Two dozen knights surrounded him, pressing all around him as they rode the battlefield. They feared one of the wounded or captured men would try to kill him in one last act of vengeance and chose to put their bodies in the way. Jae smiled to see their eyes scan the corpses around them, bloodied blades at the ready. My men.
Lord Tarly rode up, once more asking for permission to pursue the fleeing enemy.
''Only as far as their camp and no further. Free any prisoners you can and return at once.'' With a nod, Lord Tarly quickly rallied a couple hundred men who still lusted for battle and disappeared over a nearby hill.
As they moved across the battlefield, the consequences of their devastating charge became clear. Severed limbs, decapitated heads, corpses turned to a pulp by the hoofs of his cavalry; they littered the ground, more than he could count. Puddles of blood were commonplace; the legs of his white charger were stained red to its knees.
Nausea did not come this time. Jae's eyes saw all, but his soul felt little. More pawns removed from the board, that's all. He could not mourn their deaths, they'd come north for the express purpose of murdering him. He could not blame himself, Martell's had long proven themselves beyond reason.
Killing is an essential part of kingship, he'd come to know better than most. It's what you do with the masters that matters, their puppets are irrelevant.
Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan rode up to his little entourage, neither of them riding the horse they charged on. Grim-faced, their white cloaks splattered with blood, they nodded to him and made their way to his side.
''Go get some rest, good Sers, you have done enough for a day. I'm sure my Kingsguard will keep me safe enough,'' he told the men riding around him.
He received a dozen nods from faceless men hidden behind their helms. They dispersed in every direction, while Jaehaerys wheeled his horse towards the Baratheon battlements.
''Ser Oswell, how is he?'' he asked Ser Loras when the knights rode out of earshot. He didn't have the chance to ask earlier. The knights surrounded him right after the dornish broke and he had no wish to dampen their spirits.
Ser Loras swallowed, glancing at Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan who both gave him a look that demanded answers. ''He—uh, he's dead, Your Grace. Killed when we hit the line of spearmen.'' Killed to clear a path for me, you mean.
''Where is he?'' Ser Arthur demanded, ''Where have you taken him?''
''I left him where I found him.''
''What? Why would you do that?'' Ser Barristan asked, keeping his voice down so the men around them looting corpses didn't hear.
''He was caught under our own charge,'' Ser Loras shot back, ''If it wasn't for the armor I'd never have recognized him.'' He clenched his jaw, lower lip trembling. He averted his eyes, looking out in the distance. I imagine those chivalrous ideals of war are good and dead now.
Jaehaerys mourned the man, knew he'd likely never find another knight to feel his shoes. What did they say about the Conciliator? He had great knights in his service, but none could come close to matching his first Seven.
Jae didn't even have seven knights of the Kingsguard serving him. The four he had, however, were the finest in a generation. Even Ser Loras looked to be slowly earning his spot among that number. What will I do, should the day come when the Sword of the Morning no longer guards my back, when Ser Barristan the Bold isn't there to assuage my worries with his steadfast council?
Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur both looked crestfallen, glancing guiltily at Ser Loras. ''I apologize, Ser—'' Ser Barristan went to say.
''It's all right,'' Ser Loras cut him. ''He was your friend. But he was mine, too. I saw him fly out of his saddle. I could've gone for him, but he told me if I had to choose between protecting His Grace and saving him, I should always go for the King and...''
''He told you right, Loras.'' Ser Arthur said, his expression telling Jae he's had to make the same decision before.
''The hell I did,'' Ser Loras erupted, quickly hunching down and glancing around to see if anyone heard him. ''Jaehaerys killed every man who got in his path anyway, I didn't even reach him until it was all over. I could've gone for Oswell and His Grace would still be safe.''
Jae watched the exchange silently, knew this to be a matter for the Kingsguard to handle. ''Maybe His Grace did not need you today, but someday he might. It's for that day that we make such precautions. Oswell himself would tell you, you did the right thing.'' Ser Barristan told him. Ser Arthur nodded in agreement.
Ser Loras stared at Ser Barristan for a few moments, then looked away, grinding his teeth. He nodded. Jae eyed Ser Loras as they rode, weighing what went on in his head. Did Oswell's death cast his service to me in doubt, or has it reaffirmed it? Men change when their outlook on the world is shattered and their ideals are laid to rest.
''Your Grace,'' came a voice. Jaehaerys looked in front to find some six men go to their knees before him. ''In the name of all the people of the Stormlands, I thank you for coming to our rescue this day.''
Jaehaerys had to blink twice, unsure his eyes told him true. Before him knelt Lord Orys Baratheon. Back at the capital, he met a green boy, easy to smile and quick to laugh, though always held back by his father's judging eyes. This man kneeling before him looked nothing like him. Dark rings under his eyes, mud, and blood covered him from head to toe. Jae spotted more than a few wounds bleeding freely. Born a year after Jaehaerys, he looked a decade older. Or mayhaps I just haven't seen my reflection in a long time.
''Rise, Lord Baratheon,'' Jae said, more than willing to give the young man his due. Orys got up with a noticeable groan, Jae spotted the cut in his right thigh. He dismounted his horse and approached. ''It was an honor to fight beside you, my Lord. I'm glad we got here in time.''
The two men shook hands, Jae observing the grim men standing behind Orys. Warriors, tried and tested, but they all deferred to the boy who led them. Jae spotted a curious member of their party.
''Lord Swann, a surprise to see you here.'' He'd never met the man, but could still read sigils just fine.
Orys chose to answer the silent question for him. ''Lord Swann learned of the deceit perpetrated by the Martell's and the Lannister's, Your Grace. He's chosen to come over to our side and has been instrumental in our efforts. I had hoped Your Grace wouldn't mind.''
Jae's respect for Orys only grew. Though little more than a catspaw, Swann played a crucial part in getting Stannis Baratheon's head chopped off. That Orys could ignore that piece of information in favor of political expediency...
He gave the best smile he could under the circumstances and said, ''That is your prerogative as a Lord Paramount, my Lord, and one I support wholeheartedly.''
Lord Orys' shoulders sagged in relief and he bowed his head.
''I'm sure you'd like to get some rest after such a trying fortnight. I will leave you be today, but if you could join me tomorrow morning?'' He asked, glancing around to see the clean up had begun; carts were brought forth to load the wounded, the silent sisters walked among the corpses like ghouls and the cries of pain and pleads for mercy still hadn't gone quiet.
''It would be an honor, Your Grace.''
Jae nodded and turned his eyes to the Lords standing behind Orys. ''You have done the Crown a great service today. Rest assured, it will not be forgotten.'' He left them there, mounted his horse and rode off.
''Anyone know what happened to Oberyn?'' he asked his Kingsguard as they trotted away from the battlements, back to the hill from which they charged.
Ser Arthur nodded and his eyes told Jae he'd come face to face with the dornish Prince. It couldn't have been easy, fighting his own countrymen let alone the man he'd been raised to obey.
''Dead?''
''No, Your Grace,'' Arthur looked steadily ahead and clenched his jaw. ''But he might lose an arm.''
They came up to the top of the hill and Jae spotted the command tent his men set up. ''I cannot imagine what this must be like for you, Ser Arthur, but I do want you to know I appreciate it.''
''It is what it is, Your Grace. My oaths to the Crown come before all else. It is what will happen to my home when the truth of this comes out that I am more worried about.'' Ser Arthur said as they dismounted their horses and handed them to their squires.
Jae had barely considered the implications of this conflict on the political landscape of Dorne. A civil war could not be ruled out, and even if Prince Doran managed to hold onto power, it would take decades for a return to former glory.
And what do I want to happen? He didn't know. Martell's had committed treachery on a scale hitherto unheard of. To ever trust them again would be foolish to the point of lunacy. Even if he kept Arianne hostage in the Capital, it wouldn't be enough. Martell's chances of ever developing close ties to the Crown were gone and who knew what they'd be willing to do to regain them.
But to put another in their place? The dornish with their hot-blooded ways, whatever House rose up to replace the Martell's might secede from the Crown if only to gain full support from the people.
What's better? To leave Prince Doran on his shaky throne, exploiting his dependency on the Crown to keep him in line, or risk someone worse taking his place?
He walked into the tent, his desk already set up in the middle of it. He zeroed in on the pitcher of wine and poured himself a cup.
He turned to Ser Arthur and said, ''Have my Maester tend to Prince Oberyn's wounds. It wouldn't do for a Prince of Dorne to die on our watch.''
It only occurred to him then that Ser Arthur waited for that very command, so quickly did he bow and leave the tent.
Jae turned to the remaining two Kingsguard. He had another task for Ser Barristan, one he knew the venerated knight would loathe to complete. But it had to be done. ''Ser Barristan, you know what you have to do,'' he said. ''Two men, two enemies, with fatal wounds that are sure to die by tomorrow. Understood?''
Ser Barristan swallowed and nodded, bowed and left the tent. A sign of his disapproval that he did not say anything, but Jae would have to live with it. Ser Loras watched the exchanged with a pinched look on his face, but wiped his face of any expression when Jae's eyes fell to him.
''You disapprove?'' he asked as he moved to the tent and called for Lucas. The boy came running and Jae gestured to his armor as he turned to Ser Loras.
Ser Loras' eyes fell to Jae's squire, a question in them. ''You can speak freely around Lucas, I trust him with everything.''
He didn't, of course, but it would only make the boy more loyal and it's not as if he could do much damage. By dawn tomorrow, the world would change and no one could stop it. Prince Oberyn had been the last one who had a chance to do so.
''Dragons are dangerous beasts, Your Grace.'' Lucas froze in the middle of unclasping Jae's neck-brace. His eyes darted between Loras and Jae before he quickly got back to work when he noticed he'd drawn his King's attention.
''Great periods of peace are always a result of dominance, not compliance, Ser Loras.'' He rubbed the back of his neck, sore from days of wearing armor.
''And I have no doubt you shall engineer it, Your Grace. It's your descendants I'm worried about.'' Ah, the Dance of Dragons. The Conciliator's peace had made his descendants careless, made them think themselves untouchable.
If all went according to plan, history meant to repeat itself. Oh, sure, the question of succession wasn't around to create any chaos anymore, but power-hungry fools always find a worthy excuse. No check on their power would stop it, no amount of warnings would prevent it.
A change of culture could go a long way, though. Send the ambitious and the power-hungry away to conquer new territories was one solution, but as Old Valyria learned, one can run out of territory to take. His descendants would turn on each other eventually.
Jae found he cared very little; he was going to be long dead and the prospect of an era of peace appeared too enticing to give it up on the off-chance that his blood-line produced another generation of idiots.
He worried more about the present. He worried more about the Lords and their reaction to the return of Dragons. He'd gain a thousand enemies overnight. The Lords never liked the Targaryen's while they had dragons under their command, he knew that much. Made them too powerful, depriving the nobles of any sort of leverage.
So a Lord came with a petition before the King? All the political maneuvering in the world couldn't get him what he wanted, not when the King in question had a weapon of mass destruction purring at his side.
No, dragons made Targaryen's too powerful, so dragons made nobles nervous. Made them question the worth of their own precious bloodlines and put a check on their ambitions. You can rise high, my dear, but you'll never soar across the sky!
Still, Jaehaerys figured he could think of a way or two to counter their frustrations.
''Your Grace?'' Ser Loras asked.
''Oh, excuse me, Ser, got lost in my thoughts,'' he smiled and took a deep breath as Lucas freed him of his breastplate. He'd begun to fear the bloody thing joined with his body. ''And to answer your concerns, I have some plans in place to ensure history won't repeat itself.'' Ser Loras believed him, he could tell.
''And the cost required to birth them in the first place?''
''Ah... well, as to that, I can only ask you; how many men have you killed today?'' Ser Loras stared at him, chewing on his lip. He finally looked away; the bloody arithmetics of life showing their face for the first time. ''We shall sacrifice two today, but spare thousands.''
Ser Loras nodded, though he kept his eyes on the ground, his brows furrowed. He's beginning to understand. Good. ''I'm with you, Your Grace.''
''Glad to hear it, Ser.'' Though what kind of a choice the man thought he had, Jae didn't know. That he had to reaffirm his loyalty only put him more on edge, made him wonder if he misjudged the situation. ''Now if you wouldn't mind waiting outside, I would like to get some rest.''
Ser Loras looked around the tent, utterly devoid of everything but his table and two chairs. ''But Your Grace, the men haven't brought your bed yet.''
''After the last couple of days, Ser, the ground looks mighty comfortable.'' Ser Loras gave a snort of laughter, surprising himself even more than Jaehaerys.
With a smile lingering on his face, he bowed and walked out of the tent. ''You too, Lucas, I'll call you when I have need of you.''
Lucas nodded, his eyes wide in disbelief with what he heard, and walked out. Jaehaerys picked up the cloak Lucas left behind for him, laid it on the ground and settled himself over it.
But sleep wouldn't come. He closed his eyes and his mouth filled with the taste of blood, his arm twitched in memory of how it jerked when he cut his opponents. He wondered who the Blackmont knight had been. He wondered if he wanted to know. Better to leave his opponents faceless than learn about them and the families waiting for them at home.
He clenched his teeth, I have people waiting for me too. Daenerys, if he was being honest with himself, and only Daenerys. But he needed no other incentive, no other justification.
He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until Ser Barristan shook him awake. ''Your Grace, Your Grace.''
He opened his eyes. Night had fallen while he slept, and only the candle in Ser Barristan's other hand illuminated the tent.
''It is ready, Your Grace.''
Jaehaerys sat up and nodded. He thought he'd have some qualms when the time to make the final decision came, but none came forth to make themselves heard. Perhaps his pity died somewhere on that field by the Mander, perhaps he'd never had any to begin with. The face of that boy flashed through his mind, of the first time he murdered. Why should this be any different? I murdered to earn Oberyn's favor and still ended up fighting him. This time, I will not murder in vain.
He stood up and Lucas was there to provide a fresh cloak and some gloves. He handed him a freshly polished Blackfyre last.
''Where have you set it up, Ser?'' he asked as he rubbed his eyes and grabbed a pitcher to pour himself another cup.
''About a league away.'' Ser Baristan replied. He'd never spoken so mechanically to Jae before.
''And the story behind the men?'' he downed the cup in two large gulps.
''Your Grace ordered your own physicians to help them.'' Jae nodded and walked out of the tent.
''Very good,'' he mounted his horse. Ser Arthur and Ser Loras already stood at the ready and together they rode away. Some of the men shot them curious glances – while Jae slept an entire camp sprung up around him and he was in the middle of it – but no one paid too much attention. Their exhaustion came before their interest in the strange habits of royals.
Ser Barristan had chosen well; a ring of fire surrounded the small depression, men with torches in their hands, looking out into the night to prevent any from approaching.
''Can we trust them?'' Jae called when he rode past them.
''They will talk, Your Grace,'' Ser Barristan said as they reigned up before the funeral pyre. Jae spied the two men tied to it, shivering in the cool air of the night and looking around in panic. ''But if things go as you say, it won't matter by the morning.''
That's one way to put it, he dismounted his horse and gestured for one of the torch-bearers to approach. He took the flame and moved towards the pyre with no hesitation. He had no use for it.
''Your Grace,'' Ser Barristan's concerned voice stopped him. ''Are you certain about this?'' Does he fear the rise of the second Mad King?
Jae turned back to him and allowed himself to show some of the regret he felt about the necessity of his actions. ''Would that I was not, Ser.'' He walked on and approached the pyre. The two men watched him with terrified eyes, the two dragon eggs between them. Ser Barristan had chosen two with stomach wounds; fatal, but it would take them a hell of a long time to die. I imagine they'd prefer it to the fire.
''I want you to know, I am sorry about this.'' He murmured, keeping his eyes low.
''No! Please,'' one of them begged, glancing at the torch. ''You can't do this! Please.''
''It takes the sacrifice of a soul to birth a dragon,'' he remembered Varys' instructions. Let us pray to the Old Gods and the New he wasn't lying.
''Your death will bring peace to thousands. I know it doesn't mean much, but it's all I have.'' The man went to say something else, while the other kept his silence, his eyes glued to the eggs. He threw the torch into the pyre before he resolve melted away like morning dew.
He backtracked away and that's when the other chose to make himself heard. ''I will hold you to that, Jaehaerys Targaryen!'' he shouted as flames began to lick the sides of his body. ''You hear me, I will hold you to those words!''
They had doused the entire pyre in oil and the fire enveloped to the two men seconds later. The night lit up in a brilliant yellow and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't block out the screams.
What would Jaime say?