Chapter Text
Barristan
The rebels knew how to move.
Barristan Selmy glanced down at his mount. The bay was impatient, pawing at the ground as row upon row of its fellows passed it by. The men astride them were an odd company, southron knights and Dornish riders mixed with Valemen and northern warriors. For all the differences of their homes, their faces shared something- steely determination, focused on their goal.
One could almost forget that these men were prepared to kill each other not long ago, Barristan reflected. That they haven’t is largely thanks to the three men who command this column.
He shook his head to center himself and then wheeled his mount to face south, spurring it forward into a trot, overtaking the men as he made for the head of the army. They were moving at a brisk pace, hoping to reach the capital before any could come to the aid of King Aerys. Even now there were rumors among the men of Lord Tyrell breaking the siege of Storm’s End to march to the defense of King’s Landing.
Barristan had his doubts. The Tyrell’s had styled themselves as royalists but, like many others, were more loyal to the prince than his father. He thought it more likely that Lord Mace would remain in the stormlands, waiting for a decisive victory for one side or the other. A craven strategy, though some might call it prudent.
“Barristan!”, a voice called to him from the front. “What kept you? Finally starting to feel your years?”
He smiled at the speaker as he rode to his side. “You’re one to talk, Martell. When did you take your oaths again?”
“Marcher swine.” Prince Lewyn Martell may have reached his fifties, but he looked at least ten years younger, near Barristan’s age. The Dornishman was dressed in the armor and cloak of a Kingsguard, which clashed well with his dark hair and features. All that marred it was the bandages that were wrapped around his upper-left arm, a memento from a stormlander they had encountered after the Battle of the Bells.
For all that, the prince looked eager as they continued south. The same could not be said for their two companions, the rebels who had made common cause with a prince against a king.
The Lord of the Vale’s expression was hard, but it was directed towards their destination to the south. He had counseled that the horse slow their pace so that the foot could keep up, but Prince Rhaegar had insisted that time was of the essence. “My father will be quick to seek those he can punish in our stead,” he had reminded them at the Trident. “So, we must return to King’s Landing before he or any of his remaining supporters have a chance to act on that wish.”
While Jon Arryn showed no pleasure at their current task, it could at least be said that he didn’t question the prince’s command. The man at his side was another case entirely. Though in fairness, Barristan could not blame him. No man could blame him, not when his family has suffered so for the prince’s actions.
Eddard Stark may have been young, but the northman looked almost as old as Lewyn and Barristan, so grim and cold was his expression. King’s Landing held virtually no interest to him, a distraction on his way to the thing that mattered to him most. It was strange in a way, the idea that a Stark was more eager to reach Dorne than a Martell. Only the intervention of the lords Arryn and Tully had stopped the northman from gathering up his host and marching past the capital. That and the letter handed to Stark by Prince Rhaegar.
Barristan could sense the pain Stark felt as he watched him read. Rage had turned to confusion, confusion to sadness, sadness to hope, before finally settling into grim acceptance. Even now, many wondered what words Lady Lyanna had written to him, but only two men alive knew the answer, and neither would give it up.
Whatever the letter’s contents, it had done what all else had failed to. The Lord of Winterfell was now riding alongside old friends and foes alike, though he clearly hadn’t forgotten who the latter used to be. “Perhaps if you spent less time japing with each other we may have come south more quickly. We are not the only ones heading for the city, remember.”
Barristan hadn’t forgotten. But he did not wish to be reminded of that by the young northman. Neither did Prince Lewyn.
“Said the man who almost marched past it. You forget the kind of men the reach produces. Lord Tyrell won’t bestir himself for the Mad King.”
“Perhaps not. But there are other lords who are as close or more so than Tyrell, and one that could still match us in strength.”
Barristan had heard this before. The former rebels had made their wariness of Casterly Rock clear. Nor were they alone. Every man here knew better than to dismiss Tywin Lannister easily.
All save the one at his side. “The old lion hasn’t stirred himself before now. Why would he come to the defense of Aerys at this time? Does he wish to be defeated so badly?”
“The Reach has spent a good part of its strength already,” Barristan reminded his fellow Kingsguard, “if Lord Tywin declared for the king now, and succeeded in defeating us, he would hold the Seven Kingdoms in the palm of his hand.”
“Pah.” Lewyn flicked a hair out of his face. “I should see to the rearguard, make sure-”
“I’ll see to that, Prince Lewyn. Jon, perhaps you’d join me?” With that, Stark wheeled his horse around and rode back the way they’d come. Lord Arryn gave an apologetic look to the Kingsguard knights, then followed his former ward.
“The Mad King?” Barristan gave Lewyn a sharp look. “Do not forget your oath. Even now, we are sworn to His Grace’s service-”
“Let’s not go down this path again, old friend. I needn’t remind you, Jonothor isn’t here to save your hide this time.”
That wasn’t how Barristan recalled it.
The three Kingsguard had fiercely argued over the matter, even as they awaited word of the prince’s condition after the duel with Robert Baratheon. Lewyn was for the path the prince envisioned, with Ser Jonothor Darry agreeing, albeit more gently. Only Barristan had made any real effort to speak on the king’s behalf.
“We are sworn to serve, to obey and protect,” he had reminded his sworn brothers, “and seeking his deposition with the aid of rebels goes against all of the oaths we swore.”
“Barristan, there is more at stake than a damn crown!” Lewyn had been fiery that day, fueled in part by concern both for the prince and for his niece and her children. “House Targaryen’s very survival is in the balance. Not to mention the welfare of the realm and all the innocents who will suffer if His Grace can continue as he has!!”
“He is right, brother,” Jon Darry had chimed in, an earnest expression on his face and entreaty in his voice. “And besides, we are sworn to protect the king above all else, you said it yourself. That includes protecting the king from himself. If we stand against the prince, it could weaken the support of the rebels. Who do you think will be more likely to support the dragon? One of their own? Or men whose very rebellion was and is founded in the current king’s reign?”
It was Jonothor’s argument that had finally won over Ser Barristan. The future king was asking for his aid, and the survival of the royal family compelled him to give it.
That didn’t change his anger now. “He is still the king, and even after this is done, the father of Rhaegar. He deserves better than to be slandered by members of the Kingsguard.”
Lewyn rolled his but did not argue with Barristan. His focus was on reaching King’s Landing and seeing to the safety of his kin. While Barristan shared that goal, his thoughts lingered longest on the four Kingsguard who weren’t marching with them. Gerold, Arthur, Oswell, Jaime…
It was the last name that caused Barristan the greatest concern. The young Lannister was the only Kingsguard left in King’s Landing, and his father’s relationship with the king and his loyalty to Rhaegar made him a likely target of Aerys’ rage. The lad is arrogant and conceited, but he doesn’t deserve the king’s wrath. Hopefully Pycelle or some other king’s man can keep Aerys from doing anything drastic. Assuming Ser Jaime hasn’t done something foolish…
“Sers! The city is just ahead!”
Barristan was torn form his thoughts as a freerider came galloping up from ahead. His mount was frothing, its flaks bloody, so hard had its master pushed it to fly.
Lewyn looked at the man like he was simple. “Is that so? I never would have guessed, given the little time I’ve spent in King’s Landing and the crownlands!”
The man flushed at that. “Of course, ser. What I meant to say- that is…”
He gasped for breath. Lewyn growled with impatience.
“Spit it out, man!”
“It’s under attack!”
Barristan and Lewyn glanced at each other. Barristan knew they were both asking the same question. Someone beat us here? Who, and why are they attacking?
“Their banners were hard to make out, but I spotted the Crakehall boar, the Brax unicorn, the Clegane hounds, and the-”
“The lion of Casterly Rock.” Lewyn turned and began bellowing orders to the column, spurring his horse down the line as he did. Barristan spurred his mount forward, so that he could see the capital’s plight for himself.
If the scout was right, then Tywin Lannister had finally stirred. He had not marched to King’s Landing as a savior, though.
A Lannister pays his debts. And the Lord of Casterly Rock is paying his now. To the king who hungered for his destruction.
Seven saves us all.
It did not take long- in was only a few minutes before Barristan saw the plumes of smoke rising into the sky to the south. Another few minutes brought him in sight of the walls of Kings Landing. His eyes were still sharp, and he could make out the small encampments before each of the gates he could see. None were large enough to mount an assault, but the knight knew that these forces were well passed that. The smoke and the report from the scout made it clear that these encampments were more a rearguard than anything else. To stop those inside from fleeing, and to guard against any who would try to interfere.
Barristan cursed under his breath before turning his mount, swiftly pushing it into a gallop. He rode past the outriders and the advance guard to the main body of the rebel/royal forces. There, he found many of the leading lords of both the former rebels and the princes' loyalists. And as he rode up, Barristan quickly recognized that they were arguing. They were divided on how to advance, though not on whether they should do so.
Lord Arryn summed it up well. “The prince and the foot are half a day behind us. We can’t wait for them. I wouldn’t trust Tywin Lannister to see to the royal family’s safety if a sane man reigned in the Red Keep, and they have Aerys in that role.”
The question was whether or not the Lannister host could be trusted not to attack them. Barristan and the royalists thought so, while Arryn and Stark argued the opposite. If Tywin would so quickly turn on his king, how could he be trusted not to turn on Rhaegar and his allies?
“Oh, so you’re the only trustworthy rebels in the realm, is that right?” Lewyn eyed the two lords and the vassals who followed them. “You have nerve to call Lannister untrustworthy when you are guilty of the same crime.”
Ser Lyn Corbray spoke out at that. “Mind your tongue, Dornishman. Do not forget that you are speaking to the Lord of the Vale.”
Lewyn sneered at Corbray. Before he could retort, however, Barristan broke in.
“Why don’t we send a party into the city? A few hundred men with some of our leaders. The rest can await outside the walls so that, if a fight breaks out, they can form up outside the walls and fight on from there.”
Most of the rebels didn’t like that idea. To his surprise, Stark spoke up in support of the plan.
“Three hundred men, half our men and half yours. I will lead ours.”
“Lord Stark.” A pale lord with a pink cloak raised his voice. “Perhaps Lord Arryn should be a part of this party. After all, given what happened to your-”
“Thank you, Lord Bolton. Your consideration is appreciated. I will lead the party, however.” Stark turned to look at the Kingsguard. “The sooner this is ended, the sooner I can be on my way south.”
Barristan nodded respectfully, then turned towards the prince of Dorne. “One of us should remain behind.”
“You’re a bigger fool than I thought if you think I will wait out here while you seek out my niece.” Lewyn raised an eyebrow at him. “And we both know that you will not wait while I do the same.”
Barristan yielded with a shrug and sigh. “Let’s be thankful the prince’s injuries forced him to stay with the foot. Otherwise he would have already ridden to the keep, Lannister’s be damned.”
The meeting broke apart quickly after that. Stark sent his men Cassel and Reed to grab one-and-a-half hundred men while Lewyn and Barristan did the same. The two groups met fifty yards away from the rest of the horse. Hopefully this proves a wise decision.
The company rode at a brisk pace towards the Dragon Gate. Normally imposing, with portcullis drawn down, doors closed, and guards on the walls, the gate and doors were both open, and there were no men in sight as they rode through.
They were welcomed into the city by screams and smoke.
The Dragonpit loomed over them as they turned west and began riding along the wall. As they rode, the bodies became more common- not just soldiers and men, but women and children as well. Barristan forced himself to keep his eyes forward as they rode. The Red Keep, we must get to the Red Keep. I cannot let Elia and her children suffer this fate.
“Hold there!” A man in crimson addressed them as they rounded a corner onto the Street of Silk. He was followed by a group of soldiers in similar garb, numbering around twenty or so. “Whose command are you part of? M’lord wants the streets leadi-”
He trailed off at the sight of the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. That, and the number of men who rode behind them. Stark addressed him in the iron tones of one in command. “Where is Lord Tywin? We are here at the prince’s command to see to the royal family’s safety.”
The Lannister man looked up at Stark, glanced again at the Kingsguard, then settled his gaze back on the northman. “His lordship should be just inside the Lion’s Gate, to the west. He told the men to seize the ground around the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor.”
Stark glanced behind him. “Rodrik, take forty men and go tell the Lord Lannister that we are here and what our purpose is. The rest of you, with me!”
He spurred his horse forward, causing the Lannister men to scramble out of the way. Barristan, Lewyn and the rest followed, save for Ser Rodrik and his party, who turned and began riding swiftly west, following the walls.
The carnage became less pronounced at they came closer to the Red Keep. The men who had come through here had a greater goal besides pillage and rape to focus on. I pray that goal is not what I fear it to be.
The Red Keep hadn’t fallen they arrived. Lannister men crowded about a few feet behind the moat, shields high and archers aiming at the battlements. So far as Barristan could see, there were few men atop the battlements. Looks could be deceiving, however, and it was no surprise that the Lannister commander had chosen to hang back.
As they approached the men near the gates, a group of riders came at them from the other way. They were a strange group to Barristan’s eye, with a giant in steel catching his eye. His helm was decorated with a steel fist, and the three hounds on his breastplate seemed to snarl at him. That must be the young Clegane, the one they call the Mountain.
His attention was torn away as the lead rider spoke up. “Lord Stark, we did not think to see you here.” The unicorn prancing on his surcoat was a similar color to Prince Rhaegar’s eyes, though the man himself clearly was no Valyrian.
“I was thinking much the same, Lord Brax.” Stark glanced up towards the Red Keep. “I’m surprised that they aren’t firing at you. Or us, for that matter.”
“There’s something happening. A fight or attempted coup inside. It started just before we got here and Lord Tywin’s growing tired of waiting to see who wins.”
A struggle inside? Barristan turned his head to gaze at the Red Keep. That can only mean greater danger for all concerned, especially Princess Elia and the children. “We need to get inside, now!”
“Agreed, Selmy.” Stark turned towards the gates. “Perhaps there is a postern gate, or one of those tunne-”
He broke off as Lewyn strode up to the gate. He roared up, “YOU SORRY SON OF WHORES, HEAR ME NOW!”
He paused, waiting as some heads poked up over the battlements to look at him. Barristan expected that those inside the gatehouse were listening as well. Lewyn repeated himself, still loud but less so, “Hear me now, this war is over! This castle will fall! If we’re patient, we will just sit back and wait for you oafs to starve to death or finish killing each other! If we lose patience, we’ll storm the battlements and slaughter the lot of you! Think we can’t? We have Barristan the Bold, The Mountain That Rides, and before long Prince Rhaegar will be here and he and the lords with him won’t stop until they tear that castle apart!"
“SO, SAVE US ALL A LOT OF TROUBLE AND OPEN THE FUCKING GATE!!!”
With that, Prince Lewyn Martell turned around and walked back to the rest of the company. Stark and Brax stared at him as he came to stand by his horse.
“Prince Lewyn-” Stark shook his head. “Are you mad? Aerys has them all-”
Clang.
The gate shuddered, then began to slowly rise, the doors behind it creaking open as it did.
When it finished doing so, men began walking out of the Red Keep. They tossed their swords and maces away from them as they did so, raising their hands as the Lannister archers lowered their bows to turn their arrows towards them.
“Hold your fire!” Stark turned towards Brax. “Unless you have orders to the contrary.”
Brax shook his head. “Take them” he shouted to the Lannister soldiers, “but only kill those who resist!”
Without waiting, Barristan and Lewyn dismounted and began jogging towards the gate. Behind them, they could hear Stark and the rest of the mounted men getting off their horses and following behind. As they exited the gatehouse, Barristan looked towards Maegor’s Holdfast. “We need to get in there, now.”
“This way.” Lewyn turned left and quickly began climbing a set of stairs. “Around the Tower of the Hand, down into the courtyard in front of the Holdfast.”
The two knights quickly reached the top and began turning, left and right, up and down. They moved quickly, along walls and through towers. As they moved closer to the Holdfast, a noise came to Barristan’s ears. He put a hand on Lewyn’s shoulder, willing him to stop.
“Wha-?” Lewyn stopped as the sound reached his ears. They began walking again, slowly this time, trying to make out the sound and where it came from. A moment later Lewyn began jogging, then running, Barristan following right behind. He spoke as he went, more to himself than Barristan. “That’s…it can’t be… please-”
But it was. Barristan could make out the sound as well.
Screaming. Screaming and laughter.
The laughter of a madman.
The two Kingsguard leapt the last few stairs and burst out of the tower. Maegor’s Holdfast loomed just ahead, the doors wide open. The throne room sat just beyond. It was there that the noises were emanating from. There’s another one, Barristan realized, one screaming, one laughing, and one more- I know that voice!!
“Please, enough. Your Grace, she doesn’t know-”
“But you do, and you won’t tell me.” The laughter was gone now. “But perhaps you are right. It is high time that you learned the price of disobeying your king, of waking the dragon.”
Barristan and Lewyn strode through the doors, moving down the throne room. As they did, Barristan’s heart sank as he beheld a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
The first thing to catch his eye was the fire. It burned in front of the Iron Throne, flames of green curling up and flaring out as if it were alive. Wildfyre, a pyre of it that stood as tall as the Clegane knight and just as wide as well.
Princess Elia was also there, held up by two men in armor and cloaks of white. Her face was pale, a cut running from just beneath her left eye down to top of her neck. Her gown was torn, and bruises shown through. For all that, there was a fire in her eyes as she gazed at her tormentor.
The cloaked men didn’t look like much. Were it not for their armor and cloaks, Barristan would have been hard-pressed to see anything distinguishable about them. One had pockmarks on his face. The other had long brown hair that reached his shoulders. The armor and cloaks they wore were familiar to him- they were mirror images of what he and Lewyn were wearing. Kingsguard. He’s taken strangers of no fame and made them Kingsguard. They’re most like hedge knights, if knights at all.
The man speaking was the same who had laughed so gleefully not a few moments before. His clothes bespoke wealth and power, robes deep in color and a crown upon his brow. His hair hung low, his beard reaching his navel. The nails curling from his hand looked more like talons, and they were clasped tightly in front of him. He looked much older than his nine-and-thirty years. Aerys’ expression was of disgust and rage, directed at the woman held in front of him.
There were two others there, both closer than the king or princess to the fire. One was a heavy-set man, with a hooded vest covering his head. Think leather gloves covered his hands- indeed, all but his face was covered in leather and cloth. His face was turned from them, but Barristan knew what it would hold- a crooked nose, crooked teeth, and blue eyes that came alight when gazing at flames. Rossart, Hand of the King and head of the Pyromancer’s Guild. How far the office of Hand has fallen.
The woman Rossart was holding was a horror to see. Whatever clothes she had worn were gone, either torn off or burned away. Her flesh was covered in burns, some still smoldering against the few patches of skin left untouched. Her brown hair was burned short as well, licked away by the bonfire. I know her. She’s the nursemaid, Jeyne, that’s her name.
‘She doesn’t know.’ The children, Aerys want’s the children.
He will not have them.
“What dragon is that?!” Lewyn bellowed as they began advancing. “All I see is a madman playing with fire, threatening innocent women. Care to face a man grown, Aerys?”
The king spun about to face them. “Ah, the Dornishman shows his true colors at last,” he sneered, “though your treason is far from unexpected. Oh yes, scum, I’ve known of your plots for some time. Your victory will not come to pass as you hope.”
“More ravings from a sorry excuse for a king!”
By now, the cloaked knights had dropped Elia and drawn their swords. The princess was on her knees, staring at the Kingsguard as if she expected them to vanish at any moment. Rossart had dropped Jeyne and was backing away, his eyes darting from the two knights to Aerys and back.
“You call me king, yet rebel against me!” Aerys’ smile was gone, terror in his eyes as he turned his gaze towards Barristan. “And you, the knight who did his duty, who saved his king. Now you’ve come to see him dead, is that it?”
“Your Grace, we can still end this without more death.” Barristan glanced at Elia. “Tell those men to lower their swords. Rhaegar has sworn-”
“Rhaegar?!” The king reared up as the name left his lips. “The traitor! The pretender! He and his ilk will not have my realm! It will burn, all of it! Burn, burn, BURN!!!! Aerys screamed that last word and kept screaming after that. “BURN THEM ALL!! BURN THEM IN THEIR BEDS, IN THEIR HOMES, IN THEIR STREETS!! BURN THEM!! BURN-”
“ENOUGH!” Lewyn roared, sword in hand as he charged the king. The royal knights rushed to meet him, blades flashing as the wildfyre flared before the throne. The prince met one strike with his blade, leaning back as the other sword slashed near his face. The man who wielded it raised the blade to strike again, only to turn as Barristan charged into the fray.
The sword of the Kingsguard knight whistled as it slashed at his counterpart. He was strong, but slow. Barristan rained blows on him, forcing him back as Lewyn fought his opponent. The knight stabbed at Barristan, but he slid to the side and brought his blade down on the man’s wrist.
The knight gaped at the stump where his hand used to be. He looked up just in time to see Barristan’s sword coming as it punched through his gorget and out the back of his throat. The man stared into Barristan’s eyes, then fell back as the Kingsguard pulled his blade free.
The sound of running brought Barristan’s gaze up. He turned to see others- Stark, Brax, even Clegane- charging forward from the yard, steel in hand. Then a new cry bade him turn to the throne once more.
Aerys had seized Elia’s hand, and was dragging her towards the flames. “I SAID THEY WOULD BURN!”, the king screeched, “AND THEY W-”
He never finished the sentence.
It was as if time slowed. Barristan surged forward, dropping his blade as he did. With one hand he grasped the princess’s arm and, with the other, put his hand to the king’s chest and pushed.
Aerys lost his grip on Elia and stumbled back. His eyes met Barristan’s for just a moment, fear and pain shining within.
Then he fell into the flames. And the screaming started anew.