"A tale is but half told when only one person tells it."
― from The Saga of Grettir the Strong, written in Iceland
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It had not taken long for my Ser and me to set up camp upon a nearby hill. We were, after all, not welcome among the camps of the lords.
I sat beside the fire, watching the metal pot that hung above it. The stew within simmered and bubbled as it cooked, the scent of it drifting through the cool evening air.
Yet my eyes did not linger on the meal, no matter how good it smelled.
Instead they wandered into the distance, toward the wide spread of tents below and the castle of Ashford rising upon the hill beyond them. That was where my Ser had gone, hoping to place his name among those who would ride in the tourney.
Everything rested on his word and the lord's will. Whether he would be allowed to compete was a matter of luck as much as anything else.
Without thinking, I clasped my hands together and offered a quiet prayer to the Seven.
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[ Plummer, Steward of Ashford ]
As I scribbled upon the parchment with my quill, I let out a heavy sigh, one that did not escape my notice. Yet there was little cause to complain. This was work, and work had to be finished before the hour was done.
Else I would soon hear complaints from Lord Ashford himself.
The scratching of the quill continued for some time, broken only by the distant sounds of the castle halls. Servants passing. Guards shifting their posts. The usual noise of a castle made busy by a coming tourney.
Then came a knock at the door.
Only once.
Before I could call for entry, the door opened and a man stepped inside. I lifted my head from the parchment and studied him as he crossed the chamber. A noble?
After all, he was not dressed like the common hedge knights that had filled my doorway all day. His armour was well-made, polished steel that caught the light of the chamber. The helm rested beneath his arm rather than upon his head, revealing a young face that seemed strangely out of place upon a man clad for war.
His features were fine, almost delicate, with dark hair falling loosely about his temples. There was a quiet look to him. Not prideful, not loud like the others who had come to sign their names. His eyes moved about the room before settling upon me, watchful in a way that suggested he missed very little.
Even so, the armour told its own story. The close helm beneath his arm carried a black and white plume. His shield rested upon his back, and at his waist hung a warhammer whose weight was plain to see. Whoever he was, he had not come unprepared.
He stopped before the desk.
"Are you Plummer?" he asked.
His voice was calm, softer than I expected from a man in plate.
I gave a slow nod.
"I am."
My eyes lingered on him for another moment before I leaned back slightly in my chair.
"Are you a knight come to sign for the lists?"
He stared at me for a moment before giving a slow nod.
" I am. "
I turned back to the parchment and moved to the next line.
"Name?" I asked. I paused and looked up at him again. "And who knighted you?"
The man remained standing, his gaze fixed on mine. His eyes were sharp.
"Ser Alekyne of House Dostoyevsky, though we hold no land or title."
He paused briefly before answering the second question. By then my quill had already begun scratching his name onto the page.
"I was knighted by Ser Godwyn of Lannisport."
I considered that for a moment, unsure whether the next question was necessary.
"And is there anyone who can confirm this?" I asked. "A witness?"
The knight paused at that, as if weighing his answer, then gave a small shake of his head. A faint click left my mouth.
"I do not believe so," he said. "Though any who witnessed the tourney at Lannisport could attest that I am a knight."
I gave a slight nod at that. That would make matters simpler.
The Lannisters had already arrived, and it would not be difficult to seek confirmation from them.
I kept my gaze on him.
"Would you be willing to wait a few hours while I confirm this with Lord Damon Lannister?"
The man gave a small nod, and I gestured toward one of the chairs set along the wall.
"Sit."
"Guards!"
I raised my voice, clear and sharp. It did not take long for a pair of them to enter.
"Yes, how can we help?"
One stood with his hands near his sword, his gaze drifting toward the knight now seated, who had somehow produced a green apple and taken a bite from it. I did not bother asking where he had found it.
"Fetch me Lord Damon or Tybolt Lannister," I said. I paused, then motioned toward the knight. "They are to vouch for this man. His name is Ser Alekyne."
"Supposedly, he fought at the tourney in Lannisport."
The guard nodded and gave a short bow before leaving at once. My attention returned to the knight.
"How far did you make it in the tourney?"
I found myself curious. I had missed that tourney, bound to my duties here, and it had not sat well with me. I did enjoy a good contest when I could afford the time.
The knight looked at me as he bit into the apple again, the sound carrying through the room. He swallowed, then gave a faint smile.
"The final round. I jousted Prince Baelor himself."
My eyes widened at that. That alone was no small feat. To reach the final round of such a tourney spoke of skill, and to face a prince made it all the more impressive.
I had half a mind to press him for more, to hear every detail of it.
"How many tilts?" I asked.
The knight regarded me with little interest and raised seven fingers.
I let out a short breath and brought my hands together in a quiet clap. For a hedge knight to last that long against a prince was no small thing.
Perhaps he would do well here.
If he did, it might be worth placing some coin on him.
Gods be kind, I might leave this tourney richer than I already am.
"You're a good knight. "
" Brilliant even, the fact that you managed to go seven tilts. "
I praised him even though it felt somewhat unnatural to praise a hedgeknight.
The man seemed to chuckle at my words, as if unsure how to take them as praise; perhaps his mother had never praised him enough. Or maybe his father?
" Any man could be brilliant with a lance, given the time. "
The man seemed to shrug his shoulders, seemingly forgetting how many also seemed to have a certain ceiling before they stopped improving, with Prince Baelor seeming to have one of the highest in the realm at this point.
So the fact that he did so well made it clear this knight was not someone to be trifled with.
The knight's answer lingered in the air, modest to the point of dismissal. I watched him for a moment, weighing it.
False humility, or truth?
It was not easy to tell. Some men boasted to hide their weakness. Others spoke lightly of their skill because they did not need to prove it with words.
This one felt like the latter.
I leaned back in my chair and folded my hands upon the desk, my eyes still fixed on him.
"Perhaps," I said at last. "Yet most men are given the time and never reach such a height."
He did not answer. Instead, he took another bite of his apple, as if the matter did not concern him.
The room fell quiet.
Only the faint crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of the castle halls reached us. I returned to my work, though my attention drifted now and then toward the man before me.
He sat with an ease that did not suit his station. Not restless like the others who had passed through my door, nor eager to boast of his deeds. He simply waited.
Time passed.
More men came and went. Some were approved, others turned away. None matched the man seated at the side of the room. A few cast glances toward Ser Alekyne, curious, before turning their focus back to me.
As it should be. I was the gate they had to pass.
As the sun began its slow descent, a shadow fell across the doorway. I looked up, my quill pausing mid-stroke.
A knight stood there. Tall enough that the frame of the door seemed to narrow around him.
"Yes?" I said, studying him. "What do you want, man?"
The knight shut the door behind him and stepped forward, paying no mind to the other in the room.
"Are you Plummer the Steward? I came for the tourney, to enter the lists."
I pursed my lips as I looked him over, drawing in a slow breath.
"My lord's tourney is for knights." I stopped before continuing. "Are you a knight?"
The man hesitated.
It was slight, but I saw it. A pause too long, a breath drawn as though he had to reach for the answer.
"Aye," he said at last. "I am."
My fingers stilled upon the parchment.
Too slow.
I had seen enough men pass through this room to know the sound of truth and the sound of something shaped to resemble it. This one did not sit cleanly.
Before I could press him further, a quiet voice came from the side of the room.
"You hesitate."
Both the tall man and I turned.
Ser Alekyne had not moved from his chair. He sat as before, one leg crossed over the other, the apple now resting loosely in his hand. His gaze was fixed upon the newcomer, calm and sharp.
"You were quicker to speak to the door than to answer him," he went on, nodding faintly in my direction. "That is not how a knight answers a simple question."
The tall man frowned, his attention shifting fully to him now.
"And what would you know of it?" he asked.
Ser Alekyne gave a small shrug.
"Enough."
Silence settled for a moment.
I watched the exchange with interest, saying nothing. It was not often another man in this room spoke before I did, and rarer still that he spoke with such ease.
The tall knight shifted his weight, as though uneasy under the quiet scrutiny.
"I am a knight," he said again, more firmly this time.
Ser Alekyne tilted his head slightly, studying him.
"Then say who made you one."
The question landed heavier than mine had.
The man's jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly at his sides.
For a moment, I thought he might refuse.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"My master. Ser Arlan."
His voice had softened, though whether from memory or uncertainty I could not say.
I leaned forward slightly in my chair, fingers tapping once against the wood.
"Ser Arlan of where?" I asked.
The tall man faltered again.
This time, I did not hide the faint sigh that escaped me.
But he did not falter for long before the words came.
"Ser Arlan of Pennytree."
I studied him for a moment before giving my reply.
"Never heard of him, have you?"
My eyes shifted to Ser Alekyne, who gave a faint smile at that.
"Are you another one of his runts then?" The knight took another bite of his apple. "I thought the head of his squire was smashed by Gormon at Redgrass."
The Hedge knight seemed to glow up at the words of Ser Alekyne.
I, too, was surprised he knew the master of this hedge knight.
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And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen, this chapter has come to a close.
I hope I have managed to portray the inner workings of Plummer well enough that it seems natural to the world of AKOTSK. This is simply because while Plummer was indeed major to Dunk in the beginning of his journey, it's incredibly hard to understand his personality as he was simply not shown as much.
Anyways, if you have any tips and ideas on how I could improve, please drop them down in the comments or reviews, since it would be very much appreciated in helping me improve my writing for you guys to enjoy even more.
As such, have a good rest of your day/night.
Tac Out