Gyles II
Life in King's Landing is nothing if not interesting. Gyles had been beginning to despair of his circumstances. The state of the city he was living in had grown stagnant, and from what he could gather in terms of information, it had been for some time. He had been rejected out of hand by the guards at the Red Keep's gate when he had requested an audience with the King, and Gyles knew better than to try again. King Aegon, the Second of his name, drew much of his support in the war from Lords within regions that hated Dornishman the most, Stormlanders and Reachmen. Gyles had learned much and more of what Lord supported which claimant during his time in the city, and King Aegon certainly seemed to be surrounded by men who felt that the only good type of Dornishman was a dead one.
I was lucky that I have such a small presence in this city that I'm not even considered as a possible threat. After the murder of King Aegon's eldest son, it seemed that the security of the royal family was of the utmost importance. Gyles knew that garnering too much attention for the wrong reasons would be a very effective way to get himself imprisoned, tortured, and killed. It was for that reason that Gyles silently bided his time living and working in the House of Kisses, where throwing the occasional unruly patron out into the street was the most action he was likely to see.
All of that had changed only a week before. At a time when many had feared for their lives, Gyles had finally begun to smell the sweet scent of opportunity in the air once again. Gyles woke quite suddenly. He had been in the House of Kisses' common room the night before, until it was nearly time for the sun to lighten the city with the arrival of dawn. There had been no problems caused by the patrons that night, and Gyles had been relieved when he was finally able to collapse into his cot. He felt as though his eyes had only been closed for a moment when he felt a hand roughly shaking him. Springing awake, Gyles grabbed a dagger from beneath his straw pillow and turned to face his assailant.
"Peace, m'lord, tis' only me," Mors said, and Gyles lowered the dagger, sitting up to better see his squire in the dim light of the candle that the man held. The old squire's wrinkled face had the look of well-worn leather, after a lifetime spent under the relentless Dornish sun and in the blustering winds of the Boneway.
It was then that Gyles noticed the clanging of the bells. "What is happening, Mors?" Gyles was exhausted and confused, and the eerie distant chiming did nothing to smother the growing apprehension inside of him.
"Dragons, m'lord," the squire grunted. Gyles noticed that the grizzled man was trembling slightly.
Gyles felt as though a pit had opened in his stomach. "How many?" he asked gravely, repeating himself when it became clear that his squire hadn't heard his words as the man cast fearful glances around Gyles' quarters.
Mors looked back to him. "Enough to burn this whole city to ash, m'lord," the squire began, "enough to make King's Landing burn hotter than the Seventh Hell." It was at that moment that Gyles heard panicked footsteps descending the stairs into the cellar of the House of Kisses, where foodstuffs were kept and the guards' quarters were located. Gyles could hear fearful voices and sobbing. Gyles leapt from his cot and dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on his sand-colored silk doublet with the black portcullis sigil of his House stitched into it. Dragging his leather boots onto his feet with shaking hands, Gyles stamped them into place as he crossed his quarters to its thin wooden door. If Gyles was to die, he would burn to death with his sword in hand, rather than suffocate in the cramped cellar of the House of Kisses.
He paused for a moment in the doorway of his quarters as he buckled his sword belt into place. Gyles didn't bother with any of his armor. He knew it would not save him from dragonflame. In the shadows, several whores clutched candles as they all cowered as far from the stairs as they could. Gyles saw Sylvenna Sand crouched in front of Essie by a musty wine barrel, seemingly trying to console the terrified woman as she clutched her weeping son to her breast.
Gyles made his way over to her, with Mors following close behind. Sylvenna turned to face them. Her dark eyes glinted in the light of the candle that Gyles' squire still held. "Ser Gyles Yronwood," the Dornishwoman said. Her voice was tight, but aside from that she showed no other signs of fear. The Dornish knew of the wrath of dragons better than any from the stories they had been told as children, and it seemed that Gyles, Mors, and Sylvenna faced their impending doom with more of a sense of resignation than the hysteria that surrounded them.
"Sylvenna Sand," Gyles began, "I mean to head out into the street above and try to make sense of the current situation. It seems that no burning has yet begun as we speak, so mayhaps there is hope for the people of this city yet. You are welcome to join me if you wish." The Dornishwoman hesitated for a moment, but then gave Gyles a quick nod.
Turning back to Essie, she gave the woman a strong embrace. "Wait for me here," Sylvenna whispered to her, and Essie nodded numbly, still clutching her son tightly. Sylvenna rose and smoothed her silken dress, giving Gyles a curt nod. The bells of the city continued to toll as the three Dornish exiles ascended the stairs.
The Street of Sisters was one of the longest and largest thoroughfares in the city of King's Landing. It was always crowded, but it seemed to Gyles that it only came truly alive as night fell over the city. It connected the Hills of Visenya and Rhaenys together, and one could take many side streets and wynds from the main street to practically any other part of the city. The sun was low in the evening sky, hidden from Gyles' view behind looming rooftops, but still providing enough dim golden light that lanterns and torches had not yet been lit.
Gyles had not brought much clothing with him on his journey north from Dorne, only what he had packed for the wedding at Wyl that felt as though it had occurred a lifetime ago. He had been able to get his garments washed not long after reaching the city, but by the way his doublets had begun to stink of long-dried sweat, he supposed it was about time for them to be washed again. He was, after all, wearing his best silk doublet this evening, and would need it to be clean if he was to ever be given an opportunity to present himself in court.
Gyles thought that he was riding far enough back that he would not be noticed by the three riders further down the street, descending the Hill of Rhaenys. It would not do for him to be caught too obviously trailing them. Though it had been only about a week since Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen's forces had taken the city, the small amounts of initial unrest had been thoroughly stamped out. The fears of only a week before had given way to the concerns of daily life for the people of the city. Mors was working as a guard at the House of Kisses for the night, and Gyles assumed Sylvenna would be finding patrons of her own soon enough. The city is ruled by a new monarch and court, but the cityfolk carry on as they always have. As he meandered Evenfall through the throngs of people in the street, Gyles thought back to the morning full of clanging bells and dragons.
The common room of the House of Kisses was completely empty as Gyles, Mors, and Sylvenna crossed its breadth to the main door of the establishment. The doors were of strong oak, with handles of brass fashioned to look like a plump set of lips puckered for a kiss. Grabbing the handles, Gyles pushed open the doors and stepped outside. Mors and Sylvenna followed on his heels into the street, still damp and slick from the recent rainfall. The sky was dark and grey, leaving everything in shadow even though dawn had long since come and gone.
Hearing a roar above, Gyles looked quickly to the sky. For a brief moment, everything around Gyles was illuminated by a terrifying green light as a massive black dragon shot a great gout of green flame into the air above itself. Gyles almost lost his nerve at that moment, but forced himself to stand firm as the black dragon and a second silvery one descended towards the square at the top of Visenya's Hill. The two dragons descended in a lazy circle, and as they did so, other brave souls joined Gyles, Mors, and Sylvenna as they walked towards the square.
The three of them stood near the front of the gathering crowd as both dragons landed in the center of the square, and Gyles watched as the rider of the black dragon unchained himself from his saddle and dismounted his fearsome mount, pulling out a rolled parchment from a leather pouch on his belt. Opening it, the dragon rider began to speak. Though his voice was muffled by his helm, Gyles was able to understand the important parts. King's Landing had a new monarch, and she meant her new subjects no harm. The dragon rider found a crier to take and continue to spread his message before climbing back atop his mount and flying away, followed by the other dragon that had accompanied him. Both riders looked almost comical atop their dragons as both were much smaller than the mounts that they rode.
Having finally seen a dragon, Gyles understood why his family back in Dorne spoke of them with such fear and respect. Such fearsome creatures had been the terror of Dorne's skies many times since the first Aegon and his sister-wives had conquered the rest of Westeros. Though Dorne had claimed the life of one and its rider, they had paid dearly for it. Dorne had burned, and Yronwood castle was by no means spared. Every time war came with the dragon Kings, their dragons did too. As Gyles re-entered the House of Kisses, his mind was made up. The Gods had seen fit to give him another chance at success, and he would not fail.
Gyles had discovered that some of Queen Rhaenyra's dragon riders were not official members of the Targaryen family, though they clearly shared some of her blood. Even in Dorne, it was known that none without the blood of the dragon had ever succeeded in taming and riding one. These dragon riders outside of the Royal family were known as dragonseeds, and Gyles knew that they would be his best chance at a place in court. They weren't Lords, and as far as Gyles knew, they held no lands, but only a fool would think that they didn't wield at least some influence as riders of dragons. And they have been spending time out in the city, enjoying the perks that being a dragon rider associated with the Queen brings.
It was for that reason that Gyles was following three of the dragonseeds as they rode further ahead. He had spent much of the early evening at the top of the Hill of Rhaenys, doing his best to look occupied by absolutely nothing as he watched and waited. The seeds had been quartered in the Dragonpit, and the chatter throughout the city had quickly informed Gyles that they all ventured out in the evenings to enjoy what King's Landing had to offer. Sylvenna Sand had told Gyles that two of the dragonseeds had gone out to brothels on the Street of Silk nearly every evening since the city had been taken, and that another three had made a habit of visiting different taverns along the Hill of Rhaenys to make merry.
Gyles expected that the two on the Street of Silk would not take kindly to being detoured by attempts at conversation by Gyles, so he had made it his mission to ingratiate himself with the other three during one of their tavern visits. Gyles cursed silently to himself as he nearly rode past the building where the three dragonseeds had stopped their horses. Handing off their mounts to bowing and scraping stable boys, they entered the structure. Gyles hadn't gotten a truly good look at any of the three, but he supposed he got a good enough look at their backs that he would be able to identify them inside the tavern.
Dismounting Evenfall, he waved over another stable boy. Many people had begun to enter the tavern in the wake of the three dragonseeds, but Gyles was able to get Evenfall tended to quickly because of his clearly knightly appearance, dressed in his best sand-colored doublet with the black portcullis sigil of House Yronwood, as well as his mail and sword. Though the mail was slightly uncomfortable to sit in, Gyles wasn't fool enough to venture out into the streets of King's Landing completely unarmored. Handing the stableboy a copper Shield from his own purse, Gyles walked into the tavern with as confident an air as he could muster.
Stepping inside, Gyles saw to his own slight chagrin that he needn't have bothered with such a dramatic entrance. All eyes in the tavern were on three individuals sitting around a table in its center. The three of them all wore black clothing with accents of red, clearly marking them as members of the Queen's retinue. They had all just been served tankards brimming with ale by a serving girl who was all smiles and giggles. The majority of the people in the tavern's common room around them showed enough courtesy as to not crowd around too much, but it was clear to Gyles by overhearing some of their half-hearted conversation that their attention was truly on the three dragonseeds.
It seems that I'm not the only one who sees the opportunity that they leave in their wake, Gyles thought with a small grin. Walking to the bar, he bought himself a tankard of ale, and sat himself in one of the few seats remaining along it. Sipping his ale, Gyles sat as comfortably as he could and waited for his opportunity. When the three dragonseeds were brought steaming meat pies from the kitchens, Gyles ordered one as well, expecting that they would remain for a while yet. They laughed, drank, and ate, and then drank some more. Gyles did the same, never feeling as though he had quite the right opportunity to approach them. Whenever he resolved himself to do so, some other knight or merchant did, all smiles and compliments.
As the night dragged on, Gyles spent some time observing the Queen's dragonriders as he continued to drink. One of them was a young man that Gyles reckoned had only a few less namedays than him, with auburn hair and green eyes that seemed to glitter and flash with every jape and comment that he made. The second was a thin girl with brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes, who with a crooked grin cursed foully enough to make even a grizzled sellsword blush. The third was a very large man about the same age as the other two dragonseeds, with brown hair and blue-grey eyes. He seemed much more reserved than the other two, but still he smiled and occasionally chuckled as the night continued. None of three seemed to bear any resemblance to the otherworldly beauty of the descendants of Valyria that Gyles had heard of, lacking any hint of silver in their hair or purple in their eyes. Seven Hells, I look more the dragonlord with my blond hair and violet eyes than they do.
Watching a small group of knights push open the tavern doors and step outside, Gyles could see that the world beyond was black with night. Enough. You haven't been spending what's left of your coin in this tavern to sit and watch them. Gyles rose from his chair, half-full tankard still in hand, and made to approach their table. He took a moment to steady himself as he swayed slightly. Perhaps I drank more than I expected to. Walking slowly, he crossed the common room towards their table.
Gyles wanted to curse in frustration as he saw another man approaching the table of the dragonseeds. The three had received so many visitors throughout the night that they barely took any notice of the two of them approaching. That man looks remarkably shabby for a tavern of this status, Gyles thought to himself. The tavern was not far from the top of the Hill of Rhaenys, and was therefore of a much greater quality and expense than those located towards the bottom. The other man walked quickly, and approached the large brown-haired dragonseed directly from behind.
Gyles saw a dull flash of steel as the man drew a rusty knife from his sleeve and arced his arm high, preparing to plunge the blade down on the unsuspecting dragonseed that sat with his back to him. The other two seeds' faces contorted into expressions of shock, and Gyles heard a woman somewhere else in the common room scream. Gyles' reaction was instantaneous. He flung the contents of his tankard into the man's face, blinding him. He cursed and spluttered as Gyles dove into him, sending them both sprawling. As he fell, Gyles struck the side of his head on a chair, and stars exploded in his vision as his already ale-addled mind tried to recover from the tumble he'd taken.
Blinking, Gyles saw that the catspaw had recovered first, mopping the ale from his eyes with a frayed sleeve. The man lunged at Gyles with his dagger, but Gyles managed to catch his wrist, before delivering a swift punch between the man's eyes. The man flopped backwards, flailing his dagger in front of himself. Batting the man's arm aside, Gyles drew a sharp steel dirk of his own and plunged it into his gut.
The man cried out, and his whole body convulsed. He dropped his dagger as Gyles leaned in close. "Who sent you?!" Gyles shouted, and when the man didn't answer, he pulled the dirk from his belly and plunged it into his heart. The man screamed before shuddering violently and going completely limp. Pulling his dirk from the man's chest, Gyles wiped it off on the catspaw's tattered cloak before sheathing it. Nearly all in the tavern were on their feet and shouting, and Gyles saw several people running through the door of the tavern into the night. Mayhaps one of them will fetch the Gold Cloaks, but methinks most are trying to avoid any potential trouble.
Pushing himself up to one knee, Gyles placed a hand on a chair to steady himself. The effects of the ale had quickly worn off in the brief but brutal melee, but Gyles' head was throbbing where he had struck it as he fell. Looking up, Gyles saw that the tall brown-haired dragonseed was standing over him. The man reached his hand down to Gyles, and he gratefully accepted it.
With a small grunt, the man pulled Gyles to his feet. "My thanks, Ser," he began, "if not for your heroic intervention I would have surely been killed." Though he spoke well enough, there was no mistaking the accent of a commoner. This man likely never stepped foot in a castle before taming a dragon. The towering seed continued to speak, looking at Gyles with some concern. "I am Ser Maegor, a dragonrider for Her Grace, the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen."
Giving a small smile of his own, and trying not to wince, Gyles inclined his head slightly at the dragonseed's praise. "The pleasure is all mine, Ser Maegor. I am Ser Gyles, of House Yronwood of Yronwood. Only cravens and cutthroats attack their foes from behind, and it appears that this catspaw was both." Hearing the doors of the tavern open, Gyles saw several Gold Cloaks enter the building.
Crossing the room, one of them kicked the catspaw in the side, grunting quietly when the man showed no signs of rising. "This'n is dead for certain." Turning to the three dragonseeds, he bowed. "The folk outside explained to us what happened, Sers. We'll handle this rat from here." The Gold Cloak gave a quick whistle, and two of his comrades lifted the body from the floor, carrying it through the door of the tavern.
Ser Maegor nodded at the other two seeds, who were assuaging the panic of the tavern keeper and assuring him that they would not report him or his establishment to the Queen. "If you'd like to accompany us outside, Ser Gyles Yronwood, I'll introduce you to my comrades." Gyles nodded quickly, wincing at how the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his head. He followed Ser Maegor into the street outside the tavern.
Walking to the small stable against the side of the structure, Gyles and Ser Maegor were quickly joined by the other two dragonseeds. At this hour of the night, only the four of them stood within the stables. "Ser Gyles Yronwood, meet two of Queen Rhaenyra's other dragonseeds, Ser Gaemon and Lady Nettles."
The red-haired seed, Ser Gaemon, nodded in respect at Gyles. "My thanks, Ser Gyles Yronwood. We are fortunate that you intervened on behalf of Ser Maegor. None of us expected such an attempt to be made on any of our lives."
The girl Nettles snorted, looking at the three knights standing around her with a grim expression. "We should all have seen this coming. I didn't think that the Sot had the fucking stones to try something like this, though." She merely rolled her eyes when Ser Maegor cleared his throat and gave her a pointed glare. It seems she said something that he thought I should not have been privy to.
Ser Gaemon grinned sardonically. "A few drops of ale and she's already running her mouth." He laughed when Nettles scoffed at him, holding up his hands in a mollifying gesture.
Ser Maegor had a small grin on his face as he watched the interaction between the other two dragonseeds, but quickly turned back to face Gyles with a much more serious expression. "My apologies, Ser. Make no mistake, I am in your debt for saving my life. Though I'm not a nobleman, and have only a small stipend from the Queen as one of her dragonriders, I will happily do what I can to repay the debt I owe." Gyles felt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the dragonseed spoke. My chance has finally arrived.
The morning air was brisk and cool as Gyles ascended Aegon's High Hill on Evenfall. At his side rode Ser Maegor, and a short distance behind them was Mors on his spotted rounsey. Having spent nearly his whole life in the saddle, Gyles was a very skilled rider, and he felt as though he had an eye for the horse-riding skills of others. Though Ser Maegor was a dragonrider, it seemed to Gyles that he likely was more comfortable and confident on his dragon than the powerful gelding that he currently rode.
By the way he clutches his reins, it seems that the poor man is half-terrified that his mount will throw him at any moment. Many Dornishmen prided themselves on their eye for horseflesh, with the breeding and riding of sand steeds being a valued and cherished pastime south of the Red Mountains. Geldings were much less aggressive than stallions, and far easier to train and ride.
Though Ser Maegor rode a warhorse, Gyles could tell that it seemed to be a quite placid creature, with none of the tempestuous spirit and fire that had initially drawn Gyles to his own sand steed stallion, Evenfall. It is likely that Ser Maegor was given that mount for a reason. From what Gyles had observed, the dragonseeds were of lowborn or bastard birth, and therefore had little to no experience with more lordly activities like horseback riding. It wouldn't do for the Queen's dragonriders to be falling from their horses into the dirt, so they've been given some of the most well-trained and calm horses from the royal stables.
The Red Keep's main gates loomed above the three men as they reached and crossed the cobbled square at the crest of Aegon's High Hill. There was lots of activity within the square, made up mostly of Gold Cloaks keeping watch, as well as various knights, sellswords, and other individuals desperate for an audience within the walls of the castle itself. With a new Queen ruling from the Red Keep, many are desperate to swear their swords and win her favor. Gyles didn't blame them. I'm one of them, after all. Swearing your sword to a monarch in a time of crisis meant that you would be liable to receive great boons from them when the crisis ended, as the monarch expressed their gratitude to all of their leal servants.
Or your head ends up on a spike for fighting for the losing side, Gyles thought as he regarded several heads atop black iron spikes between the gatehouse crenels. Gyles knew that one of them belonged to the uncle of the usurper Aegon, a Hightower who had been second-in-command of the City Watch of King's Landing. According to rumors, he had been killed by his own commander as the city fell and the Gold Cloaks went over to the Queen and her husband, the Prince-consort Daemon. The other heads belonged to the City Watch gate captains who had been appointed by the usurper, and were similarly killed by their own men.
Reaching the raised massive bronze portcullis that was the main gate of the Red Keep, Gyles, Ser Maegor, and Mors reined in their mounts as a knight and several Gold Cloaks approached them. Inclining his head in respect at Ser Maegor, the knight began to speak. "Well met, Ser. How can I be of service?"
Nodding in the direction of Gyles and Mors, Maegor responded to the knight. "This knight that I am escorting, Ser Gyles Yronwood, saved my life the night previous when a catspaw attempted to murder me. He wishes to swear his sword to the Queen's service, and I am here to vouch for him personally."
The knight considered Maegor's words for a moment, before nodding and stepping aside, motioning for the Gold Cloaks with him to do the same. "Go right ahead then, Sers. The stableboys beyond the gate will see to your mounts." Thanking the knight, Ser Maegor rode beneath the Red Keep's gate, and Gyles and Mors followed closely behind.
As he passed beneath the bronze portcullis, Gyles felt a sense of elation. I've finally made it. As they handed off their mounts to several stableboys, a steward in black and red livery made his way over to the trio, bowing deeply. "If you'll follow me, Sers, I will take you to the Queen. She is currently holding court from the throne room." Gyles and Ser Maegor followed in the wake of the servant, who managed to walk in a hurry without losing an ounce of decorum or exquisite etiquette. So lost was Gyles in his own anticipation and jubilation, that the halls and stairways he was led through all seemed to pass by in a blur.
It almost came as a surprise to him when he rounded a corner and was suddenly faced with giant doors of bronze and oak. They were closed, and a sizable group of men was gathered before them. Some wore doublets and armor like Gyles, while others were dressed much more simply, in jerkins and ringmail. It seems I am only one out of many here to swear themselves to the Queen's cause.
Looking at all of the different sigils on the doublets of the knights before the doors, Gyles saw a multitude of different animals, objects, and other shapes. Some of the knights like Gyles had the look of men of noble birth, with high-quality plate armor that gleamed in the dim light of the corridor. Others were clearly hedge knights, wearing armor that was tarnished and dented from a life spent on the road.
Turning to face Gyles, Ser Maegor, and Mors, the steward bowed deeply. Nodding at Gyles, he gestured to the group of knights and other swords lining up before the doors to the throne room. "Those swearing directly to the Queen's service are to line up there. Their own attendants and sworn men, as well as observers, are to wait until the main group enters, before filing into the wings of the Great Hall to watch." Nodding, Ser Maegor and Mors stepped back to join a much larger pool of attendants, squires, and other courtiers wishing to observe the ceremony.
Striding up to the line in front of the doors, Gyles cleared his throat to get the attention of a frazzled-looking herald in black and red who was determining which man would stand where in the procession, asking each for his name and place of origin. The man turned to Gyles and looked him over quickly. The herald clearly recognized his sigil, based on the way that his mouth fell open briefly in shock before he schooled his face into a neutral expression. "Am I correct that you are an Yronwood of Dorne, Ser?" the man asked.
Gyles saw the other men in the line eyeing him critically as he responded to the herald. "That is correct, my good man. I am Ser Gyles Yronwood, from Yronwood in Dorne." Gyles heard several indistinct mutters and exclamations at his proclamation. A Dornishman is the last person that they'd expect to be fighting for either side, much less for the royal family. The herald considered Gyles for a moment, before gesturing for him to take a place towards the middle of the line.
Gyles had not been expecting to lead the group, but his placement in the line shocked him. It appears that I've been placed just before the hedge knights and sellswords. Gyles was not vain enough to expect to lead the procession, for surely there were knights from powerful Houses within the dragon kings' own realm that would receive the honor of standing in such a place. He was surprised, however, to be placed behind knights that had the look of younger sons of minor landed knights. The herald recognized the sigil of my House, which means he knows how powerful the Yronwoods are in Dorne. Despite that, Gyles had been placed behind any man who had even a hint of a family name, surely many of whom belonged to Houses of far less prestige and status as House Yronwood.
They mean to slight me. My House has ruled from their castle since the Dawn Age, yet they place me just before hedge knights and sellswords. Gyles could feel the rage growing within himself. To simply be allowed entrance to the castle, I had to save the life of one of the Queen's dragonriders. Even now, they mean to make a jape of the Dornishman. Nothing I do is enough to make these damn people treat me with any respect. Gyles was pulled from his thoughts as the doors to the Great Hall were opened, and he forced the anger and frustration deep within himself. They can try to slight me however they wish. Nothing they do will keep me from being the soul of chivalry and etiquette when it is my turn to swear to the Queen.
Gyles stood tall and proud as each man ahead of him was announced, at which point they would move forward from the line to kneel before the Iron Throne. And what a throne it is. Gyles had heard rumors of the seat sat by the dragon kings, forged from the swords of the warriors of the kingdoms that they conquered. I wouldn't find any Dornish swords among them, Gyles thought with a grim smile. Perched atop the throne was the Queen herself, Rhaenyra Targaryen. Now this is an heir of Valyria. She sat proudly and imperiously in a flowing black dress with patterns of red silk, and its bodice was awash with glittering red rubies. As each man swore to her, she would nod before stating a short few words to accept their fealty.
As the man who had stood just ahead of Gyles finished swearing his sword to the Queen, Gyles felt anticipation roiling in his gut. "Ser Gyles Yronwood, of Yronwood in Dorne!" the herald called, and Gyles strode forward, not feeling nearly as self-assured as he was presenting himself to be. He could feel the eyes of those in the hall boring into him as he approached the throne, and dropped to one knee before it.
Keeping his head low and eyes downcast, Gyles called out the words that he had been rehearsing again and again in his head. "My Queen, my sword is yours, if you will have it. I will be your leal man, if you will have me. I, Ser Gyles Yronwood, do solemnly swear myself to your cause!" Hearing no words of assent after several long moments, Gyles chanced a look up at the Queen on her throne.
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen was looking down towards him, with an unreadable expression on her face. Gyles met her gaze, refusing to look away. I am an Yronwood of Dorne. I will not cringe or cower, even in the face of dragons. The Queen then began to speak. "Rise, Ser Gyles Yronwood. I am told that you are to thank for the life of one of mine own dragonriders. Since my family has ruled this kingdom, Dorne and its noble families have been an enemy of all in this realm. But you yourself have already proven that you are willing and able to fight for my cause. In these times of uncertainty, a man of proven loyalty is worth his weight in gold. I will gladly accept your sword to my cause."
Stunned, Gyles numbly thanked the Queen for her kindness and praise. He stood and made his way over to the wings of the Great Hall, as the Queen regarded the next kneeling knight before her throne. After a few moments, Mors and Ser Maegor had joined him. Mors merely nodded at him, but Gyles could see the approval in his squire's eyes. Ser Maegor firmly shook Gyles' hand, before whispering quietly. "Congratulations, Ser. I am sure you will prove a great boon to our cause."
Gyles gave the dragonrider a genuine smile. "It should be I thanking you, Ser Maegor. This would not have been possible had you not vouched for me. It is now myself that is in your debt."
The dragonrider grinned back at him. "I shall have to keep that in mind, Ser." With that, the both of them turned back to continue watching the ceremony. At least Ser Maegor saw my worth, when all others refused to even consider it. He thought of the vow that he had made, and the commitment that it meant. Before, I was merely an outsider, an interloper looking in on everything from the exterior. He thought of the blood that was sure to be shed in his future. I'm well and truly a part of all of this now. I will live or die beneath the banner of the Dragon Queen.
A/N: Thank you everyone for your continued support of this story! We appreciate all of the feedback, and find it a great inspiration as the story continues. If you have any thoughts or comments about A Tale of Two Dragons, we encourage you to post them.