Chapter Text
Prologue - Daenerys
In her twenty-two years, Daenerys had experienced enough loss to fill several lifetimes. The fight to return home from across the Narrow Sea had not been easy nor without its sacrifices, but it had been successful.
Daenerys had returned to Westeros the year prior only to find that she was not the only dragon claiming an already occupied throne. After landing on Dragonstone, Daenerys was forced to confront the mummer’s dragon, and in the process, she was betrayed by Varys. The Spider was attempting to use Daenerys to secure dragons for the Blackfyre pretender claiming to be Aegon.
It had been treason for blood; shared blood. Varys, like the false Aegon, was of the female Blackfyre line, and the Spider was working with Ilyrio Mopatis to place a false king on the throne, but Daenerys was a red dragon, and she brought fire and blood to the Golden Company and their Blackfyre king.
The treason by Varys had not been the only betrayal since Daenerys arrived in Westeros, and her Lord Hand, Tyrion, had committed treason for gold. Tyrion’s treason was not the type of gold that Daenerys assumed when she first heard the prophecy.
While Daenerys assumed the betrayal would be for coin, Tyrion instead betrayed Daenerys for his brother; the Golden lion with a gold hand. The Kingslayer had been captured during the siege of King’s Landing, though he had not attempted to fight or flee.
When Daenerys disposed of the false Aegon and descended upon King’s Landing, she found the gates open and the pathway to the Red Keep unguarded. The enemy had laid down their weapons, though Ser Barristan had been wary.
When they arrived in the throne room, Cersei was dead with dying guards surrounding her. Only the Kingslayer remained. Tear-stained cheeks stood in contrast to a cutting smirk and harsh words. ‘I’ll not bend to madness. I’ve enough blood on my hands from unworthy sovereigns.’
Whispers told of wildfire below the city, and Cersei’s Hand, Qyburn, admitted that she had ordered the caches lit when Daenerys walked uncontested through the city gates. It had been Cersei’s plan to destroy the easternmost edge of the city as Daenerys and her army walked through; a sacrifice of the city and people to maintain her crown. Daenerys had been aghast, though accounts of the usurper’s final hour were hazy at best.
Daenerys had the Kingslayer thrown into the cells to await his execution for the slaying of Aerys and his presumed participation in Cersei’s plans, but the following day, the Kingslayer was gone. Tyrion had admitted to his treason, and he swore that Jaime’s actions were not without valid reason. Ordering Tyrion’s death had not come easy, but Daenerys knew that she must punish him. By the grace of the gods, circumstances spared Tyrion’s life.
Jon Snow had come south, but not to bend. Instead, he spoke of dead things and a need for dragonglass. He beseeched Daenerys to lend her dragons, army, and resources to aid the north; a kingdom in open rebellion with the crown.
A peculiar young man was at Jon’s side, claiming to have greensight. The crippled man describing himself as the ‘three-eyed raven’ spoke of Jon’s lineage, the Others, and the truth of what happened in King’s landing; both during Aerys’ reign and Cersei’s final hour.
The Kingslayer had killed Aerys to save the city, and history repeated under his watch as Lord Commander. He had enabled Cersei’s death to prevent the destruction of King’s Landing. After killing the guards who took Cersei’s orders to light the wildfire below the city, Jaime stepped back to allow Arya Stark, wearing the face of Ser Osfryd Kettleblack, to strangle Cersei to death.
The revelation was shocking, and Daenerys wept at the truths revealed. A piece of Rhaegar still lived, and for the first time in years, Daenerys did not feel so alone. In fairness, Daenerys had not been entirely alone.
Missandei never wavered and she tempered Daenerys’ worst impulses. Grey Worm was dutiful and committed, and his faith in Daenerys made her strive to be a better queen. Ser Barristan was her truest protector and reminded her of what she was born to be. Not all Targaryens were mad, and Daenerys wanted her coin to land on the side of greatness. She wanted to prove herself worthy of the loyalty earned.
Then there was Jorah, her first supporter and beloved knight. He had committed the final treason; treason for love. Jorah’s actions jeopardized the realm’s safety, and although Barristan had advised against allowing Jorah back into her service, Daenerys had. ‘I forgave your deceit, ser, and you’ve served me well since that day. I will afford Ser Jorah the same opportunity.’ She had been wrong.
Jorah had not trusted Jon nor the strange boy from the north. He had believed that like the false Aegon who Daenerys removed, Jon’s presence was merely another attempt to take what was Daenerys’ by blood and conquest. ‘They are both of House Stark; Ned’s bastard and trueborn son. They’ll take what you’ve fought for and they have no right to it. Without proof, the boy names himself trueborn; your brother’s son.’
The conflicting arguments between Barristan and Jorah had overwhelmed Daenerys. Barristan thought that Jorah merely held a grudge against House Stark given his forced exile, but Jorah demanded documentation of the supposed marriage between Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar, of which there appeared to be none.
The bickering voices had been too loud, and Daenerys needed time to consider it all . ‘I’ve much to reflect on, but we will afford them guest right.’ That time had allowed Jorah the space necessary to commit treason; a treason he claimed to commit out of love for Daenerys.
As Jon and Daenerys became acquainted, and Rhaegal bonded with Jon, Jorah grew jealous. Further inflaming Jorah, Jon wore Longclaw as his hip, and Jorah assumed the boy had stolen it from his father. ‘First he takes my father’s place as Lord Commander and steals my House’s ancestral sword, and now he seeks to take your place as sovereign.’
After Tyrion suggested a marriage between the purported aunt and nephew to unify the realm, Jorah flew into a blind rage. He claimed that he did not intend to kill Jon, but he had, and with blood on his hands, Jorah had committed treason by breaking Daenerys’ instruction to honor guest right so that she might work towards peace with the North. Taking Jorah’s head hurt, but it was necessary, and Daenerys vowed to fight for the north as recompense for the crime committed.
When Daenerys flew north to treat with Lady Sansa, she was surprised to find the Kingslayer at the young woman’s side, though he claimed that his oaths were not to the young wolf, but rather, to a dead woman. ‘She needs bannermen to defend the North, and I have committed the West.’
At first, Daenerys wondered if the Kingslayer had fallen in love with the young Stark, but she quickly realized the assumption was false. Ser Jaime Lannister’s mistrusting eyes were only ever soft when gazing upon a warrior woman also in service to House Stark. The woman, Lady Brienne Tarth, appeared to return his fondness; a fact which endlessly amused Daenerys’s reinstated Lord Hand, Tyrion Lannister.
The North did not wish to bend, but there was little time to debate the matter. Darkness came, and with it, the dead. It was in that darkness that Daenerys realized how shortsighted her efforts in the south had been.
For moon turns, battle raged, and the realm bled. The living had been pushed south of the neck after failure to defend the North. Without other Targaryen riders to command the dragons, the Night King claimed Rhaegal and attacked Viserion outside King’s Landing. With Viserion dying and Rhaegal a wight dragon, all hope was lost, and Daenerys knew then that she had failed to protect her people.
Adding to Daenerys’ sense of despair, Viserion was not the only major casualty in the prior day’s battle. Daenerys’ Lord Commander and beloved knight, Ser Barristan, was gravely wounded.
As Daenerys sat at Barristan’s bedside and gripped his hand while life drained from his body, a woman arrived dressed all in red and wearing a peculiar necklace. Daenerys had seen a red priestess before, though this particular woman was foreign to her.
‘This Queensguard was one of the realm’s greatest to ever serve. Without maintaining control of all three dragons, you cannot lose any of your seven, including this one.’
Daenerys felt bitterness filling her heart as she gripped her friend’s hand. Seven. What seven? I’ve only the one. Ser Barristan is my only white cloak. “I’ve only the one Queensguard.”
‘You require seven, but only death can pay for life.’ The words echoed from across the Narrow Sea and haunted Daenerys. With fire in her eyes, the red priestess made a promise not so different from Mirri Miz. Under any other circumstance, Daenerys would have called for the woman’s head, but she had needed a miracle, and as such, she agreed.
For seven knights to restore light, a sacrifice was made with a dying Viserion. The ritual unnerved Daenerys, but if it worked, the living had a chance. She would lead Drogon against Rhaegal while seven white knights faced death itself. The Night King and his army had been too strong, and the living needed heroes.
Daenerys
Daenerys awoke in the White Sword Tower. Her head was pounding, and sleep had been elusive since Barristan nearly died protecting her in battle. Her hand still gripped Barristan’s, but his body didn’t feel quite so cold. A wave of hope coursed through Daenerys as she sat upright. Did it work? Did the ritual restore his health?
Glancing at Barristan’s face, Daenerys startled and fell out of her chair, scrambling backwards in shock. A young knight occupied Barristan’s bed, and Daenerys wondered if she had in fact gone mad. Did I return to the wrong room after the priestess’s ritual?
Barristan’s room in the White Sword Tower had been the only one occupied since Daenerys took the throne. There had been little time to establish a Queensguard, and Daenerys wanted to ensure that only the best were cloaked in white. Standing on shaky legs, Daenerys approached the bed and gasped.
Snowy white hair was as blond as the sun, and age lines were smoothed away by youth. Daenerys blinked rapidly and glanced towards the window. Night still blanketed the realm, and a bitter cold crept through the drafty tower. I must be awake. This can’t be a dream.
The facial features were undeniably Barristan’s, though the sudden youth was making Daenerys wonder if her coin had in fact landed on the wrong side. Pulling back the covers placed over Barristan’s chest, Daenerys noted that his body was without scars nor the fresh wound that nearly sent him into the Stranger’s arms.
Daenerys had seen Barristan without a tunic in Essos, and his body had been littered with old battle wounds. While his body had always been incredibly lean and capable for a man of sixty, his body at present was quite different.
Rippled muscles and unblemished skin were warm to the touch. Placing a gentle hand on Barristan’s shoulder, Daenerys nudged him awake. Slowly, Barristan roused, and pale blue eyes blinked at Daenerys. “Your Grace… did we win?”
The sound of Barristan’s deep voice confirmed what her eyes already knew. How? How is he of age to me? Any need to understand why Barristan looked so young abandoned Daenerys at realization that he was alive and healthy. Falling onto the bed, Daenerys pulled Barristan into her arms. Tears filled her eyes and she smiled against his skin. “You’re alive. Thank the gods.”
“Was I dead?” Barristan sounded as confused as Daenerys felt. Leaning back, she cupped his face and studied him in disbelief. Even in Essos, she thought Barristan a handsome man despite his age, but the sight of him now rendered her speechless. Did he look like this when he took the white cloak? How awful for maidens across the realm.
“You were dying just yesterday, but I… I made a sacrifice. There is a red priestess here, and she made an offer not unlike one I received many years ago. I accepted it, and I don’t know how, but you’re healed and… young.” Daenerys watched as Barristan’s brows knitted together.
“Young?” Confusion clung to the word. “Would it be easier to describe what happened in Valyrian? I think the translation is off.”
Daenerys laughed and shook her head. Standing from the bed, she tore through the room looking for a mirror. “Do you not have a looking glass, ser?”
“Whatever for? After sixty years, I know what my face looks like, your Grace.” The reply made Daenerys laugh. Of course, her white knight had no mirror. Dashing into the hallway, Daenerys ran down four flights of stairs to the round room. There was a well-polished platter that would serve its purpose, and she grabbed it quickly.
Returning to the fourth floor, Daenerys saw Barristan standing upright and rubbing his head. The sight of him in only breeches, looking strangely young and strong was entirely distracting. Daenerys approached with the platter clutched in her hands. Lifting it to his face, she watched as Barristan stumbled backwards in shock. “Seven hells!”
Jaime
Jaime awoke with a yawn and pulled Brienne close. His lips pressed warm and soft to hers, and his hands clutched at her possessively. Hands. I have two hands. Oh my gods… I’m dead!
“Wench! Oh my gods! Wake up! Wake up!” Jaime shook Brienne awake. His eyes glanced around the room, and he stilled when he realized where he was. Oh my gods. I’m in the White Sword Tower. Why are we not at the encampment?
Brienne’s eyes fluttered open slowly and she grumbled. “We just had our shift. Go back to sleep, Jaime.”
“Brienne, we’re dead. Oh gods. Did we freeze to death? Were we attacked while asleep? Did we burn by the wight dragon’s flames?” Jaime stood up and began to pace frantically.
An annoyed groan filled the room as Brienne sat upright. As the sleepy haze left her sapphire eyes, Brienne glanced around the room and realized why Jaime was so frantic. “Where are we?”
“I can’t imagine it’s the Seven Hells if you’re here, but it’s far too fucking dark and cold to the be the Seven Heavens.” As Jaime spoke, he heard Brienne gasp and leap to her feet.
“Jaime…” Brienne’s voice caused Jaime to still. He turned to glance at her and watched as her hands reached slowly for his face. “Why… why are you so young?”
“Young!? Why am I two-handed!?” Jaime lifted his right hand and waved it frantically before Brienne. “We’re dead… we’re dead and it’s still dark. Oh gods. I knew this would happen! I knew that your being with me would only sully you. Now you’re stuck in the Seven Hells with me.” Jaime crouched and buried his face in his hands.
Dropping before him, Brienne clutched desperately at Jaime. “We’re fine. It’s alright, Jaime. We’re together and that’s all that matters.”
Jaime’s arms wrapped around Brienne and he pulled her close. He wanted to apologize for all of eternity. The war with the dead had been long and exhausting, but he believed they could win, and when they did, Jaime had wished to marry Brienne. They would live out their days on her island in the sea, and Jaime dreamed of having babes with her; babes he could claim before gods and men. Now he was dead, and he had damned her for all eternity.
A commotion outside the room caught their attention. Standing in unison, they reached for their swords on instinct; swords that had not left their presence since the darkness consumed the light. The weight of Widow’s Wail in the palm of his right hand sent a tingling through Jaime’s arm and lifted his spirits. A sword in my right hand. I suppose the gods are not entirely cruel.
Jaime pulled open the door and screamed when he saw the face of Arthur Dayne staring back at him. Stumbling backwards into Brienne, Jaime felt her strong arms wrap around his waist to steady him. The Sword of the Morning stepped into the room with Dawn in hand. “Well good morning to you too. I think it’s morning…” Arthur’s eyes narrowed at Brienne. “Who the hells is that?”
Arthur squinted at Brienne and tilted his head curiously. “I’ll concede there is much that I don’t understand. One moment I’m dying in the Prince’s Pass, and the next I’m here in my bed. Is Rhaegar dead? Did we lose?”
What? Jaime straightened and moved forward slowly. Reaching out, he poked Arthur’s chest, half expecting his hand to pass through the man as though he was an apparition. “You… you died. I think I died too. This is Ser Brienne Tarth… my…” Wife. No, that’s not true, though I wanted it. I wanted it more than I’ve wanted anything. “… love.”
Arthur snorted loudly and hummed in false understanding. “Yes, of course. Shall I call you Prince Lewyn while we’re at it, little brother? At least he kept his lover in a manse outside of the White Sword Tower. And I’m sorry, but did you call her ‘ser’?”
“Tarth?” A male voice called out from somewhere behind Arthur. The torchlight from the hallway began to flicker as a massive figure approached, making the room impossibly darker. At the man’s approach, Arthur turned and stumbled backwards with a curse at his lips. Dawn raised daringly in reply and he called out. “Announce yourself!”
A massive man with sun-streaked hair and blue eyes stepped into the doorway, and Jaime felt his breath catch in his throat. The man was nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders and a face similar to Brienne’s. With a question in his voice, the man announced himself. “Put down the sword boy or I’ll give you clout behind the ear. I’m Lord Commander of this very tower, and I do not know any of you. Where is Egg? Did you bring us here from Summerhall?”
Jaime’s brows furrowed and he leaned against Brienne as Arthur continued to hold his sword towards the massive man. “Wench… is that…” Cutting himself off, Jaime leaned forward and questioned the man. “Are you Ser Duncan?”
The man appraised Jaime as though he had two heads. “Why is this child in the White Sword Tower? Who are you?” Jaime scoffed in offense and straightened. Child? How young do I look?
Loud footsteps from the level above caught their attention. Jaime recognized the voices coming down the stairwell as Daenerys and Barristan, prompting him to push past the mountain of man in the doorway. In his haste, Jaime ran straight into Daenerys and a young knight at her side. There was no mistaking the man’s deep voice as anyone other than Ser Barristan. “Oh gods! He’s a babe again!”
Daenerys looked at Jaime curiously and clutched Barristan’s arm, or at least, Jaime thought it was Barristan’s arm. The eyes and facial features looked like Barristan, but he was young; younger than when Jaime first met him.
“Ser Jaime?” The queen’s eyes darted around the hall and went wide at the sight of the massive man who was fast-approaching them.
“Where is King Aegon!?” The man who Jaime assumed to be Ser Duncan unsheathed his sword, and Jaime stood quickly in defense of Daenerys. “King Aegon is dead… has been for forty-five years, ser. This is his great-granddaughter, Queen Daenerys.”
The man recoiled as if struck. “It was real then? Summerhall? I tried to get to Egg, but he…” Duncan trailed off and glanced at the ground; a grimace on his face.
“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m fairly certain we are all dead.” Jaime supplied, but a hand at his arm caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, Jaime saw Daenerys scanning the hallway as she provided the context they lacked.
“This was my doing. After the last battle, I took an offer from a red priestess. Death for life. I sacrificed a dying Viserion for seven great knights. I think that…” Daenerys's words were interrupted by the sound of steel meeting steel one level below.
Duncan
What kind of strange sorcery is this? Egg has truly fucked up now with that blood magic and cursed hatching attempt. I should have given him clout him behind the ears. Duncan followed the strange group down the winding stairs of the White Sword Tower and watched as two dueling figures came into view.
A knight donning a helm bearing the three-headed dragon wrought in white-gold was unleashing a torrent of blows against a man unknown to Duncan, but whose features seemed familiar to, though not the same as, a knight from the Reach he once met.
“Stop! Stop it now!” Daenerys called out, and at her plea, the young, blond knight who had accompanied her from the fourth floor stepped forward with his sword raised defensively.
At their presence, the knight donning the helm boasting a three-headed dragon stopped and fell to a knee. “Naerys? Sister, is that you?”
Naerys? Duncan’s brows furrowed at the words. The only Naerys who Duncan knew of was queen to King Aegon IV. She had died a decade before Duncan was born, but tales of her and her siblings were well-known throughout the seven kingdoms. My gods. Is that Aemon the Dragonknight?
“My name is Queen Daenerys Targaryen, ser. Who are you?”
The man’s eyes appeared sad at the information. “My name is Ser Aemon of House Targaryen. Lord Commander of King Aegon’s, Kingsguard.”
“Liar!” The man Aemon had been fighting shouted. “I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard! I fight in service to King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name!”
The young queen stepped forward with hands raised pleadingly. “Sers, please. Let me explain. Some of you were brought back from death just last night, while others were only healed or…”, Daenerys glanced back uncertainly at the young boy with golden hair and a girl from Tarth who looked quite a lot like Duncan himself, “...relocated. Relocated and… made younger, though I’m not certain why some of you are so young.”
No sooner were the words spoken than an answer came. From one level below, a voice called out ominously. “Come down and into the light. All of you.”
Well I don’t care for the sound of that. Duncan glanced uneasily at their group. At least two others claimed to be Lord Commander, though Duncan wondered about the half-naked, young lad with a mop of blond hair who had descended from the fourth floor with his declared queen. By the gods if that boy bedded a queen in my bedchambers I’ll take off his head.
Daenerys looped her arm through the blond knight’s arm and tugged him along. “Ser Barristan… that’s her.”
Barristan? Oh my gods! How could I forget him!? “Barristan Selmy, you gods damn shit! You knocked me to my arse at the tourney. Tell me true boy, were you bedding the queen in my bloody quarters?”
Barristan’s feet faltered and he turned to stare at Duncan with wide eyes. “I am Lord Commander of the Queensguard, ser! I would never break my vows and dishonor the queen! I’m old enough to be her grandsire!”
Duncan snorted. “Did you take a hit to the head, son? You look old enough to be her brother, and you’re certainly not Lord Commander.”
“Queensguard?” The knight who had been dueling Aemon scoffed. “Now I’ve truly heard madness! Where is his Grace!?”
Ignoring the man’s accusation, Daenerys pulled on Barristan’s arm and spoke commandingly to the rest of their group. “Downstairs! All of you!”
“That is definitely not my sister.” Aemon sighed morosely and followed, but the young, golden boy and the Tarth girl were staring at Duncan wide-eyed.
When the boy’s mouth gaped at him, Duncan scrunched his nose and barked. “What are you staring at? Never seen a knight from Flea Bottom before?”
“You’re much bigger than I expected.” The boy appeared dumbstruck, and the girl no different.
“Are you truly Ser Duncan? Do you know my father, Lord Selwyn Tarth?” At the words, Duncan inhaled sharply. Selwyn. My sweet grandson.
“My grandson. Is he alive?” Duncan dared to hope. In his final moments before flames consumed him, Duncan thought of his loved ones on Tarth. He thought of his daughter and grandson, both of whom would be lost to him in death.
The girl smiled wide; her thick lips pulling back to reveal crooked teeth. “He is. He’s on Tarth protecting those unable to fight in this war. For the first three moon turns, he fought in the field at my side, but he was injured and had to return home.” The girl’s expressive eyes appeared longing as she spoke of Tarth. It was as though home was impossible to reach, and Duncan wondered if she was stranded in King’s Landing.
“What is your name?” Ducan stepped closer and inspected her features. Gods, she has my size, freckles, and nose, those her’s seems to have been broken more times than mine. Poor thing.
“Brienne.” The girl smiled again and turned to the boy. “This is Jaime. Ser Jaime Lannister. He was older than me, but now… I’m not certain what happened.”
The girl laughed loudly, but quickly covered her thick lips as though embarrassed. Still, the boy stared at Duncan in awe. And they called me Dunk the Lunk. This one seems just as thick. With a heavy sigh, Duncan forced a smile. “Let me guess… you’re a Lord Commander too?”
“I… I was. Not a very good one.” The boy grimaced and glanced away, but before they could continue speaking, Daenerys called up from the level below. “Ser Duncan, Ser Brienne, and Ser Jaime… please hurry.”
“Ser Brienne?” Duncan was confused, but also elated. “My great-granddaughter is a knight?”
“The first!” The young boy finally found his words. “I knighted her on the eve of battle, though someone should have many years before that. My finest accomplishment yet.” There was a sense of pride in the boy’s eyes and tone that pleased Duncan immensely.
I’ve a great-granddaughter, and she’s the first female knight. For years after Prince Baelor’s death, Duncan had wondered how the gods could have spared a man such as him, but taken the prince that inspired hope for so many.
They descended the steps and Duncan saw a woman in a long, red dress standing near the White Book with Daenerys at her side. The women spoke in hushed tones as the men gathered around the table. The proclaimed queen extended her hand and offered instruction. “Please, sit sers.”
Barristan and a knight with violet eyes took vacant chairs at the table, but Aemon and the man he fought upstairs bickered over ownership of the Lord Commander’s seat. Jaime and Brienne quickly took seats opposite Barristan at the table, and Duncan moved towards the bickering knights. “There seems to be what? Five Lord Commanders among us? Unless you care to break that chair into pieces and stand while holding its splinters, why don’t you simply take an available chair?”
“Ser Barristan is my Lord Commander.” Daenerys supplied from beside the priestess, but judging by the look on Barristan’s face, he had little desire to squabble over the position with the other knights assembled.
“Where is your tunic?” The man with violet eyes asked from Barristan’s side; his chest shaking lightly with laughter. “This is very Dornish of you, Barristan. The White Bull would have a fit. Gods you’re so young.” The White Bull? They knew my sworn brother?
“Leave me be, Arthur. Go bother Jaime.” The words were dismissive, but Jaime seemed eager to be bothered by the named knight. Like a child on his name day, Jaime leaned forward and spoke eagerly. “I can’t believe you’re alive, and let me be clear, not one hour has passed since your death that I believed Ned bloody Stark bested you. That miserable shit couldn't fight his way out of Barristan’s missing tunic.”
“There’s no time for this.” The red priestess moved closer to the table. At her presence, Duncan shoved past Aemon to take the available seat at the head of the shield-shaped table. I am the largest here and I do appear the oldest. It’s only fair. “You’ve all been brought back from death or brought here to fight for the living. Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, and Ser Brienne have not yet met the Stranger, though the rest of you have.”
The woman’s words felt heavy, and Duncan did not care for the sound of them. Still, she continued to supply information as the flames flickered wildly with every movement of her body. “The Lord of Light brought you here at the very age that the white cloak was first placed upon your capable shoulders.”
Oh. Am I younger than when I died? Duncan had yet to see his reflection, though by the looks of those among their group, he believed the words. They all appeared quite young.
A small voice called out from down the table. “There must be a mistake… I’m not a Kingsguard.” Brienne’s eyes darted around the room as though hoping someone might supply the reason for her errant placement.
“You were. You served King Renly Baratheon on his Rainbow Guard until his death.” The woman supplied. “The Lord of Light sent seven of the greatest Kingsguard in this realm’s history to beat back the darkness. Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander to King Jaehaerys I and King Viserys I, and aged twenty at time of appointment. Ser Aemon Targaryen, Lord Commander to King Aegon III, King Daeron I, King Baelor I, King Viserys II, and King Aegon IV, and aged seven-and-ten at the time of his appointment.”
At the words, Aemon’s brows rose to his hairline and he glanced at Ryam. “You’re Ser Ryam! I wanted to be a great knight like you when I was but a boy.”
Duncan tried not to laugh at the words. When he was but a boy? He is a boy. This is absurd.
Ryam’s brow knitted in confusion. “I know none of your kings, though I suppose that I was born well before you. King Jaehaerys was only the fourth Targaryen king to sit upon the throne when I took my oaths. I fear hearing how many you’ve known since then.”
Ryam’s eyes scanned the table, and any pigheaded refusal to acknowledge the others as knights or Lord Commander faded in his eyes. Moving around the table, the red priestess continued. “Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander to King Aegon V, and aged one-and-forty at the time of his appointment. Ser Arthur Dayne, Kingsguard of King Aerys II, aged one-and-twenty when he was appointed. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander to King Robert Baratheon, King Joffrey Baratheon, and Queen Daenerys I, aged three-and-twenty at the time of his appointment.”
“Baratheon!” Aemon, Ryam, and Duncan spoke in unison, leaping to their feet with swords unsheathed and aimed at Barristan. An usurper! This will not stand!
Duncan felt his chest heave with rage as he glared at the boy who once unhorsed him. The boy who was knighted by Egg. The boy who, apparently, went on to serve House Baratheon. “Turncloak!”
Barristan stared wide-eyed at the blades, but he did not move. Only Jaime laughed loudly from across the table, but Arthur went ashen. “It’s true. Prince Rhaegar truly died… all his children too?”
Duncan’s eyes darted to Arthur, but the answer mattered little. If House Targaryen lost the crown, it made little sense that the blond boy served Daenerys now. A true Kingsguard would have followed any Targaryen heirs until none remained.
A delicate hand pushed down Duncan’s sword arm. “He serves me now. My House was overthrown by Robert Baratheon. My father, King Aerys, was killed when he tried to destroy this city with wildfire. His son and heir, Prince Rhaegar, died in battle with Ser Barristan fighting at his side. I was born during that war, and my brother was only seven when we fled to Essos. Ser Barristan found me there and returned me home.”
At the mention of wildfire, Duncan’s eyes went wide. The word that left his lips was a haunted whisper. “Summerhall.” Green flames danced in his mind, and the image of Aegon devoured by flames returned to him.
“Was it Aerys then? I had wondered how…” Duncan shook the thought from his mind. “It matters little. It’s done now.”
The red priestess continued introductions, and Duncan watched as she approached Brienne and Jaime. “Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander to King Joffrey Baratheon and King Tommen Baratheon, and aged five-and-ten at the time of his appointment.”
Loud gasps filled the room, and Aemon recoiled as if struck. “Five-and-ten!? Not even a man grown!”
Gods. He’s a babe. What madness is this?
“He was man enough to stop Aerys.” Barristan snapped at Aemon. “The rest of us just... watched.”
Arthur cringed at the words before lifting his head to consider Jaime. “Ned didn’t say how; just that the king was dead. We heard rumors along the pass, but...” A pained expression stretched across Arthur’s face and he paused to compose himself. “You did well, Jaime.”
At the praise, Jaime looked as though he’d won his first tourney or been knighted all over again. Duncan watched as Brienne’s hand squeezed Jaime’s forearm and pride caused her chest to swell. The returning glance from the boy was the softest thing that Duncan had ever seen, and it made him slowly sit in his chair. Oh gods. Are they? No… they didn’t mention they were wed. Kingsguard can’t wed...
Walking behind Brienne, the red priestess finished her introductions. “Ser Brienne Tarth, Kingsguard of King Renly Baratheon, and aged nine-and-ten at time of appointment.”
The other knights who had been dead longer than Duncan shifted uncomfortably at the words. It was evident that they didn’t know quite what to make of the young pair last to be introduced. One had killed his king to save the city, and the other defied tradition to become the first female knight.
Moving to stand near Daenerys, the red priestess explained what Brienne, Jaime, and Barristan appeared to already know. The second Long Night was upon them, and the living needed heroes to face death itself. Each had with them or would be afforded superior steel.
After defeating the Golden Company, Daenerys had claimed and gifted Blackfyre to Ser Barristan. Ser Arthur wielded Dawn . Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne fought with two halves of Ice . Ser Aemon returned to the living as he left it; clutching Dark Sister . Ser Ducan would be granted use of Longclaw and Ser Ryam would be granted use of Heartsbane .
The information was overwhelming, but Duncan would believe almost anything given who he sat among. Brienne, Jaime, and Barristan supplied details on the White Walkers and Night King. Their description of the creatures and their unnatural strength in battle sent a chill down Duncan’s spine, but he had never been one to run from a fight.
With the provided information, a plan was formed by the red priestess. “We must place the three-eyed raven in the godswood, and the seven of you will protect him. Queen Daenerys must lead Drogon in the battle against Rhaegal. This will be the living’s last chance at survival. If the three-eyed raven dies, the light will be extinguished forever.”