Death leaves a trace, Ser Barristan had said after the Battle of the Black Tree. Jae thought he understood. How wrong he'd been

The banks of the Blackwater Rush had turned into killing fields. Corpses covered the ground, arrows and sword and pikes jutting from them, and Jae had to watch his step for there were few places where a man could step without wading into a pool of blood, or crushing a skull beneath his foot. Already he had tread upon eyeballs and severed hands, always looking down on instinct, expecting to find a root, only to find horror in its stead.

His army had moved across the river; when the bloodlust left them, they wandered the battlefield like ghosts and beat a quick retreat from the grizzly sight. The palisades became pits for the dead; so many corpses filled the trenches, the pikes could scarcely be seen.

Crows circled overhead, blotting out the afternoon sun, and the Stranger walked the land. Jae could taste it at the tip of his tongue, and sometimes the shadows fell in queer ways. A dozen times he flinched when he saw a shape move from the corner of his eyes only to find nothing there.

The Lannister army had broken within the hour of Lord Orys' devastating charge. They had tried to break out of the encirclement, tried to earn a favorable surrender, but his men never gave them the chance. In the center, ten thousand men tried to surrender. Five thousand of them laid dead by the time his men noticed.

The flanks retreated even before that. Jae had seen the chaotic flight back across the river; men, their eyes wild with panic, dropped their swords and their shields and ran for their lives, scattering in every direction.

This time, Lord Tarly did not come asking permission to pursue. The implacable Lord had looked pale and sickly, his eyes haunted, when he asked permission to lead the army across the river.

Now only the select few roamed the field, gathering swords and armor, slaughtering injured horses and putting doomed men out of their misery.

Jae moved towards the river with Orys at his side and Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur at his back when Ser Loras came, stumbling over the corpses, jumping from one opening in the ground to the next. ''Your Grace,'' he said with an awkward bow. ''We found him.''

''Where?''

''Just beyond the palisades, there,'' Ser Loras pointed out the right flank. ''He was in charge of their left flank.''

''Is he alive?''

''He's hurt, Your Grace.'' Ser Loras could not bear to look him in the eye. ''Badly.''

''Take me to him.'' They walked together, as fast as the ground allowed, Orys shooting concerned glances his way the entire time. They found him lying among the corpses, right in front of the ditches, his golden armor covered in blood. A young squire knelt on the ground, Ser Jaime's head in his lap, as he poured wine into his mouth.

''Jaime!'' Jae breathed and rushed to him. ''How bad is it?'' he asked as he knelt by him, the squire terrified by his presence, yet bold enough to remain in place.

''Your Grace,'' Ser Jaime gasped and coughed up some blood. Jae looked down his body. In spite of all the dirt, he saw the dents in his armor, the deep hole in his chainmail beneath the arm.

''Get a Maester!'' Jae thundered, and heard someone run to do his bidding.

''Your Grace,'' Jaime repeated and his emerald eyes found him. His face was covered in grime, and so Jae clearly saw the trail of tears running down his cheek. ''I'm sorry.''

''It's alright, Jaime, it's alright,'' Jae took his hand. ''We'll get you a Maester and you'll be fine.''

''No,'' Jaime shook his head and that small act proved enough to bring a grimace to his face. ''It's too late for me, but... please... spare the innocents. Please.'' He begged and his hand gripped Jae's arm in a vice. ''Please.''

Wind rippled his hair. Crows flew overhead, and the Stranger lurked closeby. Jae felt his eyes grow hot, desperate to deny what laid clear before him. ''Don't worry about that, Jaime, you're going to live! Just fight, you bloody bastard!'' he cried.

''I'm sorry, Jae,'' Ser Jaime coughed again. More blood. All Jae saw was the shining young knight who told him to fight back, to find power any way he could. All so I could help. It seemed such a long time ago. ''I should've—fought by yo—your side. Not—not my father's. I'm so sorry.''

His breath grew ragged. He latched onto his arm and raised himself up a little, forcing Jae to look him right in the eyes. ''Remember, Jaehaerys. Remember what we fought for!'' he gasped and fell back into the squire's lap, his entire body spasming from pain. ''Remember,'' he breathed one last time.

''No, no, no,'' Jae grabbed him by the shoulders. ''Where's the Maester!'' he shouted, looking around in vain, shaking Jaime so his eyes might open once more. ''Jaime! Jaime!''

But his chest went still, and his hand dropped from his arm, and his body went limp as though a great pressure had been taken off it. ''Your Grace,'' a weight of a hand settled on his shoulder. ''He's at peace now, Your Grace.''

Yes, at peace. Jae thought himself far away, and another pulled at the strings of his body to make him stand up and walk away without a backward glance. Jaime, dead. His first friend. My only friend. A brother and a father in one man. He'd taught him to ride, to joust; how to swing a sword and why to avoid drawing it. He'd even explained the basics of sex when the batting eyelashes and secretive smiles of Red Keep's women became too obvious. Dead.

''Where are the prisoners?'' he asked of the men trying to keep up.

''Lord Tarly's got them, Your Grace, across the river.'' Someone answered. Jae nodded and took a right, straight down into the trench. He waded straight into the mess of bodies, holding onto the pikes to keep upright, ignoring the shocked cries from behind him. The horrors beneath his boots held no sway over him.

No mad rage took him. No desperate desire for violence and bloodshed. Instead, it felt cool, clinical.

I'm just going to gently press Blackfyre to a couple of throats. And blood will flow. Each man another victory, each man offering his own small share of relief. Easy. Simple. Like taking a piss.

When he reached the water Lord Orys jumped into his path. ''Your Grace,'' he said, but did not get a chance to continue, for Jae shouldered right past him and waded into the river. That there might still be some caltrops in the river bottom did not register in his mind.

But Baratheons did no discourage so easily. He felt a hand on his arm and Lord Orys pulled him back, forced him to face him. He heard the song of four swords leaving their sheaths. ''Please, Your Grace, I beg of you, wait.''

''You presume to tell me what to do, Orys?'' To Jae, it sounded as if another man had spoken.

''I presume nothing, Your Grace. Kill them all if you want, but kill them later. When we take the Red Keep. Seven Hells, kill them tomorrow, just not now!'' Orys pleaded, ignoring the four blades of the Kingsguard pointed at him.

''What difference does it make?'' Jae could not see. Orys spoke of nonsense. A dead man is a dead man. The timing hardly matters.

He turned right back into the river only to find Lucas from behind them, dragging Jae's horse along. ''Your Grace,'' he said. Right. He could ride. The boy handed over the reins with trembling fingers; he had a look in his eyes, the look of a boy who did not understand, yet knew the explanation to be terrible.

Jae mounted up and rode forth. His Kingsguard followed. Water splashed at his ankles. He heard Lord Orys shouting for his own horse and by the time they came across the river, Orys once more moved at his side. ''Where are the prisoners?'' he asked of the soldiers standing guard at the edge of the camp.

''The soldiers are held to the west of the camp, Your Grace,'' one of them, a tall, grizzly man said. ''The nobles to the east.''

Jae nodded and took a right, riding past the first of the tents to come up. Men looked up when they saw him pass. Some cheered, some lifted cups of ale, most only bowed with dead looks in their eyes. They were all covered in dirt and blood.

He found them at the edge of the rapidly forming camp, at the edge of the forest. Tarly had set up a fence around them and put two dozen men to guard them. They were herded inside like sheep, and so the tired and the wounded sat right down on the grass, while those too proud to do so paced.

One of them was tall and bald, and covered in the finest armor money can buy. Snarling lions on his shoulders, snarling lions of his breastplate, the cloth-of-gold cloak hanging off his shoulders retaining its brilliance in spite of the mess it had been through. Tywin Lannister carried himself with the same dignity and power that hung over him like a shroud when he'd taken King's Landing.

Seeing his one great foe brought low, defeated, woke him up. The hum of the river, the croaks of the ravens, even the overpowering stench from the battlefield; it all came back. Remember what we fought for! It shamed him to admit his delight over his victory overcame his rage at his loss, but the deed was done, his wits returned and he blinked and glanced around as if he'd just woken up.

He looked at the tense lines on Orys' face, the blood-splattered white cloaks of his Kingsguard as they sat their horses behind him, entirely willing to let him go and slaughter everyone in the pen.

He vaulted off his horse to find all their eyes on him. Tywin, and his little brother Kevan, smaller in every way. Lords Darry and Hayford and Rosby. Swyft, Crakehall, Brax and Banefort. Half a dozen knights he never saw in his life. ''Where's Ser Edmure?'' he asked Lord Orys.

His eyes went wide, and his shoulders sagged in relief. ''Dead, Your Grace.'' He dismounted.

''Dead? In battle?'' he moved before the pen, their eyes following him. Only Lord Tywin showed no fear.

''No, Your Grace, they found him in his tent, his throat slit,'' Orys told him. His eyes spoke of a story of unrest within Tywin's own ranks, unrest that did not turn out as the defectors might've wished.

''And Aegon?'' he asked his eyes on the Old Lion. There was a rage in those pale, emerald eyes. Rage and murderous intent, but Jae saw the weight of defeat pressing down on Tywin's shoulders no matter how much Tywin tried to keep it at bay.

Aegon had been with him in the reserve and ended up captured after Orys' first charge. It spared him the slaughter where Jae's men might've chopped him to pieces before they realized who they'd killed.

''Lord Tarly probably isolated him,'' Orys answered. Some of the wariness remained. ''Do you wish to...''

''No,'' Jae shook his head. ''He'll be coming with us to King's Landing.'' The aura and mystique of Kings loses its power when the people see them dragged through the streets with a chain around their necks. Jae would show his humiliation for all the world to see and only when drunks laughed at Aegon in their cups, and beggars thought themselves looking kingly in comparison would he allow Aegon to die.

''Your Grace,'' the greying Lord Swyft got to his feet and approached the fence. The guards snapped to attention, their spears at the ready. ''What's to become of us?''

''Death, I imagine,'' He never took his eyes off Lord Tywin. Lord Swyft reared and fell back on his arse. All his strength left him. The other men only averted their eyes and looked to the ground; they knew the price of defeat, that's why they didn't order the surrender the second Jae's men encircled them.

''You murdered your son, Lion.'' He finally told him, and Tywin flinched at his words. He didn't know. ''Soon you'll be dead. Your traitor brother will be dead. Cersei will serve at the Silent Sisters while her children rot at the Wall. There'll be as many Lannisters at Lannisport as there are Casterly's at Casterly Rock. A fine legacy, no?''

''You've come to gloat?'' Lord Tywin rumbled. He took slow steps to approach the fence, but the commanders that sat on the ground did not scramble to get out of his way. Tywin had to step over some, shooting them icy glares only to find they cared little. ''You may call yourself a King, and some may be fool enough to believe it, but all I see is a boy!''

They stood merely a foot apart, only the fence keeping Tywin from wrapping his long fingers around his throat. The Old Lion towered over him, at least a head taller than Jae, but Jae thought he never loomed larger. A defeated foe has that effect, a humbled bully even more so. Reminds me of Viserys. ''Gloat?'' Jae repeated. ''Why should I need to gloat? This morning you were a great man, respected by some and feared by all. Now, you are but another over-reaching Lord who thought himself the equal of a dragon. ''Great for a season, the fool thought he could fly.'' Mayhaps I shall make that your epitaph.''

And there came the snarl and the averted gaze, for the great Lord Tywin Lannister knew Jae would do such a thing, and knew he could do nothing about it. He lost, and now he had to live with the consequences. A tough thing to do for a man who'd won every battle life threw his way, except for the one that mattered.

''Rest easy now. Your example shall hold up the Crown for a long time.'' Jae did not wait to see what Tywin had to say. He turned on his heel and walked back to his horse. Jaime's dead, he mounted the horse. But Jaime made me remember.

His enemies laid dead, or in chains. The road to the Red Keep stretched before him and not a man to stand in his way. He had done it. All agreed taking King's Landing would be a mere formality. All the armies of the Realm swore their allegiances to him and soon all the Lords would too.

He had dragons, and he had a Realm. Now let us see what I can do with it. ''Ser Elmar,'' he called and reined his horse to face the young knight. ''Find the principal commanders. Tell them they're to meet me in an hour.''

''Aye, Your Grace,'' he bowed in his saddle and rode off in search of them.

''The rest of you, come with me. I will have a chat with Aegon.''

When they came upon King's Landing a week after the battle, white banners hung off every gate of the city. The sun hung low in the morning sky and the entire city shone in red-yellow light. Thin tendrils of smoke rose into the air from forges on the Street of Steel and it all seemed much quieter than he remembered. The grey walls of the city stood deserted, not a soldier in sight.

''They mean to surrender,'' Ser Baelor murmured from his side. His words proved prophetic when the King's Gate creaked open and a party of Goldcloaks rode forth to meet them.

''It could be a ploy, Your Grace,'' Ser Arthur cautioned from behind him. Without waiting for his order, his Kingsguard rode to the front to put their bodies between the King and potential danger.

The Goldcloaks came to a halt some thirty paces away in a cloud of dust. They eyed the Kingsguard and their hands went for their swords. Every man at the head of the column tensed until they drew them and threw them on the ground.

The Kingsguard did not move. ''Dismount and approach!'' Jaehaerys called.

Their eyes on the twitching white knights, the men got off their horses and approached his party. As one they went down on their knees, but Jae was far from assured. ''Search them.''

He eased only when his Kingsguard made sure they carried no hidden weapons, did not hold any crossbows behind their backs that. He might've won the battles, but he had no intention of dying on the brink of winning the war. ''Talk,''

''Your Grace,'' one of them said. A young man, he couldn't be much older than Jaehaerys, but twice his size if the broad shoulders and thick arms were anything to go by. He kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke. ''We hereby surrender King's Landing to Your Grace's army.'' The men behind him whispered when they glimpsed the dragons on his shoulders.

''And who might I thank for this warm welcome?''

''The Princess Daenerys, Your Grace. She took command of the city the night we received word of Your Grace's victory at Death's Doorstep. All members of House Lannister are in chains. Those who resisted have been put to death.'' He said and at last, he looked up.

''I see,'' Jae nodded. ''Ser Baelor?''

''Yes, Your Grace''

''Take five thousand of your men and surround the city. The rats will be fleeing now, and I want you to be a good little fisherman and reel them all in. Focus especially on the walls beneath Aegon's Hill. There are a couple interesting tunnels there that a clever man might use.'' Jaehaerys instructed.

Ser Baelor barked a laugh and nodded. ''Aye, Your Grace, right away.'' he spurred his horse and rode down the column.

''Lord Orys, I want you to take ten thousand men. Secure the Red Keep and the path to it. I want every room in the castle searched and if you find a hint of treachery... well, you know what to do. Disarm everyone, even the Goldcloaks. I'll rely on Daenerys to tell me who's innocent and who's not later.''

''Aye, Your Grace.'' And he, too, rode off shouting orders.

''I shall have the men set up camp outside the city walls, Your Grace,'' Lord Tarly spoke up from behind.

''Go,'' Jaehaerys nodded, his eyes on the city. He sat there on his horse and watched as Ser Baelor's men raced in every direction and Lord Orys' infantry streamed through the gates. It was a strange feeling, being the most powerful man around. His entire life he had to tread on eggshells around men who wielded the power to ruin all his plans. Now they're all dead or in chains. One word against him and a rogue Lord might find all of Seven Kingdoms descending on him. And dragons, don't forget the dragons.

Vermithor purred on his shoulder and Jae reached up to absent-mindedly stroke his scales. Fear, he realized, it's the lack of fear that I find strange. Fear had made him quite the diplomat. He feared to insult visiting Lords because he didn't what they'd do if he did.

I must make sure to remember that. All the swords and dragons in the world might make him careless in the long run. He had to keep his desperation. I'm King, aye, but if I want to make this a reign to remember, I can't afford to offend a single person. Not one friend can be lost simply on account of arrogance.

And it all began with the trail of prisoners following his army. Oberyn and his pride, the Lannisters and their delusions of grandeur. He had to find a way to get rid of the traitors and keep the loyal men happy, but not throw the kingdoms they ruled into complete disarray.

''Your Grace,'' Ser Arthur said, pointing to the field left of the road. ''They've set up your tent.''

And so he went, and so he waited, and hours went by before Lord Orys returned to tell him he secured the prisoners and took command of the city. He'd gotten the chance to bathe and have Lucas polish and clean his armor. He had no crown as of yet, and he refused to touch the one he'd given Aegon though they found it in his camp.

The dragons on my shoulders shall have to be my crown. He mounted a fresh black courser covered in a black caparison, dozens of red dragons stitched upon it. They replaced his saddle as well, and it creaked when he mounted his horse. Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan took places of honor at his sides, huge Targaryen banners hanging off the staffs they carried. Behind them, the knights of the Reach and the Stormlands carried the banners of Houses Baratheon and Tyrell, along with a number of major Houses from both Kingdoms.

The sun beat down on them from high above and only a single cloud provided some shade as Jaehaerys gave the order to ride. They made a fine procession, he knew. Glittering knights, war heroes all, the banners flapping proudly in the wind and Jaehaerys at the front. His white armor shining in the sun, a black cloak so large hanging off his shoulders it covered the back of his horse as well. Blackfyre hung off his hip, and his dragons perched on his shoulders.

Baratheon and Targaryen men lined both sides of the street as they entered through the King's Gate. The commoners gathered behind the living wall of men and a great cheer went up when Jaehaerys came into view. Children in ragged clothes slipped between the legs of the soldiers to run alongside his horse. Jae drew some gold coins from his pouch and threw it to them. Old crones and young whores, deckhands and stableboys, soot-stained blacksmiths and silk-covered merchants; they shouted his name, threw flowers in his path and gasped at the sight of dragons.

Jae looked up to find the windows of the houses that lined the road empty. Orys must've flushed them out, he thought in approval and adopted his best kingly mask. He smiled to the maidens and waved to no one in particular, all the while slowly increasing the pace. He wanted to get to the Red Keep and get back to business.

It took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach it. They rode along the walls at first, past Visenya's Hill and the Street of Steel, until they reached the River Gate, where they took a left toward the center of the city. The Muddy Path lived up to its name and Jae found his first investment. Right after I empty the Westerlands of gold via war reparations. At the end of the Muddy Path, they took a right and the Red Keep came into view. His arm already hurt from the waving, but he meant to endure. They saw him as a conquering hero, the battles he'd won serving as proof of divine favor. He had no intention of squandering their goodwill. His appearance did most of the heavy work, his smile piled on and the gold he threw around so liberally sealed it.

But he wanted to take it one step further. A young boy, no more than six or seven, ran up to his horse. He hoped for gold, no doubt, but instead, Jae reached down, took the boy's hand and pulled him into the saddle with him. The boy, wide-eyed but as far from terrified as one can get, instinctually wrapped his arms around his neck to keep the balance. Jaehaerys laughed, the crowd exploded in cheers and a glance back found Ser Arthur chuckling as he shook his head in exasperation.

''And what's your name, young man?''

''Josn, Yer Grace,'' the boy watched him with a breathless smile.

''And what do you want to be when you grow up?''

''A knight, Yer Grace. Ser Duncun the Tall!'' he cried happily as they reached the gates of the Red Keep.

''A knight, is it?'' Jae looked down at him. ''Then you'll have to come find me when you're older, boy.'' He helped him down from the saddle and pressed a couple gold coins into his hand. ''For the sword and the armor.''

The boy nodded frantically, holding the gold coins in his hands with such reverence one would think he'd been handed a priceless gift. Perhaps he has been. He winked at him and rode on, beneath the Traitor's Walk where a great many familiar heads greeted him, and into the outer courtyard.

His eyes found Daenerys first. Standing in front of a crowd of nobles in a silk dress of a deep purple, her silver hair in intricate braids, she seemed to shine. And she'd changed since last he saw her. The girlhood had bled out of her. Her features became just a tiny bit more pronounced, her frame a bit more filled out.

They stood in front of the Small Hall, the Tower of the Hand looming behind them. Baratheon men stood around the courtyard and walked the walls. The number of courtiers standing with Daenerys was much greater than he anticipated. I wonder what she demanded of them in return for my pardon.

They kneeled as one when Jae dismounted and he approached the only person standing. ''Your Grace,'' she curtsied. Tears welled in her eyes, and a thousand emotions spilled over her features as she watched the dragons on his shoulders. ''King's Landing is yours.''

''Dany,'' Jae murmured and spread his arms. She threw herself at him and buried her face in his neck, only to gasp when she felt Meleys crawling down her arm to her shoulder. She pulled back and brought a trembling hand to the dragon who immediately leaned into her touch, rubbing her head against her palm.

''I think she likes you.''