"FIRE!"
I turned.
Across the field, near the merchant tents, orange flames leaped into the air. A pavilion had caught fire—silk and wood going up like kindling in the dry heat.
People were screaming. Running in all directions.
I saw a woman stumble out of the smoke; she was still burning. In her arms she carried a lump of burnt flesh; from the shape of it, it might just be her son.
"Fucking hells," I just ran.
My armor clanked and rattled as I sprinted toward her. She fell to her knees, still clutching the child, smoke pouring from her clothes.
"The stables!" I shouted. "Water buckets by the stables!"
I reached the woman and pulled her backward, away from the worst of the flames. Her dress was still smoldering.
Prince Valarr appeared beside me, moving fast despite his injuries. He carried an armful of cloth—tablecloths, by the look of them—and ran toward the water troughs near the horse stalls.
Valarr dunked the cloth into the water, soaking it through, then handed me a dripping piece. I wrapped it around the woman, smothering the flames on her dress. She coughed, choking on smoke, but didn't let go of her son.
"Give him to me," I said.
She shook her head, tears streaming down her soot-stained face.
"Please. Let me help."
Her grip loosened. I took the boy carefully, laying him on the ground. Prince Valarr covered him in a cloth.
"We need a line!" Valarr shouted, looking at the chaos around us where people were panicking. "Form a bucket line! Now!" He stood up and shouted.
Men scrambled to obey—knights, servants, merchants, anyone within earshot. Someone thrust a bucket into my hands. I filled it from the trough and passed it forward. Another bucket came. Then another.
The line formed quickly. Bucket after bucket, water sloshing, men sweating and coughing in the smoke.
The flames roared higher. The heat was brutal even from twenty feet away. I could feel it through my armor, feel it drying the sweat on my face as fast as it formed.
"The next tent!" someone yelled. "Pull it down before it catches!"
A group of men rushed forward with axes and knives, cutting ropes, collapsing canvas. The tent came down in a heap just as sparks began to land on it.
More buckets. More water. More smoke choking the air until I could barely see three feet in front of me.
It took an hour. Maybe more. Time lost all meaning in the heat and noise and fear.
But finally, slowly, the flames began to die.
By the time it was over, half the merchant quarter was gone. Tents reduced to ash. Goods destroyed. And scattered among the wreckage—
Bodies.
I counted them as men pulled them from the ruins. Sixteen in all. Men, women, children. Burned beyond recognition.
The woman I saved sat on the ground nearby, staring at nothing. A maester was rubbing ointment on her burns but she didn't seem to notice it.
I stood there, covered in soot and ash.
"Ser Duncan?"
I turned. A servant in Lord Ashford's colors stood beside me, looking nervous.
"My lord requests your presence in the great hall. To present your prize."
I stared at him. "Now?"
"Aye, ser. He's waiting."
I looked back at the smoking ruins. At the bodies being covered with cloth. At the woman who'd lost her son.
"Lead the way," I said flatly.
The great hall was bright with torches and warm with bodies. The smell of roasted meat and spiced wine hit me as soon as I entered.
Lord Ashford sat at the high table with a dozen minor lords and wealthy merchants. They were eating. Drinking. Laughing.
As if nothing had happened.
Lord Ashford looked up as I approached and smiled. "Ser Duncan! Come, sit! You must be famished after your efforts."
"My lord," I said, bowing slightly.
"Please, sit," he gestured to an empty chair. "You've more than earned a place at my table."
I sat because refusing would have been an insult. A servant placed food in front of me—roasted chicken, fresh bread, cheese. My stomach turned at the sight.
"A tragedy, what happened," Lord Ashford said, cutting into his meat. "But these things occur. Fires are common in summer, especially with so many people camped together."
"Sixteen dead," I said.
"Unfortunate," he agreed. "I'll see that their families are compensated, of course. A silver stag for each. That's fair, I think."
I picked up my cup and drank, not tasting whatever was in it. I completely avoided the roasted chicken.
Lady Ashford sat beside her husband, beautiful in a gown of green silk. Her eyes kept drifting to me.
"You were very brave, Ser Duncan," she said, her voice warm. "Rushing into danger like that. Most men would have fled."
"I did what anyone should do."
"But you did it first." She leaned closer, her hand resting near mine on the table. "That takes a special kind of courage."
Her fingers brushed against mine.
I pulled my hand back and reached for more bread.
Lord Ashford didn't seem to notice. He was deep in conversation with the man on his other side, something about the health of his wife.
I ate quickly, forcing down enough food to be polite. Lady Ashford kept trying to engage me in conversation, asking about the tourney.
I gave short answers and avoided looking at her directly.
Finally, Lord Ashford clapped his hands. A servant brought forward a large wooden chest.
"Ser Duncan the Tall," he announced. "Champion of Ashford. Ten thousand gold dragons, as promised."
The servant opened the chest. Gold gleamed inside.
"My thanks, my lord," I said, standing.
"You've earned it twice over," Lord Ashford said. "Both in the lists and with your aid against the fire."
I bowed and gestured for the servants to take the chest. They carried it out, struggling with the weight.
"Will you not stay?" Lady Ashford asked, "You haven't eaten much, ser."
"I have much to prepare," I said. "I ride for King's Landing soon."
"A pity."
I bowed once more and left the hall quickly.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean. I sucked it in, trying to wash away the taste of smoke and wine and false cheer.
Egg was waiting near the stables, holding Thunder's reins.
"Ser Duncan," he said quietly. "My uncle, Prince Baelor. wishes to speak with you."
…