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56.81% Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons (Complete) / Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Relief

Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Relief

Daeron:

The skirmish was over. Men were killed on both sides, and he had killed his first man.

A feat that evoked little within him. I felt nothing . When Dark Sister ended that bandit's life.

Why would you? That sounded like Father. A dragon is responsible to no man. Remember that, my son.

In that moment, it wasn't reflections of kills made that had spurred him through the field of carnage where horses and men were strewn about, dead and dying.

All that drove him was his betrothed.

Cersei.

With each speedy step he moved towards her.

Cersei.

Daeron had put Ser Arthur in charge of clean up and recovery now that Lord Buckler's forces had joined theirs and secured the area. He knew there were other matters to tend to and oversee such as the wounded and the dead, but it was Cersei, he needed to see.

It didn't matter that he already knew they were safe. It had been reported that the Lady Lysa had fainted, and Ser Gwayne had been injured, and those were things he needed to address, but they had to wait. It all had to wait.

Daeron needed to see her with his own eyes.

And then there she was before him.

Glorious.

He could not help but admire her. Once the uncertainty faded and relief filled him upon knowing she was truly well.

Her eyes burned like wildfire. Her golden hair fell about her, messy and loose, and not even the specks of enemy's blood upon her dress could deter his appreciation of the beauty in front of him.

That was when they embraced. She did not shake in his arms. She was still and certain. She did not weep into his shoulder. She did not lament. There was no doubt in her.

She was steel in silk.

He kissed her hair and held her. Thankful to have her with him.

She moved in his arms, but only to bury herself closer to him. He did not protest, the scent of blood, sweat, and wildflowers clung to her like some strange perfume.

"You saved me," She said softly.

"What?" He was confused by such an odd declaration. He had done nothing of the sort, and it was not something he'd forget. I was not there.

Cersei looked up at him. Her eyes glimmered like emeralds in the sunlight. "The sword, the training," She clarified, "If it wasn't for such things-"

He gave a slight nod and was thankful she did not continue. He did not want to think of such things.

"You would have still prevailed, my lady."

It was her who was now confused so he added.

"You are too fierce to do anything other than triumph."

A slow smile came to her lips. She put a hand to his cheek. "Are you well?"

"I am now."

She kissed him, a tantalizing kiss that had him holding her tightly to him. He could feel the slow stirring in his chest. A soft moan escaped her lips and heat burned through him. Daeron felt more primal then prince in those scant heartbeats.

"Prince Daeron." Ser Arthur's voice was an unwanted jolt that broke them apart.

A flash of annoyance flickered across her pretty face. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Yes?" He kept his tone in check for the interruption, because he knew the knight was doing his duty, and Daeron too had duties that he needed to see.

"We've put the wounded on wagons," He reported, nearing them. "Lord Buckler will send more for the corpses."

"Very good," Daeron nodded, "How many did we lose?"

"More than a dozen, my prince," Ser Arthur frowned. "They were well coordinated. Further proof they were waiting for us was with those fallen logs."

Daeron remembered the trick. Their caravan had been stretched. That was further exploited with the fallen timbers onto the road to further divide and separate the two sides. That had been when they struck from the woods.

"They were mostly guards," the knight continued, "The only noble we lost was this ward for Lord Tully," Arthur looked to be trying to remember the name, "Petyr Baelish," He shrugged, unsure if he got it right.

"We shall take his corpse with the wounded," Daeron wasn't aware of a House Baelish or even where their holdings were. If he was a ward to Lord Tully, he suspected maybe somewhere in the Riverlands.

"Is is the Brotherhood?"

"It is," Arthur confirmed grimly, "We have two survivors."

He felt his betrothed's fingers interlaced with his. "Inform Lord Buckler that I will have need of his gallows."

"My Prince," Surprise spread across the knight's face, "They've surrendered to me, I accepted in the promise of mercy and the Black."

He and Cersei had already begun walking back to join the rest what remained of their party as well as Lord Buckler's. "They attacked a royal party, Ser Arthur." He turned back, "There will be no mercy. There will only be justice."

Daeron, you must reconsider-"

"Enough," Daeron cut in sharply. "Have a care, Ser Arthur," He raised a finger in warning. "Your words may be well intentioned, but you are speaking to a Prince." Unhappy at the knight's tone and manner of address. "You gave promises you could not keep. That was your error not mine," He observed coolly. "If you will not follow my orders then ride back to King's Landing and send me a knight who will."

"How is he?"

"Ser Gwayne will recover," Prince Daeron found his betrothed in the Bronzegate's hall. He took the empty seat beside her.

He had just returned from visiting his sworn shield in one of the guest chambers that Lord Buckler had provided for them. The Lord of the Bronzegate proved to be a gracious host to the prince's surviving retinue, surrendering all the available rooms he could give them as well as food and ale for the weary and hungry.

Lord Buckler had also sent a raven to Robert to inform him of what transpired. Storm's End had wrote promptly back that more men and supplies will be arriving in the company of Robert and the rest of his party.

"I am glad."

A servant was quick to present him a plate and a filled glass, he nodded his thanks.

Gwayne had been smiling and joking, though laughter did seem to make him wince. The maester for Bronzegate said the knight would need more rest in order to recover and suspected it would be months for him to be ready to return for duty.

A diagnosis that Gwayne tried to dismiss at once, until he grimaced from the sudden movement he made. He then quietly and discreetly lay back down.

"You've given him quite the story."

Cersei looked up from her plate where her food looked mostly untouched. "He is not upset?"

"Upset?" Daeron shook his head, "He'll be pleased to tell it! You know him. How he loves his stories. He'll endure it and embellish it." He chuckled, and was pleased at the small smile that came to her. "He'll add that you were fighting a dozen men while he fought wounded with four arrows in him."

Cersei laughed at that. "Is that right?" She asked amused before she drank from her glass.

"I'm sure his exaggerations will be even grander," He had finished the warm bread and moved to wash it down with the strong ale that the Stormlands liked to boast of. "Besides," Daeron put down his tankard to give his betrothed his full attention, "There is nothing wrong with you saving him," Wondering if he properly guessed her odd mood. "Aegon the Conqueror himself was saved by his wife."

"Visenya," She muttered.

"Yes," He agreed, "And you are my Visenya." He knew Visenya's sins and her chilly relationship with her husband, Aegon, but to Daeron he hoped his betrothed understood what he truly meant with his declaration.

Mayhaps, I've erred, he realized to his growing trepidation in seeing his words seemed to only further cause her inattentiveness and distance. It had been briefly lifted with his earlier japes, but it returned swiftly enough.

Is she upset about that bandit she killed? He did not think that was it.

Suddenly one of Lord Buckler's men at arms came running in. "My Prince," he greeted him with a hasty bow, "Lord Robert arrives!" A loud cheer went up from the men, "And we've spotted the banners for Stark, Lannister, and Arryn too."

"Very well," He stood up, turning to her to see the news of Lannister banners caused her to look up, and a smile was on her lips, but there was little of it in her eyes.

"Shall we go meet them?" He offered her his arm which she duly took for her answer.

"I would like that," she replied with a warm smile that helped to alleviate his concern.

And with that, he and his betrothed left the hall to greet their friends' newly arrived party.

Burn them! His father's cackle pricked inside him like hot needles. Burn them!

The bandits who had thrown down their swords in surrender were now being marched to be executed. Lord Buckler having prepared the gallows for the criminals. Lord Buckler deferred the task of the punishment to him as he was a Prince. The entire castle had gathered, servants and guards as had those brought by his cousin, and his friends, Jaime and Ned.

In the backdrop on the walls the banners for Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Tully, Arryn, and Buckler swayed gently in the breeze.

He would not forget how when his friends had heard of his distress and they had come urgently to his side. Or in seeing not just their relief that he was well but the anger on an attack against his person.

Robert's rage was loud and booming, Ned's was simmering but silent, and Jaime's was hidden behind a smirk, but it was just as potent. His words and frustration were sharp and cutting.

They were all standing behind him. Ser Brynden and his squire Denys were there. The former remained troubled and upset with himself for having failed to have protected the Tully ward. He had lost sight of him in the heat of battle.

Ladies Catelyn and Lysa Tully stood with their uncle, quiet and poised. The two sisters were mourning the loss of their friend, the Tully ward. The Lady Lysa had recovered from her distress that had caused her to faint. She had since thanked his betrothed several times, and seemed to look at her differently in the aftermath of the attack.

Cersei was standing beside him. Her eyes were hard when they looked at the criminals. The men who dared to attack them.

Feed them to the flames! The voice returned. Let them feel the dragon's wrath, let them burn in it!

A small part of himself began to waver.

Why shouldn't they suffer? Vengeance stirred within him like a waking dragon.

They attacked me. They tried to kill me.

His mind then cruelly hinted what would have befallen his betrothed had their raid been successful. The dragon roared to show its displeasure, it was a burning intensity.

The order was on his lips to rescind his decision. He'd send them to his father. That would please him. A show of my fealty to him as well as allowing a fitting punishment to these rogues, who dared attack their party.

Images flickered across his vision of the men burning in the great hall and he could not deny the deviant satisfaction he felt upon watching it.

What of your mother? A new voice made itself heard through the thick haze of his growing wrath.

He knew what happened to Mother when Father burned men alive. He visited.

It was a sobering chill that cut even deeper. It began to lift that manic grip that had latched onto his heart, poisoning his blood with such a demented taste of vengeance.

So what? His father's cruel voice returned. They would've raped your betrothed. They would've killed her.

That was the kindling to the dying fire inside him which suddenly sparked and crackled, growing hotter and brighter.

Cersei, your pretty betrothed, naked, bruised, and bloodied, The voice hissed, with a red slash across her pale throat.

You're a dragon so let them burn.

For one long second, his heart was armored by indifference. He was ready to change his mind. In that heartbeat, he put aside any thought or concern for anything or anyone else so that he could have his reckoning.

Let them burn.

It was her that pulled him away from those poisonous chains. Cersei had touched his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts and onto the foreground where the headsmen was waiting for his orders. There was a solemn silence in the air as the crowd watched and waited for him to give his verdict.

"Hang them."

He watched the men die in stony silence.

The bodies twitched and turned on the ropes.

Daeron felt sick. It was not for ordering or overseeing their deaths.

No, it was that lapse, no matter how brief that had so thoroughly consumed him.

Who am I?

Jaime:

The wedding between Ned and Ashara had moved forward without delay once the Prince's retinue had arrived to Storm's End.

Northern weddings were often held at night, which allowed several hours to prepare and make ready for it, and the Prince would not hear of further impediments to their union.

Robert had unsurprisingly readily agreed with his cousin at the chance for a feast and celebration.

Jaime quietly noted Ned's protest seemed more show then sincere. He knew Ned was quite eager to marry his betrothed. The Lady Dayne did not even bother to hide behind bland words that were expected of ladies of high birth in regards to their life and virtue. She openly voiced her agreement with the Prince and Robert, and that was that.

What followed was to Jaime the fastest wedding he had ever been apart of.

It had been dark and eerily peaceful. Jaime had just settled himself for the ceremony, resigned to what followed. He suspected it was on the Old Gods and their ways and why they should be followed or obeyed, then chanting and prayers and songs to praise them, but to his surprise none of that had happened. It was suddenly over before he could realize it.

One minute, Lady Ashara was being escorted by her brother to the weirwood tree where Ned stood waiting, quiet and smiling. A short exchange followed and then Ned was carrying his new wife into the hall for a feast.

The solemn wolf was anything but with his wife in his arms.

Jaime was left to follow the guests in disbelief at the quickness of it all.

"Why didn't we have our wedding in the godswood?"

"We don't follow the Old Gods, dear," Elia reminded him, her voice barely carrying over the noise.

The Round Hall was raucous and loud for the wedding feast.

Robert had provided the food, drink, and entertainment for his friend's wedding. He saw it as his duty as his liege lord, though Jaime doubted Robert was this generous or even generally aware of his other bannermen.

Jaime saw that as a minor snag. "Had I known how swiftly they conducted weddings I may have reconsidered," He scratched at his chin, pleased at the sound of his wife's laughter. "In fact, I think I may have converted."

"That's blasphemy, Jaime," she patiently pointed out with a light tone rich in mirth.

Jaime dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You didn't have to endure all that singing and praying," He rolled his eyes at all the theatrics and gimmicks that were coated in their ceremony.

"Are you saying that the wait wasn't worth it?"

"Never," he spluttered, realizing that he was dangerously close to saying or implying a very wrong and bad thing he'd never say. His concern for such an offense was short lived as his inward panic stilled upon hearing Elia's lovely laughter.

"I am glad," She squeezed his hand. Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight.

He leaned forward to meet her lips. She welcomed it with a hum, but before he could begin to truly savor her lips against his, they were interrupted.

"The lion pounces!" Robert's booming voice brought up a great cheer from the other onlookers.

Jaime made sure to send a pointed look and a gesture towards his friend. The latter earned him a mild rebuke from his wife and roaring laughter from Robert and others.

He looked towards the bride and groom, noticing how lively the two were together sitting alone at the high table.

Robert had put himself as close to Ned as he could and had Ned's sister on his other side. Then it was Ned's brother Benjen with Lord Arryn and his heir, Denys, with the Tullys beside him.

They had found themselves on Ashara's side due to the sisterly bond between his wife and the bride.

Prince Daeron had given leave for Ser Arthur to have the night off. The knight was not receptive to what he saw as a dereliction of duty. So the two compromised, Arthur had given himself an hour to eat, drink, and celebrate with his sister before insisting he returned to his duty. Jaime understood and respected the knight's insistence Ser Gwayne was injured and went back to King's Landing.

The Sword of the Morning proved true to form and tale.

His wife sat behind the contemplative knight who seemed determined to make sure everyone saw his struggle at having to stray from his duty. Jaime sat to her other side. His sister was on his other side and then his friend and Prince sat beside her. Robert had put his brothers at their table and they sat on the Prince's other side as well as their niece, the bastard born, Mya Storm. It was not seemly to seat a bastard so high, but Robert didn't really care and would hear no argument.

There was only a few Stormlords in attendance. It seemed Robert didn't give it much thought to invite all of them. Lord Buckler was here, but Jaime suspected he was only here because Robert had just visited his castle, and a few of the other closer seats to Storm's End had also joined and were spread out at the tables in front of them.

In seeing it all in front of him, he couldn't help but fondly recall their own wedding which had happened only last year, but felt so long ago which prompted him to joke. "We're now the old married couple."

"Old?" Elia picked that word from Jaime's earlier remark.

He was quick to clarify. "Well, I meant me."

"I'm older than you."

Jaime realized he should just quit before the hole gets any deeper. He then looked towards her in hopes of seeing her smiling, but he saw something else.

"Are you well?" He moved closer to her.

"I think it is the wine."

"You're not drinking it," Jaime saw her glass was still full and he had never seen any of the passing servants refill hers. "Which is strange since you always drink when I talk." He japed, and was pleased at the small smile that came to her face.

"That is true," She replied with equal charm.

He moved to take her hands, tanned and warm. "What's wrong?"

"My stomach," she confessed, "I do not want it to distract you."

"I want to be distracted when my wife is unwell."

She kissed his cheek. "Then I shall see if Maester Cressen can give me a few minutes." She rose from her seat.

Jaime moved to join her, but she put her hand on his shoulder. "You will stay and drink."

"I should go with you," He didn't like the idea of celebrating while his wife was being seen by a maester.

"You will stay," She repeated, "And if I'm truly unwell then I'll have a servant come to fetch you." She suggested as a compromise.

Jaime nodded. He didn't like it, but he knew she would insist on him staying and if he didn't relent she may not see the maester at all.

"Thank you," She showed her appreciation with a brief kiss that only made Jaime want to follow her more.

He watched her seek out the Maester who was gracious and looked unbothered at having to leave the feast to see her.

"What is wrong with Elia?" His sister's voice pulled him back to the table where she had taken Elia's empty seat and he noticed that his friend, Daeron had taken hers.

"She thinks it a bad reaction to the wine."

Her face was marred with genuine concern for her good-sister.

They had come along way, and that observation returned some of Jaime's good cheer. "She ordered me to stay and drink."

"What a cruel wife," Daeron replied dryly.

Jaime snorted, "We all suffer my prince." He drank to that and to his friend's laughter that followed.

He had been so worried for them when the news had come to Storm's End that their caravan was attacked. When he learned they were well then that relief crumbled into anger and at such a bold offense towards his family. He could only imagine his father's wroth when the news came to him in the capital.

An attack on a Lannister would not be treated lightly.

It was later when he arrived at Bronzegate was when he learned of how she handled herself in the skirmish and had actually killed a man.

She had wet her sword before him.

It seemed such a strange and ludicrous truth he nearly laughed thinking this some clever jape thought between the prince and his sister. When it was repeated as an actual truth and not a prank, Jaime's mirth had slipped away.

He was surely proud of her for taking such an action. Jaime knew of the Prince allowing her to spar and encouraging it, something Father had not been keen on, but Mother had a way of convincing him to let it lie, so he did not intervene.

Still for her to fight and kill someone and to do so before me.

How often did a sister beat a brother in such a thing?

It was a strange and hollow feeling, but he did not wish to express it aloud and tried his best to keep it hidden. A good jape can be just as good as a shield to hide behind.

"So sister will you be knighted before me?" Jaime grinned.

There was something else. He did not like it, but he could not deny its existence. This seedling of something ugly that moved within at the news of his sister's triumph and how she had bested him at something he never expected. He'd quashed it whenever it stirred its sour discontent.

"I think not," she replied with a small, but faint smile. "I wouldn't wish to steal all your glory."

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you, Jaime," The Prince spoke softly, but it was his tone that captured Jaime's attention before he could reply to his sister.

He felt the warm mirth begin to deflate. "Of course," He assured his friend.

"I've received a raven," Daeron revealed, "Ser Barristan is coming to Storm's End to replace Ser Gwayne and with men and orders." He straightened up in his seat. "My father, the king has ordered me to find and destroy this Brotherhood. I would ask if you would like to join me?"

"I will," Jaime readily accepted. "I would be honored."

Daeron looked relieved. "Good, I'm glad to have you at my side. I hope to speak to the others."

"Do you even need to ask Robert?" Jaime joked.

That got some of the solemness that was set on the prince's face to thaw. "No, I suppose not."

"Do you not think it wiser, Jaime, to ask or at least tell your wife of this adventure you are set to go on."

Cersei's reminder was a bucket of cold water on his unbound excitement.

"I will tell her," Jaime did not think she would have a problem with it. Yes, they were going after armed men, but they were certainly going to be better prepared as well as informed this time around after that attack on the caravan.

"Tell who?" Elia had returned, looking radiant.

"What did Cressen say?" Jaime got out of his chair to greet her, relieved to see she looked renewed.

"It was nothing," she sat down beside him. His sister vacating her seat and moved to the empty one. "Cressen supplied me with a tonic."

"Good."

"Now what and who was it you were going to tell?"

"That's a little confusing," Jaime pointed out.

Elia did not find that as amusing as he hoped.

"It was you," He decided it was better to be quick and blunt then draw it out any further, "And the Prince has been assigned to take down the Brotherhood and has asked for me to join him."

"And you accepted." It wasn't a question.

"Perhaps."

"Very well," she acquiesced, "As long as you don't do anything foolish."

That was when Prince Daeron leaned into the conversation. "Then I guess you can't go."

"Uncle Jaime."

He looked down into the very blue eyes of Mya Storm. Robert's daughter had somehow found her way to him. He'd blame the revelry for that as the feast and celebration of the wedding was still in full effect.

"Up, Uncle Jaime," She pulled on his sleeve.

As any good uncle would, he complied. Jaime lifted her up and into his lap where she was quite delighted to squirm around this way and that watching and mimicking the dancing guests in front of them.

His wife was beside him. They had returned to their seats after a few dances themselves before Elia asked for a reprieve which he gladly gave.

"Papa!" Mya was pointing across the room to where Robert was.

"That's right," Elia said sweetly, making the girl preen with pride.

Robert was talking to Ned and Ashara.

He then moved away to where most of the guests had gathered to drink and dance. He let out a very loud whistle that cut through all the din of the hall and brought every eye in the room on him.

Robert greeted their gazes with a large grin. "Who thinks they can beat me?" He raised his hands as if to flame the fervent voices that rose to meet his challenge. "Drinking or fighting," He held up one of his arms and flexed a rather impressively large muscle that caused more than a few of the women to blush and smile in their admiration.

The dancing was forgotten as was much of the conversing. They began to move their way to where the Lord of Storm's End was. He was sitting and waiting and drinking. "There be a fine reward for the one who is able to beat me."

That had brought the rest over forming a large crowd which circled around Robert, buzzing in anticipation to the first challenger. Nobles, knights, and the servants were all drawn in by Robert's boasting and easy charm.

It was only from his seat at the table did Jaime notice Ned and Ashara slip away. The guests all had their backs turned, focused on Robert and were unable to see the couple exit.

"I wonder how they'll react when they finally notice," Elia had noticed too. Her mood had steadily improved throughout the night.

Whatever tonic Cressen had given her had been very effective. He'd have to thank him the next time he saw him. He loved to see his wife in such high spirits.

"He didn't do that for our wedding." Jaime felt a little offended. It was mostly for show, but still, the bedding was not a pleasing experience in his opinion. "I just don't think its fair," Jaime turned away after Robert had soundly beaten his first opponent, a knight in Robert's service.

"I mean if I had to be stripped down and pinched by a bunch of women then Ned should too," Jaime gave a dramatic shudder. "It's been very hard to hold a conversation with Lady Crakehall now that she's glimpsed certain parts of me. Or Lady Swyft who helped to rip my trousers off."

Elia snorted, but did not sound the least bit sympathetic.

"Our bannermen, and the guards and servants seeing me nearly naked," Jaime added the last word in a whisper. Mya was still on his lap, but her attention was on her father who was continuing to defeat challenger after another. "How are they suppose to take me seriously?"

He didn't get an answer because that was when Mya turned around to face him. Her smile was bright and infectious just like her father's. She was fascinated by the golden lion brooch he wore on his doublet. And began roaring to it.

With one arm still holding her in place, Jaime could only laugh.

"Isn't this a father's responsibility?" He asked in an utterly unserious manner.

"I think it suits you rather well."

"Is that right?" He turned to his wife.

She was smiling and her eyes shone with a warm hue. "It is."

"Well," Jaime drawled, "I'll never protest trying to have them." He winked at her.

Elia laughed and shook her head. Her raven colored hair beginning to slip out of their braids.

Mya then decided his chin was more interesting, clasping it with both hands and then began to explore the rest of his face with her small hands which included poking his nose. When Jaime tried to stop her, she giggled thinking it was a game and that only further encouraged her.

Jaime remembering his time with Tyrion at this age decided the best tactic was tickling. It was swift and effective. She burst out giggling and her face began to redden. She squirmed and protested, but her small hands couldn't deter him.

"No fair!" She squealed in between her laughter.

"I can no longer tell who's the child," Elia observed.

Jaime decided to give the girl a respite. She sagged against his chest. Her breathing was still a bit haggard, but she had quieted. He assumed she was tired out by all of the excitement as well as the late hour.

"You handled her rather well," Elia had moved closer to him. One of her hands going through the girl's dark curls. "That is good to see," She kissed his cheek before her mouth went to his ear, "Because I'm pregnant."


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
DravenShadefall DravenShadefall

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Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Brotherhood

Daeron:

It had been more than a fortnight since he had been given the task to clear the Kingswood of the Brotherhood. The only thing he had found in most of that time was frustration. They struck his parties, but always melted back into the woods before he could bring the proper force to bear down upon them.

It was grueling riding through the Kingswood chasing shadows and fighting apparitions. He hated every second of it. At times, at his weakest, he wished Father had given the order to Barristan or Arthur or even his brother, Rhaegar.

Anyone but me, he'd say, but he'd never allow that feebleness to linger. I wanted this task. I needed it. After what the Brotherhood did to him.

They attacked me, that sort of brazenness could not be ignored. They attacked Cersei. That anger burned even hotter.

"Where are these fuckers?" Robert grumbled. He had gotten off his horse and was stomping around.

They were standing in a field filled with colorful flowers and a few small trees that poked out here and there, tall and thin, dotting the landscape around them. In the distance, he could see the capital, King's Landing. The only interesting sights to him was the Red Keep that loomed over the city like some fierce, crimson beast and the Sept of Baelor. The massive dome with its pristine seven crystal towers rising around it. From here, it more resembled a crown than a sept.

"What did you expect, Robert?" Jaime drawled from atop his horse, which was draped in crimson silk and gold armor. "For them to come to us and then meekly fall on our swords?"

Daeron snorted at that image. He was not the only one thankful for the refreshing levity.

Robert chuckled. "I don't use a sword, Lannister." He proudly pointed to where his warhammer was holstered. A simple display of his cousin's strength and fortitude at being able to carry such a heavy weapon with ease.

Restless atop his horse, Daeron had dismounted and began to pace, but unlike his cousin he remained outwardly calm despite his anger and growing embarrassment.

I'm being mocked. He was certain of it. That was why he went no further.

The Prince bested by peasants. That's what the capital would say if he came back to King's Landing without beating these brigands.

I'll return a failure. He could already see it playing out in his mind, And Father will send Rhaegar.

His stomach soured at the images flickering across him of Rhaegar finding and beating the Brotherhood. The city would cheer him, give all their adoration for their beloved prince, who had saved them from the menace of the Kingswood Brotherhood while all too quickly whispering and snickering at how Daeron had failed.

Rhaegar would probably write a stupid song about his victories. The thought only further angered him. He kicked a loose rock, watching it fly several feet in the air before it descended and disappeared into a batch of flowers.

Ser Barristan's judgment was entirely silent, but the knight did raise a white eyebrow at him when he turned in his direction. He was standing the closest to Daeron, having gotten off his horse when Daeron had dismounted.

The kingsguard knight had already insured a proper perimeter be set up for their position. Their guard was a mixture of Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister, and even Houses Tully and Arryn provided a few additional men.

Ser Brynden had asked to stay to help root out the Brotherhood. The famous knight felt obligated to see justice done to those who killed his family's ward. Daeron had welcomed him, excited at being able to ride into battle with such a legend.

The Blackfish had been the only one able to get any success against the Brotherhood. His superior scouting skills and the tricks that he deployed had been able to wrangle a few of the Brotherhood brigands, but that wasn't nearly good enough.

All this at my disposal and look at me. He observed, ashamed. Some of the greatest houses of Westeros stand behind me and I've led them to nothing but failure. His eyes watching the banners of his friends' families sagging with little wind to carry them. The sight did not comfort him.

"Mayhaps instead of men my father should have paid for a minstrel," Jaime observed dryly, "To have him walk through the Kingswood singing a certain song."

Daeron smiled, appreciative of his friend's humor. He needed it to chase away his dark thoughts and darker mood.

That was when he saw a pair of birds fly overhead. One red and one black, singing together while they flew into the forest and then out of view. Their birdsong trailing behind them, a musical echo that too soon faded away.

He took it as a good omen. He had to.

The Seven will bless us, he was more certain now while he waited for Ser Arthur and Ned to return from the city.

After a fortnight of frustration, of these bandits continuing to evade them or strike on their terms and not his, Ser Arthur came to him with a suggestion.

"My prince, the smallfolk appear to be helping them."

Daeron would not forget his anger at this show of disloyalty. "They're hiding the brigands?"

"Yes, my prince," Ser Arthur and Ned had gone to investigate after another failed attempt to lure the brotherhood out.

"The gall," Daeron growled. This Brotherhood wasn't clever or sly they were being aided by those whose loyalty should be to his family first and foremost.

"They are distrustful," the kingsguard put delicately.

"Of who? Of what?" He did not think that gave them any right to betray his family. "Their prince?" He scoffed at the ignorance that the smallfolk were cursed with. "Yet, they trust these killers and thieves."

Ser Arthur waited until he had finished. "If we were to petition your father for more rights they may help."

"They may?" He repeated angrily. "Mayhaps, they should help first as fealty demands." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And then I shall take their petition to my father and speak on their behalf when loyalty has been proven."

"My Prince?" Ned stepped forward, "I think Ser Arthur is correct. My father often spoke of the duty he has to our people especially when they are suffering from times of hardships. We must always work to prove ourselves of their trust and loyalty."

Daeron frowned, mulling over his friend's words. He did not really know nor care to know the daily lives of the smallfolk. If all they needed were a few minor things in order to secure their loyalty over the brotherhood, then so be it.

That wasn't what was most important to him. He had to beat the Brotherhood.

I cannot come back as a failure. I must prove my worth. I must show it to them.

"Then let it be done."

Now, they waited to see if Arthur's words while well intended proved to be helpful.

Daeron waited with whatever patience hadn't been drained away from him in these trying weeks. They were here.

"My prince," Ser Arthur tapped his horse to move forward, he bowed his head when he neared. "It is done." He brandished the rolled up parchment with the same pride as his family's famous ancestral sword, Dawn. "King Aerys has answered their petitions."

Even though it was what he wanted, he was still surprised that his father had agreed to it. They must have seen him in a good mood, he thought, or Lord Tywin saw to it. He had heard the Hand of the King was beyond furious when he had been told of an attack against his family. He had further shown his displeasure by the dispatching of so many men to help them against the Brotherhood.

The only thing we've been fighting so far is boredom, he thought reluctantly at the failures of his inability to quell these outlaws.

"Well done, Arthur," Daeron meant it, "And you, Ned." He moved to go back to his horse. "Let us spread the word that the smallfolk's complaints have been addressed by the crown." He announced to his gathered men.

Let us pray these seeds bear good fruit.

Dark Sister sang beautifully.

The sword whistled cutting through the air as Daeron directed it at the exposed side of his opponent. The valyrian steel bit into the patchwork armor without difficulty and sunk deeper into the flesh below the shoulder.

The bandit's shout was brief since Dark Sister was quick to silence him.

The body was held up loosely by his sword. He gave a quick tug to free it and the body crumpled to his feet.

A dragon does not pity those beneath him. His father's voice reminded him as he stepped over another corpse he made.

Satisfaction soared through him and he could not help but smile. He did not know what else to call it, but a thrill that he carried ever since the fighting broke out between his men and the Brotherhood. The first real fighting he was able to manage against the brigands.

Ser Arthur's advice proved to be right. Since the petition had been put in effect and they paid for their supplies and information the smallfolk proved their fealty. They refused to hide the bandits and outright told Daeron and his men some of their known haunts within the forest.

This was why he found himself in the middle of a pitched skirmish, and enjoying every second of it. Finally, the frustration that had been seething underneath now began to pour out of him against any bandit he came across. He hacked and cut his way through the rabble.

This piece of land that Daeron had made his battlefield.

It was an old clearing deep within the forest that the brotherhood used to allow them to rest without having to worry about being exposed. It was here where the smallfolk would deliver them food and other necessities when they still foolishly thought it wise to help bandits instead of dragons.

Now, I'm delivering them justice.

A roar that sounded more animal than man came from his other side and Daeron didn't need to turn around to know it was his cousin. The following thump which made the earth nearly shake confirmed it, another followed but this came with a loud clang and a louder shout with the hammer finding its mark.

He and Robert had moved further ahead, thicker into the fighting. He was sure Barristan and Arthur did not approve, but Daeron didn't care. He felt no caution, no concern, he felt invincible. His feet moved to the war drum that hammered in his chest.

Dark Sister was held loosely in his hand, dripping red, but he knew she still wished to sing.

So do I.

A bandit obliged, young and pockmarked he charged him foolishly, fueled by the the dreams of glory and riches for being the one to slay a Targaryen prince and to claim a valyrian steel sword.

He easily parried the bandit's clumsy strike. The sound of their swords clashing seemed to wake him from his haze and his eyes widened when he took Daeron in. Realization and dread slowly creeping over his expression .

Desperation made him a frenzied beast, lashing out to try to end the fight, but Daeron deftly avoided them. He was trained by the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and here was a bandit of a similar age with a poor sword and no armor.

He thought to kill me, he mused, letting the bandit stay the aggressor. His sword swung wildly from side to side as if expecting Daeron to walk forward and allow himself to be sliced in half. The bandit was beginning to grow tired after a few more attempts of that poor maneuver. His poor stamina betraying him. His breathing was haggard and his arms were shaking from the duress of fighting.

Dark Sister was merciful, lazily pushing away his sword after an upward cut that more sagged than sailed. The valyrian steel sword punched right through cloth and flesh, a lethal strike to the chest. The bandit was dead in an instant. The sword clattered to the ground, his body slumped forward.

He carefully slipped Dark Sister out, for a heartbeat, he thought the bloody blade resembled a predator after feasting on a recent kill. It dripped red, with bits of flesh speckled on it. The corpse toppled and he stepped to the side to let it fall.

"Now, this is justice, Cousin!"

Daeron looked around to see him and Robert had ventured deeper into the forest than he first thought. They were no longer in the clearing. He couldn't even see any trace of it. All around them tall oaks and elms stood, old and proud. Their branches reached high, clawing towards the blue sky, leaves bristled in the wind, while a dapple of sunlight poured through casting their surroundings in a mixture of light and shadows.

Robert stood beside him. He was grinning, face flushed with sweat. His black hair was wet and messy. His heavy warhammer in one hand. There were specks of blood powdered across his chest plate. The black crowned stag emblazoned on it was covered with crimson spots.

Their many victims were strewn before them, blood splashing against the blanket of leaves and the gnarled roots.

"My Prince!" He heard shouting from behind, but it sounded far away.

We have been cut off. Daeron realized his folly at once, "Cousin," He warned just as he heard the sound of crunching leaves approaching them.

"Good," Robert understood, but he didn't sound the least bit bothered, "I was getting bored."

The battle song calmed his nerves before it could prickle against his skin. He knew the noise was coming ahead not behind. It isn't allies who are about to greet us. With that in mind, he carefully walked to his side to a large oak. He wanted to use the tree's massive base to shield him from any hidden archers ahead of them.

"Targaryen!" A voice called out to them, two shadows emerging from the forest's primal darkness. Into the splintering sunlight to reveal themselves, Daeron recognized them to be Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben, two of the more infamous outlaws that belonged to the Brotherhood.

"Your family has shat on mine long enough," Simon Toyne was the proclaimed leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood.

He was proudly wearing his family's colors, upon his armor was the black winged heart of his house. His dark eyes took Daeron in and the Prince saw nothing but hate burning behind that gaze, below the man's large and hooked nose, his lips formed a sneer.

"You may have defeated the Brotherhood," His voice was rough and laced with indifference, "But killing you," He pointed his sword towards Daeron. "I can think of no better reward."

It wasn't Simon who charged forward, but the man beside him, Big Belly Ben. A name well earned, he was nearly as tall as Robert, while his armor could not conceal his bulging gut. His face was fat and the coarse brown beard that covered his cheeks and many chins failed to hide it. In his large arms he carried an equally large war-axe and had it raised, moving towards Daeron.

"He's mine, Cousin," Robert's heavy footsteps moved to meet the challenger and the two large men clashed to a loud clatter of steel and shouts. The warriors resembled aurochs in size and demeanor as they traded blows and curses. The ground seemed to shake and rumble beneath their large frames.

The battle song it nursed him. Inside Daeron could hear its soothing tune, rippling beneath his skin, his muscles were quivering. He's coming to bleed, they sang, He's coming to die.

"I did not think you'd take the bait so quickly."

He ignored his words and instead focused on the lessons that Barristan instilled into him.

"I wondered when the Mad King would send one of his sons to deal with us," He taunted, "That's all I ever wanted, you see? Your family ruined mine and I will return the favor."

Then the time for words was over and the time for swords had begun.

Daeron's body moved by instinct. He raised Dark Sister to block an upwards slash. His sword, his stance, his footwork, all of it seemed to move without him needing to tell them. The battle song was washing over him, and despite the duel he found himself in, he felt nothing but calm and control.

Simon feinted to his left, a subtle move, but one the Prince had seen from Ser Barristan more times then he could count, and it was far more cunning coming from the legendary knight. Dark Sister reached out to deter the attack, sending his opponent's sword in the wrong direction. Simon recovered, moving himself deftly out of reach in case Dark Sister tried to lunge forward where it would've been unopposed.

Anger began to darken Simon's face, black heart, indeed, Daeron observed of his opponent.

He could hear Barristan's whisper inside his head, pointing out the flaw in Simon's defense, as their swords spat and sang to one another, clashing angrily again and again.

He's losing his focus, my prince. You must always be aware. Always.

"I want to watch the life leave your eyes," Simon growled.

Their swords broke free and he saw his chance. Dark Sister flicked past the enemy's sword for a quick strike, the valyrian steel cut through the armor just below his right shoulder. He staggered.

"Then you should have used an arrow." In one swift motion Dark Sister sliced off Simon Toyne's head.

Dismay was forever etched on Simon's face. His head hit the ground with a squish and thud. A burst of red bloomed spraying out in a stream before the body tumbled over.

A loud, wet crunch made him turn to see Robert pulling his weapon out of the now corpse of Big Belly Ben. The chest had been caved in from the weight and power of his warhammer.

"You live, Cousin." Robert observed, barely flicking his eyes up from his dead opponent.

"I do," Daeron replied, "Your concern is touching."

Robert chuckled, "I'm not one of your bloody kingsguard knights." The mirthful shine in his blue eyes belayed his words.

Daeron smiled, but it did not linger with the mention of said knights. He knew Barristan and Arthur would not be pleased by allowing himself to get seperated, but first he and Robert had to return and hope his friends and men fared as well as they did.

Jaime:

These are not dummies.

Jaime ducked under the clumsy swipe of the bandit's shield.

These are not the wooden men that filled the training yards of Casterly Rock and King's Landing. Those that took your attacks in silence. They did not move, they did not react while you hacked away at them. In your fight against them they were nothing but mute observers.

Jaime let his sword cut low going under the shield and finding purchase in the man's torso. He dragged the sword upwards ignoring the man's cries, until the sword came out and the man fell backwards dead before he hit the ground.

He let out a shaky breath.

No, he thought, these were people, sons and brothers, husbands and uncles.

They groaned and shouted, cursed and cried. They bled and whimpered.

They died.

Jaime didn't look where the body fell. His eyes were scanning the battlefield. The Brotherhood had buckled under the combined forces that Prince Daeron had brought to bear down on them. Without the help of the smallfolk to help and hide them, they were doomed.

The fighting was coming to an end. The Brotherhood had broken, some had surrendered, some fled, but most had died.

He looked for his friend wanting to congratulate him on their triumph, but that was when he noticed he could not spot Prince Daeron in the clearing. Robert's gone too, he realized, he saw Sers Barristan and Arthur were moving swiftly through the forest where the shadows of the woods soon engulfed the white clad figures.

Jaime made to join them knowing they must be seeking the Prince. He was about to step out of the clearing and into the surrounding woods when a wheezy laugh brought him to a complete stop.

He reacted without thinking, his sword coming up just in time to block a sword that seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Its holder did not remain hidden stepping out of the shadows, draped in black, Jaime knew who it was at once, The Smiling Knight.

His helm was equally black, neither ornate nor unique. It looked like the helm of a common guardsman. The only noticeable trait was the large red smile painted on the front. It was a smear of dried blood.

Jaime didn't have time to reflect on this unexpected opponent before he was forced to meet the knight's next attack. He moved left and right, swiftly, but each strike had unexpected strength behind it.

The Smiling Knight lived up to his reputation, Jaime decided, dodging one of the outlaw's blows. He showed talent within every aspect of the sword and Jaime found himself remaining on the defensive. He never had time to counter, or strike because he was forced to dodge or deflect the unrelenting attack from the outlaw.

"That's a lot of gold ya have," The Smiling Knight's voice was strangely normal to Jaime's ears, besides the muffled lilt from it coming behind a closed helm. "Pretty gold makes for shitty armor."

"You can test it yourself."

The Smiling Knight obliged.

Jaime could feel his heartbeat pounding, but his hands remained steady. His grip on his sword was certain and his confidence did not waver despite the clear talent of his enemy.

The Knights' black cloak was tattered, it fluttered behind him like broken wings. There was a twitchiness in his movement. It was neither smooth nor refined as Jaime had seen in others. It was irregular and that was when Jaime knew what he had to do.

After blocking another blow, Jaime became the compulsive one. He threw most of his weight behind his sword when the swords clashed. The Smiling Knight stumbled, his feet nearly tripping over themselves. He got caught unaware and in that Jaime made him pay. Keeping his own balance, Jaime's sword followed in a vertical slash that caught the Smiling Knight's unprotected spot near his armpit. The sword bit deep, and the knight hissed in pain. Blood began to stream down his armor and the knight faltered.

Jaime's second attack was the fatal one. The sword slid in between the chest plate and the helm cutting at the neck to give the Smiling Knight a second red smile. He shuddered, and collapsed to his knees. Red spittle leaked from the helm. He looked up at Jaime for barely a heartbeat before his legs unwound under him and he hit the ground and stilled.

"Wait, wait, wait."

His wife's voice pulled him out of the clearing within the forest. Jaime blinked in the dim firelight of their guest chambers at Storm's End. He was no longer looking down at the red smile of the Smiling Knight, but looking at the warm smile of his wife, Elia Lannister.

"Yes?" He replied simply to her interruption.

They were seated by the small table near the glowing hearth. An empty bottle of Arbor Gold stood between them. Jaime would have liked to say they split it, but that was not the truth. The effects of the drink were welcomed, and he was proud to say that he hadn't slurred any words in his retelling of them taking down the Kingswood Brotherhood.

After successfully dealing with the Kingswood Brother it had taken them a few days to return to Storm's End. When they did, Robert had unsurprisingly insisted upon throwing a feast to celebrate their victory. Eventually when the hour was late and the night dark, he and Elia excused themselves.

In the quiet of the room, Elia had asked him to tell her what had happened. She wanted to hear it from him and not the gossip from the soldiers or the retelling of his friends or from the others who had witnessed it.

Never one to deny his wife, he obliged her. It was not an easy feat. The Arbor Gold helped, but he was not skilled in storytelling. I remember it, but can I truly retell it?

"That's what happened?" His wife's amber eyes glowed in the candlelight.

Jaime sipped from his glass before answering. "The fighting doesn't last long," He saw the bottom of his glass, "It's not at all how the minstrels tell it, where duels can last hours. The fighting, its over in seconds mayhaps a few minutes," he shrugged. He honestly did not know. "When I was fighting," He trailed off.

He was finding it difficult to properly describe what he saw, what he felt. It bordered on frustrating.

She must have sensed it as she reached across the table to put her hand atop one of his.

"Some of what you said just doesn't make sense," she said gently.

Jaime tried not to frown at his wife's criticism.

"How does the Smil-"

He never let her finish. He had gotten up and silenced her complaint with a kiss.

"Jaime," her eyes did not match her resigned tone.

He smirked at her. "I'm not a minstrel, wife. I cannot put it all into words and when I try," He shrugged and then finished his glass.

No one wants to hear about the shit and blood, he thought, or the piss stained breeches of the first man I killed in that fight. He frowned down at his empty cup as if silently willing it to refill.

She wrapped herself around him from behind. Her embrace was soothing. "Forgive me," she murmured against him, "Please finish, I want to hear the end."

"Even the embellishments?"

"Of course, dear," was her supportive reply.

"Jaime!" Prince Daeron had stepped away from some of his Targaryen guards to approach him. Dark Sister was in hand and his two kingsguard knights were behind him. The sword, the knights, and the black armor with the gold enameled three headed dragon of his house all together made his friend look like the Young Dragon come again.

"My Prince," Jaime greeted his friend.

"We did it," Daeron was grinning. He clapped Jaime on the shoulder when he was close enough. Ser Barristan remained standing behind the prince, but Ser Arthur had peeled off and moved in the direction where Robert and Ned were talking. Or from here it looked like Robert was boasting and Ned was listening in wry resignation.

"We did," Jaime smiled, "They say you killed Simon Toyne."

"I did," Daeron looked pleased, "It seems he attacked my caravan because he wanted a Targaryen prince."

"He got one," Jaime observed dryly.

"Indeed, he did," Daeron's smile at that was sharper than valyrian steel. He then looked to where the Smiling Knight lay slain, "I heard you were the one to fight and kill him."

"I was."

"Well done, Jaime," Ser Barristan spoke first, "He may have been an outlaw, but he was a skilled knight. It would take mettle and talent to defeat him."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan," Jaime found himself standing a bit straighter upon receiving praise from such a legendary figure.

"You have served with distinction and have shown valor on the battlefield, and I have seen firsthand your character to know you are a man of quality," Ser Barristan stepped forward with a friendly smile, "Jaime Lannister, kneel."

His body moved to obey while his mind was reeling. It was happening. Those words repeated in his head, his excitement thrummed through him. I'm to be knighted.

Father had offered before he was married, but Jaime had refused. I want to earn my knighthood, he told him, it should not come to me in the form of a wedding present.

The soil was damp when his knees pressed down into it. He looked up to see Ser Barristan had taken to stand in front of him, but then he saw his friend. "Wait," Jaime was confused, "What of Prince Daeron?"

"I was already knighted," His expression showed his appreciation for Jaime's question. "Ser Barristan knighted me after finding me and Robert." He paused turning back to the knight he squired for for so many years, "Well first he scolded me and then threatened me," He added lightly, "But afterwards he knighted me."

Barristan's chuckle was dry. "The prince tells it true." His tone was all pride for his former squire. "He earned his knighthood the same as you, Jaime Lannister."

"Wait," Jaime stopped Ser Barristan before he could begin. He was surprised by his own interruption, "I mean no insult, Ser Barristan, for you are the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but could it be possible for Prince Daeron to knight me?"

They had talked about this for so long. They practiced together, sparred together for so many years. It was always the two of them whether King's Landing or Casterly Rock. Their trials were one. Jaime could not think of a more fitting end for them then for his truest friend to knight him. We're brothers.

Ser Barristan didn't look the least bit offended. "I understand," He smiled, and nodded before stepping back and Prince Daeron stepped forward, Dark Sister in hand.

"You honor me, Jaime." The Prince's voice was difficult to describe.

"Put your sword upon his right shoulder, my prince," Ser Barristan instructed. Prince Daeron may have been newly knighted so he was not fully aware of all the formalities that it took.

Dark Sister rested on Jaime's right shoulder. He looked up to meet Prince Daeron's gaze, who offered him a friendly nod before repeating after Ser Barristan.

"Jaime Lannister, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves?"

Just like in the stories, he thought, the brave knights who fought the evil and the corrupt.

"To protect all women and children?"

Elia, his mind's eye went to his beautiful wife and he thought of their child growing inside her. I would die for them.

"To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king?"

It was his father he thought of first, and then his friend, the very one who was knighting him. And only after them did his mind show him Aerys and then Rhaegar, his king and the crown prince.

"To fight bravely when needed and do such tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I do," He swore.

Dark Sister moved to his left shoulder.

"Then arise," Prince Daeron told him, "Arise Ser Jaime Lannister."

The touch on his shoulder was not Dark Sister's blade, but his wife's fingers.

The muddy ground of the kingswood was no longer beneath his knees. He was lying back on the soft mattress in their chambers at Storm's End with Elia beside him.

"I am so proud of you, husband," She leaned up to kiss his cheek. Her eyes were shimmering with warmth. "It's what you always wanted." She was so happy for him.

"I did," He admitted, wrapping his arms around her, but being here with Elia, he thought about the vows they made at the Sept in Casterly Rock, and remembering her telling him she was pregnant.

Those were the memories that truly made him happy, that he cherished above all else. And being knighted could not even begin to compare to those.

My dreams have changed, he realized, but he couldn't be happier.


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
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Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com

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