Barristan III
The salty breeze from Blackwater Bay rustled Ser Barristan's white cloak. The wooden planks creaked underfoot, and the cries of gulls echoed through the air as the waves gently smashed against the hulls of ships. The bustling port of King's Landing was alive with activity. Ships from across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond the Narrow Sea danced in the water, their sails snapping in the wind. Merchants shouted their wares, sailors hauled crates of goods, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and fish. Some yards from Selmy stood Stannis Baratheon. Stannis was a large man—tall and broad-shouldered—and looked as unyielding as the grey sea in front of him. A simple-dressed man approached him, and Barristan's hand was resting on his hilt. ''Do not bother, Ser Barristan.'' Stannis said.
The man wore a simple brown and green wool mantle with old boots and brown breeches, with thinning hair and brown eyes. ''Lord Stannis.'' The man spoke.
''I know what I am asking of you is not easy, but I know you are capable.'' Stannis began.
''I owe everything to you, m'lord. You gave me a second chance when others would not.'' The man answered.
''I wish you the best of luck. Do not fail me.''
''I won't.'' The man answered determinately. As the man turned to board the trading ship, he cast one last look at Stannis, his loyalty evident in his eyes. The crew of the cog moved with practiced efficiency, preparing to cast off.
''Do you trust him, my lord?'' Barristan asked, his voice low and respectful.
Stannis' eyes never left the man as he boarded the ship. ''With my life, Ser Barristan. Few men in this world are as true as Davos Seaworth.''
Barristan nodded slowly as Stannis turned around to face him. His look was pure iron. ''Did you find anything?'' Stannis asked.
''Nothing, my lord. They might not know anything,'' Barristan replied.
Stannis gritted his teeth. ''Or they do, but refuse to divulge.'' He paused, breaking eye contact and looking behind Ser Barristan. Barristan turned and saw the royal steward approaching.
''Ser Barristan. Lord Stannis. Lord Arryn has summoned both of you to a meeting of the small council.'' The steward said,.
The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, sat down at the outer edge of the long table inside the Small Council chamber, and Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sat down along with the rest of King Robert's advisors at their respective seats after him. Selmy saw that Arryn's face was a mask of concern and contemplation. The assembled members of the Small Council watched him, each displaying varying degrees of impatience and intrigue.
''Any word of Viserys Targaryen?'' The Hand of the King asked.
''None, Lord Hand. My little birds still cannot find the location of Viserys Targaryen or Ser Gerold Hightower. His sister Daenerys was last seen heading to Vaes Dothrak with her new husband, Khal Drogo.''
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully. ''How could this have happened? The boy is under constant watch, is he not?''
Jon Arryn sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. ''And you are certain the boy yet lives?''
''Most certainly. The birds sing loudly and clearly on that matter. Viserys Targaryen has vanished from Pentos, and it appears that the Master of Coin's endeavours have proven... unavailing.'' The spider said he was somewhat amused as his head turned from Arryn to Baelish.
Baelish's smile was thin. ''Carried out under the King's command, yet it seems our agents in Pentos proved less than effective.''
Stannis' eyes narrowed. ''Less than effective? Call it what it is—they failed. And this failure could cost us dearly.''
''Indeed, my lord. The consequences could be most dire. He will surely know we are to blame. Should Viserys Targaryen find allies, he could become a threat that cannot be ignored.'' Varys butted in, his voice soft and polite.
Pycelle's old voice wavered as he spoke. ''And what of the repercussions in Pentos? The magisters will surely not look favourably upon assassination attempts carried out within their borders. Such actions could strain relations with the Free Cities.''
Littlefinger's polite smile did not waver. ''Regrettable, yes. But necessary risks were taken. The King was quite clear in his orders.''
''What about his sister? And this Khal Drogo?'' The Hand spoke, his voice steady.
''Yes, an interesting match. Daenerys Targaryen and a rather formidable Dothraki Khal. It certainly changes the game, does it not?'' Littlefinger examined.
''We must presume that the warlord has allied himself with the Beggar King. The timing of the marriage, so soon after Viserys's apparent recovery, promises must have been made.'' Stannis declared.
Varys nodded thoughtfully. ''Khal Drogo commands tens of thousands of fierce riders. Should he decide to cross the Narrow Sea, the realm will surely bleed.''
Jon Arryn's face darkened. ''A Dothraki khalasar, allied with a Targaryen, most likely heartened and aware of our meddling.'' Jon Arryn said with a heavy sigh. ''Our hands are tied now. We must find a way to root out Viserys Targaryen before he becomes a true threat.''
Stannis Baratheon leaned forward, his gaze burning into Baelish. ''You and your agents brought this chaos upon us, and so it falls to you to mend it. Find him.''
''Of course, measures are already in place.''
Barristan Selmy shifted in his seat; he did not feel he had anything of value to add, like so many other times during Small Council meetings. The only time he added anything these days was when Arryn enquired about the newest member of the Kingsguard. Barristan had suggested summoning Ser Loras Tyrell and having The Knight of Flowers begin his trail, while he was courteous and thirsty for glory. Barristan found out from other knights that he could be short-tempered and impetuous. No one doubted his ability with a sword, though, and he came from noble stock. A son of a Lord Paramount that would heal and bind the Reach closer to the Iron Throne. The King had firmly rejected the suggestion, though, saying that he did not want 'The Fat Flower of Highgarden' or his flowers anywhere near him. Barristan did not understand his unwillingness to bring them to the fold, but he suspected it had to do with their loyalty during the Rebellion.
Jon Arryn broke the short silence that had fallen on the Small Council. ''With Renly's passing, we must appoint a new Master of Laws.''
Stannis' face looked even more stern now. ''Eddard Stark would be a good choice. His honour is beyond question; he would have a keen mind for the law and justice.'' Barristan nodded, agreeing with his statement. Varys and Littefinger kept their faces neutral, not giving away anything.
Jon Arryn sighed, a sad expression taking hold on his face. ''I agree. But I don't think Ned would leave Winterfell, with his heir being so young.'' While The Hand failed to mention the frosty relationship that had taken hold between his two fostersons and how it would most definitely play a role whenever Stark would accept or not, the expression on his face betrayed his thoughts.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked affronted at the Hand's statement. ''Robert is his king; who is he to deny such a summons?''
Baelish's lips curled into a barely noticeable smile. ''Might I propose, Lord Randyll Tarly? His reputation for his strict adherence to the law and his military prowess make him a worthy candidate.''
Varys tilted his head slightly. ''Randyll Tarly could prove a formidable choice, but his harsh methods might not endear him to all. Is it not better to consider someone who can better balance firmness with diplomacy?''
Pycelle nodded slowly. ''Yes, and we need someone with a deep understanding of the law. Lord Tywin, perhaps? Or his brother, Ser Kevan? They are well-versed in legal matters, and both have a fair reputation.''
Jon Arryn listened to all of the council's suggestions before he turned to Barristan. ''What do you think, Ser Barristan?''
Barristan's eyes widened slightly; he did not expect to have any say in a matter such as this. He shifted in his seat, the white armour singing as he did so. ''I agree with Lord Stannis. Stark would be the best choice, but after the sack..." He paused once he noticed Arryn's eyes narrowed dangerously. He thinks it, but does not want to say or hear it. Barristan thought grimly. He coughed before continuing. ''Lord Tarth perhaps; he is from the Stormlands, and he is a good man.''
The Hand of the King's expression softened. ''Lord Selwyn?'' He said, looking as though he tasted the very words. ''Yes, he is a sound candidate.''
''Anyhow, my lord Hand. I would suggest halting the recruitment. The tourney at Harrenhal commences within a few moons, and many lords have already written back to us confirming their attendance. We might find our Master of Laws there.'' Varys said.
Jon Arryn was about to make a reply but was interrupted by a servant entering the small council chamber. The servant looked nervous and waited for Arryn to give her permission to speak. ''M'lord, your lady wife requested that you see her.''
''We are in the middle of a meeting, Miranda. Tell Lysa that I will see her as soon as I am able.'' Arryn replied.
''She said that it was urgent, m'lord. That your son was not feeling well.''
The hand's white eyebrows rose, while Barristan noted that Baelish's head tilted slightly. ''Has she seen a maester?'' Lord Arryn asked.
''I don't know, m'lord.''
Jon Arryn looked at her for a few seconds before he rose. ''This meeting is adjourned. Grand Maester, come with me.''
The meeting had drawn to a close, and Ser Barristan found himself hearing his own armoured footsteps as he walked through Maegor's Holdfast, shadowing Stannis Baratheon. Barristan's gaze was vigilant, scanning the surroundings with the seasoned wariness of a knight who had seen many dangers. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a silent assurance of readiness. As they turned a corner, they were met by Petyr Baelish holding various books close to himself that could only be his accounting books while conversing with a tall and muscular man. The man had a hook nose and a spade-shaped beard. One of the Kettleblack brothers, Barristan thought.
''Lord Stannis.'' Petyr Baelish was greeted as the Kettleblack brother bowed and took his leave.
''Baelish.'' Stannis acknowledged. He was about to continue walking and pass him, clearly not interested in indulging the man in further conversation.
''If we could speak alone, I've been told that you might have some questions.'' Baelish said carefully.
Stannis' eyes narrowed; his blue eyes were a fierce storm. ''You're dismissed, Ser Barristan.'' Stannis said it firmly, after some silence. Barristan bowed and turned to head towards the White Sword tower, leaving Stannis with Petyr Baelish.
As he approached the chambers of King Robert Baratheon on his way to the White Sword Tower, he was surprised to find Ser Jaime Lannister alone, standing guard outside the heavy wooden doors. The Kingslayer leaned casually against the wall, his golden hair catching the light of the torches that lined the corridor. Numerous moans, giggles, and other sounds of fleshy pleasure could be heard from inside the king's chambers. Barristan frowned slightly as he approached, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. Jaime noticed his approach and straightened, a wry smile playing on his lips.
''Ser Barristan,'' Ser Jaime greeted him, his tone light but tinged with a hint of sarcasm. ''To what do I owe this honour?''
Barristan's gaze was steady as he stopped a few paces from Jaime. ''Ser Jaime. I was not aware that you were on duty outside the King's chambers today.''
Jaime Lannister's smile widened, but the amusement did not match his eyes. ''The King was very insistent that I alone guard him today.''
Barristan's expression remained stoic, though his eyes softened with a touch of concern. ''It is unusual to be posted outside the king's chambers alone. The King's safety is paramount.''
''I'm well aware; do you wish to speak with him about it?'' Ser Jaime asked, his voice still full of irony.
Barristan Selmy sighed. ''You seem tired, and vigilance is needed. The king's enemies are many. I can relieve you; you should rest.''
Jaime's expression grew more serious, his playful demeanour giving way to something harder. ''I'm well aware of the King's dangers, Lord Commander. I thank you for the offer, but I can handle this.''
Barristan inclined his head, accepting the response. ''Very well. If you require assistance or need to be relieved, you need only ask.''
Jaime's lips curled into a faint, genuine smile. ''I'll keep that in mind.''
Just then did the King's chambers open, and two women, half-clothed, exited, full of giggles and smiles. The Kingslayer rolled his eyes, while Barristan reached for the doorknob to close the door.
''Selmy! Get in here!'' King Robert roared once he noticed him. Barristan entered his chambers dutifully. He noticed Ser Jaime's smug smile as he closed the door for him. The scent of spiced wine mingled with the smell of recent pleasures.
''Your Grace.'' Barristan bowed.
''The Targaryen boy? Has there been any word?'' Robert asked impatiently.
''None, Your Grace.'' Barristan replied.
The king's face fell, and fury took hold of him. ''Fucking cunts!'' he roared as he threw an empty cup to the wall. ''I want him dead, Ser Barristan.'' He continued loudly. ''Do you hear? I want... I...'' He began to mumble, eventually sinking into one of the chairs inside the royal chamber. His face was red, a mixture of anger and melancholy as an expression. The room was eerily silent. Barristan's eyes were fixed on his king with a mixture of concern and unwavering loyalty. King Robert picked up another cup and poured himself some spiced wine before downing it and slamming it down on the table beside him.
''Do you know what I saw when Tywin Lannister brought me the bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys?'' Barristan's eyes widened, never expecting him to talk about this. Let alone Barristan himself. ''Those tiny, broken bodies? Wrapped prettily in that damned Lannister crimson?''
Barristan remained silent. You called them 'dragonspawn'. Barristan thought grimly, but he did not say that. Instead, he approached him, somewhat weary. Robert continued, though: ''I didn't see victory; I didn't see glory. I only saw shame.'' He said, muddled.
''Your Grace, I-...''
''Gods, how did I get here? My own children, Barristan, they think me some kind of hero, that I fought and bled for the damn realm. Fuck the realm; I fought for Lyanna, and look where it got me. A crown I never wanted, seven kingdoms I can't rule, a legacy soaked in blood, and a brother who paid the price for my mistakes.''
He reached for the goblet again but paused, his hand trembling slightly. ''I remember those days with Ned, fighting side by side. There was purpose, and there was honour. And now? Now I sit on a throne of swords, surrounded by liars, schemers, and arse-lickers.''
He paused, about to down the goblet of wine, but he hesitated and ended up just looking at the liquid before tossing it away.
''I miss Ned. My friend. He would understand. He'd know what to do. Gods, how I long to just put my crown aside, to cross the Narrow Sea, and to live as we once did. To fight and fuck and feel alive.''
King Robert looked back at Barristan, his eyes filled with desperate longing. ''I never wanted this, Barristan. I only wanted Lyanna back, my beloved. I wanted the Mad King punished for his heinous crimes, and I wanted Rhaegar to look me in the eyes and tell me why he took her away from me before I killed him. I never wanted the crown; Rhaegar's son could have ruled, or Stannis or even Ned; gods know they would've done a better job of it.''
He paused, getting louder. ''But after the Trident, everyone looked at me like I was the king all of a sudden!'' He roared, punching his chest.
Barristan remained silent, not knowing what to say.
''When they brought those bodies, I felt relieved. Because now everyone thought me a king. And my crown. And my life. And the lives of my children would have never been safe as long as any Targaryen lived. And then I felt only shame—shame for the relief I felt. And Ned, with his damned northern honour, was too blind to see what Lord Tywin saw—what I saw once they put that damned crown upon my head. So I pushed my friend away and turned a blind eye, cursed my only friend and his honour, and called those children 'Dragonspawn'. This crown, this throne—they're a curse.'' Robert despaired; his speech still slurred from all the drinking.
''The burdens of kingship are heavy,'' Barristan decided to say. ''But your people look to you for guidance and strength. You can still find a purpose in this, even here.''
Robert's shoulders still slumped. ''Purpose.'' He chuckled sadly. ''A fine word for a fat, drunken king.''
He rose, walking towards one of the windows inside the king's royal chamber, and gazed across Blackwater Bay. ''Ser Barristan, do not speak of this to anyone. That's an order,'' he finally said.
Barristan straightened himself and bowed his head slightly. ''Of course. I stand with you, Your Grace. You have my sword, now and always.''
Robert nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. ''I know, my friend. And that means more than you'll ever know.''
As Barristan turned to leave the royal chamber, he could not help but think of Jaehaerys II. Many considered him weak because of his delicate health, but Barristan could not disagree more. Jaehaerys' reign only lasted three years, but he reigned well in those short years. He proved a capable king, restoring order to the kingdom, ending the Blackfyre threat, and reconciling many of the Great Houses who had grown unhappy with his father Aegon the Unlikely's reign. He had once told Barristan that true happiness for a king was a fleeting thing, often drowned beneath duty, and Selmy did not truly understand what he was saying until now. King Robert Baratheon was a man of absolute power. Yet powerless to achieve absolute happiness.