Chapter Text
Brienne
To stand among the realm’s greatest Kingsguard was madness, and Brienne could not understand why the gods deemed her worthy. At present, they were in the godswood with Bran Stark at their back. The young, though peculiar, man sat quietly in his wheelchair near the weirwood tree.
Stranger than the circumstances was seeing Jaime at age five-and-ten. More than his restored swordhand, Brienne was taken aback by his youth. Seeing Jaime as he was only two years before killing a madman made Brienne empathize with him that much more. He had been left alone to do what grown men could not.
The Mad King had appointed a boy to the Kingsgaurd purely to control Tywin Lannister. Little did Aerys know that he set into motion the hourglass of his own demise. Jaime was destined for greatness, and unlike his sworn brothers who clung desperately to oaths made to a madman, Jaime had been unafraid to act as a knight first and Kingsguard second.
An incredible sense of pride overcame Brienne at the approving reactions of the realm’s greatest Kingsguard. After preparing for battle, they had all approached Jaime individually to voice approval for what he had done. Receiving validation from Aemon the Dragonknight and Duncan the Tall had rendered Jaime speechless, but obtaining the approval and respect of Arthur had caused Jaime to cry on Brienne’s shoulder.
All he had ever wanted was approval and support for his decision. Before the Long Night came, Barristan had given his upon learning the truth, and the aged knight had fought at Jaime’s side every day since, going so far as to take a dagger for Jaime early in the war.
Now they were all young and in their prime. According to Jaime, Arthur and Barristan had been evenly matched if the Sword of the Morning set Dawn aside in the yards, but with his ancestral sword in hand, Arthur was unstoppable.
Glancing around at their group, Brienne considered that Arthur and Barristan sparring together would be nothing compared to the current group testing their mettle against one another. Further, they all held superior steel, and it had been Arthur’s first order of business when they stepped outside.
“Selmy… lets finally put to rest any question as to who the greatest swordsman is. You have Valyrian steel in your hand now.” A mischievous sparkle shone in Arthur’s eyes as he slung an arm over Barristan’s shoulders. “You’re also of age to me, so when I best you, you can’t even blame it on my youthful advantage.”
“Best swordsman!?” Aemon shoved his way over. “Ser Ryam is among us, Sers. Are you boys half-mad?”
Barristan put up defensive hands and shook his head frantically. “I don’t even know this man. I aim only to follow my orders and kill the Others.”
“Traitor!” Arthur guffawed before addressing Aemon while pointing at both Jaime and Barristan. “I served with these two, and King Aerys’ Kingsguard was regarded as the finest the realm had ever seen.” Arthur reached across Barristan and tugged Jaime forward. “This one here… youngest Kingsguard ever appointed, and I’d wager he bests you, Ser Aemon. Don’t get me wrong, ser, tales of your prowess were acted out by every boy across the Seven Kingdoms, myself included. I don’t doubt that you could best me, but this one here? Well, with time comes change, ser. This is the most natural swordsman you’ll yet face.”
Intrigue tugged at Aemon’s features, and for not the first time that night, Brienne’s heart flooded with warmth for Jaime. He was a boy among his idols, and they not only accepted him, but they respected him. With an agreeing nod, Aemon appraised Jaime. “I should like the challenge once we restore the light, ser. A tourney among the gods declared best.”
“The Lord of Light has chosen you. Your gods illuminate only the path towards darkness.” The red priestess approached with Daenerys at her side, and above the Red Keep, Drogon flew lazily in the sky. “Raise your swords.”
Seven stood in defense of life itself. Their white cloaks billowed in the wind and steel caught the moonlight, casting a blue glow to the steel. The red priestess pulled Daenerys by the wrist and took out a concealed dagger from her robes. Without warning, the woman sliced into Daenerys’ palm, and blood dripped from the queen’s hand.
Barristan did not care for that, and he pointed Blackfyre at the woman, but her whispered words stilled his blade. “There is power in king’s blood.” Placing Daenerys’ hand over Blackfyre’s edge, the red priestess began to chant as blood dripped down the blade’s edge. Flames soon licked the steel as the priestess chanted in a foreign tongue, and the other swords caught the same glow. With their swords blazing, the red priestess appraised them all. “Valar morghulis.”
All but Jaime and Brienne replied, “Valar dohaeris”. Brienne’s brows furrowed and her eyes appraised the other knights who had served during the near three-hundred year reign of House Targaryen.
To stand beside her great-grandfather when he was just a man of forty was mind boggling. To fight among the Sword of the Morning, the Dragonknight, and Barristan the Bold in their prime felt comically absurd. To be older than Jaime and nearly of age to Ser Ryam Redwyne was surreal. Were it not for moon turns spent watching dragons fly and dead things claw at her, Brienne would think it a maddened dream; an absurd dream from which there is no waking.
Brienne watched as the red priestess moved away from the godswood and into the mist. She claimed that she would die that night, but there was one thing she had left to do in the living’s war against death. Only Daenerys remained among the knights and Bran as Drogon lowered from the sky. With a final appraisal of the seven before her, the queen forced a tight smile and nodded. “She has her god, but keep your own faith this night. Pray to whatever god or gods you need to draw strength. Help me restore light to the realm.”
Before Daenerys left, she pulled Barristan into a firm embrace. They had a bond akin to the one Brienne had forged with Sansa. Daenerys had only one Queensguard, and when last Brienne saw Barristan, he was bleeding out in the field after saving his queen. No doubt the once aged knight would have thought it a worthy death, but Brienne hoped they all survived now.
When Daenerys was naught but a dot in the sky on the back of Drogon, Brienne felt the enormity of the situation weigh heavy on her shoulders. Jaime shifted on his feet and his eyes slowly lifted to Brienne’s face. At one five-and-ten, he still had an inch or so to grow to reach his final height. “If we win, do you suppose we’ll remain like this?”
Brienne noticed Jaime’s fingers, the fingers of his restored sword hand, tightening around the hilt of Widow’s Wail . The answer was as unknown as the outcome of the battle. Would the dead Kingsguard return to the Stranger? Would the living knights among them awake on the morrow with their proper age restored? Would Jaime’s sword hand be replaced with gold once more?
There was no appropriate reply other than to reach for his shoulder. The hope in his eyes mirrored his youth, and Brienne wanted to hug him tightly. “Let's stay alive first.”
Jaime huffed a small laugh and turned his attention back towards the darkness stretching out before them. “Yes, of course. This is fine. Entirely normal even. I’m fighting beside men whose accomplishments I grew up reading about and reenacting; most deeds occuring decades or centuries before I was born.” Jaime sighed, and Brienne felt a cool breeze roll up Aegon’s Hill.
For an hour, the distant sounds of battle drifted closer, and Brienne could see the dragons dueling in the sky, but no sign of the true enemy came. Arthur pestered Barristan for details on all he had missed after his death, and Aemon and Ryam spoke of kings long dead.
Brienne took the time to question her great-grandfather. She learned more about Ser Duncan in that hour than she did from any tales her father had offered, though in fairness, Selwyn had only been fifteen when the man died, and Duncan’s visits to the island were infrequent.
Duncan struck Brienne as a humble man with a fierce loyalty to the king he had served. ‘Egg’, he had called his king, and the warmth in Duncan's eyes when he spoke of the man reflected the bond he formed with his king in life. “He was a good squire, but a better king.”
The comment reminded Brienne of Pod, and tears formed in her eyes. “I had a squire once. He’d have made an incredible knight, but he was an even better man.”
Duncan smiled softly and nodded. “What became of him?”
“He died saving Lady Sansa Stark. When we lost the battle for Winterfell, we had many women, children, and non-fighters in the crypts. I feared we wouldn’t get to them in time, and the main path out became blocked. We had to fight our way through the darkness, and through tunnels partially-collapsed at some points. The dead gave chase, and just as we neared the end of the tunnel, moonlight pouring through the exit and promising sanctuary, they caught us. Lady Sansa had fallen behind while carrying a young boy, and one of the Others grabbed her. Pod didn’t even hesitate, but I was too close to the front of the lines, ensuring no dead awaited us at the exit. He saved her when I couldn’t be there to protect her. I was her sworn sword.”
At Brienne’s side, Jaime reached over and squeezed Brienne’s free hand. He had reassured her on many nights as Brienne cried herself to sleep. They had lost many good men and women to the dead. The hardest part was burning the children they couldn’t save; boys and girls who had been far too young to meet the Stranger, and the babes who had never known the light.
Brienne wanted to avenge them all. Dragons, warriors, and priestesses had united against the darkness. She would fight to her last breath that night, and if the sun never again touched the land, Brienne would die knowing that the living had done all they could.
An incredible chill cut through the godswood, and the breath of the living pushed out in puffs of condensation. Brienne knew what was near as she had faced it already. Only she, Jaime, and Barristan were familiar with the enemy moving up Aegon’s Hill, and those among them understood as much. Arthur spoke quietly as he stared into the darkness. “Barristan… if you have any final advice, now would be the time.”
“Yes, try not to die. I’d rather not face you in wight form.” If Brienne didn’t fear that very thing happening, she might have laughed at Barristan’s words.
Swords raised high, and puffs of breath came faster and harder from the realm’s seven. If the White Walkers are here, the living are losing down below.
Letting go of Jaime’s hand for the first time that night, Brienne gripped Oathkeeper with two hands.
Aemon
Fog rolled in over the snowy hill they stood upon. A hill he had grown up playing on. Awaking in the White Sword Tower as though he had only closed his eyes hours earlier for a nap was as jarring as what came towards Aemon now. As a boy, Aemon heard the tales of dead things and darkness. If stories were to be believed, his distant kin, Queen Alysanne Targaryen, had flown to the Wall and seen true horrors, but no such threat moved south during Aemon’s lifetime.
Now Aemon stood in the darkness surrounded by men, and a woman, unknown to him, and he considered that, if the red priestess was to be believed, he stood among the realm’s greatest Kingsguard to ever wear the white cloak. From what he learned, Ser Brienne’s Kingsguard cloak had not been white, though Aemon thought it fitting that the first female knight would wear a Kingsguard cloak of a different color. Much had changed in the kingdoms since Aemon last drew breath, but perhaps not all change was bad.
At first, Aemon struggled to believe it all. When Queen Daenerys stormed down the stairs from the third level of the White Sword Tower, Aemon thought that Naerys had finally found him in the eternal darkness. Instead, Aemon saw the future, which according to everyone around him, was the present. The very dark, cold, threatening present.
In the fog rolling towards them, Aemon saw something take shape. Blue eyes cut through the mist and sent an involuntary shiver down Aemon’s spine. He did not fear death considering he had already met the Stranger, but as he did in life, Aemon feared failure. Failure to protect. Failure to succeed. Failure to do his duty.
His hands tightened around Dark Sister as his body shifted into a fighting stance. Thirteen figures stepped forward from the mist. Thirteen to their seven. If I truly stand among the best, this should be entirely feasible.
The young knight named Barristan stepped forward; his face determined and his eyes steel. Without looking back, he spoke to their group. “The wights die easy, but they will distract you from the true enemy.” That was when Aemon saw them. What felt like a thousand dead eyes emerged behind thirteen creatures so tall and pale that Aemon could be convinced they were statues.
What the hells are those things? Humans in various stages of decay began to limp towards them as the thirteen held back in the mist; their faces expressionless, though they almost smirking. The three Kingsguard who had never met the Stranger moved first in what appeared a dance all too familiar.
As to the four of them who were recently as dead as the enemy they now faced, they stood gaping for a brief moment before surging ahead to join the chaos of battle. The first wight that died by Aemon’s sword set off a spark that he thought to have been extinguished for eternity. In life, Aemon always felt aflame when fighting.
Some Targaryens fancied themselves dragons, but Aemon only felt capable of becoming fire when battling an enemy. Everything about battle made Aemon feel the physical embodiment of fire. His limbs held a deep burn, his stomach felt to hold a pit of fire, and his eyes danced with violet flames. Aemon had always fought with an overwhelming resolve to fight until only dead men lay at his feet.
The wights were chaotic and stunk of decay. Their fighting was without strategy or attempt at self-preservation. Spinning left and right, Aemon felt the flame deep within his core rising and expanding; pushing into every limb until all he felt was heat. It was the only dance he ever felt destined for, just as his only love, Naerys, could never be his.
Dozens of dead wights piled at Aemon’s feet, and then a White Walker approached when Aemon found himself engaged with three wights. ‘The wights die easy, but they will distract you from the true enemy.’
A blade of ice swung downward toward Aemon, and he spun away while deflecting the blow. The strength of the creature’s strike caught Aemon off guard. In his first life, Aemon had never faced a man so strong, though he wondered if the giant Kingsguard, Ser Duncan, could pummel a foe with such force.
Tightening his grip on the sword, Aemon felt a threat at his backside while keeping his eyes locked on the White Walker. Quickly thrusting his sword backwards without looking, Aemon killed a wight and reached for the provided dragonglass dagger at his hip. The approaching threat at his left was on the receiving end of a quick cut from Aemon’s supplied dagger, all while Aemon raised his sword once more to block another blow from the White Walker. Using the dagger to kill wights while keeping his sword reserved for the giant creature before him, Aemon moved left and right, killing wights as he danced.
Thirteen White Walkers. Almost two apiece. The thought entered Aemon’s mind as he saw another creature fast-approaching. There was little option but to face both at once, and Aemon tried to use one White Walker as an obstacle between himself and the second.
Unlike a living man whose eyes or body movements gave away the game, the White Walker offered no indication for where he would move next. To Aemon’s left, the youngest of their seven, Ser Jaime, killed a White Walker, and several wights that had been charging at the sworn brothers fell to the ground abruptly.
What the hells? Are they connected somehow? Aemon blocked consecutive cuts from the White Walker and then saw his opening. The creature was taller than him by over a head, and Aemon noticed that the creature’s hips and long legs were poorly defended with every swing.
Waiting for the next attack, Aemon gripped his sword tightly and braced for impact. As the downward strike came, Aemon moved with the creature’s follow-through, dropping to a knee as the ice sword glanced off his valyrian steel.
The snow was cold on his right knee, but Aemon’s concentration was entirely only his target. As his sword and the enemy’s moved downward together, Aemon slipped forward, allowing the sword’s guard to catch the edge of the ice blade. His sword’s tip angled towards the creature as his parry moved downward, and with a final thrust forward, Dark Sister caught the edge of the creature’s left hip and upper thigh.
Rather than open a gash, the sword’s contact caused the creature to burst into thousands of pieces, knocking Aemon backwards from the sheer force of it. Wind and ice blew into Aemon’s face, and he found himself staring up at the next creature who moved forward immediately.
Aemon raised his sword just in time to block a blow, but he was in a vulnerable position. As he tried to roll away, the creature kicked Aemon hard, sending him rolling backwards with great force. The contact sent a jolt of pain through Aemon’s body, and it felt as though every bone in his body bent inward at the contact.
Sucking in a ragged breath, Aemon moved to his knees and blocked another blow from the same White Walker. At the creature’s back, two more White Walkers fell to the living’s seven, and more wights dropped while charging in from the western edge of the hill.
Seeing his fellow knights pushing back against the darkness, Aemon felt the flames burn hotter deep within his core, and he surged to his feet with a loud growl. The creature began to move backwards from Aemon’s assault as the Targaryen prince unleashed a torrent of blows.
As Aemon pushed back against the White Walker, Aemon used the follow through from each strike to fell wights rushing in from his left and right. Over and over, Aemon repeated his objective. Kill the White Walkers, and the sun will rise. Restore the light.
Arthur
Arthur had known darkness since Howland Reed shoved a sword through his back, but now the darkness had others in it, and he saw a way to crawl back towards the light. Dawn was aflame in his hands, and Arthur felt his blood thrumming in his veins.
At his side, Barristan and Jaime fought as though they had been fighting this war for moon turns on end, and as it happened, they had. Their defiant stance against death stirred something deep within Arthur that seemed to have died when Ned spoke of House Targaryen’s fall.
Wights fell by Arthur’s sword as though an afterthought in his relentless pursuit of the White Walker before him. Memories rushed to the forefront of Arthur’s mind as though they had only occurred yesterday. Earning his knighthood. Being bestowed Dawn . Taking the white cloak. Killing the Smiling Knight. Defending the tower. Dying for Rhaegar’s unborn heir. Every memory that returned compelled Arthur’s hands to move faster, and his muscles to swing harder.
Like a man possessed, Arthur surged forward leaving a trail of wights in his wake. With a quick block of the White Walker’s icy sword, Arthur pulled back Dawn and thrust it through the creature’s middle.
The momentum of Arthur’s strike sent him falling through the icy shards bursting out in every direction from the creature’s demise. Arthur fell to his knees, stopping his fall with his hands. As Dawn scattered away, Arthur stared up into blue eyes moving quickly towards him. Another White Walker raised a sword high, and Arthur reached for the dragonglass dagger at his hip, but before he could unsheathe it, a flaming sword blocked the creature’s swing and a figure stood between Arthur and a second death.
Barristan took the blunt of the blow with Blackfyre , and he shoved back against the creature with a sequence of strong cuts that afforded Arthur enough time to grab the hilt of Dawn . Pushing to his feet, Arthur killed several wights as they rushed in from his left and right. Several feet away to his right side, Ryam ended another White Walker, which sent a number of wights to the ground.
Glancing left, Arthur saw Jaime and Brienne moving as one. The Sword of the Morning did a double take as he watched the young pair fight as though they were one person with four arms. Jaime had always been an incredible, natural swordsman, but with the female knight at his side, he appeared untouchable. How the hells has this enemy not fallen to them yet?
A massive figure moved past Arthur, and his eyes went wide at the sight of Duncan the Tall kicking a White Walker hard in the gut. The creature stumbled backwards and dropped to a knee, and despite making no sound nor appearing to possess emotions, the White Walker did appear surprised. Before the White Walker could stand and block Duncan’s strike, the valyrian steel cut straight down through the creature’s head.
Not being, definitively , the most formidable warrior on the field was a foreign sensation to Arthur, and he quite liked the challenge. A small smirk tugged at his lips and his violet eyes glistened with challenge. Very well. A melee it is.
Arthur began to swing with a wild control honed in youth at Starfall. The master-at-arms had often called Arthur singular, but monomaniac. It was as though the Warrior himself birthed Arthur, and he never felt so comfortable as he did with a sword in hand. Knighthood had not been his interest; it had been his essence.
Cutting down anything in his path, Arthur growled as he pushed back against the throngs of dead things clawing at his skin. Pain was fleeting, and Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the truest threat facing their group. His eyes scanned the field, a desperate search for another White Walker, and after several spins and well-placed cuts to wights crashing in from all angles, Arthur saw the enemy.
A White Walker moved towards Arthur with a deadly confidence. Clenching his jaw, Arthur’s eyes narrowed and his feet moved towards danger as they often did in his first life. Nothing in life made Arthur hesitate where it concerned battle. The Stranger would come for them all, and knowing that, Arthur had not feared the god’s icy grip.
Some men felt it foolish to charge towards death, but Arthur knew it was impossible to separate death from war, and hesitation meant the difference between living and dying. It had not been hesitation that killed Arthur, but assumption; assumption that only Ned remained.
The assumption came from what Arthur saw, and what he saw was a battlefield of dead men with only Ned left breathing. An attack from behind was not one that Arthur had considered, as it was dishonorable, and Arthur was nothing if not honorable.
The dead however cared not a whit for honor. Knowing that, Arthur cut his path towards the White Walker with an awareness for threats from all angles. Arthur didn’t walk forward so much as spin forward. Turning left and right as he surged ahead ensured that no angle went unchecked.
The only benefit to fighting dead things was the stench. Arthur could smell the wights’ approach before he could see or feel them. Striking and slashing, the Sword of the Morning soon stood before the White Walker that now had its sights locked on Arthur.
Unlike the last White Walker, this one was impossibly taller and somehow, twice as strong. The challenge drew a smirk from Arthur as their dance began. With every strike against the White Walker, Arthur killed a wight moving against him. A distraction.
Surging forward, Arthur blocked a hard blow from the White Walker, though he felt an approaching threat at his back. When the White Walker raised his leg to kick Arthur in the gut, Arthur spun away, and enjoyed the sight of the White Walker’s foot shoving hard into a wight, sending the creature backwards several feet.
Gripping Dawn with two hands, Arthur tried to take advantage of the White Walker’s poor position after kicking his own soldier. The creature was fast and strong, and his sword blocked Arthur’s next strike just in time. Several more counters were exchanged, and Arthur had to temporarily disengage the White Walker to fell multiple wights clawing at his arms and back.
The White Walker raised his sword high as Arthur’s back was turned; the Dornish knight’s attention on two wights. Recalling the deadly lesson learned at the Tower of Joy, Arthur spun around at the last moment and parried, ending the creature with a riposte that sent an intense burst of wind and ice in every direction.
We will win this. Death cannot best this seven.
Bran
Bran watched the battle before him. They had the best swordsman in the realm’s history, and the knights were giving the living army the chance they desperately needed to restore the light. Not only were the dead’s numbers dwindling in the godswood, but they were falling in the battle outside the city gates.
Bran’s significance was not as grand as the red priestess made it sound, but his role was still important. The three-eyed raven had been gifted with the sight necessary to maintain record of man’s history. That history held the key for how to defeat the Others, and if Bran died, that record was lost forever.
Humans had a habit of misremembering or forgetting. Each generation passed down tales meant to teach or instruct, but that imparted knowledge only happened so long as the living remembered. Bran had the ability to provide history and instruction when people forgot, but the living needed to listen and willingly hear him. Thus far in the war, the living had not.
When Jon was killed by Jorah, the living had already taken one step closer to defeat. The queen had been eager to work with the kingdoms and unite against a common enemy, but the realm squabbled over petty differences and past grudges. Until the kingdoms saw the enemy before them, many had not been willing to work together.
As the light slowly faded, Bran knew what must be done. It was Bran who had guided Melisandre to King’s Landing. The woman believed the Lord of Light had sent her, but it was Bran who came to her in sleep and he called to her in past visions, encouraging the red priestess to the dragon queen.
To win the war, the living needed Azor Ahai to return Lightbringer to the world, and Bran knew what that entailed. He had looked into the past, farther back than even his predecessor had seen, and the answer played out before him.
In the first Long Night, Azor Ahai had spent thirty days trying to forge a hero’s sword, only to have it break when tempering it in water, and so the great hero labored again. For fifty days Azor Ahai tried to forge a new sword, and the second time, he captured a lion and drove the sword into the beast’s heart, but still, Azor Ahai was not successful.
For one hundred days, Azor Ahai had labored with a heavy heart, knowing what must be done. He drove the sword into the one he loved, Nissa Nissa, and Lightbringer was forged. It was Lightbringer that beat back death in the first Long Night. Death, Nissa Nissa’s death, had paid for life.
Bran understood the role everyone played in the war against death itself, and the Prince Who was Promised would play a role in the second Long Night. The prince, or rather, the princess, was born amidst salt and smoke.
Daenerys Targaryen came into the world on Dragonstone at the base of Dragonmont; the island’s volcano. Born during a storm that blew smoke from the smoldering volcano towards the Keep, Daenerys entered the world on the island jutting up from the saltwater sea.
Fleeing to Essos, Daenerys was raised never knowing her true purpose and destiny, thinking herself little more than the exiled princess whose role was to help her brother reclaim the crown. Viserys was not what the living needed, but it was the princess who awoke dragons from stone and followed the prophecy’s path.
First Daenerys tried to defeat darkness by conquering water; Slaver’s Bay. She had wished to abolish slavory and rule free men and women. With her dragons she took Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen, and though it was a noble cause, it was not her true destiny, and the darkness lingered.
Then Daenerys tried to defeat darkness by conquering a lion; Cersei Lannister. Daenerys had wished to free Westeros from the rule of a madwoman; a woman who would kill everyone around her to retain her false crown. With her dragons Daenerys defeated all obstacles in her path to the crown, and though it was a noble cause, it was not her true destiny, and the darkness lingered.
Now Daenerys tried to defeat darkness by striking down her love… her child; Viserion. She had offered her dragon in exchange for the necessary weapon to fulfill her destiny and defeat the darkness. Death paid for life, and Lightbringer now fought against death, but Lightbringer was not a literal sword. Lightbringer was a person, or rather, people . With Daenerys’ sacrifice, seven brave knights would restore the light.
Romantic love was strong, but love for a child was unmatchable. Bran knew the sacrifice had pained Daenerys greatly, but she did it for the greater good. As it had during the age of heroes, it took more than one warrior to push back the darkness. Azor Ahai had led the way with Lightbringer, but he had not been alone, and neither were the heroes standing before Bran now.
This Lighbringer had many names. Seven knights, seven bringers of light, held flaming swords forged from fire. Together they would beat back the darkness forever. The wights were relentless and the White Walkers strong, but these were no ordinary seven.
Bran watched as the dead’s numbers shrunk and bodies stacked high in the godswood. Wights struggled over their fallen to try and reach the knights dueling the White Walkers. Only a few White Walkers remained, and with their destruction, wights continued falling to the ground.
As occurred in the first Long Night, the Others were losing, and soon, they would have to retreat or face extinction. Unlike the first Long Night, the living could not allow the retreat. Then Bran felt his presence before seeing him.
The Night King had been watching from the mist, and now he had to act. When Brienne’s sword pierced the last White Walker, an eerie stillness settled over the godswood, and the seven knights bent at the waist, panting for air.
Seven had stood against countless wights and thirteen White Walkers, but despite their effort, the Night King was not defeated. A thick mist surrounded the Night King, but Bran could just make out the outline of his arms rising. The dead began to stir at the feet of the living.
Where Jaime, Brienne, and Barristan only sagged at the familiarity of it, the other four knights stared wide-eyed as dead man began to stand. A flicker of despair clouded the eyes of the greatest warriors known to the realm, but one among them moved.
Standing at the westernmost edge of the godswood, Barristan saw the Night King, and charged forward. Jaime and Brienne were quick to follow; both familiar with the creature, though unable to see him from where they stood.
Despite their initial confusion, the remaining four did not hesitate when their fellow knights changed ahead. The former Kingsguard followed Barristan, Jaime, and Brienne into the mist, and the risen wights closed in around them.
Bran could not see the encounter, but he heard the sound of Blackfyre meeting the Night King’s sword of ice. There was an urgency to Barristan’s strikes, but Bran knew he would be ineffectual alone. As his eyes rolled back, Bran watched the final battle through a raven’s eyes.
The Night King fought with a speed that no living man could match. His sword dragged across Barristan’s thigh, forcing the knight down to a knee. Before the Night King could land the killing blow, Jaime and Brienne stepped before Barristan with their swords raised high. Two halves of Ice collided with an ice sword, and together, Jaime and Brienne began to launch a series of parries and strikes.
At first, their blades were equally ineffectual. The Night King moved with ease, and his sword of ice was a blur; impossible to follow. To Bran, it almost looked as though the Night King had several arms, each with a sword in hand, but it was merely an illusion of the eyes; a deception of an unnatural speed that humans had no chance against.
Despite the blood dripping from his thigh, Barristan joined the fight with Jaime and Brienne. As happened earlier, the living knights were forced to assault their greatest threat while remaining aware of the wights closing in around them.
Every strike aimed at the Night King required a follow through that took out an approaching wight. Fighting their way through an inordinate amount of wights, the living’s other four knights joined the battle.
All wights in the godswood had been redirected in defense of the Night King, and Bran considered his fortune. His vulnerable body remained against the ancient weirwood, but killing Bran meant little if the Night King could not escape the seven knights before him. He knows they can defeat him, and he needs to distract the living knights if he is to stand a chance..
Ironically, it was Dawn that landed the first cut. Ser Arthur sliced through a wight while spinning towards the Night King and finding an opening. As the Night King’s sword deflected three valyrian steel blades taking aim from different angles, not even his incredible speed proved fast enough to block a fourth strike.
Unlike the White Walkers, the Night King only faltered, but did not burst. His thirteen guards had been of his own creation, and Bran realized that the Night King’s death would not be the same as his White Walkers. There was a gash, but no sludge or blood where Arthur’s sword pierced the Night King.
In response to the assault, the Night King recovered quickly, and batted away another quick strike from Ser Duncan’s flaming sword. The creature quickly blocked similarly timed strikes from Ser Ryam and Ser Jaime, but Ser Aemon landed a second cut from Dark Sister .
Slowly, the living knights began to pick apart the Night King. For every three blocked strikes, a fourth landed. Bran’s host circled lower, and Bran struggled to understand what he was seeing. The Valyrian steel was weakening the creature, but not killing him. An icy façade melted away like armor being shed. Human features replaced a face of ice, and Bran realized what had to be done.
A long cut from Barristan’s sword slashed open the Night King’s thick jerkin. The dragonglass spear used in the Children’s ritual to pierce the Night King’s heart stuck out just enough for Bran to observe.
Flying lower, he cawed and pecked at the creature’s chest, trying desperately to get the living to see and understand what must be done. The Night King swatted Bran with his free hand as his sword arm continued to defend himself, but the creature was weakening.
“The spear!” Brienne shouted, and an overwhelming relief filled Bran’s host. Using his massive size, Ser Duncan slammed the Night King backwards into the nearest tree. As Ser Aemon, Ser Ryam, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan protected their fellow knights from the wights, Brienne and Jaime gripped the edge of the spear and pulled with everything they had.
Without a proper hilt, the spear proved difficult to grip and remove, but Brienne was strong, stronger than many men, and she managed to remove the weapon enough for Jaime to help her. Together they removed the spear from the Night King’s chest, and a loud gasp escaped the creature’s lips.
Stepping backwards, Ser Duncan pulled away Jaime and Brienne as the creature swayed and fell to his knees. For the first time, the Night King bled from the gaping wound left by the discarded dragonglass. As the creature took his last breath, the wights around them dropped, and the Other were defeated without opportunity for retreat.
Barristan
Drogon descended from the sky, and Barristan saw the determination in his queen’s eyes. The Night King’s body was unmoving in the godswood and surrounded by seven white cloaks. Stepping backwards, the knights gazed up at the queen, and Barristan nodded in indication that the body was in fact the Night King’s.
With a single word from Daenerys’ lips, Drogon ensured the Night King never rose again. The creature’s body was consumed by flames stronger than any that had danced along the edge of the superior steel each of the seven wielded in battle. The heat from the dragon’s breath was enough to make Barristan turn away; his arm raised protectively before his face.
When only ash remained and a stiff northern wind carried it away, the dragon lowered to the ground and Daenerys descended her mount. Even in the darkness, Barristan could see how Drogon had suffered in battle. The great beast had gash marks from his wight sibling, but Barristan was merely pleased to see that Daenerys had not fallen in battle.
There was an incredible relief and youthful smile on Daenerys’ face that Barristan had not seen since their time together in Meereen. Ruling there had not been easy on the young queen, but there were peaceful moments amidst the chaos. There had been many days when she smiled sadly at tales of her dead kin; family members Barristan had served before Robert’s Rebellion.
Barristan had not struggled to share tales of Rhaegar or Rhaella, but there was no fondness in his heart for Aerys, and though it pained Barristan to share the harsh truths of her family, he had with time as trust built between them.
As Daenerys ran a soothing hand over Drogon’s scales, she smiled with tears in her eyes. A nod of thanks preceded firm embraces for each of the queen’s seven knights who stood against death.
It amused Barristan to see how taken aback most of the knights were by the queen’s affections. Admittedly, the physical touch had startled Barristan when he first entered Queen Daenerys’ service. Kings were certainly not affectionate with their Kingsguard, and to most sovereigns, the white cloaks were little more than ornate, wall décor; wall décor with the capacity to gut anyone who became threatening towards the crown.
Daenery had asked Barristan a Westerosi riddle once. ‘Who listens to everything, yet hears nothing?’ The queen’s brother, Viserys, had shared the riddle in their youth, though it was familiar to Barristan. ‘A knight of the Kingsguard, your Grace.’
At best, a Kingsguard’s queen or her children might smile in greeting or take an offered arm rooted of chivalry. At worst, a queen or her children might speak cruelly to a Kingsguard or misuse a knight’s skill for selfish gain.
Given the sovereigns he served, Barristan had been more accustomed to cruelty prior to serving Daenerys. Even Robert Baratheon had outbursts that saw Barristan dodging thrown armor or retreating at drunken threats.
None of it had bothered Barristan. He was a Kingsguard and sworn to protect, but nowhere in the vows did Barristan expect kindness, affection, nor respect. The first time Daenerys placed a kiss to Barristan’s cheek, he had stiffened in shock. Barristan had long forgotten his mother who died on the birthing bed delivering his younger brother, but Barristan supposed she had kissed him affectionately on the cheek.
The queen’s embrace in Meereen had been equally surprising the first time it occurred. Gentle touch was foreign to him, and that the affection came from a sovereign was most unheard of.
Barristan had not expected to have anything in common with the Unsullied, but when he learned that the eunuch warriors were paying brothel workers in Meereen to embrace them, Barristan had understood in ways he never imagined.
The Unsullied, like Barristan and Kingsguard before him, were regarded as little more than human shields. When Barristan left Harvest Hall for the Kingsguard, his father had clapped him on the shoulder, and told him to make House Selmy proud. For decades, Barristan had assumed it was the last form of affectionate touch he would know before death.
Despite her own abuse, the queen was an affectionate woman at age one-and-twenty, and Barristan considered it was simply her nature to care deeply for others. She had embraced many in her service in Meereen, and she had embraced the people. Horrifyingly, she had even touched a dying man; one of many infected with the bloody flux.
Now as Barristan watched Daenerys embrace each knight in their group, he tried not to laugh at their confusion. The only two accustomed to her physical touches were Brienne and Jaime.
The queen had grown fond of the pair during the war, though there was always some lingering tension between Daenerys and Jaime. She understood his actions against Aerys, approved even, but that hadn’t made the truth easy to accept.
As she approached Jaime, Daenerys huffed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you were so young when you had to save the realm the first time. Now it’s truly impossible to hate you, though you must stop speaking back to me. I’m your elder now.”
Jaime scoffed and his filthy golden hair swayed as his head shook in refusal. “It is my duty to keep you humble.”
Like Jaime, they were all covered in filth. Grime, blood, and whatever substance contained within the wights covered their armor, faces, and cloaks. Beside Jaime, Brienne smiled widely.
The smile was not one that could be considered attractive by most, but Brienne had a true beauty to her that was unmatched by any. She was loyal, kind, brave, innocent, and honorable; a fine match for Jaime.
“Ser Brienne, my soon-to-be favorite Lannister.” At Daenerys’ words and embrace, Brienne blushed fiercely. It was no secret that Jaime wished to marry his love. Every moment over the last several moon turns that was not spent in battle seemed to include hearing about Jaime’s plans to live out his days on Tarth in service to the future Evenstar. If Barristan had to hear one more crass jape from Jaime about how he would be more than happy serving under her, he was going to punt them both to Tarth.
Ser Duncan stood tall and proud beside his great-granddaughter, and Barristan still struggled to believe that his idol, the man he knocked to his ass at a tourney, was alive. Even stranger to think that Barristan fought beside Duncan in the second Long Night.
Before the battle, Barristan felt like a boy of ten staring into the faces of his idols. He had spent many days in the wheat fields at Harvest Hall acting out all manner of imaginary wars while playing the part of Ser Ryam, Aemon the Dragonknight, or Duncan the Tall. Unlike Jaime, Barristan would never admit it.
Daenerys smiled at Duncan and shook her head. “Now I see where Ser Brienne gets her impressive size, though she looks like a child next to you.” The knight startled when she crashed into his massive chest, but his arms slowly came around her, patting her back uneasily. “You’re just like a young Egg. I hope you don’t sulk like him too.”
Daenerys only chuckled and shook her head as she moved down the line. Arthur and Aemon stood together bantering playfully over who landed the most kills, but their conversation died when Daenerys approached. She smiled up at them in awe. “I’ve never seen so many violet eyes in one place, though your sets are quite famous. I’ve heard many tales of you, Ser Arthur, and where Kingsguard are concerned, Ser Aemon, no other knight was spoken of with such pride by my brother.”
Both men smiled proudly and straightened at the words. When the queen embraced each of them, they softened into her, though Barristan gathered for different reasons. Aemon was Daenerys’ distant kin, and given Arthur’s bond with Rhaegar, Barristan imagined the Dornish knight viewed her as a little sister in need of protection.
Ser Ryam appeared uneasy at the queen’s approach, realizing an embrace was coming his way. He spoke quickly as though trying to dissuade the queen’s touch. “It was my honor to serve, your Grace. No thanks are necessary.”
Not to Queen Daenerys. There must always be offered thanks and ample hugs. Barristan bit his lip to keep from laughing as Ryam tensed under the queen’s embrace. Ryam, like most of the men, had taken a gash or two that would require stitching. They had fought hard, and the dead’s assault felt never-ending. Nothing was so tiring as avoiding the Stranger, and Barristan knew he would sleep well that night. If it was night. The passage of time had become difficult to assess.
When Daenerys approached Barristan, her tears fell. He was unsurprised by her embrace and the supplied kiss to his cheek. “My white knight.” Daenerys stepped back slightly and cupped his face; her tone teasing as she spoke. “Not so white anymore.” Sparkling eyes glanced atop his head, and Barristan gathered he must look a fright.
“Apologies, your Grace. War is a messy affair. I fear for the bathhouse after this fight.” Barristan’s lips quirked, but Daenerys only chuckled and shook her head as though he misunderstood. “I speak of your youth, ser. Your head of snow is now sunlight, and I do hope this transformation reflects what the realm will soon see.”
And it did. Not long after Daenerys thanked them all, a curious sight caused Barristan’s eyes to close in pain. The darkness gave way to light, and the midday sun shone bright overhead. Barristan’s eyes adjusted, and the shock of it drew a smile to his lips.
He had not seen the sun in so many moon turns. They had learned to tell time by the position of the stars and moon in the sky, but night had been eternal, and Barristan would rather take rest in the sunlight than see the moon anytime soon.
As incredible as the sunlight was, stranger was the continued presence of the dead Kingsguard. “I’m still alive?” Aemon’s voice was laced with curiosity as he turned his hands over in inspection.
“I still have a hand!” Jaime’s youthful enthusiasm provoked a loud guffaw from Brienne. The pair fussed over his sword hand as though it was the greatest thing they had ever seen.
“Barristan is still a babe!” Arthur guffawed and approached Barristan as the once aged knight continued to stare at the clear sky above. The words caused Barristan’s brows to furrow. While the knights seemed pleased to still draw breath, and Jaime was beside him with joy at the return of his sword hand, Barristan felt a sense of dismay at his continued youth.
Those in their group were not bound to the crown as Kingsguard. Their first deaths had relieved them of their sacred trust, and only Barristan would wear the white sword after that day, yet he would start anew. Another forty years of service awaited him, and the thought brought Barristan little joy.
When the dead came, Barristan knew he would die in the war. He was an old man of seven-and-sixty. The only objective Barristan had in the war was to die with a sword in hand while helping restore the light. Ideally, he would die in defense of his queen or comrades. Now he was alive, painfully young, and still bound by the white cloak.
“Ser Barristan… your leg.” Daenerys’ voice cut through his thoughts, and Barristan glanced down at the gash to his thigh. Like many injuries suffered that day, it would require stitches. The adrenaline from the fight was still thrumming through Barristan’s veins, and he had not yet felt the true pain of the injury. “An inconvenience, your Grace. I’ll have it tended to later.”
“You’ll have it tended to now. What of the rest of you? Anyone with deep cuts or missing parts?” Daenerys appraised each in their group and worry shone in her eyes. A satisfied smile tugged at Jaime’s lips. “I’ve gained a hand. Does that count?”
“Was it missing?” Arthur’s brows knitted in confusion. Much had happened in the years since Arthur’s death, but Jaime was eager to share every detail. The youngest among them began a most dramatic retelling of his journey through the Riverlands with Brienne, but Daenerys was quickly guiding Barristan away. “Your breeches are almost entirely red from that gash on your right leg. I’ll not lose you now after all of this.”
Daenerys
The maester and healers would be busy that day, but at present, the man’s focus was entirely on Barristan per Daenerys’ request. She glanced around the maester’s office and considered the various jars of salve, ingredients, and solutions. “Maester Desmond, will we have enough supplies here and in the city below to treat all of the injured? I don't wish to lose anyone to infection or lack of treatment. Everyone has fought too long and too hard to succumb to wounds now.”
The maester smiled softly as he placed another stitch to Barristan’s leg. “We will do all that we can, and there are several holdings in the area that can provide more supplies if necessary. Sadly, some will die of their wounds despite our efforts. Medical treatment is no guarantee, I’m afraid; only a chance for life.”
Daenerys did not care for the words, but she understood. Turning to appraise the maester and patient, she again found herself taken aback by how young Barristan was. It was still strange to see her beloved white knight of age to herself, though Daenerys did not mind the change. He’ll have more years at my side. I’ve lost too many friends and good people along the way.
The castle was coming to life outside the maester’s office. Senior officers, advisors, and healers returned to the Red Keep, and those unable to fight who had spent the final battle in the safety of the Maidenvault had traveled down Aegon’s Hill to offer aid.
A knock at the door caught Daenerys’ attention, and Missandei’s voice called out from the other side. “Your Grace?”
The sound of her dear friend’s voice drew a wide smile from Daenerys. She hadn’t smiled so much in years, but nearly seeing the light forever extinguished had caused Daenerys to reflect more than usual. There were many regrets over the years that burdened Daenerys, but also great triumphs. Daenerys wished to learn from every mistake to better guide the realm and ensure it prospered.
Opening the door, Daenerys ushered Missandei inside. “Did you find Torgo? I was worried about him before the battle.” Not many Unsullied remained in the last stand against death itself. The Unsullied were fearless and never retreated during the war where others withdrew. Grey Worm, like Barristan, was too important to Daenerys, and she knew how important the man was to Missandei.
“I did.” Missandei smiled wide. “He is well, though he did require treatment.” As Missandei’s eyes appraised the room, she startled. “Oh, apologies. I did not realize the Westerosi soldiers had already begun to arrive at the Keep for treatment. Most of the soldiers were still outside the city gates when I returned here.”
Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Daenarys glanced at Barristan. “This particular soldier fought here at the Keep.” Daenerys called out to Barristan who was making idle chatter with the maester. “Ser Barristan, Missandei has found Grey Worm.”
“Ah, excellent! Is he well?” Barristan’s pale blue eyes sparkled as he glanced at Missandei. While it was obvious to all looking upon Barristan that much had changed, he continued to forget. At the sound of Barristan’s voice, Missandei nearly fainted.
Missandei’s hand reached out for Daenerys’ arm; an effort to steady herself. Leaning close, the young woman whispered for Daenerys’ ears alone. “What has happened to him? He’s… he’s…”
“Ah, yes. His leg. Poor thing took a nasty cut.” Daenerys feigned ignorance for the much more obvious change in Ser Barristan. When Missandei’s expression shifted from shock to incredulity, Daenerys leaned close and whispered. “Wait until you see the rest of them.”
“The rest of who , your Grace.” Missandei’s brows rose in question.
“My white knights. Well, in fairness only one is mine.” Daenerys inclined her head at Barristan. She understood that the other white cloaks were borrowed, but not bound to the crown. They were past Kingsguard selected by the gods to defeat the darkness. “I must say, I was entirely unprepared to see Ser Jaime at age five-and-ten. Ser Brienne isn’t much changed… a few years younger at most. The others… well… they were all rather dead prior to last night.”
Missandei did not follow, but she did glance back at Barristan in shock; her voice elevated so the knight could hear her words. “I’m glad that you’re alive, Ser Barristan. I should lend aid elsewhere, your Grace. Many are wounded.” Missandei bowed as she left, and Daenerys had to muffle her laughter as she walked towards Barristan.
“This will be great fun when the others see you, ser. Perhaps avoid Irri though. She was already willing in Essos before this .” Daenerys gestured at Barristan’s youthful appearance. At the words, Barristan’s face paled in horror.
Irri was a former bed slave set free, and Daenerys had kept her on staff when they sailed west. She was a good woman, but bold in her desires, and she, like Daenerys, thought Barristan had a very good face. Irri thought that Barristan should not die before knowing a woman, and it had been the only time that Daenerys saw Barristan the Bold flee in fear.
Daenerys swallowed a laugh and gripped Barristan’s shoulder. “I should go help in the city and outside the gates. I trust you’ll not get yourself into any more trouble today, ser.”
The rest of the day was spent among her people and lending aid. As she did in Meereen, Daenerys crouched beside the wounded and dying, offering whatever aid she could. It was horrifying to see how many soldiers they lost, and Daenerys wished to honor them in death.
In a moon turn, a feast of life would be held once all the great lords and ladies could arrive to join her in honoring the fallen. Daenerys would need to replace dead council members and fill her Queensguard. There was much work ahead, but Daenerys’ resolve was high.
When the sun set that day, Daenerys cursed the darkness. While the four Kingsguard returned from death appeared unaffected, the rest of those who faced death for moon turns on end struggled to rest. Many gathered outside and stared at the sky as though willing the sun to return. There was an unspoken fear that the dead piled outside the city gates and in the godswood might rise again, but on the morrow, the bodies would be burned.
On the second day following the living’s victory, Daenerys spent the day with her advisors. Learning of the final number of lives lost pained the queen. Many of the words hurt to hear, but it was necessary. The numbers were difficult to consider, but hearing the names came harder. Many tears were shed behind closed doors despite remaining strong before her people. Daenerys mourned those known to her in life, and prayed for the nameless.
Unable to sleep, Daenerys walked the halls. Just as Jaime and Brienne took comfort in one another, so too did Missandei and Grey Worm. Not wishing to disturb her friends, Daenerys made her way to the White Sword Tower. Barristan was there, but Daenerys was also eager to hear more tales of her distant kin from Ser Duncan and Ser Aemon.
Surprisingly, the White Sword Tower was quiet as death, and the lack of sound unnerved Daenerys. Of course, she had not expected to find Jaime and Brienne among the knights. Jaime had dragged Brienne before a Septon hours earlier, and they spoke their vows with Duncan present.
Even if the couple would have an official wedding on Tarth following the feast of life in a moon turn, Jaime could not wait. Jaime’s impatience amused his fellow knights, and Daenerys gathered the newlyweds were enjoying the night in private.
Making her way to the fourth floor, Daenerys saw firelight under Barristan’s door. Even though he was the only official Queensgard, Daenerys had offered Arthur, Ryam, Aemon, and Duncan accommodation in the tower until they all decided what to do with their restored lives.
Knocking lightly, Daenerys stepped inside. She was surprised to see Barristan sitting on the bed with a book in hand. In Essos, the aged knight never read. He was always polishing his weapons or training his orphans. Of course, there was little need to tend to his weaponry now, and his orphans had fallen in the war. The loss pained Barristan greatly. It was as though the boys were his own sons.
At Daenerys’ entry, Barristan leapt to his feet and bowed his head. “Your Grace.” A slight grimace tugged at his features, and Daenerys knew the wound at his leg was bothering him.
“Still with the formalities, Ser? Call me Dany.” It was not the first time she requested as much, and Barristan struggled with the request. “Where are the other knights?”
Daenerys moved towards the bed and sat with Barristan. He picked up his discarded book and offered a small smile. “They are celebrating the victory, your Grace.”
The information surprised Daenerys. “Then why are you not with them?”
“They died in their first life, your Grace, and in death, they were released from their sacred trust.” Barristan flushed and looked down at the book in his hands as he continued. “As such, they are celebrating in ways that I cannot participate in.”
Oh. Daenerys sucked her lip into her mouth, and nodded in understanding. Even in Essos, Barristan avoided being direct on topics of sex and anything he deemed less than proper. “I know the vows, of course, but I’ve heard ample tales of knights breaking those vows. Have you truly never broken them?”
Barristan looked aghast at the question. “No, your Grace. I would never.”
No. Of course not. Daenerys grabbed the book from his hands and inspected it. Her eyes rolled when she noted the book’s title. It was a history of past wars; infighting of House Targaryen. “Truly? Do you never tire of war?”
“Ser Aemon recommended it.” Barristan supplied. “I am not fond of the darkness and can’t sleep. The maester is rather irksome and told me not to train, so here I sit.”
Daenerys understood his restlessness and distrust for the darkness. She hummed and handed the book back to him. “I had a thought, but I wished to discuss it with you.”
The idea was one that the queen felt strongly about, but she feared bringing it before Barristan. He was very traditional and did not care for any adjustments to expectations of the Queensguard. “I think my predecessors made a mistake in denying the Kingsguard the right to love. I want a strong Queensguard that does not struggle to recruit the greatest knights because of a denial for love and family. Perhaps if I allow my Queensguard to take lovers or spouses, and they have children, I’ll surround myself with only the finest. I want to offer positions to Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne, though I know that I can’t keep them forever. They’re younger now and don’t wish for children yet. I would also offer positions to the returned Kingsguard, and perhaps this will sway them.”
Barristan startled at the words and stammered. “All those men gave up those things before. Why do you think they’d not do it again? The vows are there to ensure that the knights are loyal to you and only you; that there are no distractions from other loyalties such as spouses and children.”
Daenerys’ tone was insistent, but she tried to remain understanding. “I believe they can protect me and love others. The vows have never stopped the Kingsguard from loving others, and in fact, history has shown it only causes problems. It also prevents the crown from being protected by the best, because most knights are not willing to give those things up for a white cloak.”
“For three hundred years, great knights willingly gave those things up for the white cloak. King Robert ruined the Kingsguard by filling it with bootlickers and dishonorable men, but it was a strong, prestigious order before then.” Barristan appeared pained when he spoke of what had become of his order when House Targaryen fell, and Daenerys grabbed his forearm.
“I understand, but how many great knights declined over the years? How many broke their vows and caused issues? You are an exception; not the norm. You’ve even admitted that many in the Kingsguard’s history were just ordinary knights, no better no worse. Some rose above and served well, and others played the game and soiled their cloaks. Those were your words. I’ll not ask any new Queensguard to serve for life, because if I allow them to take lovers, they might find they can’t serve once they have children or lose their dedication to the crown. They can leave at that time, and make way for new knights willing to commit.”
Daenerys looking imploringly at Barristan. She knew the suggestion was difficult for him, but it was what Daenerys planned to do. “I watched you train those orphans in Meereen as if they were your own, and I saw how you suffered when they fell against the dead. Do you not want a chance to find love and have children of your own?”
“I’m too old for such things.” Barristan glanced away and his lips turned down.
“Too old?” Daenerys raised a challenging brow and her tone held a teasing edge. “You appear rather young, ser. I find it appalling that my great-grandfather cloaked you looking like this. A true crime against the realm and unwed maidens.”
The replying huff from Barristan sounded unimpressed. “My age does not align with my body. Before I felt younger than I looked, but now I feel infinitely older than I appear. I’ll not take advantage of any vow changes you enact, but they are yours to change.”
Jaime
Jaime sat beside Brienne in the round room of the White Sword Tower. Despite the queen reminding him several times, Barristan did not sit in the Lord Commander’s chair. His eyes always darted to those who served before him, and he rushed to a different seat. That day however, Barristan appeared even grumpier than usual.
With the knights assembled, Daenerys stood before them and spoke confidently. “I plan to change the Queensguard vows. No one should be deprived of love, and I will allow my knights to take lovers or spouses. I understand that children may come from these unions, and that might change a knight’s willingness or ability to serve. While lands and titles cannot be held while wearing the white cloak, I will allow a knight to resign from service when his or her priorities change. I want only the best knights serving the crown, and I think this change will ensure that. The vows never stopped many knights from taking lovers or having children before, but I think this change will encourage only the best and most honorable to serve. Before I offer white cloaks to worthy knights, I would be foolish not to extend one to all of you. I’d be honored if any of you served on my Queensguard for as many years as you are willing to offer.”
Jaime’s eyes went wide at the queen’s words. He glanced slowly at Brienne, and saw the intrigue in her sapphire eyes. Given they were younger than before the war, they both wished to wait a few years before having babes.
Leaning close, he whispered to her. “What of it, wench? Do you wish to be the first female Queensguard too? You’re rather greedy like that.”
Brienne tried to cover her laughter, and she composed herself before whispering in reply. “We planned to go to Tarth, but this could be much more exciting until we have children. We can help rebuild and protect a worthy sovereign.”
Jaime smiled before pressing a kiss to her cheek. Turning to face Daenerys, he nodded. “You’ve two Lannister knights willing to serve until the time comes for us to retire to an island in the sea.”
The queen appeared thrilled at that, but Ser Duncan hummed curiously. “I’d quite like to serve and help rebuild what was lost at Summerhall. I’d quite enjoy serving with my great-granddaughter, though I’d like to see my grandson first.”
“Of course.” Daenerys nodded, and her brow raised knowingly. “I gather the three of you have an official wedding to attend on Tarth.”
“If the little lion is staying… I’m staying.” Arthur supplied. “Besides, that old man owes me a match, and his thigh is not yet healed.” Arthur’s finger pointed at Barristan, and Jaime felt an overwhelming excitement.
I’m to serve beside Ser Duncan, Ser Barristan, Ser Arthur, and my ser-wife! Oh my gods. This is going to be the greatest Queensguard or Kingsguard ever.
Ser Aemon hummed in consideration, but before his words came, a smile tugged at his lips. “I’m a Targaryen, your Grace. It is only natural that I protect my own. I’d be proud to serve.”
I’m going to die. Aemon the Dragonknight is to be my sworn brother. Jaime had not realized he was squeezing Brienne’s hand until she groaned in pain and whispered. “Take a breath Jaime. You’re going to combust.”
“I don’t even know where the hells I am.” Ser Ryam huffed. “This world is much-changed. The people make little sense to me, and no one remembers the kings nor time that I served. This tower is the only thing that feels normal and constant. I’ll serve.”
Jaime nearly giggled like a girl of five. I get to live and train with these knights. Forget Tarth. We’ll have our children here. I’m going to die in this tower with my wench at my side
Brienne was struggling to keep from laughing, and Jaime could only imagine how absurd he looked with the goofy grin that he couldn't quite seem to suppress. The queen was the only one who appeared more excited than Jaime. “Thank you, sers. I daresay that no one will ever threaten the crown with the seven of you surrounding me.”
As Daenerys prepared to leave, Barristan stood quickly and rushed to her side. His words were whispered, but Jaime could just make them out. “Your Grace, you must name a Lord Commander.”
The queen’s brows knitted and she replied in a hushed tone. “You are my Lord Commander.”
“I… I cannot lead them.” Barristan glanced back towards the tables, and Jaime saw the discomfort in his eyes.
“Why not?” Daenerys didn’t understand, but Jaime did. I’d not wish to lead this group. I’m not worthy of such a task.
“They’re better than me, your Grace. You should name one of them.” The reply confused Daenerys, but she returned to the table and leaned against it.
“Ser Barristan believes that I need to name a new Lord Commander. Someone better than him. I struggle to believe this, but perhaps you’re privy to something that I’m ignorant to.” Daenerys' tone held a challenge, but aside from Arthur, Jaime, and Brienne, the other knights hardly knew Barristan’s worth.
Jaime could understand feeling unworthy of leading the group now surrounding their table, but he believed that Ser Barristan was more than qualified. The room was quiet, but that silence was broken by a loud snort from Duncan. “That little shit knocked me to my arse in his sixteenth year. Egg quite enjoyed knighting him while I stood to the side and rubbed away the pain to my backside.”
Standing from his chair, Jaime moved quickly towards the White Book and flipped to Barristan’s entry. He placed it on the middle of the table and smirked at Barristan. “His page is certainly long enough.”
Ser Ryam gaped and pulled the book closer, reading the words aloud. “Ser Barristan of House Selmy. Firstborn son of Ser Lyonel Selmy of Harvest Hall. Served as squire to Ser Manfred Swann. Named ‘the Bold’ in his 10th year, when he donned borrowed armor to appear as a mystery knight in the tourney at Blackhaven, where he was defeated and unmasked by Duncan, Prince of Dragonflies. Knighted in his 16th year by King Aegon V Targaryen, after performing great feats of prowess as a mystery knight in the winter tourney at King’s Landing, defeating Prince Duncan the Small and Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”
Ducan groaned. “Must we continue to mention it? My arse is getting sore thinking about it.”
Unfettered, Ryam continued. “Slew Maelys the Monstrous, last of the Blackfyre Pretenders, in single combat during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Defeated Lormelle Long Lance and Cedrik Storm, the Bastard of Bronzegate. Named to the Kingsguard in his 23rd year, by Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower. Defended the passage against all challengers in the tourney of the Silver Bridge. Victor in the melee at Maidenpool. Brought King Aerys II to safety during the Defiance of Duskendale, despite an arrow wound in the chest. Avenged the murder of his Sworn Brother, Ser Gwayne Gaunt.”
Arthur pointed at the passage that Ryam read and scoffed. “The White Bull was shit at these entries. He left out the best parts! Ser Barristan climbed the city wall and Keep wall to get to his Grace. It was a single-man rescue of a king held in captivity for half a year!”
Aemon’s brows rose and he tugged the book away from Ryam. “Rescued Lady Jeyne Swann and her septa from the Kingswood Brotherhood, defeating Simon Toyne and the Smiling Knight, and slaying the former. In the Oldtown tourney, defeated and unmasked the mystery knight Blackshield, revealing him as the Bastard of Uplands. Sole champion of Lord Steffon’s tourney at Storm’s End, where he unhorsed Lord Robert Baratheon, Prince Oberyn Martell, Lord Leyton Hightower, Lord Jon Connington, Lord Jason Mallister, and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”
“Yes, I recall hearing of that one in Essos.” Daenerys raised an amused brow. “ Squire Arstan left out that it was he who won.”
The words sounded odd to Jaime as Aemon continued. “Wounded by arrow, spear, and sword at the Battle of the Trident whilst fighting beside his Sworn Brothers and Prince Rhaegar. Pardoned, and named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, by King Robert I Baratheon. Served in the honor guard that brought Lady Cersei of House Lannister to King’s Landing to wed King Robert. Led the attack on Old Wyk during Balon Greyjoy’s Rebellion. Champion of the tourney at King’s Landing, in his 57th year. Dismissed from service by King Joffrey I Baratheon in his 61st year, for reasons of advanced age.”
“Miserable shits!” Duncan growled and grabbed the book, inspecting it for himself. “Dismissing a Kingsguard for age!? I was two years shy of seventy when I died at Summerhall! I could protect Egg just fine, and this boy here is more than capable.”
The queen smirked and glanced back at Barristan who stood uneasily by the door. “You didn’t update the book, Lord Commander. You’ve been remiss in your responsibility.”
“I updated Ser Jaime’s page.” Barristan defended, and Jaime’s brows rose. He would look later, but he could only imagine what Barristan put.
Turning back towards the group, Daenerys continued. “In Essos, he disguised himself as a squire to ensure that I lacked the madness that consumed my father. When a Sorrowful Man attempted to assassinate me by presenting a box containing a manticore, he removed the threat and came into my service, still under disguise. Some time later, Mero, the former captain of the Second Sons, tried to assassinate me, and Ser Barristan killed the armed man with only a walking stick. With his identity revealed, I sent him into Meereen’s sewers with two other men to free those enslaved and help take the city in my name. A death mission, but he did it. I named him as Lord Commander of my Queensguard after that, and he has served me loyally since. In the fighting pits when my life was again threatened and Drogon proved difficult to tame, he tried to draw the dragon’s attention to him to ensure my safety. In my absence from Meereen, he slew my enemies and led my army in the defense of Meereen. When we returned to Westeros, he led my army in battle against the false dragon before we took the city from Queen Cersei Lannister, and he slew Lord Jon Connington before bringing me the false dragon. I do believe we all know of his participation in the Long Night, though he almost died while protecting me from certain death.”
Arthur crossed his arms and guffawed. “Oh? Is that all?” The teasing tone evaporated as Arthur shook his head in dismay. “Are you trying to write your own White Book, Selmy?”
“I only wish to take over your page.” Barristan’s tone was dry and he raised a brow at Arthur.
Jaime appraised the knights who appeared more than impressed by the information, and none appeared willing to object to Daenerys’ naming Barristan as Lord Commander. Ryam’s fingers tapped the wooden table. “My page is not half so grand. I’d blame it on quality over quantity, but this brother seems to have overachieved with both.”
Aemon leaned forward and smirked, but his tone was light. “I’ve just come back into this world, and I don’t wish to leave it so soon. I’ll not challenge the Lord Commander’s position. I merely ask for a spar with the lot of you. A Queensguard tourney.”
“Yes!” Jaime’s fist hit the table. “That! We need that! These are the important decisions.” The conversation quickly dissolved into a debate over the format of the declared Queensgurad tourney that would be held when all were healed.
The queen’s work was done, and she left the room, pausing at the door to place a hand on Barristan’s shoulder. “ Lord Commander… I’ll leave you to deal with containing this group. Good luck with the young one. He’s quite eager.”