350 AC
A week had passed since the arrival of Lord Tybolt Lannister in King's Landing, and it was a cruel and tough week for Ser Darius. The men of the City Watch had not taken kindly to an outsider leading them, not after their last commander. An officer named Robyn had told him stories of the last commander of the gold cloaks, a lowborn man named Harlan who rose through the ranks. He was a man of the people, Robyn had said, and the gold cloaks loved him. I am an outsider, and a bastard. These men have no reason to love me as they did Commander Harlan.
On the other hand, the noblemen of the Red Keep had welcomed Darius with open arms, especially Lord Endrew Baratheon. Lord Endrew was an enigma, it seemed, and Ser Darius could never quite figure out his motives. Upon their first meeting, the two began discussing what any two young men would, women. Lord Endrew had jokingly talked of Princess Aemma's ladies-in-waiting and their beauty, but Ser Darius insisted they meet them, and so the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands walked aside a Lannister bastard to meet the heir apparent to the Iron Throne and her lady friends.
A knock on the door to the Maidenvault had stirred the slumbering ladies, and for once in a week Ser Darius felt genuinely excited.
"Who disturbs us?" shouted a lady irritably.
"Lord Endrew Baratheon, and Ser Darius Hill. Surely you could spare some time to speak with us, especially given the week my crimson-clad friend has experienced."
"Let them in," cooed the soft voice of Princess Aemma Targaryen, and the ornate door to the vault opened slowly.
Inside sat four ladies, each seated on piles of cushions around the hearth. Princess Aemma Targaryen was clad in a black and red gown, staring at the hearth intently. To her right sat Lady Alys Waynwood, daughter of Ser Donnel, who donned a green and sable dress, simply woven. To Princess Aemma's left sat a maiden of pure beauty, at least in Darius's mind, whom he had only seen a mere three times before, Lady Lily Tyrell, daughter of Lord Willas. And to Lord Endrew's apparent surprise, to Lady Lily's left was seated an intense woman clad in a black and gold hauberk, a steel longsword strewn at her side.
"Welcome, Ser Darius," said Princess Aemma unwaveringly, "I doubt you will be uncomfortable here." Aemma gestured to her left, resting a hand on Lady Tyrell's verdant gown, brushing away her brown locks.
"The bastard's got a lady love, aye, princess?" The armored woman looked over her shoulder at the two men. "And brother, it's been far too long."
"Val…" muttered Lord Endrew.
"That's Lady Valkyrie to you, Lord Endrew," sniggered Lady Valkyrie Baratheon. "Why am I here? Good question. You see, the princess here sent me a raven, and of course, dark wings, dark words. Princess Aemma told me that there might be a conspiracy against her father, His Grace King Aemon. And I told good Maester Eldon, 'How can I sit here, holding Storm's End for my brother, when King Aemon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne amongst dangerous men? My brother can't do shit, so maybe it's time for a dangerous woman to join the fray.' And so here I am." Valkyrie Baratheon took a swig of ale, laughing.
"Lady Val, you disrespect your brother with a guest in our lieu?" snapped Alys Waynwood.
"Aye, I disrespect my weak brother in front of a bastard. No offense to you, ser."
"No offense taken, my lady," replied Darius. Darius decided Valkyrie Baratheon was interesting, but also fun and light-hearted, which made her a good ally. He made sure to keep a good relationship with the Baratheon twins thereafter.
"Darius Hill, best sword in the westerlands," Valkyrie began, "How good is that sword, Darius?" Darius held up his sword, its amethysts glimmering in the firelight, and Lady Baratheon nodded in approval. "Impressive. I might need to fight you out in the yard sometime, eh?"
"Enough of this," Princess Aemma muttered, before repeating it louder, "Enough of this. There are more important matters at hand! The master of whisperers, Symon Santagar, did not die of a flux. Maester Ashe tried to cover up his murder, but I knew better. The old Hand, Lord Monterys Velaryon, murdered as well. I don't know by who, but victims of plague and flux don't have stab wounds."
"And you chose to discuss this with us, why?" asked Darius politely.
"Because I know I can trust both of you. Lord Endrew is the brother of my dearest friend Valkyrie, and you are one of the noblest men I've met, bastard or no. Your brother should have been the baseborn one, the way he treats me."
"I cannot say I was in favor of your betrothal to Lord Andrew, my lady, no," said Ser Darius in agreement.
"Ser Darius, Princess Aemma tells us queer things about Andrew," piped up Lady Lily, "Rudeness, cruelness, and the like. Could this be why you were not in favor of this betrothal?"
She's a keen one, thought Darius. "I was not in favor of it because I know he loved a daughter of Lord Yarwyck, my lady. Whatever Andrew is, I cannot say, but he's my brother, and I will not slander him behind his back."
"Of course not, my knight of Lannister," said Lady Tyrell, chuckling.
"Be on the watch, my lords, for danger lurks within these halls," said Aemma Targaryen, staring into the fireplace once more.
Not one moon's turn later had the princess's words come to fruition, when the second Hand in half a year was laid to rest. However, not only was Lord Tybolt Lannister laid in state among the Seven in the Great Sept of Baelor, King Aemon Targaryen was also lain beside him. The capital was abuzz with talk of murder and plague, but none knew the true story but the killer. Every bell in the city rang in mourning, and Ser Darius wept in the Great Sept among Lord Andrew, Princess Aemma, and hundreds of others who had known these two great men by name only. Lord Andrew, now Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, attempted to comfort the princess, but she refused him at every turn. Meanwhile, Ser Darius tore himself away from his father's body, seeking guidance from the High Septon. His High Holiness was a stout man of great piety, and a friend to King Aemon in times of religious matters.
"Your High Holiness…" began Ser Darius, tears streaming from his face, "When will y-you anoint the new queen?"
The High Septon looked at him solemnly, "By the laws set in the Great Council of 101, Aemma Targaryen will not inherit the Iron Throne."
Anger overcame him, tearing him away from grief momentarily, "Daenerys Targaryen ruled from the Iron Throne, and she was the last Targaryen, same as Her Grace."
"Princess Aemma's future husband must rule in her stead, or the closest relative to her must inherit ahead of her. Only then will I anoint a successor to the Iron Throne."
"Then there will be a Great Council, Your High Holiness." Darius turned to find Maester Ashe lingering behind him. "Maester Ashe, send ravens to every lord in the Seven Kingdoms, summoning them to the capital. If His High Holiness will not choose Princess Aemma as the rightful Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, perhaps her rightful subjects will."
"Ser Darius, you are in no position to be ordering such an act. The will of His Grace named Lord Lannister as Protector of the Realm should he die," exclaimed the Grand Maester.
"Lord Tybolt Lannister, Grand Maester, not Lord Andrew Lannister. If my brother is named Protector of the Realm, he will seize the throne for himself and marry Queen Aemma in a fortnight."
"Princess Aemma and Lord Andrew are bound by a holy vow of betrothal," interjected the High Septon. "Are you a man to defile the will of the gods?"
"I am a simple man, Your High Holiness. I have no fancy titles, nor do I speak for the gods, but I do speak for what is right. By the laws of gods and men, Aemma Targaryen should be sitting atop the Iron Throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"There will be no Great Council. There will be no anointing of a new monarch. I will pray for seven days and seven nights, as the High Septon did before King Aegon the Conqueror was crowned, and at the end of this period I will decide what action to take. Seven blessings on you, Ser Darius, and may Lord Tybolt rest in peace."
"Seven blessings, Your High Holiness. I hope they serve you well."