Cersei:
The buzzing of the smallfolk made her think of bees.
They see a lioness when they look at me. Cersei held her head high while she passed. She was surrounded by Lannister guards, but it was the Lannister they truly respected and feared. As they should. She glanced here and there to see the smallfolk dispersing while she passed them.
The envy, the awe, the lust, she saw it on all their faces. Cersei felt their eyes, both the longing and the loathing. The former because they desired her. The latter because they wanted to be her. The clamoring had quieted, the talking turned to whispering, heads turned and tongues wagged, but she did not stop to allow them the privilege to gawk or gaze.
Cersei was making her way towards her father's encampment to answer his summons. Their days at Harrenhal had been filled with feasts and festivities. Lord Whent had set aside seven days for jousting. The stands have been filled since it began yesterday with the nobility while the smallfolk crowded around the fences like livestock in their pens. These were the finest knights and lords competing for the honor and glory of beating the best in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Not all the best, she corrected, a small smile playing on her lips. Daeron had decided not to participate in either the melee or the jousting. She was confident he would've won in either competition, but she understood why he chose not to compete. Cersei did not think it below Rhaegar to try to arrange an accident to befall his brother. A slip of a dagger in the crowded melee or an errant lance at just the right opportunity.
No, she fiercely smothered the image before it could surface. She would not allow it even a heartbeat to breathe. Cersei could not part from him. She would not. His life meant more to her than a crown of roses. Her heart took her back to that night at Storm's End. One flesh, she felt the heat coil inside her. Lust and love may have inflamed her passions, but it had not diminished her wits. She knew no babe could be allowed to be conceived from their tryst so she sought the manner in which to insure it. It was Daeron's cousin, Robert, who got what she needed. The Lord of Storm's End used his reputation to shield her from scrutiny.
Her septa would've said she sullied herself by succumbing to her temptations. She would've tsked, squawked certain verses, prayed for forgiveness, and lectured her on the dangers of lust. What does she know? Cersei dismissed her, She was just an old hag. She's just bitter because no man would touch her so she joined the Seven. She was a sheep. A lioness does not concern herself with the bleating of the sheep. That's what mother had told her.
The sounds of gossip and boasting had her turn her head to see two men who she was certain were drunk, were trying to reenact one of the latest jousts that had occurred earlier in the day. Their friends who were sitting around them, hollered and laughed, clapped and cheered when the two fools collided into each other.
It had been difficult for her to enjoy these first two days of the joust. She quietly seethed as she saw Jeyne Whent sitting with her family, a flower garland atop her head. She waved and preened to the smallfolk and the nobility alike as if she was truly a queen, but she wasn't. She was nothing.
The girl's brothers and uncle were tasked in defending her crown, but they've all since been defeated. The last being Ser Oswell of the Kingsguard who fell to her brother, Jaime. It was a victory she savored. As was the crestfallen look on Jeyne's face when she was confronted with the cold truth that a crown did not suit her.
It was not just Lord Whent's daughter that made it challenging for her to enjoy this tournament. It was the unknown. The fog that seemed to settle itself over Harrenhal. It clouded everything and everyone. Every time she watched a joust in the back of her mind she wondered would this knight or lord ride for Rhaegar or for Daeron. It pressed against her, looking and thinking at trying to puzzle out which prince they'd follow. Mine always sits beside me, Daeron's presence helped to soothe the tension that tried to nest inside her.
The smallfolk did their best to undo it, pricking at her nerves with the way they cheered for their crown prince. How easily they're duped, She thought scornfully, remembering how they reacted to Rhaegar's latest victory. I used to be one of those fools, it was an unseemly comparison, but she could not argue against it. Cersei thought so much of him, but those were illusions. They were things she wanted to see, wanted to believe because she wanted the titles and the crown. I was blinded by it all. The crown I wanted was more a veil that hid all his faults from me.
Now, all she felt towards him was hatred. It burned stronger and brighter then his father's precious wildfire. First he embarrassed me, now he wishes to cheat me, to steal from me. The fire flared in her belly at the prince's schemes at trying to separate her from the man she loved. She watched and hoped to see the crown prince lose, but alas much to her irritation he continued to prevail. He hasn't faced Jaime yet, she knew her brother skilled enough to best the crown prince.
If it couldn't be a dragon then let it be a lion that humbles Rhaegar in front of all the realm. The image that the idea conjured inside her made her snicker in delight. She saw the muddy and defeated Rhaegar on the ground like a pig. She covered her mouth to stem the mirth, but some continued to slip past.
They were nearing the Westerlands encampment. Cersei could see the tall, red Lannister banners that were raised above all others in the distance. The wind made the golden lions look to be slashing and clawing the air.
They walked by a small group huddled around one of the fires, roasting meat and drinking. She saw no standards on their tunics, only dirt and grime. They stopped talking when they saw her and her guards. They watched them pass in stony silence. Cersei met their glares refusing to yield even an inch at their attempts to intimidate her. These men are not smallfolk. They were not meek, but bold. She saw little to help her besides some scraps of yellow cloth that she saw tucked by the fire. Hedge knights? If she had to guess, but they left her mind when she entered her family's encampment.
It did not matter the task or conversation every person she passed, stopped and bowed. She saw the familiar standards of her father's bannermen while she walked towards the center where her family's tents had been put up. The boar of House Crakehall, the burning tree of House Marbrand, the silver ships of House Farman, with each one she passed, they showed her the respect she and her family were due. Still, she smiled politely, and even waved once or twice to acknowledge them. She was not blind to her sway upon seeing how the men reacted to her attention.
A woman's weapons are different, Cersei, her mother had told her once, but they can be stronger than steel and swords.
How?
A smile, a tease, a touch, her mother explained, it can undo a man. She had then raised up a hand as if to stop her thoughts from getting too far ahead, A smile can earn you a sword, a man's loyalty, but it will not allow you to rule effectively. Mother had tapped Cersei's head and she had giggled. You will be nothing without your wits, but you will need steel and fire too. You will need the steel to endure and the fire to drive you.
I have those, she had declared proudly.
Her mother had given her a fond smile. I believe you do my dear. She cupped her cheek, but do not let that fire consume you. To let its smoke blind you. Or allow the steel to weigh you down.
I won't.
"Lady Cersei?"
She saw one of her father's servants in front of her. His name escaped her. "Yes?"
"Lord Tywin will be joining you shortly," He raised his head, and though his face was familiar with his wispy moustache and dark eyes, no name came to her. The servant then turned to instruct the guards to open the flaps of her father's tent for her.
"Thank you," was all Cersei said when she passed the nameless servant and guards.
The inside of her father's tent hadn't changed since her last visit. It was orderly. Everything had a place and father was meticulous that it was kept there. There were a pair golden lions sewn onto the red canvas in combatant right behind his desk. There was parchment on the top of the desk, all placed in neat piles. The furniture was expertly crafted and richly embroidered. The rug beneath her feet was Myrish, skillfully woven and dyed, it was radiant and expensive. She walked atop it to wait for her father at his desk.
"Cersei."
"Father?" She turned to see him approach, alone.
"How are you?" He stopped in front of her. His eyes could be piercing especially the golden flecks within the green, but they weren't when he was looking down at her.
"I am well, Father," she answered after she curtsied.
"You look beautiful," He praised her with a small smile.
"Thank you, Father," She took her seat after he did.
Two servants arrived before they could begin any meaningful conversation. They brought with them an array of food and wine. They carefully placed it between them, making sure not to disturb what was already there. The wine and glasses were next. They moved quickly to pour it for them. They kept their heads bowed the entire time. When they were finished, they backed away, but waited to be dismissed.
"That will be all," Father told them. They left as quietly as they entered.
Cersei plucked a few grapes from the plate, but was mindful at how she ate them.
"Where is Prince Daeron?"
"He is speaking with his father," She couldn't completely crush the worry that slithered in her belly anytime she was forced to dwell on the king especially when her betrothed was in his company.
"You care for him."
"I love him, Father," She corrected instantly.
His face was stone. "More than your family?"
"He is my family."
His eyes regarded her quietly with his scrutinizing gaze. It was a look that used to make her stomach clench, but now she found herself meeting it without worry. She was calm instead of trembling. Her father was the same man, but she was no longer that young girl. Cersei had discovered her own strength. She had seen death charge her, but she held fast to meet it with her sword. She cut down that raper without hesitation. She watched the life leave his eyes. The dead man's stare did not bother her and her father's no longer could either. The hold was gone.
"When you told me you wanted to learn to fight I wanted to crush it, dismiss it," He said bluntly, "It was beneath our family. You're not a soldier. You're not a knight. You're not a lord."
You're not a man, she finished for him. None of this surprised her since she already knew of his dislike of her fighting. "You didn't."
"No, I didn't," He took a small sip from his glass, but his stoicism never wavered. "It was your mother who talked me out of it," The gold in his hazel eyes always seemed to gleam when he talked about her. "She told me that would be a mistake. That I was wrong," The smallest of smiles came to his lips at recalling it.
Cersei wasn't sure who else would be so bold as to tell father that he was wrong. I could, she wanted to say, if she had to, I would. "What did she say?"
"That Prince Daeron was not demeaning our family, he was not disrespecting our daughter. She told me that he did this because he respected you." Father's face was pensive. "She pointed out that I had done something similar for her before we married. It wasn't a sword, but she was right," He didn't look like he'd further explain what it was. "He respects you," he met her eyes, "and he is right to do so, Cersei." His expression did not change, but his tone showed his pride in her. "That is the sort of husband you deserve."
"Thank you, Father."
"You will marry Prince Daeron," He told her simply, "And woe to those who dare to stop us."
"It really is remarkable," Lyanna's grey eyes were envious as she held Cersei's sword.
Cersei said nothing. Lyanna was right. It was a remarkable sword. And it was mine.
"He made it just for you?" Lyanna's tone was filled with dismay. She looked to be trying to make sense of something so unexpected as a man giving his intended a sword.
"He did," Cersei spoke with all pride when she talked about her sword or more importantly her prince, "He modeled it after his sword, Dark Sister." She was particularly pleased by that.
Lyanna's fingers traced the engraved dragon that made up part of the hilt. "You are blessed to have a betrothed such as him."
"I am," she said happily. It was difficult not to gloat even when she wasn't trying to. Cersei saw the wistfulness in the girl's eyes and she was reminded of a certain friend. "Robert feels similarly and just as strongly as Prince Daeron." A favor for a favor, Robert. "He's a good man," She surprised herself when she found herself meaning it.
The Stark girl didn't answer. Her eyes stubbornly transfixed on the sword. "He is." She chewed on her lower lip before she sighed. "He has a bastard," She looked guilty bringing up Mya . "She's a good girl," She added hastily, "And I was surprised when Robert said she'd be fostered in Dorne and by Prince Doran, no less."
"That was years ago," Cersei wasn't familiar with Mya's age off hand. "Daeron tells me that he has curbed those tastes," remembering how her betrothed had delicately put it.
"You believe him?"
"Of course, I do," She nearly snapped. She did not like the Stark girl questioning Daeron's integrity.
"Forgive me," Lyanna sensed it, "I-I just," She dispelled another breath. This one longer and louder, it pushed back some of the dark brown hair that had fallen loose.
"You're scared," Cersei saw it on her face.
"What?" Her head snapped up. The surprise melted swiftly with her expression hardening. "I'm not scared," she scoffed.
Cersei wasn't fooled, because she saw the truth of it despite her denial. The idea of him as her husband, that seed was already in the girl's heart and it had taken root. I'm just watering it.
"Here," She mumbled when she handed back the sword.
The truth that they both knew, but didn't say was that in the end the choice wasn't theirs to make. It belonged to their father's. They were pieces not players, bonds she tried to break since she was a girl. Cersei was fortunate that she had Daeron, who had given her the key to unlock them. He respects you. Father's words rung in her ears.
Cersei had seen enough of the girl in front of her to know that she was not one to be courted or caged. That this Lyanna would fight and claw her way out of anything she did not want. She'd tightly grip whatever little she had including her freedom and pride before she'd submit to the suitors her name and age were no doubt attracting.
"Lya!"
They were interrupted by the presence of two boys scrambling towards them. When they got closer, Cersei recognized them as Lyanna's brother Benjen and their friend, Howland.
"We've been looking everywhere for you," Benjen said before finally noticing Cersei for the first time. His cheeks went red, "Lady Lannister," he hastily bowed his head. The crannogman followed his example.
Cersei was amused, but acknowledged their greeting.
"We need to leave," Benjen was trying not to look in Cersei's direction, but his glances were hardly furtive. Howland was standing behind him, older, but shorter, not speaking, but nodding. "You wanted us to get you before the jousting. "
"Ah, yes," that seemed to pull Lyanna out of her musings. "Thank you, Benjen." She forced herself to smile, before she turned back to her, she dropped a rather clumsy curtsey, "Thank you for the time, Cersei and for the words. "
Cersei inclined her head, but by then the three of them were already beating a hasty retreat.
She wanted to curse while all around her they cheered and clapped.
Cersei showed none of her anger or her resentment when the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms appeared for his next opponent in the joust. Daeron stiffened beside her. She put a hand on his arm, her fingers could feel his tension. She felt her own knots forming in her belly.
Behind her, she heard the chattering of some of Laela's ladies-in-waiting who had come into their box for the afternoon tilts. Spies, she saw their true purpose. More like hens, she resented their presence, and the princess' audacity to foist them on her. Flaunting what little power she had, she must be so proud of herself, Cersei sneered. Her thoughts broken up by their mindless babbling, she was sorely tempted to shove one of them over the box just to get some silence. She didn't, but the temptation grew when their nasally voices grew too loud.
She kept her hand on Daeron while her eyes moved across the yard to see who the Prince's opponent would be this time. His standard bearer stood proudly while it rippled in the wind, waving to the crowd. It was several black dots on a brown field with letters bordering. It took her a second or two to recognize the standard for House Royce which meant that they weren't letters, but runes.
Lord Royce's helm was already down while his squire was helping him. The Lord of Runestone was wearing bronze armor that had runes scribbled all over it. She remembered either Ned or Robert commenting on it, saying the Royces claimed the runes would ward their wearers from harm. Cersei didn't believe that, but she was willing to hope if it meant seeing Prince Rhaegar defeated.
Fall, fall, lose, lose, the chant changed in her head when she watched the two charge one another. The whooping roar of the crowd couldn't soften the sound of broken lances or the slam of the force hitting the riders, but neither men had fallen. She thought she saw the prince waver when Lord Royce's lance hit, but that may have just been her hope in wanting to see it.
Fall, fall, fall, she wanted Rhaegar humiliated watching the two ride towards one another. The thundering of horses, the large inhale from the collective audience, silent and anxious. It was no more than a heartbeat or two, but it was an eerie feeling to be in a crowd so large, but for there to be absolute quiet. The loud cheer punctured the silence like a spear thrust when the two traded blows with their lances, wood splintered, but neither fell.
Perhaps, that armor isn't so ridiculous.
Cersei spoke too soon with the third tilt proving to be the deciding one as Prince Rhaegar unhorsed Lord Royce. The smallfolk cheered for Rhaegar like the witless fools they were. The women behind her were breathlessly babbling to one another, fawning over their crown prince.
She hated it. She hated them. She hated the prince. She even hated Lord Royce's stupid armor.
Cersei kept her annoyance to herself. She politely smiled and clapped, aware that she was being watched. She saw Princess Laela sitting above, looking proud, clapping with all the decorum expected of a princess. She's probably already picturing being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty by him. That was when Cersei stopped clapping.
The only solace Cersei Lannister had that night was that Crown Prince Rhaegar was not what everyone was talking about after an afternoon of tilts. It was this mystery knight, who the smallfolk were already calling the Knight of the Laughing Tree, due to the shield he bore which was of a smiling weirwood. Cersei hadn't thought much of his chances when she first saw him. He had been the strangest and shortest knight she had ever seen. His armor was an assortment of ill fitting and matching pieces that looked to be strung together.
His sudden appearance had sparked whispers and gasps, but it was what followed that earned everyone's excitement and interest. Better this knight's story then Rhaegar's. She was already wary of what tomorrow could bring. Cersei did not want to watch another day of Rhaegar's triumphs in the tilts.
"Cersei?"
She looked up at once at the sound of her name coming from his lips. The smile came quickly as did that flutter, seeing him standing in the entranceway of her tent, but walking in his smile looked forced. Cersei cut the distance between them, "What is it?" She wrapped her arms around him. His posture was stiff, but she felt it begin to relax from her embrace, so she held him a little longer, resting her head against his chest. His hands were calloused, but soothing when they rested on her back.
Daeron had been summoned by his father after the jousts, and she hadn't seen him since. "Not here," His voice tickled her ear.
She looked up to see the concern in his pretty eyes. She nodded. She knew father's guards were milling just outside as was Daeron's. They were only giving them this private reprieve, she thought, out of loyalty or respect. That's what she wanted to think, to believe that she could inspire the same sort of devotion that her parents or Jaime could amidst her family's men.
The two didn't speak when they left her tent. She did not like his mood. This had been the second time that his father had wanted to talk to him this day alone. Cersei's stomach clenched, she studied his face and was relieved to see there were no signs of any new scars from his father.
Their guards followed at a respectable distance. Ser Gwayne was with the mixture of Targaryen and Lannister men ensuring that no one stepped too close to them in his effort to keep their conversation from being overheard. They were walking out of the Westerlands encampment.
"It's this mystery knight."
"What about him?"
"Father is certain he's an enemy," Daeron said softly.
She felt her heart hitch. It wasn't just the words that brought that cold feeling of dread to begin to pool inside her. It was what it could mean. Aerys was still the king. "An enemy?" She shouldn't have been surprised that he'd see the unassuming mystery knight as some sort of foe.
"Yes," She hadn't thought it was possible but his voice had grown even more solemn. "He's ranting and raving that the knight is an enemy to his reign. How he is a threat that is mocking him."
Cersei didn't know how to respond. Her eyes drifting around the rows upon rows of tents they walked by with what she thought was no real destination in mind. Besides a glance or a murmur she and Daeron were ignored, no one appeared brave enough to approach the dragon and the lioness. Even the ignorant can be right a time or two.
They turned, she remembered the group of men she saw near this spot from earlier in the day, but her eyes scanned the crowded surroundings, but saw no sign of them. Were one of them the mystery knight? Those men who were neither smallfolk or nobility. She suspected hedge knights, so she thought it could be possible one of them had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree. They had worn no colors just like the knight hadn't, except for that weirwood on his shield, but they had carried nothing, except those discarded scraps of yellow cloth.
"What did you say to him?" She knew the precariousness of having to speak with King Aerys. She had seen what it could cost, remembering Daeron's handsome face, bloodied and marred by cuts. And he was one of the few who were considered successful at it, but that hadn't stopped him from being attacked by his own father.
"I could not say much," Daeron admitted, sounding tired, "He was," he looked down, warring emotions played across his face, but she could not see them clearly.
"Daeron?" She put a finger to his chin, tipping his head up so she could see his lovely lilac eyes.
"He was terrified," He said quietly, "And terrifying."
It was an easy picture for her to conjure, but a tougher one to stomach given what it could mean. "What of Rhaegar?"
"Rhaegar?" Daeron seemed almost momentarily baffled by the mention of his brother. "Rhaegar was just as surprised and-"
Scared, she thought, but didn't finish for him. Cersei squeezed his hand.
"Father has all the kingsguard knights save for Ser Arthur and Gwayne attending him."
"What of the knight?" She pitied this unknown man, she doubted he had gone out on the list today to try to rouse the king's wrath.
"He's sent men into the camps," Daeron answered, "He wants the knight found at once."
Cersei didn't want to think about trying to find a stranger in a sea of so many people. The castle and the surrounding area were brimming with men from all Seven Kingdoms, nobility to smallfolk. It would be no easy or simple task.
"I-I," Daeron frowned.
"What?" She didn't like the soft, but noticeable change in his tone.
"I made a mistake," He confessed, "I gambled and I lost."
They were on the outskirts of the encampments. There were no people, only signs and sounds of them. The ground was beaten down by footprints and hoofprints caked into the mud. The latrines were off to the side, frequented by many, but thankfully the breeze carried none of those smells towards their position.
She had stayed quiet. She didn't want to press him despite the restless threshing she felt stirring in her chest. "Daeron?" Then again patience was never my virtue.
He gently pulled on her hand walking further away until even the latrines were out of sight. They found a small grove. The only sounds were from the birds in the branches, uncaring about her and her betrothed standing below them.
"I thought I could use him for my advantage," Daeron began, "The mystery knight to try to-"
She nodded, understanding what he meant, to use him against Rhaegar.
"Father was furious," Daeron didn't meet her eyes.
Cersei looked at him closely. She was certain she had seen no marks on him, but now that she was standing in front of him instead of at his side she saw faint red lines on his tunic. Cersei had been so distracted by his sudden presence in her tent and his mood that she never noticed them when she saw and hugged him.
She put a finger to one of the lines to discover that the red was not silk, but dried blood. "Daeron?"
He didn't respond.
Cersei didn't care about the knights who had accompanied them. She didn't care what they'd think or what they'd say, because she needed to know. She tugged on his tunic besides a wince he didn't try to stop her, ignoring the murmuring from the men behind her, she undid the black buttons. She hadn't even made it halfway when she saw it. There on his chest were four angry red marks cut into his skin. They were not deep and the smears of dried blood made it look worse then what it was, but it showed what she feared. She felt the icy dread spread through like a spider's web around her heart.
"He screamed at me," Daeron continued, "He tried to grab my throat but stumbled causing him to get my chest instead." He let out a bitter laugh.
"Daeron," Her hand was resting against his scarred chest. "We need to leave."
"We can't," He looked down at her with a sad smile, "Father has put out patrols. No one is to leave until he finds this Knight of the Laughing Tree."
Daeron:
I shouldn't have said it.
That look in Father's eyes, that gargled shout when he charged him.
Daeron had parried hundreds of attacks, dodged just as many strikes but he froze in the face of his father's wrath. It wasn't until father's long nails cut against his skin did he feel like he could move again. He steadied his attacker so his father wouldn't stumble. He wasn't thanked for it. Father hissed and squirmed and spat, and Daeron quickly let go. He steadied himself for another strike, but it didn't come.
What was I to do? Strike my father? My king? He had thought of the attack afterwards when he had been on his way to Cersei. If I had done that, Father would've arrested me and Rhaegar would've won.
"Ser Lonmouth claims he'll find the knight before midafternoon tomorrow," Robert's loud voice burst through his thoughts.
"Was that before or after your two's drinking?" Jaimed asked dryly from across Daeron.
"During," Robert corrected with that smile and infectious laugh.
Daeron welcomed his cousin's mirth. It helped to chase away the dark thoughts. He looked across to see Cersei was smiling too, but her green eyes didn't shine the way he liked when she was truly happy. He didn't tell his friends what his father told him. If he did he knew they would not be japing or laughing about this knight. Father hadn't announced his orders because he hadn't wanted to startle this poor knight, but that wouldn't stop Daeron from telling his friends after the feast.
He recognized the name of Robert's drinking companion, a stormland knight, who was loyal to Rhaegar not Robert. Richard had been one of Rhaegar's squires and had been knighted by him too. He suspected that Richard's words were less drunken boasting and more Rhaegar's orders.
I tried to use the knight too, brother, Daeron was so certain he could do it successfully, but he failed. He knew his father's anger burned like fire. He thought he could stroke it properly, but he got burned by it instead. There was little pain from the scratch, but it was a nasty reminder of how capricious his father was.
"Daeron?"
"Yes?" He felt his friends' eyes on him. He suspected he was asked something, but he wasn't listening. He drew it out by taking a sip from his glass. The Arbor Gold tasted sweet in his mouth, helping to wash away the bad taste of his father's mania.
"You're quiet about this Knight of the Laughing Tree , Cousin," Robert poked him, "Trying to hide your identity?"
"Prince Daeron cannot be the mystery knight, Robert," Elia said patiently, "He was in the stands."
"Ah," Robert had either forgotten that important detail or had never noticed it.
"He was sitting with me."
"An honest mistake then," Robert recovered, turning to Cersei, "Your beauty draws the eye, my lady," He flashed her a smile.
"So you're blaming my sister's beauty instead of the ale?" asked an amused Jaime.
Robert, who was holding his tankard almost to his lips, stopped. "Yes."
"Such praise, Robert," Cersei's smile was all show, but they all were fooled by it.
They were the only two who knew the cold fate that was awaiting this celebrated Knight of the Laughing Tree. Tonight they toast him, but tomorrow they'll bury him.
"Do you think we should return?"
Daeron looked down where Cersei didn't look the least bit inclined to leave despite her asking the question. She was currently using his shoulder as a pillow. She was beautiful in her red silk dress with golden embroidery. They were stretched out under a tall oak tree. What remained of their picnic scattered by their side. They had returned to the grove that they had stumbled onto yesterday. It had been her idea to try to find some peace and quiet before the afternoon of tilts.
The morning had plenty of excitement even if some of it dimmed with the crowd's disappointment of the mystery knight not returning. The Knight of the Laughing Tree did not know how fortunate he was by not attending. Daeron decided that it would be wiser to tread carefully and avoid his father before the afternoon tilts. He had already tried to use the knight once and it ended poorly.
"Do you want to?"
"No," She stirred so she could meet his inquisitive gaze, "But we're expected to."
"We're expected to do a lot of things," He then leaned down and kissed her.
"If we do not return my father will send out men."
"We're not without our chaperones," He pointed across the grove where the Lannister guards had been given their own food and ale. They were now gathered in a circle more intently focused on playing dice then watching them. That is no accident, but he was not going to complain.
She gave him a small, playful smile. "We'll miss the afternoon tilts."
"We can't have that," He noticed that she still made no effort to remove herself from his side.
"Prince Daeron?"
He was the one with the responsible chaperone. "Yes, Ser Gwayne?"
"The lady speaks true," The kingsguard knight had been off to the side, likely the only one doing his duty on this lazy and sunny afternoon.
"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," Cersei replied, that was when she reluctantly got herself to her feet.
Left with no other choice, he stood up too.
"Ser Gwayne?" Cersei called over to the kingsguard knight.
"Yes, my lady?"
"Would you give us a few moments alone, please."
Gwayne raised an eyebrow at that suspicious request.
"It would be appreciated," Cersei said with her sweet smile. "If we do not catch up with you in a time you think appropriate you have my permission to drag my betrothed the rest of the way."
The knight chuckled. "I can agree to those terms," He turned back to the Lannister men who were already packed. He gave the order and they followed him into the woods leaving Cersei and Daeron alone in the grove.
Cersei gets what she wants. Daeron was curious as to why she sent them on their way.
Her green eyes glimmered and her lips curled upwards. "I wanted a moment with you," She said, "A selfish moment," She kissed him.
"I won't complain," He brushed back some of her golden hair.
"A moment where we don't have to think about our fathers, or your brother," She went on, "Or what will become of us after this tournament." She kissed him again.
"You will become my wife," He assured her. He was about to say more, but a noise caused him to look up and towards the trees in front of them.
"What is it?" She was trying to follow his line of sight.
"I thought I heard something."
"It could just be Ser Gwayne coming to drag you back," She offered lightly.
Daeron wanted to smile, but he didn't. "We should get going." He put his other hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, a move that did not go unnoticed.
"Daeron?"
The rustling in front of them couldn't be ignored or overlooked. Daeron was going for his sword when a familiar voice called out to him.
"Prince Daeron," Ser Jonothor Darry stepped into the grove, behind him were several men all of whom were wearing House Darry's livery.
"What is the meaning of this?" Cersei demanded, undaunted at the face of so many guards against her.
"Treason," A new voice joined them. It was Jon Connington entering the grove with more than a handful of men, all of whom were wearing his house's colors.
Daeron made sure Cersei was as close to him as she could, while still keeping himself slightly in front of her. His fingers remained on the pommel of his sword. He looked over their new visitors, these intruders who were all armed and armored.
"You're under arrest, Prince Daeron," Connington was holding up a piece of parchment. He was smugly displaying it to show that it bore Aerys' seal.
Rhaegar you've been busy, Daeron saw his brother's intentions behind their father's words.
"You cannot be serious," Cersei tried to push her way forward, fury pushing aside any caution.
"Quiet," It was Ser Jonothor Darry who spoke despite Connington's pinched face showing he had wanted to be the one to say something.
"You were always one of my brother's dogs," Daeron said coolly to the kingsguard knight in front of him.
"I serve the king," He corrected, "As does Ser Gwayne, who remembered his vows," He told them, "At our approach, he accepted our orders and was accompanied back to Harrenhal."
"Liar!" Cersei snapped.
Jonothor turned to her. "Your Lannister guards were not so easily swayed."
Blood spilt, now that he was looking for it, he saw the red stains on some of the mens' armor. He felt a chill go up his back.
"You're a fool to attack a lion," Cersei growled at them.
Connington looked her over with contempt. "I don't see a lion, but a greedy bitch who's trying to steal what isn't hers."
"Don't."
Daeron had already taken two steps forward towards the Storm Lord, Dark Sister in hand before Darry's words cut through to him. The knight had put himself between him and Connington, the men-at-arms for Darry and Connington, bristled at his approach.
He still considered attacking Connington despite Darry's insistence on intervening. Jonothor is skilled, Daeron studied the knight in front of him, I could fight him, and I could kill him. It was the dozen men-at-arms behind them that stayed his hand.
"Forgive me, Jon," Daeron did not sheathe his sword, but he did lower it, "Dark Sister just wanted a kiss." He kept his eyes on Connington who was openly glaring back. "What exactly is this treason that has given my brother the belief he can arrest me with impunity?"
"The orders were from your father, the king," Connington corrected, "Rhaegar discovered your little plot, Daeron. To think you could best him," He snorted, "You were always jealous of him."
"It's a wonder you can breathe, Connington, with your nose so far up Rhaegar's arse," Daeron smirked upon seeing the stormlord's face begin to purple.
"Enough," Jonothor sounded annoyed, "You're to come back to the castle with us to face these charges."
"I'm flattered you brought so many men," Daeron saw no other purpose for them, but to insure his cooperation especially after they killed the Lannister guards. He wondered about Gwayne, he didn't believe his sworn shield would just bow meekly to this. He wouldn't do that to me.
"You speak of plots," Cersei cut in, "But these sound like lies to unjustly arrest my betrothed."
"They are not lies, my lady," Jonothor replied. "Prince Rhaegar found the mystery knight."
" The Knight of the Laughing Tree ?" Cersei asked, her anger momentarily receding to her surprise and confusion. "What does he have to do with any of this?"
"He wasn't a mystery knight," Connington corrected her sharply, "He was one of Daeron's men."
"What?" The surprise washed over him first, but it was the cold that sunk into him upon realizing what it was his brother was doing. Rhaegar had succeeded where I failed. He's pinning the mystery knight on me and Father believes him. He didn't know how he did it, but Rhaegar had apparently gone after and either found the knight or convinced their father he had, manipulating it all to make it look like Daeron was the enemy.
The timing was just as clever, he had to admit. Rhaegar sent his faithful men to arrest Daeron when the afternoon tilts were about to begin which meant many of Daeron's friends and men were there or already on the way unable to help him. By the time they're made aware of Daeron's arrest he'd already be in the crown's control.
"The knight confessed to everything, Daeron," Jonothor reported grimly. "All about your plot to steal your brother's throne after marrying your betrothed."
"Did he?" He wanted to laugh at the truth that could be found mixed in with all the lies.
All he had truly wanted was to marry Cersei. He had no qualms in residing in Summerhall with her, but Rhaegar wouldn't give him that. His brother couldn't give him peace, he schemed and threatened to the point that Daeron could take no more of it. I didn't want any of this.
My brother didn't need lies to arrest me just proof, he observed, But he couldn't find that so he did the easy thing and chose lies to give him the chance he's been looking for, he considered his brother's risky decision, Lies that can just as likely hurt or haunt him then they can me. Whatever plans Daeron may have put forward they did not involve a mystery knight whose identity he did not even know.
"I have been busy especially since I'm allies with a man I don't even know."
"Even when caught you mock and lie," Connington looked at him with disgust.
"Who is this knight?" Daeron was curious upon knowing who his brother had found to play this vital role in his plot to undo him. Neither Darry nor Connington looked in the mood to answer his question regarding him as if it was a jape and nothing more.
"He's dead," It was someone else who answered. Daeron turned around to see Maynard, his good sister's hired sword, behind him were a handful of men bearing the livery of House Mooton. Lord Commander Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent were with him. They were joined by Whent soldiers.
"This is a lot of men," Daeron remarked casually while quietly realizing the very poor circumstances that now found him and Cersei completely surrounded.
"Your brother is not a fool," Lord Commander Hightower replied.
No, I was, he thought, because of the predicament he now found himself in. While he had been away with Cersei, his brother had been busy.
"This belonged to your friend," Maynard tossed something at Daeron's feet.
He looked down to find himself staring at a wooden shield with the smiling weirwood tree painted on it, the standard for the mystery knight. He noticed the red finger prints along the edges and the smear of blood.
"I'm not surprised Rhaegar killed him," Daeron looked back up. "I cannot refute a dead man's lies."
Lord Commander Hightower moved forward. "Drop your sword, Daeron."
There were no titles or formalities to be observed. They didn't see him as a prince, but a traitor.
"This will be war." Cersei warned them, showing no sign of capitulating to their demands.
"No, it is over," Lord Commander Hightower replied solemnly, but his eyes were on Daeron.
"Cowards!" Cersei pointed an angry finger towards the three knights in white. Her fury and sharp tongue was working just as well as the threat of Dark Sister was at keeping the men back.
"We're following orders, my lady," Ser Oswell didn't look at either of them when he spoke. His tone was hardly convincing.
Neither Darry nor Hightower's presence had surprised Daeron. His brother chose well in picking them. He had never been close to either of them, but Ser Oswell had been one of his guards for many years, including when he was a child. Daeron could not deny the disappointing ache he felt at seeing the knight with them.
"Enough of this," Connington's patience had worn out, "Bind them both," He ordered. "We can return the Lady Lannister back to her father before any harm befalls her."
Seeing no other choice, he reluctantly sheathed Dark Sister. They grabbed his arms from behind.
That was when he heard shouting. Then there was chaos.
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
Jaime:
"Jaime?"
It wasn't adoration, but confusion that his wife greeted him with when Jaime returned to his family's tent. He couldn't fault her for that since they weren't expecting to see him so soon after already leaving for the tourney grounds to prepare for his joust.
"Wife," He responded with a smile, making his way over to her. She was sitting beside his father. Across from and on the other side of Jaime's father was his good brother, Oberyn. The Red Viper wasn't due until later in the lists, so had made himself comfortable with his sister and Jaime's father.
What do they have to talk about? His curiosity and confusion only grew when he saw amusement flash across his father's face at whatever it was Oberyn had just said. It was almost enough to distract him from his pregnant wife, almost.
"I forgot something," he confessed, knowing he made the right decision to return when she smiled at him. The way she glowed, he basked in it, she was brighter than her family's sun.
"What is it that you forgot dear husband?" Elia's Dornish lilt always had an effect on him. She noticed too judging by that small, and playful smirk.
"Your favor."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "I've lost count of the number of favors I've given you for this tournament." Still she didn't protest his request. She pulled out an orange ribbon from her dark curls. "Here you are," She tied it to his arm since he was already in his armor. He was one of the first jousts which were drawing near.
"Thank you," He put his hand over hers which was still on his arm. "Thank you for everything," He added when his other hand rested on her swelling stomach.
She leaned in to kiss him.
"Are you trying to make me late, wife?" He was proud at how sharp he sounded after her searing kiss.
Her eyes were sparkling in amusement, but before she could answer him, her golden eyes caught something over his shoulder that dimmed her smile. "Ashara?"
Jaime turned to see Lady Stark. Her violet eyes were unfocused. There were ruffles in her dress and dirt along its hem. "They're still not back?" He stepped aside when he noticed Elia gesturing for Ashara to take the seat beside her.
"No, Ned and Robert have looked all afternoon," once she sat down, Elia grabbed her friends' hands, "They haven't been able to find them anywhere," she revealed. "I had thought they might have stopped here."
"They haven't," Jaime frowned at his friend's predicament. Lyanna, Benjen, and their friend Howland hadn't been seen since after the morning tilts. He knew his friends had gone off several times with men from Robert's retinue to try to find them, but they've all proven to be unsuccessful. "We can lend men," He offered before remembering that he wasn't the Lord of Casterly Rock and said lord was already in the tent with them.
There was hardly a pause before he heard his father's voice. "We can."
He nearly sagged in relief that his father had agreed with him and hadn't tried to correct or chide him in front of everyone. Jaime looked to his father to see he was already watching him expectantly. The message was clear: This is your task, your responsibility to coordinate. "I'll have some men accompany Robert and Ned next time I see them." The only problem was he was not sure when that next time would be. He needed to leave for the tourney grounds or he'd forfeit his joust. Something he had no intention of doing since he still wished to crown his wife the Queen of Love and Beauty.
"You're bleeding!"
Jaime was startled out of his thoughts by his wife's outburst.
There standing in the entrance way of the tent was Ser Gwayne. His white armor and cloak were covered in blood splatters. "It's not my blood, my lady."
"What is the meaning of this?" His father demanded, "Where is my daughter?" Father's eyes were transfixed on the red stains.
"Prince Rhaegar has moved to arrest Prince Daeron." The knight's words led to a swell of raising voices. "He's sent several knights and men to arrest him." Gwayne had to all but shout to finish his message.
Jaime could barely hear his own thoughts over all the noise. Even if he could hear them, how was he to focus on any of them with this revelation. His stomach turned painfully at the idea of his friend being unfairly arrested. The discomfort couldn't hold him for long. It began to melt away to the simmering anger he felt churning at the audacity of Prince Rhaegar's actions. The bards will need to add a few new verses to a particular song.
"They killed the men you had assigned to your daughter, my lord," Ser Gwayne bowed his head to pay his respect, "And I killed the ones they assigned to me." His gloved hand made a brief gesture to one of the many stains on his cloak.
"This," His father's voice was deathly quiet but it brought an immediate hush to the tent, "Will not stand," He slowly stood up, "Where is my daughter?"
Who are you, the proud lord said, Jaime couldn't forget the last ones who tried to defy his father and their family. That I must bow so low.
"She was with Prince Daeron, my lord," Gwayne answered, "They said they were only to arrest the prince."
"They may use her as a hostage," Uncle Kevan had somehow slipped into the room unseen during the commotion or he had already been within and Jaime had missed him. He was not really sure which.
And mine are long and sharp, my lord, Jaime had never seen his father so angry. As long and sharp as yours. For someone who claims to read history, he thought Rhaegar remarkably stupid with his choices. Did he think Father and I would smile and bow when he arrested my friend and made my sister his hostage? "We must go at once, Father."
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, Jaime understood what was at stake, and not a soul to hear.
"I agree," His father wasn't looking at him, "Kevan, you will assemble the lords and send a message to the guards of our encampment." His hands were leaning on the table, "I expect that we may have company." The golden flecks in his eyes burned with anger. "Rhaegar Targaryen has declared war on House Lannister."
"As well as on House Martell."
Lord Tywin inclined his head towards the Dornish prince. "Jaime, you are to get Prince Daeron and your sister. I will send more knights after you to provide you with horses and to defend your retreat in case Prince Rhaegar sends in more men."
"I was fortunate to have already found Lords Robert and Ned before I reached you," Ser Gwyane informed them, "They're already on their way with their men."
"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting," Jaime was pleased to know that he'd have his friends with him. He'd want no one else, but them by his side.
"Lady Elia," Lord Tywin turned to his good-daughter, "You will leave swiftly with a substantial retinue of my best knights and men-at-arms. You will return to the Rock untouched."
"Thank you, Tywin, but Lady Ashara will also need to be traveling with us," Elia insisted, "Since her husband and his men have already gone in search of Prince Daeron and Lady Cersei."
He didn't raise an issue with it. "Lady Stark is our honored guest." Father's tent seemed full to bursting with so many different guards and servants rushing around trying to follow their new orders.
Ashara Stark gave her thanks to the Lord of Casterly Rock.
Prince Oberyn, who had been talking to one of his attendants, spoke up. "The men we brought will be alerted and will assist you, Lord Tywin in the defense of this encampment if it comes to that and our retreat."
"Thank you, Prince Oberyn," He turned to where a silent Lannister-men-arms had just stepped in.
"Nearly a dozen men are armed and ready to go while more are preparing, Lord Tywin."
"My son will be handling this insult."
"Tell them we're leaving immediately," Jaime didn't watch the Lannister guard leave. He expected small numbers since many of their men were dispersed throughout the encampment or at the tourney grounds. All of whom were preparing to be entertained by an afternoon of tilts, but were now needed to prepare themselves for the threat of battle.
"I will go with you," Ser Gwayne's inclusion surprised none of them.
"I have only a handful with me who are ready to fight."
"The Red Viper is all I really need," Jaime assured his friend, before he turned to his wife. "I'll see you on the road," he promised her with a kiss.
"Be safe," Her hand was warm on his cheek before she sent him off.
The tournament was over, but it seemed the war was just beginning.
It was less than twenty men that followed them.
The numbers did not concern him since he knew more would be on the way. Not to mention, Robert was ahead of them with his own men. Another reason for his calm confidence was of the superior skill that many of them had including Prince Oberyn and Ser Gwayne who were walking beside him as well those ahead of them such as Robert and Prince Daeron. It's not arrogance, he thought, just honesty.
No, all that concerned him was getting to his friend and sister. They had moved unhindered to the grove. Many of the tents were empty and very few were in the encampment. Everyone had traveled towards the castle and the tourney grounds excited for an afternoon of jousting.
They're about to be disappointed, Jaime thought of them, waiting for a joust that will not start. It'll be enough to alert Rhaegar that something is amiss. That observation dimmed his mood, but hurried his steps. Up ahead, he heard shouting, easily recognizing the loudest of them. Jaime smiled despite what they were running into. He turned to two of his men. "You are to go to my sister and guard her. You are to take her away from the fighting, but you will need to be close enough to join us in our retreat when the horses arrive."
They nodded at his orders.
Jaime welcomed the sound of his sword escaping its sheath. He picked up his pace the rest of the way. He pushed aside branches and danced over the roots that snaked under his feet. The voices were getting louder as were the sounds and songs of battle. He saw the light of the grove ahead of them and then with a few more steps he was at its borders. He took the scene in front of him in a long heartbeat and the only word he could use to describe it was chaos.
His eyes scanned the heated fighting between the two sides: He first spotted Prince Daeron, Dark Sister in hand and a pile of Connington men-at-arms at his feet. His friend was now fighting Ser Jonothor Darry. Ser Gwayne had warned them that they'd be facing knights of the kingsguard. Jaime had always wanted to test his skill against them, but this was not what he had in mind. It would not deter him, because he was ready to do what he needed to to save his friend and sister.
It was a different shout that sent his attention frantically flickering in the other direction to see his sister. His heart lurched at what he saw. Cersei was covered in blood. "Go to her," He urged the men he assigned to her. He feared what wounds she had suffered in the attack, but then he saw the bloody tipped dagger in her hand and he realized Cersei was the one doing the attacking.
Next he saw Robert and Ned, where he was relieved to see they looked unharmed, Robert's men-at-arms staving off what looked like more than a dozen men from House Whent. Robert was fighting Lord Commander Hightower who looked to be struggling with the Lord of Storm's End. Ned was crossing swords with a knight who bore no standard.
Jaime raised his sword, "For House Lannister!" He led his men into battle. He heard the cries for House Martell! with Oberyn beside him.
Both sides turned at the noise, Robert welcomed them with a loud roar while his men's spirits were instantly lifted at the reinforcements. They began fighting harder while Rhaegar's men were startled by another wave of fresh men joining the fray.
The first men who fought Jaime came as a blur. He dealt with them swiftly, a flick of the sword to one before the boy could raise his sword. The other only lasted a parry before Jaime found his opening and cut the man's throat. He wasn't even sure which family these men-at-arms he was killing belonged to.
Jaime cut down a Mooton man-at-arms who thought his axe could beat his sword. He was wrong. Jaime's sword put him to the ground where he was quick to send another when he removed the man's head from his shoulders. From behind him he could hear his sister's loud complaints at being taken out of the fighting. She'll forgive me.
Up ahead, he saw his friend's ongoing success. Dark Sister was a steel serpent lashing out in quick strikes that were making Ser Jonothor stumble backwards. His defense was beginning to crumble. He was tiring while Prince Daeron was unrelenting. Another flick of Dark Sister left behind a pool of red in Jonothor's side, the Kingsguard knight groaned.
He had just finished cutting down another Mooton soldier when a blaring peal shook the battlefield. It cut through all other sounds on the battlefield. It was deafening enough to bring a sudden pause to the fighting and had both sides turning to see Robert's warhammer had connected with Hightower's chest plate. The kingsguard knight fell backwards with a crumpled chest.
Sers Jonothor and Oswell stood rooted at the sight of their respected Lord Commander's broken body on the bloody ground. They were not alone in their shock. The sundering strike punctured the spirit of Rhaegar's men just as well as it had the Lord Commander's armor. These men-at-arms had probably been told there would be no fighting to arrest Rhaegar's brother. Something they had quickly learned to be untrue so Hightower's death proved too much for them. The survivors began to run, retreating into the woods. Connington, who had no men left thanks to Prince Daeron was still trying to stop the others from leaving, but he was failing.
"Connington," Prince Daeron called after the stormlord, " Dark Sister still wants her kiss."
He wasn't the only one who wanted the chance to fight the Lord of Griffin's Roost.
"CONNINGTON!" Robert bellowed, "You traitor, I'll crush you!"
That proved to be the incentive Lord Jon Connington needed to flee with what was left of the men he had been given to arrest Rhaegar's brother. Ser Oswell, and a wounded Darry followed, reluctantly abandoning the body of their Lord Commander with the unknown knight behind them. The remainder of their men trickled after to protect their retreat.
"We should leave too," Prince Daeron turned back to them. "I'm sure my brother will be informed quickly of this little failure."
"Agreed," Jaime looked his friend over, "You seem to be in good spirits for a prince who was nearly arrested for treason."
Daeron smiled. "I'm in good spirits because I have good friends." His expression sobered, "You have my thanks all of you," he told them. "I did not want any of this-"
"We know, Cousin," Robert interrupted, "We know this was not the fight you started."
"No, it wasn't, but I will finish it." Daeron agreed, "But if you wish-"
"Enough," This time it was Jaime. "We're not abandoning you," He heard a murmur of agreement from the others. "We're with you to the end, my friend. Do we need to etch it on your chest plate or pin it to your forehead?" Jaime japed, but he meant every word he said.
Daeron chuckled. "No, that will not be necessary." Cersei had somehow slipped her guard and was at his side. Her hand wrapped around his arm. They made for quite the sight, his dear sister covered in the blood of her enemies while Prince Daeron had a pile of bodies at his feet.
"Ser Gwayne, if you follow me," Prince Daeron said to him, "You know what that will mean?"
"Yes, my prince," The knight sounded completely unbothered by it, "I mean, my king," he bowed his head. "It will mean a good story is about to be written in The White Book."
The Tournament at Harrenhal had turned into a battlefield.
They were riding west, swiftly but carefully in case they were being pursued by Rhaegar's men. They had yet to come within sight of any of the outlying castles or roads, so their progress wasn't as ideal as they would've liked. They surprisingly had yet to come in contact with any of his father's men, who had left before them in a party which included his wife. He knew Elia would be well. Father would not let any harm come to his good-daughter especially when she was pregnant with the potential heir to the Rock. Still, it could not stop the worry from sprouting up like stubborn weeds. He did not think he would lay it to rest until he could see her with his own eyes, and have her in his arms.
He looked ahead needing a distraction where he saw Prince Daeron. Is he still a prince or is he a king now? Jaime knew everything was changing. Rhaegar had seen to that.
King or not, he saw his friend up ahead, riding with Robert and Cersei. The often boisterous Lord of Storm's End was more subdued while he regaled them with a story from his time in the Vale. Prince Oberyn rode right behind, sprinkling his own commentary throughout the retelling. The only one absent besides himself was Ned, who was riding beside Jaime. His friend was solemn and silent.
Ned had not wanted to leave Harrenhal because of his missing siblings, with Robert being just as reluctant but Daeron all but ordered it. He was afraid of what his brother might do if they were caught in the name of retribution. He'll call you traitors and, He didn't need to finish for them to understand their fate if they were caught. More than once he glanced over his shoulder towards where the pillars of smoke were rising in the sky, and his grey eyes betrayed where his own heart and worries were.
"They're safe, Ned," Jaime tried to comfort his friend. "I've seen your sister with a sword," He then tried to jape, "She'd surprise any man who thought her weak."
"The wolf's blood," Ned said softly, "That's what my father called it." He was still looking behind, "I should go back." His grip on his reins made his knuckles go white. "I can't abandon them."
"Lyanna and Benjen wouldn't want you to get killed." He pointed in that direction. "Perhaps, Rhaegar puts you in the Black Cells as a hostage or perhaps his father decides you're a traitor for thwarting Daeron's arrest."
Ned sighed. He looked like he was fighting off a headache. "She picked the wrong time to follow her wolf blood."
"Indeed, I'm just thankful my family doesn't have such a thing. I mean lion's blood?" He asked, "What would that even be?"
His friend's smile was weak, but it was there.
"Riders!" A voice called ahead.
"Banners?" Jaime demanded, but the question proved unnecessary since all around them, riders were appearing before them until they were now completely encircled.
Daeron made a noise in the back of his throat before grumbling about finding himself being surrounded again.
"Form up!" Jaime ordered his men into a defensive position, but the riders who approached them moved no closer besides the loose circle to envelop them. They drew no weapons. They just kept their places.
"No need for that, lad," Jaime turned to see the riders parting for someone and while the voice was familiar, there was no mistaking the face. It was Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish. Behind him the banners of House Tully were flying by two riders.
"Ser Brynden?"
"Aye," He leaned forward in his saddle looking them over. "You may be good soldiers, but you're shitty scouts," he gestured to his men to break their formation. They did, before reforming behind the Blackfish in two rows, "You need to be aware of your surroundings especially now," He gave Daeron a pointed look.
"You are right, Ser Brynden," Daeron didn't try to argue. "May I ask if there is another reason why you've come upon us besides teaching me the crafts of war?" His words may have sounded sarcastic, but he wore an earnest expression while his tone remained respectful.
Brynden snorted. "Aye, I did." He held up a piece of parchment, but he was looking at Jaime. "My brother has invited you all to Riverrun. That's where your father and wife and the rest of my brother's men are going."
"Lord Tully?" Daeron didn't try to hide his surprise. "He wants an audience with us?"
"Yes," the Blackfish encouraged his horse to approach Jaime when he was close enough he handed him the folded piece of parchment.
Jaime took it with a nod and opened it up.
"What does it say?"
"It says don't ask questions," Jaime replied to his sister. He could feel her responding glare, but his attention was on his father's writing. It was brief, but it did include his father's seal. "He's going to Riverrun." Lord Tully wants something, Jaime realized after getting over his initial confusion at such an unexpected invitation.
"Then we ride to Riverrun," Daeron decided before turning to Ser Brynden, "We'd be honored for the escort."
"If you mean will you please insure that we don't ride into an enemy's trap, then aye, I'll take you there," The Blackfish's words were rough, but his smile belayed it.
Daeron chuckled. "It's an honor to ride beside you again, Ser Brynden."
"No need for that," He waved it away, "I already said I'm riding with you."
"Then after you, Ser Brynden," Daeron deferred to the knight. "We shouldn't keep Lord Tully waiting."
Barristan:
It was the smoke he saw first.
Barristan had seen it from his window inside the Harrenhal castle. He had been preparing to leave for the jousts, but the sight of smoke made him stop at once.
This was not the smoke of campfires surrounded by festive men, eating and drinking. No, these were plumes of heavy black smoke. This was the smoke of battle.
He felt something cold touch the back of his neck at that observation- Battle? It couldn't be, he tried to dismiss it since he couldn't see formations or fighting, only flames. Something was wrong.
That was when he left. He was not the only one surprised by what was happening. The castle corridors were filled with panicking guards and fleeing servants. Barristan paid them no mind. He went right to where he was supposed to go. He went right to his king's chambers.
It was not a long walk, but it felt like an eternity taking it.
What is happening? He kept his hand on his sword. It served as his anchor to keep him from getting lost in the fear and desperation that was sweeping through the castle like a storm. It kept him from letting his thoughts carry him away towards things that were not his to think of.
I am a sword. I am a knight.
That was what he told himself. That was what he'd say when certain thoughts began to bubble up. He'd reduce his world to keep it all out. It's only me and my sword.
The doors were in front of him. The two Targaryen guards on duty straightened up at his appearance, but before he could even reach the door, it opened to show Prince Rhaegar Targaryen walking out.
"My prince," Barristan bowed his head. "Outside its-"
"I'm aware," The Prince replied calmly. His tone was almost serene.
"What's happening?" Barristan asked. "Where's the King?" He tried to look over Rhaegar's shoulder, but the prince blocked him, stepping aside while a bland smile came to his face. The doors promptly closed.
"My father is in one of his moods," Rhaegar answered delicately, "He'll be leaving shortly. He is returning to the capital. Where he will be safe and well looked after."
"What about Prince Daeron?" Barristan didn't think he'd seen him since the morning tilts and that had been hours ago.
"My brother?" Rhaegar sighed. "He has made a mistake."
"A mistake?" The dread was growing in his stomach. "What sort of mistake?"
"He's betrayed the crown, Ser Barristan," Rhaegar answered softly, "Not only that, but he's betrayed our father, our mother, Viserys, his nephew," The Crown Prince listed them all off, "And he's betrayed me."
Barristan had already been shaking his head while Rhaegar was talking. He didn't believe it. He didn't understand it. He felt something shift in his chest. "You," He had said it so softly, he didn't think the prince could hear, but he was wrong.
"Me?" Rhaegar sounded amused, "What do you mean, Ser Barristan?"
"Where is Prince Daeron?"
"He's fled," Rhaegar answered, "The guilty always do."
I never should've come up here, that was what he heard the voice say. I should've left the castle, ran towards the fighting. That's what I know. I could fight. That's how I help. This was the voice and the words he always told himself when forced to think. He always chose to look away.
It's not my role, he'd say, The Game of Thrones is not my battlefield.
He chose the easy thing to do. It was easier to follow an order then it was to refuse it. It was easier to comply then question. He didn't think about what he was told to do, he just did it. All the while, he'd tell himself, that he was a good man, a good knight. Only now was he beginning to see how wrong he was.
"You did this," he shook his head, "You."
How long did I wait to serve the man before me? How long did I tell myself that this would be the king to serve. When Aerys raped his wife, and Barristan stood outside that door, he told himself, Rhaegar will be the king to give me back my honor. Rhaegar will be the king we need. The king I need.
It was all unraveling before him and his stomach lurched painfully.
I saw what I wanted to see. I wanted a great king so I made him a great king, but he isn't.
He was looking at Rhaegar, at the prince who he thought would be a great king, one of the greatest, but seeing him now he saw none of that. There was no pride or hope. He just felt sick.
"Why are you doing this?" Barristan's head began to pound, but he pushed away the pain.
"You could not possibly understand," Rhaegar gently chided him if he was a child and not a knight of the kingsguard.
"The prophecy?" Barristan in his heart knew the answer before he ever asked. "You'd risk everything over the words of some woods witch?" When he said the words out loud, he realized just how ridiculous it all sounded that he actually laughed.
Rhaegar's mouth formed a thin line. "I would not expect a knight to understand the burdens of the Crown," his voice had gone colder.
"He could've been your Aemon Dragonknight, but instead you made him your Daemon Blackfyre."
Something angry flashed across Rhaegar's face at Barristan's words, before it was smoothed away. "Will you stand with me, Ser Barristan?"
"No, my prince," He undid the clasps of his white cloak. "I will not."
The fabric fell to the ground. The guards in front of him were pulling out their swords.
Barristan's was already out of its sheath when Rhaegar's voice stopped them all.
"No," the Crown Prince ordered, "Sheathe your swords." He told his guards before turning back to him. He saw his confusion since a small smile played on his lips. "I'm not a fool. I order these men forward and you'll kill them without breaking a sweat." He ignored the shifting of his guards. It was hard to tell if they were relieved or insulted by Rhaegar's observation. "You saved my father once."
"I did," Barristan had thought he had done the right thing. He had saved his king. Then he'd stand outside his chambers and hear the Queen's whimpering or he stood in the throne room watching men consumed by green flames. I should've failed, a dangerous thought and a secret he told no one.
Rhaegar would've become king. That was what he told himself. Those words watering the seeds of doubt that were rooting in his heart. And all would've been better, but now…
He looked up at Rhaegar Targaryen.
I was wrong to think that.
"A life for a life, Ser Barristan. You saved my father so I will save yours."
He looked at the prince carefully. "You will let me leave even if I go to your brother?"
"Yes, but know this," Rhaegar answered simply, "I will not offer this again, Ser Barristan. There will be no clemency once my brother and his allies are stopped. If you wish to throw away the gift I give you then so be it."
"I do," He didn't hesitate.
Rhaegar pointed past Barristan, "Then go."
He did and he never looked back.
Barristan had not gotten too far when he heard the shouting.
He was trying to leave this cursed and ruined castle when he stopped at the sound. It wasn't far, he looked down the corridor, and was certain they were near. He kept going forward, this time more alert.
It was when he heard the second shout did he know which door to open and he did. He saw two boys, one was on the floor, the other was standing in front of him to protect him from the two guards approaching them. The boy tried to stop them, but one of the guards pushed him to the ground. The guards were laughing.
That was all Barristan needed to see before sliding into the room. His sword was already out and was through the first guard before the men knew what had happened. They weren't laughing now.
"What the-?"
Barristan's sword interrupted that question when he put his sword through the second man's throat. He let out a wet gasp. His eyes widened before his body stilled. The body crumpled in a heap when he withdrew his sword.
He was about to turn to the boys he saved, but the yellow tunics the men were wearing stopped him. There was something familiar to them. Old memories were bubbling up of battles fought long ago, he checked their arms and that confirmed his suspicion. He saw one man had seven golden arm rings clamped to his left arm while the other man had five.
The Golden Company. He hadn't seen their ilk since the Stepstones. He didn't, but Barristan already knew his answer of what the crown prince was capable of before he was interrupted.
"Ser Barristan?"
The voice was of a woman which made him pause. He turned to the two boys on the floor to discover, one of them wasn't a boy. She was only dressed as one. In dirty brown trousers and a muddy grey tunic, Lyanna Stark was getting to her feet. She looked tired and sad. She had been the one who had gotten shoved. The boy beside her he recognized as her brother, Benjen.
"Lady Lyanna?" Barristan looked between them and then the Golden Company sellswords on the ground. "What happened?"
There was redness around her eyes. "We were taken."
"Prince Rhaegar?" Barristan could not believe how far the prince was falling.
"Yes," she answered in a snarl that would've made the Stark sigil proud. "They found us." She hesitated, some of the fire leaving her eyes, "And-" She paused, looking anywhere but at them.
"They took Howland," Benjen's voice cracked, "They found us with the gear."
"Gear?"
"The gear for the Knight of the Laughing Tree," Benjen answered.
"That was him?" Barristan never would've thought the crannogmen capable of such a feat.
"No, I was the mystery knight," There was no pride in Lyanna Stark's admission, only pain.
Barristan decided it would be better if he didn't show his dismay at her confession despite feeling it. He could sense the pain and anger lurking beneath the surface. It was ready to lash out like a hungry wolf.
"When they found us with the gear they demanded to know which of us was the mystery knight," Benjen explained, "Howland stepped forward and told them it was him."
"To protect us," Lyanna's voice hitched. "He told me," she bit her lip. "He told me," she stopped a second time to take a breath. "He told me it was his duty as a Stark bannermen. He-" She couldn't finish.
He remembered Aerys' wrath towards the Knight of the Laughing Tree as well as the king's certainty that he was an enemy of the Crown. Barristan did not need to ask what happened to their friend, because he knew what happened to those Aerys was convinced were his enemies. A bright, green flash flickered across his vision of the many memories of him standing silently while guilty men were condemned. I will not be that man anymore.
"But they still took us!" Benjen protested. "They promised they'd release us after Prince Daeron was arrested. They didn't want us to warn them."
"We must go," he couldn't save their friend, but he could save them, "Quickly grab those cloaks and use the hoods too," He doubted Rhaegar would remain generous if Barristan was caught sneaking out the two Starks. "We need to leave."
"Where?" Lady Lyanna's tone remained suspicious despite Barristan freeing her and her brother.
"We're going to find horses," he was relieved they at least listened to him by putting on the cloaks.
"But where are we going?" This time it was her brother. He pulled his hood up.
"We are riding west," he was about to add that we're riding to find Prince Daeron, but he stopped himself because he knew what was to come. "We're riding to find King Daeron."
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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