At Moat Cailin…
"Good, now try to flex your fingers for just a moment, Your Grace," Talisa implored.
Daveth Baratheon sat on the edge of his makeshift bed inside his command tent, his right arm stretched out as he moved his fingers in and out of his palm. It had been several days since the combined forces drove the ironborn out of Moat Cailin, a major victory despite sustaining such heavy losses. Per the medical advice of Robb Stark's wife Talisa, Daveth had been taking it easy and wore light clothing to give himself a chance to heal. Talisa observed the Young Stag's digits curling and releasing before he eventually laid his arm down.
"Hmm. If you were someone else, I would have said that you'd probably never use that arm again."
"And now?" Daveth implored.
Talisa examined the Young Stag's shoulder more closely, dabbing a small dose of medical ointment as she changed his bandages. "You are not like any other man I've met, Your Grace. Give yourself another week, and you'll be swinging your sword again in no time. But for now, I'd advise you not to overextend yourself again and give your body a chance to heal. Otherwise your stitches will rip open and your wounds will become infected. I'll be forced to amputate."
"Well, I suppose it's for the best that sort of scenario does not occur anytime soon now, should it?"
"No, it should not." Talisa stood up and moved to exit the tent, before looking back over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check up on you soon, Your Grace. And remember what I said, you hear?"
Daveth nodded as Talisa curtsied and left to tend to her other patients. He slowly stood up from his bed, elevating one side of his body to avoid applying too much pressure on the other as he went to dress himself. Slowly easing his arms through each sleeve of his shirt and buttoning his leather vest, Daveth heard footsteps through the grass approaching and turned to see his uncle, Jaime Lannister, standing guard.
"Somehow I knew you'd stop by, uncle."
Jaime raised an eyebrow. "And somehow I shouldn't be surprised to see you up and walking about after enduring such a battle, nephew," he retorted whimsically. "You never were the kind of lad to sit around forever."
"With so much at stake? How could I not?"
The Kingslayer's witty rhetoric soon turned serious. "I've been meaning to discuss what happened earlier. I advised you not to go after Victarion Greyjoy alone, even with Stark and his pet backing you up. Yet you did it anyway. Although the battle was indeed a successful one, everyone saw you passing out in the middle of a wet, muddy field. Why?"
Daveth knew this was coming. "You once told me that a good commander must remain level-headed and composed, even in the direst of circumstances. Anything else was a distraction. If I overextended myself too far, I'll lose more than we've gained. I was…"
"'You were…?'"
"I was angry. For eleven years, I was driven by my thirst for vengeance, to make those who've wronged me in the past suffer for it. So great was my rage that it blinded me to what I was slowly becoming."
"And what did you learn?"
The Young Stag slowly inhaled through his nostrils before exhaling; this was much harder for him to admit – but he had to try to explain. "I thought that if I handled everything on my own, shoulder every burden, endure so much hardship for as long as I could, I could prevent others around me from experiencing the same pain as I had. But such motivations make one arrogant. I know now that there are just some things I can't handle by myself."
Jaime stood and listened as his nephew explained what this journey for him has taught him; and the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as his own nephew was beginning to understand what others around him had tried to advise him. That by letting go of the past and moving forward, Daveth would become an even greater King – perhaps more so than his Oathkeeper reputation. Regardless, he merely stood there and listened as Daveth resumed discussing his "revelations".
"For me, I need to maintain balance to ensure the proper stability if I'm to ever let go of the past and move on with my life. And I know I have a problem with my temper whenever I get so riled up. But I'll need help from people such as yourself to curtail it."
"So does this mean you'll finally start listening to me?"
"Of course, uncle. I'd be a poor King if I said otherwise, considering how much we've been through already. Most intentions start off as sound, but it's a rare thing to maintain course when they're hardly spoken of at all."
Jaime nodded his head in approval. "Well, it's good to hear that you're finally beginning to turn yourself around after all this time, nephew. But the road ahead of us will only put your, uh, 'renewed' sense of purpose to the test. It'll take a lot from you to steer clear of going down that dark road gain."
"I imagine it's something you yourself had to endure for quite a long time then?"
"More than you'd imagine. All nineteen years of it so far."
"How many lives did you have to take to be put through such a trial?"
"I… don't know. I honestly just don't know, nephew."
"Countless, I presume?"
Jaime seemed lost in thought, before returning his eyes to Daveth's. "Countless has a nice ring to it."
"And how many lives did you save in turn?" Daveth asked.
"Half a million," the Kingslayer answered. "The population of King's Landing."
Daveth looked at Jaime, suspecting there was a story behind to what his uncle was telling him. The moment he briefly looked away, it revealed that there was indeed something Jaime wanted to tell him. Since they were alone in the command tent, Daveth figured that now was the time to figure out what exactly was troubling Jaime as of late.
"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"
Again, the Kingslayer looked away – his eyes briefly locked on the royal forces licking their wounds before they'd eventually be on the move once again. Before long, Jaime hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he exhaled loudly but only loud enough for Daveth to hear it.
"I haven't told you the reason why people kept calling me 'Kingslayer', 'Oathbreaker' and 'A man without honor', haven't I?" Jaime stated.
Daveth shook his head. "Only that you killed the Mad King, but other than that you didn't feel like talking about it. I assumed that since it bothered you so much, uncle, I needn't have to press you about such a sensitive subject."
"Well, as appreciative I am of that, still… it's something that you need to know. About why I did what I did."
"Why?" the Young Stag raised an eyebrow.
"For starters, you're the King. Secondly, I fear it'll affect your reign in the long term if left ignored for too long."
"Then… tell me, Ser Jaime. What exactly happened on that day when you killed the Mad King Aerys Targaryen?"
From start to finish, Jaime retold his side of the story; describing the events that had occurred nearly twenty years ago during the final stages of Robert's Rebellion, particularly the Sack of King's Landing when his father Tywin Lannister marched with the full power of Casterly Rock to the capital city after the Battle of the Trident. Aerys' advisors urged him not to trust Tywin, even Jaime, who knew his father would never back the losing side in a war.
Nevertheless, on Grand Maester Pycelle's advice, the gates were opened to the massive Lannister army. Jaime recalled that Tywin had ordered the city to be forcibly taken and eliminate the royal family in a quick and efficient manner; as a result the city was sacked and almost all of House Targaryen were brutally murdered by Ser Gregor "the Mountain" Clegane. Jaime again recalls that Aerys ordered him to bring him Tywin's head upon seeing Tywin's betrayal and instructed his royal pyromancer Wisdom Rossart to burn King's Landing to the ground. In response, Jaime murdered Rossart before stabbing the Mad King in the back. When Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark reached the Red Keep, Tywin presented the bodies of the royal family as proof of his allegiance.
Daveth simply stood there silently with a closed hand resting under his chin, listening to every word that his uncle had told him. His grandfather sacking King's Landing, Gregor Clegane's murder of Ellia Martell and her children… and more importantly the wildfire plot. The numerous amounts of wildfire caches placed all throughout the capital city.
"This is… rather disturbing," Daveth mused. "And these wildfire caches, do you remember where the Mad King's pyromancers placed them?"
Jaime nodded. "Beneath the Sept of Baelor, the slums of Flea Bottom, under houses, stables, taverns… even the Red Keep itself."
"Who else knows of this?"
"Ser Barristan. I told him the day before your wedding."
"So that's why people call you 'Kingslayer'…"
"What does it matter, nephew? That was almost twenty years ago, long before you or your brothers and sister were born. What's done is done. There's no changing that."
"No, I suppose there isn't," the Young Stag replied, taking a moment to stare in the mirror before turning back to Jaime. "Still, I appreciate you telling me the truth, uncle. What you did saved countless lives – even though the rest of Westeros will never thank you for ending such an evil man."
Jaime looked visibly surprised; knowing that he had already committed a dishonorable act by violating a sacred oath as a member of the Kingsguard and had to bear the shame his entire life, to hear someone actually thank him for what he did was something the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock wasn't particularly used to. Deep down, however, Jaime felt a sense of relief; feeling as if a heavy burden was being lifted off his shoulders.
"Still, I broke a sacred oath and stabbed my King in the back. What sort of atonement do I deserve for my sins?" Jaime asked regardless.
Daveth shook his head. "What does it matter?" he repeated his uncle's words. "The right choice is not always the easiest to make, even if it means we have to break a vow when it conflicts with another and being reviled for it in the end. You did the right thing, uncle; I don't blame you for feeling the way you do."
"If that's the case, nephew, then why haven't you cast me out of the Kingsguard?"
"Because one, you are my uncle; my own flesh and blood. Second, a knight of the Kingsguard serves for life. Only death relieves you of your vows. And third, I believe there is good in you."
Jaime narrowed his eyes. "And how can you tell?"
"Because you're not as subtle as you think you are," Daveth answered. "Even if you believe your honor is too far gone, there's a distinctive look in your eye that says otherwise. You're more mindful than you let on. It won't be easy, but if you can take that one small step, then anything's possible."
Jaime said nothing, thinking about his nephew's words carefully. Reevaluate his past and future, was it truly possible to at least develop some sense of personal honor? He wasn't sure considering how people perceive goodness and honor after he killed a man who had infamously terrorized the Seven Kingdoms, opening his eyes to such concepts. Still, Jaime felt rather comfortable.
"I guess hearing that from the Oathkeeper is supposed to mean something, isn't it?" Jaime humorously quipped.
Daveth shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Seven hells, uncle, we were having a moment and now you've ruined it!"
Jaime chuckled as he traded back-and-forth tirades with his nephew. With his willful admission, the bond between the Kingslayer and Oathkeeper grew closer as a result; before they had respected each other's skills in battle yet with little else. But this was hopefully just the beginning.
Despite this uncle-nephew bonding session, they were interrupted when Olyvar Frey came into the tent.
"Sorry to intrude, Your Grace," Olyvar knelt, "but I've come bearing a message from some Northmen with a flayed man for a sigil."
Daveth and Jaime turned to see Olyvar, clearly annoyed at the interruption. Regardless, Daveth nodded to his uncle and redirected his attention to his squire.
"You speak of Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort," the Young Stag corrected him. "Regardless, what did the message say?"
"He said his men have, uh… captured Theon Greyjoy not too far from here. They're on their way to the main camp as we speak."
'Theon, Balon Grejyoy's lone surviving son and heir…' thought Daveth. "I see. And tell me, how exactly did Theon Greyjoy get that far out all on his own? Last I heard he was with my brother-in-law Robb Stark at Riverrun before his father Balon decided to take up arms against the crown again."
"He was, but my father Lord Walder Frey sent me and several of my brothers to Riverrun to attend the Young Wolf's wedding to that… foreigner. It was there that we learned of Lord Stark's… decision to let the Greyjoy go to the Iron Islands of his own volition."
Daveth honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could Robb have been so stupid as to let Theon Greyjoy go when he was a valuable hostage? He stared blankly into the distance, quietly examining his squire's posture and tone of his voice. If Olyvar was lying, he would have known already and be punished for it. But… as Daveth eyed Olyvar up and down, looked deeply into the Frey's eyes, to his surprise (and mostly shock) he saw no attempt at deception on his squire's part. Olyvar was telling the truth.
The Young Stag shook his head and quickly regained his composure. "If there is nothing else, go inform Lord Bolton that I'll see to the matter personally once they arrive. Also, tell the soldiers that they are hereby required to keep their swords in their sheaths. They are not to move a muscle without my consent. That is not a request. Understood?"
Olyvar nodded. "Loud and clear, Your Grace."
The young Frey left the camp to inform Roose Bolton, leaving Daveth and Jaime alone again.
"What will your intentions be with the Greyjoy lad?" asked Jaime.
Daveth inhaled before exhaling slowly. "I'll let you know, uncle. Give me a moment for now."
As Jaime left, Daveth again looked at the mirror. Tracing his finger across the scar above his left eye before glancing down at the fresh ones on his right shoulder, torso and left flank, Daveth had seemingly turned the page on his life; he still felt a part of his psyche scream out for blood whilst the other called for restraint and logical reason. But the Young Stag will make his decision once his mind is properly cleared before he could make any sort of judgment at all.
'I cannot believe you of all people would do that, Robb. I know what you did. You and I will be having a long, long talk soon enough. On that, you have my word.'
######
At King's Landing…
Queen Sansa Stark wasn't feeling well at all. Ever since she discovered she was pregnant, Sansa was overjoyed with the prospect of welcoming her first child with Daveth. What she did not expect was that pregnancy would make her feel this ill at all; nor did Sansa expect Balon Greyjoy to ruin such a joyous occasion by deciding to rebel again and send Daveth spiraling into an enraged frenzy.
Kneeling over a barrel, she felt her gorge rising. Leaning over, Sansa evacuates her stomach, vomiting into the barrel a wet, disgusting blob that tasted strongly of bile. Still on her knees Sansa could still taste the bile in her mouth, making want to gag again.
"By the Gods…" Sansa moaned.
Gently patting her back, her mother Catelyn and handmaiden Shae comforted Sansa as best as they possibly could.
"Easy now, Your Grace," spoke Shae softly.
"It'll be alright, Sansa," her mother said. "The first pregnancy always seems unbearable, but it's common for us women to experience such symptoms. Believe me, dear, your baby will grow strong and healthy."
Sansa wiped her mouth with a small cloth before massaging her stomach in a gentle, circular motion. A small bump had been developing in her lower abdomen during the past several weeks now; her baby, her son or daughter. What Catelyn told her regarding her sickness meant that lots of symptoms Sansa's been displaying so far is a result of her pregnancy hormones are working hard to support her unborn child. In addition, Sansa noticed during the first two weeks that her lower back and feet were aching more frequently and her breasts were swelling. Her direwolf, Lady, brought a paw protectively on her mistress's shoulder.
In the doorway stood Ariyana Dayne and Brienne of Tarth, guarding the entrance whilst keeping a close eye on Queen Sansa and her guests. The two women donned new attire; in acknowledgment of their dedication to protecting Sansa, King Daveth rewarded them. What sent shockwaves and ripple effects throughout the Seven Kingdoms, Daveth appointed Ariyana and Brienne as the first women to the Kingsguard. It was a seen as a sign of change by many, accompanied by scorn. Nonetheless, both women donned the golden Kingsguard armor and white cloak to fit. Ariyana and Brienne remembered the historic occasion that took place before the Iron Throne.
ooOoo
"Ariyana of House Dayne, Brienne of House Tarth," Daveth motioned for the two women. Both of them knelt before the Iron Throne, with several lords and ladies of the quietly court observing the announcement. "In acknowledgment for your service to the throne and ensuring the safety of the royal family, I bequeath that the two of you are to be commended. Is there any boon you would ask of your King? If it is within my power, I will grant it."
Ariyana raised her head up. "Your Grace, I humbly request that I be given the honor of a place in your Kingsguard. I will be one of your seven, pledge my life in service and keep you and your family safe from all harm."
Gasps and exclaims were heard, the sounds echoing throughout the chamber as Brienne followed suit.
"Your Grace," Brienne spoke up. "I too ask that I be given a place in the Kinsguard. I will be one of your seven, pledge my life in service and keep you and your family safe from all harm."
Shouts were heard from the gallery, such as "disgraceful" or "shame" – regardless, a few onlookers were removed from the court. Standing beside the King was Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kinsguard, who looked at Daveth for confirmation. The Young Stag had placed his chin on his fist, observing Ariyana and Brienne respectively. He had been evaluating their skills for quite some time and had come to the conclusion that both Ariyana and Brienne were not only skilled in combat, but had the code of a true knight.
Daveth nodded. "Done," he announced.
Ser Barristan soon stepped down from the Iron Throne, unsheathed his sword and held it in a ceremonial stance. Both Ariyana and Brienne kept their heads lowered as the blade tapped their shoulders as two more Kingsguard knights circled around them to put on the white cloak.
"As Lord Commander, I hereby elevate Ariyana of House Dayne and Brienne of House Tarth to the Kingsguard. Bound by a sacred oath of brotherhood, you are hereby asked to dedicate a life of service protecting the King and his descendants. Place the white cloaks over your shoulders, and say your vows."
"Under the grace of House Baratheon, I, Ariyana Dayne, hereby swear on my honor and my allegiance to protect the King and his family. I will perform my duty until death, and through that time, keep all secrets of the King safe from spread. I will not speak unless spoken to, and I will defend the King's land or pay the price. I will not wed, bore no children and hold no land. I will master the gate, pluck the bow, handle the blade and serve my realm: now and forever."
"Under the grace of House Baratheon, I, Brienne of Tarth, do hereby swear on my honor and my allegiance to protect the King and his family. I will perform my duty until death, and through that time, keep all secrets of the King safe from spread. I will not speak unless spoken to, and I will defend the King's land or pay the price. I will not wed, bore no children and hold no land. I will master the gate, pluck the bow, handle the blade and serve my realm: now and forever."
As the white cloak clamped down, Daveth stood from the throne. "And so it is done. Arise, Ariyana Dayne and Brienne of Tarth, knights of the Kingsguard."
Several rounds of applause erupted from the highborn ladies, for they had the privilege of witnessing the first women in Westerosi history becoming members of the Kingsguard. Brienne felt indifferent, for it was something that rang a sense of familiarity to her when she was in Renly Baratheon's service. Now she finds herself in service to his nephew. Ariyana, however, quietly observed the Master of Laws Prince Oberyn Martell in the gallery. The two exchanged nods as the applause slowly died down.
ooOoo
Ariyana and Brienne remained on guard before noticing Cersei Lannister approaching the room.
"Give us a moment," Cersei requested.
Ariyana looked at Brienne, before stepping aside – allowing the Queen Mother entrance. Catelyn and Shae looked at Cersei, the Lorathi handmaiden curtsied before making her way out. With just the three of them in the room, there was an intense moment filling the air. Lady moved in between Sansa and Cersei, her ears folded back – ready to defend her mistress if necessary.
"I see you still keep that beast around," Cersei noticed. "Walk with me, little dove."
Sansa moved to get up, but Catelyn looked back at her. "Sansa, you need your rest," she said rather firmly. "I'll deal with the rest. For now, you just focus on the well-being of the baby."
Cersei did not like being denied of anything, or a prize being kept away from her. But then again this allowed her a moment with her new sister-in-law. The Tully-turned-Stark matriarch grew more serious as Catelyn walked out with Cersei, clearly intending on keeping the Golden Lioness away from her daughter before she tried anything suspicious. Once they were finally alone in the hallway, Catelyn decided to press the matter as soon as Sansa was placed back onto the bed.
"What are you up to, Cersei?" she calmly demanded.
Cersei feigned ignorance. "You clearly misinterpret my intentions, Lady Stark. Recall my earlier sentiment back in Winterfell, where we'd eventually share a grandchild."
"Yet my daughter tells me otherwise. She tells me that you've treated her with nothing but contempt when I'm not around. Don't even think for a second that you'll walk away from that solely on the basis that you are the mother of our King."
"So be it," she dropped the act. "I'm not the kind of mother to share her son with another woman. Your daughter's been quite a she-wolf recently. And that beast of hers… I thought I'd made myself clear that I wouldn't tolerate such an animal like that in the city after it mauled Joffrey's arm two years ago. I want it gone."
"Unfortunately, that's not your call to make anymore."
"Then you clearly can't comprehend that a Lannister always pays her debts. We have no rivals."
"To believe so clearly demonstrates one's own ignorance and blatant disregard of reality. Every house has a rival; the Gods do not discriminate."
"Then tell me, Cat, did the Gods deem that your daughter take my son from me and send him off to war?"
Catelyn shook her head, but kept her composure. "You're not the only one worrying about their son whenever they strike out on their own."
"It would have been more seemly that the King and his… companion remain in their homes and send more capable men in their steads, rather than chasing glory on the battlefield like fools."
"Both of our sons are fighting a war, Cersei, not playing at one," Catelyn replied with icy courtesy. "I worry about my son just as much as you do yours, but sooner or later every mother has to come to terms that Daveth and Robb are not little boys anymore. We don't have to approve of their choices, but we need to respect their wishes."
"I don't believe that," Cersei hissed. "And I don't appreciate your tone, Lady Stark. I suggest you bring it down or—"
"Or what? You'll have me or any of my daughters harmed? You know very well our sons will never let that stand."
Catelyn could scarcely imagine what she might need that had not already been provided. Cersei frowned at being told off again, still feeling bitter and resentful about losing her status. Before she turned to leave in a huff, Cersei took one last glance over her shoulder.
"A Lannister always pays her debts, Lady Stark," she warned her. "And you will all regret the day you chose to tug the lion's tail."
Catelyn paid her no mind as Cersei walked away. She returned to Sansa's room as she watched her daughter lying down on her side to ease her discomfort.
"Mother? Is everything all right?" Sansa asked.
Catelyn put on a motherly smile. "Try not to worry, sweetling," she shook her head, placing a cold cloth on Sansa's forehead and rubbing her daughter's swollen belly. "Besides, we need you in perfect health if I'm to ever see my first grandchild, wouldn't we?"
Sansa smiled. "Mother, tell me. Will I have a boy or a girl?"
"I don't know, sweetling," she answered. "But no matter what comes, whether you grace us with a little prince or princess, we all love you."
"I love you too, mother."
The Wolf Queen's smile soon turned into a rather sad frown. Catelyn noticed this.
"What's wrong?" she asked concerned.
Sansa wiped her eyes. "I'm just… I'm worried about Robb, and my husband."
'I know you are, Sansa. I am too,' the Stark matriarch thought. "I know you are. But have faith, Sansa. They'll come back to us in one piece."
"I hope so, mother. I… I want my husband back. I want Daveth to be here when the baby's born."
Catelyn placed a finger to Sansa's lips. "Hush now, dear. Daveth will come back whether he likes it or not. You know he'd never abandon you, otherwise he'd be facing each of the Seven aspects' fury if he does. Now rest your eyes, and care for the baby. I'll be right here, Sansa. Your mother is not going to leave you."
Sansa's frowned turned to a relieved smile, nodding her head. "Your grandchild will absolutely love you."
Catelyn smiled warmly as she watched Sansa slowly drift off to sleep; such innocence was her daughter, even Lady propped her head atop the mattress – standing guard over her mistress. Such moments like this made Brienne smile; Ariyana, meanwhile, sighed as it brought forth old memories.
Unbeknownst to them, the moment Cersei had turned the corner and, once in the shadows, stood in front of a tall figure. Judging by the looks of him, he was rather muscular and had dried blood stains.
"Were you followed?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "No."
"Good. Be sure your 'fun' is restrictive to Flea Bottom."
######
Author's Note: Well, there was a bonding moment between Daveth Baratheon and his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister. A bit of a slow travel towards redemption and contemplation involved on the Young Stag's part, but then Olyvar Frey just had to bring word of Theon Greyjoy's capture by Locke and his men in-person. And now Daveth knows that Robb let Theon go. With his new mindset and learning of this act, how do you think relations between Baratheon and Stark will be? And how will Daveth's relationship with Jaime will be from then on?
Also, to be certain of the travel distance from King's Landing to Moat Cailin, the amount of time to travel between these two locations from the Kingsroad would be an estimated 1,420 miles with an army carrying a supply train can move at an average pace of 11 miles per day and use a rest day so as to not push the horses too hard.
So for now the royal forces led by Daveth Baratheon had to at least travel at least 37-40 miles (between 41 or 53 days/6 or 7 weeks) on horseback via the Kingsroad before taking a little detour at the Twins to reach his destination. Robb Stark only had to make it to Moat Cailin in 2 days after landing at White Harbor. Again, math is not my best subject. Feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes and I'll do my best to rectify it.
Distance map can be checked out ― www . sermountaingoat . co . uk / timeline / info / travel . xls
How far a horse travels in one day ― www . cartographersguild showthread . php ? t = 19730
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
The Three Stoogies: a good chapter cant wait for the meeting between Daveth Greyjoy and Robb keep up the great work
―Will do; friendship and loyalty will be put to the test when those three confront each other.
Patty 4577: Ironically, the best way to deal with Cersei would be to warn Tywin.
―Provided of course that Tywin Lannister does listen, I believe we know exactly who'd be the first to act.
Bosma17: I hope Daveth eventually will form some kind of alliance with Daenerys because she is my favorite character from a game of thrones
―We'll see what comes of it if they ever meet face-to-face.
mpowers045: That bitch better not be doing something to harm Sansa or the child
―Cersei's definitely up to something.