Barristan

The crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms was dead.

He had taken his last shuddering breath in a bleak black morning, as the cold river ran red with his blood when the son of Eddard Stark thrust his blue sword so hard that it punched through the steel of his gorget and mail and came through the back of his neck. The sky had wept in mourning for his loss as a cold shower drenched the earth soon after the battle. The rain had drowned the worst of the fires, but wisps of smoke still rose from the smoldering ruin that had been the watchtowers the prince of Dragonstone had put up for his sentries, and the reeds at the banks of the Trident where Rhaegal had wreaked havoc before his fall.

Perhaps the gods are just after all, Ser Barristan Selmy reflected as he watched those distant embers. He had seen the bloody bodies of Eddard Stark and Arthur Dayne when they had brought them out of the castle and threw them in a ditch. The Sword of the Morning's pale armour and cloak was drenched in blood and his breastplate was riddled with enough crossbow bolts to arm half a dozen men. The King in the North had made a far gruesome sight in just his Royal finery of leather and velvet doused in blood, his own and the foes he'd slain before being brought down. Barristan had been absent from the hall when it happened. It was said Dayne and Stark felled a hundred men between them and yielded only when they were told of the capture of the Lady of the Stars. The Sword of the Morning had been the first to fall after charging towards the King he had sworn to protect in a murderous rage where he slew a dozen more of the King's own honor guard and defeating his own sworn brothers in the process. The men said he'd come within a hair's breath away from the King before being brought down by a last round of crossbow bolts. By then all of the northern men has been dead or dying with only their King on his feet, his sword in hand. The fight had gone out of Stark when he learned about the fate of his wife and son however and was struck down by the biggest and mightiest of enemies. Barristan Selmy would never forget the bloody corpses they had made of Eddard Stark and Ser Arthur Dayne. And now King Eddard's son had claimed the life of Aegon Targaryen, paying back in kind for what happened to his father at the hands of Aegon's father. The septons preached that the sins of the fathers will be visited upon the heads of the children and Barristan idly wondered if it was the gods' who willed for the death of Rhaegar Targaryen's son to have come at the hands of Eddard Stark's son.

He could still see the hulking dragon still damming the river. Andrew Stark's men had worked all day with horses and ropes and winches trying to pull the heavy corpse of the downed beast away from the water. He had seen them working through the rain a while ago, battling the lashing rain, mud, flowing river and the dead weight of the great green beast. The rain had put a pause in their efforts it seemed as most of them had abandoned the efforts and was struggling with taking the horses back inside from the muddy banks. He stood beside the bier where the silent sisters had placed Aegon Targaryen's body dressed in his finest clothes ready for his last ride. The wound at his side where a spear had opened a gash burned him as he kept his vigil the whole day. The maester advised him that he was not fit enough to sit let alone stand but Barristan Selmy would not listen. The death of his prince and his failure hurt him more than any of his wounds did.

I did all that I could do to protect him, Barristan thought. He even spoke against leaving the Prince's side when he had given him the command of one half of his army. Instead the Prince had smiled and said that he needed his presence at the head of his army more so than he did beside himself. 'No harm shall come to me so long as Rhaegal is by my side, Ser' he had said. 'However without a proper commander to lead my flank the battle would be doomed.' He even sent Ser Jon Darry away, Selmy remembered, to hold the fords to the south. Ever the dutiful son and shining heir, always striving more for the good of the realm even at the risk of his own safety. And now he was dead. Rhaegar Targaryen has lost a son and the Seven Kingdoms have lost a great man and would mourn the loss for all the years to come.

They had all been high of hopes from the victories of the previous night, drunk in triumph and glory. The battle had even started to their liking. Barristan had pushed back the rebels even as they crept up the banks again and again. And then Andrew Stark had brought the dragon down and the Dragonslayer found his prize there. By then the iron fist of the rebels had pressed on with Robert Baratheon at their head. Barristan had to cut his way to his prince, after sending a messenger to Myles Mooton to ride hard with some men to support the losses. Even after he saw Andrew Stark cut down the prince, he had tried his best to recover the body along with Ser Myles Mooton until Ser Myles was killed by Robert and he was captured. Barristan saw that the day was lost even before that. Lord Jon Arryn and Brynden Tully were behind them somehow in the eastern bank coming up to the battlefield through the south whilst his son came from the North each with their own forces of the shining winged knights. By then Stannis Baratheon was leading a heavy phalanx across the river, armed with long, deadly pikes and halberds mowing down anyone who crossed their path as if they were ripe wheat in the fields all the while Lord Jon led his knights to break the retainers upon the pikewall.

Everyone who had accompanied him in his charge were surrounded and cut down to the last man except for him. They had removed Barristan away from the battlefield grievously wounded. He had hoped to die beside his prince like a kingsguard should. He would have accepted an execution as well but Andrew Stark had allowed him to live. The rebel King had been kind enough to collect the body of Aegon Targaryen and housed it in a seperate tent as well. At his command, Aegon Targaryen had been laid out in his own bed where he had stayed before the battle.

The maester had accompanied him at the bedside in his danger. He had been with Selmy night and day, tending to his needs, giving him water and milk of the poppy when he was strong enough to drink, even answering some of the questions Barristan had for him. Barristan had been sorely wounded in battle that he didn't think he would have survived without the man's help. The King in the North might have shown him mercy but it was the maester who had saved his life.

The maester looked up at him standing there beside the bier as he entered the tent. "Honored ser. You should not be standing. Not in your condition."

"I have to keep a vigil."

"No man can stand a vigil in your health, ser," the maester insisted. He was true at that. His back ached from the cut he had received from a sword, and his legs felt almost numb. He shifted his stance a bit and tightened his fingers around his longsword, holding to the sword like a crutch to hold himself up. He could not wield a sword, but he could hold one.

The maester pulled the coverlet over the prince's face and bid Barristan to sit. "You have done enough for one day, ser," he said. "Please sit. The King has entrusted your person to my hands and he would not take it well if I were to fail upon it."

He could keep standing for a longer time. He must. But he did not want to bicker with the maester about it, not here. "What will be done with the Prince?" Barristan asked the man as he worked with his potions. "It's been a day." Or two... He did not know how long he had spent in bed mind muddled with the milk of the poppy. "By now word will have spread everywhere about his death. There is no good in keeping him here anymore."

"I don't know anything about that, ser," the maester answered. "The King speaks naught of it, but I think it has more to do with the display of victory."

A token to show and rejoice about, Barristan thought. He had seen that in Starfall, and Ser Barristan could not stomach the thought. Would the boy be so enraged as to do something though? Barristan couldn't say. He had no problems taking a life as he had seen in battle. But this... King Eddard Stark had been a man of honour. So much so that he even sent the bodies of fallen knights and soldiers who died fighting under the banners of House Targaryen against the North down the neck with proper respects so that their families might have the honour of seeing them once again and bury them properly. The son must be like that as well. For why else would he spare Barristan and save Aegon Targaryen from the ill fate that happened to many men, not allowing to leave the corpse to lie un-mourned amongst the tall grasses at the banks of the Trident, staring blindly at the sky until his flesh fell from his bones and crows and wolves and dogs dine upon him..

"I need to know when the camp will leave here," Barristan said sitting up on his bed.

"I don't when that will be, ser. For now we are staying here and the prince with us. If I hear something else I shall be sure to inform you."

That will be good, thought Barristan. If we are to stay here for long we should prepare the prince for the long rest. The silent sisters would have to see to it as they had done in cleaning his corpse and dressing him in his clothes as befitted his title. "We should lay him down to rest," Barristan said when the maester stood to leave

"If I may be so bold, ser, you should do the same. You need your sleep as the prince needs to be laid to rest."

Sleep would not come to him. Not since Starfall. Ser Gerald Hightower had once told him that old men do not need as much sleep as the young, but it was more than that. He had reached that age when he was loath to close his eyes, for fear that he might never open them again. He feared that he might go to sleep and never wake again to join his prince in death. Barristan would like for that, but not in this way. Other men might wish to die in bed asleep, but that was no death for a knight of the Kingsguard.

"The nights are too long," he told the maester, "and there is much and more to do, always. But you have done enough for now, maester. Thank you."

After the maester was gone, the old knight peeled back the coverlet for one last look at Aegon Targaryen's face, and continue his vigil as long as there was strength in his body. In the pale dawn light, the young prince looked as though he were sleeping. He was handsome in death as he had been handsome in life, and the silent sisters had dressed him in his best velvet tunic, with a high collar to cover the ruin Andrew Stark's cold sword had made of his throat. He should have stayed back from the mists. Not all men are meant to win all their battles. As he covered the prince once more, he found himself wondering whether there would be anyone else for him to cover after this. He was told that his sworn brother, Ser Jonothor Darry had died in battle. But Barristan didn't know if someone stood vigil for him or if he was even buried properly.

As the day creeped longer the rain waned as the clouds were swept away. And with the sun arrived Barristan's resolve. He was still clad in his tunic smudged with blood and smoke, not a fitting garb to go to an audience with a King. Barristan took a fresh White woolen doublet on his bed and slipped it on before shrugging into his padded gambeson. His plate armour had been cleaned whilst he had laid in bed. The armour would only work to weaken him further, but Barristan had resolved that he shall go to this King as a knight of the Kingsguard.

Despite his aches and injuries he felt more comfortable in the pale plate than in wool and linen. Two guards stood guard at the entrance to his tent, men in mail and coat of plates wearing the direwolf of Stark upon their shields and holding a spear on one hand. "You," Barristan said when he reached there. "Would you be kind enough to bring me to the King? I wish to speak with him."

The guards simply looked at the faces of each other, perhaps surprised at seeing Selmy dressed in his Kingsguard armour and wearing a blade at his hip. "His Grace has given strict commands that you stay in this tent until you have regained your strength, Ser Barristan," one of them finally said. "It would be better if you rested for the time being."

"I have rested enough, goodmen," Barristan told them. "I have enough strength to wear my armour. I shall not try to escape if that is your qualms, I give you my word on my honour as a knight of the Kingsguard."

The guards looked at each other once again before turning back to him. "The King is in his pavilion," he announced. "Come, ser. I will take you to his grace."

"Thank you," Selmy told the guard. He pinned on his white cloak beneath his neck and put his weight on his left legs, then accompanied the guard across the field trying his best to hide his limping.

Andrew Stark's war camp was full of activity now that the rain was gone and the sun shined upon the world. The banners of the rebels could be seen everywhere as the hung limp from the tip of pikes and tall wooden standards. A group of knights were sharing a mutton's leg amongst them. Elsewhere he saw a group of prisoners being led away by a patrol of a dozen guards armed with longaxes. All of them stared at him blankly as he passed. He did not know any of them, but most likely they fought under his command in the battle. For a moment Barristan felt ashamed to enjoy such privileges when others who fought just as hard as him were not allowed those.

They reached the King's pavilion in the center of the field, a modest tent made of grey canvas where the icy white banner of House Stark flew fiercely from its top. There were no guards and no knights at the entrance to defend the tent. The guard briefly left him to announce his presence to his King. Barristan waited for a moment before the man came back and said, "The King will see you now, ser."

When Ser Barristan entered the royal pavilion, Andrew Stark was sitting in a chair looking down at the maps placed in front of him on the table. His crown was beside his hand on the table, not on his head. His wolf stretched out in front of the fireplace, gnawing on the bone of an ox. The big white direwolf looked up at his approach, red eyes following him silently. A chill crept up Barristan's back as he saw the direwolf. He had heard a lot of stories about the pale shadow of Andrew Stark and the tales had all been true. The wolf would give nightmares to even the seasoned of knights.

The Dragonslayer looked up when Barristan was at the table. He had once seen him before when the King was just a boy clutching at the skirts of his royal mother. The man who stood in front of him couldn't be any more different than the boy he had seen in Starfall. Where once the easy smiles had reached his mouth and eyes when his uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne had brought him to meet Barristan Selmy, a frown now occupied his face and his eyes were full of melancholy. He resembled his father greatly as men said but the hair, the dark hair was undoubtedly his queen mother's. Barristan wondered if he could see any more of her in his face.

"Ser Barristan," King Andrew said. "I am pleased to see that you are strong enough to walk again."

Barristan smiled. "Thanks to your kindness, your grace."

"Sit down, ser." Barristan Selmy sat down on the chair he was offered.

"What did you want to talk to me about that is so important you couldn't even wait until you are properly healed?"

Barristan looked at the King. "I have come to talk about Prince Aegon if it would please you."

The King frowned. "What of the prince?"

"You were kind enough to treat his lifeless body with respect, your grace," said Barristan Selmy. "I only ask that you allow him the honour of having a proper funeral as well."

King Andrew looked down at his hands on the table for a while. When he looked up his gray eyes were sad. He is just a boy, Barristan realised. Her boy. "Why?" he asked. "You were at Starfall, Ser Barristan. The Kingsguard were my favourite heroes so I pestered my father to let me go and see them. So my mother called my uncle and sent me with him and it was Barristan the Bold I would come to meet first."

"I remember," Barristan said. He still remembered the way he had gazed upon the boy when Ser Arthur had brought him and wished how the boy could have been his if only things had been different and Barristan had been a better man.

Andrew Stark smiled at him. He had her smile, Selmy saw. Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Andrew had the grey eyes of his Stark father, but the shape of them...

"Tell me ser, when Rhaegar murdered my father and mother were they treated with the respects that they deserved?" he asked. "When my uncle, your own sworn brother was struck down for no reason but defending his sister, an innocent woman and her child, was he given a proper burial that a knight of his renown should be given?"

Barristan Selmy had no answers for that. He had seen the horror at Starfall with his own eyes. Saw his King dancing close to madness in his pursuit to remove his foe. Rhaegar Targaryen had never trusted him as he had trusted Arthur Dayne. Harrenhal was proof of that. The year of the false spring. But Barristan had always thought he would make for a good King like that of his grandsire and his sire, the fifth Aegon. Starfall had been the first and greatest taint of Rhaegar's reign. And too many had died for that.

Eddard Stark and Arthur Dayne both had been thrown into ditches and the Queen in the North had been given to Viserys as a prize. Barristan Selmy had been absent when Viserys Targaryen had caught Ashara Dayne in the woods along the slopes of the rock upon which Starfall sat so he had been spared the fate of what became of the Evenstar of Westeros, but oft he wondered. Did Viserys lay with her forcibly? Did he make a gift of her to his men and allowed them to ravage her by taking their turns with her as his men were heard to tell the tales of how they bedded a queen? If I had seen him ruin Ashara that way no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him.

In the end it hadn't mattered. Ashara's family had been slaughtered, and his fair lady had been killed when she grew mad with grief for the son she had lost and the man who had her heart. The Evenstar had fallen so tragically from the heights from where she had once shined and Barristan Selmy had grieved for her ever since. She died never knowing that Ser Barristan had loved her. How could she?

He was a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to celibacy. No good could have come from telling her his feelings. No good came from silence either. If I had stripped my white cloak and saved her as I have once saved Aerys from Duskendale, might she have looked to me as she had looked at Stark? Might she still live to gaze upon this son of hers once again who had come back from the dead?

He would never know. But of all his failures, none haunted Barristan Selmy so much as that.

"Prince Aegon had nothing to do with those deaths, your grace," Barristan said after a while.

"I would not stop for anyone who comes between my sword and Rhaegar," the King in the North declared.

Barristan's hand twitched. To hear the blatant threat issued against the life of his King. Mercy or not, I am still a Kingsguard and I will have no chance but to kill Andrew Stark in defence of my King. But he is her son. And the more Barristan was in his presence, the more Andrew reminded him of Ashara Dayne. Barristan did not know if he would be able to do that. He didn't think he had it in him to harm anything of Ashara's, let alone her son, her own flesh and blood.

Andrew Stark sighed. "I told him as much," the Dragonslayer said after a while. "He wouldn't listen. No more than his brother had in Winterfell. It was Rhaegar I wanted and I said as much. He could have lived his life and even be the king had he listened. He chose to be a dutiful son instead."

Dutiful, that was something that everyone could say about Aegon Targaryen. "No different than you," Barristan pointed out.

"Aye," Andrew Stark said unhappily. "Get on with it, ser. The prince will have the honour of having a proper funeral."

"Thank you, your grace," Barristan said.

And King Andrew kept his word. They laid Aegon Targaryen to rest in the evening. When his men had set a pyre the King himself saw to the body of Aegon Targaryen placed on top of it. And there upon the banks of the Trident, Aegon Targaryen, prince of Dragonstone, rider of the dragon Rhaegal was cremated like all his ancestors before him.