Neither William nor Arak took part in the merriments below decks. Dawn rose, the sky slowly becoming pink as the first nervous rays of sun broke through the horizon. Arak awoke and quietly slipped out of his cabin, careful not to disturb the party, to meet his opponent on deck. Perhaps it would not be so bad if he died. The queen suggested that his half-brother was somewhere on this ship as well, and at least with death he would not have to meet the source of his shame face to face. 

When he arrived, he found the strange knight already there, waiting for him and disinterestedly staring out at the sea. "Ho!" Arak shouted. "I have come to take up the duel!"

William could not sleep. He had little to fear from the duel, yet still, the threat of an unmaking wracked his conscious hours and prevented him from slipping into the unconscious with a vengeance. Instead, he had taken to spending hours on deck, watching the whitewater spill from the ship's hull, and on occasional lucky moments, a dolphin or three leaping from the water. "So you have, so you have," he said, pushing himself off the railing and staggering a few steps. "A pity it had to be delayed for so long. At the very least we're here now."

"I hesitate to slay a foe I am not acquainted with, good ser," called Arak. "Would you at least honor me by telling me of what you are called?"

William snorted. What sort of idiocy is this? What could he get away with? "I call my self the Lord Torrhen Stark of the Dreadfort. Though to be honest, I should have it renamed the Menfort, because I'm not going to fill it with supple, naked dread, am I?" he responded, choking back a giggle. 

Arak was shocked, to say the least. To duel a Stark? This was beyond dishonor! Torrhen was known throughout the kingdom as a brash, honest, and large fellow of fourteen years. He had not expected him to appear as a man, yet here he was, about to fight to the death with his uncle's humble guardsman! 

"I'm joking! Wipe that idiot expression off of your face before I pound it in," William snapped, and Arak nervously closed his mouth back up. 

"Very well," said Arak, trying to retain as much of his dignity as possible. He reached for his belt and pulled his sword. "We shall make battle till first blood. May the Gods grant strength to the victor."

"First blood?" William said, drawing his own blade. "First blood is for pansies. We will fight to the death, or not at all. Now on guard, and don't bleed on my armor."

The two blades met with a crash.