Chapter Text
Daenerys
Daenerys’ brows furrowed as she stared at the maester. “I don’t understand. What is it you’re concerned about?”
“Documentation, your Grace.” Maester Desmond sighed and pushed forward the book detailing House Lannister’s main branch. “This says that Ser Jaime was born in 266ac, but the year is now 305ac, and yet, he lives in the body of a man aged five-and-ten. He would be celebrating his fortieth name day next year, your Grace, but now what? Does he celebrate becoming a man grown?”
Daenerys stared at the entry, and as she considered the maester’s comment, he spoke again. “In two years, Ser Barristan would be celebrating his seventieth name day, but now he is three-and-twenty. There are implications to all of this, and I’ve not yet raised the topic of a man born in 40ac now walking amongst us, naming himself a Redwyne.”
A heavy sigh pushed past Daenerys’ lips, and she glanced across the table at her Lord Commander. Just the day prior, the Queensguard took their new oaths and white cloaks. So much had happened in the four days since the Others were defeated, and Daenerys had not considered much about her Queensguard other than she had a group of seven unrivaled by any in the realm’s history.
“Can we simply not denote somewhere that they were reborn in the year 305ac; their bodies restored at the age of their initial appointment?” Daenerys’ tone betrayed her exhaustion. The days were never-ending as the kingdoms recovered, and there were many soldiers still clinging to life in recovery tents.
The maester bowed his head, but spoke insistently. “Your Grace, this can wait, but we do need to arrive at a decision. Ser Jaime is heir to Casterly Rock, but if we indicate that he was reborn in the year 305ac in the body of his fifteen-year-old self, that would mark his rebirth year as 290ac. By our laws, Lord Tyrion would inherit Casterly Rock. We will face similar issues with the handling of the reborn knights. If Ser Arthur has children, they need to be placed somewhere in line for succession at Starfall. With Lord Edric having fallen in battle, only lady Allyria remains, and she is still unwed.”
The maester took a deep breath before continuing. “Then there is the matter of identity. What do we say about Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, and Ser Brienne. Do we say they died and were reborn? Our histories will need to account for this. For example, if Ser Barristan dies in forty years, do we indicate that he died at age 108 or age 63? Further, you are allowing the Queensguard to have children of their own, which is all the more reason for these knights to require an identity and birth year. Their Houses will require clarity on inheritance.”
This cannot possibly be important right now. “Maester Desmond, I appreciate what you are saying, but the kingdoms have greater challenges at present. I highly doubt Ser Aemon will contest my crown, though if anything, I might have someone to name as heir if I fail to produce a child of my own. Ser Ryam is 250 years removed from the line of succession at the Arbor, and I highly doubt he will seek claim. Ser Duncan is from Flea Bottom. Ser Arthur and his sister might arrive at the same arrangement that I will with Ser Aemon. Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime intend to live on Tarth when the time comes, and Ser Barristan has mentioned before that he has a great-nephew and ample cousins to look after Harvest Hall.”
Tyrion straightened at the words, seemingly invested in the conversation for the first time. “This concerns the crown, your Grace. The line of succession needs to be established. Are you naming Ser Aemon as your heir?”
Am I? “I… I suppose that I am. If I fail to have children, he is the only Targaryen left.” Daenerys sighed heavily, and despite her reply, the maester appeared displeased with the answer.
“This is why it must be addressed, your Grace. Is Ser Aemon aware of this? Will he marry and produce an heir of his own should you prove incapable? And what of Casterly Rock? The brothers might have some arrangement now, but what if the children of Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion are not fond of one another? What if they fight for claim and we’ve not addressed the current line of succession? If we do not adjust Ser Jaime’s birth year indicating he is now the younger brother, his children or grandchildren could attempt to overthrow Lord Tyrion’s children.”
“You can’t just declare him the younger brother.” Barristan spoke through clenched teeth. “He was born first, and he is Lord Tyrion’s older brother.”
“Is he still?” The maester challenged. “In body, Lord Tyrion is now almost twenty years his brother’s senior. Ser Jaime is not even considered a man grown. Who rules Casterly Rock, ser?”
Daenerys could see storm clouds gathering Barristan’s pale-blue eyes. “You can’t just wipe out our entire lives before… whatever this is. Our bodies are changed, but not our minds. Am I to be younger than my great-nephew now?”
Daenerys thought it best to delay the topic for another day. The issue was much more sensitive for those who had not yet died before their bodies changed, and she thought it best to discuss the matter privately. Somehow, it felt easier to declare the other’s reborn in the year 305ac with their body’s age providing an assigned birth year. It felt different for Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, and Ser Brienne.
“I’ll send missives to Tarth, Casterly Rock, and Harvest Hall. We’ll have the families of those impacted journey here ahead of the Feast of Life, and I’d prefer a private audience to explain this to all of them. We need to approach the matter House by House. Once that is settled, we will inform the other Houses of their reborn kin, and we’ll identify what to do with the Queensguard’s children should they have any.”
Daenerys did not believe the matter was quite so problematic as the maester suggested, but then a fortnight passed, and House Selmy arrived. It occurred to Daenerys that perhaps the conversations with the Houses might not go as smoothly as she planned.
An attendant came to inform Daenerys that Ser Arstan Selmy had arrived with his escort and kin. Daenerys was excited to meet Barristan’s family, as to that point he rarely spoke of them. With Ser Jaime and Ser Aemon at her back, Daenerys made her way towards the courtyard, and she was unsurprised to find Barristan standing there to greet his kin.
A wide smile stretched across Barristan’s face, making him look even more youthful than he already appeared. It was unusual to see Barristan without his Kingsguard attire, making the sight of him that much more jarring. As the young lord dismounted his horse, Barristan approached and spoke warmly. “Hello, Arstan.”
The young knight appraised Barristan strangely; his eyes darting around to the rest in his escort. One of the guards sighed heavily in reply. “That’s Lord Arstan to you. Do they not teach stable hands courtesies anymore?”
“Stable hand? I’m his great-uncle, you dolt.” Barristan’s nose scrunched in distaste, but the guards began to laugh loudly.
Oh no. Daenerys quickened her steps and hoped to avoid discussing the matter in the courtyard. The House Selmy guard dismounted smoothly and shoved his horse’s reins into Barristan’s chest. “You’re his great-uncle, is it? Well in that case, you can call me High Septon.”
“I am Ser Barristan Selmy, and if you question me again, the only thing anyone will call you is dead.” Barristan shoved the reins back into the man’s hands and reached for the hilt of Blackfyre .
“Ser Barristan!” Daenerys lifted her skirts and ran towards the group. At her approach, everyone in the courtyard was quick to dismount and bow in greeting of their queen. “Let us discuss this matter inside, please. I've set up a private study so that we might speak openly.”
Barristan
An indignant rage coursed through Barristan at having been laughed at by his own House. The feeling was akin to the laughter in the throne room upon Barristan’s dimissial when he was made a jape of by Joffrey and Joffrey’s sycophants.
As the group moved into the castle under Daenerys’ instruction, she slipped her arm through Barristan’s and whispered for his ears alone. “Just calm down. We’ll sort it out.”
“I am calm, your Grace.” The whispered reply sounded as tense as Barristan felt, and Daenerys raised an unimpressed brow; her head turning slowly to appraise him.
“Yes, of course. I’d say you’re as calm as you are a stable hand.” The words provoked a scowl from Barristan and he glanced back with narrowed eyes at the guard in question. Dainty fingers tightened around his arm and Barristan returned his attention to the queen. Her eyes were beseeching as she mouthed words aimed to calm. “Relax.”
Relax. How the hells am I to relax? The realm no longer knows who I am. Barristan’s identity had been built over decades of great deeds and honorable acts. Tyrion once likened the way the smallfolk spoke of Barristan to how they spoke Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Aemon the Dragonknight. He had been respected once, but now, Barristan was merely a young man unproven to the realm.
For a fortnight Barristan had endured laughter from unknowing Gold Cloaks whenever he introduced himself as Barristan Selmy. ‘Barristan the Bold is past sixty, boy! Did you take a hit to the head during the war?’
When they arrived in the room, Daenerys tugged Barristan towards the end of a long table and pushed him down into the chair nearest her. Leaning down, Daenerys whispered into his ear. “Let me explain this to them.”
The rest of House Selmy moved into the room, taking available seats or standing against the wall. Barristan knew only Arstan, but by name alone. He had never met his great-nephew, and his brother and nephew had died in wars past. Most of the cousins Barristan grew up with had been older, and it was likely that they were dead or unfit for the journey north.
During the Long Night, the living’s forces were divided into three encampments. The Stormlands, Crownlands, and the Vale fought along the eastern edge of the kingdoms, but Barristan was stationed centrally and led the combined armies of the Reach, Riverlands, Dothraki, and Unsullied.
Suddenly, Barristan felt very uncertain about seeing his kin. Excitement had given way to offense in the courtyard, but now Barristan worried that they might not accept him. With everyone seated or standing, Daenerys smiled politely at those assembled and nodded towards Arstan. “I’m quite familiar with your name, Lord Arstan. Your great-uncle used it when he disguised himself before coming into my service.”
The queen smirked, and Barristan could see her trying not to laugh, but the context was lost on the group. Arstan bowed his head in reply before speaking. “Did my great-uncle die during the Long Night? I heard tales that he fought valiantly.”
Daenerys’ eyes darted briefly to Barristan before returning to Arstan. “I’ve never seen him fight anyway other than valiantly, Ser Arstan. This is going to sound difficult to believe, but he is right here.” The queen’s hand gestured towards Barristan, and the reactions of those assembled mirrored the queen’s warning to her own words. Disbelief.
“I mean no offense, your Grace, but my great-uncle would be nearing seventy. The man at your side appears no older than me.” Arstan appraised Barristan before returning his gaze to Daenerys. “If this is the man who returned you home, then he is not my great-uncle.”
Daenerys tapped her fingers on the table and glanced at Barristan before providing greater detail. “You fought along the eastern edge of the kingdoms, but surely you saw the dragons dueling in the skies, correct?”
Arstan’s brows furrowed, but he nodded slowly in affirmation. “Aye, we did, your Grace.”
“The day before light was restored, one of my remaining two dragons was nearly killed in battle. That same battle, Ser Barristan almost died saving my life and the maester did all he could for your great-uncle, but I made a sacrifice. In exchange for one of my dragons, a red priestess offered to save Ser Barristan and restore six other great knights necessary to defeat the dead. I don’t understand much of what happened nor the ritual she performed, but Ser Barristan’s health was restored… and so too was his youth. I was given seven of the greatest Kingsguard who ever lived to defeat the darkness; Ser Ryam Redwyne, Ser Aemon Targaryen, Ser Duncan the Tall, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Brienne Lannister of Tarth, and…” Daenerys again gestured at Barristan. “Your great-uncle. The gods restored them each to the age at which they took the white cloak. Ser Barristan is now three-and-twenty… again.”
It sounded absurd, and Barristan feared the reactions. Risking a glance, Barristan noted the continued disbelief, but none were so bold as to tell the queen she was crazy. A voice in the back of Barristan’s mind feared that his House might wonder if Daenerys was the next Aerys. Gods, don’t let them think Aerys’ daughter is beginning her descent into madness.
Finally Arstan broke the silence. “Forgive me, your Grace, but I struggle to believe that this man is Barristan the Bold.”
“Yet you saw dead men walk and my dragons flying above your heads in battle?” Daenerys spoke more forcefully. “As your queen, I would expect you to believe my word, though given my House's history, I will just this once allow questioning on your part. Do you know Ser Jaime Lannister?”
Arstan huffed a small laugh. “Yes, your Grace. Everyone knows the Kingslayer. I saw him at King Tommen’s coronation.”
“Mind your tongue, boy.” Barristan snarled at Arstan, and the young man had the good graces to close his mouth without further comment.
With a heavy sigh, Daenerys stood and walked the distance to the door, and Barristan knew what she aimed to do. Hushed words were exchanged when the door opened, and Jaime walked in behind the queen; his white cloak flowing at his back. “Ser Arstan, perhaps you remember Ser Jaime Lannister, though I gather he looks quite a bit younger than when you last saw him.”
Arstan’s eyes went wide at the sight of Jaime, and immediately, Arstan looked back to Barristan. “You’re truly him?”
“I am.” Barristan shrugged as though it mattered little. No one seemed to believe him of late, and it felt to Barristan that in the eyes of the realm, Barristan Selmy was dead.
With a nod of thanks to Jaime, Daenerys returned to her seat and Jaime resumed his watch outside the room. The queen exhaled forcefully before addressing those assembled. “I understand this must be a bit peculiar for you. I wanted to gather the impacted Houses before sending proclamations to the realm. You are the first House we’ve spoken with of the seven with kin returned or restored in youth. We thought it might be more difficult to sort through the complexities of the living knights who were made younger. Despite intending to attract the greatest knights to the order, I’m told that the changes I’ve made to the Queensguard vows could complicate things. My seven are free to marry and have children of their own.”
Arstan’s brows furrowed at the words. “What would you ask of me, your Grace? Do you intend to establish Ser Barristan as lord of Harvest Hall?”
“No.” Daenerys seemed surprised at Arstan’s question. “He is my Lord Commander; a member of the Queensguard.”
Arstan nodded, but confusion played across his features. “Aye, you’re allowing him and the other knights to marry and have children, but if my great-uncle is granted such allowance, his children would have claim before me, would they not? My grandfather was the second-born son.”
“I’ll not be marrying or having children.” Barristan interjected quickly before unnecessary debate prolonged the meeting or caused discord. “I just… I’m still alive… in case you were wondering.”
Arstan glanced around the table at those assembled before leaning forward. “I’m glad you’re alive, but… what if you do have children? How does this work? Do the Queensguard serve for life still? Are their children in line to inherit from their Houses? What becomes of those children if they can’t inherit?”
“None of this is necessary.” Barristan desperately tried to end the conversation. “The Queensguard don’t need to serve for life, but I will. I’ll not be having children and I’ll not be leaving.”
The words only served to confuse, and Arstan’s tone reflected as much. “Well if Queensguard don’t need to serve for life, why wouldn't you leave when the time comes? The queen just said she wants the greatest serving, and that is why she has made these changes. What happens if you become crippled or too old to protect the crown? Under the old oaths, the sworn brothers would take up your duties, but if these new vows are intended to ensure the best knights serve the crown, why not gracefully bow out when your skill declines?”
Barristan sat back in stunned silence. He had not considered the impact that the vow changes would have on knights feeling forced or guilted into leaving for the noted reasons. Where will I go? I was still physically capable at sixty, but how will I be at seventy? Certainly not eighty.
Daenerys quickly interceded; her tone placating in defense of the crown’s position. “If a Queensguard leaves, we will offer coin in exchange for years served. I’ll not let any member who served the crown go without.”
Unlike Kingsguard past, this new Queensguard could leave when they wished. Barristan considered that there would be high turnover as knights married and had babes. It wasn't practical to serve when life-changing events caused such an incredible shift in priorities.
Bonds formed in Kingsguards past would become irrelevant, and eventually, Barristan would be surrounded by new faces. Those faces wouldn’t even know him as Barristan the Bold; a man born in 237ac. When he could no longer perform his duties, Barristan knew he would feel compelled to leave and live out his days alone. Without purpose.
A hall to die in, though this time, no men to bury me. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but as he stared at Arstan, Barristan offered resolution. “I’ll sign anything you like indicating I’ve relinquished my claim. Name me a Storm if that makes things less contentious. The only kin who knew me likely died long ago, and my name matters little of late.”
“You will not!” Daenerys snapped. “Ser Arstan, you are lord of Harvest Hall and your children will inherit. I would suggest that if Ser Barristan does have children, they be placed in line to inherit after your own, and before your cousins. It is however your decision as lord, and this is merely my recommendation.”
A few cousins began to protest, but Arstan silenced them quickly. “Enough. You would question your place to inherit over any children my great-uncle would have? Ser Barristan Selmy? The firstborn son of Lord Lyonel? As if the lot of you don’t swagger into tourneys speaking of your relation to Barristan the Bold as if it makes you less shit at the joust.” Any protest died at the words, and Arstan appraised Barristan once more. “I’m glad you’re alive, uncle. House Selmy is proud of your accomplishments and service to the crown. I’d sooner name myself a Storm than you.”
Duncan
The boy was a bundle of energy, and Duncan hardly knew what to make of it. Green eyes danced with mirth from across the table. “This is going to be incredible, Brienne. I can’t wait to see your father’s face!” Jaime chuckled and took another bite of the apple in his hand; his cheeks filled like a squirrel collecting acorns as he spoke again. “Do you think he’ll faint?”
“I’m not entirely certain what he’ll think.” Brienne sighed heavily and craned her neck towards the door. After the catastrophe that was Barristan greeting his kin in the courtyard, Daenerys insisted that Jaime, Brienne, and Duncan wait inside while she brought Lord Selwyn and the Tarth escort into the private meeting room.
The waiting proved the most difficult part. Duncan felt out of place in the strange world he found himself in. Barristan, Jaime, and Brienne tried to explain all that transpired since Jaehaerys took the throne, but it was too unfamiliar. For all Duncan knew, they were reading from a child’s fairytale more than a history book. The words seemed foreign and confusing when Duncan considered how the House he once served had spiraled into madness and exile.
Despite how confusing everything was, Duncan was eager to see his little grandson. When last Duncan saw Selwyn, Selwyn was just a boy; heir to an island in the sea. Selwyn had been oversized for his age, but he carried it well, and the young man was promising in the yards despite being timid in nature. If given the option between flight or fight, Selwyn would spread his wings and head for the hills.
It was not fear that compelled Selwyn’s response, but a desire for peace. Selwyn had been a boy who despised confrontation and tension. He would sooner allow someone to give him insult than to cause a stir at court.
Knowing that, Duncan had cringed when Jaime ranted about Selwyn’s shit parenting of Brienne. The words were not spoken in a tone reflecting hatred for Selwyn, but merely disapproval of how he raised Brienne. Duncan was pleased that such a protective, skilled knight was husband to his great-granddaughter, though he was disappointed in Selwyn’s behavior.
Of all the tales Duncan heard over the last fortnight, he was most dismayed by Selwyn’s handling of Ronnet Connington. ‘I’m sorry, Brienne. I taught your father that blasted phrase, and he took it as his personal shield... as though it meant something. I’d heard the phrase often in my own youth, and being a boy from Flea Bottom, it made me feel empowered when I was otherwise helpless to respond. Your father had the power to respond and protect, but he didn’t.’
Soon, voices drifted down the hallway and spilled under the door. Brienne stood immediately; a smile tugging at her thick lips. When the door opened and the queen stepped inside with Selwyn looming tall and broad at her back, Duncan’s eyes went wide. My little grandson is an old man. Gods. He’s similar in age to me when I died.
Doing the math, Duncan grimaced at the realization that his grandson was a man of sixty, and yet, Duncan had the body of a man one-and-forty. When Selwyn’s eyes landed on Jaime, he startled, but it was when he glanced around the room and saw Duncan that the old lord screamed and fell backwards to his ass. “Seven help me! The Stranger comes for me in form of my grandsire.”
The queen exhaled forcefully; her shoulders sagging as Brienne and Jaime rushed to help Selwyn to his feet. When Jaime’s hands reached for Selywn’s left elbow, the older lord pulled away quickly. “My gods… you’re a babe. Is everyone so bloody young in death? Why am I still stuck in this shit body?”
“Father, you’re not dead. Please, stand up and let us explain.” Brienne tugged on her father’s arm, but he shook his head in stubborn refusal. “I truly thought we had won the war. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Where is my Alyssane? Where are Gal and the girls?” Tears began to pool in Selwyn’s eyes, and Duncan rounded the table.
“Seven hells, Sel! Get up. You’re not dead, but if you don’t hurry up and give me a hug, I just might die waiting.” As Duncan approached, Selwyn reached out with shaky fingers. “Why are you so young? Why are you so… alive?”
The queen attempted to guide the group towards the table, but Selwyn was frozen in place; his face pale and his eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have eaten that last lemon cake. The baker warned the batch was too old, and now I see ghosts.”
“Do you need clout behind the ears, boy!? Sit down and let her Grace explain. If Egg acted like this I’d have thrown him back to Summerhall.” Duncan scoffed; the words snapping Selwyn out the stupor he was in. “It truly is you.” Selwyn’s feet carried him slowly towards the table, and he spoke more to the furniture than anyone in particular. “Does anyone have brandy?”
After several interrupted attempts to explain what happened, Daenerys offered a compassionate smile at Selwyn. “I understand this is a lot, Lord Selwyn, but fortunately this changes little for you. You still have your heir, though she and her husband have some years back to enjoy together. And… you have your grandsire back.”
“Your grandsire who is now younger than you.” Duncan’s lips moved of their own accord as they gave voice to the one thing Duncan struggled most to reconcile. “I know this was a red priestess’s doing, but I can’t help but think Bloodraven had a hand in this mess. That man always unnerved me.”
Selwyn hummed at the words; his eyes appraising each person in the room. “Well… now what? Will you all come home?”
Duncan glanced across the table at Jaime and Brienne. A sheepish smile stretched across Brienne’s face before she replied. “Actually, we have taken our vows. We will serve for a time, and eventually return to Tarth to raise our family.”
“I plan to stay with the children.” Duncan supplied. His eyes darted to Brienne, and his chest swelled with pride. “My great-granddaughter is a knight! I want to serve alongside them, and then I’ll return to Tarth when the time comes. You know how I enjoyed it there.”
Selwyn rubbed aggressively at his forehead. “Gods, what a day.”
Suddenly, something came to Duncan. He knocked his knuckles against the table and leaned forward, raising a brow at Selwyn. “Where’s my shield boy? Do you have time to fetch it for me? We’re having a little tourney soon, and this time, I’ll not fall so easily to that little shit from the marches!”
The question confused Selwyn and his head cocked slightly to the side. “I’m sorry? Who?”
“Barristan! That boy has been harassing me for weeks. Strutting around like some kind of gift from the gods, talking about ‘I am jousting’. I’m going to destroy him this time.” Duncan nodded dramatically before leaning back, his arms crossing over his chest.
“ Boy ? Ser Barristan is older than me by eight years. I’d hardly call unhorsing an aged knight a fair joust.” Selwyn scoffed, and it occurred to Duncan that his grandson had not yet seen Barristan.
Laughter caused Duncan’s chest to rumble. “Oh just you wait. Though in truth, it’s Aemon and Ryam that worry me most. Now they embody all things jousting. My strategy was moreso absorbing an opponent’s lance and hoping the sheer impact of striking me would knock them to their asses. Most men just bounced right off. I’m still shocked that a boy of six-and-ten unhorsed me. Do you suppose he cheated?”
At the question, Jaime snorted. “Were it any other knight, I’d question it myself, but not Ser Barristan. I do hope you can recall the strike that unhorsed you. I’ve been waiting for decades to watch someone knock him to his ass.”
The queen rose from her chair and smiled smugly. “Talking will not better prepare you for a joust with the Lord Commander. I’ll leave the four of you to catch up.”
Duncan rolled his eyes as the queen left the room. The favoritism was obvious, but it was no different than how Egg favored Duncan from the rest of his seven. Targaryens were difficult to truly know, but once they deemed someone a friend, that person was kept close and given explicit trust.
Dunk and Egg had been on many adventures together, and Duncan kept the younger man safe. Judging from the shared history between Daenerys and Barristan, they were no different, and Duncan could respect that.
For a while longer, Duncan sat with his kin and the little lion, but he soon afforded them the space to reconnect without him. Duncan gave Selwyn a firm embrace and ruffled his hair for good measure before leaving the room. They would take supper that night, and Ducan was eager to ask after the rest of their loved ones, though he understood most had been dead for many years.
Moreso, Duncan couldn’t wait to jape with Selwyn about the little lion’s adoration of Brienne. Of course Lady Rohanne’s great-grandson fell in love with my great-granddaughter. The lion has excellent taste just as the red widow did.
Making his way outside, Duncan inhaled the fresh air and glanced up at the cloudless sky. He always preferred being out in the open than being among the highborn in castles. The sound of steel in the distance compelled his feet towards the yards, and a smile tugged at Duncan’s lips when he saw Ryam and Barristan sparring.
With Aemon and Arthur on duty and Jaime and Brienne with Selwyn, Duncan was not surprised to see his remaining sworn brothers training as though war might come upon them at a moment’s notice. Both men had served many years before dying, or in Barristan’s case, nearly dying.
Ryam and Barristan each served 45 years before the gods restored them to youth during the Long Night. Like Duncan, both men had passed the age of sixty in their first life, and in that, the three of them could relate in ways that Arthur, Jaime, and Brienne could not.
Sitting on the rock wall, Duncan studied the men for weaknesses to take advantage of in their upcoming tourney, but both swordsmen appeared to lack such vulnerabilities. Seven help me. Even in my second life, I’m too old for this shit.
Ryam’s style was more familiar to Duncan. While they were born 150 years apart, the movements reminded Duncan of Ser Arlan, and he smiled at the thought of the old man. In contrast, Barristan moved with a fluidity and grace that did not match his height. He slipped under Ryam’s attacks easily and landed a few quick taps with the flat of his blade; a smug smile at his lips. Truly, this boy needs humbling.
Tales of Ryam’s prowess were well-known to Duncan. As a boy in Flea Bottom, many of the boys acted out great tourneys, each vying to play at Ser Ryam Redwyne. While Ryam was a renowned swordsman, it was his skill with the lance that always impressed Duncan. Ryam or Aemon will win the joust. So long as I unhorse the boy, all will be well.
Both men sheathed their swords and offered pleased nods to the other. While the seven Queensguard did not agree on much, they agreed on one thing; they were all formidable and not to be trifled with.
Having knights together from different periods of time had caused ample conflict in the White Sword Tower, but more than conflicts over beliefs, preferences, and culture, the knights had a somewhat dangerous thirst for competition.
On more than one occasion, the queen had given her seven a scolding over what was borderline reckless behavior, but to the realm’s greatest white cloaks, everything was a competition. Who could scale a wall the fastest? Who could fight the best atop a rock wall? Who could swim the farthest, jump the highest, or run the fastest?
It was madness, but the one knight with the most sense was Brienne. ‘The only thing worse than the peacocking and unnecessary amount of competitions is the stench in this tower. By the Seven, you all need to keep your armor somewhere else and bathe more regularly.’
The men had teasingly begun to call Brienne ‘Ser Mum’, and Jaime loved teasing her. ‘Now you all have a taste of what I endure on a daily basis. The wench has been ordering me around since the day we met, dragging me about on a glorified leash in the Riverlands.’
‘Wench’ was not a term of endearment that Duncan cared for, and the little lion was a fast-learner. Jaime no longer used the term around Jaime lest he wish to be sat on again.
As Barristan and Ryam joined Duncan on the rock wall, sweat dripping down their faces, Duncan snorted. “The pair of you better bathe before returning to the tower. My great-granddaughter will beat you both senseless if you leave any more sweaty clothing around.”
Ryam snorted at the words, but his words were nothing short of sincere when he turned to meet Duncan’s gaze. “How did it go with your grandson?”
A rumbling laugh shook Duncan’s chest. “The boy fell to his ass, convinced he was dead or poisoned from stale lemon cakes.” The men chuckled at Duncan’s side, but he sighed heavily and glanced towards the sky; the trees swaying gently above their heads. “I’m younger than my grandson now.”
The words produced a groan from Barristan. “Yes, well you’re not alone in that bit of absurdity. I’m younger than my great-nephew.”
“Oh fuck off, the pair of you.” Ryam grumbled. “I am now younger than my great-great-great-great-great-I don’t even know how many greats-grandsons at the Arbor. Did you see the boys!? Fucking Horas and Hobber or something ridiculous. They call Horas ‘Ser Horror’, and not because of his prowess in battle! My House used to be built upon formidable warriors. Now I don’t know what to make of it.”
Duncan huffed at the words. “Everything has gone to shit. Do you see the way the ladies dress at court!? It’s like a bloody brothel in there.”
Ryam winced as though it pained him. “The only thing worse are the inflated egos of the young knights. They strut about as though they’ve accomplished something great simply because they managed to not die during the Long Night. In my day, a knight had to earn his spurs.”
Between them, Barristan sighed heavily. “The pair of you are the only people in this bloody Keep that actually make me feel three-and-twenty. We were fighting those dead things for moon turns on end, and you participated in one battle. It is an accomplishment that those men lived.”
The three began to argue and swords were quickly drawn as though a spar was the only way to settle such a debate, but then an attendant’s voice captured their attention. “Pardon, sers, but her Grace needs to speak with the Lord Commander.”
Ryam rolled his eyes as his sword lowered. “Of course she does. Give my regards to her Grace, Lord Commander .”
It felt wrong to laugh, and Duncan knew that Egg’s favoritism earned him the same reaction in years past, but Duncan couldn’t help himself. I suppose it is a bit different. Egg never clung to my arm like a blushing maiden in need of his white knight at all hours.
When Barristan left, Dunk raised a brow at Ryam. “You shouldn’t tease the boy. He tries hard.”
“Please, you think they only discuss political matters in that solar of hers? No one laughs that much discussing reconstruction, taxes, and troublesome Houses.” Ryam huffed, but Duncan was quick to defend his sworn brother.
“There were times when it was difficult for me serving as Egg’s Hand. For so long, all I wanted was to be accepted by the other knights, and then when I finally had acceptance, they scorned me for Egg’s favoritism. How could I not be favored? Egg was my squire for years, and we developed a bond that my sworn brothers couldn’t understand. To them, the king was merely someone to shield, but to me, that king was my friend. The boy is no different. You heard what he did for her Grace in Essos, and from the tales I heard in youth, you were no stranger to close bonds with the crown. Didn’t you serve as Hand?” A shit one if history is to be believed.
Ryam grimaced, but offered a conciliatory shrug. “I wasn’t very good at that, but I was good at protecting. Perhaps I should have insisted on as much when King Jaehaerys asked me to play the part of Hand.”
For as unrelatable as Ryam could be, he was entirely relatable in that moment. Duncan considered the words and hummed. “We all should have insisted more while serving. Perhaps Egg would have lived longer. Perhaps Aerys wouldn’t have torn the realm apart. The little lion did what the rest of us couldn’t or wouldn’t do.”
Jaime
Jaime smiled softly at Brienne as they awaited Genna’s arrival. Aside from Tyrion’s reaction following the dead’s defeat, Genna’s reaction was bound to be unnecessarily dramatic. Everything with Genna was over the top, and Jaime wondered how she might respond to seeing Jaime at half the age he was when the war began.
For her part, Brienne had only met Genna once before the first major battle at Winterfell. In that brief meeting, Genna had immediately taken to Brienne, but Jaime was not surprised. If anything, Genna seemed relieved. ‘For so many years, I worried that Cersei would be the death of you. You’ve a good woman now, Jaime. Don’t fuck it up.’
As happened days prior, voices drifted under the doorway, but unlike the cordial conversation Selwyn had been in the midst of with the queen, Genna could be heard sharing many opinions. Seven help me.
The door swung open and Genna barged inside; a complaint still at her lips. When her eyes landed on Jaime, Genna froze. “Oh gods… he’s reverse aging. He’s going to die a babe shitting his nappy.”
At the words, Daenerys turned and mouthed something to Barristan that Jaime could not hear, but the Lord Commander nodded in understanding and closed the door as Daenerys guided Genna towards the table. “Lady Genna, I’ll explain everything, but if you could just sit down, I’d appreciate it. I can’t risk you falling too. Lord Selwyn has required cushions for his bruised backside since we had this same meeting just two days prior.”
Genna reached out and cupped Jaime’s face. Her eyes appraised the entirety of him before a pair of emeralds returned to Jaime’s own set. “Look at your face. Can you grow a proper beard or just those sparse wisps of hair you proudly insisted looked mature and dignified? Gods, I can almost picture you at Joanna’s breast. What’s happened to you?”
“Aunt Genna!” Jaime’s ears reddened as he gently pushed her away. “I’m five-and-ten! Not five! Go sit down.”
As she did twice already, Daenerys provided details of the events that caused such a significant change to three living knights. Genna sat in stunned silence, taking it all in. Her eyes shifted slowly between Jaime and Brienne as they sat across from her, and when the queen finished detailing everything, Genna spoke cautiously. “Am I to understand that you’ve taken the white cloak again ? By the seven, Jaime, you’re testing my sanity and patience!”
“This isn’t the same, Aunt Genna. The vows are different now, and we can leave whenever we please. Our hope is to serve well for a time, and when we have children, we’ll raise our family on Tarth.”
Genna recoiled as if struck. “On Tarth!? You are the Lord of Casterly Rock, Jaime!”
“No, Tyrion is Lord of Casterly Rock. You once said that Tyrion was Tywin’s son; not me. I don’t want the Rock anymore than you want to be married to Uncle Emmon.” Jaime huffed and slouched in his chair. If nothing else, he had expected Genna to understand his preference to live out his days on Tarth.
“Emmon is dead.” Genna’s lips turned down and she glanced away. There had never been love between them, but Genna did birth Emmon sons despite questions surrounding the boys’ lineage.
Guilt caused Jaime to grimace. A heavy sigh pushed past his lips before replying. “I’m sorry, Aunt Genna.”
“I don’t mourn him as I should, but I respect what came from our marriage. Perhaps now if you and Tyrion would make yourselves of use, I might concentrate on finding love for myself, or simply enjoy time holding my grandbabes. The pair of you need to sort this nonsense out. Who is to rule now?”
Daenerys cleared her throat and glanced at Jaime before turning her attention to Genna. “I suppose that is for your House to decide. The crown will support whatever arrangement you arrive at.”
Genna directed a raised brow at Jaime. “You figure this out with Tyrion, and figure it out quickly. This is the last thing that I wish to deal with right now.”
“There is nothing to figure out. Casterly Rock is Tyrion’s, and any children that Brienne and I have will inherit Tarth; nothing more.” Jaime shrugged as though the matter was inconsequential, but the look in Genna’s eyes was anything but.
“Your brother killed his own father, and I would wager the West will struggle to accept a kinslayer as lord. Further, your father did everything he could to discredit Tyrion, and in that, he was successful.” Genna’s words were a warning, and Jaime felt his jaw tense in frustration. “Now perhaps you and Tyrion agree to these terms, but what of your children? Yes, your eldest will inherit Tarth, but what of the rest? What if they want more just as Cersei aspired to have more ? What if the West calls for their original heir? Have you thought of any of this, Jaime?”
Jaime could tolerate anything, but not a comparison of his children to Cersei. “Our children will be nothing like Cersei, because they will have Brienne’s goodness in them. My body’s physical state has nothing to do with this decision. I had already given Tyrion the West before the gods did this to me! If you fear that the West won’t support Tyrion, then help gain support. You and I both know that he is more than capable. The West would thrive under him. If Tyrion has no heirs, then my children would be in line to inherit, but only then.”
Genna huffed and glanced away. While she loved Tyrion dearly, there was lingering animosity over what Tyrion did to Tywin. Genna’s lips pursed in a moment of quiet contemplation, but she glanced back at Jaime before continuing. “Fine. I’ll do what I can to help back Tyrion’s rule and competency, but I’m done playing at Castellan, Jaime. Tyrion will need to name a cousin or someone else if he remains here to serve as Hand.”
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation, and Daenerys called out for entry. Barristan entered the room with an attendant at his heels, holding the door for the man who approached the table. Jaime’s brows knitted as the attendant placed a box before Genna; his head bowing respectfully to Daenerys before leaving without a word.
The queen gestured at the box and offered context for Genna. “This box contains some items that belonged to your niece. I found them before the war began, but I was unable to have them returned to Casterly Rock. Do with the items as you please, but I didn’t wish to dispose of Lady Cersei’s belongings on the off chance any held sentimental value to you.”
Jaime’s curiosity was piqued, and he leaned forward as Genna opened the box. A heavy sigh left Genna’s lips before forming a tight smile. Grabbing something from the box, Genna turned to Daenerys with a sad smile. “Thank you. These were my mother’s favorite pieces that were passed down to her from previous generations.”
Without seeing them, Jaime knew what the jewelry looked like. If he tried hard enough, Jaime could picture his mother wearing one or two of the pieces, but most memories of Joanna were hazy; more emotional than lasting images.
When the meeting concluded, Genna stood slowly. “I asked the rest of our House to let me speak with you first. Judging by the queen’s written request, I had expected something worse , and I wished to enter this room alone. Your cousins will be keen to see you Jaime… and you too Brienne. You may choose to live on Tarth someday, but you’re both Lannisters, though I’m rather vexed that you formalized your union without me!”
With the box in her hands, Genna moved towards the door and Jaime rushed to open it for her. Barristan was on duty in the hallway, but Duncan had replaced Arthur while the group met inside with Genna. At the sight of Duncan, Genna’s eyes went wide; her neck craning up to look at the man. “My gods… one of those giants survived.”
Jaime guffawed at the confused expression on Duncan’s face, but Brienne interceded to correct the false assumption. “No, Aunt Genna. This is my great-grandfather, Ser Duncan the Tall. He was one of the knights brought back to fight against the Others.”
Genna stepped back as if slapped and stared at Duncan. “Ser Duncan the Tall! Gods, I heard many tales of you in my youth, though it was my eldest brother and father who were afforded seats at King Aegon’s feasts.” Leaning towards Jaime, Genna whispered. “Though I’d not have minded sitting next to that one. He’s a proper destrier to ride.”
Jaime choked at the words. “Aunt Genna!”
“Oh hush up, Jaime. I served my time.” Genna sighed and glanced at Barristan, her voice louder and whining. “Such a shame, Ser Barristan. You’d have been on the top of my list of things to do. Now you’re just a babe, and that simply won’t do.”
Barristan’s jaw dropped in horror, but Genna quickly stormed down the hallway before he could form words in reply. An apology was at Jaime’s lips, but he could do little more than chase after Genna, knowing that if he did not follow quickly, he would earn a scolding.
With Brienne at his side, Jaime took a deep breath when they caught up to Genna. For such a short woman, she moved quickly and confidently as though the Keep was her own. Without glancing back, Genna questioned Brienne. “Your great-grandsire, Brienne, is he unwed?”
Brienne startled at the words, glancing quickly at Jaime before settling on the back of Genna’s head. “He’s… he’s only just returned to the living. I don’t gather he’s married to anyone, Lady Genna.”
The reply caused Genna’s steps to slow. “No… that’s not what I meant. In his first life, was he unwed?”
Jaime’s brows knitted as it occurred to him that the topic had never been raised. Of course, Duncan had joined the Kingsguard as a single man in his first life, but that wasn’t to say he hadn’t married before that. At Jaime’s side, Brienne fumbled for a reply. “In truth, I’m not certain.”
The uncertainty produced a low hum from Genna. “Our House always wondered what became of my grandmother, Lady Rohanne. According to my father, she once looked to Ser Duncan at a tourney prior to Jason’s birth. It caused a bit of a stir between my grandparents, and rumors always swirled, but you know how important image is in House Lannister. Better to proclaim a woman dead than undesiring of a powerful lion.”
Maneuvering the box in her arms, Genna stopped walking and reached up to tap Jaime’s cheek affectionately. “Lets go see your cousins. I want people to commiserate with. This situation is entirely absurd.”