Summary:

In searching the Ashford Meadows for his sons Maekar stumbles across a violent attack. He ends the confrontation brutally, only to find himself lost with a lame mount and still no word of his boys. Necessity forces him to accept help.

More in depth:

By the second day of the tourney at Ashford, Maekar’s temper is already stretched thin. His elder sons have once again failed to appear where and when they should: Daeron has vanished into drink and excuses, and young Aegon is nowhere to be found. The familiar weight of disappointment sits heavy on him—another reminder that while Baelor’s sons shine in the lists, his own seem determined to shame the family name.

Rather than sit in the stands and endure more comparisons, Maekar takes a small escort and rides the surrounding roads and wooded tracks himself. He is not a man who waits patiently for others to solve his problems. The afternoon has worn into early evening, the sky lowering, the ground soft from earlier rain. His thoughts circle the same bitter track: duty, disappointment, the long shadow of his brother, and the constant need to correct what his children will not correct themselves.

When the horse suddenly stumbles and the sound of raised voices and scuffling reaches him through the trees, Maekar’s irritation hardens into something sharper. He has no patience left for disorder on top of everything else.