350 AC
The gold road was mountainous and treacherous, yet low and boring. It took a fortnight to travel from the Rock to King's Landing, and it was a dangerously boring journey. For five days not a single animal or rider had harassed their travels, and only on the sixth day did a mountain lion maul a man, only to be killed seconds after. The men had found the journey prosperous and blissful, but Darius survived on adrenaline. In the day, Andrew and he would reminisce about battles past fought, and in the night, the two half-brothers would devise strategies for the next rebellion or war. When the Lion's Gate of King's Landing became visible on the fifteenth day, Darius nearly leapt off his stallion in joy. The ride to the gate became the most grueling part of the travels yet, tension and anticipation rising with every clop of a hoof.
The Lion's Gate was relatively impressive, or it would have been if half of the bronze lion crowning the gate hadn't been completely melted. In fact, every wall surrounding the city seemed to have burn marks or siege scars from invasions past. The worst had been Queen Daenerys's takeover of King's Landing. Mere weeks after Queen Cersei Lannister had burnt the Red Keep with wildfire during King Aegon VI's sack of the city, Queen Daenerys the Unburnt came with an army of foreign soldiers and savages, laying waste to the capital with dragonfire. Every child in the Seven Kingdoms knew of how Drogon the Black Beast melted Arianne Martell and her babe to ashes as they watched the city burn. Hushed whisperers spoke of worse crimes; Dothraki raping women and children alike, the mass murder of innocents, and many more. The Mother of Dragons did not stay in the capital long, though, as she left a smoking ruin behind her to battle the Others with the armies of Winterfell. It had taken only fifty years for the nobles of Westeros to call the Long Night folly for children, but the Starks in Winterfell knew better.
To Ser Darius's surprise, King Aemon himself greeted his old friend at the gate. Five knights of his Kingsguard flanked him, with twenty gold cloaks and Targaryen house guards following behind, billowing red dragons on black flying above their heads. The ruined Lion's Gate opened, and His Grace stepped through. The King of the Seven Kingdoms wore a quartered black and red doublet, covered by weathered black plate, with an expression as weathered as his armor. The man had seen a hundred tourneys and battles, but ruling over a ruined city in a ruined kingdom had left the greatest toll on the king.
To his left stood Ser Perros Blackmont, the Bold Buzzard, a knight of sixty years who had served as Kingsguard since the days of old King Jon. Ser Perros was regarded as the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, a loyal man seasoned with experience and bloodshed in the name of House Targaryen. Four other Kingsguard stood beside King Aemon and Ser Perros, but Darius only knew Ser Samwise Taylor, a landed knight of the Riverlands renowned for his skill in the joust, unseating even Ser Perros himself in a tourney at Grandview. Ser Samwise was not a particularly valiant or chivalrous knight, if the smallfolk could be believed, but all the girls lowborn and highborn fawned over the scrappy young man like wolves to their alpha.
"Lord Tybolt Lannister!" the king announced, smiling at his old friend. Lord Tybolt and then Prince Aemon had squired, ridden, and grew up together in King's Landing for a scant time before the Lord of Lannister grew into his title. "Seems the Young Lion isn't so young anymore. Come here, old friend!"
Lord Tybolt approached His Grace genially, and the dragon king embraced his bannerman. "It appears not," said Lord Tybolt.
"Ah, my lord, what a wonderful party you've brought here." King Aemon turned to Andrew. "This man must be Lord Andrew, the shrewdest strategist the Westerlands has ever seen! Lord Andrew, pleased to meet you."
"It is an honor, Your Grace," said Andrew, bowing.
"And this lovely lady must be your wife, Lady Elna." His Grace brought up Lady Elna's hand and bent down, kissing it gently. As rough as he might look, Aemon Targaryen knew his courtesies.
"My lord Tybolt has told me much of your valor, Your Grace." Lady Elna curtsied, her golden dress creasing with her bow.
"And, who do we have here?" King Aemon turned to Darius, his brown eyes that clashed with his blonde hair catching the mismatched eyes of the Lannister bastard.
"Ser Darius Hill, if it please you, Your Grace." Darius placed his sword point in the ground, bowing deeply.
"The mighty bastard of the Rock, aye. The stories I've heard about you, lad, are downright impressive," the king said slowly. He turned back to Lord Tybolt. "This shitpile of a gate is no place for reunions, eh? Come, I mean to introduce you at court."
The Red Keep was even more of a nightmare than Ser Darius had imagined. The Tower of the Hand, scorched by wildfire let loose by Queen Cersei the Brotherfucker. Maegor's Holdfast, set aflame by Drogon the Black Beast and Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The throne room, location of the once mighty Iron Throne that had held King Aegon the Conqueror, King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, King Daeron the Good, and King Aegon the Unlikely high above the subjects of Westeros, a red shell housing a giant heap of scrap metal resembling a chair reduced to a pyre by both queens. The godswood, the holy garden of House Stark's old gods, the gods of King Jon, a dead fireplace of blackened wood and empty riverbeds. The royal sept of the Red Keep, where every Targaryen king had prayed since the Conquest, a pile of rubble, ash, and wax. In fifty years, the men of King's Landing had tried to restore the Red Keep to its former glory, but every year a new collapse was discovered, a new dilapidation uncovered. King Aemon was nearing the point of realization that the Red Keep was cursed.
Lord Tybolt's party was welcomed in the throne room, where the remaining two knights of the Kingsguard stood watch over the Iron Throne. Four dozen lords and ladies stood waiting in the hall, and Ser Darius decided it would be best to join them, along with Ser Desmond Mallister. King Aemon sat upon the husk that remained of his throne, and looked down at his councilors below him. Grand Maester Ashe, a man of thirty years, chosen by the Conclave to serve His Grace after years of exemplary work at the Citadel and Goldengrove in the Reach, though a westerlander by birth. Lord Endrew Baratheon, the young lord of Storm's End and master of ships, commander of the largest fleet in Westeros, and captain of the warship King Robert's Hammer, given as reparation to House Baratheon by King Jon. Ser Donnel Waynwood, knight of Ironoaks, fabled to have quelled the great Royce uprising of 323 with only his words in the name of Lord Harrold Arryn. Great men stood before the court, but the small council was small that day, as Ser Darius soon found out.
"First order of business," announced the Grand Maester, "His Grace, King Aemon Targaryen, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm wishes to welcome his new Hand of the King, Lord Tybolt Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Shield of Lannisport to King's Landing. Welcome Lord Lannister, we hope you are happy here."
"Thank you, Grand Maester, and thank you, Your Grace, for this wonderful opportunity. As Lord of Casterly Rock, I have always served you loyally, and to serve you as Hand is a great honor to me and House Lannister. I only hope you feel the same."
"My lord, come!" announced the king. "Sit among these fine men! You are their leader now, my strong right hand."
Lord Tybolt took a seat to the left of Ser Endrew, greeting the storm lord with a warm smile. Ser Endrew looked down at Lord Andrew, and then caught Darius's eye, which the bastard knight replied to with a nod.
Grand Maester Ashe spoke again, "Lord Willas Tyrell, Warden of the South, His Grace King Aemon's master of coin, has resigned his positioned to reign at Highgarden in his old age. Lord Tyrell has nominated his nephew Ser Loren to serve in his place. Does His Grace wish to second this nomination?"
"Ah, let Lord Lannister decide. He's Hand now, and I've ruled for two long moons without a Hand," called Aemon from atop the iron amalgam.
Lord Tybolt rose from the small council table, not taken aback in the slightest, "Lord Willas is a shrewd and intelligent man, and I would counsel my king to heed his advice and allow Ser Loren to serve him as master of coin."
"Then so be it," called out His Grace. "I look forward to seeing Ser Loren soon, in the small council chambers."
"Ser Darius Hill, natural son of Lord Tybolt Lannister, please step forward," proclaimed Maester Ashe, and Ser Darius did as he was bid. "You are a celebrated knight, known in the Seven Kingdoms as the greatest sword in the Westerlands. You are a veteran of dozens of battles, and His Grace has decided to reward you for your service to House Lannister and the Crown. He names you Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing."
Commander of the gold cloaks? Is this king fucking mad? thought Ser Darius. The gold cloaks were scum from the alleys of the capital, promised with a chance at food if they joined the City Watch. The commander of the gold cloaks was a glorified lord of gutter rats. You are a gutter rat, a bastard. Never forget.
"And finally, His Grace has proposed a marriage proposal between his daughter Princess Aemma and Lord Andrew Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock. He asks that Lord Tybolt accepts this proposal, so that the noble Houses Targaryen and Lannister may be joined in holy matrimony."
Darius found Princess Aemma in the room, a shy maiden of six-and-ten hiding behind a Kingsguard, Ser Arstan Grandison, if Ser Darius remembered correctly. Her face flushed of color when she heard Maester Ashe speak those words, and the bastard warrior could only feel empathy for her. A scared girl forced into a marriage proposal was such a terrible thing to behold, as the Lannisters had seen when Lady Tyria was betrothed to the Jast boy.
Ser Desmond turned to Darius, "I'm not sure to be sorrier for, her or you."