Disclaimer – This fanfiction was not written by me; it belongs to the user William Dellinger on alternatehistory, by publishing it here I only intend to bring it to a wider audience and make it available for offline reading. I do not claim any ownership of the content.

Rhaegar III
Early 274 AC

I ducked beneath the sword stroke, moving low and away and keeping my own blade between myself and Ser Barristan. The older man expected this and swung his practice sword in a low backhand cut, aiming for my lower leg. I, however, had expected this as well, because he had done the same thing the last several times. What I didn't expect, though, was the lightning fast left hook he snapped to the side of my head.

My helm protected me from any serious damage, but with ears ringing and eyes watering, I didn't even see Ser Barristan's blade slam down on my wrist. I dropped the practice sword, my arm numb to the elbow.

The tip of the practice sword came under my chin and I stopped moving. I cursed under my breath, for what seemed like the thousandth time. Ser Barristan calmly removed his helm and planted the practice sword point first into the ground, resting his hands atop one another on the hilt.

"Your Grace, you were progressing very well. And now you are not."

I removed my helm as well, walking over to the nearby bench and water bucket, setting the heavy piece down and taking a long cool drink. I was so tired that I barely took the time to assure myself the water looked clean before drinking.

I'd barely gotten any sleep in the last week. Through trial and error, it had become obvious to me that Rhaegar was capable of taking over whenever "we" did something that required more of his memories and abilities. Things like the harp and the sword were the big ones, though researching the history of Westeros and certain lordly activities would often cause a brief lightheadedness. I wasn't sure if sleep would let the Royal Idiot take over again, but I sure as shit didn't want to wander the Red Keep at night not being in control of myself. I could keep him at bay if I concentrated, but that left little room to concentrate on not getting my head bashed in. Like I had all week.

I turned to Ser Barristan. "Things on my mind, Ser Barristan. It shall pass. And I will be knocking the sword out of your hand before long." I gave him my most charismatic smile, made easier by Rhaegar's annoyingly charming face.

Ser Barristan nodded his head in acquiescence. "As you say, Your Grace."

"Ser Barristan, we've spoken of this." I gestured around to the practice yard. "We are alone. You are teaching me the sword. We can afford to lose the formal address."

The knight shook his head. "Your Grace... I cannot. The vows I swore, and the code of honor I follow, make the acknowledgement of our positions necessary."

I grimaced. Being Your Graced all the time was annoying, but it wasn't that big of a deal. Jon and Arthur were only formal when other people were around, and since I was usually always around them, the formality of Ser Barristan was all the more jarring. "Do I have to make it an order from your prince?"

Ser Barristan narrowed his eyes. "Knock the sword from my hand, Your Grace, and we will revisit this," he said, chuckling.

I smiled as well. The Ser Barristan before me was much different than the Ser Barristan of the TV series, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the difference in age, or the difference in experiences, or because he was this way in the books. I reflected for what had to have been the millionth time that there had to have been a better sucker for this mission. Any of the guys trolling Reddit or a thousand other forums would know what to do. And what not to do.

I noticed Ser Barristan playing with his greaves. Fidgeting, really. The man never fidgeted. He could stand as still as an ice cold stone for hours on end, guarding a door. When he moved with a sword in his hand, he was quick and decisive. The man simply didn't fidget.

"Something on your mind, Ser Barristan?"

He stopped immediately, his brow furrowed in thought. "Your Grace, it is the matter of the Gold Cloaks in the tavern last week. They should not have been there. I feel I should report this to their commander, but in doing so, I might possibly give away our excursion."

I nodded in understanding. "And the King wouldn't like that."

The knight snapped a little straighter. "The King has given no order that you cannot leave the Red Keep, nor for Lord Jon or Lord Arthur. I was fulfilling my duties as a member of the Kingsguard in escorting you."

I raised a hand in apology. "I mean no offense, by implication or otherwise. But you know as well as I do that Father would not approve."

I hadn't seen my Father – the King, I reminded myself – at all since arriving. He'd been holed up in his rooms, only coming out to meet the small council once or twice. For that matter, I hadn't met Tywin Lannister yet, either. It seemed that the raising of children was to be done by servants and retainers, not the parents themselves. And it also seemed that Royal Princes and heirs to the throne weren't to be included in the running of the country, either.

I thought about Ser Barristan's problem. It wasn't that I was so much worried about myself, because, let's face it, King Crazy Pants wasn't going to do shit to me as long as the issue of another heir was still up in the heir – ha!

Fuck off. I take pride in my puns. It's the one remaining joy I have. And you're basically a captive audience, so you're going to have to listen to them.

And it's not like King Batshit could do much to Ser Barristan, either. He's a member of the Kingsguard, so there might be an ass chewing and some shit assignments for a while, but that'd be about it. No, I was more worried about what he'd do to Jon and Arthur. He could send them away, which would suck because they were my two best friends and the only people I could talk to. He could also kill them, which would suck also. More for them, but still.

"Perhaps if you went to the Commander and told him that you happened to see two of his Gold Cloaks in a tavern?"

Ser Barristan sighed. "Our involvement is not the entirety of the problem, Your Grace. The City Watch is... troublesome."

"Corrupt."

The knight visibly flinched. "In a word, yes."

I nodded slowly. "Then the Master of Laws might be more amenable? Lord Staunton," I said, glad that I had memorized the names and positions of the small council. Of course, thinking of them brought another bout of lightheadedness as I remembered Rhaegar remembering meetings and conversations. "Surely he would like to hear of corruption in his City Watch?"

Ser Barristan shrugged. "But going to Lord Staunton would increase the risk of our involvement being found out," he pointed out. "And I wouldn't have the authority to refuse to answer his questions."

"I understand, Ser Barristan," I said, drawing out the words. "It would seem that our best course of action is replacing the Lord Commander with someone who will reform the City Watch."

Ser Barristan stopped at that, staring at me. "Lord Stokeworth was given that position by your father. Replacing him would be acting against the word of the King." To his credit he managed to not sound like what I always figured aghast to sound like, but just barely.

"And my father," the King, I had to remind myself, "knows that Lord Stokeworth is as corrupted as a week-old corpse?"

The knight looked away. "The Lord Commander is as corrupt as any other Lord Commander. His replacement could be worse."

I refilled my cup and took another long sip. There wasn't an easy answer to Ser Barristan's problem, and I didn't think telling him to wake up and realize that he was living in the moral equivalent of a steaming pile of serial killer shit would do the trick. It was a social problem more than anything; with rampant poverty, the mechanism for corruption was what greased the wheels of the realm. And pulling an entire society out of feudalism would take generations. My descendants' descendants would still be dealing with these issues and even then the power of the crown would have to be maintained–

I furiously fought down the lightheadedness. Dammit, but I was tired.

Ser Barristan must have seen my expression and mistaken it for something else. "It angers me as well, Your Grace."

I ducked my head to cover my relief. "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"Very wise, Your Grace."

I reflected that there were thousands of sayings and speeches I could crib from to make myself sound smart. I'd be the smartest person on the cinder once this shithole started burning.

"How would you go about reforming the City Watch, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked.

I considered the question. The social aspects were a major problem, but perhaps I could use that to my favor. My father would be able to make sweeping changes with a single decree, so it was an issue of getting to see things my way. Mother would be little help, as Father stopped trusting her years before. Lord Tywin, then. If I could get him to propose the opposite, Father would certainly be inclined to reform.

No, dammit! Focus on your own experiences. Your cousin is a cop. Use your own memories, not his!

"Two things. A training period. A real one, not the two days they spend getting their weapons and cloak. Six months of intensive training would at least give us a chance to weed out the ones most likely to turn to drink or corruption. The second is creating an internal division," I said, making it up as I went along more than I was comfortable with. "They would watch the City Watch, reporting directly to the Master of Laws. Two hundred of the most noble recruits we can find, to watch the two thousand of the Gold Cloaks."

As I spoke, I knew how little that would do. I stood as much chance of finding two hundred good men in King's Landing as I did of finding a semi-automatic and a lifetime of ammunition. But Ser Barristan was nodding in approval.

"Most noble reforms, Your Grace. But even they I fear would not be enough," he said sadly.

"Punishments," I said abruptly. "Any Watchman found guilty of corruption will be sentenced to a public flogging, stripped of wealth, title, and position, and exiled from King's Landing. If they won't do the right thing because of honor, perhaps they will because of fear."

I heard the words coming out of my mouth, not knowing where they came from. The worst part? Not a touch of lightheadedness.

Ser Barristan nodded again in approval. "All well and good, Your Grace. But we will still need to convince Lord Stokeworth to apply your reforms. He is not likely to approve of anything that prevents his own corruption."

I thought about that. All men had a weak point, something that made them approve of things against their own best interest. I would just need to find it.

"Your Grace, if you please, we still have daylight left. You'll never 'knock the sword from my hand', as you put it, if you don't practice."

I nodded, turning back toward the practice yard. I had fought off my roommate by thinking of the City Watch reforms in terms from my world. Police Academy. Internal Affairs. Perhaps I could do the same with the sword. After three tours of duty, one in Iraq and two in Afghanistan, surely I knew enough of fighting that I could handle a fight with just my own memories.

Otherwise, I'd be a walking bruise for the rest of my life. And I certainly didn't like the idea of being unable to hold a sword in a world where literally everyone else carried one. Especially not in back-stabby psycho world.

This place really sucks.