Chapter Text
“And whilst poor Elia was struck by a terrible illness, the scheming and dishonorable ‘noble’ families thought only of how to find and capture her for their own dark purposes!”
“Aha, but isn’t that quite normal? Back home, all the ruling families thought about how to capture and defeat others. It’s just how they are~”
“Nay, that is not so! Many with whom I found common cause had a most virtuous character! Even several of our enemies demonstrated honor.”
“Wow! That’s incredible. The only family I heard others describe as virtuous were all killed for their greed and ambition!”
“E-er, Young—”
“Mm, you’re amazing, Don Quixote. But I don’t get it. Won’t things like this happen all over again? Humans will always be humans. Did you really manage to change anything for long?”
“Of course! Evil will always exist, but so too shall a hero rise up to strike it down! I simply showed them it was possible. Once thou hast witnessed the truth of my tale, all doubt shall be banished from thy mind of the virtue that lies within all.”
Her hands grasped the ragged blankets tightly as she trembled and tried to bring the world back into focus. How long had she been here? How much time had she wasted lying down on this bed instead of moving on? Princess Elia hardly felt like the poised princess and mother she knew she had to be for her children. Once again she cursed her sickly body, her situation, her uselessness…
A strangled cry threatened to tear itself from her throat, but she forced it down and began to take deep breaths. The only thing she could do now was not break down into a sobbing mess. Gods, Oberyn would tease her so much if he was here. No, no he wouldn’t. He would hug her fiercely and then tease her. She laughed for a moment before realizing tears were about to burst free from her eyes. Closing her eyes shut, she did her best to clear her mind and take deep breaths before reopening them.
The door opened, and Elia relaxed when she saw a familiar head of blonde hair. She didn’t know who he was back home or where his home even was, but it felt as if the Seven had decided to grant her one blessing out of pity. Her lips turned up when the boy’s wide smile formed upon seeing her, barely holding back a laugh as she watched him all but scuttle towards her. Gods, he looked so young like this with that look of admiration and awe. It made her want to trust and watch over him even if she knew little of his story made sense and that she couldn’t even watch over herself right now.
It helped that he was like an overeager and rambunctious older sibling to her children.
“Princess Elia! I hath come to answer thy call,” he bellowed with that endless energy.
“You did not need to hasten yourself here, Don Quixote, but I am appreciative nonetheless,” Elia said, having decided to use the foreign title he gave when she finally had time to think. “How… how is Rhaenys?”
Don Quixote smiled as he brought a hand over his heart. “Worry not! Thy daughter’s training to become a great Fixer is progressing well. Her speed and tireless endurance is unmatched for her age! It shall not be long before the world hears of her heroic endeavors.”
Elia nodded and smiled, indulging the eager boy’s delusions. No, that was perhaps too cruel. He seemed genuine, but perhaps he was just young enough to not understand the way things were supposed to be when girls and boys got older. There were women warriors in history, of course, but even the most exceptional of them were not spoken with the reverence men were. And after her encounter with Clegane, she cannot imagine any woman standing up against that monster.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said instead, pushing away those thoughts and trying to sit up. “If my children are well, then I am ready to discuss why I have called upon you.”
“What is thy wish, princess? I will endure any indignity if it shall ease your suffering!” he agreed easily.
“We must plan where to go after I’ve recovered. The Rebellion has surely sent out riders to pursue us, and I would not be surprised if we encounter them no matter which way we go” Elia answered, closing her eyes.
She could hear the boy’s grin as he said, “Princess, I would protect thee against all manner of foe!”
“You could, but all it would take is an errant arrow, a single person sneaking by, or a hidden dagger from one we least expect to get through you. Even you cannot be everywhere at once, Don Quixote.”
Elia opened her eyes to see him deflating with each method of her death listed. “B-but… thou art correct, Princess, but is there a safe haven for thee if so many are pursuing us with ill intent?”
“Dorne. It is the only land where we would be safe. The issue is that there are two pathways there, and I am unsure which to take. If I had a map, or even a way to draw out what I know…”
Elia sighed, clenching her hands tightly. She was taught of these matters, but the exact routes and roads they would need to take to reach Dorne are lost to her. They would simply have to make their best guess and hope things would turn out alright.
To her surprise however, Don Quixote set his pack down and began digging inside it for something with his tongue sticking out. Watching as he pulled out some strange quill along with a book whose cover had numerous bright and garish decorations on it, Elia startled as the boy thrust them at her face.
“Worry not! I always come prepared to write down mine observations and deeds. Though there is little room left, this is a worthy use of the last pages.”
Blinking as he turned the book to a blank page of unparalleled quality with perfectly even blue lines drawn on it, Elia’s fingers nearly dropped the metal quill suddenly pushed into her hand.
“Don Quixote, what is…”
“This is for thee to form a path for us to depart on,” he said, looking at her strangely before gasping in dismay. “Did I misunderstand thine intentions? My sincerest apologies, Princess!”
Elia marveled at how easily the quill drew on the paper, taking the time to feel the texture of it all before looking up at Don Quixote with a wide, genuine smile.
“No, this is perfect. Now, those two pathways I mentioned earlier are named the Prince’s Path and the Boneway…”
Rhaenys was having so much fun! She giggled as she slapped a hand on the boy she was chasing before running off as fast as her legs could carry her. Outraged cries and delighted shouts sounded across the village as its children played and got dirt all over them. This was great. Nothing like this ever happened back home. Sometimes Daddy or Mommy played with her, but for a while she’d been stuck in her room with Balerion alone.
Balerion was great! She loved Balerion, but she wanted to play with others too. Now, she got to do whatever she wanted while she got stories from—
“MUHAHAHA! PUNY MORTALS, I, THE SECOND KINDRED OF HOUSE DRACUL, SHALL CATCH YOU ALL AND TAKE ALL YOUR BLOOD!”
Rhaenys squeaked and ran harder than she ever did before as Big Sister Don charged the scattering children with a loud roar. The adults looked at her strangely, but all her new friends knew that Don was the best! She got them to stop doing whatever boring thing their parents made them do so that they could do fun stuff and listen to stories instead.
She yelped as two strong hands carried her up and brought her face to face with the Second Kindred. Squirming as the nasty Bloodfiend play bit her on the shoulder, Rhaenys couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer as she was dropped back on the ground to chase the others. She never knew there were games like these, but Don opened her eyes to how fun even the simplest activity could be with a little imagination every time she interrupted their games.
Once they were all caught and too tired to play more, Don had them all sit and catch their breath before her. As she began praising them all for their efforts, Rhaenys’s mind drifted to the other fun things she’s done. Other than Balerion, there was one thing she missed doing, but she didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance for it again.
“Don Don?” she spoke up, eyebrows drawn together.
“Yes, my squire?” she said, making Rhaenys smile.
“When will we ride horsies again? Daddy carried me on one! It was super fun… but I haven’t done it in sooo long!”
“U-ummm, well… that is to say…” Don stammered for some reason. “Learning to ride a horse is part of thy squire training indeed, Young Rhaenys, but for now thou must focus on making thy body strong enough to ride without assistance.”
Rhaenys frowned. “But… I want a horsie. I want Daddy.”
Don ran a hand through her hair. Rhaenys figured out that meant she was nervous and didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure we shall encounter the finest steeds soon, with thy Father riding the greatest of them all! Worry not Rhaenys, thou only need wait a little longer. Wouldst thou like to hear a story instead?”
Rhaenys really wanted to ride a horsie again, but she also really liked her stories. Thinking hard on which one she’d rather do, the young princess nodded silently and prepared to listen to another tale. If all she needed to do was wait a bit longer, then she would wait. She’d be a good girl.
Lord Roland Crakehall brought his horse to a halt as he stopped near a village, signalling his men to do so as well. He had been tasked with pursuing the ones who stole the princess and her children away, and the long hours he’s spent hunting in the forest within Crakehall lands told him his prey would want to find somewhere safe to rest. After the massacre performed at the River Gate, they were bound to be exhausted.
Still, he was likely to face men of considerable ability. Looking over his own, he nodded when he saw they were all fitted with what would be needed to ensure they did not meet the same fate of Clegane and Lorch.
A great warrior may be brought down with enough arrows, after all, and a single one is all it would take to threaten the royal family if it turned out there really was only one man defending them. He’d be forced to negotiate then in that impossible situation. Crakehall grinned, imagining the rewards his family would gain from this.
This would be easy.
“Bring me their heads, and you shall have enough of the Rock’s treasury to secure your family for generations.”
Tywin scowled as another inept knight bounced away in glee, his mediocre armor clanging and disturbing what little peace he had. What a disaster. His bannermen failed to kill two small children and had the gall to get themselves killed by this mystery knight, who then proceeded to cut a swathe through his own forces on his way out of the city. Now instead of the others rightfully respecting his feat in taking King's Landing, they mocked him on how he couldn’t even perform a sack right.
Baratheon, that damned fool boy. Tywin grounded his teeth at the mere thought of him. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Just like Aerys, it seemed he would have to endure another king that thought his remarks were the height of wisdom. At least he had enough of a mind in that thick skull of his to know he needed all the dragons dead. The rift it caused between him and the Stark boy was to his benefit as well.
Stark… Tywin clenched his fists. He knew nothing of how things were, yet dared look upon him and his son with scorn. As if he were any better, raising his sword in rebellion against his liege. So much for northern honor. What tripe. His arrival before he could salvage the situation left him in this precarious state, and he’d see the mutt repay the humiliation that caused.
First, he would need to corner the ones who secreted Elia and her children out. Tywin didn’t believe the exaggerated tales of a single warrior causing the “Bloodfeast”. That simply was not possible to have been done by a single man, no matter how great. No, most likely this was an organized effort by multiple armed men cutting their way through the chaos. Such a party however would not go unnoticed whichever road they decide to take, and Tywin still had many at his disposal to send and block off any paths to Dorne, their only viable destination.
Who would be able to command and position so many in the first place, however? It would have to be one of his own bannermen for he told no one else of his plans to sack King’s Landing. Tywin nearly snapped his quill. Still, those under him thought to rise against him. Once he found who squealed, he’d make them wish for death. The fact that he couldn't do so immediately rankled at him, but if they were without horses like the reports said, they could not have gotten far.
Stark, Baratheon, the mystery knight and those aiding him… so many people he needed to pay back. But pay them back he would. A Lannister always paid their debts, and he’d do it with the blood and destruction of all they cared about and stood for. Such was the only way to secure the respect and fear one such as he needed to rule. The first two were out of reach for now due to their power and position, even if he would not forget. A unknown group of knights however who thought the strength of their sword arms greater than the reach a Lord Paramount has?
That, he could see to settling soon. Very soon.
Eddard Stark let out a deep sigh of relief as he left behind King’s Landing, hopefully for good. Outrage had been his general mood the time he spent been here, but more than anything else he simply wanted to be done with the South and all its problems. He felt guilty about it, leaving two innocent children to be hunted down like dogs to fulfill Robert’s insane need for vengeance, but his only remaining duty was to save Lyanna.
If he encountered the Princess and her two children… he hoped it would not come to pass. Ned would not condemn them to death, but despite his misgivings, Robert still had his loyalty.
“Everything alright there, Ned?” Ser Ryswell asked.
“Now that we know of Lyanna’s location, yes,” Ned replied. “After we free Stannis of his siege, we need only worry about getting her to safety before leaving the South behind for good.”
Willam Dustin laughed as he said, “Aye, fuck the South. Buncha cunts. That throne o’ swords drives them all mad, even Robert.”
“His Grace, despite words exchanged, is still the king,” Ned said testily, not willing to encourage such talk.
“Ah, come off it Ned. You know he would prefer we say that to his face.”
Ned only shook his head. “Do we, truly? I thought I knew him well, but I suppose I didn’t. War and power changes all hearts, my friends.”
“You’re right, Stark,” Howland Reed said, sensing his feelings on the subject. “This war has surprised us enough. Preparing for anything is wise.”
The lords grumbled but did not object. Ned sighed in relief. Truly, he considered them all valuable companions and comrades. Despite his insistence on proper titles, he was glad none of them had decided to call him Lord Stark quite yet. It still didn’t feel right to be named that.
“... at the very least, the children and Princess escaped,” he allowed, deciding to show a little of his thoughts. “I heard rumors that knights were sent to kill them in their rooms. Whatever mystery knight stepped in to save and escort them out the city must be a worthy fighter and man to stand against that.”
“Eh, can’t be too hard to kill the Lion’s men,” Ethan Glover shrugged. “Bought by gold and treachery all of them. Though the river of blood by the River Gate was a sight to see.”
The crannogman spoke up, “No ordinary man could do that. And despite Lord Tywin’s claims, most who witnessed the sight saw only a singular figure killing them all. We should be wary, Stark. They could be traveling the same direction we are.”
“We’ve got an army with us, Reed. Not even the greatest warrior could stand against that.”
The group of them laughed as they started sharing various boasts and taunts. Ned was inclined to agree as one who saw many great combatants in the war fall in battle, but when he looked at Reed again, there was no mirth or doubt on his face. It seemed he bought the tale of the “Bloodfiend” entirely, causing Ned to tense. If he sensed something was off about this, then…
He shook his head. They would deal with it when it comes. Like Glover said, no man could stand against an army no matter how great he was.
Oberyn drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, eying up anyone coming into the Braavosi tavern with a gaze that could pry open their skulls for whatever they knew. He’s been keeping track of the war ever since it started and began preparing his next steps when he sensed that things would take a turn for the worst. Damn whatever Doran said. Right now, he needed to know if Elia needed him or if he was already too late to salvage anything.
Finally, a group of haggard sailors entered and began loudly complaining about their day. Deciding they might have come from Westeros and that he was getting tired of sitting around, Oberyn got up and sauntered over with a plastered on smirk.
“Well, hello there. What’s got you all spitting mad?” he asked in Common.
A burly sailor eyed him distrustfully. “What’s it to you, Westerosi?”
“Just curious if you had any particular reason to be, good man. I’m willing to buy a few drinks if you’d all talk to me about it.”
They all looked at each other for a moment before the man who spoke up waved at him to pay. After everyone settled down with the cheap swill they called a drink here, the sailor met his eyes and began grumbling.
“Damn Westerosi and their war is what’s got us like this. Got ourselves stuck in King’s Landing when it got sacked.”
Oberyn’s heart stopped. “Sacked? Do you know who led it?”
“Normally I’d not be able to tell any of your fucking animal banners apart, but these ones liked jawing off about their liege lord. It was the Lannisters, damn them. The gold shitters prevented any of us which were too slow to set sail from leaving till’ the rest of the Rebellion came by. Least the wind was on our side when we sailed back.”
The Red Viper struggled to maintain his smile as his mind raced at the possibilities. Lord Tywin, involved in a sack with a city and royal family that had snubbed him. And Elia could be—
“If it were the Lannisters which sacked it, then the Targaryens must be done for,” Oberyn said, trying to seem casual. “Anything get out as to what happened with the royal family?”
To his surprise, the sailor grinned. “There was. Apparently, some mystery knight was around the Red Keep then and stopped the Lannisters from offing the Princess and her children. He carved his way out the city and killed so many there were rivers of blood. Serves the Lannisters fucking right. Last I heard, they were still trying to clean up the Bloodfeast. Oh, and the King died. Some Robert Baratheon or somesuch is wearing the crown now.”
Oberyn was unable to hide his relief as his body sagged. Thank whichever God decided to give his sister a break for once. He didn’t even care what he said about kings or whatever. Wait, on second thought, that did seem important, but all he could think about was that he wasn’t too late to go to Elia’s aid.
“So, the Prince's children are still alive and free?”
He started as another man slammed a hand on the table and loomed over the group. Oberyn was just about to snap at him for ruining his good mood before something about his face and hair caught his eye. The new person’s hair and beard were a fiery red, and Oberyn liked how his blue eyes meshed with those colors. The prince shook his head. That wasn’t important. The fact that he’s seen him before was, but from where…
The man shrugged, taking another swig of his drink. “No one knows, but until there’s bodies to present, safe to say that’s a possibility.”
The red-haired man held the sailor’s gaze for a moment before nodding and storming away. Oberyn himself bought another round of drinks for the group before making his exit, grateful for the information. Dismissing the unknown man for now, the Red Viper began making plans to track down his sister. Doran might be content to let things play out, but Oberyn had never waited long to bite down when he found something that demanded action.
Varys hummed as he wandered the tunnels of the Red Keep, considering the unexpected element that introduced itself in the game. Was it a new player who had waited all this time to establish himself in the chaos of the sack? Or was he merely a hidden piece revealed by another’s hand? For once, he wasn’t sure. The nature of the interruption signaled the former, but the sheer capability and power he clearly had meant he couldn’t just be any normal warrior.
He knelt over a torn piece of cloth and matched it against the other items dropped on this path, nodding as it confirmed his suspicions. Still, it didn’t really matter. The web he had weaved was vast, and no one man could tear it apart. Let Tywin fume over his failures and perceived slights to his person. Varys would be content to watch them all struggle and show their hands.
His own plan with Aegon would have to be discarded, but he was no amateur schemer who collapsed as soon as something went awry. Enough people had witnessed the new piece, and it wasn’t difficult to connect all the signs together to figure out what had happened. New conclusions were just additional ways for him to prod everything into place however, and the eunuch had to admit it excited him to ponder how it would all fall together.
“Don Quixote,” he spoke, tasting the strange words in the air. “I look forward to hearing of your future exploits.”
The Spider crawled his way through the tunnel used to ferry away the Dragons, none knowing the wiser.
Jaime sat alone in the White Sword Tower, reading through the book containing all the glory and sordid details of the brothers who had served before him. It wasn’t the first time he’s read it, but now that only he and Ser Barristan remained here, the weight of it all pressed down on him. What would his page say after all this? That this knight broke all his vows and couldn’t even do what he set out to do right? Stopped the orders of his king before killing him? Needed some random knight to save who he was sworn to defend while he lazed about on the throne?
He flipped through the pages absentmindedly, eyes going through famous titles and names of times past. The Demon of Darry and Greatheart. Ser Corlys Velaryon, Joffrey Doggett, Alyn Connington, Ryam Redwine, Aemon the Dragonknight, Duncan the Tall, Gwayne Corbray, Barristan of course… Jaime chuckled bitterly when he saw how much in common he had with Criston Cole. Coming to the more recent pages, he stopped flipping when a name drew his attention away from his thoughts.
“I suppose Barristan will have to update Lewyn’s page…” he muttered,
Lewyn. Gods. Seeing his name brought to mind his utter failure in trying to live up to… anything, really. Kingslayer. What a damned joke. Killing Aerys was no great feat to be praised, and if the people knew of what he prevented, was it to be scorned either. Damn them. Damn them all. Judging him as if he would kill a king on a whim, as if Aerys was deserving of any of the Kingsguard’s loyalty. He wasn’t like them, acting as if nothing was wrong while proclaiming themselves the most honorable knights in Westeros.
You’re not so different from them, and you know it, don’t you?
No, no at the very least he was aware of what a disgrace of a knight he was. At least he finally took action and held to the vows that mattered. But even when he did, he nearly screwed it all up. He did screw it all up, Jaime corrected himself, and if it were not for the actions of some no-name knight, he would have had genuine failure added to his list of sins.
You should have been there for Elia and the children. Why did you assume your father would be merciful?
Father. Gods damn him, did he have any semblance of his wits left, or did he leave it when Aerys said some mocking words towards him fifteen years ago? He should have known. How didn’t the thought even cross his mind? Instead, he sat his fat ass on the throne while the Princess was confronted by the Mountain of all peoples. Damn it, he would’ve gutted that oversized hound if he was there. He would have!
As you would’ve gutted Aerys when he beat the Queen night after night? This sin has long been on the list.
But he had to hold to his oaths. What did he have, if not that? Father thought him his perfect heir, but he knew he’d want to off himself if he had to sit around at the Rock all day. Jaime knew how to be a good knight though, how to be a good Kingsguard. He knew how to swing a sword and be true to his oaths. Even when it would have served him well, he kept the King’s secrets in the face of the Rebellion’s judgement while he seethed at the hypocrisy of it all.
Ah yes, so loyal and faithful to the King that you stopped his last orders and went on to kill him.
“But, that was different,” Jaime whispered, hands trembling. “That was different. He would’ve burned the entire city to the ground.”
And you might’ve stopped a war from killing a city’s worth of people and more if you had done so earlier, hm?
Could he have? No, killing the King like that would have been so much worse. Or would it? Worse for whom, exactly? Perhaps he might’ve been executed or stripped of all titles, but if he was true to his values instead of his oaths and was willing to save as many lives as possible, then…
Gods. He had to stop stewing in his thoughts like this, yet they seemed to come to him without end. Perhaps he needed to be with someone right now, but everyone either seemed to despise his very presence or looked at him with a sick sense of camaraderie as if what he did was humorous. He couldn’t bear to be with Father at the moment. Barristan, maybe, but Jaime doubted he would have any kind words to say even if he might understand. There… if she was here—
Wanting to break another oath so soon?
“No!” Jaime shouted, springing up from his seat with wide eyes.
Sweating and out of breath, Jaime stared up at the shield crossed with two swords mounted over the hearth, the blades seeming as if they were about to spring free from its position to stab into his body. By the Gods. He needed to leave this place. It felt like the shadows in the room were closing in and suffocating him. Stumbling out of the room with a hand over his head, Jaime began muttering under his breath to distract himself from everything.
“If only I killed him sooner, if only I defended her as I should have, if only I said something to anyone, if only I knew what my father would do, if only I was there for the children, if only I didn’t sit on that damned throne, if only someone else didn’t do what I should’ve done so damned easily…”
If only, if only…