Under the piercing light of day, we readied ourselves for the march to King's Landing. Hope soared among the soldiers, a collective wish that this battle might just be the war's last act. But within me, a turbulent sea of emotions raged. I knew, with a heavy certainty, that this march signaled an ending—the end of a chapter where fate had been unkind.
The day drew on, and I grappled with the weight of a silent sorrow—the inability to save the queen and her children, lost in the tumultuous whirlpool of this relentless struggle. How does one reconcile with this unspoken grief? The heart, a battlefield torn between hope and the harsh demands of duty, struggled to find peace amidst the clamor.
As we prepared during the day, challenges loomed large, and precautions were meticulously taken. Amidst the preparations, Lord Baratheon, too wounded to join the march, remained behind, accompanied by others bearing the scars of battle. In the company of my prisoners, Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Barristan Selmy, along with a small detachment of guards, I readied myself to march with the army toward the heart of the Dragon.
As the day drew to a close and the camp was set up for the evening, Robar and I found a moment of respite amidst the preparations. The camp was a hive of activity—soldiers sharpening their weapons, tending to armor, and fortifying our temporary abode for the night.
"Shall we, Oros?" Robar grinned, brandishing his poleaxe, a glint of excitement in his eyes. The amber hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the camp, a fleeting serenity before the storm.
"Indeed," I replied, securing my own poleaxe. The clinking of armor and the hum of conversation surrounded us as we found a relatively clear space away from the busier areas.
We sparred, each clash of our poleaxes an echo of the battles we'd faced and the ones yet to come. Ser Lewyn Martell, sat nearby, underguard and unarmed, his eyes keenly following our moves. It was as if the dance of combat spoke to something within him.
"Your footwork is solid," Ser Lewyn remarked, offering insights into our technique. "But remember, fluidity is key. Don't let the poleaxe chain you down."
His advice seeped into our practice, guiding our movements like a gentle current in a vast ocean. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows over the camp.
As our spar came to an end, the fatigue of the day settling in, I suggested, "Shall we break bread, Robar? Share what humble meal we can scrounge?"
Robar nodded enthusiastically, wiping sweat from his brow. "Aye, let's see what we've got."
Turning to Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan, I extended an invitation. "Would you both care to join us for the evening meal? It might not be a feast, but company can make any meal richer."
Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan exchanged a brief look before nodding their acceptance. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, we were just warriors, connected by the trials of battle, sharing a meal under the fading light, finding solace in camaraderie amidst the looming shadows of war.
The next day amidst the sprawling column of troops, a covered wagon trundled along the dusty road, its wheels creaking in rhythm with the footsteps of the soldiers. Inside the wagon, Ser Lewyn Martell, Ser Barristan Selmy, and I sat on a wooden bench, the low hum of conversation filling the air.
As we rode along the winding road toward King's Landing, the sun cast long shadows through the slats of the wagon, creating a dappled play of light and shadow.
"Tell me, Oros," Ser Lewyn began, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us, "what drove you to become a squire and take up the poleaxe of all things?"
I smiled and prepared to weave the tale of Oros Whitewater, a merchant's son in Braavos, carefully concealing my true identity as the last scion of House Blackfyre.
"I was born into a family of merchants in Braavos, House Whitewater. But after the passing of my parents, I felt a longing for my family's homeland", I began, feeling the weight of my dual identity.
Ser Lewyn, ever a good listener, leaned forward with interest, his gaze intent.
"I made my way to Westeros," I continued, "and during the great tournament at Harrenhal, I had the chance to test my mettle against renowned warriors. Ser Lewyn here and I had a friendly archery competition, where I emerged victorious." I grinned.
Ser Lewyn interjected with a laugh, "A wound to my pride that I've carried since!"
My tale continued, recounting how I encountered Lord Bracken and seized the opportunity to become his squire. "Lord Bracken chose to train me with the poleaxe, a choice that has shaped my path as a warrior."
He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "A wise choice indeed. The poleaxe demands respect and skill."
"What about you, Ser Lewyn?" I asked, curiosity piqued. "What led you to the Kingsguard?"
A flicker of nostalgia danced in his eyes. "Family duty, partly. My family has a long tradition of service to the crown. But it was also the desire to stand for something greater, to protect the realm and its rulers."
Our conversation flowed like a gentle river, touching on the current state of the realm, the imminent battle, and the hope that this might be the last, closing chapter of a grim tale.
The topic turned to Ser Barristan, who had been quietly listening to our exchange. "Ser Barristan," I ventured, "would you share your story with us?"
Ser Barristan, usually reserved, took a moment before responding, his eyes fixed on the horizon visible through the wagon's slats. "I served as a knight during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. It was a time of great conflict, and I learned much about honor, loyalty, and sacrifice. I joined the Kingsguard seeking to continue serving with honor, a vow I've kept to this day."
Ser Lewyn and I listened intently, absorbing the weight of his words. The day marched on, the sun now beginning its descent, casting warm hues on the scenery outside the wagon.
Listening to the tales of past conflicts, I couldn't help but wonder about the outcome of this war. The fate of the Targaryen queen and her children weighed on my mind, and I found myself grappling with conflicting emotions. I had come to terms with my true heritage, my lineage as the last trueborn scion of House Blackfyre.
But the queen and her children were innocent in this conflict. My heart wavered, torn between the desire to protect them and the reality of the situation. The thought gnawed at me, leaving me unsure of how to feel.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, our wagon rumbled on, the conversation a pleasant distraction from the impending battle. The sun painted the sky with hues of red and orange as we continued our journey, the comforting cadence of our tales and the camaraderie between us a soothing balm in a world fraught with uncertainty.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a harsh light over the land as we neared the outskirts of King's Landing, the sprawling capital lying ahead like a wounded giant. A small detachment, led by Lord Eddard Stark, pressed forward, the clattering of hooves on the worn road merging with the distant echoes of chaos from the city.
The air was thick with tension, an unspoken urgency urging us forward. As we approached, the devastation became undeniable. King's Landing was ablaze with fires raging uncontrollably, their tendrils of smoke spiraling into the sky, darkening the once clear blue canvas.
The cries of the innocent pierced the air, carried by the wind that swept across the landscape. The hope that this battle would mark the end of the long conflict was now shrouded in the stark reality of the suffering within those city walls.
Word spread through the ranks that the Lannister forces, once loyal to the Targaryens, had turned against them. A messenger had arrived, declaring that Lord Lannister intended to bend the knee to Lord Baratheon upon his crowning. The politics were a labyrinth, shifting and twisting, leaving all of us to grapple with their consequences.
"Oros," Ser Lewyn's voice broke my reverie. He sat with Ser Barristan, both now wearing a pensive expression. "The world is a complex place, and war makes it even more so. We all bear witness to its brutality, and we must carry the weight of our actions."
He was right. I nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for the wisdom in his words. We were at the precipice of a decisive moment, one that would shape the future of the realm.
As we approached the gates of King's Landing, I tightened my grip on my poleaxe, my knuckles white with the tension. The sight before us was grim, but we had a duty to restore order and protect the vulnerable. The clash of steel and the cries of the innocent echoed through the air, a harsh reminder of the chaos that reigned within.
The city gates loomed ahead, a gaping maw revealing the chaos that had befallen King's Landing. As we approached, the stench of smoke and burnt wood filled the air, leaving a bitter taste on our tongues. The sun was beginning its descent, casting an eerie, blood-red hue over the devastated city.
The scene that unfolded before us was a nightmare. The once vibrant streets were now stained with the blood of the innocent and marred by the destruction of homes and businesses. The city was a war zone, and the sounds of the battle raging within the walls intensified with each step we took.
Orders were swiftly passed through the ranks as units broke off to attempt to restore order and minimize the damage caused by the Lannister forces. I found myself at the forefront of a small contingent tasked with securing the dungeons, a grim responsibility that weighed heavily on my shoulders.
"Oros," Lord Stark's voice broke through the chaos. He approached, his furrowed brow reflecting the gravity of the situation. "You and your men must ensure the dungeons are secure. We cannot risk any prisoners escaping in this tumult."
I nodded, acknowledging the order. I signaled my men, and we moved swiftly towards the dungeons, our armor clinking with each step. The grim reality of the city's fate set in, and I steeled myself for what lay ahead.
Arriving at the dungeons, we were met with a chilling sight. The gates were ajar, left abandoned by the jailers in the wake of the turmoil. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows across the damp walls. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the distant echoes of screams.
We fanned out, securing the area and ensuring that the cells were empty save for the few souls who had been locked within. These unfortunate souls were victims of the chaos, trapped in their cells, their fate unknown. I made sure they were tended to, offering what comfort and aid we could in these trying times.
Turning to the cell intended for noble occupants, I signaled to my men, and they secured Ser Lewyn and Ser Barristan within. It was a cell meant for those of a higher station, relatively more comfortable than the common cells. My duty was to ensure their confinement was just, regardless of the circumstances.
"Ser Lewyn, Ser Barristan," I addressed them, my tone respectful. "We will provide you with food and water. I hope your confinement is bearable for the time being."
Ser Lewyn nodded in acknowledgment, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. The Knights of the Kingsguard were renowned for their resilience and discipline, even in the face of adversity.
As my men worked to organize and secure the dungeons, I took a moment to sift through the sparse records left by the previous head jailor. It was a meager collection, but it offered some insight into the prisoners and their alleged crimes. It was my hope that amidst the chaos, we could still distinguish between those who were victims of unjust persecution and those who were true criminals. The task was daunting, but it was a matter of justice that could not be overlooked.
In the dim light of the dungeon, I set to work, my mind focused on the task at hand. The fate of these prisoners, their stories, and their pasts were a puzzle I intended to unravel, seeking a glimmer of light in the darkness that had befallen King's Landing.