DEFIANCE

The Great Hall was located deep inside the castle. Its windows overlooked the port and tapestries on the walls depicted scenes typical of a common day in Duskendale. Large chandeliers hung from the archway ceiling, casting the light of a dozen candles into the cold and obscure room. The entire place was surrounded by a superior gallery, from where it hanged more banners with the sigil of House Darklyn. A great table occupied the middle of the room, with a dais on the end opposite the entry door.

As they entered, the men with the Targaryen armor took their place around the hall, while the Duskendale entourage climbed the dais, forming a row behind the wooden chair of their lord. A servant brought wine, dragging a chair – not fit for a king, but a chair nonetheless – so that His Grace could take his place right across the dais.

As he positioned himself behind the king's chair, Gwayne checked again the pommel of his sword. Lord Denys had not even requested them to leave their weapons outside. The man knew such a battle would be a lost one.

"So, Lord Denys, I want to be quick about it, as I presume you do too." Aerys commenced, sipping from a glass of wine the servant had poured him. He was the only one drinking.

"Nothing in this world would bring more joy to my heart than to put this matter to rest, Your Grace." Lord Denys started, inclining himself forward in his chair. His twin brothers were siding him, and Ser Symon positioned right behind him. "Shall I start by presenting my proposal?"

"You may not." Aerys replied, looking directly to the lord across the room. "The matter is quite simple to me, Lord Denys. You are late paying your taxes. For the respect I nurture for House Darklyn and the welfare of the Crownlands, I'm willing to pardon you. Yours is a noble and ancient House. I certainly respect that, as my ancestors did."

There was a pause for a few moments. Some of the men in the dais moved on their feet, whispering something among themselves.

"Nevertheless," The king continued, considering his fingernails. "The law is the law, and I won't be gentle if no sense comes to your mind. You will pay what you are due to the Iron Throne, or I will deal with you as a traitor." His purple eyes glinted menacingly to the twins. "I hear your myrish woman have not given you any children." The Lord of Duskendale sniffed again, clenching his teeth. He didn't like the way his wife was being treated, even if Aerys was being benevolent. Gwayne recalled the names the king had called her on their way. Witch. Whore. Harlot. "I would be doing your brothers a favor if I were to sentence you to death. I bet one of those two right there would like to be lord in your stead."

The twins didn't say a word but exchanged a glance with one another. Denys didn't look at them at all, his eyes locked on the king and only him.

"You are indeed gentle, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, after considering his words for a moment. "But I invited you here to tell you my proposal. At least, allow me to present it to you, so you can make your final decision with all the information available. Besides, my request is rather reasonable. I'm sure you will consider it differently this time."

Aerys laughed again.

"You are bolder than I thought, Lord Denys." He said, amused by the challenge before him. "But the matter is decided."

Gwayne moved uncomfortably.

Should he say something to the king? Hearing a proposal couldn't do any harm.

"I must insist, Your Grace."

Aerys rolled his eyes.

"You insist a lot. I agreed you could bring your men, but I won't allow you to—"

"Before Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters landed on the Seven Kingdoms, Duskendale bloomed thanks to his commerce." Lord Denys had no shame interrupting the king. Aerys stood with his mouth open midsentence for a few seconds.

"How dare you defy me?" He screamed, angrily.

But the Lord of Duskendale was indeed becoming a defiant one.

"Our port was one of the greatest in the East Shore." Denys continued, standing on both his feet. "Our roads led to the domains of the Storm Kings, the Kings of the Rock and the Gardeners of the Reach, long before the dragons came from across the Narrow Sea. Carriages with spices, silks and jewels left our city to return carrying piles of gold.

"But when the dragonking came, our splendor suffered a hard blow, Your Grace. The old men in my family still repeat to the future generations the tale of Visenya Targaryen, and how she took our city and most of our treasure. We bended the knee, and our House swore allegiance to House Targaryen, but with the promise that we were free to trade and replenish the gold that had been taken from us to help the cause of Aegon the Conqueror.

"With our gold, a city was built in the following decades close to the Blackwater Rush. King's Landing. The walls that surround it, the fortress King Maegor started to build and even the roads paved after the orders of King Jaehaerys I were all paid with our gold. Our treasure shaped the new city, and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

"However, the promise that Visenya Targaryen made to my ancestors was broken by the time King Aenys I came upon the Iron Throne. The same tariffs imposed to any other city of the Crownlands were applied to us and, once again, my people obliged. The crown needed our gold, and we were willing to pay it. As decades became centuries, King's Landing grew. Most of the traffic we had on our ports was forever lost. The carriages filled with gold became rarer and rarer. Many ships stop docking in our port, navigating swiftly to the capital. Duskendale, the great city of the Eastern Shore, started to falter and King's Landing was the one to blame."

The king had grown silent, but he was not pleased. Gwayne could sense his anger, as if the blood of the dragon was simmering in his veins.

"This is why, Your Grace, I ask only for what is just." Denys finished, opening his arms. "I beg you to honor Princess Visenya's word. Your ancestor's word. By allowing Duskendale a charter, we would be free from the tariffs imposed by the Iron Throne. We could sell again and sell a lot more without any restriction. We could use the gold to restore the greatness of this city. And I'm not even asking you for a permanent charter, Your Grace. I'm humble enough to request it only for a decade or so, enough time for us to replenish our coffers."

Denys snapped his fingers and a maester moved from among the guardsmen behind him. The young man had a roll of parchment in his hand, as well as a flask of ink and a quill.

"This is a moving story, Lord Denys." Aerys said, controlling his words. The maester approached slowly, afraid of the expression transforming the king's face. "But I never heard of such a promise."

"My Maester can show you the document Princess Visenya signed, Your Grace." He said. "I beg you to mend a broken promise. Sign your name by Queen Visenya's signature and grant us our freedom."

The king received the roll of parchment and opened it slowly. From his place, Gwayne saw what seemed to be indeed a very old writing. A dragon had been drawn on the side, with little touches of green and gold. At the end, something was signed. Something that resembled a lot like the word Visenya.

"Visenya Targaryen." The king read, very slowly. His voice had changed, Gwayne noticed. He was no longer concealing the dragon behind an armor of gallantry. He was ready to burn the Darklyns. His fingers grasped the pommel of his word once again. "This is indeed intriguing, Lord Denys. I should consult with the maesters from the Citadael to verify the authenticity of this parchment, but time is of the essence and…" The sound of paper being ripped apart echoed in the room as if the ground was breaking itself under their feet. "An old word from Visenya Targaryen, written almost three-hundreds-years ago? It means nothing today. Besides, did you know my line descends not from Visenya, but Rhaenys? I don't owe anything to bloody Visenya. Her line was the one that gave us Maegor the Cruel, and no one else. I must, however, maintain my duty to the realm."

Lord Denys' smile was gone.

"I'm afraid I can't accept your terms, Your Grace."

"Then we are still at odds, Lord Denys." Aerys said, standing up. "I gave you a chance to make it right. I was willing to forgive you and spare your House from blood and discord. Let it be known I offered mercy for your crime. But you have scorned my offer." When the king pointed a finger to the Lord of Duskendale, Gwayne knew what was about to happen. He readied his sword. "You two." He said, talking directly to the Darklyn twins siding Denys Darklyn. "The first of you to hand me Lord Denys in chains will be the new Lord of Duskendale."

This was a turning point.

Gwayne looked instinctively to the twins' eyes.

The play made by the King had caused confused them. Greediness overlapped loyalty in Cedric's eyes. Cilliad Darklyn placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder, as if willing to obey. Perhaps they were truly willing to sacrifice him to the Iron Throne, to get rid of his wife and have a chance to step out of the shadows. It was a cruel ploy, turning brother against brother, but the Targaryen history was the living proof that it could change the course of the world.

Darklyns, even so, were not Targaryens.

"We are not that kind of family, Your Grace." Lord Denys replied, standing up. A sad smile crossed his lips, all hope crushed. "Don't make this harder than it is. Accept my proposal and—"

"I have heard enough of you!" Aerys screamed, again. He unsheathed the sword at his waist. "Ser Gwayne, bring me Lord Denys. I will execute him under his own roof for being a traitor and I wish do it myself."

On the dais, Symon Hollard took a step forward, placing himself before his lord. Gwayne had also grabbed the pommel of his sword and commanded five of his men to step forward, building a human wall between the king and the dais. He was too focused on what was happening below to consider the movement above.

"Any men willing to defend a traitor is a traitor himself." The king roared, pointing his sword onwards. "I will wipe out the Darklyns out of this world, if needed."

"I don't believe you will, Your Grace." It was Symon Hollard the one replying now. He nodded to someone and just like that everything started to go amiss.

An arrow was fired from the gallery, finding its way to the eye of one of the Targaryen guards. The bloody idiot had the visor of his helmet opened. The guard was dead when his body clashed against the floor. The sound of swords being unsheathed echoed immediately through the Great Hall. Gwayne pulled the sword out of its scabbard, turning his eyes to the gallery above them.

Six archers were placed on the bannisters, observing quietly. Their arrows were on place, ride to fire. And all of them were pointed to the king. Aerys himself, Gwayne noticed, seemed aghast.

Was the dragon feeling trapped at last?

"Don't take any other step." Lord Denys claimed, his voice trembling. "Or else the next arrow will target the king's eye."

Gwayne looked again around him.

Nine archers, after all. Three more had come from a door hidden behind a tapestry. None of them would be able to fire to the king's chest but, unfortunately, Aerys had replaced his helmet for his crown. An arrow could easily meet his head and end him, just like the guard laying on the floor.

The order had only to be given.

"Are you threatening your king, Darklyn?" The King asked, a vein popping in his head.

If an arrow doesn't kill him, the fury in his heart will.

"I'm fighting for my people, Your Grace."

Gwayne remained still, his eyes moving all around the room, trying to find an escape somehow.

"You are a fool, Darklyn." Aerys continued. "And yours dreams of greatness will only bring doom to your family."

Lord Denys sniffed, considering the menace for a few seconds.

"Give me the charter, and I will let you go."

"I would rather die."

Denys turned his head, whispering something to his master-at-arms.

"Surrender your swords, all of you, or I will not spare your king." Symon said.

Gwayne looked at his guards, who were looking back at him.

I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown.

Slowly, Ser Gwayne lowered his sword. His men followed him. Ser Symon advanced forward, as two other guards ready their weapons.

"I won't be taken as prisoner." Aerys muttered, furious. "I won't let him have the last laugh."

Somehow, Gwayne knew the king was not referring to Lord Denys, but to the Hand who had counseled him not to come to Duskendale.

The fool will not surrender, he realized, noticing how the king was wielding his sword, ready to cut down the first man that approached him. This could very well be the end. The king will die on my duty, but I won't have blood on my hands. No, that was a lie. He knew that was a lie. If the king wasn't stopped, blood would be spilled.

I will pray for you to keep my husband safe.

He closed his eyes just for a fraction of a second, and then wielded his sword.

"Follow my lead, Your Grace."

The king could die. Or he could survive. Even so, as a Kingsguard, he had to try or die trying. He wouldn't break his holy vow, no matter how much he wanted to free his queen. Signaling the guards to come to his aid, he pushed the king to the floor and threw himself on top of him. The king's sword slid across the floor, just as it did his crown, both lost among the fighting already happening by the dais.

Arrows fell from the gallery instantly, was he knew they would, but his armor and body shielded the king. One of them managed to pierce his left underarm, finding its way between the armor. A shot of pain made him grit his teeth, as the warmness of blood trickled beneath the chainmail.

"Don't leave my side, Your Grace." He whispered to the king. Aerys was agitated, though, screaming words Gwayne refused to listen. He squirmed beneath him, trying to release himself.

As four Targaryen guards came finally to Gwayne's aid, he heard the clash of steel. He raised his face, to see the men charging down from the dais, with their swords and lances raised. The visor of his helmet was a small one, but enough for him to see Symon Hollard instructing the Darklyn guards.

"Shield the king!" Gwayne yelled the order to his own men.

His guards turned their backs to him and gathered around him in a circle, shielding him and the king with their bodies. They were fighting already the first men headed toward them. Gwayne stood up, finally releasing the king and help him on his feet.

"What are you doing?" Aerys asked him, screaming. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm saving your life, Your Grace." He said, his eyes away from the king's face. The pain under his arm was nothing but a nuisance. He had to try reach the door. An escape will be impossible, a voice reminded him on the back of his mind. Yes, but he had to try. He removed his helmet and placed it on the king's head. "This will protect you."

Keeping hold of the king's arm with his left hand and wielding his sword with the right, Gwayne started moving to the door. The guards understood his movement, following his steps like a dance. Arrows continued raining down from the gallery, and one of them almost hit his head, but he averted them. Maybe the Seven are blessing me for keeping my vows. Slowly, he continued moving toward the Great Hall's door.

Jon Hollard and five guards barred his way.

"A broken nose was not enough for you, was it, Ser Noisey?" He provoked, bringing down his sword to the guard leading the way.

Their little group was surrounded. At least eleven men, all clad with the Darklyn colors, were fighting the four guards shielding the king. A few smaller skirmishes were happening among the Hall, but every sword was trying to get to the king one way or another. An arrow grazed through his cheek, slicing it.

"I will burn this castle to the ground!" Yelled the king, right behind him. "I will burn the entire city!"

We will never survive, he thought bitterly, as the guard fighting Jon Hollard fell with an arrow buried in his skull.

"A Kingsguard hiding beneath another man? It doesn't surprise me coming from you, ser." Jon Hollard provoked yet again, raising his sword.

Gwayne jumped over the dead man, stopping the attack and replying with another. Behind him, the three guards left continued fighting, closing their ranks on the king. Aerys' screams continued ringing above the song of steel.

"I don't hide." He answered, clashing his sword. "And when I fight my foe, I fight him on my own." Gwayne averted a strike made by a Darklyn soldier that had come to help Hollard bring him down.

A scream behind him made Gwayne turned his head.

The human shield was broken, he noticed. One of the guards was dead and the other two had been brought to his knees. The king was at the hands of Darklyn's soldiers, who had already removed the helmet and threw it away. And Aerys screamed, as if his yells alone could save the entire Seven Kingdoms.

That distraction was enough for Hollard to disarm him. The clash of steel on the floor sounded like thunder, as he realized his sword was gone from his hand.

"Any last words?"

Before Ser Gwayne could do anything else, he felt the feeble hands of the king behind him, trying to grab him by his waist. His captors got hold of him quickly and pulled him away. Three knights and Jon Hollard's squire.

The point of Jon's sword kissed Gwayne's neck.

He spat on his opponent face.

"Don't be a bloody fool, Jon." Ser Symon said, coming from behind. "We need prisoners, and this one here is worth a lot."

When Jon peeked from the corner of his eye to check upon Ser Symon, Gwayne kicked him between the legs with all the strength he had. Taking hold of the moment, he grabbed the sword by the blade, and turned it in his hand quickly enough to grasp the pommel.

He had to get to the king to try to stop this madness.

Arrows continued to fly down to stop the men wearing the Targaryen colors. A few of them, at least half a dozen, had gave up their swords willingly and knelt on the floor. Another handful of them were dead, laying with their throws ripped apart or with arrows on their heads. Pools of blood stained the stone slabs. The remainder were either fighting Darklyn guards or trying to reach the king.

Aerys had been taken to the dais. The king of the Seven Kingdoms was been played around like a toy by lords, knights and even squires. They laughed as he yelled. There was pain in his words, threats to burn them down, but also madness. Robin Hollard, the little squire, was pulling the king's beard while dancing around him. Another knight was ripping apart his tunic. Other had the royal crown upon his temples. The golden rings of the king were being passed from hand to hand.

This was unacceptable, a violation of what was most sacred.

Gwayne started marching toward the dais, raising his sword.

I will shed my blood for the blood of the crown.

He was going to die, but first he would at least kill Denys Darklyn. The Lord of Duskendale was laughing while observing the macabre spectacle.

A sword clashed against Gwayne's.

Ser Symon had read his heart and had come from nowhere.

"Lay down your sword, ser Gwayne. You don't have to die."

Gwayne replied by striking his sword, aiming for Ser Symon's neck. He missed, surprisingly enough. Up until that point, he had not noticed his body was failing him. But yes, he had lost a lot of blood thanks to wound in his left arm. He only remembered that when he realized his hands were shaking.

"No." He said, not giving up. "I made a vow and I will die before breaking it."

"Then, you are of no use to us, ser." Ser Symon had stopped every attack gracefully and had not attacked back. Not even once. But pity touched his eyes, as well as the will to finish him.

It was a quick death.

It started with pain, when the Symon's blade shattered Gwayne's head. It pierced through his right eye, destroying half of his head in a single blow. Half of the world turned dark instantly, as his knees fell beneath him. Something warm trickled down his face. Like tears of fire, he thought, or rain kisses. And then everything vanished, and the yells of the king faded. The laughter of the lords gave place to the song of birds.

May the Seven bring you back safely, ser, she had said, sweetly.

It seemed he would fail her, but as he died, he smiled.

He died as knight should die.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Curious to read more? From this point onwards, the story diverge from canon, but you can read it in "A Legacy of Flames". Go to the link in my bio to read the story so far.