Chapter 2. The Reign of Jaehaerys Elf-Friend: The Trial of Seven-And-One
The Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast, 50 AC
The Elf-Friend
From within the royal apartments, Jae looked out a window that allowed one to look down upon where the Great Hall was located. It was odd, but though he could not see it, Jae could feel the Hall's one true occupant, waiting.
It had been a flurry of activity, these past several days since he and his family had returned from Beleriand after Maegor's death. During that time, he had reached his majority and had been crowned king the day after his return, though the ceremony had been short and private. After that, he had holed himself up in the Red Keep. No court had been held, and no public edicts had been issued to the realm.
Today, though, he would have to face his subjects for the first time.
It was something that he had never expected, nor wanted, even as he had spent the last six years preparing for it.
"Is there something troubling you, your highness?" came a voice from behind him.
Jae turned to behold the speaker; a tall, blonde elf dressed in a simple gold and white robes.
Celeborn, lord of Lothlorien, and the husband of the Lady Galadriel.
During Jae and his family's six years in Beleriand, he remembered his time in the forests of Lothlorien most fondly, for the Lady Galadriel and her husband had taught him and his sister much, and they had been very kind. He had been most glad when Fingolfin had allowed the Elf-lord to accompany Jae as his Hand.
Jae looked upon the elf and sighed. "At times, I think that I have to but blink, and then I'll wake up in my bed, and all the past years will have been but a strange and feverish dream."
He looked up at his chosen Hand. "Why am I here, Celeborn? Why have the Fates seemingly conspired to force upon me a position that I never once wanted or desired or even earned, save for being the last man standing, as it were?"
Celeborn nodded in understanding. "You feel that you are unworthy of this station, of kingship?"
Jae shrugged. "I am but a third son. Third in line, third in importance. In what sane world would the third son become king? Third princes are not raised to be kings, just as third sons are not truly raised to be lords. We're not even really raised to be spares. At best, we are but spares of spares. Barely acknowledged, hardly thought of, and mostly ignored."
He took a deep breath. "How am I, a third son, supposed to be a king of anything, let alone Six Kingdoms? More to the point, how am I supposed to be the king in a realm that suffered under my uncle for so long?"
Celeborn knelt before Jae and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "None of us, be we man or elf, ever truly have a say in our own destiny, Jaehaerys. Eru has a plan for all of us, and it does us no good to worry about what that plan might be. The best you can do, the best that any of us can do, is simply to live, learn, grow, and try to spread a little more light in the world around them. But, in the end, you, and you alone, must make that decision. No one else."
Jae mulled over Celeborn's words, and then slowly nodded. "Thank you, my Hand, my friend."
Behind them, the door opened, and in stepped the elf who would be Jae's protector.
Russandol was taller than most elves, and he was clad in supple and red leathers and chain and plate that seemed as weightless as leaves and made no sound of rattling. Emblazoned upon his chest plate was a simple white star. "The men are ready, my king. Shall we depart for the Throne Room?" he asked, his scars shining in the pale morning light.
Jae swallowed, and then nodded. "We shall."
Head held high, he and Celeborn exited the room. Behind them walked three rows of twenty elven and atani warriors, all treading silently.
Not a word was spoken as they traversed through the halls. Eventually, they entered the throne room, already filled with throngs of waiting Lords and Ladies of the Court.
The room was filled with many courtiers and Nobles from all over the realm. Jae even recognized Rogar Baratheon, though his black hair seemed to have lost a bit of luster over the past six years.
The Lord of the Stormlands eyed the elves and atani accompanying Jae with suspicion.
Jae looked upon the monstrosity of twisted swords and edges and spikes that sat in the far-middle end of the throne room. He had only seen it a few times, and each time, it seemed to grow.
As a little child, it had been terrifying. Now, it was still fearsome, and it seemed like a crouching beast waiting to devour all dared to approach it. Sword blades spread out like the fiery wings of a balrog from one of Maglor's songs.
A part of Jae did not even want to approach it at all. Another part thought that his grandfather had been insane or drunk to have had the blasted thing forged in the first place.
Still, before the eyes of all, he marched forward, his elven-and-atani guard following silent behind him as he ascended the steps, ever closer to the monster of a throne. As he sat upon it, he suddenly realized that, in addition to looking like a nightmare incarnate, the throne was also fucking uncomfortable.
Celeborn took his place at the top stair before the throne, while Russandol and the others took their place at the foot of the dais. At the silence, Jaehaerys then spoke. "I greet you all, my Royal Court. As many of you might have surmised, for the past six years, my mother, sister, and I have been protected from my uncle's wrath by the elves of Beleriand. For six years, I was protected by the grace of High King Fingolfin. But now, I have returned to you, my people. This nation has suffered much under the reign of Maegor, and I bring with me the swift hand of justice and relief. But first…"
Jae paused for a moment, and briefly looked towards Celeborn for support. A minute nod of the elf-lord's head was all he needed. "Every King needs at his side a Hand. A person who will be unafraid to speak for his king, to dispense wise and good advice… to speak plainly when the king acts against the good of his subjects. Without a Hand, a King cannot truly rule wisely if there is none to offer a differing opinion."
He gestured to Celeborn. "As such, I present to this royal court, my chosen Hand of the King… Lord Celeborn the Wise, from the nation of Beleriand."
As a quiet murmur of shock echoed through the hallway, Jae continued. "Now, for the more pressing matters at hand. Lord Celeborn, you may begin."
Celeborn nodded and then spoke in a loud, clear, and resonating voice. "This trial shall now be called to session, so that His Royal Highness, Jaehaerys I, and his peers may pass judgment and sentence upon the accused. The accused, the Kingsguard of Maegor the Monstrous, shall be brought forth, alongside the Chief Galors of the Black Cells, the Commander of the City Watch, the King's justice, the Lord Confessor, and Lady Tyanna of Pentos."
One by one, the knights, galoers, torturers, watchmen, and Maegor's Black Bride were led into the throne room, chains about their wrists and ankles. The knights were the first to be brought before the court.
Jae looked upon the so-called knights. It was amazing how small such men could look, without their armor and arms, and dressed only in rags. They were Davos Darklyn, Owen Bush, Maladon Moore, Jon Tollet, Symond Crayne, Harrold Longward, Olyver Bracken, and Raymund Mallery. Some had served his father and then had served his uncle. These knights had helped in Maegor's murders, had fought in the Battle Over God's eye. A few had even participated in the torture of Viserys, alongside Tyanna.
For more than six years, these knights had done nothing, as Maegor had committed atrocity after atrocity. They were knights, sworn to protect the innocent… and they had done nothing. They claimed that they had no choice, that they had been bound by their oaths of fealty, that Maegor and Visenya had been too powerful to be stopped. He was the king, they said, and one could not disobey the king, after all.
Jae looked upon them all, listening to their reasonings and excuses. "When I was but a babe in swaddling clothes, my nurse, my mother and father used to tell me stories about knights, like Florian the Fool, Galladon of Morne, and Serwyn of the Mirror."
All in court looked upon him in confusion, but Jae continued. "Now, I am not naive. I know that knights are meant to obey their lords. However, I was also taught that knights were meant to protect the innocent, to champion justice, and to challenge tyranny and injustice. I look upon you, and I see none of those ideals personified. All I see are just cowardly thugs who supported a tyrant without a word. You even partook in some of his atrocities. You fought against my brother Aegon, who should have been your rightful king. All of you were even ready to sack and destroy Beleriand alongside the Faith Militant. Through your actions, you have all spat upon what it means to be knights, to be defenders of the realm and the land."
Jae paused for a moment. No weakness. "For your crimes, and for your failure to stand in the face of tyranny, you are all hereby stripped of your knighthoods, and given the choice between death or exile from the kingdom of Westeros. Additionally, the order of the Kingsguard is hereby disbanded."
The royal court all gasped, as Jae continued. "While I will still employ knights as Royal guardians, there will be no more Kingsguard. That shall be the first of many changes I will be implementing across this kingdom."
All looked upon him in confusion, as did many of the other nobles, and even the former Kingsguard. Then, Lord Rogar Baratheon spoke up. "But… who shall truly defend you, your highness? Who shall protect you and the royal family? Who will be your champions, your defenders, your lords of the battlefield?"
Jae gestured towards Russ. "Lord Russandol shall be my and my family's protector, as will the elves and atani that are here with me. He shall be the leader of the Royal Guardians. However, positions will be open to Westerosi knights as well. But there will be no more white cloaks, and no oaths that they will spit upon at the drop of a copper coin, or the loosening of a women's bodice."
As the court processed this, Ser Longward snorted as he looked upon Russandol's wrist stump. "Is this some sort of a sick jape? You would have a cripple defend you, whilst you send good men like me and others to exile or death!?"
Jae leveled an even gaze at the former Kingsguard. "I would choose Russandol here over a hundred like you and your 'sworn brothers', Longward because unlike you, he did not help perpetuate the reign of tyrants. I would trust him with my life. I cannot ever hope to say the same about any of you, Ser."
Longward's face twisted into a hateful thing. "If that is the case, boy, then I will not go quietly to my death, or be banished across the Narrow sea. Westeros is my home, and it will be upon its land that I shall live and die. As such, I demand a trial by combat!"
Another murmur rippled through the crowd. Jae met the knight's glare with his own, and opened his mouth to reply…
Then, suddenly, one of the Faith Militant in attendance, a wild-eyed man dressed in armor and a cloak that were colored seven different shades, spoke up. "Indeed, and he shall not fight alone!"
All turned towards the Warrior's son in surprise and confusion, even several of his compatriots. Longward most definitely looked surprised. Unperturbed, the man strode forth, ignoring High Captain Morrigen's attempts to quiet him down. "Am I the only one whose eyes remain unclouded within this gathering of nobles and Faithful alike? Can no one else see that our court has now been infested with demons from that unholy nation that is Beleriand!?"
He drew his sword, and pointed it at Jae, though Russandol was quick to step before the king. "This young king, he has been bewitched by these godless elves! As such, it is up to the true protectors of the faith to expel this unholy presence from our lands, to defend ourselves against their foul and unholy taint! So, I, Garibald of the Seven Stars, and by our authority as Warrior's Sons of the Faith Militant, hereby declare this trial by combat be a trial of the Seven! Let my brothers and I fight alongside the condemned Ser Longward for the very soul of this kingdom, under the eyes of the Seven-Who-are-One!"
There was dead silence at that proclamation, before five more slowly accompanied the knight-septon where he stood alongside Longward.
Russandol looked upon the assembled Knights of the Faith with a heavy and serene disdain, such that all felt it in the room, and all felt the desire to run far and never look back, much like what had occurred at the Field of Discarded Weapons.
All then looked towards Jae.
This… was unexpected, to say the least. But he had to show no weakness.
"Very well," he said. "You shall have your trial of the Seven, Ser Garibald. Tomorrow, on the tourney fields."
The rest of the sentencing passed in a blur, with the remaining accused, including the Lady Tyanna, sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead.
As for those Lords who had supported Maegor outright? Jae had debated that they be executed or exiled. Yet, Celeborn had advised mercy. So, he had come up with a compromise before the trial; they were spared, with the stipulation that hostages would be provided from their children so as to ensure their continued allegiance.
The next day, the court, nobles, and small folk of all gathered at the tourney ground. It was a clear day, the sun shined brightly, and the grass seemed as green as emeralds.
Upon the main dais was seated the royal family. Further down upon the left side of the field, Russandol was preparing himself.
As Jae approached him, he noted Russ strapping a strange-looking gauntlet to his arm. It ended in a smooth dome for his missing hand, and out from it jutted a curved blade that gleamed in the sunlight and arced towards his elbow, like an ax-blade.
The elf looked up from his ministrations as Jae approached. "Your Grace."
"Russ. Do you feel prepared for this?"
"Indeed, I do. Do not trouble yourself with worry, your Grace. I have no intention of falling upon the swords of zealots this day."
Jae looked out upon the prepared field for the trial by seven. "I wanted to fight in this myself, by your side, as a king should. However, Lord Celeborn strongly advised that it would not be wise, and my mother agreed."
Russandol nodded. "That is indeed a most wise course of action, your Grace."
Jae nodded. "But, since you will be fighting for my royal self and on behalf of the royal family and this nation, then the very least that I can do is to allow you to fight with the royal weapon."
As he said this, he presented Blackfyre to the elven warrior.
With a raised brow of curiosity, Russandol wrapped his fingers around the blade's dragon bone hilt, and slowly withdrew the weapon from the ebony sheath, holding it easily in his single hand. The blade itself, grey-and-black with strange and rippling patterns, seemed to reflect no light as Russ held it aloft.
Jae watched as his champion and protector stepped back and gave the ancient sword a few expert swings and twirls and examinations. Though he had never before held the blade, in Russ' hands, it seemed as if the elf had been born with it.
Russ nodded. "A very fine blade indeed. I thank you for this honor, your grace."
He then looked over at the other side of the field, towards his opponents, where the stood girt and armed. "Shall I make this quick, or make it last?"
Jae looked at Russ' opponents. Six Warrior's Sons, and one of the men who had helped to perpetuate his uncle's reign of terror. He remembered learning how the Faith had called for the deaths of his brother and sister and father, and of their siege of King's Landing before Maegor had driven them off. He then looked back at the elf. Though, he also did remember how they had been some of the few willing to stand against Maegor, with many even fighting alongside Aegon when he had died. "I shall leave that to your discretion, Russ."
Russ did not miss the look in Jae's eyes. "Quick it shall be, then."
With a final nod, Russ strode out onto the field, his amour making not a single sound as he and his opponent strode towards the center of the field.
Joffrey Doggett raised a red brow at Russandol's solitary appearance as he approached. "Does our opponent not have any that wish to fight with him?" he called out to the assembled nobles and commoners. "The Seven do espouse fairness in all things, even combat against godless heathens and monsters. We are willing to wait until six more join you, elf. Tradition demands that there be an equal chance on both sides, after all."
Russandol's scarred eyes narrowed. "I require none to assist me in this, though I thank you for your attempt at chivalry. Besides, I do not hold to your Seven, only to the Fourteen and the One above All. Besides if you had truly wanted this to be an even bout… you would have brought more warriors for your side."
It was not a boast, that declaration. From Russ' lips, it sounded little more than the stating of a simple fact.
Still, Longward smirked, even as a drop of sweat dripped down his face. "Such arrogance. Perhaps I and my new comrades shall go down in history as the first men to ever kill an elf."
Russ said nothing, and simply gave Blackfyre one more swing, the sword cutting through the air with a keening whoosh.
As they stood, the High Septon waddled out onto the field. "May the Seven looked down upon this combat with fairness and justice, and may those truly in the right prevail!"
It did not escape Jae's notice that the man looked disdainfully upon Russ as he said this.
All then looked to the king as the High Septon waddled back of the field.
Time to proceed. "Begin!" Jae declared.
As one, the seven knights readied their weapons, drawing them forth in a collective hiss from the sheaths and belts at their waists.
Russ held Blackfyre lightly before him, in a light and ready stance.
A slight breeze wafted through the field.
The nobles all leaned forward eagerly, had come to watch a show, to be entertained.
Longward was the first to raise his sword and rushed forward. For a man of his greying years, he was still quite spry. It was a brave act, perhaps.
Brave, but foolish.
Russ did not even seem to move.
Then, everyone blinked. Longward's sword was on the ground, and his throat was slit, his tabard now stained a deep red.
Everyone watched as he fell to his knees, grasped at his throat, gurgled, choked, and then collapsed dead at Russandol's feet.
No one dared to breathe.
Russ then nonchalantly stepped over the still corpse of the former knight towards the remaining six.
Those six remaining knights started to move cautiously, attempting to surround him. It was perhaps a sound strategy.
Against anyone else, it may have even been a successful one.
In a heartbeat, Russ was a blur of motion as he suddenly dashed forward towards the four closest.
Everyone blinked, and then Blackfyre was impaled through the chest of Dickon Flowers. Russ turned and buried the razor-edge of his arm-blade into the side of Harys Horpe's head with a wet and meaty squelch. In the next breath, he wrenched out his arm-blade, pivoted, ducked under Lyle Bracken's cut, withdrew Blackfyre from Flowers' still-standing corpse, and severed Bracken's sword hand, before then following it up with a gruesome cut into Bracken's face, and then parrying Horys Hill's ax blow, followed by a thorough impalement of Blackfyre through Hill's shield and mouth, the Valyrian steel sliding through the Warrior Son's helmet and shield like a hot knife through warm butter.
With a wet, metallic hiss, Russ quickly withdrew Blackfyre from the hole in the dead man's bascinet helmet and skull.
In the next breath, four more corpses fell to the ground with wet and heavy thuds, alongside the gasps of the crowd.
Only two were left then. Joffrey Doggett and Garibald of the Seven Stars.
Russandol the Red stood patiently with arms held slightly wide, as if inviting, if not daring, the remaining two to come forward. His armor was lightly splattered with blood.
Jae leaned forward in his seat, as did everyone else, it seemed.
A small breeze wafted through the area as Russandol slowly exhaled.
"For the Seven!" Garibald screamed, spittle flying from his beaded mouth as he and Dogget bull-rushed Russandol, with the Red Dog in the lead.
Russandol ducked under Dogget's wide slash, and then cut upwards and left with Blackfyre's edge, slashing it against Doggett's cheek before then sending him staggering back and away with a swift and light kick.
Russandol pivoted to the left, and Blackfyre's edge arced up to meet Garibald's slashing blade.
Clang and Garbiald's charge was arrested.
Clang and Garibald took seven steps backward, hounded by Russandol.
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
Then, Garibald brought up his sword to parry Russandol's seventh blow.
Russ's arm seemed to blur, like scorpion's tail as it struck its prey, held between its claws.
Clang-crack-ssshunk!
Garibald's sword was shattered, before his head then followed the trajectory of the shards in a spray of crimson, as his headless corpse crumpled downwards before Russandol. Near the edge of the field, Garibald's head rolled to a halt, the expression on his face forever one of surprise and fear.
Russ then pivoted and set Blackfyre against Doggett's neck, before the Red Dog could attempt to sneak up on the elf.
Russ then exhaled again, the scars upon his face shining in the noonday sun.
Where once the field had been a gentle green, now it seemed that everywhere was stained with drying blood and viscera.
Amid the carnage, Russandol stood serene, Blackfyre's point resting upon Doggett's throat.
Though the Red Dog of the Hills was shaking, he still held onto his sword, and still met Russandol's piercing stare firmly.
Still, no one dared to breathe.
All the while, the blood from the cut upon Dogget's face dripped down upon the black blade.
Then, Russ spoke, and his voice seemed carried clear and strong by the wind itself. "Your six fellows are dead, Joffrey Doggett. Only you remain. However, I shall deign to offer you mercy, Ser Doggett, since you were the only one who even made an attempt to make this farce 'fair.' As such, I shall attempt to return that kindness."
He then tilted his head. "Though, will you be prudent enough to accept it, I wonder?"
The Red Dog's eyes glanced about. He looked upon the slaughtered body of Longward and the bodies of his fellow Warrior's Sons. He looked upon the lightless blade of Blackfyre. He looked upon Russandol's impassive face.
Doggett's eyes narrowed, as blood continued to pour down his face. "It is the duty of the Warrior's Sons to be brave, even in the face of overwhelming odds, when fighting enemies of the Faith and the Seven-Who-Are-One."
Upon saying that, he then dropped his blade to the ground, and, to the surprise of all, knelt before Russ, his chainmail lightly clinking. "But I am also a knight, and part of being brave, of being a knight… is knowing when you are outmatched. You have won, Ser Russandol. Indeed, you fight like the very Warrior Himself. I am outmatched. Deal with me as you see fit, for I will not resist."
The crowd held its breath, and Jae found himself holding it alongside them. All watched as Russandol seemed to examine the kneeling Knight.
Russ's arm descended, and Blackfyre was plunged into the soft earth.
Then, the elf held out his hand towards the kneeling man. "Understanding when one is defeated is wisdom rarely seen in most warriors. It would be a crime to sever that wisdom from the land here and now. Rise, Ser Doggett. You have done yourself proud today, and I would not see you debased any longer."
As the stunned man accepted the elf's hand, Russandol then looked towards Jae. "This man shows promise, your Grace. With your royal permission, I would like to formally induct him into the Royal Guardians. I believe he would make a fine one indeed."
Jae felt surprised by that turn of events but felt he could not refuse his protector's request. "And my permission is granted! Ser Doggett, do you accept?"
All turned to the Red Dog of the Hills.
Tears slowly streamed down his cut face, and he nodded.
The Storm Lord
His mind abuzz from the event that he had just witnessed, Rogar sought out the king as the field emptied, the air filled with conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, Rogar noticed several young peasants reenacting the trial, with all clambering to be the tall elf.
He later found the king, talking with the tall elf who had single-handedly decimated those seven trained knights. Sheathed at the elf's waist was now Blackfyre, as well as the strange bladed gauntlet.
At his approach, the tall elf calmly proceeded to step between Rogar and the king, the unspoken message clear.
Rogar, though by no means a short man, at most only reached the middle of the elf's lower chest, though he did seem to outweigh the elf by at least a few stones worth of muscle. The elf peered down upon Rogar with piercing grey eyes, both of which were framed by long red hair and a small plethora of vicious-looking scars over his eyes, across his cheeks, and even one through his lips. Oddly enough, the scars did not seem completely disfiguring.
To his credit, Rogar did not back down.
Still, Jaehaerys gestured for his protector to let him pass. "Lord Rogar."
Lord Baratheon bowed. "Your Highness."
As the Lord Paramount opened his mouth to continue, Jaehaerys raised a hand. "Before you say anything, I want you to know that you have my thanks, Lord Rogar. I am thankful and indebted for all you have done."
The Storm Lord felt puzzled at that statement. "Thankful? Whatever for?"
"For how you helped my family," Jae explained. "Walk with me? The Small Council awaits."
As their respective guards followed behind them, Jaehaerys continued. "Lord Farman and You each respectively sheltered my sister and sent her children away to whre Fingolfin's agents were able to save them, all the while knowing what the consequences of such acts would potentially be. Even if my sister had to suffer from the Monster's cruel grasp, in the end, you stood firm. Still, perhaps it was lucky for you and Lord Farman that Maegor grew too paranoid and maddened to really do anything before he died."
Jae then smiled. "And, through it all, you and others managed to remain loyal to my family through those long and dark years, and such loyalty deserves a reward. As such, I would name you Lord Justiciar."
As he said this, and Rogar disbelievingly spluttered out his thanks, they entered into the chamber of the Small Council. It was a much less ostentatious room that housed the Iron Throne. It consisted only of a few braziers, a hearth, and a rectangular table at which the council could convene.
At the table, Rogar recognized Albin Massey with his twisted spine, and the Valyrian visage of Damon Velaryon, who kept his silver hair bound back in an oddly-long braid. There was also a master seated whom Rogar recognized as Benifer, the only one of Maegor's old council who had escaped the monster's blade of execution. Edwell Celtigar, the master of coin, had been politely let go by the King two days after his arrival, much to the relief, due to the man's ill-favored taxations.
Seated across from them was another elf, this one garbed in robes and leathers of soft blue and black, with hair as ebony as midnight. He seemed to hold a familial resemblance to Russandol (who was currently standing guard outside the room), and yet to Rogar's eyes, he seemed to carry an air of sadness about him. Resting by his side was an elegantly-crafted harp.
Jaahaerys took his seat at the head of the table. "My Lords. Thank you for accepting my invitations to this council, especially on such rather short notice from my return to Westeros. You honor me with your presence here."
"There is no need to thank us, your grace," Massey said, with a nod of his head. "Indeed, it is we who feel honored that you have seen fit to elevate us to these lofty positions."
Jaehaerys seemed pleased by what Massey said. "Perhaps, but the honor is mine nonetheless. Now, before we begin, I shall like to introduce you to our new members, though I am sure many of you already recognize Archmaester Benifer..."
The Archmaester inclined his wizen head. "My Lords. Your Grace."
Jaehaerys Gestured to Rogar and Lord Celeborn. "You also already know Lord Rogar Baratheon, who shall serve as the new Lord Justiciar."
Rogar, in turn, bowed his head as he took his seat at the left of the king.
"Next, as you are all aware, here is my New Hand. Lord Celeborn. Listen to him as you would me, and I am sure that his wise counsel shall serve us well in the endeavors of this Council."
The elf graced everyone with a nod. "My Lords."
Though Massey and Celtigar looked upon the elf-lord with cool neutrality, Rogar could not help but notice the slight trepidation in Velaryon's eyes at the sight of the elves in the room.
Then, Jaehaerys gestured towards the ebony-haired elf. "Finally, this is Lord Maglor, son of Feanor, brother of Lord-Commander Russandol, and the Small Council's new Master of Whispers."
The named Maglor inclined his head. "I thank you for this Honor, your Grace. I shall serve you to the best of my ability," he said, in a voice that seemed the offspring of a whisper and sorrowful melancholy.
"Now then," Jaehaerys said, as he steepled his fingers. "Let us begin to heal this nation of the wounds and ills dealt to it by Maegor."
He looked towards Celeborn. "Lord Celeborn? Shall we begin?"
The Elf-Lord nodded, and he unrolled the first of many scrolls that littered the table. "Indeed, Your Grace. We shall begin with the Faith Militant..."
The Famed "Trial of Seven and One," would be discussed in hushed and awed tones for years to come, adding to the legend of Russandol the Red, the Lord-Commander of the Royal Guardians.
The Reign of Jaehaerys I, Elf-Friend, would, in time, be looked back upon as some of the greatest decades of prosperity that Six Kingdoms and House Targaryen would ever know. It would be a Golden Age, and it would be filled with many wondrous and terrible events, such as the Treaty of Kingdoms, the Wedding of Golden Stars, the Tourney of Ashcrown, the Voyage to Valyria, and many others. It would be a reign upon which Legends would be forged, perhaps outshining even the reign of Jaehaerys' mighty Grandfather, whose own mighty reputation would still be slightly weighed down by Fingolfin's Famed Rebuke of the Dragons.
However, to the more cynical, the Elf-Friend's reign would also be referred to as "The Calm Before the Storm..." and, indeed, what would follow after would be some of the darkest times in the history of Westeros... if not the entire World...
From the Writings of Archmaester Gyldayn.
Fire, Blood, Tears, and Wrath; the Entertwined history of House Targaryen, Beleriand, and the Six Kingdoms.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As you can see several things in canon have been changed, whilst some have remained the same. This story will have no Kingsguard, but the Royal Guardians. Similar in some ways, yes, but also different in others.
For instance, Maegor never actually married anyone after Ceryse Hightower save for Tyanna. Tyanna was his only Black Bride, though he did kidnap, rape, and try to impregnate several other women, both highborn and base. Nothing human or alive ever came of these couplings, and many of the women were never heard from again. (I have changed the story a bit. He did 'marry' Rhaena).
Second, as there is no Wall, there is no option to take the Black, thus, a Lord or criminal is faced with three options: Disfigurement, exile, or Death.
Third, Jaehaerys and Alyssane will still have dragons, though, for a bit, they were left on Dragonstone, as no Dragon will want to fly over into Beleriand, for reasons that will be revealed much later.
As for the Trial of Seven-And-One? True, zealous, and mad devotion to one's Faith cannot stand in the face of the twelve thousand years that Russandol had to hone his skills.
Also, as a small side note... here, there are no old gods and no Weirwoods. The Children and the First Men worshipped a different set of deities. Most prevalent was their worship of the Hunter, The Queen of Flowers, and the Swift Lady, among others. If you can guess who these figures are that the Children and First Men Worshipped, then congratulations.
(Another note: There will be Weirwoods.)
Again, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, and be sure to read, follow, like, and review.