Brynden

He felt the sword pierce his skin and he hissed in pain. Blackfyre laughed then, the man was a beast, and he swung once more. Brynden raised his sword and felt his shoulders jar at the impact of steel on steel. Blackfyre swung once more, continuing to batter into Brynden with a strength that the young king of Westeros did not know if he could match. He felt the man's sword cut into him once more, and he hissed with pain again, and again, and again, until the man had knocked his sword out of his hands. He stared at Maegon Blackfyre, and prepared for his death. But the killing blow did not come, instead Blackfyre merely grunted. "There is no honour in killing a boy, the line of Daeron Falseborn truly has fallen on hard times, if this is who they send to defend their illegitimacy." The man had spat then and had knocked Brynden out cold with the flat end of his sword.

Brynden had woken up in his tent on the edge of the marches, battered and bruised and apparently lucky to be alive. He had been beaten to an inch of his life, according to Aegon, and should be grateful he could still move. He did not feel lucky though, he felt humiliated, he felt embarrassed, he was King and yet he could not even defend himself against the usurper, he could not even hold his own against that bastard. How was he supposed to defend his family if he could not even defend himself? His frustration grew as the maester told him he could not take part in the remainder of the conflict, as the weeks dragged into months and more of their own men began to die and the pretender seemed to keep growing in strength, Brynden felt the embarrassment even more, he was the king dammit and he would lead his men to victory even if it killed him!

That was why he'd devised the plan, Lannister would lead the right and with any luck would be killed, the man had some very suspicious motives, Brynden's cousin Aegon was to lead the left and his uncle Maekar was to take the Vanguard. Brynden had decided to lead the reserve, technically he was not even supposed to be fighting, but he was growing impatient and tired of staying cooped up in his tent whilst his men fought and died for him, he had always been taught that if he wanted his men to respect him, they had to see him, and that was true now more so than before. The day of battle had come and he had held his men back until he had heard his cousin blow his war horn and then Brynden had led the charge of the reserve. Cutting and slashing, hacking and ducking and dodging his way through the enemy, those of the Golden Company not put to the sword already, those of the Brave Companions, on he thought hacking and slashing until he felt something pierce his side, where the wounds that the Blackfyre pretender had given him had not yet healed. He had felt a burning sensation then, and had fallen down, had heard his sword clattering down to the ground, before he had fallen to his knees, the battle had continued to rage around him and yet the world had turned to black around him.

He'd awoken sometime later in his tent again, his head pounding something fierce, his arms and chest bandaged heavily. His uncle Maekar, his cousin Aegon, his goodbrother Edwyle and Ser Oberyn and Ser Devan of the Kingsguard were in the tent, all looking concernedly at him. Brynden had felt anger boil up inside of him then, they were all acting as if he was dead, he wasn't dead! "I'm not dead if that is what has you all so somber." He'd said then, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Your Grace." He'd heard them all say then.

"What news of the battle did one of you kill that Blackfyre scum then?" He'd asked.

"Aye Your Grace, I did. His head is mounted on a spike." Brynden's uncle Maekar had said.

"Good," Brynden had replied. "What were our losses?"

"We lost maybe a thousand men in the assault Your Grace." His Uncle Maekar had said.

"And the pretender how many men did he lose?" He'd asked

"Perhaps 2000 men, once he was declared dead, his men broke rank and either tried to flee or surrendered. Those that fled were killed on the spot. Those who surrendered await your judgement." Uncle Maekar had said.

"Very well then, what happened to Lord Tybolt? Does the man live?" Brynden had asked then.

"No Your Grace, Lord Tybolt was slain by one of the Brave Companions." His Uncle Maekar had said then.

Brynden nodded, no matter what he thought about the man, he knew that Daenys had come to respect her goodfather, and would likely feel his loss keenly simply because her husband would also feel his loss very, very keenly. "That is a deep shame; Lord Tybolt was a good man. Make sure word is sent to Casterly Rock, they will want his body and his bones back."

Brynden knew that there was something more that his uncle wished to say, and though he could guess what it was, he did not particularly wish to here it just now, and so turning to his goodbrother Edwyle Stark he said to him. "Lord Stark, I trust you have written to Myriah and have given her the good news of our victory here?"

"Yes Your Grace I have." His solemn good brother replied.

"Good, Uncle Maekar have you written to King's Landing to inform them of our victory?" Brynden asked.

"I have Your Grace." His uncle replied.

"Good, now if you excuse me my lords, I have something to speak of with my uncle." Brynden had said.

Once the others had left the tent, Ser Oberyn and Ser Devan leaving to stand guard outside, Brynden saw his uncle's jaw tense up and he knew he was about to get a bollocking for what he had done during the battle.

"Well Your Grace, we have won and you have had your chance to play the hero. But seriously Brynden what were you thinking?!" His uncle's voice had steadily gotten louder as he had spoken.

"What was I thinking? I was thinking that perhaps I should actually act like a King and lead my men instead of hide here in my tent like a craven." Brynden had shouted then, before a cough had wracked his body.

"And look how that has served you Brynden. You came very, very close to death twice! What were you thinking leading the assault on the reserve in your state, your mother would never have forgiven me for letting you go on a mad dash for glory, your wife would be a widow. Did you think of that before you decided to play hero?" His uncle had asked.

"Ha, as if that is truly what you thought uncle. I am your king uncle, do not forget that. And whilst I appreciate all you have done for me and mother, I do not need you to tell me what my mother would have thought had I died. You would more than likely have continued your affair with her, and I would have been forgotten. As for Rowena, why I am sure Bloodraven would have found a way for her to stay on as queen, she is with child you know. She was a few moons gone before we left. As for my mad dash? Why I seem to remember hearing stories of your mad dash for glory at Redgrass, and you were older than me when you fought the pretender. I am king and it is a king's duty to fight for his people, I could not do that sitting in my tent like a little child." Brynden had fumed.

The fight had gone out of his uncle's eyes then and Prince Maekar had simply said. "I do not wish to see you to an early grave Brynden; you mean more to me than that, you mean more to your mother and your wife than you can possibly understand." With that his uncle had gotten up and left his tent leaving Brynden feeling very, very confused and sorry.

They had spent another two weeks in the Dornish marches allowing their men to recover from the battle and then had begun the long march back to King's Landing. Stopping off at Storm's End for a few days of celebration, for Lord Robar Baratheon's wife had just given birth to twins a boy and a girl. Whilst in Storm's End Brynden received a raven writ in his mother's hand informing him that Rowena had given birth to a baby girl, whom she had named Rhaenys. A letter also arrived from Winterfell informing Edwyle that he was a father once more, Brynden's sister Myriah had given birth to a boy, whom she had named Rickard.

Brynden sat on a chair over looking King's Landing, lost in his thoughts. It had been three years since the last Blackfyre Rebellion; by all accounts the Blackfyres were on their last legs both financially and in terms of pretenders to cause problems for Westeros. Maegon Blackfyre had been the Black Dragon's fifth son, and had been closer to forty than thirty when he had landed in Westeros. His son was but a thirteen year old lad, and it appeared that the boy's uncles Lucereon and Jaehaerys were trying to keep the boy alive for as long as possible, and with Bittersteel firmly rotting in the ground, there did not seem to be any chance for another Blackfyre rebellion for some time to come. Still Brynden made sure that there was always someone keeping a track on the boy's movements and those of his uncles, he did not want war coming to Westeros again.

Brynden turned his head when he heard the sound of chatter coming from outside in the corridor, and smiled. Rhaenys had turned three a moon ago and was turning out to be fine young lady; she had the typical Targaryen traits- the silver hair and the violet eyes- and had by all accounts charmed half the court. Rowena had just over two moons ago given birth to a little boy whom they had decided to name Maelor, his son had brown hair and violet eyes and Brynden could have sworn he had never seen anything as beautiful as seeing his wife with their children.

"Papa." He heard Rhaenys squeal happily, and he felt his smile grow bigger.

Turning round to look at his daughter he spread his arms out, and felt his smile grow even bigger when he felt her crash into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "Hello sweetling," Brynden said. "Are you not meant to be with your septa?" he asked.

He saw Rhaenys turn her head to look at him and nearly laughed at the pout that graced her lips, when she did that she looked so like Rowena. "Septa bad, I no like. Prefer being with you Papa." He heard his daughter say, looking up at him with those pleading eyes, that he knew he could never say no to.

Sighing he said. "Very well then sweetling you may stay with me, so long as you promise that tomorrow you spend some time with your septa okay?"

"Okay papa." Rhaenys said.

Brynden smiled then, and pulled Rhaenys so that she could sit in his lap. Holding her by the shoulders he whispered in her ear. "Look over the balcony sweetling and tell me what you can see."

He hides a smile as he sees his daughter furrow her brows with concentration. "I see city papa, our city papa. Lots of people and noise in city papa, it very loud." Rhaenys says then turning to him with a frown on her face.

Brynden smiles then at his daughter, a tired smile born of having spent many a day sat in council sessions listening to the lords of his small council bicker about the things that are important but do not truly matter, not with the Blackfyres still a valid threat across the narrow sea, not when some still paint a romantic picture of Daemon Blackfyre and Daenaerys Martell nee Targaryen, no matter that Blackfyre has been dead for nigh on thirty years now, and that Daenaerys is slowly fading from health, her son having been killed during one of the rebellions that occurred when Brynden was still young, her grandson killed fighting the Yronwoods. But his daughter does not need to know that, no she only needs to hear the words that his own mother told him when he was but a young boy. "Yes the city is our city sweetling, and yes there are lots of people and noise, but the city is also home to millions of other people. People who depend on us to make sure that they are safe and have a place to call home. Do you understand sweetling?"

"Yes papa." His little girl says her voice filled with all the certainty a three year old can muster.

"One day when I am gone, all of this shall be yours and your brother Maelor's. It may be your right, but it is also your duty to the people who live in this city as well as Westeros as whole, that you make sure that you rule to the best of your ability. I know you are still only very young sweetling, but remember that thought there is much noise now, noise is the sign of development, it is good. So long as there is noise the darkness shall not come. Do you understand sweetling?"

Brynden knows that what he is saying perhaps should be saved for when his daughter is slightly older, when his son can also be privy to the conversation, but for some inexplicable reason that he cannot name he feels the need to tell her this thing now, perhaps it is the constant threat of war making him seem so worried and on edge, but he feels that unless he tells his daughter now, he won't tell her again, won't get the chance to.

"Yes Papa. Noise good, silence bad?" He hears Rhaenys say, the question evident in her voice.

"Yes sweetling." He says kissing her hair again.

"Sleepy papa." Rhaenys says and as if on cue she yawns widely.

Though it is only mid day Brynden tell his daughter to sleep. And so he holds her as she curls herself into him and shuts her eyes, and sleeps, and Brynden looks out across the balcony and watches his city hum and thrive.

"The Ironborn are getting restless once more, it appears that Quellon Greyjoy seems to have forgotten the terms of the treaty his father agreed to." Bloodraven said.

"Has the man given any indication that he means to invade the Westerlands or the north, or anywhere else for that matter?" Brynden heard his uncle ask.

"My sources say no, but the fact that he is building up his war galleys and has called his banners to Pyke can only mean one thing, he means to invade. Where it cannot be certain." Bloodraven replied.

"Do you think he means to join with the Blackfyres?" Brynden heard his cousin Aegon ask.

"I know not, the man has not said anything about what he intends to do, within the hearing of my sources or the lords that are loyal solely to the Iron Throne." Bloodraven said.

"Of course he won't speak of what he intends to do with your sources being everywhere. The man will be even more reluctant to talk about what he plans to do after his father's rebellion was crushed. He could be going for Tyrosh to help the Blackfyres, or he could be meaning to go on a sacking mission of the Free Cities, or he could simply be going to invade the Stepstones. I want answers Bloodraven, and I want them soon." Brynden said, his tone brooking no argument.

"It shall be done Your Grace." Brynden heard his namesake say.

"What else is there for us to discuss today?" Brynden asked.

"There is the issue of the Kingsguard Your Grace." Brynden's uncle Maekar said. Since that day in the Dornish Marches, things between Brynden and his uncle had not been strained exactly, but neither were they as they had been before that thriced damned war, and Brynden regretted that, he regretted the words he said, but he knew that he had make a stand for himself or forever be in his uncle's shadow.

The Kingsguard, gods that had been a never ending headache for Brynden since they had come back from the marches three years ago. Ser Edrick and Ser Garlan had been killed during the fighting slain by Maegon Blackfyre, Ser Matthis Tyrell had been killed fighting Maegon's second in command and Ser Royce had died from a fever a moon ago. Replacements had been found for Ser Edrick and Ser Garlan, they had been replaced by Ser Tywin Reyne and Ser Mikkel Gargalen, but of course Brynden knew that no one could truly replace either Ser Edrick or Ser Garlan they had been all that the white knights of the Kingsguard should be, brave and skilled knights and the very souls of chivalry.

"Who is on the list for being brought to the Kingsguard?" Brynden asked.

Maester Derryck brought forth a piece of paper and read aloud from it. "There are Ser Gwayne Gaunt, Ser Devan Rowan and Ser Loras Arryn."

Brynden nodded and said. "Ser Oberyn, as Lord Commander what do you make of these three knights who would on the white cloak?"

Ser Oberyn Dayne, sword of the morning was a man Brynden deeply respected, he had served in Brynden's father's Kingsguard and had earnt his stripes in many a tourney and had fought bravely and honourably during the third and fourth Blackfyre rebellions. Ser Oberyn looked like most others of House Dayne what with his violet eyes and silver hair, he could almost be a Targaryen if not for the way he held himself, confident and sure, but never with the cockiness that Brynden had seen present in his cousin Aerion. Ser Oberyn took a moment to speak. "I believe that Ser Gwayne and Ser Devan are honourable men and would do the white cloak proud, I would strongly recommend them for the white cloak, as for this Ser Loras Arryn I do not know of him, he has not competed in any tourneys nor has he fought in any battles that I am aware of."

Brynden nodded then and said. "Very well then, Maester Derryck write to Ser Gwayne and Ser Devan and summon them to King's Landing, they shall take the white, I shall speak with Rowena about this Ser Loras Arryn. If that is all council is dismissed."

With that Brynden walked out of the small council chamber followed by Ser Oberyn and Ser Tywin and made for his and Rowena's chambers. Brynden knew that most married noble couples kept separate chambers, he knew that his mother and father definitely had, but he did not want his marriage to be like his mother and father's, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with his wife, he wanted her to know that she was loved, that she would always be loved.

He entered their rooms and smiled as he heard her singing to their two babes, as he walked in further to their rooms, he found Rhaenys fast asleep on one of the sofas, a smile on her lips. Maelor was in Rowena's arms and seemed to falling asleep, if the noises he was making were any indication. Brynden stood there for a moment simply looking at his family, and he felt content, he had no worries now, not when he was with those he loved the most.

Rowena saw him and smiled at him, once Maelor was asleep and had been laid in his crib, she came over and gave him a kiss on the lips. Brynden wanted to deepen the kiss but his wife broke away and said. "My love, how was council?"

Brynden sighed deeply. "It went well, Quellon Greyjoy is arming himself for god alone knows what. He has not answered any of the ravens that have been sent to him, but I do not think that he will be invading anytime soon, the man is not a fool, he knows that there is more for him to lose by doing such a thing. Also we have three knights up for consideration for the Kingsguard. Ser Gwayne Gaunt, Ser Devan Rowan and Ser Loras Arryn."

Brynden heard his wife gasp at the last name, and looked at her questioningly and was startled to see tears forming in his wife's eyes. Walking toward her he said "Rowena, my love what is wrong?"

Rowena sobbed and shuddered in his arms, and then eventually said. "Don't make Ser Loras a knight of the Kingsguard, please for the love you bear me do not make that man a knight of the Kingsguard."

Brynden was surprised by his wife's outburst and said. "My love what has this man done to get such a strong reaction from you?"

He felt his wife shudder in his arms once more. Her voice was shaky when she spoke. "Promise me you won't get angry."

Brynden tilted her head up then and said "I could never be angry with you my love, tell me what this man has done to make you so shaky."

His wife took a deep breath then and said words that chilled Brynden to the bone. "Loras is an Arryn from Gulltown, a lesser branch of the main Arryn line. When we were younger he fostered at the Eyrie, and he became like my little brother, but he clearly felt more. When our betrothal was announced he tried to get me to have father to break the betrothal claiming that I did not want to marry you, that I in fact loved him and wanted to marry him. Once I rejected him he took advantage of my sister Alys who had always loved him, and he took her maidenhead."

Brynden looked at his wife then and said "Surely the man knows that you do not love him now, and that you never have. Surely he knows that if he tries anything with you I would have him flayed alive?"

He felt rather than saw his wife shake her head. "No my love, you see Loras always was blind when it came to me. He believes himself still firmly in love with me, and that I am in love with him." His expression must have darkened for his wife said, "Of course I am not! But you see Loras always did have an active imagination. And I fear this ploy to have himself raised to the Kingsguard is simply to become nearer to me and cause chaos here in the capital."

Brynden tilted his wife's head up so that he could better look at her and said. "I promise you Rowena that this man shall not don the white, he shall never have reason to come to King's Landing. And if he tries anything untoward, when we visit the Vale I shall have him cut off from everything."

Rowena sniffled and Brynden simply hoped and prayed that he had made the right choice, and that this man would never ever have to come to King's Landing. If he did, Brynden was not sure he would be able to restrain himself from killing the man, or at the very least, hurting him in the extreme.