Farewell

Three fine horses galloped along the Kingsroad. Their riders were Suleiman, Lushen, and Roslyn.

There was no denying that clothes made the man, and fine tack made the horse.

Before they parted, Lord Raymun Darry had gifted the three of them armor, fine swords, and horses.

Suleiman wore a brand-new black nobleman's robe, tailored to fit, with a short black cape fluttering in the wind.

At his waist hung an elegant Myrish slender sword gifted by Lord Raymun. Unlike the heavy, broad blades of Westeros, it was light and keen, bearing the distinctive craftsmanship of the lands across the Narrow Sea. Its blade was long and slender, and its hilt was inlaid with fine silver wire.

He rode a white horse. Though his features were still those of a typical Riverlands man, he sat tall and straight. His looks were ordinary, but there was a steely resolve about him. With his fine horse, black robe and cape, and keen sword at his waist, he cut an imposing figure, lending his face a unique handsomeness and charm.

Lord Damon Ryken and Ser Ronald of Fruitwood had stared at him in astonishment. Was this really the same man as before? The old Suleiman had possessed none of the noble bearing or energy expected of a young lord. His rough skin had even made him look less like a nobleman's son and more like a Riverlands farmer's.

The man standing before them now was worlds apart from the ordinary young man in an old robe they had seen just days before.

Damn, I look good, Suleiman reveled inwardly.

He glanced back at Lushen and Roslyn. They had changed beyond recognition, too.

They had donned the well-fitting light armor Lord Raymun had gifted them, no longer wearing their old, ragged gear.

At their waists hung two serviceable longswords, replacing the rusty scrap they'd carried before.

Now, clad in light armor and armed with longswords, they rode their fine horses with their heads high and backs straight. They no longer cowered as they had before.

They looked full of spirit at last, no longer like old farmers but like real soldiers, though they still seemed a little simple-minded.

Three days earlier, he had said farewell to Lord Raymun Darry with his two guards. It wasn't that he didn't want to keep enjoying their hospitality. It was mainly because his reputation had gone sour.

He still remembered that day: sword raised to the sky, standing tall and proud, glaring at the nobles of Darry, and shouting at the top of his lungs:

"This is what happens when you insult me! When you insult House Foulkeep!"

"No mercy! No end!"

"Only endless pain and torment from this day forward!"

At his words, the whole place fell silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

The old septon who had presided over the Trial by Combat stared in shock and fury. Suleiman's actions had been appallingly bloody and cruel.

He had shown no regard for tradition and no mercy! It was an affront to the Seven—a blasphemy! The gods would surely punish him!

Rage made the old man tremble violently. He could not find the words to condemn Suleiman, as if he might die and join the Seven at any moment.

The nobles and knights of Darry glared at Suleiman, their eyes blazing with fury.

Suleiman had followed none of the traditions of noble combat. He had shown not a shred of the mercy expected of a nobleman or knight, only a horrifying savagery.

In such a bloody and cruel manner, Suleiman had maimed his opponent. Even after the man had lost the ability to fight back, Suleiman had put out his eyes and severed the tendons in his feet.

He had even denied a knight the dignity of a clean death, intending to leave him to bleed out—or to spend the rest of his life crippled and enduring pain and torment.

The nobles of Darry were all enraged. They believed Suleiman had insulted not only a knight.

He had insulted the honor of all Darry, the nobility of the Riverlands, and even the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms.

Their anger did not come from sympathy for Ser Joseth. They knew how the whole thing had started: Ser Joseth had insulted the honor of a noble house with an inherited title.

And the insulted party had not used his noble rank to crush his opponent or punish him.

Instead, he had chosen the traditional Trial by Combat of the Seven Kingdoms to defend his family's honor. That was right! That was how a true nobleman acted! Even if the other party was a lord paramount—or the king!

Their anger came from Suleiman breaking the limits of noble conduct as they understood them.

To them, Suleiman's actions were cruel, unacceptable, and even dangerous.

This should have become a tale celebrated across the Seven Kingdoms! A legendary story told by singers!

A young nobleman of sixteen had challenged a knight famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms to defend his family's honor—and even managed to kill him!

He had defended his family's honor!

Ser Ronald's face was ashen. He pressed his lips together and looked at Suleiman with mixed feelings.

He could feel the overwhelming anger of the nobles and knights around him. The very air seemed to grow heavy.

At last, he spoke:

"Ser Suleiman, you have successfully defended your family's honor with your sword. Now, show mercy and grant your opponent death, so he may join the Stranger!

"End his suffering. That is the mercy expected of a nobleman, and a mark of respect for the Seven, who watch us here."

The nobles and knights of Darry looked at Suleiman with hopeful eyes. They wanted him, at this final moment, to show some respect for tradition and act like a nobleman.

But Suleiman simply stood beside Joseth and looked at Ronald.

His voice was not loud, yet it rang out with striking clarity in the deathly silence. Every word landed with unwavering conviction.

"Ser Ronald!"

"Other nobles have always spoken of my family with mockery and scorn!"

"Even though my father and my two brothers died for the Iron Throne!"

"Tell me! Have they shown my family the slightest respect?"

"Have they shown the slightest respect for noble tradition?"

He paused, his cold gaze finally sweeping over the crowd. Ever since he had arrived at Darry's military camp, he had often heard nobles making jokes and sneering about his family behind his back.

Calmly, Suleiman wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it. His words carried an absolute, unyielding finality:

"His fate was judged by my sword, so it is mine to decide with my words!"

"He can either bleed out, suffering until he dies, or live with his crimes and injuries, becoming a living warning to all who dare insult me or House Foulkeep!"

Suleiman's words left Ser Ronald with nothing more to say.

Ser Ronald fell silent. He opened his mouth, but in the end, nothing came out.

All he could do was watch Ser Joseth groan on the ground and hope the knight would bleed to death quickly. Otherwise, his future would be worse than death.

He might survive, but he would be crippled, bedridden, and treated in a manner and environment completely unlike the life he had known before. But there was nothing Ronald could do. He could not interfere with the victor's judgment in a Trial by Combat.

Suleiman gave Ser Ronald one last look, still apologetic. After all, Ronald had always treated him like an elder would.

Then he turned and walked away from that blood-soaked patch of ground with Lushen and Roslyn.

Behind them, Ser Joseth wailed in despair, while the camp was left in deathly silence, fear, and fury.

That was how he remembered it.

Suleiman still felt guilty toward Lord Raymun Darry and Ser Ronald.

He heard that after Ser Ciseth was rescued, he had a chance of surviving. But his eyes had been blinded, his hands severed, and his legs broken. He was a cripple, constantly begging those around him to kill him and put an end to it.

But no one dared. It was the judgment of the victor in a Trial by Combat, and now they were frightened of Ser Suleiman.

Until Lord Raymun Darry arrived, drew a longsword from a soldier's waist, and ran it through Ser Ciseth's head.

Once he saw how badly the atmosphere in the party had turned, he noticed the soldiers no longer dared speak to the three of them. Whenever they saw them, they kept their distance.

The nobles glared at him in fury whenever they saw him. If looks could kill, Suleiman would have died a hundred times over.

And that old septon of the Seven kept chasing after him, preaching incessantly. Wherever Suleiman went, the man followed, as if determined to convert him into a true follower of the Seven.

In the end, he chose to take his leave of Lord Raymun Darry and apologize to him.

To his surprise, Lord Raymun only looked at him in astonishment.

He asked why Suleiman was apologizing. He had simply defended his family's honor.

There was nothing to feel bad about. If Suleiman hadn't been strong, he would have met the same fate as Ciseth. The knight had planned to do the same to him.

In this world, a bad reputation could sometimes protect you better than a good one. He had done well.

Lord Raymun had even gifted Suleiman and his companions armor, swords, and horses. He told Suleiman that if he ever had nowhere else to go, Darry's gates would always be open to him.