many have you killed in the ring?” quite curious about the man’s status.

“I’ve been here for over three years Let’s just say I have yet to lose.”

He led off with a jab to my ankles which I quickly deflected. William is not someone who I can take lightly. Having been in the ring for 3 years gave a wealth of life and death experiences.

The sun’s rays beat down on the courtyard in typical Essos fashion and we circled each other. Sweat trickled down my chest as I pressed the attack. Weaving the sword with the art I learnt from the statue. Like a phantom, I continuously pressed the attack not letting William breath. To my surprise William was defending effortlessly, twirling the spear with fluidity and grace, easily deflecting any attack I initiated.

By this time, the rest of the fighters had stopped their fights to watch the watch our fight unfold.

I quickly answered with an overhead cross with both my swords hoping that the power behind the stroke was enough to catch him off guard.

William caught my strike by precisely placing his spear at the intersection of my blades. With a quick fluid flick of his wrist, he stripped me of my swords and left me unarmed.

Against any other fighter I would continue this fight barehanded, as I was an expert at Krav Maga, but against William who was a master in the way of the spear, who didn’t even have to become serious to defeat me – I knew it was hopeless.

“I lose,” I sigh helplessly, which was drowned away by the thunderous cheer of the gladiators spectating around us.

“You really are skilled at wielding two swords, its something I’ve never seen before.” William comforted with a smile.

“Not as skilled as you are with a spear,” I replied grimly, thinking about the results if I had fought him in the pit.

“Don’t worry about the pit Ed, we almost never go against people under the same magister,” he responded as if he could read my mind, “focus on your footwork, your footwork is more suited for single sword combat, not dual sword combat. It makes your strike slower than it would be, a fatal flaw for those would wield two swords.”

He quickly left and turned the corner me, leaving me standing there like a fool enlightened by his words of wisdom. It all makes sense! I practiced kendo in the past which utilizes one sword, while the footwork would work for Kendo, it won’t work for Phantom Storm! I quickly run off to my room to think about the movement of the swordart.

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“Smart kid Maybe he will be the one”

The shadow lurking quickly disappeared before anyone could notice.