PROLOGUE
The host of Rhaegar Targaryen approached King's Landing on the horizon of the setting sun.
Hoppin was the one who spotted them first; he always was. The impudent little shit spots everything, thought Joseth. Commander Janos always said that Hoppin was the best man on the Gate of the Gods.
Joseth, on the other hand, was called "Joseth the Whoremonger" by the Commander. Rightly so. Joseth always visited the brothels while not on duty, offering them all the money he had in his pocket for the best one they had. He probably had as many bastards in the city as Walder Frey had siblings and offspring.
Rhaegar's host was at least forty-thousand when he left King's Landing; it looked the same returning, as well. Joseth heard from the officers in the barracks that Rhaegar had killed the rebel Lord Robert at the strident by a very well placed sword stroke, right in the neck. The Commander had also said that the rest of the rebel force, led by Eddard Stark, Hoster Tully, and Jon Arryn, had surrendered the rest of the host.
That explains all the rebel banners. Joseth could glimpse the moon and falcon of Arryn, the direwolf of Stark, the leaping trout of Tully. The men under those banners were no more than thirty each group.
Among the loyalists, he examined the sun and spear of House Martell, almost ten-thousand, Joseth would guess. Hundreds of red three headed dragons on black, of course.
"How many do you think are out there?" a voice to his right asked.
Joseth turned to see a man all in white, white armor, white cloak, white everything. He had blonde and curly hair, green eyes that felt like they were staring into your very being, a tall frame, and a smile that cut like a knife.
Joseth bowed his head. "Ser Jaime."
Jaime Lannister laughed. "You're not one for answering questions are you?" When Joseth still did not answer, struggling with the words to say, Jaime turned toward Rhaegar's host. "I'd say there's at least… fifty-thousand, altogether."
"A good guess, my lord" Joseth finally said nervously.
"I am no lord, watchman, I am a Knight of the Kingsguard. If you want to observe your courtesies, go talk to the king."
Joseth swallowed, hoped it wasn't visible. "I am sorry my- Ser Jaime."
Jaime turned to Joseth again. "Have you wronged me? I seem to have forgotten. Never mind, I have a mission to accomplish." He handed the gold cloak a letter. "This is His Grace's royal command. Rhaegar and his men are not to enter the city until he gives the order, give the letter to Commander Slynt." Ser Jaime Lannister gave the guardsman one last look, then left.
Joseth sighed in relief when the knight left. Thank the gods; I thought the torture would never end.
It was a long walk down to the barracks.
The Commander sat with Allar Deem at a table made of oakenwood when Joseth pushed the door open. Commander Janos Slynt was probably the most ugly man that Joseth had ever laid eyes on. He had jowly cheeks, squinty eyes, and a face like a frog. Allar Deem, ironically, was the cruelest and most controlling man in the City Watch. He was probably the strongest too, with his thick arms, thick legs, and add that he is feared in King's Landing's streets make for a pretty frightening person.
When Joseth entered Janos rose and broke off his conversation. "Has Rhaegar arrived?" he asked, jowls quivering.
Joseth bowed and replied, "Yes, Commander, he has. But I have received an order from His Grace from Ser Jaime's hand." He handed the letter to Janos.
The Commander of the City Watch snatched it from his hand, staring at Joseth coldly. Breaking the seal, he read it, and then threw it down on the table. "You got this directly from Ser Jaime, Joseth?"
"Y-yes, Commander, is there a problem?"
"This letter is a forgery," answered the Commander of the City Watch.
Janos explained; the king sent orders to the Commander all the time, with his sign and seal. Aerys' signature was written by someone else's hand, and the seal on the letter was not the three headed dragon, just regular wax with no sigil.
Commander Slynt gave a simple order after that; find the man who forged it, and bring him to the king.
It was an even longer walk up to Aegon's High Hill, where the Red Keep awaited.
The guards admitted him in, telling him His Grace would be in the throne room. Joseth followed the twisting and twining halls to the room where the throne of the dragonking's sat for thousands of years. Entering, he looked about; the great dragon skulls that adorned the walls, the stone pillars that rose high up to the ceiling.
He was about to yell for His Grace…when he saw.
A body was slumped below the steps to the throne. It could have been any old man with a large beard, any venerable person in robes… but there was no mistaking him, with those finger nails as long as the fingers themselves, and the golden crown that decorated his head.
He turned to run from the throne room when he felt something hit him in his right side. It was a man, clad all in white, with the cloak of the Kingsguard draped around his shoulders.
They crashed into one of the pillars, Joseth against it. He reached for the sword at his belt, cursing, struggling. The knight punched him right in the gut, knocking the wind right out of him. Joseth fell to the floor, gasping for air.
He lifted his face, and a fist of mail met it. Before he descended into darkness, he didn't get a good look at the man's face, but there was no mistaking that blonde hair, and those striking green eyes.
He awoke to the sound of voices.
Where am I, was his first thought. Then he remembered.
"…the realm," said a familiar voice. Those were the only words he heard, he had just woken up.
Jaime.
"And serving the realm is killing the king? Is that the way to bring peace?" This one had the voice of an angel.
He heard Jaime laugh. "Apparently so, Your Grace."
Rhaegar, the angel is Rhaegar. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't chop your head off right here, right now, Kingslayer," Rhaegar said in an oddly calm voice.
He heard the sound of chains clinking. "I don't have one," Jaime replied, "Your Grace."
Silence.
The echo of footsteps echoed throughout the throne room. Joseth just realized how close he was to the Iron Throne; he was settled upright against the nearest pillar, in the dark so no one could see him.
He saw Rhaegar Targaryen, the Silver Prince, Prince of Dragonstone, and now knew King of the Seven Kingdoms, stop in front of the monstrosity of a chair, and addressed whoever and however many were in the room. "My father, King Aerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, is dead, as you can plainly see. Some of you may have called him the "Mad King". And with good reason. I have many a time. Before I sit this throne, I wish to offer you the most sincere of apologies. My brash, ill thought, and reckless actions, nearly destroyed my family and its dynasty. Lord Eddard, I am grievously sorry for your father and brother. They have been avenged, and know that I shall never again raise my sword to you and yours."
A voice filled with grief replied "Thank you, Your Grace."
He saw Rhaegar nod. "Lord Jon. I apologize for the death of your cousin, at the Trident. May he live happily with the gods now. And Lord Hoster, I am sorry for the death of many of your bannermen and men at arms. Their sacrifice was not in vain."
Rhaegar was about to sit on the throne that was rightfully his, but stopped suddenly, turning again. "Ser Jaime Lannister. You have committed a great crime, against me and the House of Targaryen."
The Silver Prince strode forward, out of Joseth's line of sight. He heard the sound of steel leaving the scabbard. Joseth scooted over to his right, straining for a peek.
He stood and poked his head out from behind the pillar. And he saw.
The throne room was filled with people, Stark, Martell, Arryn, Targaryen, Tully, all of them. But Joseth's eyes were focused on Ser Jaime Lannister, on his knees in front of Prince- no, King- Rhaegar Targaryen, who's Valyrian steel sword was raised.
The sword descended…
…and cut the Kingslayer's metal bindings in one downward strike.
Rhaegar addressed the crowd. "Ser Jaime may have committed regicide, and betrayed his sacred vows to his king, but he has also rid Westeros of a king that would have destroyed us all, if he had the chance. Like I have said before, I apologize for my rash actions. But what most of you realize is that if it wasn't for my father, this war would not have happened. Well it is over now, and the Mad King is dead!" He raised his sword high, and cheers greeted it.
Joseth looked again to Jaime. He killed his king. My king. Joseth then realized he had his dagger in his belt. He reached for the short piece of steel, admiring the beauty of the glare.
And then he charged.
Yelling, he ran for Ser Jaime, going to avenge his king, the rightful king, he would avenge him!
A sword cut right through his neck.