Chapter 4
In Which Our Party Might Actually Leave King's Landing!
(They don't)
Bursting into the Throne Room, we spied a golden-haired man resplendent in equally golden armor standing over the still form of a disheveled white-haired man; a sanguine pool spreading beneath them as a fallen crown glinted in the light streaming through the stained glass windows. No points awarded for guessing who received a gurgling shuffle off this mortal coil, then. Beside me, I felt Elia stiffen; apparently she was more than familiar with one or both of our mystery players.
"Ser Jaime," she spat, voice sharp as a whip. "Your life hangs by a thread. Oathbreaker, Kingslayer, start talking and start talking quickly! Why have you forsaken the Oaths you took when you were raised to the Kingsguard? Why does your King lie dead at your feet, his blood staining your blade?"
Elia's words flew from her mouth as swift and true as any shaft from my bow. Her hapless target stood no chance. As though her words were actual barbs striking home, the gilded figure staggered before falling to his knees in the bloody puddle. The impact knocked free his helm revealing the handsome face of a teenager younger even than I, his wild green eyes bearing a harrowed, horrified, haunted expression like he found himself trapped in a waking nightmare from which there was no escape.
"My lady," he croaked out, a sound that felt as if some part of his soul accompanied his words. "The King, he gave orders to destroy the city. Rossart and his pyromancers planted Wildfire throughout King's Landing. I caught Rossart before he could pass the King's orders to the others but there are still two more involved! My lady, I swear to you, I would never betray you or Prin- King Rhaegar."
As Ser Jaime pled his case, I watched all color drain from Elia's face. Apparently Wildfire is Bad News. The steel in her spine and fire in her eyes fled as suddenly as they had appeared and in the place of the Queen all that remained was a frail and terrified young woman.
"The Mad King, indeed," she whispered. "Ser Jaime, you will-"
With a crash, the main doors to the throne room burst open and in poured half a dozen men bearing the crimson armor of House Lannister led by two armored figures bearing liveried shields. Clearly these were a cut above your run-of-the-mill NPCs. Slightly in the lead, the first bore the blazon of a zebra...pig...thing? It looked kind of cool but the shit-brown field it stood on really detracted from the overall effect. The second, in somewhat plainer armor, bore a shield depicting six silver clamshells arranged in an inverted triangle on a gold field (six clamshells argent in pile or, my brain helpfully supplied).
As the column came to a halt, the man in the lead glanced between the violently and involuntarily abdicated Mad King (I really should get his name at some point), Ser Jaime on his knees in the still spreading pool of blood, and our little party: Rhaenys still on my back and Aegon held in Elia's arms. He raised his visor to reveal what would be an eminently forgettable face if not for a spark of cruel cunning in his eyes.
"Well, isn't this a nice surprise," he crowed. "It looks like all of my work's been done for me: King Aerys lies dead, Jaime Lannister is recovered safely, and Princess Elia and her children are all gathered together. Truly the Seven smile upon me."
I had a feeling that he and I would be getting along every bit as well as the other vassals of the House Lannister I'd encountered so far. He continued, "My lord Tywin Lannister has ordered me to put down the Mad King Aerys, rescue Jaime Lannister, ensure that the line of the late Prince Rhaegar is ended, and bring to him the Lady Elia of House Martell. It seems I only have one more task ahead of me."
Elia froze at the news of her husband's death before a look of resignation stole over her face. It appeared she had resigned herself to never seeing him again but receiving confirmation of his death clearly hit hard. She'd loved him; dearly, if I was any judge of it. All the more reason for me to ensure that her only living reminders of him, the adorable Aegon and precocious Rhaenys, stayed hale and whole. Additionally, I thought I might perform more community service. Waste-disposal, specifically.
"While I still draw breath," rasped a voice behind me. "No harm shall come to the Queen nor to her children. Beware, Lord Crakehall, Ser Westerling! A lion guards this pride and he will not hesitate should you attack."
With a rustle of gilded metal, Ser Jaime rose to his feet and placed himself beside me between Elia and the Lannister forces. "If you wish to spend your lives cheaply, come! The Kingsguard is not a foe to face lightly."
I had to give it to the young knight, he certainly had a way with dramatic delivery even though the men at the head of the Lannister party seemed to lack the brains to know that the golden knight was not a combatant to be safely ignored. With matching sneers, they ordered their men to kill Rhaenys and Aegon and capture Elia, confident that they two would be able to easily handle Ser Jaime and me. Idiots.
Trace on!
Judging the concept of creation.
Hypothesizing the basic structu- WHAT?!
A mighty roar rang out over the room, followed by a flash of light as, instead of the shield I'd intended to Trace, one that I'd Traced not an hour earlier, I held a greatsword nearly as long as I was tall.
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We left the corpses of the Lannister bannermen cooling in the throne room, their blood mingling with that of the dead king as we continued through the keep. As we approached a five- (FIVE?) way intersection, Ser Jaime whirled around, his eyes wild.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded.
It was a fair question as I, too, had no idea what the bloody hell had happened either and said as much. The shield I'd been granted as Ilya transported me to this world (whose name I'd still not gotten) had become a greatsword almost as long as I was tall. It was a masterpiece in every sense of the word; from its brilliant, starburst-patterned blade to the lion-headed pommel roaring proudly, this weapon was the Magnum Opus of a true Master of the smith's craft. As the sword's proper form was revealed to me in truth, I knew its history and learned its name: Brightroar, ancestral weapon of the Lords of the Rock, lost when Tommen II Lannister disappeared into the shattered ruins of Valyria. That same House Lannister, interestingly enough, to which our assailants and, apparently, Ser Jaime belong(ed).
"Why do you have my family's blade?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I replied.
At his glare, I continued, "Fine: my half-sister, who'd essentially become an omnipotent demigoddess, took my dying soul and sent me to this world. In the process she restored my natural arm (even longer story), replaced my magic with hers and, in return, stripped me of every weapon in my soul (though a sword and a hammer remain). So that I might not be entirely unarmed in a strange world, she granted me a sword and shield that refused to be catalogued by my magecraft.
"Just now, Brightroar revealed itself and…refused to be a shield any longer, perhaps while a member of its family was endangered? It wasn't until it took its true form that I was able to Trace it."
I was right. He didn't believe me.
