Raymun Fossoway
Where Loyalty ripens as an apple, so does courage
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They had won the Trial of Seven, they had proved that Duncan was innocent. But at what cost?...
Raymun felt a shiver run down his spine as he thought of it. Beesbury and Hardyng hadn't even made it past the first charge. Of course, Hardyng was severely injured from the start...after that Targaryen cunt had played dirty and crippled him in the joust prior. Still, they didn't have to join and help Duncan and them triumph...but they did. They helped for honor, and because they both knew that Aerion was anything but honorable. And they died for it.
Lyonel joined as well, Ser Rhysling...and not to mention Prince Baelor. A surprise to them all. Fighting against his own family. Raymun believed that was partially what gave him strength in the trial. That, and the voice echoing in the back of his head. The voice that told him that he needed to save Duncan's arse, as best as he could anyhow. Baelor had given him strength--because he had gone against his own family...all in the name of honor. In the name of doing the right thing. Now he was dead too. Raymun could still hear the sickening squelch echoing in his mind...from when Baelor had asked him to remove the helmet from his head. The thought almost made him keel over and vomit again--but the 'Green' boy had done enough of that.
Still, at least he'd gotten the chance to deliver a good whooping to Steffon. That traitorous runt had left a bad taste in Raymuns mouth. Going back on his promise to help Duncan--all because of some Title that the Targaryens gave him.
Lost in thought, Raymun didn't even pick up on the footsteps approaching as he wallowed with his tankard in his hand--still covered in filth from the Trial.