The Rise Of A Dragon - Chapter 19: Impasse

The immediate aftermath of Aerys's being taken prisoner by the Darklyns.

Rhaella did not know how to truly react when she was asked to attend an emergency council meeting and was informed by Tywin about her husband’s imprisonment. 

“What are the terms that Lord Darklyn has given for the King's release?” Rhaella asked, her voice calm and her face expressionless. 

She could see on some of the men’s faces that they expected her to react emotionally, to be distraught and afraid for Aerys’ life, and they were subsequently surprised to see her lack of response. But Rhaella had been groomed for Queenship from a young age, and she knew better than most that tears and losing one’s head would not be of any use to anyone. 

“The men that were sent with the King were all slain, including Ser Gwayne Gaunt. In return for King Aerys to be released whole and healthy, Darklyn wishes for total pardons for himself, his house, and House Hollard, along with the charter for Duskendale.” Tywin answered, going over the demands Denys listed in his letter. 

“The arrogant fool still has the nerve to ask for that bloody charter?!” Lucerys exclaimed, hitting his closed fist against the table. “While he was our King locked in his castle?!” 

Qarlton sighed, “You cannot deny that he is persistent.” 

“Then we will summon our armies and show Darklyn that we will not bow to his stupidity!” Lucerys spat out. 

“We cannot do that.” Gurnar said, “If we try to storm Duskendale, then the Darklyns may decide to kill the King.” 

“But Lord Denys must understand that even if he was to be given his charter and he released my husband, Aerys would not let him live afterwards. Duskendale and Everhand will be raised to the ground no matter what he does.” Rhaella said, saying what most at the table were thinking. 

None could figure out why Denys would decide to hold Aerys hostage, especially as this plot was doomed to fail because Denys could not hold Aerys indefinitely. 

“The Queen speaks true.” Pycelle stated, “This situation will end in no way but Lord Darklyn’s death.” 

“But we cannot risk Aerys’ life by simply storming the castle.” Tywin said, “We shall simply show Darklyn that his time is already numbered. Lucerys, how many ships can you muster for a blockade of Duskendale’s port?” 

“I currently have six ships here in King’s Landing. If you give me about a week, I will be able to muster another twelve.” The Master of Ships answered. 

“Send out the ships you have now, eighteen ships should be good for now, but I want enough to make sure that nothing can enter or leave Duskendale through the sea.” 

“I will write to my steward immediately.” 

“What if the blockade is not enough?” Rhaella asked. 

Tywin looked at the Queen, “It won’t be, that is why I shall be summoning the Crown’s forces along with those of the nearby Crownlands houses to surround Dukendale and Everhand by land as well.” 

“I will begin writing letters, lord Hand.” Pycelle said. 

Tywin nodded his head before looking at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Gerold had a deep scowl on his face, his body tense as he stood alongside the small council table. “Ser Gerold, you shall lead these forces once they are raised, and while it is a terrible tragedy and Ser Gwayne shall be missed, the Kingsguard cannot go on with only six members, his spot must be filled.” 

Gerold scowl deepened, but he knew his duty and knew that the Hand was right, “I shall send word out across the realm that we are looking for a replacement. I do not know if all who answer the summon will arrive in time.” 

“That is not an issue, it will take time for the army to be raised so you will not need to leave for Duskendale soon. So long as the process is in motion.” 

“It will be, my lord.” 

The meeting went on for another hour and by the time it ended, only the Queen, her eldest son, and the Lord Commander were left in the chamber. 

“It seems you were wrong, mother. Lord Darklyn has chosen madness over common sense.” Rhaegar said after a few moments. 

“I don’t think most would expect a lord to arrest a King and hold them for ransom.” Rhaella replied, taking a sip of her wine. “This is the most peculiar and unprecedented behavior.” 

Rhaegar frowned, “This would not have happened if father went with a bigger force or just...” 

“Just?” Rhaella asked. 

Rhaegar took a moment to respond as he looked around the chamber. He trusted Gerold, the man was his teacher kept his confidence and kept it well, but Rhaegar also knew that the walls of the Red Keep were full of eyes and ears. 

“Lord Tywin told father not to go to Duskendale, and because it was Lord Tywin who told him to go, father decided to choose the opposite action.” 

“This is not surprising; it is how your father has acted for a long time now.” 

“That is true.” Rhaegar said, “It is simply... irritating to see how preventable situations can be.” 

Rhaella stood, “That is the power of hindsight, my dear.” 

Rhaegar copied his mother as the two began to leave the chamber, “And do you think father will learn from this if-when he is released?” 

Rhaella’s expression did not change, “Perhaps.” 

That is a no. Rhaegar thought, knowing what his mother was actually thinking. 

With a kiss on the cheek, Rhaella and Rhaegar parted ways and the prince soon met with his friends, all had been waiting for him to emerge from the small council chamber. 

“I wanted to give Her Grace my regards about the King.” Richard said as they watched Rhaella walk further away. 

“She would not want them.” Rhaegar said as the group moved in the opposite direction. 

Rhaegar knew his mother, like the rest of the council, was far more concerned about the political ramifications of the King being taken hostage by a disgruntled lord, than the well-being of Aerys himself. 

Such actions made the Crown look weak, and how they responded could set an unfortunate precedent for decades to come. 

If the situation was different, I'm sure mother would be happy to have another reprieve from her foolish husband.  

Rhaegar himself, while surprised by what the Darklyns and Hollards were doing, could not say that he would be distraught if his father did not leave Duskendale alive. It felt strange to be so unmoved by his father’s capture, but at the same time, fitting, knowing that he and Aerys did not have the most loving of relationships. 

He knew that Aerea would not be like him, his sister would undoubtedly race back home once their mother’s letter reached her in the Vale. 

That will certainly be a problem.

~X~

One Moon Later  

Aerea sighed, relieved as she finally spotted King’s Landing in the distance. 

The princess had been horrified to learn that Denys Darklyn had taken her father prisoner, and immediately left the Eyrie, deciding to ride as quickly as possible to Gulltown and board a ship, knowing that this would be faster than taking the journey entirely by land. 

She had been grateful that Jon Arryn had sent word ahead of time for the Arryns in Gulltown to expect her arrival and she made the note to write a letter to Jon, thanking him. 

During the journey, it was impossible not to see the various Velaryon ships patrolling and blockading the seas around the ports of the two treasonous houses. 

The thought crossed her mind of telling the captain to change course and make way towards Duskendale. And it seemed that her sworn shield knew what she was thinking, because once they were close to Duskendale, Barristan refused to leave her side, and Aerea could feel his eyes on the side of her face. 

Any other time, Aerea would have felt offended that Barristan thought she would do something so foolish, but at that moment, she appreciated his presence and the steady hand he had on her shoulder. 

Even when the ship docked, Aerea felt time passing far too slowly as she and her small party waited for horses and carriages to be brought for them. 

Aerea did not slow down as she rode through the streets of the city, ignoring the looks thrown her way as she got closer to the keep. Barristan kept pace with her, falling only a step behind her as they moved, leaving the rest of the group in the dust. 

The second the guards at the gates saw them approaching, the gates were quickly forced open, just barely opening it wide enough for Aerea and Barristan to slip through without slowing down. 

“You there.” Aerea said to one attendant as forced her stead to halt, “Where are my mother and brother?” 

“They are with the small council, a meeting is in session, Your Grace.” The young boy said with a bow. 

“Princess.” Barristan said before Aerea could dismount and run off, “Perhaps you should wait for the meeting to end and give yourself time to compose yourself.” 

Aerea frowned, “Barristan-” 

“I know you are worried about his Grace the King, but you must believe that all is being done to retrieve him from his imprisonment.” Barristan said kindly. 

Aerea wanted to ignore him, but she started to think about what exactly she would be able to say or do that the council would find useful. 

Do I even have an idea? Aerea thought. 

The princess sighed, “You’re right, Barry. I suppose I was overreacting.” 

Barristan shook his head, “Your father has been taken, I believe most would react the same way, Your Grace.” 

Aerea smiled weakly, now moving less frantically as she dismounted the horse. She had the attendant send your that a bath should be drawn for her, clothes laid out, and her bedroom prepared as she and Barristan calmly walked through the keep. 

Still, Aerea’s thoughts drifted towards Aerys, the Darklyns, and Duskendale as she washed herself, she leaned her head back against the tub, closing her eyes as she tried and failed to think of other things. 

After finishing her bath and dressing, Aerea left her bedchamber and as she did, she almost ran straight into her mother. 

“Aerea, my sweet girl.” Rhaella said, sweeping Aerea into arms and hugging her tightly. 

“Mother.” Aerea said, hugging the woman back. When she pulled away, she looked at her mother worriedly, “Has the situation changed?” 

Rhaella’s eyes fell, “No, it hasn’t.” 

As mother and daughter talked, Ser Lewyn Martell, spoke to his sworn brother, “Barristan, it’s good to see you and the princess return to us in good health.” 

“Lewyn.” Barristan said, his expression serious, “The princess insisted we leave the Eyrie once word reached us of the King’s capture. Gwayne, he is truly-” 

Lewyn’s expression became solemn, his eyes full of sadness, “It is true, every man the King took with him was slain by the Darklyns. Apparently, Gwayne was the first to fall, struck down from behind by Symon Hollard .” 

Lewyn spat out the master-at-arms name like it was a dirty slur, and Barristan felt the same, “He fought and died in protection of his King, even if the one who killed him was without, it was an honorable death for a member of our order. Were his remains recovered?” 

Lewyn’s expression changed from sadness to fury as he answered Barristan, “They were asked for by Her Majesty, but the traitors say they are afraid of trickery and deceit by the Crown. They have refused to open their walls to send out the bodies of the dead, so Gwayne and the others are now being kept in the Dun Fort’s crypts, Lord Darklyn calls it a forgiveness for them in his letters.” 

Barristan clenched his fists at his sides, forcing down his anger at the Darklyn’s gall and the mistreatment of his sworn brother even in death. 

He had known Gwayne for decades now, both having joined the Kingsguard within a few moons of each other. They were close friends, truly embodying the role of brothers and now Gwayne was gone, murdered by cowards and traitors on what should have been a simple escort trip by a dastardly and dishonorable coward. 

It’s as if the world has gone mad. Barristan thought, “I assume that Gerold has...” 

The Dornish prince nodded his head, “He has sent word about finding a replacement for Gwayne. The Kingsguard cannot be left with only six members.” 

He knew that Lewyn was right, but it still hurt Barristan to see the process happening so quickly after Gwayne’s murder, but the world waits for no one, and certainly not the dead.

~X~

After spending an hour catching up with her mother, Aerea eventually left Rhaella and went to Rhaegar’s bedchamber, seeing Ser Jonother Darry standing outside of it. 

“Good day, Ser Jonother, is my brother inside?” Aerea asked. 

“He is, my princess, along with his friends.” Jonother said with a bow of his head, “I will alert him of your presence.” 

The knight knocked on the door, calling out to the prince, telling him that Aerea was at the door and wished to see him. Aerea could hear Rhaegar’s soft voice through the door, and Jonothor soon opened the door for her, bowing to her before closing it behind her. 

“Aerea, you have returned, and faster than I thought you would.” Rhaegar said as he stood from the table at the center of the room that was occupied with his group of friends. 

“Our father has been taking prisoner by one of his disgruntled lords, did you expect me to take the scenic route?” Aerea asked dryly. 

Rhaegar’s expression did not change, and he only tilted, “I’m sure you were not like this when you met mother. Why do you only save this type of behavior for me?” 

“Because it’s fun.” Aerea shrugged. 

Rhaegar face remained passive, even as he heard Richard and Myles laughing at the response, “Father will be returned safely, Aerea. You must have faith in that much.” 

Aerea sighed walking across the room and sitting on the edge of Rhaegar’s bed, “It’s hard to feel that way when every man sent to protect father was killed, even Ser Gwayne. I heard Ser Barristan and Ser Lewyn discussing finding a replacement for him.” 

“The Kingsguard cannot be without seven members.” Rhaegar said, repeating what had been widely known, “In a week’s time, a competition will be held to find the best knight amongst those who have come fourth, the winner of which will be chosen as Ser Gwayne’s replacement.” 

“Truly? Has such a thing been done to choose a member of the Kingsguard?” 

“There have been some tourneys and melees in which a King has chosen a winner to partake the oath, but usually the King will simply choose whoever he thinks is best for the role, regardless of reputation or perceived victories. But with father the Darklyns’ prisoner...” 

“So, this is a show of strength then?” Aerea asked thoughtfully, “It distracts from father’s imprisonment while showing that the Kingsguard will not be weakened by the loss of Ser Gwayne and will possibly find a replacement who is stronger and more skilled than he was.” 

“I thought the same.” Rhaegar said, “It is why I am supporting Arthur’s entry in the melee.” 

Aerea looked at Aruthur wide eyed, “You wish to become a member of the Kingsguard?” 

“I do.” Arthur said, a smile forming on his face, “I’ve have already learned everything I was able to at Prince Lewyn’s feet and have been knighted for a few years now. It has been my dream to serve in the order of Westeros’ greatest knights since I was a child. This opportunity may have come in tragic circumstances, but I will take it.” 

“Arthur here has been obsessed with training as of late because of it.” Myles said with a grin, “It’s been a task in of itself to pull him away from the yard.” 

“Of course, I have, who knows when the opening in the Kingsguard will be?” Arthur said, already used to Myles’ playful teasing on the matter. 

“In a few years give or take. I don’t know if any of you have notice but most of the Kingsguard are not young men.” Richard added. 

Aerea chuckled as Jon entered the conversation, talking about Richard and Myles’ lack of decorum and how it was ill-fitting to speak of such famed warriors like that. But as she looked at her brother, she noticed a frown had marred his features and he appeared to be deep in thought, ignoring everything going on around him. 

“What is wrong, brother?” Aerea asked. 

Rhaegar questioned if he should tell his sister about his suspicions, he had yet to do so with his friends, but he figured now was as good a time as any, especially as they were alone, with Ser Jonother guarding the door from any potential spies. “Aerea, what do you think of Lord Tywin?” 

Aerea blinked, “Lord Tywin? He is a good and capable Hand, he is serious and proud as any man of his station can be, and he, more than most, does not take kindly to insults. Why do you ask?” 

Rhaegar then told his sister and the others about how the problems with Lord Darklyn first began, from Tywin uncharacteristically agreeing with Denys, to Aerys instant rejection because of it, to the Darklyns refusing to pay their taxes and Tywin telling Aerys not to go to Duskendale, to Aerys once again deciding to do the opposite of what Tywin told him and going anyway and with a very small force of men. 

The room fell into a tense silence once Rhaegar was done, each person having a differing expression on their faces. 

“Rhaegar.” Aerea finally spoke, her face blank and her voice low and quiet, “Are you trying to say that you believe Lord Tywin purposely manipulated our father, knowing that he would do the opposite of the advice he gave him, and sent our father to Duskendale to be imprisoned by Lord Denys?” 

Rhaegar nodded, “That is exactly what I am saying.” 

“And you don’t hear how ludicrous that sounds?” Richard asked, “My prince, everyone knows that the King and the Lord Hand have been odds for quite some time, but to suggest that Lord Tywin would do your father harm, does not seem likely.”

“I have to agree with Richard.” Jon said, frowning as he met Rhaegar’s eye, “Lord Lannister enjoys his position because your father is King. Getting King Aerys murdered would only serve to weaken him, and lead to chaos throughout the realm, and he would have no motive to do so.” 

“That’s not entirely true.” Aerea whispered, but her voice carried through the room. 

“What do you mean, princess?” Arthur asked.

Aerea fidgeted in her seat, shaking her head, “It’s a crazy thought, just like the idea that Lord Tywin has planned this all is crazy.” 

“Aerea, tell us what has come to you.” Rhaegar asked, looking at the younger girl patiently.

“I still think this is all insane, Rhaegar.” Aerea sighed, “Tywin is still upset about father rejecting Cersei as a bride for Rhaegar. And I have spoken with Jaime in our letters about how Tywin still desires Cersei to be Rhaegar’s Queen.”

Myles let out a snort, “Well, you can’t say that the lion isn’t persistent.”

“But how would this lead to him deciding to have the King imprisoned by the Darklyns and Hollards?” Arthur asked, not seeing the connection between the two events. 

“Father is unlikely to change his mind about marrying my brother to Cersei, the fact that Tywin wants it so badly, will only fuel our father’s inclination to refuse him. But if father were to... were to die, Rhaegar would then be King and would be far easier to convince.” Aerea clarified, “Although this would not explain how he convinced Lord Darklyn to go along with this whole affair, especially as it leaves all the blame at his feet, wiping Tywin’s hands clean of it all, not to mention that Lord Darklyn could reveal Tywin's hand in all of this, and they would both bare the punishment. That is if this is all true! Which I still don’t believe it is because this is all crazy!” 

“But it would explain how strange Tywin has been acting.” Rhaegar said, and much to Aerea’s horror, she could see that he was already believing this to be the truth. “This all is to his benefit; father dying allows Tywin to get his revenge for the humiliation he and his house suffered, a new King who he no longer must battle with over every little decision, and possibly his daughter as Queen Consort of Westeros, which would further expand the Lannisters’ power.”

“Rhaegar! You are seeing enemies where there aren’t any! You have no proof of any treason on Tywin’s part, only your own suspicions and distrust. And while the two of them have been at odds, Tywin would not kill a man who he calls his friend.” 

“Who he once called his friend, I doubt either him or father would refer to the other as their friend nowadays.” Rhaegar said, his tone shifting in resolute coldness, “And besides, you are giving him too much leeway, Tywin Lannister is a man who annihilated two houses because they refused to listen to his rule when he was still heir to Casterly Rock and not its lord. He slaughtered innocent women and children in his campaign due to the actions of a few and called it justice, I think he is more than capable of killing one man who has repeatedly insulted him.”

Aerea looked away from her brother and the others, his hands twisting around Rhaegar’s blanket. “And what do you plan to do?” 

“It is as you said; I have no proof of treason; it would be my word against his.” Rhaegar admitted, folding his hands as he rested them on the table. “It will need to be seen further what arises from this delicate situation. Tywin will undoubtedly move to capitalize on it.”

“And if you right?” Myles asked, “That Lannister truly orchestrated a plot against the King? Then what?”

“He certainly would not be allowed to remain Hand of the King for even a moment longer.”

Aerea shuddered when she heard how emotionless her brother’s voice sounded, as if he was discussing the weather instead of the possibility of their father dying. It served to reveal how differing their opinions of and experiences with Aerys due to the man’s treatment of them.

And she hated how a small part of her thought that what Rhaegar was saying made sense; everything about this affair was strange. From the Darklyns’ protesting of the Crown, to Aerys deciding to go to Duskendale without proper reinforcements, to him now being held prisoner as Denys demanded full pardons and the charter that started it all. 

Tywin is one of the few people who knows Aerys best, who knows how to get Aerys to do what he wants, even if he must skirt a fine line, and Tywin would have the motive to kill Aerys and have Rhaegar ascend the throne.

Was father rejecting and humiliating Cersei the last straw for Lord Tywin? But what could Tywin have promised Denys to gain his cooperation? Or is Denys blinded by his own thirst for glory and gullibility to see that Tywin his using him like a pawn that he plans to discard once he gets what he wants? Or is Tywin completely blameless and Denys is simply a fool who has acted too rashly and now must commit to the course he was thrown himself onto? Aerea thought, not knowing what to believe, but hoping that the most straightforward answer was the truth. 

“I believe you, Rhaegar, and I will stay by your side, no matter what the Lannisters are planning.” Jon said, his declaration flowing from his lips with ease as he stared hopefully at the prince. 

“Thank you, Jon.” Rhaegar said, “Evidence will need to be found as the days move forward.” 

Aerea sighed, watching as the group began to speak further about Tywin, Aerys, and the Darklyns. It was maddening how sure they all seemed to be simply because Rhaegar was so confident. 

And Aerea did not know whether to admire her brother’s belief that he was right or be weary of it.

~X~

A Week Later 

The sun shined down over the tournament grounds outside King’s Landing, the wind blowing through the banners and tents. 

Tywin Lannister’s decree had summoned knights from every corner of Westeros for a melee that would determine who amongst them would rise to the ranks of the Kingsguard, taking the place of the slain Ser Gwayne Gaunt. 

King Aerys was still held captive behind Duskendale’s walls, his absence was a shadow that loomed over the city. Yet the Crown had to endure, and the Kingsguard had to be whole. 

It should have been a somber event, Gwayne Gaunt had died at Duskendale, slain by Symon Hollard’s blade a little over a moon ago. The fact of which, was a shame that hung over the remaining Kingsguard like a shroud. 

But the excitement amongst the crowd was palpable, there would never be a time when the prospect of seeing violence would be rejected by the people, especially when it was not inflicted upon them and served to distract the commonfolk from the monotonicity and hardships of everyday life. 

The nobility were more subdued in comparison, but there was an air of intrigue and ambition among those who had gathered. No one had spoken of it openly, but all were waiting to see what would come from the Darklyns and the Hollards’ treason, and seeing who would ascend to the newest position of Kingsguard was the first walked in this unknown path. 

And the knights who gathered to fight coveted the white cloak dangled before them with a ravenous hunger and all that came with it; that status that came with being a high-ranking knight, the proximity to the Crown, and the eventuality of being remembered in history for their service. 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, stood at the edge of the field, his white armor shining as the sunlight fell upon it. Beside him were Sers Barristan Selmy and Oswell Whent, the three watching solemnly as the first of the combatants strode forth. 

Gerold glanced behind him, his eyes falling upon Sers Jonothor Darry, Lewyn Martell, and Harlan Grandison, the remaining three Kingsguard standing watch over the royal family as they sat in their viewing box. 

The three elder royals showed little to no emotion as they presided over the event, only baby Viserys appeared to be happy, smiling and giggling, oblivious to the tension that his mother and siblings were exuding. 

The field erupted into chaos the moment the horns sounded, and the men who had taken the field had crashed upon each other together with a fury. The sounds of steel on steel, shields splintering, and the screams of men rang across the field. 

Most of the knights were painfully average in the eyes of the Kingsguards, with only a few notable exceptions. 

Ser Wendell Hastwyck, the Good, as he was known, held his ground against two men from the Dornish Marches, his longsword deft and precise as he cut them down with ease. Lord Davos Donndarrion of Blackhaven swung a heavy Morningstar, felling a hedge knight in one savage blow before being tripped by the older Ser Tybolt Hetherspoon, the man holding his sword to Davos’ throat and forcing him to surrender. 

Oswell scoffed as he watched the melee, leaning close to Gerold as he muttered, “Too many bold fools, with the way they fight, half of them will get themselves injured or killed before reaching the final rounds.” 

Barristan crossed his arms and nodded his head, “They’re too focused on the prize instead of fighting strategically, or they are overestimating their own abilities and limits.” 

Many of the younger sons and landless knights of the realm fought like madmen, seeing in the white cloak a rope to glory. Some fought too desperately, like Ser Jon Staunton, a bold youth from the Crownlands, who everyone watched rush headlong into a knot of battle and caught a hammer to the helm, and immediately crumpling to ground. 

As the melee thinned, the cream rose to the top. Wendell fought valiantly but was knocked from his feet by a mailed fist to the helm by Desmond, his sword slipping from his grasp. 

The one who garnered the most attention was Arthur Dayne, who fought with his house’s ancestral sword, Dawn, and in his hands, it moved as it had a life of its own and he moved with grace, dancing among slower men. 

Against Ser Osric Massey he parried low, then spun to crack him behind the knee with a mailed elbow, against Ser Kyle Wylde, he slipped aside from a downward cut and tapped the man’s helm with the flat of his blade, grinning. 

In the end, two figures stood alone on the trampled field: Ser Arthur Dayne of Starfall, and Ser Rickon Dustin of Barrowton, a rare northern knight and third son of Lord Dustin, stood across from his opponent with a black axe and a heavy shield marked with a white rider. 

Arthur was dust-streaked, but his violet eyes burned fiercely from beneath his helm while Rickon, broader and heavier, circled him warily as a murmur ran through the crowd. 

But soon Rickon rushed forward, shield raised high and his axe sweeping low. Arthur ducked the first blow, pivoted, and slashed at Roderick, who caught the strike on his shield, but the sheer force of which left him staggering back a few steps. 

Rickon swung great overhead blows that might have cleaved lesser men in twain, but Arthur ducked, dodged, turned the force aside each time such blows came near him. 

They continued to exchange blows, Rickon's strength forced Arthur back a step, but the Dornishman's speed was his answer, and he spun around the Northerner, feinting and then bring his sword around in a downward arc that knocked the axe from Rickon’s hand. 

Rickon reached for his dagger but once again Arthur was faster, pointing the tip of his sword at the hollow of Rickon’s throat. Reluctantly, Roderick let the dagger fall from his hand, his eyes burning with quiet anger as he was forced to admit defeat. 

A great cheer rose from the watching crowd once the words left Rickon’s lips, signaling Arthur’s victory this day, and Arthur, standing victorious, lowered his sword in salute. Rickon gave Arthur a short nod of his head before stalking away. 

Gerold Hightower moved across the field, his white cloak billowing in the wind, his face was grim as ever, yet there was approval in his eyes as he looked at Arthur. Taking the white cloak from a waiting page, he approached Arthur, who knelt in the churned earth without hesitation. 

“You have fought with honor." The White Bull said, his voice carrying over the field. “You have shown skill, courage, and loyalty. Do you swear to serve the King and the realm, to lay aside all claims to land, title, and inheritance, and to live and die by the white cloak you would wear?” 

Arthur lowered his head further and recited the oath of the Kingsguard, “I swear on my life and honor to the service of the King. I shall guard his secrets, obey his word, and defend his name. I shall stand by his side and lay down my life for his, if necessary. I shall win no glory and wear no crowns but the White Cloak. I shall hold no lands, father no children, and take no wife. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realm. I pledge myself to loyalty, to duty, to honor, until my death or the end of all things.” 

Gerold draped the cloak over Arthur’s shoulders, fastening it at the throat with a clasp of silver, “Rise, Ser Arthur Dayne, of the Kingsguard.” 

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Arthur heard none of it as he rose, the heavy white cloak settling over his armor and he knew his life was no longer his own. He was a sword in service, a sword of the royal family, of the King.

"I welcome you to this sacred honor, my brother." Gerold told the younger man as he stood.

The Dayne found that this did not bother him as it would another man, he had always dreamed of one day wearing the white cloak, and now he had achieved it. And as he looked up into the royal viewing box, catching Rhaegar’s eye, Arthur felt surer and proud of himself. 

He would be the Kingsguard that the realm, that Rhaegar needed him to be, and live up to the hopes and expectations that were now placed on him.

~X~

Duskendale  

The underground prison he was trapped in was dark and cold, stinking of urine and the acrid bite of his own sweat. A small brazier burned weakly beyond the bars of his cell, to warm him against the spring chill. Here he was, Aerys II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, slumped against a wall with chains locked around his wrists and ankles, each clinking softly whenever he stirred. 

He had been there for about a moon, perhaps more, time had begun to blur within the gray walls that was Duskendale’s Dun Fort. 

A concession, they call this, a kindness, for he could have been kept in a cell no larger than a privy pit instead of the one of the one he currently resided in. 

He had not been bathed properly in weeks. His beard grew wild and filthy, streaked with grease, and tangled with food scraps and his hair, once shining silver, lay matted to his brow. 

Each morning, a servant would come with food barely fit for a swineherd for Aerys to eat. Hard bread, greasy stew, and thin wine that tasted of vinegar. 

He had raged against such treatment, yelled threats and demands at the walls, only for his calls to go ignored each time. 

After the first two weeks, Aerys had grown desperate and eerily quiet, until a Darklyn came into his cell after his daily meal had been given to him to tell the King of a particular piece of information that had his anger returning to him. 

“My lord.” The Darklyn said, not Your Grace or My King, but a title far below his station, as if Aerys and him were the same. While the clear insult burned him, Aerys did not interrupt the man. “The talks continue, Lord Tywin sends envoys and the Small Council debates terms with Lord Denys.” 

“Debate terms?! What is there to debate?! You fools are traitors! Traitors that should be put to crowd for your crimes against me!” Aerys screamed, pulling against his restraints. 

The man did not respond, staring at Aerys with contempt before swiftly leaving the dungeon. 

At first, Aerys thought this was some cunning ploy, a ruse to lower the Darklyns' guard, he imagined Tywin's cold smile, his bloody and efficient Hand that would crush Duskendale with a quickness, just as he did to Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. But as the days bled into weeks still trapped in the Darklyns’ dungeon and with no further word given about what the small council was doing, doubt and suspicion gnawed at Aerys. 

Lies. All of it, lies. Aerys thought once he was alone. If Tywin Lannister truly cared, the town would have been burned to ashes the day after I was taken. Armies would have crossed the fields, the walls pulled down stone by stone, the Darklyns and Hollards impaled along the roads.  

In the King’s mind, thought of how his folly was being used by those he once trusted and thought not much of. Perhaps Tywin saw this imprisonment as a chance to rule outright, perhaps the small council was happier without a King to command them, perhaps Rhaegar himself conspired against him, his son, seeking to claim the crown early, and he had been too blind, too trusting, and too merciful to see it. 

“They will all betray me.” Aerys whispered in the dark, “They had abandoned me, they had always wanted to abandon me.” 

Eventually, the door creaked open, a flicker of torchlight spilling into the darkened room, pulling Aerys from his mutterings, blinking at the newfound light. A shadow slipped into the dungeon, a boy with black hair and a slight frame. The King recognized the Hollard brat the moment he laid eyes on him again. Robin, they called him, son of Jon Hollard, the late Lord Steffon Hollard’s twin brother and regent of Steffon’s young son, Dontos. 

Robin held a torch in one hand, smirking at Aerys before giving him a low bow in mocking courtesy. “Good morrow, Your Grace, has the straw treated you kindly this eve?” 

Aerys said nothing, his lips peeled back in a snarl. This boy before him was no older than ten and yet he already had the audacity and arrogance of men twice his age. 

“Will the dragon roar? Or has his fire gone cold?” Robin skipped forward with careless glee, spinning on his heel and laughing. “Shall I fetch a mirror, so Your Grace might see your noble visage? You’ve grown quite the beard.” 

He danced around the cell, lifting his arms as though pretending to fly, the torchlight casting wild shadows on the walls, then suddenly, Robin crouched beside the King and yanked at a greasy strand of Aery’s tangled beard. Aerys flinched at the pain of the tug and lunged at the boy, his chains rattling as he tried to grab him, but Robin hopped away with a hoot of laughter.

“Careful, Your Grace! You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself again trying to snap your chain.” The boy giggled. 

You will be the first of your worthless ilk that I kill once I am free. Aerys thought, still trying to reach for Robin’s neck. 

Aerys then stopped, his body stilling as he ignored Robin’s continued mockery as he heard muffled and angry voices coming from outside the dungeon.

“I will not watch this drag on another day, Denys.” A woman’s voice hissed, clear and sharp even through the stone. “The longer we keep him, the worse it will be for us all, and every raven you have sent out has been ignored.” 

Aerys turned his head, cocking his ear toward the slit in the door as he heard another familiar voice, “My lady, please-” 

“Do not placate me!” Serala’s voice trembled now, “You know what they will do when they come. You saw what Tywin did to Castamere, to Tarbeck Hall. Do you think we will fare better, holding the King in a cell while his Hand has begun to surround us?” 

Denys paused for a moment before speaking, “If we let him go, we are dead the same. They will hang our family and the Hollards, burn Duskendale, strip our lands, and parade me through King’s Landing in chains. No… we must hold our ground.” 

Aerys narrowed his eyes; there was something wrong with Denys’s tone, a mixture of doubt, fear, and guilt.

The door to the dungeon soon opened, and Serala swept into the chamber in a dress of silken gray and violet, her dark hair braided with silver rings, and her face was drawn and tired. Denys followed behind her at a slower pace, his fine cloak wet at the hem from the muddy courtyard.

Robin froze as the lord and lady eventually reached them, caught mid-mockery, and scurried away from Aerys.

Serala’s eyes fell on the boy, and she did not hide her anger and disgust. “Robin Hollard, you shame your house. This is a King, not a puppet for your sport.” 

Robin lowered his gaze, offering no apology as he muttered lowly, “He’s not much of a King.” 

“Out.” Denys told his nephew gently, “Go on now, Robin.” 

The boy lingered a moment, ducking his head and slinking out, the door closing behind him, and sealing the three adults inside. 

“Your Grace,” Serala stepped closer to the bars, lowering her voice, “Do you require anything? Food? A maester?” 

Aerys gave her a long hard look, then bitterly laughed before looking at her husband with a glare, “What I require is to be unshackled, bathed, and returned to my throne. Along with your heads on spikes for what you’ve done.” 

Serala flinched and Denys shifted uncomfortably, clasping his hands in front of him. 

“I am still your King,” Aerys said, rising shakily to his feet. “And I command you, for the hundredth time, to release me.” 

Denys stiffened, “You will be freed, in time, but the council refuses our terms-” 

“Do not speak to me of the council!” Aerys shouted, spittle flying from his mouth, “You speak of terms while I rot like a common thief! Is this your rebellion, Denys? Do you seek my crown for yourself?”

Denys’s face paled, “Never-” 

“Then what do you want? Gold? Land? Am I your hostage or your prize?”

Serala looked sharply at her husband, “Denys, we cannot keep-"

“Enough!” Denys roared and the dungeon fell into silence.

Serala took a step back, stunned, Denys Darklyn rarely shouted, and had never shouted at her, not once during their marriage. He was a calm and kind man, a just lord, not one given to anger.

“I said enough.” Denys repeated, “You will not speak of this again, Serala. The King will stay here until our terms have been met. We are done here.”

“Denys…” Serala’s voice was barely a whisper, but he was already walking, she followed him give the King one last look, pity, and something else in her eyes. 

Aerys said nothing as the door closed again. Only when their steps faded did he speak to no one. 

“Words and lies,” He muttered, “They think they’ve broken me. They will learn.” 

Then he began to laugh, repeatedly, until it echoed like madness off the stone walls.